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“’arry!” The high-pitched screech hit Harry before the little body did, knocking the wind out of the wizard’s chest. Harry just laughed, a little breathlessly, and scooped the four year-old up in his arms.
“Teddy!” Harry nuzzled the spiky, neon-yellow hair, breathing in the combination of dirt, apple juice, and oranges that made Teddy’s scent unique. “I missed you,” Harry said while squeezing the squishy body until it giggled for release.
“Harry! We weren’t expecting you this afternoon,” Andy said as she walked out of the kitchen, wiping her bony hands on her apron. Harry grinned a little guiltily at her, smelling the freshly-baked gingerbread and the smoky scent of the roaring fire in the grate.
“Sorry, it’s just that I finished early at Mungo’s today and figured I should come visit my favourite little man,” Harry ruffled Teddy’s hair, which was bleeding pink at the roots.
“You’re all c-cold, Harry!” Teddy babbled, patting at the melting snowflakes clashing with the black of Harry’s untamed hair.
“I bet he is,” Andy said warmly. “Teddy, honey, why don’t you go pour Harry some cider?” Teddy nodded, scrambling out of Harry’s arms and bolting to the kitchen. Andy looked at Harry a bit regretfully. “Harry, I’m sorry to say that Teddy’s actually busy this afternoon. He’s being picked up by his cousin in a few minutes and they won’t be back until tomorrow.”
Harry blinked. “Oh. I wasn’t aware Teddy had any cousins. Did Remus have a brother or sister I never knew about?”
“Oh, well, actually it’s Teddy’s first cousin once-removed, but we just call him his cousin so as to not to get confusing. Teddy’s great-grandparents are his grandparents. It’s all a befuddling mess, really.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I guess I’ll get going then. Sorry to bother you so suddenly, Andy.” Harry’s interest was piqued by this sudden relative of Teddy, but didn’t want to intrude where he was a third wheel.
“But, Harry, you really should at least stay for din-” Andy was interrupted by the sudden pitter-patter of rushing, clumsy feet.
“’arry! I brought you your cider!” Teddy ran up to his godfather, spilling tepid cider all over the floor, but beaming proudly all the while. Andy and Harry just sighed and smiled bemusedly. Harry ruffled Teddy’s hair again, taking his obligatory sip of the small amount of cooling cider still left in the mug. He passed the cup back to his godson, adjusting the popped collar of his coat.
“Thanks, Teddy, and you, Andy. But I will be going now, I guess. You have fun with your cousin, okay, Teddy?” Teddy nodded, looking upset that Harry was suddenly leaving.
Harry rucked up his shoulders, preparing for the frigid wall of cold that would attack him when he opened that door. He reached out to turn the doorknob, but there was suddenly the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of a knock on the other side of the entrance.
Harry looked over his shoulder to ask Andy if he should open the door, when Teddy was suddenly in front of him, pulling the cold metal of the handle and letting in the wintery air.
“’raco!” Teddy squealed.
“Malfoy?”Harry’s jaw dropped open a little.
“Potter?” Malfoy’s eyes widened as they stared into Harry’s deep green ones.
Harry’s mouth dried a little, the sharp air stealing all the moisture out of the open orifice. Malfoy looked… good. It’d been four years since the Trials, since Harry had returned Malfoy’s wand and had barely accepted his sullen ‘thank you’ for helping his family stay out of Azkaban. Malfoy’s hair was shorter now than Harry had ever seen it, but still too long to ever be seen as a buzz-cut. Silver shined off of Malfoy’s left ear, and Harry counted three earrings, one on the lobe and two hoops on the upper part of the pinna. Malfoy had apparently stopped growing back in Hogwarts, while Harry had continued to shoot up, so he now had a good centimetre or two over the once-towering young man. The green of the Slytherin scarf wrapped around the lithe figure’s neck brought out the flushed, chilled pink of his cheeks, and the black of his eyelashes framed the shimmering grey of his irises.
Harry shut his mouth, swallowing. Yeah, good.
“’raco, this is H-Harry! My godfat’er!” Teddy babbled, still having trouble with his ‘H’s, like always. He pulled the still-stunned Malfoy in by his mittened hand, dragging him so that the once-enemies were a mere meter apart, Teddy warbling madly between them. “Well, say ‘hi’, Draco!” Teddy demanded, frowning up at his cousin.
Draco’s flush seemed to deepen, but he met Harry’s eyes resiliently. “Hi, Harry, Teddy’s godfather.” Harry blushed too for some reason, the syllables of his name seeming to drip rather… sensually off of Malfoy’s pink lips.
Teddy nodded approvingly up at Draco. “Now your turn, ‘arry! This is Draco, my ‘ousin! Say ‘hi’!”
Harry cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks getting warmer as he looked back at Malfoy’s amused gaze. “Hi, Draco, Teddy’s cousin.” The two wizards shared an odd, understanding smile. For now, they were merely two men who both took care of Teddy, nothing more complicated than that. Teddy smiled, pulling on the leg of both of the men’s trousers.
“Good! Now, Draco, you said that you were go-gonna take me to the park today, right? ‘Cause I wanna make a snow-wizard like you were t-talking ‘bout!” Draco smiled softly, reaching down and heaving Teddy up in his arms, propping him on his hip.
“Yup, we’re going to the park. As long as Aunt Andy says that okay.” Harry startled, having forgotten that Andy had been there they whole time. The aging woman was merely watching the three boys, smiling serenely, holding Teddy’s coat and bag in her hands.
“Of course that’s alright, Draco. Just be sure to have him back by noon tomorrow. And make sure to be safe!” She added at the last minute as she forced the released Teddy into his thick winter coat.
Draco chuckled kindly, causing the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck to shiver lightly. “Of course. Well, Teddy, you all set to go play in the snow?” Teddy nodded frantically, running over to take Draco’s proffered hand.
Harry smiled weakly, feeling a small pang of jealousy at the look of admiration Teddy was sending Draco. “Well, Andy, I’m just gonna slip out,” Harry muttered to the woman as Teddy blathered on. Andromeda nodded a tad sadly, but didn’t protest.
Harry was subtly opening the door to slip out when a small hand was suddenly gripping onto his trousers rather forcefully. “Wait, ‘arry, don’t go!” Teddy demanded woefully, looking up at him with reddening eyes, as the tears threatened to arrive.
“Uh, Teddy, I have to go. You’re going to go play in the snow with Draco, remember?”
“B-but I wanna play with Harry too! Please come with us, Harry! Please!” Teddy’s lower lip wobbled, and Harry looked up at Draco and Andy for help of some sort. Draco was just watching him, considering.
“Yeah, why don’t you come with us, Po–Harry? It’ll be fun.” Harry blinked, surprised to his core at the words that had flowed out of Draco’s mouth.
Teddy gasped in delight. “Yeah, Harry! Please! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?”
“Uh, if Draco’s sure.” Draco just nodded, smiling again. Harry felt his chest throb oddly. “Alright, then. Let’s go make snow-wizards and witches!”
“Yaaaaay!” Teddy yelled, running out of the front door, with Draco and Harry running after him, yelling warnings and pleas.
Andy just watched from the terrace, chuckling.
ooOoo
Harry fell on his back, panting up at the grey mass of the sky. Draco plopped down next to him, his face red from exertion.
“We’re too old to be running after a four-year-old like that,” Harry gasped for breath. Draco nodded, lifting his head to watch as Teddy threw himself into another bank of snow under a tree. The two men just grinned wryly in amusement at the child’s antics.
“He’s really not gonna get tired of that for a few more hours, huh? Oh, the bliss of childhood.” Draco pondered aloud, and Harry laughed in agreement.
Draco fell back onto the snow, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, catching melting snowflakes. Harry watched on with amusement, idly threading his gloved fingers through the billowy, crumbling snow beneath his body. Teddy yelled with joy somewhere off in the distance, muffled by the silencing blanket of frozen crystals.
“So, Malfoy, what ya been up to for these past few years?”
“I’m surprised you want to hear about it, Potter.”
“Come on, Malfoy, play along. It’s just some small-talk.”
“Fine. I’m actually working with a private researching company that studies the theories behind new spell-work, and I’m actually leading a team that is working on some new Transfiguration incantations. It’s fun,” Draco finished a little lamely, turning his head away from Harry to stare at the rest of the empty park. “…What have you been up to?” He eventually muttered to the quiet.
“Oh, I work as a Healer at St. Mungo’s. I specialize in paediatrics.”
“Truly? I was sure you would go down the Auror route.”
“Nah, I’ve had my fill of Dark wizards. And I thought you would’ve studied Potions.”
“Well, it was somehow tainted with all of the memories of Severus, so I just moved on to my next best subject, Charms.”
“Look, look, Draco! I’m making a snow-wizard!” Teddy yelled from a ways away, the beginning mounds of the torso of the ‘wizard’ being rolled.
“Good job, Teddy! Keep working on it!” Draco yelled back, sitting up and brushing snow off his sleeves and wringing the sodden end of his scarf between his fingers. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, cringing at the feeling of freezing dampness seeping through his trousers.
It was quiet for a while, with Teddy focusing furiously on his growing mass of lopsided snow. “…So, last I heard from Pansy, you had given her and Ginny your blessing. That true?” Draco didn’t meet Harry’s eyes, the question coming out cautious and quiet.
Harry blinked, watching Draco’s back. “Well, yeah. Figured it’d be a little hypocritical to be angry at my ex for being bent when I am as well.” Harry shrugged, blowing some hair out of his eyes, and fogging up his glasses slightly in the process.
Draco’s mouth dropped open a little, turning around to stare at Harry with dumbfounded intensity. “What, seriously? Harry Potter, the man the Prophet claims has slept with all the women in the Ministry, is into men?” Harry just nodded, chuckling a little at Draco’s continuing look of shock.
“I mean, yeah, but not just men. Women are fine, too. If someone is actually into ‘Harry’, not the fame and glory that comes with shagging ‘Harry Potter’, I couldn’t care less about what sex they are.” Draco still stared at Harry with a scalding fire in his grey eyes, but didn’t say anything. After a moment, the ex-Slytherin simply nodding, gracefully getting to his feet, grimacing as he brushed melting snow off the growing wet spot on his trousers.
“Well, I think we better go help Teddy with his snow-wizard. Looks like he’s having a bit of trouble,” Draco nodded to where Teddy was pouting at his tipping mound of ice and snow, his hair a dull, boulder-like colour. Harry chuckled sympathetically before standing as well, following Draco over to the young boy.
As the two men and the small child gradually fashioned a passing human-like model (maybe with a touch of magic here and there), Harry couldn’t help but study his interactions with Draco a little more closely, to see if there was any additional uneasiness or stiffness – a few of Harry’s co-workers had gotten strange when he’d told his team, as though he’d infect them somehow – but, if anything, Draco seemed to be a bit softer around the edges, a tad looser with the smiles and laughter.
Warmth licked at Harry’s insides, even as his extremities continued to freeze.
ooOoo
“H-Harry! I’m c-c-cold!” Teddy whined, forcing his teeth to chatter in a childish attempt for sympathy. It still worked.
“I know, big guy. What do you say to me and Draco taking you to go get some hot chocolate before you head back with Draco to his house?” Teddy nodded furiously as he grasped Harry’s hand with his mitten. The young orphan flailed the other one in Draco’s direction, clearly indicating he wanted to hold on to his hand too. Draco smiled at the blue-haired child, before sharing an entertained glance with Harry.
“I could do with some hot chocolate myself,” Draco said with a grin as the three began their trek to the park gates, leaving their four snow-wizards beaming behind them. The odd trio had just reached the quiet, dying bustle of the street when Draco turned to Harry, a questioning wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Do you know somewhere around here we could stop? I’m not really familiar with this neighbourhood.”
Harry nodded calmly. “Yeah, one of my colleague’s brothers owns a café a bit of ways down. Should take six or so minutes, tops, to get there if we walk steadily.” Draco nodded in complacency, the two men barely giving half a mind to the continuous awed chatter of Teddy as he commented on the life and lives around them.
The small party meandered through the weak, weaving crowd of pink-faced citizens, eventually reaching the small cranny on the street where the shop had squeezing itself in between an abrasive boutique and a snobbish bookstore. The three sighed in relief at the hug of warm air that greeted them as they stepped into the sweet-smelling café, Teddy squealing with glee as he ran up to the clear case where they displayed the pastries and other delights.
After ordering three hot chocolates (low fat for Draco) and a pastry for Teddy, they found a small booth in the corner of the richly, cosily decorated coffee shop to nestle into. Teddy nibbled happily at the sugary abomination of snowflake-shaped bread as Draco and Harry watched the passer-by in the cafe.
“So, Harry,” Draco said over the lid of his cup, “you seeing anyone now?”
Harry smiled, toying with a stray toothpick. “Nope, I’m single.”
“Whaddoes ‘single’ mean, ‘arry?” Teddy asked around a mouthful of icing. The two men shared an amused glance as Harry reached over and popped Teddy’s mouth shut.
“Chew with your mouth closed, bud. And being ‘single’ means that I don’t have a girlfriend or a boyfriend right now.”
“’’irlfriend or boyfriend’? What’s that?”
Draco smirked, cutting into the conversation. “Well, Teddy, why don’t you go home and ask your grandmother that? She can probably explain it much better than we can.” Teddy pouted, but quieted, continuing to mouth at his treat.
“What about you, Draco?” Harry rolled the name in his mouth, still not used to the strange feel of familiarity and nonchalance on his tongue.
Draco shrugged as he looked at Harry over the rim of his mug. “Not exactly. Nothing serious, anyways.”
“Really? Didn’t I read something in the Prophet about you getting engaged to the Greengrass girl?”
“You read articles about me, Potter?” Harry felt heat rush into his face. “But, no. Astoria and I are acquaintances at best. That whole engagement was just a ploy by my parents to get me to produce an heir.” Draco’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “Astoria’s lacking some important bits, anyways.”
“Huh?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m gay, Potter, I was just trying to be subtle about it. Merlin, how dense can you get?” Harry choked on his sip of coffee, attractively dribbling brown liquid down his chin, much to his own chagrin and Draco and Teddy’s amusement.
“Your elegance continues to amaze me, Harry.” Draco leaned over, ruffling Teddy’s purple-tipped locks. “I think it’s time to head back to my flat, you little Kneazle.”
“’m ‘ot a ‘at!” Teddy proclaimed around his last bite of cookie, outraged at Draco insinuation that he was a feline. Draco laughed, a rich, lilting laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck shiver. Harry just stared at this stranger, a man who was so different from the boy he’d been four years ago. This man was mysterious but…open in a way that intoxicated Harry, that drew him in like a moth to a pale flame.
Harry shuffled out of the booth, helping Teddy to his feet. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to get goin’, then.” Harry ignored the small spark of disappointment that arose in his chest at the idea that he and Malfoy might not run into each other for another four years or more. Teddy looked up at his godfather, tears in his eyes.
“No!” He wailed as he grabbed onto Harry’s jeans. Teddy turned the eyes on Draco, who still sat at the table, watching the pair with an unreadable expression. “’raco! Make Harry stay!”
“Teddy, come on. I need to go home and you need to go with Draco; I’ll see you really soon, okay?” Harry tried to remove Teddy’s firm grasp on his leg, feeling embarrassed at the tantrum Teddy was throwing over him right in front of Draco.
“Nonononononono!” Fat, shiny tears rolled down Teddy’s red cheeks, while other patrons in the café began to turn peeved expressions on the small group, annoyed by the child’s shrieks. Harry sighed, scooping up Teddy in his arms and gesturing for Draco to follow him out of the building.
The winter air grated against Harry’s face, the temperature continuing to drop as the sun dipped below the skyline. Teddy whimpered against Harry’s neck, his hot tears dampening the collar of the black jacket and the skin underneath. Harry reached up, rubbing Teddy’s back as he walked to a nearby bus stop, plopping down on a bench. Draco softly sat down next to him.
“You alright, bud?” Harry whispered against Teddy’s flaxen hair. Teddy nodded, drifting off against the warmth of his godfather’s chest, his energy drained from the exercise and excitement of the day, along with his exhausting fit. “Well, I say he’s done for the day,” Harry turned to Draco, an apologetic smile on his lips. “Do you wanna –?” Harry moved his arms minutely, as if to pass the sleeping Teddy to Draco, but he shook his head.
“No, Potter, you hold on to him. I don’t want to risk him awakening; I know how cranky he gets when he doesn’t sleep properly.” Harry nodded, a little puzzled, but remained quiet. Draco leaned back against the decrepit bench, puffing out a burst of visible air. Cars rattled by on the street, and coarse laughter could be heard from behind them.
Draco stood, stowing his hands in his pockets as he looked down at Harry with cloudy eyes. “Come on, Potter. Let’s get going.” The man turned and began walking down the street with Harry stumbling along behind him, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler in his arms.
“Wait, what are we doing?”
“We’re going back to my flat, of course.” Harry gaped at Draco’s back.
ooOoo
Draco’s home was it a tall, clean structure with charming, arching windows studded across its white brick surface. Fuzzy, golden light spilled out of many of the windows, dim shadows indicating various lives in action inside.
Harry noted how startlingly Muggle-like it felt to take the lift up to Draco’s floor, the normality of it all a little bemusing. “You know, I expected you to live somewhere a bit more...”
“Extravagant? Excessive? Populated-by-peacocks?”
“Magical, actually.”
Draco’s smirk turned self-deprecating as they walked down the silent hallway, carpet dulling their footsteps. “Oh, well, after the Ministry confiscated all the Malfoy money, not to mention the Manor, I had to go enter the Muggle world to find a place to live; it wasn’t surprising that no one in the British magical community wanted to rent a place to an ex-Death Eater.” Draco shrugged as he stopped in front of a white door, a large ‘5A’ embossed above the handle. “The Muggles leave me be when I need them to, and they tend to stay to themselves. It’s simpler here.”
Draco unlocked his door with a quick, wandless alohomora, stepping aside to let Harry and Teddy pass into Draco’s cream-and-navy coloured living room. Harry slowly lowered Teddy to the plush cushions of the couch, smiling when Teddy grabbed a nearby pillow and hugged it to his chest.
Harry turned around, finding Draco leaning in the archway, those grey irises fixed firmly on Harry’s green ones. Harry suddenly felt very aware of the fact that Draco had taken off his coat – that slim, nimble frame was covered only in a tight, grey jumper with rolled-up sleeves and a pair of modest black slacks: even Draco’s feet were bare, the little pink digits curled against the cherry-coloured wooden floors. “Thank you for all the help, Potter,” Draco said softly. Harry squirmed slightly under Draco’s stare, reaching up to run a hand through his wind-swept hair.
“Um, no problem, Malfoy. So, I guess I’ll be heading off now…?” Draco made no movement from the archway, blocking Harry’s path.
“I don’t think so, Potter.” Draco took a forceful step forward, an animalistic smile on his lips. Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.
“M-Malfoy?”
“Come on, Potter,” Draco purred as stepped into Harry’s space, reaching up to fiddle with the zipper at the top of Harry’s jumper. “Don’t tell me you are simply going to walk out that door...” Harry’s heart stopped as Draco leaned up, his hot breath ghosting against Harry’s lips, “…without even a proper goodbye?”
Draco was close enough that Harry could count the dark eyelashes against that pale skin, could see the slightest pink blush on Draco’s cheeks, could feel Draco’s fingers tightening around his collar. “Potter,” Draco breathed.
Harry could actually feel it when his self-control snapped.
“Dammit, Draco,” Harry growled as he closed the few millimetres between the two men’s mouths, forcefully pressing Draco back against the wall. Draco huffed a laugh against Harry’s lips, the kiss sloppy from their smiles. Draco’s fingers tangled in Harry’s messy locks, the dark-haired man’s hands reaching down to grasp onto the blond’s sharp hips.
“I was wondering if ‘the Chosen Gryffindor’ would muster up the courage to actually snog me, since you’ve clearly been dying to all day,” Draco laughed as Harry mouthed at the soft skin below his jaw.
“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry muttered against Draco’s collarbone, feeling the vibrations in Draco’s throat when he chuckled. Draco touched Harry’s cheeks, drawing the man’s lips back to his own for a rough kiss.
Harry was starting to feel that raw, twitchy energy in the pit of his stomach, his hands cupping Draco’s arse through his trousers, when he felt something pulling at the back of his jeans. “Wha –?”
“’arry?” Teddy yawned before sticking his thumb in his mouth, his eyes cloudy with sleep.
Harry blinked at the little boy. Teddy blinked back.
Harry glanced at the man he had pressed up against the wall, noting the gradual colouration of Draco’s cheeks. Harry suddenly starting laughing, the absurdity of the situation hitting him all at once: he had been caught by his four-year-old godson snogging Draco bloody Malfoy, who he’d only reacquainted with a few hours ago.
Harry pulled away from a bemused-looking Draco, turning and bending down to ruffle Teddy’s hair. “You ready for bed, bud?” The metamorphmagus nodded, popping his thumb out of his mouth to reach out his arms in the universal gesture of needing to be picked up.
“Alright, let’s get you changed,” Harry said as he cradled the little boy, turning to look at Draco. “Um, where does Teddy sleep?”
Draco cleared his throat, straightening his shirt. “Just down this hallway,” he gestured to the adjacent corridor, leading the way to Teddy’s room. The bedroom was cosy if small, the soft green walls casting a calming mood on its inhabitants. Teddy whined as Harry gently laid him down on his bed, an adjusted Shield Charm popping up to keep the small boy from falling off either side. Harry kissed Teddy’s forehead before shuffling back, standing awkwardly at the door as Draco nuzzled his cousin for a moment before pulling the blanket up to Teddy’s chin. “G’night, my little Kneazle,” Draco whispered as he turned off the lights with a quick flick of his wrist.
Harry backed out of the room, Draco following close behind after lightly closing the door behind him. “So…” Harry muttered with a sheepish smile, toying with the hair on the back of his neck.
Draco sighed, rolling his eyes as he reached out to pull Harry’s hand away and into his own palm. Harry unconsciously noted how warm it was. “Potter, don’t go all bashful-Hufflepuff on me now, alright? We snogged,” Draco stated very slowly, treating Harry as though he was hard-of-hearing. “And tomorrow you are going to owl me and take me to the most expensive, non-magical restaurant you know. We’ll talk and flirt and insult each other, and then you’ll be the perfect little Gryffindor you are and give me a very gentlemanly kiss goodnight in front of my building.” Harry huffed in amusement, squeezing Draco’s fingers.
Draco began walking towards the front door of his flat, pulling Harry along with him. They were silhouetted in the entranceway, still clasping each other’s hand, when Draco leaned into Harry’s space. “But, of course, I’ll be the perfect little Slytherin I am and make it impossible for you to leave without shagging me senseless.” Harry swallowed loudly as Draco smirked.
“But, unfortunately,” Draco whispered as he leaned in further, his lips almost brushing Harry’s, “that’s all for tomorrow.”
And before Harry could really understand what had happened, he was standing outside of Draco’s flat, staring at the plain white door, his ears just barely hearing muffled laughter inside the apartment.
“Tomorrow, then,” Harry grinned, wondering just how long he’d have to wait to send that owl.
ooOoo
Fin
ooOoo
|
You didn’t know how this happened.
The two months in Japan had flown by. As you stared up at the ceiling of your room, you realized that you had to head home soon. Your stomach churned, and you rolled to your side, trying to not let your tears fall from your face. A sob choked out anyways, but you were sure to not let any tears follow, because if they began, you didn’t think they’d stop.
What about Karamatsu?
When you told him that you were leaving today, He didn’t do anything but look at you sadly, even when you had grasped his hand, even when you gave him a gentle squeeze. He only responded when you hugged him tightly by wrapping his arms around you and sighing, and although he said that he was fine, you felt his tears on your shoulder.
He tried to stay strong for you.
When had you two grown so close? Sure, you hadn’t met his family, but it felt almost wrong after these two months to not have him by your side. You held hands without it being awkward now, hugs were becoming more and more common, it was… strange. You acted like you were a couple, but you weren’t.
…
Were you?
Sighing deeply, you reached out and grabbed the tank top with his dumb, attractive face that he had given you a few weeks prior. By now, it was your most prized possession; you wouldn’t ever get rid of this. You decided that on your plane ride there, you’d wear the shirt, just to keep your memories fresh of him.
Why wasn’t he here now, holding you? Did it hurt too much?
He hadn’t even gotten the chance to teach you Japanese. Now what were you going to tell your parents? You had fled to a foreign country with little to no gain other than pleasure? They’d think you were pathetic, a child. Maybe if Karamatsu was there, holding your hand as he had done many times now, squeezing it and sending shockwaves of comfort, their disapproval of you might hurt just a little less.
And suddenly, an idea was born.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Where the hell was that guy?
Why wasn’t he hanging around at that fishing spot he constantly talked about? Why wasn’t he in the city, sitting against a wall and waiting for people to flirt with him? Why wasn’t he hanging around that bridge, sitting there in his leather jacket, sweating uncomfortably just because he wants people to notice him? Where was Karamatsu?
As you were about to toss yourself into the river to cool down your hot-headed self, your phone began to buzz wildly. You threw your arm into your pocket and pulled it out, answering quickly. Was fate helping you? It had to be! Because only one person would be calling you, and that’s-
“Karamatsu! Is that you?”
“[Name]? Listen, I-”
“Are you home?”
“Y-yes…? [Name], what’s-”
“Give me your address.”
“What?”
“I’ll write it down. What is it?”
Despite the obvious confusion, he gave you his home address. You saved the note on your phone with a grin.
“Alright, I’m on my way.”
“[Name], what are you-”
“Bye!”
You barely had time to put your phone in your back pocket before your legs carried you as fast as you could. It wasn’t too far. Your lungs burned, and you were panting. Tears sprung into your eyes from the wind hitting them, but you were smiling and laughing. Your legs grew tired, but your running didn’t cease. You couldn’t stop running. You didn’t want to stop running. You’d see him soon.
You had to see him.
You practically tackled the front door when you got there, begging for someone to open it. A hesitant hand opened the door, fearfully confused eyes along with it. You reached out and grabbed him by the collar, forcing a hug onto him and holding him tightly. His arms hesitantly wrapped around you, shaking with both confusion and fear of the unforeseen closeness that you two were suddenly sharing.
“I don’t have to leave you, Karamasu! I’m - I’m taking you with me!”
He pulled away, his face riddled with perplexion. His hands still stayed on your arms, though, as if you were a dream that he didn’t want to wake up from, like you’d disappear any second that he wasn’t touching you. “What do you mean?” He slid his arms up onto your shoulders and you pulled out a paper from your back pocket.
“I’m bringing you home with me! Come on, come with me!”
“Is that a plane ticket?! [N-name], this is so sudden! I don’t have anything ready! I can’t just leave-”
You grabbed him by his face (which was surprisingly soft and squishy, fitting for an all around squishy person, it seems) and pulled it towards yours. He became slightly rigid, as this closeness had a different feeling to it than every other time you had done it. The intimate softness was unexpected, even for you, and your faces were painted a soft red. His arms looked like they wanted to wrap around you, but they couldn’t, so they just floated by your side. “Yes, you can. I’m going to help you. It’ll only be for a few weeks, then I can fly you back out. I-” Continuing to gently hold his face in your hands, you placed your head gently on his chest, trying not to choke on your own words. “I just-” His heartbeat sounded in his chest, and it helped calm you down a little.
“I just can’t say goodbye yet.”
It took a moment of silence, but soon he started laughing - at first, it was soft, but grew into a loud chuckle. You laughed along with him, but you weren’t really sure why. A wetness hit your hand, along with the touch of his own hand. You pulled yourself away from his body and looked up at him. He was crying and laughing, but when he took his other hand and wiped your cheek, you realized you were crying, too.
“Wh-why are we laughing, [Name]?”
“I don’t know! This is so weird!”
“You did this! You made me weird!”
“What are you talking about, Kara?”
“You made me confusing like you!”
You laughed louder this time, and neither of your tears seemed to be stopping any time soon. “I’m not confusing, I’m just different than anyone else you’ve met before!”
“Well,” He moved away from you wiping the “extra” tears from his eyes (even though a light stream was still running down his face.) He looked at you with a soft yet intense glare, like the one he had shown you when he promised to bring you back the homemade meal from a few weeks ago. This one made you feel at home. “You being confusing is… interesting.”
You two stood by each other, having let go of each other as well as everything that just happened.
“Well, Kara,” you held out a hand like you were waiting for him to shake it. “What do you say? Wanna come home with me?”
He gladly took your hand, thrusting it up and down excitedly. “Yes! Let me go tell my family.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your feet touched familiar soil. His touched new land.
You were home.
His brothers didn’t seem to care much that he was going to be gone; you were pretty sure they didn’t notice the two of you at all, even though you had been loudly laughing and running around for 20 minutes, constantly asking for help to pack. When Karamatsu told them goodbye, they waved him off with a “Yeah, yeah, see you later.” It wasn’t until you were out of the house that you heard all of them yell at once: probably something about you, since you heard your name. Karamatsu just grabbed your wrist and ran before they could interrogate the two of you.
The two of you had been hand in hand since you got to the airport, in all honesty. You didn’t let go when you boarded the plane. You didn’t let go when you took your seats next to each other. You didn’t let go when he noticed that both of you were wearing the same shirt, the one with his face, and laughed. You didn’t let go when you laid your head on his shoulder and fell asleep. You didn’t let go when you woke up and found his head placed gently on yours, sleeping with you. You didn’t let go when you shook him awake and told him that the plane was landing soon. You didn’t let go when you hopped into the taxi with your luggage and took the ride to your house. You didn’t let go when you knocked on the door. You didn’t want to let go ever again.
It opened up, and suddenly you were filled with dread. Now, you wanted to let go, to run away, to never come back. But now it was inevitable. You tried to let go of Karamatsu’s hand, but he knew what you were trying to do, so he kept a solid grip on you.
“H-hi, mom.” You trembled, and his grip tightened, now to the point that his hands were white. Was he just as nervous as you were?
“Ah, so you couldn’t even handle living on your own for two whole months, huh? Shame.”
Not even a greeting. Not even a hello. Not even a “where were you?” Not anything except for judgement.
“I thought you could actually do something with your life, y’know?”
Regret and terror shone in your eyes. You didn’t want to be here. This was too much. You felt like you were going to vomit.
“Oh, who’s this your boyfriend?”
You were about to shake your head when she clicked her tongue.
“Such a shame. You can do better than that, [Name].” |
"What did you do to pass the time?"
Bilbo blinked up at the dwarf king, his body covered in sweat and still tingling in post coital pleasure.
"Pardon?"
King Thorin lay at his side, propped up on one elbow looking down, his hair wild and braids frayed. Bilbo had taken a liking to burying his hands into the thick dark locks during their intimacies, quietly reveling in how his kingly spouse always seemed to come out so unraveled.
"You had no occupation, no job to work towards," Thorin continued, "no familial obligations after the death of your parents. So I wonder about what you did with your time."
"My relatives were occupation enough," he grumbled. "Never had a day go by without one of them knocking at my door asking for something or other, sticking their noses where it did not belong." He rolled his eyes at the disbelieving look. "You never met Lobeila Sackville-Baggins. She could argue all your advisors and nobles till they were blue in the faces and still come out with the last word."
Thorin snorted, raising one hand and trailing the back of his knuckles over the softness of Bilbo's belly. "Sounds more like a dwarf maiden than hobbit lass."
Bilbo grunted in agreement, shutting his eyes and letting himself sink into a semi doze with Thorin stroking him.
They rarely spoke after sex. This was different, talking after, when pleasure still over-riding common sense and memory of hurt. Bilbo could look the strong prominence of the dwarf king's forehead, shiny with perspiration, the fine hairs at his temples black and moist. He could admire the sharp length of his nose, and the deep blue of his eyes, brooding, burning and passionate, so filled with hidden words and shrouded with heavy secrets.
King Thorin was handsome, Bilbo allowed himself to think.
"I used to garden, you know," he said quietly. "The best kept garden in Hobbiton. Had to bring in Hamfast Gamgee to help maintain when it was getting too big for me to handle on my own." He used to wear the straw hat his mother had weaved for his father to keep the sun rays from toasting his head. Young Hamfast had made numerous comments on the hat until Bilbo had contracted one of similar design for him.
Hamfast Gamgee was a simple as a hobbit could be, but he was honest and hardworking, and paid little heed to the nary say of wagging tongues.
"What else?" came another quiet question.
Bilbo shifted, pushing down onto Thorin's shoulders so that the dwarf lay on his back with Bilbo now hovering over him. He liked this position the best, looking down felt better on his neck that constantly craning up.
"What are you after?" Bilbo asked.
Dark brows came together in a fierce scowl. "I cannot ask my spouse about his likes and dislikes?"
"Did it matter before?" Bilbo ran his fingers through coarse chest hair, letting his lids droop over his eyes and tilted his head slightly as he observed his lord husband. When he was answered with silence he asked, "Does it matter now?"
Thorin replied, "You have been with me nearly two months' time. I'm..." there was great hesitance in his voice when he continued. "It is easier to be beside you, to talk, to touch. I know Dori takes you to Dale often, yet you bring nothing back from your expeditions. During our breakfasts together you sit in silence and allow me to speak, yet reveal nothing of yourself."
Bilbo's hands stilled, chilled. "What more do you wish to take from me, my lord?" The immediate stiffness of the muscles and joints beneath his palms was satisfying. The barely concealed hurt in those eyes, though, was unexpected. Feeling suffocated, Bilbo pushed away and turned his back to the king. "You are becoming deluded by sentiment," he said, sharply pulling the quilts over his shoulders. "I have followed every obligation drafted by our contract. Do not expect anything more of me."
"So I cannot ask about you?" King Thorin's voice was as stiff where lay, unmoving in the face of Bilbo's ire.
"I reserve the right to answer if I wish to or not. Send your spies out to seek what they will about it. Your answers need not come from me."
The silence was cold and biting. Bilbo turned into his face into the pillow and bore it.
"I have been ordered to show you something, Master Bilbo."
Dori was in black and silver today, his braids seemed to be braided extra tightly, and his cheeks slightly flushed. He had been drinking before coming to meet up with him, Bilbo observed with sick pride. He was driving a dwarf to drink.
Bilbo had been planning to stay in today. Seeing dwarves day in and day out was grating, and having to talk up to the humans in Dale City, bearing with their blatant staring and loud whispers (as if he didn't get enough in Erebor) was beginning to fray his nerves. He enjoyed Dale very much, loud and boisterous with so many sights to see, but his eyes always darted to eye-level hoping to find the slight frame of a fellow hobbit.
As if a hobbit would be found do far East.
And the humans called him 'Halfling', more so than the dwarves. Half of what? Bilbo could not guess. Why he was a half of something, yet a dwarf was just a dwarf and a human just a human, and an elf simply an elf...why did these races seem to view him as deficient in something? He was merely a hobbit. How difficult was that?
Bilbo glared at his caretaker. "Why ordered? Where to?" he demanded. "I wish to stay in today."
Dori's nostrils flared - an indication of shortened nerves. "Once I've shown you, you may do as you like, whether it be here or there or anywhere you wish in Erebor. I promise it is not far." He paused. "We are actually not leaving the Royal Wing."
Making sure it was obvious how put upon he was, Bilbo allowed Dori to lead him out of his chamber and into the corridors. They merely walked a couple of feet to a locked door encrusted in gold.
Bilbo blinked as Dori produced a golden key and set to unlocking the door. "Is this not Lady Dis' rooms?" he asked.
"King Thrain's daughter, sister to King Thorin, mother to the princes Fili and Kili." Dori recited, pushing the door open and waving Bilbo forward.
Itching with a long forgotten curiosity, Bilbo stepped forward. It was dark, no candles or lanterns lit the walls. Furniture was covered with sheets and there was the smell of layered dust unclean. Like his rooms with the king, there was a double door to a balcony shrouded with curtains that allowed murky sunlight into the forgotten rooms of a princess.
"It has been about five years since Princess Dis stayed visited," explained Dori. "At first Lord Thorin had the rooms cleaned every week, but after the second year with no inclination of her return he dismissed the servants."
"She prefers the Iron Hills," Bilbo remembered being told. The princess did not even show for her brother's marriage. He could remember standing in Bag End at the passing of his mother, seeing her shadow in every corner as the dust built up to echo her absence. Standing in Lady Dis' room, Bilbo had something within him to clench in grief.
He startled from his thoughts when Dori went to the balcony doors, and with a slight shift of rusty metal pushed them open, blinding the room with warm sunlight. "Come, Master Bilbo. See for yourself."
Turning towards the light, Bilbo walked through the doors.
And gasped.
It was a garden, or what had once been garden but now cluttered with tangles of shrubs and weeds. There were little trees, leafless and skeletal but his trained eyes knew immediately that they had some life. The floor had designed slabs of stone to make a pathway through, but was barely noticeable with how much shrubby had invaded the space.
A garden, lonely and forgotten, but reaching out for life despite being surrounded and bound by neglect.
Bilbo walked through the mess of greenery, feeling the prickles of grass and stone beneath his feet. A thin branch of what he suspected was a pear tree brushed his shoulder, and when he dug his nail into it he felt moisture push into his nail-bed. Alive.
Speechless, Bilbo turned wide eyes to Dori.
So bewildered he could not muster any anger at the smug smile on the dwarf's face. "My lord said you might enjoy this. Gave me the key this morning and ordered me to show you this place. Said that if you wish to work on it that I am to hand over the key to you and leave you to your project."
Bilbo did not hesitate to snatch the key from the dwarf's hand when he offered it, pocketing it in his jacket and trying to will the blush from his cheeks. "Leave. Go, unless you wish to get on your hands and knees and start digging out weeds."
The dwarf had the audacity to laugh, but Bilbo was already crouching down next to a bushel of shrubs, gently pushing them away and searching for what lay beneath.
"Thorin will be pleased."
Bilbo swallowed his breath when he found a baby bud surrounded by thorns.
He did not look up when Dori left him.
"I am told you took to my sister's garden quite well," was the first thing King Thorin said when he returned to their rooms that evening.
Bilbo had been weeding the whole day, only leaving when the sun had set and his visibility was becoming limited. He had torn both knees of his trousers and shirt, his hands cut from thorns and sharp brambles. They stung, yet Bilbo relished in the hurt of his hard work.
More than walking through the streets of Dale City or through the cavernous halls of Erebor, out there in that garden Bilbo had felt the first inklings of content.
Only by the graces of his lord husband.
"You could have told me about it last night," Bilbo said. He was in his dressing gown, freshly washed and wishing to go to bed early so that he could go to the garden right after breakfast. "The few moments that Dori was present ruined the atmosphere completely. I could have sworn I saw him hovering at the doors as if he expected me to get eaten by the green."
This made Thorin chuckle. "You are unfair to Dori."
True. "He is impertinent," he said instead.
"That's what he says of you."
"I'm allowed my impertinence," argued Bilbo. "We have an understanding to dislike each other. It would take the gates of Mordor's opening to have us get along."
Thorin changed into his bedclothes and joined Bilbo in the bed. "You enjoy riling him," he admonished gently.
Bilbo refused to feel guilty. "His put upon face is one of my main sources of amusement. Just as I am sure he enjoys being able to shackle my movements at your orders."
Thorin rolled closer so that Bilbo could feel his heat at his side. "Your anger is misdirected."
He turned his head to look at the Thorin. The king's face was relaxed, eyes deep and searching. There was desire, always desire, but it was calm this night. Bilbo asked again, "Why did you not tell me about the garden last night?"
Thorin blinked, "We argued. You were angry. I was unsure you would accept such an offer directly from me."
"I am always angry," Bilbo said, giving the king a scathing look. "Always."
Thorin dropped his eyes in acknowledgment, accepting it with no fault. He licked his lips, hesitant like last night. "Will your anger accept a gift from me?" he asked quietly.
"The garden belongs to your sister!" Bilbo protested, suddenly riled. "It isn't yours to give away!"
"She will not return!" Thorin's voice rose, startling Bilbo, even though his gaze remained down. "I have begged her for years to come back to Erebor, to visit her sons, to at least acknowledge our father, but she will not come. So the garden she once cared for is neglected, her rooms remain empty. And you..." He shook his head, dark hair shifting on his shoulders and then raised his eyes to meet Bilbo's. "It is only a small garden. Such a simple kindess."
"It is not mine."
"Then make it yours."
"I have my own!" Bilbo shouted his voice cracking and arresting King Thorin's eyes with his own. "It is back at Bag End, my home! You wish to be kind, then let me go back to where I belong. I-" He stopped himself, feeling his eyes well and willing them dry with cold iron. Taking a shuddering breath, he said with more calm, "But that is the one thing you will never grant. I know. I have accepted that this shall be my lot."
He startled when he felt a cold hand encase one of his own. Both of them were cold, frigid ice rubbing against each other. Looking at his spouse he saw a pale face, incomprehensibly tormented mirroring his own despair.
"Then try to accept the kindness that I am allowed to give you. You do not need to be so unhappy." King Thorin entreated.
"I am unhappy," Bilbo explained.
Yet he squeezed Thorin's hand in his.
"It's coming along quite nicely!"
Bilbo rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder at Ori. The young scribe stood with a book open, a quill at hand and scribbling into it. His fingers were ink stained, even so early in the morning, his eyes bright and a shy smile on his face as he looked about him.
"I remember Princess Dis used to spend so many hours here," he said with fondness. "She used to allow me some jammed cakes as she dictated the horticulture to me to be documented. A lot of the plants were gifts, you see. From the humans and the elves."
Bilbo stood up from where he was tending what was once a rose bush. He took off gardening gloves he had found in a small chest beside the balcony doors (a bit embarrassed that Princess Dis obviously had much larger hands than he) and looked at his young guest. "There are a lot of plants that I do not recognize," he admitted.
Ori nodded knowingly. "The land is different here, the air dryer than in the Shire. I am excited to see what you make of what is here, what more you will add to the garden."
"First I have to figure out what I am looking at. I hesitate in pulling too much out, because what might look like a weed could be something else completely."
The smile was bright and brilliant from the young dwarf's lips. "I can translate what I had written for you," he offered excitedly. "There are even drawings of each plant species. Princess Dis drew them herself."
"It's a shame she left it for so long." Bilbo lamented, stroking and errant leaf from a high bush that had the promise of budding flowers.
"She never recovered," Ori said sadly, smile gone and shoulders dropping. "In the battle to reclaim Moria, Princess Dis lost her grandfather, brother and husband. She could not stand the shades of those she loved, the departed and living alike."
"Even the living?" Bilbo prodded.
Ori nodded. "King Thrain and King Thorin returned in conflict. King Thrain's mind was shattered and King Thorin named Fili and Kili his heirs. They were now under the kings' tutelage, and the princess had little to say in their rearing after that."
How did King Thrain feel, knowing his daughter could not stand to be around him?How did Thorin feel, knowing his sister would not support him?How did Fili and Kili feel, abandoned by their mother as they took up the burdens of rule?
Bilbo pondered this, wondering if he would ever understand the complexity of this mad race.
"I hope one day you meet her, Master Bilbo," Ori said. "I'm sure you two would get along. You at least have something in common."
Bilbo snorted at this, shaking his head. "I'm not sure how much we would get along if I kill all her plants with my ignorance." He then allowed a small smile at the young dwarf, who seemed to preen at the attention. "Go get me those drawings so that at least I can start making sense of this mess. It will make due until you translate everything, yes?"
He almost laughed with how quickly Ori scrambled out.
That night Bilbo helped Thorin out of his heavy clothes, peeling the king layer by layer until he stood bare before him. He then undressed himself slowly, never breaking eye contact from heat of his spouse's eyes. He led him to bed, pushing him down onto his back and climbing on top, rubbing and stroking. He shivered as strong hands ran over his heated skin, down his back, over his hips and gripping at the globes of his buttocks.
He did not protest the intruding slicked fingers that breached him, grinding down deeper into the burn.
"Alright," he whispered, leaning down until he could feel Thorin's gasping breaths on his lips, tangling his hands into the long hairs at his temple.
At his capitulation he allowed himself to be flipped on his back, a dwarf king between his splayed legs, hard and shaking with ill-contained want.
Yet there was still hesitancy holding Thorin in place over him. Disbelief and question that made Bilbo swallow thickly.
Firmly, he pulled Thorin's head down to his, pressing them together, eyes held in understanding. Captor to captive. King to consort. Bound in shackles together like a noose around the neck of the condemned.
"Alright." |
LA braced itself when Logan Echolls graduated from his no-name small-town college and bought a house in the Hollywood Hills. Finally, some fresh blood for the gossip pages, the nightclubs, the inevitable cokefests and drama that always happened when spoiled kids with too much money and no parents to speak of decided to spend their time with each other instead of real people. Everyone remembered Aaron's trial, his acquittal, his murder, and the evidence afterward that proved he had done it after all.
And Logan himself, what a gold mine-- the battered child of a movie star, the organizer of bumfights, the rich boy twice orphaned. He had even gone through his own murder trial, so it seemed a safe bet he would turn out to be his father's son in all the ways that mattered.
The paparazzi were naturally disappointed when, after camping outside of all the hottest nightclubs for a month, there had still been no sightings of Logan Echolls at all. He wasn't making out with second rate models at The Viper Room, he wasn't getting into fights with sitcom actors at Shag.
Some girl on Gawker claimed to have seen him at a Target on Whittier, but that didn't make much sense, seeing as how the combination of his various inheritances and one seriously lucrative defamation suit meant that he had more money than movie stars twice his age. Not to mention, of course, that his father's residual checks were now deposited directly into Logan's own bank account. All in all, he should have been dying to burn through some serious cash, so it didn't really make much sense that he was nowhere to be seen.
**
"Seriously, you know that we can order this stuff online, right? Target has a website. I checked."
Veronica rolled her eyes. "Logan, then we'd have to pay shipping. Plus, we wouldn't be having this much fun looking at all the choices!"
He eyed her skeptically. "We're looking at laundry detergent."
Veronica sighed ecstatically and fluttered her eyelashes. "I know. It's like Christmas!"
"Also, another thing to recommend shopping online? You can do it naked. That's right. Naked." He picked up a Downy ball and inspected it carefully. "I offered to hire a housekeeper, but no, you apparently like doing your own laundry, even though I've told you time and again that we can just buy you new clothes after the old ones start to smell--"
Veronica smacked him on the shoulder with a box of generic brand dryer sheets. "You don't understand the magic of having a washer and dryer in our house, Logan. I don't have to walk outside or ride an elevator or anything. Besides, I know our track record. We'd hire a housekeeper and she'd end up being a Scandinavian assassin and drug mule, or something. You might be into that, but I just want to wash my own underpants."
"Which doesn't really address my all-too salient point, vis-a-vis nudity--"
"Please, if I tried to shop naked, you'd let me buy one box of Kleenex and then haul me off to bed before I had a chance to put in my credit card. Also, p.s., we're in Target. Leave your fancy English major speak at home, okay?"
"I'll have you know that my senior thesis about Tess of the D'urbervilles was not only awarded a grade of A, I was also honored to receive--"
"--a mark of distinction on the Senior Thesis project, I know, everyone knows. You're very smart when you aren't committing crimes. Maybe then, too."
Logan threw some sort of scrubby brush into their cart. "Especially then. But my old lady made me kick the habit."
Veronica squinted at the brush. "Is that-- for grout? Logan, do you even know what grout is?"
He gestured expansively. "We are buying things for the house, and I am helping. Look at that brush! Definitely for the house. And if it becomes old and worn out? Probably available online."
"God, Logan! It isn't my fault that you're agoraphobic, so suck it up! Come on, I want a new spatula."
As she steered their cart around a display of vacuum cleaners, he noticed a girl staring at him from the shelving aisle. He waved merrily.
**
There was a brief frenzy when Logan was spied around lunchtime at The Ivy with Conner Larkin. Maybe this was his entré into the world of celebrity social life!
Sources inside the restaurant, however, were unable to offer any remotely interesting details about the meal. Logan and Conner were sitting with a blonde girl and a handsome hispanic man who no one recognized. They left a generous tip, and exited quietly out the back.
**
As soon as their waitress left, Veronica glared at Conner. "This is your idea of a discreet location?"
He sighed. "Look, here, at least there are other people for the paparazzi to care about. If we had gone to Ruby Tuesday's in Anaheim, it would have looked a lot more suspicious. Trust me."
"Well, since I'm such a trusting person--"
Both Weevil and Logan snorted, and Veronica stabbed Logan with her fork. "No editorial comments, please!"
"Hey! Why doesn't Weevil get stabbed?"
"It isn't his job to defend my honor, jackass."
Logan hid behind his menu with a pout. "Not fair."
Veronica handed Conner a flowered gift bag tied with curly, silver ribbon. "There you go. The guy trying to out you? Turns out he has an ex-wife back in Illinois, and after a chat about his chronic tardiness in paying child support and my willingness to turn his dossier of stripper girlfriends over to the press if he tries anything, he's going to pursue more gainful means of employment to support his son."
"I'm so in love with you right now," he said fervently, ignoring both Weevil and Logan's indignant cries of 'hey!'.
"Normally you'd get a manila folder, like everyone else," she explained. "But since we had to meet in the most public location in all of LA..."
Conner patted his present lovingly. "I'll treasure it always."
"How did he find out about you guys, anyway? You're usually so discreet."
Conner flushed, and even Weevil momentarily lost some of his customary aplomb. Conner fiddled with his napkin. "Oh, well, it was just this one time--"
"--because Conner found out I'd be working for the studio--"
"--celebratory dinner--"
"--men's bathroom, so."
Veronica turned to look at Logan. "Why don't we ever have crazy public sex in men's bathrooms? God, the things I've given up for you."
"Don't give me that! Boy in the girl's bathroom! That's our thing! You can't go changing things up at this stage of the game, you know. Next thing you'll be wanting to sleep on my side of the bed, use my toothbrush--"
"Logan, you know perfectly well that the girl's bathroom is for making out. If Conner says that the men's room is for sex, then I really think we ought to listen to him. Do you want to be embarrassed by our country mouse ways?"
Logan pointedly ignored her. "So, Eli, are you doing stunt driving these days, or helping to soup up special effects cars?"
Weevil raised an eyebrow but seemed game enough. "Mostly in the studio garage, yeah, although I've done some driving. Conner doesn't like me doing stunts, though."
"Well, I don't do any of my own stunts, and you shouldn't have to do anyone else's either! Of all the ways in the world to die, is pretending to be Vin Diesel really the way you want to go?"
Weevil smirked. "What can I say? They like the way I ride a bike."
Conner blinked, and Veronica leaned in to whisper loudly in Logan's ear. "That's called innuendo."
He nodded. "I see, yes. Should we leave them alone? Meet me in the men's room."
She stabbed him again, but only with a butter knife. He smiled winningly.
**
Vanity Fair contacted Logan's publicist in the hopes of setting up an interview (maybe even the cover!) about his life in the public eye, the pain of losing both parents with the world watching.
They were informed that Mr. Echolls did not give interviews.
"Well, then why does he have a publicist?" a VF staffer asked crossly, and Jackie laughed.
"Mostly to avoid calls like this one, actually."
**
Veronica had thought she'd have to find a new career, initially, because Logan was so well known that she was bound to lose some of her valuable anonymity.
But it turned out that being the person who stands next to a famous person makes you almost more invisible, but in a familiar way that gets people talking without them really knowing why. And it wasn't like LA had less corruption than Neptune, so it all turned out rather well.
They were on the dance floor, and Veronica adjusted her earpiece while pretending to fix her earring. "Okay, he's down in the wine cellar. Shouldn't be too long before he takes the bait."
Logan smoothed a hand down her bare back. "This is a pretty dress. You know, once in a while, maybe we should go out just to go out, and not to catch adulterous has been soap stars."
Veronica looked up at him. "You have the oddest notions, sometimes."
"You're right. Calling in favors from my investors to abuse their dinner parties for surveillance purposes is pretty romantic."
"Logan." Veronica wound her fingers through his hair and looked deep into his eyes. "You hate going out, remember? Because people stare at you?"
"No, I hate going out because people stare at you. Not too surprising, look at you shake that ass!"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, all the fifty year old men are really--" she looked out of the corner of her eye, and then turned back to Logan in horror. "Oh my god, they are. Ew!"
Okay, Marshmallow, this is Papa Bear, Wallace's voice said in her ear. The cheating hearts party is getting ready to start down here.
"Twirl me," Veronica suggested, and Logan complied easily, dipping her with a smile just as the song ended. "I have to head downstairs. When we get home we can read through those transcripts I got today, okay?"
Logan stood her up and kissed her once, lightly. "Ah, romance."
"Jeez, fine, we'll read the transcripts and I'll give you a blowjob. You're so demanding."
I did NOT need to hear that! Dang! Wallace hissed, and Veronica headed for the stairs.
**
Maybe he somehow had friends in the mayor's office. There was no telling how it happened, but by the time the tabloids found out that Logan Echolls was already married, a year had passed, and it was hard to make that news sound like much of a scoop.
And it wasn't even like they could claim that he got married in secret-- because there had been guests, the couple had a sweet little ceremony. He didn't marry a model, even, just some high school girlfriend who he dated through college. She testified in his dad's murder case, fine, but there was nothing there, just people who knew each other and got married.
Even running the photos was embarrassing, because they were all date stamped (not even digital, seriously) so far in the past that it just looked stupid. Some guy named Vinnie Van Lowe took them, and he'd had the scans up on his website as his "wedding photography portfolio" the whole time. Logan Echolls in a suit, this Veronica girl in a pretty, wispy dress, nothing gaudy, nothing to tell. Dick Casablancas was there as best man, which was something, but he just looked wide eyed in all the pictures-- and worse, refused to comment when they called him. No comments from the entire guest list, which was just ridiculous-- from the officiant who was just some hack lawyer to a sweet girl named Hannah who sounded kind of wistful as she apologized and hung up-- it was like they all knew better, which was ridiculous. Only celebrities knew better, and these people were just regular old nobodies.
***
Veronica got home to find Logan making stir fry, and she grinned as she hopped up on the counter. "You're the best little woman I could have ever asked for. Will there be vacuuming in pearls later?"
"Of course. Just make sure you don't come home tomorrow during the day-- the meter man will be 'visiting'." He leaned in for a kiss, tasting like soy sauce.
"Okay, but if you have a baby and it looks like him, I'm gonna stop buying you furs."
He nipped at her earlobe and then turned back to the stove. "Any progress on the O'Donnell case?"
She opened the cabinet beside her to get down some plates. "Yeah, you should have seen Mac-- she hacked into his website so easy I thought she was going to cry. She complains that she doesn't think she's earning her paycheck."
"Then make her dust around the office. That should cure her boredom."
"Right, I could, except she knows where I keep the taser. And anyway, she technically works for my dad, not me. It isn't my job to make sure she earns her salary."
Logan dished up some rice. "Hey, you run the satellite office. If that doesn't give you the right to make her perform bizarre and unnecessary tasks, then I think you should complain to the President."
Pouring two glasses of wine, Veronica headed over to the kitchen table. "Yeah, hey, he called to say he's going to be in town next week. I told him he could stay here, unless you have any objections. His penetrating and eerily psychic gaze not being one of them."
"I have some meetings here on Wednesday, but it's just Casey and some guys from his Board of Directors. I'm sure they've all seen your dad in his underwear anyway."
"What endangered animals are you saving this week?"
Logan spooned stir-fry onto both their plates and pressed a kiss into her hair. "The Gant-Echolls partnership is working on early childhood education at the moment. So, um, innocent and carefree kindergartners?"
"That doesn't sound so early. I was already quoting Dorothy Parker by kindergarten. By first grade? Killed a man to watch him die."
"Not everyone can be as precocious as you, you know. Now come on, eat your dinner. If you clean your plate, I'll reward you with twisted and deviant sexual favors. And maybe a cookie."
Veronica twirled her fork in the air. "I love cookies!"
Logan grinned, bright, happy. "I know you do." |
It becomes much more like a game, after that.
But Jude is still Jude, and thinks through each round like a military strategist. She is, after all, playing to win.
When she dresses the next day, she pulls out one of her favorites.
It’s a one-piece of similar make as the ensemble from last night, all sheer black fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination. Only this time? Instead of intricate flowers, pitch-black embroidered snakes slither up and over her chest.
She’s seen this kind of suit worn by dancers and ballerinas in the human world. She even wanted to be one for a short moment, inspired by a childhood movie about a magical ballerina princess that saves the kingdom of a prince cursed to become a nutcracker. A strange story, but no stranger than her current life in Faerie, as she attempts to seduce the High King into an administerial decision by way of skimpy, mortal lingerie.
God.
But: she’s really starting to enjoy herself.
Jude tucks the bodysuit into her usual black trousers before arming herself like always. She’s not worried about looking different; she’s seen simultaneously worse and more incendiary outfits from the fae in just one night of revelry. Besides, she’s the High Queen, and she can wear whatever the hell she wants.
Jude’s next encounter with Cardan is at a meeting with Baphen and Fala, the Royal Astrologer and the Grand Fool, respectively. The meeting is of no relation to the Court of Teeth and questionable tribunal scheduling, but promises to be equally delightful.
Cardan’s chin slips off its perch on his palm and almost slams into the table when Jude walks in. The meeting goes on without interruption. It’s only Cardan that looks like he’s been stabbed. (Jude doesn’t take it personally; nothing can hope to stop Baphen and Fala once they join forces in the kingdom’s longest and most unwanted astrology reading. She’s relying on it, in fact.) Jude moves through the room like it’s just any other boring day.
The stealth attack: hidden in plain sight.
“What are you wearing,” he hisses at her when she takes her seat beside him. “Are those—”
“Snakes? I thought it would be nice to honor my husband.”
“Hah.” It sounds less like a real word and more like an unintelligible sound he couldn’t stop himself from making. “Jude.” His hand sketches an inelegant dash across the space between them, as if even he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with it. But just as his fingers come inches before her arm, he stops.
She raises an eyebrow, daring him.
“You know what to do, Cardan.”
He grits his teeth and glares at her. But he lowers his hand.
She smiles, all teeth. “Not what I meant.”
He turns his head away and doesn’t speak to her for the duration of the meeting.
But he can’t hide the multiple times he has to shift in his seat.
Not from her.
The next time, Jude has a rare day off and decides to spend it lounging in their rooms — and reading reports, of course. Power never rests.
But just because she can, she drags all their valuable, handmade, spidersilk pillows to the ground and builds herself a nest to snuggle into. Pillow forts always fascinated her as a kid, and this is the closest she can replicate for the time being.
And also because she can, she isn’t wearing real clothes today. It’s just soft pillows and the ease of time as she lays on her stomach, reading.
The door swings open, and it’s Cardan. He must have heard about her day off.
“Hey.” She smiles at him, a genuine one because she’s been waiting for him. “Do you know what a pillow fort is?”
It — the smile, she reasons, not the pillow fort — must do him in a little, because he staggers backward.
Or maybe because all she’s wearing is a delicate bralette with itty-bitty straps that never seem to stay in place, and the delightful matching panties that ride low on her hips and look kind of like shorts. She’s proud of this set; she picked it out herself. The dusky pink color looks good against her skin. And she has to give the bralette credit: it’s more than adequately supportive despite lacking wires.
“Cardan?” She props herself up on her elbows, and sure enough, one of the straps fights a losing battle down her shoulder.
Whatever he came in to say has been replaced by a strangled curse. “How many do you— Why are they all—”
“What? Cardan, you’re not making sense.” Jude sighs and pats the empty space beside her. “Just come here.”
He draws in a steep inhale, and closes his eyes. Some kind of painful decision plays across his face. And then he turns on his heel and walks out.
Jude frowns after him. Odd.
She tells herself not to dwell on it. Cardan’s weird reaction notwithstanding, operation home invasion: also a success.
But Cardan’s strange behavior repeats itself. Especially because the next time is honestly an accident.
She immediately shook her head when Ewa showed her the sports bras with underwire in them. No way would that be comfortable. Besides, sports bras never did anything for Jude. They squeezed and restricted and made her shoulders hurt way more than regular bras did.
“You’re a dancer, yes?” Ewa said, eyeing Jude up and down. “Or do some kind of sport?”
“I fight,” Jude said. “Swords and duels.”
The older woman didn’t even blink. “Then you need this. Trust me. You’ll thank me.” She tilted her head. “Even more than you already will.”
Vivi and Heather had been thoroughly digested by the sleepwear section by then and were thus unable to provide her backup when Ewa wrangled her into one last fitting. True to her word, the first time she put the sports bra on and tried jumping up and down, Ewa had Jude shaking her hand and wondering if it was possible to tip a shop owner.
When she got back home to the palace, Jude disposed of every last strip of breast binding she had. And now, she’s more than eagerly testing her new favorite piece of clothing in a training skirmish with Fand and her queensguard.
Jude can’t fight the grin that steals across her face. When a knight bears down on her and she feints to the side, there is no jiggle. When she has to dive down and surge back to her feet again, there is no jiggle. And when she sprints toward Fand at full-speed for one last blow, there is no jiggle.
And the absolute best part? The bra comes in different colors. Patterns. Actual designs.
She’s practically bouncing on her feet as she wipes her forehead off with her arm. November in Elfhame is vastly different from November in Maine. Soon, Jude is peeling off her sweat-soaked tunic and throwing it to the side.
Her knights, more than a little ragged and weary now, regroup for the next round.
This time, Jude imagines it’s Cardan’s stupid, pretty face she’s slashing to pieces. Imagination is all she gets; as delightful as gutting her husband would be, it wouldn’t solve her current problem. And she’s pretty sure there won’t be any magical failsafe to bring him back to life this time. Bastard.
Just as Jude moves in for a parry, Fand skids to a stop and salutes.
“My king!”
What — oh, it’s Cardan.
“Hey,” she calls. “How long have you been — Cardan? What’s wrong?”
Because Cardan is standing there at the edge of the courtyard, chest rising and falling far too fast to be normal. His eyes are wide, too, and the barest hint of red is blooming on his cheeks and neck. He looks sick. Or maybe something else. When Jude takes a step toward him, he backs up just as quickly. So quickly, in fact, that he stumbles and slams none-too-gently into the pillar behind him.
"Are you—"
“No.” Is that panic in his voice? “Stay — stay where you are.”
She’s never heard him stammer before.
“Cardan, seriously.”
“Jude.” It sounds like a warning and a plea all at once.
Jude gets a little nearer despite his protests, and he really doesn’t look well this close up, he’s definitely breathing more quickly now. She reaches out a hand, and some kind of tremor, tricky and tortuous, passes over his face.
The knights have all gone silent behind her.
That’s why you can hear a pin drop when the High King of Elfhame, the most powerful, most feared creature in the entire kingdom, pushes off from the pillar, turns, and hightails it away from his queen for the second time in days.
She’s not imagining it.
Cardan is avoiding her.
When she wakes up alone in their room, and fails to catch neither hide nor tail of her wayward husband throughout breakfast and more Council meetings and then even lunch, Jude finally tracks him down in the stockroom in the bowels of the Court of Shadows, hunched over a table, swirling a goblet in his hands and — sulking. Definitely sulking. Drunk sulking. Perfect.
“What’s going on with you?”
He must not have been that drunk yet, because he snaps to attention immediately. When he sees her, he swallows. Hard.
“Jude.” Another swallow. “You’re… dressed.”
Jude raises an eyebrow.
“Properly.”
The word sounds like it costs him something precious to say.
“I am.” She’s in her seneschal uniform, simple trousers and a practical jacket. It’s what she normally wears, what he sees her in the majority of the time. “I wanted to talk with you. Didn’t want you to run away again.”
“I wasn’t—” The sentence dies on his tongue. The fae can’t lie.
“Cardan.”
“I hate it.”
“Hate what?”
“Hate that you’re enjoying this.”
It’s hard not to smile. “It was your idea to turn it into a game. Didn’t think you’d be such a sore loser.”
“The warmth of your skin. The way you smell. The way you looked in all those—” He breaks off again, struggling with the images in his mind. “I don’t think you miss it like I do.”
Oh. Oh.
“I do.” Jude takes a slow step forward, each confession propelling her closer and closer. It’s not unlike displaying herself for him the way she has these past few days, this kind of heartsweet surrender. She never would have managed this kind of vulnerability before. But time and Cardan's unwavering gaze has stripped her of battleworn armor that she's slowly failing to need anymore. At least, not when she's with him. “I miss it when you sleep with your back to me all night. When you don’t look at me when we wake up. When you don’t hold my hand under the meeting table or try to tickle me when Randalin isn’t looking.”
He’s watching her progress like he’s watching a knife sliding farther and farther into his heart.
“I don’t like to lose.”
She shrugs. Neither does she, and it’s a blessing, and a curse. “We’d win together, you know.”
He doesn’t reply; he’s too preoccupied with holding his breath as she leans over him in his seat. It’s been a long week without his touch, and the heat of his lingering eyes and the very promise of the destruction of his restraint these last few days has been a simmering, shimmering thing, hot and shivery, in her body. The urge to feel him near her is wraithberry racing its way through her veins.
“I miss the way you touch me, Cardan.”
Cardan’s hand jerks on the table, rising to reach for her, to hold her, even as it fights against the unspoken constraint. It reminds her of the way a marionette moves on strings, suspended and involuntary, at the mercy of the puppeteer’s fancy. He knocks over the goblet. It spills dark red liquid and rolls off the edge of the table.
He, of course, doesn’t even try to pick it up.
Jude gives an exasperated sigh, pulling away for just a moment. “Really? You know, I’m always picking up after you, every time you leave your clothes on the floor—”
And that’s where she is when the door bangs open while she’s ducked under the table to retrieve the goblet: on the floor, hidden from sight, and looking up at him.
“King Cardan!” It’s the Roach, jovial and pleasant. More footsteps following him, the Bomb, some new recruits. “Come to join your weary servants for a meal?”
“I—”
He looks down at her, on her knees in front of him. It seems to dawn on both of them at once, the situation. The position. It forms on his face with an escalating sense of panic, and on hers with the airiness of possibility.
Jude puts a finger to her lips.
His eyes flutter once. Twice.
“I’m finished,” he says.
She grins.
“Alas,” the Roach says, unsuspecting. A chair scrapes somewhere behind Jude. “We shall partake without you, then.”
More chairs being pulled, some rustling as someone delves into the stock of fruits and cured meats.
Jude inches closer to him. Wonders if he can feel it, see it, the way the shadows shift under the table. She rests her chin on his knee.
His stomach dips with a sharp inhale.
“How was your trip, sire?” It’s the Bomb, making conversation while they eat. “To the mortal world?”
Jude almost scoffs. It was the Bomb that helped Cardan carry out that false coup with Suren, just so Jude would return to Faerie. She doesn’t need to ask.
“Strange,” says Cardan. His voice is noticeably strained. “We attended a bizarre human festival, where they dressed up in odd livery and begged their neighbors for sweets.”
She shuffles a little on her knees, so that she can position herself exactly between his legs. Almost as if he can’t help it, he widens his thighs to accommodate her.
Jude rewards him by running her nose along the newly exposed seam of his trousers.
The hand next to her jerks into a fist, forces itself to flatten against his leg, contracts again. Her hands slide up, one on each of his thighs, puppeteer’s fingers outstretched and tangled in the strings of his undoing.
“Yes, mortal clothing is most peculiar, isn’t it, sire? Those unusual materials, and always so restrictive.”
Cardan produces a sound that is more affliction than acquiescence.
He’s hard, has been hard ever since she got down on her knees, probably even before that. He strains against the fabric, and Jude clenches around nothing. He could be inside her by now if he just gives her what she wants. And she wants. Not just the tribunal, but this. The surety of his desire, the aching emptiness of hers. She can’t help it, she leans all the way forward and buries her face right there and inhales, just loud enough for him to hear her breathing him in.
She looks up at him, the outline of his cock resting against her cheek.
Jude really, truly has missed him.
Something in Cardan’s expression detonates.
“Leave. I order you all to leave me—” He stumbles on the word alone, because he won’t be. “Get out. Now.”
“Your Majesty?” She can hear the frown in the Roach’s voice, the confusion.
Cardan shoves from the table with a violent curse. She almost feels betrayed; he took all his warmth with him.
“Do,” says Cardan, deadly and dark and dangerous, “what I said.”
The command, the absolute weight of it as it echoes around the room, settles low and hot and wet in Jude’s body. She is glad, so glad, that geases can’t work on her. Because something else is stirring inside her, something else that waits, breathless, curious, eager, for his next instruction. For all his moods and fickle disposition, Cardan so rarely loses his temper.
Jude waits with all the anticipation of a crouching lynx.
The creak of chairs and hasty footfalls. Confused whispers. A sharp shush. The door slamming shut.
One last heartbeat, swelling and safe, in the shadows under the table.
“Come out, Jude.”
She shudders. Something has shifted in the last few seconds, something vital and foundational and unnameable. She doesn’t fight it, this unceasing, undulating trade of power between them. Control is a riptide pulled out from under her; she’ll drown in the undertow if she’s not careful.
A memory slithers into her mind. Another time she was glad of her immunity to geases. In this no man’s land in the ebbing topography of their game, she sees it for what it is: an opening. One last piece to click into place, one last string to pull taut, sharp like a razor wire. She may not have control, but she’s not weaponless yet.
He’s already told her what to do, once before, hasn’t he?
Crawl to me.
Well. Jude’s nothing if not an overachiever.
She leans forward on both of her palms. She’s already on her knees anyway. The only way to do this right is slowly: one palm first, the shift of her weight, the inevitable sway to her hips as she rolls onto the knee — and then the next palm. And the next. Coming out into the light to look up at his face.
Closer.
He’s finished.
Closer.
Eyes glazed and jaw slack. Never saw this coming.
Right there.
It is this, the sight of her at his feet as he stands above her, that annihilates the last, trembling bastion of Cardan’s resistance.
Control and composure, there and gone again.
“You win.” It comes with a groan, an animal sound, of surrender, torn from somewhere inhuman inside him. “Wicked, loathsome, glorious creature. You win. Whatever — whatever you want, Jude. You can have the tribunal. I don’t care. You can have it. Just let me touch you.”
He’s reaching out for her, greedy hands, Cardan has rarely been anything but greedy his whole life, and she’s nodding, rising, meeting him even as he strains toward her.
They crash into each other the way a storm levels mountains.
He pulls her up by her arms and she follows the momentum up his body, natural, easy, hooking her legs around his waist, wrapping her hands around his neck. Pressing closer as if just this could erase the time she spent without his touch.
His touch.
He’s everywhere, his hands flying over her body: the backs of her thighs as he hefts her up higher, squeezing as his hands drift to her ass, up and down her back, her arms, catching around the thin strands of hair at the back of her neck until finally, finally he settles his fingers on her cheeks and he just stays there, cupping her face while he struggles for composure against the feel of her skin after so long.
“I told you,” she whispers against his lips, “we’d win together.”
His response is lost in the heat of their kiss.
Maybe it’s because she deprived herself of his hands for so long: she is mesmerized by how much kissing is defined by delicious, distracting touches everywhere else. His fingers moving under her shirt, his arms holding her steady and strong as he presses her down into the table, his tail sweeping soft, trailing passes around the expanse of her waist exposed by her quickly-disappearing clothes.
All the while he moves his mouth over her, lips wet and swollen, tongue sliding inside, body grinding against where she has been soft and aching and empty for him for so long.
Questing hands finally succeed in getting her trousers all the way off. And that’s when he pauses, fingers caught in the last piece of weaponry she’s been saving for the right moment.
It’s simple, in the grand scheme of things. Just lace, if lace can be anything just, coming all the way up her hips. It’s a matching set, too, and she shows him, somehow rendered a little awed by the way he has gone absolutely still above her when she tugs her shirt and jacket off.
It’s the one she’s most excited to show him.
And: it is red.
The color of spilled blood, of spilled wine, of wars waged and wars won.
“This,” she says, “is for you.”
This one isn’t meant to attack, or strike, or assault. Not like before.
This is what comes after the war. A treaty; an offering.
She reaches out for his hand, and the way their fingers fit against each others’ is a wrecking thing, skin against skin, and the cold metal of their rings shining with rubies. He doesn’t fight it when she brings his hand up to her breast, he’s not fighting anything when he holds her in his palm. Red, and gold, and red again.
“Can I?” And he sounds absurdly unsure, as if he doubts if he’s actually allowed to, even though she already gave him permission.
She arches up into him. “Touch me.”
Nose trailing along the edge of her cup, Cardan drags his cheek against her breast, and squeezes with his hand. Hot breath against her nipple, rubbing against the fabric.
“Cardan.”
He responds with a slow flick of his tongue against her covered nipple. She can still feel it through the lace, which is starting to turn a deeper shade red the longer he mouths at her breast. She missed this, the weight of him pressing her down, warm and sure, the simple pleasure of his mouth on her body.
Then, because she knows what it does to him, she says, “Please.” She rolls her hips and their bodies meet, the hard press of him undeniable against her.
With a groan, his head lands on her collarbone; he can’t hold himself up properly anymore.
“Are you satisfied, Jude?” He is a broken, beautiful creature above her. “Did you get everything you wanted from me?”
She is not lost enough for a sharp-toothed grin to spread on her face. As he watches, she spreads her legs for him. Red lace growing ever darker. “Almost.”
He groans, long and deep into her skin. “Fuck.”
“Yes,” Jude says, already reaching to tug at the panties, delicate threads bunching in her haste. “Yes, yes.”
His hand closes around her wrist. “Don’t. Leave it on.”
She stills.
Sees the way the right color and the right fabric is transfigured into the most natural magic.
“I’m going to give you what you want,” he tells her. Threatens her. “What you played this game for.” He lifts the edge of the gusset, and lets it snap back against her, wet and sensitive.
“Yes.”
She knows how this ends.
“You’re going to take it.”
“Yes.”
Exactly the way she wants it.
She lets the riptide sweep her away.
One thing Jude learned early on in their marriage: Cardan has an absolutely filthy mouth, and he knows just how to use it. It might just be one of the only things she cannot defend herself against, no matter how hard she tries.
“Look at this. Look how pretty, Jude.”
Words as hot as the breath on the inside of her thigh.
“All of this,” he continues, moving the fabric aside with a reverent finger. “All of this for me? It’s so much.”
“Oh,” she gasps, because his tongue, his tongue, has always been the most wicked thing about him. And he knows just what she needs, hard, sharp flicks against the side of her clit. Knows how she likes when he uses the tip of it, stiff and pinpoint and unrelenting. He tears a whimper, unbidden, from her throat.
He knows so much about her, she almost hates him for it.
“You dressed for me so well. Knew exactly what you were doing to me. My vicious, pretty, perfect wife.”
There’s nothing easier than the slide of his fingers inside her, nothing easier than the way his praise melts into her skin.
“You must have planned for it. I know you did. All your cunning, all your scheming. Everything you can do to bring me to my knees. Here I am, dearest.” One long suck, the undeniable, inescapable pressure of his lips, and then the curl of his fingers, up, up, hard, right there — an untethering. “This is where I’ll fuck you. Isn’t that right? Here, Jude? That’s where you like it. Right here. I know, I’ll give it to you where you want.”
She’s dangling, precarious, a whisper from something catastrophic. Clenching to sharpen the feel of him ripping her apart with his fingers and mouth. She tears herself through the haze, because if she doesn’t do it now, she’s lost, and she needs to land a blow in this duel before it ends. “I want you,” she says, breathless. “I want you inside me.”
He groans, equally lost. A heartbeat, a breath, and he’s there. The blunt head of him, pressing, parting ruined red lace. “This, Jude?”
“Yes, I want it.”
He takes an inch, and then another. It’s been too long without his touch, and the stretch of him has her spreading her legs, straining under him.
“Cardan.” She doesn’t know what she means when she says it. The press of him keeps going. “Cardan.”
He stops, for one tortuous moment. Just barely where she needs him. “We could have been doing this days ago.”
A wild laugh she doesn’t recognize. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself.”
“You end me,” he tells her. It’s the last thing she hears before he grips her knees around his hips and slides all the way inside.
All the way.
The shout that he tears from her throat rings throughout the stone walls of the room. He pulls out slowly, as if to temper the way he drove inside her, and that is a trial in itself: there is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside her.
Just when she thinks it’s over, he surges forward again, hands tilting her hips just the right way so that he can—
“That’s it. There it is. I promised you, didn’t I? Right there, Jude.”
Is that her? Making that sound?
This is it, she thinks, when he does it again. And again. This is his retribution.
There’s nothing else she would rather have.
The table groans beneath them, plates and silverware rattling with every thrust. She’ll never get this out of her system, cannot even imagine a time when she would have ever wanted to.
Something rolls to the floor and shatters.
“What else do you want, Jude? You ask for so many things. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you. Think you’ll be able to lead a tribunal when you can barely walk straight?”
She forgot how easily he makes words feel like weapons, sharpened and precise in the way they can undo her. Her body doesn’t feel like her own anymore; it’s like it’s ceased to belong to her. Her pleasure is his give, she is his to take.
Jude reaches the edge, the brink with such startling, blinding immediacy that she rears back, a scream caught in her throat, the instinct to retreat, danger, danger roaring in her human senses. But he’s the furthest thing from human, and he just keeps going.
“Cardan.” She tugs at his hair, fingers lost in dark curls. There’s one last thing she needs to tell him before they reach their endgame. One last string to pull to tension. “I thought of you while I picked it out. While I picked all of them out.”
The words spread over his expression like a drop of blood in the water.
“You were all I was thinking about, every time I put one of them on.”
A strange ripping sound fills the air, and he’s growling into her neck. “This thing. This little fucking— Oh, you knew, Jude. You gave me so much. Too much. I’ll give it right back. Everything you want.”
Fuck, he’s never been this rough with her. Fingers leaving bruises. Body crushing her into the table. Hard thrusts deep into the softest parts of her. She’s going to ache, she’s going to scream again. And she never anticipated that she’d like it.
“I did it for you.” She can barely get it out, the words jolt in her throat every time he hits the right spot. “I wanted you to like it. Fuck, there. There. I wanted you to like it. Did you?” She’s incoherent. Babbling. Why is she even asking this? If he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t be fucking her stupid into a stockroom table like this. But the words spill out anyway. “Did you like the pretty things I wore for you?”
“Yes. Yes.” It comes wrenching out of him, from somewhere buried deep. Somewhere she isn’t supposed to see. And then the words that end it all: “You please me, wife.”
It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those words out of everything are what drag her trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving her unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.
“Fuck. I'm—” Her hands slap at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Cardan. Cardan—" It’s just her voice, hoarse, breathless, and Cardan bearing down on her, the sound of their bodies somehow sloppier, messier as he fucks her (when did she get so wet) and it’s uncompromising, exactly the way he promised—
“—good, so good, you’re so good, Jude—”
She can imagine it: strings pulling tighter and tighter and tighter until—
He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the valley of red on her chest. Dark curls against vivid lace, a long, drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and she feels him inside her, an offering all of his own. She’s still not done, still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.
He holds on to her throughout, as if without her he will blow away into the wind, and she holds him, and waits for the color to bleed back in and for the ringing in her ears to stop, and for once she’s not thinking about anything at all.
Until, that is, she feels the tickle against her stomach.
It weaves into her consciousness, then out.
But. There it is again.
“What—”
A huff against her collarbone.
“Cardan.” It’s getting hard not to wriggle. “Stop it.”
But he doesn’t, and Jude’s full-on squirming now, struggling because he’s lying on top of her, still inside her, and laughter is coming out of her mouth, unbidden.
He props himself up to smile at her.
Jude’s heart gives a pang, swelling.
There are worlds and endings in that smile. And she wants to live in them all.
She swats his shoulder. “Idiot.” And grimaces a little, because all that squirming just reminded her how sore she’s going to be.
When he finally pulls away, a slow, aching draw, Jude kind of feels like one of those pumpkins Oak and Vivi hollowed out and carved for Halloween. It doesn’t bother her. She knows the difference between good pain and bad pain.
This?
It definitely isn’t the latter.
Cardan notices, though. His tail flicks once behind him. Pleased.
“Smug idiot.” But he’s not the only smug one. “I’ll take it you’ll be badgering Randalin this time.”
“Hm?”
“You know. For the promptly rescheduled tribunal.”
“Hm.”
The nuzzle he sends into her neck tells her he’s not taking it personally. She laughs again, but for a different reason this time.
The feigned retreat.
It’s a tactic she’s never put into action before, but after this, it’s definitely going in her playbook.
“What are you laughing at?”
“I can’t seem to get away from being human around you.”
“Neither, it seems, can I.”
The implication of that settles deep into her marrow, into her blood.
“I learned something today. You like me on my knees.”
“Occasionally. More than that, I like you screaming.”
She grins up at him, victory making it slow and indulgent. “Whatever it takes to get what I want.”
A huff. “I won’t make it easy for you, spoiled little mortal.”
“Neither will I. Just don’t rip my nice things next time.”
She tugs the sad remains of her panties out from under her and dangles it in front of him. He completely clawed through the sides. The lace is a mess now, the red of it darkened and damp in some places and splattered with white in others. She can feel the rest of it inside of her, and she’s sticky and squeezing and sated.
He looks at it with greedy, covetous intention.
She’s not surprised when he snatches the scraps of lace from her fingers. It disappears, she’s willing to bet, into the pockets of the trousers he is still wearing. She does, however, raise a meaningful eyebrow.
“I can easily procure more, Jude. Speak only to me of your favored tailor. I believe I owe him a gratitude. From which court does he hail?”
“I bought it all from a mortal shop in Portland. A woman called Ewa.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. Surprised?”
It takes him less than a second to think. “Considering all that I now know about mortal women… No, I am not surprised. Bring me with you next time.”
“You want to meet Ewa?”
“Is she friendly?” There’s a hopeful tinge to his voice. Hope, and a little fear. “Like Heather?”
Knowing Ewa? “She’ll eat you alive.”
Cardan groans. “No wonder you like her so much.” He pulls her in closer, warm skin a balm against the cool air, and presses a lingering kiss on her temple. “Devils, all of you.” |
After putting the passed-out Tally Craven in the another medical bed next to Elizabeth, Sarah settled herself between them, truly at a loss for words. The silence was filled by the babbling toddler who proudly informed Sarah that her name was Lena May Craven and she was this many years old, as she held up two chubby fingers in Sarah’s face.
Lena also flat-out refused to get out of Sarah’s lap. In fact, Sarah was certain that Lena had decided to claim permanent residence there, denying Sarah’s attempts to get her back in bed with a very strong and impressive no.
Sarah pursed her lip, recognizing her own tone in Lena’s voice.
Never in a million years would Sarah think this was possible—she didn’t know which part she was referring to, the fact that sometime in the future she has children, or the fact that she has said children with Tally Craven. Actually, now that she thought about it, she found time travel through the mycelium more believable than her settling down with the very much younger witch and having a family. The very same witch who was responsible for Sarah losing her position of power.
Goddess, how was did this happen?
Craven let out a groan, and it immediately drew Sarah’s gaze—and Lena’s who was leaning precariously in Sarah’s lap, trying to get as close as possible to Tally without leaving her perch.
“Rae—I just had the weirdest dream,” mumbled Craven, with her eyes closed. “I dreamed I had a kid with Alder.”
“Not a dream, Cadet.”
Sarah probably didn’t need to put so much bark into her words, but it was worth it to watch the younger woman scramble up in shock.
“Goddess, Sarah—you’re going to make her pass out again,” chastised Petra softly at the foot of Tally’s bed, but Sarah could see the amusement shining in the woman’s dark eyes plain as day.
Sarah watched as Craven’s wide eyes, so similar to the little girl’s in her lap, went from between Sarah and Lena in rapid succession. Her expressive expressions were loudly screaming that she was processing—or trying to process this current situation.
“Mommy have owie?” asked Lena, looking at Craven with a worried puff of her lower lip.
Craven’s eyes went even wider, and she tentatively looked to Sarah before back down to Lena.
“No owie—I’m fine,” she stumbled out to the little girl.
Lena frowned and looked at Craven even more carefully. Sarah found herself surprised to see such deep thoughts coming from such a small child, as Lena pushed herself off of Sarah’s lap and towards Tally, accepting help from Sarah’s guiding hands.
Sarah watched, as did everyone else with bated breath as Lena crawled across the bed, and then on top of Craven.
Perching herself on top of the younger woman’s lap, Lena slowly reached out and rubbed her tiny hands gently across Craven’s stomach and then up her body to trace a pattern over her right shoulder.
“All better?” she whispered in awe. “My kisses helped mommy?”
Tally’s mouth dropped open again, clearly at a loss for words.
Sarah didn’t blame her—they all were at all lost for words.
“The bad men—they shot you,” said a small voice cutting through the silence, and Sarah turned in her chair to see Elizabeth watching the scene with a calculating gaze. Her blue eyes were stunning, but all Sarah could see were her sister’s eyes staring at her, causing this uncomfortable pang throughout her chest.
“E!” cried out Lena happily as she clapped her hands together and bounced excitedly on Craven. “Mommy all better.”
“They shot you,” repeated Elizabeth, looking at Craven with tears in her eyes. “She kept trying to kiss it better.”
Sarah turned back to Lena, eyes narrowing on the smudges of blood around the little girl’s mouth causing her stomach to twist.
“I knew she was lying when she said she would be fine, but she made me go—she made me take Lena through the white wall,” whispered Elizabeth with a haunting quality that Sarah found in veteran combat witches who had seen too much death, not a child—never a child.
It felt wrong.
“How old are you, Elizabeth?” asked Petra, her voice soft—a tone that Sarah knew she reserved for Abigail only.
Elizabeth stiffened at the question, eyes going around the adults, lingering on Sarah and Craven before coming back to Petra.
“I’m seven. Lena’s two—almost three.”
Tears gathered in her eyes as she answered, a few heavy droplets escaping her eyes as she looked up to the ceiling.
“You’re not my aunt’s?” she whispered out brokenly. “You’re not Aunt Petra…or Aunt Dora and Mags.”
Bringing her gaze down, she flickered her eyes towards Sarah and Craven, more tears escaping her eyes.
“And you’re not our moms—are you?”
About 100 years ago, Sarah added a mindhealer division to the Army. It was a move ahead of its time, and it took too much schmoozing with the president and congress to get the funding for it. She knew the horrors that war could bring to your mind better than anyone. So, it was needed and very much worth the effort.
But just because she recognized the importance of mental health treatment, didn’t mean that she liked it directed at her.
“They can’t be placed with the fosterlings. These girls have been through a traumatic event—separating them from their parents will likely cause more damage,” said Major Whitman, the head mindhealer on Fort Salem.
“We are not their parents,” bit out Sarah for what she felt was like the fifteenth time. For the best mindhealer in the entire Army, she seemed to have a hard time actually listening to her, said clients.
She and Craven had been sitting in Major Whitman’s office for an hour now as they discussed their literal future children. The only saving grace was that Craven hadn’t said a word—but the incessantly bouncing of Craven’s knee since they first sat down was starting to grate Sarah’s ever slipping patience.
“Elizabeth may somewhat understand what is going on, but Lena does not. You wanted my opinion and my opinion is this—we need to try and replicate a normal life for them as much as possible.”
“A normal life,” repeated Sarah in disbelief. “They are our children from the future—that is not normal,” she stated, not pausing long enough for Whitman to respond as she finally reached her limit, and reached over and physically stopped Craven’s leg from moving with a firm warning squeeze—choosing to ignore the blush that spread across Craven’s cheeks, before removing her hand and turning back to Whitman.
“And I don’t need to be the Head of Intelligence to deduce that it is a future where both of us are likely dead.”
“We don’t know that yet,” reminded Whitman gently, casting a worried glance to a suddenly ashen Craven.
Leaning back into her chair Whitman carefully assessed the woman before her.
“I understand that has been a very confusing and difficult couple of hours—for both of you,” stated Major Whitman with a borderline placating tone.
“That’s a bit of an understatement there, Major,” interrupted Craven only for her eyes to shoot wide with the realization that she just disrespectful to a superior officer.
Sarah lost the battle with the smirk that appeared on her face at Craven’s comment, taking some comfort in the fact that she wasn’t alone in her thoughts of Major Whitman. It turns out she didn’t mind Craven’s smart mouth when it wasn’t directed at her.
Major Whitman to her credit didn’t look offended and didn’t correct the cadet—likely a facet of the mindhealing program. Instead, she seemed to be even more determined as she looked at them.
“Give me a month,” she requested, more towards Sarah than Craven.
“A month—to what?” asked Sarah.
“To figure out what happened,” supplied Major Whitman. “It is clear that your family came under attack. There is some threat out there, one confident enough to hit Fort Salem again. I can have sessions with the girls and figure out what happened.”
Sarah leaned back in the chair, intrigued. She couldn’t deny the fact that she too was worried about another attack on Fort Salem—another one she possibly died in. Or did she die before? She didn’t know—but Major Whitman could tell her.
“Wait,” said Craven hesitantly, casting a glance backward to the paned glass and the two girls sitting on the bed waiting for them. “Is that good for them? To relive that?”
Sarah lifted a brow at Craven’s worry, she too had the same worry—she just wasn’t about to express it so verbally. Leaning back in her chair, Sarah gave Major Whiteman her best General Alder be honest or feel my wrath look.
It seemed to work, as Major Whitman did fidget slightly in her chair before responding.
“Trauma festers like a wound if you don’t treat it. I promise you, these sessions will be safe for the girls and will help them heal.”
Sarah’s jaw clenched. She didn’t like promises—no one could guarantee anything. Which is why she never made promises, ever. And yet—she found herself turning in her chair and look over to the girls—centering on Elizabeth, remembering the girl’s pained cries in Izadora’s office.
You broke your promise! You left us!
Sarah made a promise to that little girl—to her daughter. A promise she broke.
She knew she wasn’t beholden to her future self’s promises. But then—almost as if she sensed her gaze, Elizabeth turned and met Sarah’s eyes through the glass and Sarah knew—she just knew she couldn’t break that promise twice—she couldn’t leave them…again.
“Fine.”
She barely recognized her voice coming from her mouth, as she turned to meet Major Whitman’s gaze.
“You have a month,” ordered Sarah standing and giving Craven a passing glance, and that was all it took as the younger woman shot to her feet and began to follow her out the door.
“Umm—General—what does that mean?” called Craven behind her.
Stopping and turning towards the younger woman, Sarah’s lifted a brow.
“It means, Craven—that you and I need to talk.” |
His mom is an angel.
Izuku already knows this. He has always known this. She loves him with all her heart. As she has proven many times.
Today is extra special. He keeps on feeling shaky all day, and she keeps him home, takes a day off work, and cuddles him. The whole day.
They sit together on the couch, watching some cartoons, and Izuku just basks.
He doesn't sleep. No sir, no naps for him today, no matter how tired he is. He can feel the memories just laying in wait for him to close his eyes. But Mom is awesome about it, and she only lets him go to cook or when either of them needs the bathroom.
How is he this lucky?
For all that he had parents who didn't know how to parent in his last life, he now has a Mom who is just awesome.
And not just a mom.
Halfway through the day, his dad called. Midoriya Hisashi. Izuku talks to him a few times a year, but Izuku always feared the man left because Izuku is quirkless. So, yes, when dad had called before, usually at least once a week, he'd tried to be away, or too busy, or... Anything really.
Now, with Tony's more mature point of view, he can hear the man's worry over the phone. Can hear his delight at talking to his son.
And maybe, just maybe, there is something in the tone of his father's voice, that reminds him of trying to talk to Morgan, but feeling awkward and not sure if he is doing it right?
And it makes him want to cry. Because he might have never known. If he hadn't remembered, if Tony wasn't an adult, who had done his own growing up through trauma, he might have kept on thinking the man doesn't care.
Izuku refuses to talk about the nightmare. To either this mom or his dad.
They'll think he is mad!
So he asks about his dad's day and his work.
His dad is strangely delighted as he starts talking.
And Izuku realizes that all he knows is that Hisashi works out of the country. He has never cared to know more. Hearing his dad tell about his job on I-Island, I-Island!, is eye-opening.
His dad is an inventor? He makes stuff, and creates tech?
Izuku had never really cared for technology. Not in the way Tony has.
He uses it, sure, but... Now he feels the same bubbly feeling he normally has when he thinks about Heroes and quirks.
How exciting!
He feels his somber mood lift and he starts talking back, asking questions to get a better feel for what his dad is doing.
Before long they are both enthusiastically brainstorming over the phone, his mom giggling in delight next to him as she keeps hugging him.
The phone talk makes him feel better, more relaxed, and by the time dinner turns around, he eats his mom's Katsudon as if nothing had happened.
All in all, not a bad day.
The nightmares keep on coming though. Night after night, he wakes up screaming.
Between the snap, both versions of it, Afghanistan, the Civil War, the mandarin, New York,... Honestly, he has his pick of nightmares.
He knows he worries his mother.
He feels bad about it. The woman barely gets any sleep. She keeps on rushing to him and comforting him, and he can see she is extremely worried about him.
He feels bad, but he can't help it. It's not like wishing the nightmares away does any good.
Sadly.
He talks almost daily with his father now. It becomes a bit of a habit. The man lives in a different Timezone, so when Izuku calls in the middle of the night after a nightmare, just to take his mind off things, he isn't waking the man up.
They usually end up talking until mom calls him for breakfast, which can take a few hours.
He worries for a bit about giving his father trouble with his work and stuff, but the man always says it is no problem.
School is awful.
Not only does he feel like already knows everything they are teaching him (and yeah, as soon as he sees the materials, it clicks back into his mind), but he has to deal with bullies as well.
Now, Izuku had been fine with letting them be. Before. However, Tony had never, ever been one to let others walk all over him. Never. (Avengers aside)
Now, he has to deal with the automatic urge to both flinch back and stand tall and sass the bully into submission.
It does not help that the bully in question is Kacchan. His old childhood friend.
Tony Stark had never been the best at making friends. Midoriya Izuku wasn't shaping up to be much better in that department either, honestly.
How Izuku had ever considered Bakugo Katsuki his friend? Maybe once, before the kid’s quirk had set in, but ever since…? No way. Not anymore.
The biggest irony of this entire situation is that Bakugo Katsuki wants to be a hero.
As far as he knows, and yes, Cap had spoken in god knows how many videos for school children saying bullying is bad, bullying is not something a hero should do. Heroes don't bring people down. They raise them up.
This kid...
Worst of it is, part of him still admires this guy.
So, he tries his best to avoid all his bullies for now. Especially Ka- Bakugo.
His free time is spent gathering information about this world. Izuku is born in it, but his attention has mostly been held by heroes and quirks. Which, while very interesting, is not all he now wishes to know.
He convinces his mother to let him unsupervised on the computer, which she allows, but only for a set amount of time every day and he dives into the internet.
Getting answers though takes a lot more time than he originally thought. Not only is the internet here so damn slow, but the tech itself also seems to date from the Stone Age!
That is probably a bit of an exaggeration, but honestly, he hasn't seen a screen this big or a keyboard this... Chucky since the nineties!
So, after a lot of frustrations, and fighting not to slam his head into the keyboard, he does manage to find some answers. Over the next week, that is.
Midoriya Izuku and his mother live in a city in Japan. Mustutafu. And they speak Japanese.
This is strange because he hadn't realized immediately that his mom hadn't been speaking in English. Tony, and now Izuku, have always been quick to pick up languages, so that is no trouble, at all.
This world though... It is a bit... Strange? Compared to the world Tony Stark knew.
There are the quirks, of course. The superpowers. And what a fun name to call such powers. Quirks.
He is a bit fascinated by them. Well, more than a bit. A lot, actually. There is simply so much variety in quirks it is unbelievable.
From breathing fire (his dad) to some form of telekinesis (his mom), to sweating nitro-glycerine (his former friend), to controlling water, to having wings,...
It is mind-blowing.
And while he is fascinated by them, it also scares him a bit. Because quirks are unpredictable.
But this is the first time since he got the diagnosis of being Quirkless, that he is actually alright with it. Being Quirkless that is.
And he is fine with it.
In fact, it is kind of a relief, not having a quirk. Tony is a man of science. Having magical powers is not on his wish list. He is happy the way he is.
This world... Is this what his own world would have looked like in a generation of two? With the x-gene appearing more and more in young teens, and enhanced people popping up left and right?
He understands, that in a world with such powers, there need to be rules.
Accountability.
He's been big on that for a while now.
Yes, sometimes something happens and you break rules. Whether to save people or to save yourself. And those are damn good reasons. But sometimes people break rules because it is better for them, or because they enjoy it. Criminals and people with good intentions alike.
That is the way of things. But every action has consequences. Need to be looked over, and "judged".
That is what the Accords were supposed to do. So ordinary people knew that someone has the enhanced superheroes in hand and that they can't just rampage without consequences.
Nothing more.
This world has created a new job to deal with this. Pro heroes.
There are laws those heroes need to keep to. But he can't find anyone who actually supervises them. There is the Hero commission, but they seem more interested in teaching promising kids how to become heroes with their recruitment program. The liaison between heroes and the press, and the rest of society.
But he can't find anything online of heroes getting called in to answer charges of any kind.
And he knows there are situations where this should have happened. Some heroes cause a lot of circumstantial damage, even when chasing what society calls "Villains".
Villains?
Seriously?
Can you put an even more condemning name on people?
So, yeah, this world is... Interesting?
He is sure people can do better. They usually can. But he'll need more information before he judges. Judging without having the entire picture figured out, usually gets people into trouble.
He tries not to do that anymore.
So, he'll hold back from forming a final opinion. He has some strong questions though. Questions that will need answering.
Answers, it seems multiple days into his search, the internet can't provide.
So frustrating.
Also, and Izuku just realizes this now, but there are a lot of laws that people ignore.
And let’s be honest, that happens everywhere. Why would humanity ever have invented the police if people kept to the rules?
Still, he wonders how Hero candidates get selected? He knows people can study to be heroes, in high school. Which is messed up in its own way? Because the line between hero candidate and child soldier is a very thin one… He does wonder how people get chosen though? What criteria have to be met? Just, how the selection happens.
Midoriya Izuku has always wanted to be a hero. So he knows that the best school for getting to that goal is UA.
Tony Stark, while never had had the official title, had been a hero. Or rather, he had been an Avenger and had tried to be a hero.
Ironman had been his way of making up for past mistakes if trying to undo a bit of the bad in the world. And also a way of never feeling that vulnerable again.
Izuku is quirkless. And again, he doesn't mind anymore.
Thanks to being Tony, he knows that being a hero is not dependent on a special power. He is smart enough to make it work without.
Anyone can have a special power. Not everyone has the right mindset to be a hero. Even Tony hadn't gotten there until the end.
But he hopes that he earned that title by the time of his death.
Tony Stark is gone. Midoriya Izuku is left, Reborn like a Phoenix from his aches.
And he will make his dream a reality. Also partially because he never wants to feel that vulnerable again.
He can remake his suit and anything else he needs.
He'll need some practice in that area, but he remembers how he did it when he was Tony.
It'll be fine.
He also searches for some quirkless heroes online, only to come out surprisingly disappointing. He only finds a handful, internationally. Japan doesn't seem to have any.
And how shocking is that?
Twenty percent of the global population is quirkless. That is roughly one person in five. He checked. That is a lot of people. How is it that only a few of those people managed to become heroes?
Is society really that backward?
True, Tony Stark probably never would have built his suits if not for Afghanistan and his wealth. He wouldn't have been able to if he was born into a normal family.
So, yes, he sort of gets it?
...
He has no idea what kind of family he is born into in this life. because their apartment is very modest, but his mother is an at-home mom, and they are living comfortably with the money his father sends them?
Still, hero schools provide most of the gear in those early years, and later on, the agency heroes sign up to cover those costs.
So it isn't impossible.
At least five of all the Avengers had never had any superpowers. Tony, Rhodey, and Scott Lang had had their suits, true, but Clint and Natasha had only ever had their training.
And all of them had been able to keep up with the more enhanced members of their team.
So why is this happening in this world? Is this a lack of funds? Discrimination? Something else?
Diving back onto the net, it turns out to be a bit of everything. From what he could see. Mostly the latter two, the discrimination against quirkless people is really skyrocketing. Most schools that offered a heroics program outright refused quirkless people to try out for them. Only UA doesn't seem to have that rule, and yet no quirkless person has ever made it into the hero course there either.
That, and honestly, the way his people, in general, are treated... Honestly, he has never seen suicide rates that high. In any sort of population group.
It's disgusting.
And it has to stop.
Well, Izuku is too young to do much about it. But he does plan to get his hero license. If he can set some kind of example for people, and show that his people are worth just as much as others, then that will be the first step.
Right?
The idea that any version of Tony Stark would be an example for others, makes him chuckle. How ironic.
Still, it leaves him feeling better.
Speaking of being quirkless, it is laughable how many of the current laws actually concern him. So many laws are worded so specifically towards quirked people, that Izuku could get away with so much stuff right now.
The Vigilante laws? Specifically, mention Quirk-use without a license. So do self-defense and criminal laws.
It’s like this world has forgotten what guns and bombs can do?
This is just too ridiculous for words.
And while Izuku has no intention to go full-on vigilante (he has no gear, no training, nothing… Going out like this right now, would be suicide), if he finds the right law, he will take full advantage of that.
TBC.
|
Bella’s morning routine was rather, well, for lack of a better term, routine. Sleep was something she enjoyed far more than her father did. Despite his usual tired demeanor, Charlie was often up at the crack of dawn whether it be for work or for an early morning fishing trip. At the very least, this was indicative of a kitchen pantry filled to the brim with coffee. If anything, Bella never used to drink the delicious bean water prior to living in Forks, so she considered it a net positive.
School began at approximately 8:15am, so the tall girl furrowed her brow at the sight of her phone’s clock reading 6:30am. Such a time was unacceptable, as she had nearly another half-an-hour before she would actually need to wake up to prepare for the day ahead. As great as the desire to simply remain wrapped in a blanket cocoon pulled at Bella’s brain, she decided to simply pull herself together out of it. The aroma of simple breakfast foods from the kitchen wafted to her nose as she opened her bedroom door.
With bags under her eyes, Bella carefully navigated her way downstairs. She nearly kicked herself for almost forgetting to put her boot on, but the pain was great enough to have alerted her the moment she stepped out of bed. While she was still nearly one with the dead, Charlie was already awake. The chief of police was sipping his coffee, with a plate of half-eaten toast sitting in front of him. If there was one thing that separated the two, it was definitely the morning. Her father looked already perfectly prepared for his day, despite his messy hair, while Bella felt like she might fall asleep at any moment.
“Well, look who’s up bright and early, kiddo.” Charlie noted, putting down his mug of coffee. He looked very nearly ready to help, but Bella put her hand up.
“Don’t worry, I got it.” Bella slowly made her way to a chair and sat down, putting her crutches up against the wall near the kitchen window. While the house had a dining room, it was too big for the lonely house of two. They usually chose to eat at the much smaller table, looking out into the yard through the window. Charlie sighed a bit, standing up and going to the coffee maker and toaster.
“I can do this for you, at the very least.” Charlie said, putting a new pot on and dropping plain bread into the toaster. “I know you’ll wanna get as much walking in as possible to get better faster, but you can do that at school.” Bella snorted a bit, knowing that she couldn’t argue there, as much as she would prefer doing it herself.
“Fair enough, dad.” Bella let out a yawn, inciting a laugh from Charlie. The teenager glared a bit, rubbing her eyes to clear away anything that had formed while she slept. “Hey, it’s easier for you to say Mr. I’m Up At 3am To Go Fishing.”
“Well, it’s not the name I would have chosen, but it’s at least slightly accurate.” Charlie was keeping an intensive eye to not mess up the food, tilting his head around to give Bella his attention. “And that’s from years of practice, too. When Harry wants to go fishing at the crack of dawn, it’s best not to keep him waiting.”
“Fortunately for me, I’m not a boring old man, so I don’t have to obey Harry’s fishing schedule.” Only the slightest bit of sarcasm was present in Bella’s tone, causing her father to roll his eyes.
“Keep that up, and you won’t get any peanut butter on your breakfast.” Charlie said, just as the toast popped out of its heating prison. Bella let out a mock scoff.
“You wouldn’t dare, Charlie Swan.” Bella said, putting a hand to her chest as dramatically as possible.
“I would dare, but seeing as you’re on injury right now…” Charlie finished brewing the coffee and painting the hardened bread with peanut butter, before laying it out on the table before her. “I guess I can make an exception this time around.”
“You’re oh, so generous. What would I do without you?” Bella took a sip of the coffee, which she normally took with milk and sugar. However, on mornings where she looked especially dead, she took it dark and bitter to help wake her up.
“Probably do anything you damn pleased.” Charlie laughed, looking at his watch. “Anyways, I gotta go in early to finish up some reports I left over from last night. Are you going to be good getting to school? You don’t need me to drive you?”
Bella rolled her eyes, nodding her head through a bite of her breakfast. The worst part about the boot was that she was unable to drive her truck like she normally would, the boot impeding her ability to use the pedals properly despite the fact it was on her left ankle.
“I’ll figure something out, okay?”
“If you’re sure, kiddo. Just remember to shoot a text or call me if you need help.”
“I know…” Bella was never quite sure how to respond to this sort of parental stuff. Renee, her mother, was never really good at being an actual parent to Bella. Charlie, on the other hand, was doing all he could to fill the role of a father. Maybe she would have turned out differently if Charlie had been the one with primary custody over her. “Thanks dad, I’ll make sure to ask if I need it.”
Her father bid her farewell for the morning, heading out to his cruiser on the street. Left alone, Bella turned on some music from her phone and simply listened as she finished her toast and coffee. She was simply left with the thought of how to actually make her way to school. A part of her considered texting Alice, but she didn’t want to seem too needy after the previous day. They had just been getting to know one another, and she couldn’t take advantage of her first major friendship in several years.
Deciding to push the thought out for a few moments, she went about her normal morning preparation without much fuss: shower, dry hair, find clothes, and pack up school belongings. Sure, it took her much longer to do since she was doing so on crutches and a boot, but it was only 7:35 by the time she had finished packing her backpack with her work. With a deep breath, she filed through her brain for any ideas for how to get to school. The sole brainchild she had in that moment was to ignore any rational instruction she had been given and drive to school anyway. It seemed like a good idea, she would simply need to drive at a slow speed.
The sound of knocking broke her out of her trance, her attention turning to the door. Who could possibly be here at this hour? It was far too early for mail or any packages to be delivered, and Charlie would simply walk back in. Grabbing onto her crutches, Bella made her way to the front door and opened it up. Maybe that was tempting fate, for all she knew there could have been a deranged killer on the other side, but the tall girl didn’t really care.
With great luck, however, she simply saw Alice. tapping her foot against the ground, standing before her. Even in the morning the pale girl looked as radiant as ever, almost glowing in the depressing atmosphere of Forks. It looked just like the weather had foretold, overcast skies and possible storms. Though with a minimal chance of a girl who absolutely blew her mind. Today, she was wearing high waisted grey pants, a bright yellow-collared shirt with a black cardigan over top. It seemed she preferred wearing things that matched either her hair or the color of her eyes. Even now, Bella wondered how the Cullens and Hales had such beautiful deep amber eyes.
“Good morning, Bella!” Alice waved a bit, and looked like she was just about to jump in and hug her. While Bella would have been more than happy for that, Alice seemed to restrain herself from doing so.
“A… Alice? What are you doing here?” Bella asked, tilting her head a bit in confusion. “It’s really early.”
“Really early?” Alice emphasized how ridiculous Bella sounded with air quotations. “Bella, I know you can’t drive with your boot. So I snuck over here to help you out. And by that I mean drive you where you need to go until your ankle is healed.”
“Wait, wait, hold on…” Bella tried to wave her hands to hold up the conversation. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?” Alice tilted her head, leaning forward toward the slouching girl. “That’s what friends are for, right? Helping each other out when one is hurt.”
“I mean, yeah I think so, but still I don’t wanna…”
“Bother me? Annoy me?” Alice finished Bella’s thought, as if she had read her mind. The look on Bella’s face made the shorter girl chuckle. “Come on, sweetie, it’s not that hard to read you. And just so you know, no, you’re not bothering me in the slightest. I am choosing to do this because I want to.”
Bella grumbled a bit, knowing there wasn’t much she could argue back against. If she could cross her arms in frustration at the moment she would. Alice just smiled, grabbing Bella’s bag and carried it over to the pickup truck.
“Well come on, grumpy, I don’t think we can plan on being late. We have a lunch date at school, don’t we?” Alice waved Bella over to the car, and the taller girl had to keep heat from rushing to her face. She could only wish it was an actual date, but asking some girl out? One with a boyfriend? Sounds fake.
The drive down to the high school was short, to say the least. Alice managed to peel out of the driveway at 7:50am and arrive at the school in just about ten minutes. The girl was a speed demon who did not seem to care about the rules of the road if nobody was on them. As she ripped into the parking lot, Bella took a few deep breaths from the nerves of being near Alice so early in the morning.
It wasn’t hard to tell that people had taken notice of Alice helping Bella into the school, and it certainly made the latter’s anxiety act up. She was more than happy to be around someone like Alice, but she hadn’t quite thought through the repercussions of befriending someone as elusive as a Cullen. It was obvious enough that Alice was about to say something, but the timing of classes drew her away. She turned to Bella with a kind look upon her face, before heading off to her own class. The first half of the day was going to be long, wasn’t it?
Yes. Yes, it was. Every class prior to the lunch period seemed to drag on for far longer than the hour they actually were, her math class more than any other. She turned in her three-fourths finished homework to her annoyed middle-aged teacher. Though she could care less, the last thing she wanted to do was have to make up for any work. And so long as she got by with a solid C in the class, which she was currently right above with a B-, then she was willing to half-ass a homework assignment every now and then.
With every droning word, Bella was sure she would fall asleep. Though, the coffee she drank earlier in the day was doing more than enough to keep her alert throughout the lesson. This time around, her hand was curling around her pen to take notes on whatever today’s lesson about trigonometric functions was. It was more or less copying down what was on the board and not actually absorbing the concepts, as her mind simply wandered back to Alice. In her head, she was still trying to figure out Alice’s angle.
Alice was beautiful, smart, and fashionable; basically everything that Bella wasn’t. So why, out of all the people in school, did Alice choose to talk to her? There had to be some hidden and underlying reason outside of what Alice had already talked to her about. It was something she desperately wanted to know at this juncture, but also was a path she would need to tread lightly. Maybe she would be able to get something more out of one of the others at her table.
Every moment as the class grew closer to ending was agony, as if the universe were mocking her for wanting the world’s most boring class to stop. The eventual sound of the bell cutting Mr. Varner off mid-sentence was wonderful, his own dead clock betraying him. Without enough time to assign homework, he could only watch with annoyance as his students, Bella included, left.
Once more, nerves began to overcome the lanky girl as she slowly made her way to her locker for her lunch and back toward the cafeteria. She had never spoken to any of the others, excluding apparently talking to Edward in her biology class. How she managed to tune out who he was up until that point boggled her a bit, but then again she didn’t really care about anyone else until she locked gazes with Alice. With a deep inhale, Bella made her way through the lunch room, her eyes locking with Alice’s from quite a bit away.
The girl let out her trademark smile as she waved Bella to come over toward their table. As Bella got closer, she made sure to evaluate the appearances of the others. She had managed to gather some names from her memory, not wanting to seem totally oblivious when she got there. Edward seemed sullen, as per usual according to Alice, but also something else. There was an air of uncertainty about him compared to Alice. Rosalie, the one who seemed to have a problem with Edward, also seemed to have one with the mere idea of Bella sitting with them. A single stare from Alice managed to shut her down though, as she leaned into the muscular Emmett, as she had managed to gather from other students. He seemed excited, happy even, to have someone new coming over to their table. The last one, Jasper, was Alice’s boyfriend. And even if Rosalie had seemed unhappy, her twin seemed to be absolutely miserable about Bella.
“Bella! I’m glad you decided to join us!” Alice said, jumping up to assist the taller girl to her seat beside her. “I'll really introduce you to everyone now.”
“You better be everything Alice has been talking about.” Emmett said, a smirk on his face. “You wouldn’t believe how much she’s hyped you up since she came home yesterday.”
“Doesn’t look like much to me.” Rosalie would have offered a glare, Bella was sure, but Alice seemed to have prevented her from going too far overboard.
“Come on, give her a chance. Since when have we had someone new to hang around.” Emmett was the only one showing a genuine attempt at accepting her sitting with them. “Anyways, you probably already heard about how I’m a million times cooler than Edward.”
Edward grumbled something under his breath in response, but not loud enough for Bella to hear.
“Well… You certainly seem to be.” Bella smiled a little, Alice happy to see her making an attempt.
“Hah! See?! I told you she was gonna be a good addition.” Emmett clapped his hands together, his smile infectious to Bella. He seemed to be like Alice, upbeat to match two smiles to three scowls. Well, two and a half, since Rosalie’s lips curled up at Emmett’s excitement.
“Maybe she’s slightly less annoying than I thought she would have been.” Rosalie laid a bit onto Emmett’s shoulder, smirking at Bella. “Especially if she’s willing to take the shit out of Edward.”
“It’s really not that funny.” Edward responded, his tone filled with annoyance.
“Oh, trust me, I think it is.” Rosalie scoffed a bit at Edward, turning to Alice. “I’ll let her stick around… for now, that is.”
“I’m glad you all seem to like her!” Alice looked at Edward and Jasper for a moment, frowning a bit at their own annoyed attitudes. “Come on, Edward, she didn’t even recognize you from biology. You love when people don’t give you the time of day.”
“I like it when people don’t glorify and stalk me. And then they don’t even bother to come up and talk to me.” Edward rested his head into his hands, resulting in an eye roll from his brother.
“Come on, Edward, we both know that you would flat out ignore them even if they did try to talk to you. Let’s not pretend you’re Mr. Social, when we all know you’re Mr. Wannabe Brooding Bad Boy.” Emmett teased, poking fun at Edward’s general demeanor.
“I could totally see him playing Batman in a future adaptation. Just dye his hair black and you’d have our next star.” Bella interjected, resulting in uproarious laughter from both Alice and Emmett. Even Rosalie seemed to appreciate the joke when Edward scowled at the thought.
“I do not brood.” Edward pointed an accusatory finger at Bella. “I am not even remotely broody enough to resemble Bruce Wayne.’
“You’re hopelessly oblivious of yourself, aren’t you?” Alice said, leaning forward toward him. “Sweet boy doesn’t even realize it.”
“Please don’t call me that.” Edward dropped his head onto the table, a groan escaping from him. “This is awful.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Edward. I am thoroughly entertained by this.” Rosalie seemed to be telling the truth, visibly enjoying the brooding boy’s embarrassment.
“Is being compared to Batman such a bad thing?” Bella tilted her head. “I thought everyone, from every walk of life, liked Batman.”
“Maybe if you were comparing literally any of his other attributes.” Edward pulled his face off the table. “But no, you go for his most pathetic aspect.”
“To be fair, it’s only pathetic if you think of it that way.” Alice crossed her arms a bit. "Bella likes to brood and she takes it in stride.” The shorter girl leaned onto Bella like Rosalie had with Emmett.
“I do consider my brooding to be a plus, it kept people from bothering me for years on-end.” Bella said, trying to make the best out of the comparison. She didn’t consider herself to be the best people-person, so having that sort of aura was a net-positive.
“Except the part where I didn’t particularly care about that and I talked to Bella anyway.” Alice seemed proud of herself, as she looked to Jasper, who was still sitting in silence and misery. She looked like she wished he had joined in on their conversation, if even just a little bit.
It wasn’t that hard for Bella to tell that Jasper definitely did not like her. Even if Edward was complaining about the conversation, a part of her could tell that he was at least trying to interact with her. But Jasper simply glared at her upon noticing Bella staring, prompting Alice to angrily roll her eyes.
“What is your problem, Jasper? Are you going to give us the silent treatment all day?” Bella hadn’t heard annoyance in Alice’s tone as of yet, but it was something she definitely hoped she would never be on the receiving end of. It was somewhere between angry and disappointed, but surprisingly leaned more toward the former.
“I don’t like that you brought her over here.” Jasper managed with a somewhat heavy southern accent. “Or that you’re hanging onto her like that.”
Alice scoffed in response to what he had said, her own voice traveling more toward anger.
“I can do whatever I want. More importantly, I can bring whoever I want to this table.” Alice tapped the table with her finger for emphasis. It didn’t look like she had done so very strongly, but Bella noticed that the table shook with each tap. “I checked with everyone last night if they were okay with Bella joining us. Everyone said she could, except you.”
“I don’t want her here, doesn’t my vote count?” Jasper’s tone was filled with venom, pointedly directed square at Bella. It was making her feel far less comfortable than she was just a few moments ago when they were all joking around. She thought she was making a good first impression with them.
“Of course it does! But not when you just straight up refuse to give me an answer.” Alice said, poking her finger into Jasper’s chest. “You’ve never even met her, so why do you refuse to give her a chance?”
“I can tell what kind of person she is, just by looking at her.” Jasper’s eyes narrowed at Bella as he spoke. “She has bad news written all over her, and I’m not just gonna let her come here like she owns the place.”
“Like she owns the…?” Alice groaned in pure annoyance. “Are you even listening to yourself? She was fully prepared to not sit here today. And if it was really such a problem, I would have just sat over there with her, alone.” Standing up from her seat, she turned and pointed toward Bella’s old empty table. “What is the big deal with me making a friend?”
“You don’t need any! You have me. You have us. Why do you need this one?” Jasper stood up, anger boiling over him, and waving his hand at Bella. “Because she fell down some stairs? Is that where you were this morning?”
“You don’t control what I choose to do, Jasper.” Alice retorted. “I wanted to help Bella because she can’t drive with her boot.”
“Alice... I…” Bella tried to interject, but neither of the couple were backing down. She could feel it in her, the anxiety was growing the more Jasper directed his anger at her. So far, since moving to Forks, she managed to stay pretty far off from an anxiety attack. Despite her height, Bella found herself shrinking back. She wanted to remove herself as far away from the situation as possible. Her mind turned to the crutches and the fact she could just walk away if things got to be too much.
“I’m not comfortable with this girl being here.” Jasper stated clearly, putting his hands behind his back. “She’s only been here for a day and she’s already causing problems.”
“She’s causing problems? Are you being serious right now, Jasper?” Alice sighed in anger, as Jasper doubled down.
“Yes. The moment you decided to walk up to her was the moment you decided to prioritize her over everyone else.”
“I’ve known her for a day, Jasper!”
“Sure you have.” Jasper said so in a knowing tone, all high and mighty, dripping to the brim with sarcasm. At that moment, Edward rose up and put his hand on Jasper’s shoulder.
“Getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?” Edward looked very displeased with him, his brows furrowing. “Watch your words very carefully.”
The tone in which Edward spoke seemed to cause Jasper to finally back down, though he flashed Bella one more glare as he turned around. Rosalie seemed to be as equally on edge as Edward was, while Emmett simply turned his head a bit away. This was all one horrible idea, wasn’t it? That’s all that the tall girl could think of now that this seemed to have passed. Lunch was nearly over at this point, the fun she had earlier all but vanished under a thick cloud of anxiety. It was almost on the verge of overtaking her, but the sound of the bell saved her.
Using all of her remaining energy, Bella grabbed her crutches and got up.
“Bella.” Alice noticed that she had already taken off from the table. She walked fast to try and keep up with her. “I am so sorry, I had no idea Jasper would react this badly over it.”
“I’m sorry too.” Bella said, frowning sadly. “I didn’t mean to somehow come between you two.”
“You didn’t.” Alice was firm as she walked alongside her. “Jasper was way out of line. And if he wants to issue an ultimatum over something like this?” Running a hand through her pixie cut, Alice let out a loud scoff. “I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”
“Alice… I really… I really don’t want to get in the way of your relationship with him.” Bella’s frown only grew, feelings of loneliness panging through her. She had been used to being alone, so why did the thought of stopping being around Alice feel so hollow and scary? “I can go if you need me to go. My dad can drive me to and from school until I can get better.”
Steeling herself, Alice put her hands onto Bella’s shoulder the best she could.
“No. Just like I told Jasper, he does not get to control who I choose to be around.” Alice was firm in her decision. “And I enjoyed being with you yesterday and I certainly did at lunch. I haven’t seen Emmett and Rosalie out of their shells like that in a really long time. Even if Edward seemed annoyed, he hasn’t had that long of a conversation with someone who wasn’t us in a while either.” She tightened her grasp on Bella. “I’m not going to let anyone dictate who I’m friends with. If that’s suddenly somehow a dealbreaker for him…” Suddenly Alice’s mood shifted to something more somber and subdued. “Then I guess that’s done and done.”
“Alice, you can’t really mean that? I mean…”
“We just met, right? It doesn’t matter if we just met or if I’d known you for my entire life.” Alice took her arms back and crossed them. “No one gets to angrily dictate my life. Not now, not in the past, and not ever. Only I get to. If he wanted to compromise, he would have earlier. And… I saw how you looked earlier when he was yelling… I don’t think I want to see that look on you again.”
“I’m… If you’re sure about that, then I’ll respect it.” Bella said. “I really don’t wanna stop hanging out with you… and I’d love to hang around more with you all if it’s safe to.”
“Maybe not with Jasper for the time being.” Alice put her hand on her hip, looking down at the floor. “But maybe everyone else wouldn’t mind it. You got along swimmingly with Emmett, sweetie. And even Rosalie didn’t want to rip your head off.”
“I take it that’s something she likes to do?” Bella felt a little bit better, a small weight of anxiety being taken off her chest. It wasn’t all gone, but it was a definite improvement.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Alice smiled again, beginning to walk Bella to her next class. “But hey, if Rosalie likes you? Then that means Esme and Carlisle will… And then you’ll be already halfway there!”
“Halfway to where?” Bella inquired, beginning to walk again by Alice’s side. The girl just put one finger up to her mouth. The way all of that was phrased seemed… Odd to say the least, but the smile behind Alice’s finger spoke otherwise.
“You’ll find out one day, sometime soon!” Alice winked at Bella, causing a flush of red to appear on her face. “I guarantee it. |
It is far far too late (or early, rather) for anyone to be knocking on Dick’s door, and, given his occupation, that was saying something.
He’s half tempted to ignore them just for managing a feat like that, but the voice in the back of his head that keeps him doubly alert on patrol (the one that sounds suspiciously like Bruce) happily reminds him that knocking on someone’s door at four in the morning wasn’t often a task done for pleasure. And, as he himself had previously mentioned, he’s a vigilante meaning it’s his job to help out people who were potentially in trouble.
With a groan, Dick rolls over, unceremoniously kicking his blankets off. Several not-quite healed injuries jump at the chance to remind him of their existence as he sits up (his shoulder especially, still sore and aching from a particularly ill-placed grapple a few nights ago) though the ever-present knocking ringing in his ears keeps him from dwelling on it for too long.
The knocks which, while not quite what Dick would call desperate, were certainly becoming more insistent with each passing moment, setting off a fair number of warning bells in Dick’s head.
There were few enough people that knew that Dick Grayson – because Nightwing was a whole other story and, to the people of Blüdhaven at least, certainly didn’t live in a cheap, cramped apartment – would be a reliable person to turn to in a time of need, and even fewer who lived close enough to turn up on his doorstep at the drop of a hat.
Unless something was going horribly wrong, he’d have been informed about large-scale threats by slightly more traditional means (i.e. a text message. On his work phone, of course), Bruce would’ve crawled in through the window, he’d been allergic to knocking for as long as Dick could remember, and Alfred, unlike most people in his life, would have actually have had the forethought to show up at a more reasonable time.
Which all is to say Dick has absolutely no idea what – or rather who – to expect when he finally makes it to his front door and groggily reaches out to yank it open, but it certainly isn’t-
“Jason?” Dick asks, bewildered, half-convinced he’s still asleep.
Jason flinches hard, fist frozen in midair like he had been about to knock again. He’s wearing a too-big red hoodie with the Wonder Woman symbol emblazoned across it, a somewhat raggedy pair of jeans that Dick’s pretty sure are his, a pair of beat up, sharpie scribble covered sneakers, and there’s a large, black backpack hanging off his shoulders.
“Hey,” he greets quietly, hand dropping limply to his side. “Can I come in?”
Dick blinks, a thousand different questions shoving themselves to the forefront of his mind. (Namely, what, why, and huh?)
He’d been under the impression that the second Robin wanted as little to do with Dick as Dick wanted with him, and had spent the subsequent entirety of Jason’s vigilante career avoiding the younger as much as possible. And yet, despite all that, here he was, at 4 am on a Tuesday, standing at (and until ten seconds ago knocking as aggressively as possible against) Dick’s door.
“Does B know you’re here?” Dick manages, slightly strangled, once he realizes the two of them had just been standing in awkward silence, and were he perhaps anyone else, anyone not trained to be a mini-detective from age nine, the tension in Jason’s shoulders might've flown under the radar.
“No,” he says, low and hesitant, and the unspoken ‘Not yet’ rings so clearly in the air between them that Jason might as well have just said it. “I… made sure he was asleep and I caught a bus out here with cash. ‘M not a fucking idiot.”
Dick hums, absentmindedly wondering if Jason had just admitted to slipping Bruce some form of sleep-inducing drug, and lets himself lapse momentarily back into his thoughts.
He couldn’t very well slam the door in Jason’s face the way he would with Bruce, not if he was telling the truth and had made the hour-and-a-half-long bus ride from Gotham to Blüdhaven without so much as telling Alfred. Not when the kid, who barely even knew him, had dug up Dick’s address of his own accord and trusted Dick enough to listen to him in his apparently urgent hour of need.
Dick bites back a weary sigh; he was the wrong person for Jason to come to about this… whatever ‘this’ was. The wrong person for Jason to come to in general.
“Want some hot chocolate?”
Jason, who’d been anxiously fidgeting with one of the straps on his backpack, visibly pauses at the words, taking a long moment to process them. (Looking for hidden meanings, the part of his brain that stored the ten years of lessons Bruce had drilled into him helpfully chirps. Threats, implications, whatever; nothing can be considered unimportant.)
“... You got marshmallows?”
The next few minutes pass in a blur.
He ushers Jason inside, flicking on the lamp he set up in his ‘living room’ as he directs Jason to the couch, before promptly sweeping off to the kitchen to pull out his hot chocolate ingredients.
(He does not, in fact, have any marshmallows, and Jason pulls a face when he offers to swing by the 24/7 convenience store around the corner and pick some up.
“Marshmallows are the bane of the earth’s existence,” he informs Dick from where he’s perched himself on the very edge of the couch, criss-cross with his shoes still on and backpack carefully placed on the floor. “To willingly ingest one is a most heinous crime.”
Dick rolls his eyes, torn between feeling relieved that whatever funk Jason was in wasn’t all that bad and mild annoyance, and stops paying too close attention to him.)
Dick knows very well that he’s far from as good at making late-night hot cocoa as Alfred, but he’d like to think he isn’t awful at it. He’s had plenty of practice, and while he might have been explicitly banned from the manor kitchen for just about everything else, he’d been patiently walked through the steps of making cocoa enough times that it stuck.
Milk, cocoa powder, sugar, heat. He yanks two mugs out of the cupboard while he waits for the mixture to warm up, setting them on the counter with a clink. A tentative silence settles over the apartment.
Jason, in the brief moment of time Dick had turned his gaze and attention away from him, had curled up against the arm of the couch, hoodie unzipped in a surprising display of ease. He’s still neglected to take his shoes off though, and Dick’s nose instinctively wrinkles at the thought of some horrifying mixture of both Gotham and Blüdhaven street grime getting rubbed into his couch cushions. The thought is just as quickly put out of his head when he notices just how… small Jason looks.
The realization of how smoothly the look fits over Jason, like a second skin, twists something in Dick’s stomach. Jason, for all the world, looked like he often tucked himself away, made himself small and forced himself out of view. Like he was used to doing it.
Dick forces himself to turn back to the stove.
He couldn’t let Jason’s hot chocolate burn, after all.
“So can I ask what spurred on all of… this?” Dick only asks several minutes later and only after he’d shoved the larger mug of hot chocolate into Jason’s hands.
He’s sat himself down carefully in his singular chair, though he at least took the time to drag it away from his dining table and set it across the coffee table from the spot on the couch Jason was occupying; a task that had been somewhat needlessly complicated by carrying two full mugs at the same time. (The kid seemed to enjoy the spectacle though, which made it mostly worth it.)
Back in the present, Jason hunches up his shoulders, his fingers visibly tightening their grip around his mug, knuckles going white. He’s silent for an agonizingly long beat.
“Nothing happened,” he finally spits out, shielding his wince at how flimsy of a lie that was behind another sip of his cocoa. Dick gives him an incredulous stare.
“Uh- huh,” Dick drags out the sound, letting his disbelief ring clear. “So you’re here instead of there because you just miss me that much?”
Jason just shrugs, sipping at his cocoa again, a far cry from the sarcastic answer Dick had been expecting. It throws him, just a bit.
“O…kay.” He doesn’t know what else to say. It still rings hollow.
A beat of silence.
“I-” Jason starts, only to immediately cut himself off, face scrunching up as if he’d just smelled something particularly gross. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and chews lightly at it.
(Dick tries his best not to look too interested. He’s certain he’s failed.)
“You were my Robin, growing up,” Jason finally continues, casually enough, though the strained way his words come out shatter the illusion. “You were everyone’s Robin, really, but… you were mine. And you were especially Bruce’s. And- and he’s training me just fine, but he always acts like he expects you to be there instead of… me. He’s always waiting for you to make a joke, ‘cause neither of us quite as good at that part, and he- he’s always fighting like he’s counting on your moves and those flips of yours that I can’t do, and-”
Jason keeps talking – rambling, really, but calling it that sounded a touch rude – but Dick could hardly hear him over the sound of his own heartbeat, suddenly deafening in his ears. Several puzzle pieces were clicking into place, and Dick isn’t entirely certain he wants the complete picture.
Jason had had two hours, at minimum, to think this over. Two hours of jumping over fences on his way out of Bristol and into Gotham to get stuck inside his own head, overanalyzing Bruce’s entire approach to working with other people. (Though, from the sounds of it, a better estimate of how long this had been eating at Jason was closer to several months – from the very first time he’d officially donned the Robin suit.
Perhaps Dick needed to have another talk with Bruce.)
“Nightwing,” Jason’s voice comes, tinged with something sickeningly close to desperate, yanking Dick abruptly back down to earth. He’s staring intently at Dick’s face as if looking for something, face set, though his eyes hold a fragility to them. Like he’s moments away from shattering.
“Jason,” Dick responds, holding the younger’s gaze steadily.
Robin sits on the tip of his tongue, and he knows it’s probably the alias Jason wants to hear, but- he just can’t. Not now, and maybe not ever. (It’s hardly fair to Jason, but Bruce giving away his mother’s nickname for him was hardly fair to Dick, so really it was still all Bruce’s fault.)
Jason exhales shakily, and for a split second Dick fears he might retreat back into his head again. But Jason is nothing if not brave, far braver than Dick had ever been, and, between one instant and the next, he’s made his decision.
“I’m not you,” Jason says, only the slightest tremor in his voice and the fragile look still haunting his gaze betraying how nervous he’s feeling under his carefully constructed shield of calm. “But you’re Robin, and I’m supposed to be like you. So,” he pauses, sucks in a shaky breath, “I need you to teach me how to be you; how to be Robin correctly.”
Dick knows from personal experience that getting punched in the stomach would have left him less breathless. He blinks dumbly, at a loss for words, and Jason crumples further under his silent stare.
There had been a brief period of time, back when they first met, when all Dick had wanted was for the kid to be stripped of the Robin name just as he had. There was a time that he hated Jason simply for what he represented; that, at least in Bruce’s eyes, he was easily replaceable. Easy to strip of his family’s symbols in favour of a newer, less defiant model. But now the feeling just felt wrong; just turned the chocolate in his mouth to ash.
“Nevermind,” Jason says, far too hurried and far too slow at the same time, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Dick’s continued silence. His hands shake as he sets his still half-full mug down. “This was stupid, forget this ever happened.”
Maybe it’s the suddenly pleading edge his voice takes that alerts Dick he really needs to say something if he wants any shot at comforting the kid at all; or maybe it’s the fact that Jason’s already stood up, backpack strap clenched in one hand while his other deftly zips back up his hoodie. It doesn’t matter much in the end.
“Jason,” Dick repeats, and the force behind how he says it makes Jason freeze. “I can’t teach you how to be Robin. You of all people should know that.”
Jason wilts, Dick’s answer clearly one he’d been expecting and dreading in equal parts. For a split second, Dick allows himself to feel horribly, awfully happy about it.
Right here and now, he could tell Jason that he would never be Robin, could rub in his face how much better at being a vigilante he had been at twelve, could list all the ways Jason didn’t stack up. But that would make him no better than Bruce. And if the bar was in hell and Dick was still almost tripping over it…
He tightens his jaw, and refuses to let any of his resentment pour through into his voice as he says, “I’m not Robin, not anymore, so it doesn’t matter what I think about the ‘correct’ way to be Robin.”
(Jason looks like he wants to argue, eyebrows knit together and nose wrinkled up in protest, but his backpack is slowly inching back towards the floor and Dick takes it as a sign to just keep pressing forward.)
“Sure, back then Robin was freedom for me, but it’s hardly like that feeling ended when I shed the name and costume. Nowadays Nightwing is what gives me that freedom and Robin is yours to make into your own. What I wanted Robin to be should have nothing to do with that.”
“But, what if-” Jason cuts himself off, dropping limply back onto Dick’s couch like a puppet with its strings cut. He pulls his knees up to his chest, voice cracking as he all but whispers, “What about what Batman wants Robin to be?”
“Robin isn’t Batman’s sidekick,” Dick says, the words immediately flying off his tongue in response. “He’s Batman’s partner, and, as such, he and Batman are equals. B has no more right to tell you how to be Robin than you have to tell him how to be Batman. Besides,” Dick leans forward to snatch an old receipt and a pen off the coffee table, quickly scribbling down his phone number, “if he’s ever that big of an asshole, you just call me. Blüdhaven’s always got a slot open for a promising hero like you, okay?”
Jason’s eyes are wide as he reaches out, gently picking the crumpled piece of paper out of Dick’s outstretched hand like it were the most valuable thing he’d ever been given. The tremble in his voice no longer sounds like fear, replaced instead with something approaching awe as he quietly responds.
“Okay.” |
Tony staggered into the kitchen, ignorant of the time or the presence of others, focused only on getting caffeine into his body so he can get back to work and out of his own head. There’s a conversation going on around him, but he doesn’t care about it, doesn’t listen to it.
He isn’t using—can't use—the snowstorm to ignore it, though, so the words filter in around him despite his best efforts. It’s Steve and Sam talking about their search efforts for Steve’s best friend and soulmate, Bucky Barnes the Winter Soldier, and how they’ve failed to catch him and bring him home yet again.
Tony stares at the coffee machine as it percolates and thinks about the glass wall in his mind, the one between him and his soulmate’s emotions, the one that keeps out the snowstorm, the ice, the numbness. The one that keeps out everything.
Not even three months after his soulmate started to emote and they decided they didn’t want him. He’s not even sure how they managed to keep him out, but they did it and now Tony can see the snowstorm, the tundra, the blizzard of his soulmate’s emotions but he can’t feel them.
He’s not even sure what he did wrong, to make them disavow him so completely. He wishes he did. Maybe he could fix it. He was good at fixing things.
Most of the time.
“I know he remembers me,” Steve was saying to Sam, his voice quiet but not like he’s trying not to be overheard. He sounds like his heart is broken with worry and grief. Tony feels strange just hearing him talk like that. “I know he does. That can’t be the reason why he keeps going. He has to know it’s me.”
“He’s probably just confused,” Sam said, “Think about it, man. He was sent after you and failed and now he’s on the run. Maybe he does remember you but maybe he also thinks you’re after him to hurt him back or something.”
“I would never,” Steve said in shock. Tony glanced over to see him leaning forward, face earnest, eyes never leaving Sam’s. “I would never hurt him and he knows that.”
If Tony had had his snowstorm, if Tony had had his ice, he would have never said what he did next. The snowstorm had been how he survived being around Steve. It numbed all the pain in his heart that he felt when he looked at the man that had played such an unwitting role in the foundation of Tony’s life.
But he didn’t have the snowstorm. He didn’t have his numbing ice.
He didn’t have his soulmate anymore.
So out of his mouth dropped the words, “Maybe he doesn’t care that you wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe he just doesn’t want you.”
They both startle and look at him as if seeing him in the kitchen only ten feet away for the first time. Tony’s surprised he said anything and also that they’re shocked to see him and hear him. Then again, he usually ignores them these days or is politely indifferent.
At least, that’s what he did when he had his soulmate’s ice to wrap himself up in. He feels painfully exposed, a raw wound on bare skin, chilled but not numbed, throbbing with each heartbeat, pulsing in quiet agony.
“What did you say?” Steve asked him, quiet and fierce.
Tony shrugged a shoulder. The machine trilled behind him. His coffee was done. “Whether or not he remembers you is a moot point, don’t you think? Because one thing is definitely clear. He doesn’t want you to find him, Steve. He doesn’t want you. And if he doesn’t want you, maybe you should just leave him the fuck alone.”
Steve is on his feet in a second and though Tony’s heart rate picks up with a spike of adrenaline at the sudden intimidation of a super-soldier on his feet in front of him, Tony keeps his expression aloof and his posture relaxed but its a struggle.
Sam gets up as well, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder but Steve shrugs it off and goes around the table to get up in Tony’s face. “You don’t know that,” Steve glowered at him, “You don’t know anything about Bucky.”
“Sergeant James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, born March 10th, 1917 to Winnifred and George Barnes, oldest of three kids, Army Serial number 32557038, formerly a member of the 107th Infantry and then a member of the Howling Commandos before he fell off the Schnellzug EB912 in pursuit of Arnim Zola in 1945. He ended up in Hydra’s ever so tender care for seventy years wherein he got grafted a new arm into his bones and nervous system, pumped full of knock off super-soldier serum, and his brain rattled with so much electricity that God only knows what, if anything, he can remember about his past,” Tony rattled off the words quickly and then paused, partially for effect and partially for a drink of coffee. To Steve’s horrified face, he said with a shrug, “There are records of his work for Hydra, Steve. What the fuck do you think was in those SHIELD files that you dropped on the internet? Fury’s mama’s secret buttermilk pancake recipe?”
Steve’s chest heaved with emotion. His eyes shone with it. Tony wished he had the snowstorm. He hated this. He felt so raw and exposed, like Steve’s emotions were contagious and if he stood near him too long he’d end up just as compromised.
“So everything you know about him is out of a paper file,” Steve said through gritted teeth, “Which just proves my point. You don’t know Bucky. You have no idea what he wants or what he’s like. He’s out there, scared and alone, and he needs help.”
“Sure he does,” Tony agreed readily. “I bet he’d love all the help he could get. I’m just saying that it probably isn’t you that he wants help from, considering how hard he’s trying to avoid you. I gotta wonder why, though. Historical records said you two were pretty close. Like sensing each other’s emotions close, if you catch my drift.”
Steve did, of course, and he reared back with shock. “You think Bucky’s my soulmate?”
Tony shrugged. It was as good a reason for Steve’s attachment as anything else. “That’s the popular theory these days.”
“And you’re going to agree with that and still say that you think he doesn’t want me to help him? You really think someone would turn their back on their soulmate? You think Bucky would do that?”
Tony lifted his mug to his lips again. His hand did not shake. “It happens all the time, Cap. People find out who their soulmate is and reject them, or they don’t like their emotional landscape. Or they think they emote too much or something. There are as many reasons not to reach out to your soulmate as there are to do so, you know. What, did you never come across soulmates on opposite sides of a conflict before? Haven’t you heard of Romeo and Juliet? Or the Hatfields and McCoys?”
“I think that what soulmates choose to do is a personal, private thing,” Steve said stiffly, staring hard at Tony with a very impressive face of disappointment. It might have done something, too, if not for the fact that he and Steve just hadn’t connected in any really meaningful way. Sure, they lived in his tower and survived off of his money, but Tony wasn’t friends with these people. The only reason they ever saw his emotions at all was because his soulmate had blocked him out.
“Right,” Tony interrupted Steve before he could launch into a lecture on privacy or whatever. As if Tony didn’t understand what privacy was. As if Tony hadn’t had his life splattered across tabloids since he was a child. As if Tony wasn’t the reason why JARVIS had any privacy policies that kept the occupants of the tower safe from prying eyes, including his own. “Which is why I wasn’t going to bring up your soulmate ghosting you in favor of living off the grid God knows where. I’m just saying, all those romantic movies lied to you. Stalking and hounding someone who has put up clear signals they want to be left alone will only chase them further away. Barnes knows you want him back so give him some fucking space to breathe, Steve. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Steve countered, stubborn as always, jaw jutting out. But he’d lost some of his actual anger, at least it looked that way, and Sam was no longer standing quite so alertly next to him. “Hydra could corner him and get to him and take him away again!”
“Which is why I think it’s a totally reasonable idea to keep locating Hydra hideouts and tearing them to pieces,” Tony said with a nod. “It’ll keep you busy, let Barnes know you take Hydra as a serious threat, and give you both something to bond over when he inevitably comes back home to you. Nothing brings long-lost love closer together than punching nazis.”
Steve’s expression twisted, bitter and tight like he had realized Tony was right and he hated it. To be fair, Tony was feeling and looking pretty fucking smug about being right. He’d definitely won this argument and all he’d lost doing it was some of the slivers of ice he had managed to keep around his own heart.
Surely Barnes might reject Steve now, but he’d get over that and come back home to him. He couldn’t ignore his soulmate forever, especially not if that soulmate was Captain Fucking America.
At least now Tony was reasonably sure that Howard wasn’t Steve’s soulmate. Thank God.
Before Steve would have to admit he was right, Tony decided to spare his feelings, and escape with his own still mostly intact. “Whatever you do decide to do, Steve, just keep me out of it,” Tony said, “I have much better things to do than traipse around after someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
He sauntered past Steve and Sam, drinking his coffee and ignoring them entirely, not that they called after him or anything. He could feel Sam look after him for a bit, but the feeling passed and then he was down the hall and away from them.
Tony’s hands shook in the elevator, not spilling his coffee because it was half gone already, and he leaned his head back against the wall.
He missed his snowstorm. He missed his soulmate’s indifference.
But there was nothing he could do about it.
It works.
It works less than three years later when Steve finishes battering his way through some bunker Hydra sank into a Romanian hillside and he comes out of the reinforced front door to find Bucky Barnes standing there waiting for him. Tony finds out about it because he has JARVIS monitoring their comms and the moment the words “It’s him! Bucky!” comes out of Steve’s mouth, Tony has him pull the feed up on so he can watch while he works.
The reunion is as touching and full of emotional back-slapping and manly tears as Tony had always predicted it would be and he doesn’t even wait until Steve’s back stateside before he messages him about it.
[Tony]: Told you so.
JARVIS has given him a feed into the quinjet that he’s so generously let Steve use to traipse around the world crushing Hydra bunkers and so Tony sees the moment that Steve checks his phone and reads the message. He sees the flash of annoyance on his face, the way he rolls his eyes and gritted his teeth and shoved the device away.
It took Tony two years to wear him down enough to get Steve to take a touch screen instead of a flip phone but that is just one more thing Tony was right about and that he can gloat about.
Bucky catches the motion, sitting across from Steve, and he cocked an eyebrow at him. “What’s that about?” His voice is unfairly attractive, Tony has to admit to himself. The Russian-by-way-of-Brooklyn really does something his vowels and Tony shivers at the thought of hearing him speak in person.
“Nothing,” Steve said, trying to cover up his annoyance and failing miserably at it. One would think that after so much time galavanting around as a public face he would have learned how to school his expression better, but then again, that tour was in the 40s and Bucky was his very bestest friend so he might be a little more relaxed.
Tony logically understood that, even if he thought it was stupid. Even he knew better than to drop his face around his friends if they were in company with anyone else or, you know, in a plane that almost certainly had monitoring equipment in it. Tony drummed his fingers on the tabletop and tensed, watching the way Bucky lifted his other brow and just stared at Steve.
Steve shifted in his seat.
Bucky continued to stare.
Fascinated, Tony did as well.
Finally, Steve reached some sort of internal boiling point and he exhaled explosively, “It’s just Tony being a grade-A asshole. It’s nothing. He’s just—ugh.”
Tony smirked to himself, smug as hell at breaking Steve’s composure, even if he wasn’t there to see it in person. It was probably better this way. And safer too. Tony had seen what Steve did to punching bags when he was pissed off. He liked to have an exit strategy around Steve, just in case his temper got the better of him.
One couldn’t be too sure, after all. Steve was from the same timeframe as Howard and Tony knew exactly how Howard dealt with people weaker than himself who pissed him off.
Sam decided to interject here. He was also in the back, leaving Natasha alone in the cockpit to fly the quinjet. Sam made a show of rolling his eyes and leaning back in his seat as he said, “Man, he is not even here what has got you so bothered about him anyway?”
Steve dug out his phone and tossed it over. Same caught it with a frown. “Check his last text,” Steve told him.
Sam swiped Steve’s phone open. Tony didn’t have a good view of the screen from where he was, but he was pretty sure Sam didn’t do any special swipes or taps or anything, which meant Captain America’s fucking cell phone wasn’t even password locked.
Jesus. Tony lived with real idiots, didn’t he?
He remembered Steve’s periodic digs about privacy and scoffed. The man didn’t lock his own phone and he thought Tony was invasive of his privacy?
Sure, he was watching them in the quinjet but it was his quinjet and they hadn’t even bothered to call in to say they were all alive or anything. Tony had even told Steve that he had cameras in the quinjet that were operational whenever it was in flight. It was a safety precaution. Steve had appreciated that. He had even said it was a good idea, in case something terrible happened and they needed to understand what it was.
And then he proceeded to ignore almost every other safety precaution on the quinjet when using it, but whatever.
Sam checked the phone and his brows went up. Bucky shifted to look at him and Sam turned the phone to show it to him.
“Told you so?” Bucky repeated.
Tony’s fingers itched to text Steve’s phone again. He could really freak them out and he knew it. It was very tempting. He was a little pissed off that they had gone off to this Hydra base without him—had scheduled it when he was going to have to be in California for unavoidable Board Meetings with Pepper and the assholes who thought they ran Stark Industries.
He wanted to blow up a Hydra base too. It was about the only thing that let him vent his frustrations properly these days and Tony had a lot of frustrations.
It turned out that spending the predominant years of his life soaking himself in the cold indifference of his soulmate had left him a little, well, rusty on how to deal with his almost constant irritations. Everything had been so much easier to deal with when he could stop feeling any time he wished.
A small part of Tony’s heart went cold and hard as he thought of his soulmate and their snowstorm on the other side of that glass wall in his mind. He didn’t like to think that he hated them but sometimes…
Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and muttered, “He may have… given me some advice. Before.”
Sam tossed Steve back his phone and said, “He wasn’t the only one giving you that advice. You just refused to see it until he slapped you upside the head with it.”
Bucky’s expression was confused and Steve sighed. Heavily. His shoulders sank and he said, “Remember how when you first left— when we met and you remembered things and you ran off?”
Bucky nodded. His expression was suddenly flat and hard, showing nothing. Tony’s angle wasn’t good enough to see his eyes clearly, but he saw the set of his jaw and the way his whole body tensed up.
“Well. I just— I wanted you back so badly and I was gonna do whatever it took to get you. I didn’t realize then that what you needed was time, Buck. I thought if I could find you and bring you home we could figure it all out together but you kept avoiding me and hiding from me and I kept searching and searching and…I thought you just needed to know I was there for you.” Steve let the words trail off and shrugged. He turned his head to look to the side.
“Tony convinced him to back off,” Sam supplied, stepping in for Steve the way he always did, “Basically, he said that Steve was chasing after you like a bad rom-com boyfriend, stalking you and harassing you and not listening to your clear signal that you wanted to be left alone. I mean, I’d told him pretty much the same thing but Tony was pretty blunt about it.”
“He compared it to turning your back on your soulmate,” Steve said. He was still looking away from Bucky, but Tony wasn’t and so he saw what Steve missed.
He saw Bucky’s whole body flinch.
“What?” Bucky’s voice was even and flat, but his knuckles had gone pale where he gripped his metal forearm with his right hand. Tony leaned forward, totally enraptured in the video now.
Steve gave him a rueful smile, shaking his head a little, somehow oblivious to the tension radiating off of Bucky. “People still think we’re soulmates these days, Buck, and thought maybe you were avoiding me partially because of that. I know that’s couldn’t be why, but Tony did have a point. If you wanted my help then, you knew where to find me, even without that kinda bond between us. I had to accept you could take care of yourself and that you’d come to me when you were ready.”
His smile turned to one larger, more brilliant, and Bucky almost immediately dropped his gaze, ducking his chin as if to avoid looking directly at Steve. Was that guilt that Tony saw in his face? Was that shame? Or was he just projecting what he thought might make Bucky so tense with this subject now?
“They still on about that soulmate shit?” Bucky said with a sharp laugh, “Even after all this time?”
“You know it,” Steve said.
“A love that spans the ages,” Sam said with a shit-eating grin, “A bond that surpasses time and death. It’s just as cheesy as you think it is.”
He laughed and Steve joined him. Bucky sat back and grimaced, “And you ain’t done nothin’ to stop them from thinkin’ that, huh Stevie?”
Steve ran a hand through his hair, turning the short, disheveled locks even more so. “Well, Buck… About that…”
Bucky narrowed his gaze. He folded his arms across his chest and Tony could see how the metal fingers dug hard into his arm for a second and he wondered if Bucky had bruised himself with that grip or not. He’d seen some of the schematics of the metal arm —Steve had found some Winter Soldier files, badly damaged and incomplete but still with some information— and passed it along to him in hopes that when Bucky came in they could do something about the arm, so he knew what kind of pressure it could come up with.
“What about that?” Bucky asked.
Steve glanced to Sam and then looked steadily back to Bucky and said, “Well. It’s changed. Hasn’t it? I mean. Before now, before I woke up from the ice, back during the war, I didn’t have much of a connection and neither did you, but now… I woke up and there was something there,” he ended quietly. It was obvious from the look on his face, the yearning, hopeful look there, that what Steve wanted was clear. “I know there’s something there for you too, Bucky. I know there’s someone there for you now.”
He held out his hand, palm up. Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t even blink. Tony sat there as still as him, his heart in his throat as he watched what he had half suspected was true for a while now come to life right before his eyes. He hadn’t thought he’d see this— He hadn’t thought he’d witness their Recognition.
Bucky’s expression didn’t change. He stared at Steve’s hand. Steve held it out there for a full minute. It didn’t even shake.
“C’mon,” Tony whispered, clutching his hands tightly in front of himself, “C’mon. Touch his hand. Fucking do it, Bucky. He’s your soulmate. Go to him. Come on.”
Bucky shifted.
Two things happened at once. The first was this: Bucky unfolded his arms and reached out, putting his right palm onto Steve’s.
The second was this: Tony’s soulmate dropped their wall.
Tony felt a surge of emotion crash over him like hurricane winds as the snowstorm that he’d longed for and dreamt of and missed so desperately suddenly crashed over him in a way it never had before. Gone was the implacable indifference that had brought stifling silence and the perfect mind of focus. In its place roared the high winds off mountaintops that were filled with a tumult of emotions; hope and guilt chief among them as his soulmate reached for him for the first time in months, in years, apologetic that they had shut him off, remorseful that they had hurt him. They hadn’t meant to. They didn’t know who he was.
It was a balm for an ache that Tony refused to acknowledge. His soulmate wanted him.
And then the confusion swept in, a flurry of snow and sleet, cold against his own mind.
This wasn’t what his soulmate expected. He wasn’t what his soulmate expected.
Tony sucked in a ragged breath, his throat clogged with emotion, his eyes filled with tears. He scrambled after his soulmate, vulnerable in his own mind, weak in a way he never was in person. He pushed all that desperation back at them, pleading for them to stay. He knew his soulmate couldn’t hear him, not without a complete bond, but he needed them to know just how much he needed them and wanted them to stay.
Please don’t go, please don’t leave me again, please, please, please.
He would do anything, anything, to keep his soulmate with him. He couldn’t live on his own again. He couldn’t.
The confusion sharpened to concern and then into a complicated flurry that left Tony shivering. Apology, frustration, confusion, relief, guilt, shame and hope all cascaded around him. Tony fed back his soulmate all his own relief and hope and shame and remorse. Whatever he had done to chase away his soulmate before, he would never ever do it again. Whatever he had to change, whatever he had to do, whatever it took, Tony would do it. He would.
Don’t leave me again. I’ll do whatever it takes.
“Sir?”
Tony jolted, pulling himself out of his thoughts and out of the depths of his soulmate’s emotions. They were still there, still in the back of his mind. There was no glass wall, now, just a quietly whirling storm, confused but hopeful and twisted with all sorts of emotions.
“Yeah?” Tony croaked out.
“Your heart rate and breathing patterns have gone outside of normal ranges, I have a breathing routine prepared in order to help calm you to a preferred range,” JARVIS said.
Tony gave a watery little laugh and nodded. He let JARVIS lead him through a breathing technique to even out his breath again and felt much calmer once he had. He scrubbed at his face with one hand and flicked his other at the display screen he’d been watching the quinjet on. “Turn that off, J, and prep a welcome party for our intrepid heroes and the long-lost war vet. I’m thinking a level three shindig. With barbeque. It’s almost July, we can pretend to celebrate the birth of the good old US of A a weekend or two early. Our Super Soulmates have earned that.”
“As you say, Sir,” Jarvis replied.
Tony grinned up at one of his cameras, giddy with relief.
His soulmate was back. |
Mammon was beyond frustrated. He’d spent most of the morning psyching himself up to ask Tabby on a date, only for her attention to be snatched away by his brothers. Again.
Satan’s meltdown had been interrupted by his own error - that one of the many books he’d sent flying had been a forbidden book. Reaching out for it, Lucifer had grabbed it a split second before Satan could, and the two touches combined resulted in one annoying spark of magical trickery - the two demon lords had switched bodies.
Fuckin’ ridiculous. Why even have a book like that lyin’ around?!
The effect would apparently last a few days, and while Mammon would have happily ignored the entire situation - other than reaping the benefits of a lesser powered Avatar of Pride - Satan, or rather, Lucifer inside Satan’s body, appeared to be using the whole debacle to be stuck to his human’s side.
His other brothers had made the most of the mixup all throughout the day, as Satan happily entertained with his Lucifer puppetry show on demand. Mammon had repeatedly heard his name yelled in that all too familiar voice, Lucifer extolling his love of Ruri-chan and other anime, and of course, Lucifer professing his devotion and simping straight to Diavolo’s face.
Unsurprisingly, the prince had seen through the act immediately. After all, his powers allowed him to spot any lies being told, and while Satan as Lucifer wasn’t exactly lying, the entire performance was indeed a pretense.
But as Mammon watched over Tabby in the corridors of RAD from afar, maintaining his guardian demon role, it was getting harder and harder to feel amused.
He’s been awkward around her for ages, and now that he looks like Satan he’s happy talking EVERYTHING over with her? What gives, man?!
Technically, the Avatar of Greed was now the most powerful of the brothers. Lucifer’s level had been reduced with the loss of his own body, but Satan didn’t have the know-how to access Lucifer’s greater power. Mammon should have been having the time of his life, enjoying his new number one position.
And yet every time he’d tried to insert himself between fake Satan and Tabby, Lucifer had gone quiet, his human’s frown had deepened, and Mammon had felt more and more unsettled.
Maybe she’s just helping him find a way ta fix it. If there’s any get out clause, Lucifer would be the one ta work it out. An’ he’s not blowing up at Satan, which has ta be her influence.
But does that mean he's opening up ta her? Him?! That can't be it.
Ugh, it’s just fer a few days. A few days for me ta talk myself out of askin’ her on a date though.
And then there was the bedroom situation, with neither Satan or Lucifer happy staying in their own or different rooms, they’d decided they would stay in Tabby’s room. For Mammon, that had been the final straw. He’d only just got his human back, like hell he was going to give up sharing a bed with her.
Beel’s even got a spare bed! Not ta mention I offered my room, which is one of the biggest anyway! Stupid Satan. Stupid Lucifer...!
“Why so glum, chum?”
Mammon looked up in surprise.
“Luc-? I mean, Satan. Dammit, this is confusin’.”
Fake Lucifer grinned widely.
“Exactly!” he beamed. “Look, Diavolo might be able to see through this immediately, but no other demon can. To them, I’m really Lucifer, which means they’ll do whatever I wish.”
“So?” Mammon shrugged.
“Soooo, I’m thinking we should throw a party.”
A party? That’s not a very Satan thing to do, unless…
“Y’mean one that’ll not be great for Lucifer’s reputation, right?” he asked, and Satan’s grin got wider.
“Lucifer, the upstanding Avatar of Pride, the repressive great demon lord, throwing a succubus party?! I say!”
As Mammon watched, Tabby placed her hand on the real Lucifer’s arm sympathetically, leaning in closer to talk to him.
“Yer on. Let’s go fer it.”
~~~
“I love my waifu, Ruri-chan! She’s my baby! Chu! Chu!”
Lucifer sighed sadly as Tabby paused outside her room. It had been a bizarre day, with Satan happily running amok in Lucifer’s body, while the demon standing next to her had withdrawn from his brothers almost completely, instead seeking her counsel and support.
She knew that his powers were reduced, although she was all too aware that Satan’s power level was enough to scare her witless, but it almost seemed as if the power reduction had in some way reassured Lucifer that he was now safe for her to be around. Either that, or he simply preferred to talk with the one person not making fun of him.
Or both… Anyway, he touched that book when he was defending me. The least I can do is not tease him about it.
Normally, the Avatar of Pride would never have shown his sadness at his brother’s mockery, instead responding with a snap of power and a smug smirk, but he’d been genuinely discouraged today at the lack of sympathy. Diavolo had reminded him he was due to give a speech at the Academy in two days time, and she’d taken the opportunity to encourage him in talking things out with Satan.
Though all Satan's pretending to really be Lucifer to make a fool of him definitely isn’t helping.
Why are they all in my room anyway? It should only be Satan.
Tabby chuckled despite herself as she opened the door, seeing Satan in Lucifer’s body draped over her chair, and Beel and Levi sprawled on the floor, waiting for Lucifer.
I didn’t realise it was so obvious he’s been hanging out with me today. I mean, it’s not like he was there constantly. But given Mammon kept disappearing-
She couldn’t keep the little jolt of disappointment that her guardian demon wasn’t waiting in her room at bay, and she tried to rationalise that he likely had work or other things to be getting on with.
As the Avatars of Pride and Wrath started bickering, she felt annoyed all over again at having to share her room with the two of them. They were like argumentative teenagers, and they both had rooms of their own.
You’d never guess these are ancient beings the way they act sometimes. Maybe once they’re asleep I can sneak out to Mammon’s room…
Tabby plugged in her earphones and settled down to study. She was already exhausted by the day, her muscles and even her bones aching, but she couldn’t deny that it had been a welcome change to get to know Lucifer a little better. The discord between him and Satan cut very very deep, and she wondered if spending a little time in his son’s shoes might not help him understand the Avatar of Wrath a little better.
And I’d say vice versa, but I’m not sure how likely that is. Satan isn’t really having to experience life as Lucifer, he’s having too much fun playing.
~
It was getting harder to keep her eyes awake, and she put her books away, about to shoo the still-present demons out of her room.
“Levi, Beel, why are you two still here?”
Tabby paused as Lucifer had either read her mind, or reached the limit of his own patience.
“Well, Lucifer said-” Beel cut himself off and began again. “Satan said if I hung out here all night and made lots of noise, he’d give me chocolate.”
“Beel!” Satan as Lucifer tried to look as innocent as possible.
“Just bored, Levi is,” shrugged the otaku, sticking with his recently acquired Yoda speech pattern. “Only reason, it is! Well actually, waiting for a game, I am. Azukon delivery. I’m so excited!”
“Where's Mammon got to?” asked Beel with a slight frown. “He’s usually with Tabby at all times, and I know he doesn’t have work… kinda weird.”
As Lucifer glared at Satan, Tabby suddenly got a very bad feeling.
“What did you do?” she asked sternly, her voice a little cold, but Lucifer avoided her gaze entirely, staring at the wall.
“Oh, I know!” Levi smirked. “It’s because Mammon and Satan decided to throw a sex party with a ton of succubi!”
Wha-?
“And... what happened?” Beel asked, looking confused.
“Find out, Lucifer did! And go in their place, Asmo did! Very very happy, was he. In fact, Mammon has been running rampant and taking advantage of Lucifer’s decreased powers-”
Satan swallowed hard, avoiding looking at either Tabby or Lucifer.
“-After class, he brought the head of RAD newspaper club to Satan, who as Lucifer said he’d increase their funding next year if a large bribe was given!-”
Okay, that one does sound like Mammon.
“-And they ran a gambling ring based on whether Lucifer would say or do certain embarrassing things, which of course then-”
“Levi,” Lucifer gritted out. “Shut up.”
“Anyway,” Satan cleared his throat, “you might have punished Mammon, but you can hardly hang your own body upside down now, can you?”
He hung Mammon upside down?!
“Don’t look so smug, Satan,” growled Lucifer.
“I’m Lucifer, not Satan,” the fake Lucifer grinned. “You should really show more respect towards your older brother, don’t you think?”
“Is it just me,” murmured Beel quietly, “or has this made things even worse between them?”
“It is funny though-” Levi suddenly jumped to his feet. “My game’s here!”
The otaku bolted from the room, and as Lucifer and Satan began arguing over which of them got to use the bed-
MY bed!
-Beel made his excuses and left, leaving her to deal with the father and son so completely messed up that they couldn’t even admit their own family status to themselves.
~~~
"C'mon, Tabs - I said I'd help! I’ve got a plan an’ everything!"
Mammon huffed as he pulled again at the wrist restraints, knowing fine well he couldn't break free without transforming into demon form.
But where's the fun in that?
"Mm, it is a shame though," Tabby purred her voice, still smirking, and he swallowed hard.
"What is?"
"That you're not actually upside down. We coulda done the Spider-Man kiss."
"Haha, very funny."
He cursed the blush that had spread across his face, as his heart banged in his chest. Truthfully, if there was one person he wouldn't mind being tied up for - tied up by - it would be her. A fact that wasn't helping him keep his cool at all.
And her face is right at my- Think unsexy thoughts, c'mon! Remember Levi's weird porn with the cartoon- BLECH that's better...
Tabby always delighted in seeing him flustered, and compared to his brothers' jibes, her light teasing was something he'd come to enjoy and even hope for. It was worth it to see the bright smiles she seemed to save only for him, even if the reality weighed heavily on him.
I'm a demon. She's a human. Why can't I get that through my thick skull?
She climbed up on the bannister, needing the extra height to reach his wrists.
"Hey, careful," warned Mammon. "If you fall, Lucifer will kill me."
"Well, we can't have that," she winked. "These are good cuffs though, imma keep 'em."
He snorted a laugh, shaking his head softly. As the restraints came undone, his arms fell heavily, pins and needles shooting through them.
"Ow! Fuck! Ow ow ow!!"
He moved jerkily in a dance of pain before Tabby caught his hands in hers, jumping back to the floor and guiding him to the wall.
"Arms straight, and push against the wall, hard," she instructed. "It'll help stop the cramps."
Mammon did as he was told, growling despite himself as she moved her own hands firmly along his arms, easing his muscles as he recovered.
"Huh, that worked!" he grinned, trying to ignore how much he was blushing. "Keep this up and you'll be the Great Tabby before long. Not as great as me, though."
"Oh, obviously."
He chuckled at her sarcasm, always spoken with a smile.
"Right," he cleared his head a little, as he leaned back against the railing. "About Satan and Lucifer…"
“Mm, before that though, wanna explain why you were hanging from the ceiling?”
The Avatar of Greed was very sure that he did not in fact want to explain that. Lucifer punishing him was not something his human approved of. His reasons for exploiting his elder brother that day had been some petty jealousy alongside a tidy profit. And as for organising a succubi event, it was only once Lucifer had caught him that he realised being the ringleader of a literal sex party might not reflect terribly well on his own intentions.
Like, gee Tabs, I meant ta ask ya on a date but I instead organised an orgy with other people - whoops!
“Uh, no?” he attempted to sound casual. “I mean, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I was just doin’ what people expect of me.”
“Yeah,” she said softly, and he couldn’t quite read her expression, “that’s why I’m asking. It’s not like you to do things without reason.”
“Maybe you just don’t know me that well-”
SHIT, no no no
A look of hurt quickly flew across Tabby’s face before she shook her head, avoiding his eyes.
“That’s not- I don’t mean that,” he said firmly. “You’re right, I don’t tend ta do things without reason. But sometimes my reasons ain’t great, y’know? You always see the best in me, kitten, but I can be an idiot, my brothers ain’t wrong about that-”
He saw the disagreement on her face and smiled in relief. Mammon was pretty sure that for as long as his human didn’t consider him a lost cause, maybe not every insult thrown his way was as true.
“-I told ya my favourite hobby is making Lucifer squirm, an’ I wasn’t feelin’ very sympathetic to him today is all. Satan was messing about, but I reckon it was cathartic for him too. Ta bring Luc down a peg or two, ta have a bit of control. Beats his usual murder an' poison plots fer sure.”
“I hadn’t thought of it quite like that,” Tabby nodded thoughtfully, before stepping closer, her face tilted upwards to meet his eyes. “So, it wasn’t anything to do with me spending more time with Lucifer?”
Fuck, I love those eyes. I mean like. I mean NOT like!
“I-I- Uh, of course not! C’mon, ya think the Great Mammon would get jealous over a human? Really?!”
“Uh huh, if you say so,” she smirked.
Mammon knew his face had gone completely red, as half his mind rejoiced that he hadn’t offended her with his thoughtless words, while the other half insisted he needed to issue denials as quickly as possible.
“Pff, as if,” he added weakly, before flapping his hands about distractedly. “Anyway! Ya wanna hear my terrific plan ta get Lucifer and Satan ta kiss an’ make up or not?!”
~~~
Tabby had to admit that Mammon's plan was pretty good. Sure, the idea of Lucifer and Satan being sucked into a virtual reality game wasn't terribly appealing, but it wasn't like any of the brothers could actually die - virtually or otherwise.
Being forced to work as a team might just get the pair of them back on speaking terms at the very least. And either Mammon really doesn't understand game tech, or this is not anything like VR as I know it...
She tuned out a little as Levi huffed about sharing his game, while Mammon won him over.
"Let's see… 'Lucifer' and 'Satan'," Levi inputted the characters on screen. "Done!"
He sighed heavily.
“Understand how this wounds me, you cannot. Waiting to play this game myself, I have!”
“Why are ya still talkin’ weird?” muttered Mammon, folding his arms crossly.
“Can’t you just add yourself to the same game?” asked Tabby. “If it’s already multiplayer…”
Levi gasped in delight.
“Genius, you are! I’ll enter my name… ‘Leviachan’. Done! And now… mhm, just gotta… there, Tabby is added as well!”
Wait-
"WHAT?" cried Mammon in surprise. "Whoa, HOLD ON! Tabby, are ya really gonna play, too?"
"Um, I guess so?" she bit her lip, a little nervous. "I mean it is me that's trying to get them to make up, so I suppose that's fair."
"Seriously?! You’ve gotta start turning my brothers down Tabs, fer real!"
He blushed slightly, further solidifying her theory that his earlier exploits had indeed been rooted in some kind of jealousy.
Silly wolf. I bet he didn’t even realise how it looked until after. What a donut!
"Recognise the brilliance that is Dogi Maji, you obviously do," Levi beamed. "Impressed, I am!"
"Hey, if Tabby is playin', then so am I," Mammon insisted.
A cute donut though.
His voice had an edge to it, and although Levi grumbled, he set to work adding the fifth player.
“Done!”
“Good,” nodded Mammon, before leaning over to look at the screen and pulling a face. “Hey, ‘Stupidmammon’, really?! Why’d ya add stupid?! Fix it!”
Levi ignored him, fiddling with the settings.
"Oi! Change my name! I wanna be, 'Mammon the Great, Avatar of Greed'!"
"Okay, ready!" Levi nodded. "It's time to enter the world of Dogi Maji!"
Cool, so we put on a headset or-?
The world suddenly lurched sideways and dissolved, and her panic was only held at bay by the fact she could still hear Mammon loudly protesting about his game name.
"Huh?" her guardian demon appeared at her side, wearing his RAD uniform. "Whoaaaaaa! What the- this ain’t what I was expectin’, what gives?"
Tabby turned around, a little discombobulated. They were standing in what looked like a high school classroom, and she realised she was wearing her academy outfit too.
This isn’t VR… I mean it literally is, but holy shit. It’s SO REAL. What is my body doing? Or is this my actual body? Am I real? Oh fuck, I’m having an existential crisis. Breathe, breathe-
Wait a minute, we’re in a high school?! Nooooooo
"Look at the state of this!" Mammon was scowling, pointing furiously at his arm. "You just HAD ta insult me, huh Levi? Now I'm stuck with 'Stupidmammon'!”
"LMAOOOOO," giggled the otaku.
Tabby glanced down at her own arm, seeing her username and a bunch of what she guessed were stats or attributes of some kind. There were four gauges, but she couldn’t tell what they stood for.
"Anyway, this ain’t what I signed up for," huffed Mammon. "I thought this was swords ‘n’ shields, or at least fightin’ aliens or something cool. What the shit is this?”
"Yeah, I was expecting more elves or dragons at least," murmured Tabby. “I was planning on stealing a LOT of potatoes. And gold. But also potatoes.”
“That’s my human!” beamed the Avatar of Greed.
"I never said it was an RPG," Levi grinned. "I mean, Dogi Maji is obviously a school dating sim! So, what did you expect?"
"It's a what?!" she squeaked.
"WHAT?!" gasped Mammon at the same time.
Levi explained the plot of the game, in which one character was designated as the hero and the others had to woo that character and win their love. Whoever took the hero up to the roof at the end of the game, professed their love, and was accepted, won.
Oh-
"I forgot to mention," Levi looked at her slyly, "I designated Tabby as the hero."
-shit.
"YOU DID WHAT?!" yelled Mammon, incredulous.
The two argued as Lucifer and Satan suddenly blinked into the room behind them.
"So," Lucifer interrupted and the two younger demons spun in surprise, "now you’ve pulled Levi into your schemes as well. Why am I not surprised."
"Yikes!" Mammon flinched before suddenly relaxing again. "Oh wait, I keep forgetting yer Satan. What’s the big idea tryna startle me like that? Back off will ya, an’ get Lucifer’s stupid face outta my personal space. Shoo!”
"Uh, wrong," the other demon spoke up. "…I'm Satan."
"So the game nullifies the curse," mused Tabby, and Satan nodded.
"Mammon?" drawled Lucifer. "What were you saying about my stupid face?"
The guardian demon took a step back, hovering behind her shoulder.
"I knew Mammon would live up to the name I gave him, lolol!" Levi crowed.
~~~
As the game was explained to Lucifer and Satan, the group walked outside into the virtual sunshine, and Tabby perched on a bench. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, lapping up the sun.
"Kinda feels like the real thing," murmured Mammon, sitting down beside her, and she smiled.
"Mhm. It's the one thing I miss. Humans need sunlight to keep darker thoughts at bay."
"Huh. I wonder if that's why everyone in the Devildom is so damn cranky."
She chuckled and opened her eyes, catching his grin before he looked away.
"At least this game shouldn't be dangerous," he yawned. "No sword fights or monsters. Just bad flirting."
"Aww, wolf," she smirked. "You’re not that bad at it."
Mammon snorted a laugh, as the other demons came over.
"So in order to win," Satan was summarising, "you have to confess your love to the hero up on the Roof of Legend, and the hero has to accept you, and only then can we all go home?"
"Yep," nodded Levi, "and I designated Tabby as the hero. So raise your intimacy score with her, you must! And win your happy ending, yes!"
Intimacy score…?
"No! No raisin’ of any such thing!" Mammon looked surprised by his own exclamation. "Why'd ya have ta make Tabby the hero?!"
"Eh?” Levi looked confused. “Because it seemed like it'd be fun?"
Lucifer and Satan both glared at the oblivious otaku.
"Oh, okay," Mammon cleared his throat, seemingly completely changing his strategy. "Yeah, I know what you two are thinkin' and yer right. I apologise for Levi here. I mean, this is ridiculous and crazy. No way you two want any part of this stupid plan-"
Where is he going with this…
"-So you just leave things to the Great Mammon! I'll take care of everything! I'll raise my intimacy score with Tabby, profess my love, and win this game before you even know what hit ya!"
Profess… his…?!
"You guys don't have to do a thing,” he concluded. “Just, y'know, chill out and do whatever…"
"You know what this means, right Lucifer?" Satan quirked an eyebrow, ignoring Mammon entirely. "It's a competition, that only one of us can win - you or me."
"That goes without saying," shrugged Lucifer, as Mammon deflated, his brothers ignoring him yet again. "And I highly doubt I'll ever lose to the likes of you, Satan."
"Pfft! WTF," Levi scoffed. "You guys are hilarious, loool! Aren't you forgetting about someone? You really think you can beat me, the gaming master?! Lolol ROTFLMAO!"
"Hey!" frowned Mammon. "Why do y’all wanna win so badly all of a sudden, huh?!"
"Because I won't lose to the likes of him!"
The fact that Lucifer and Satan yelled the same reason at the same time made the issue between them explicitly clear. The two were far too similar, and both were deeply in denial.
"Well, I just want to win my game," grinned Levi. "And have a one hundred percent perfect run, obviously."
Mammon growled in frustration.
"Dammit!" he muttered. "Well… well, don't forget about ME…!"
He spun round to face her, and Tabby swallowed hard at the intense expression on his face.
"Listen up, Tabs! I'm gonna tell ya I love ya, and yer gonna choose ME! Only me, okay? That’s what is gonna happen."
I- I can't feel my face-
"Tabby, I'm not going to make you fall for me," Satan purred seductively. "No… you simply won’t be able to help yourself, as I’ll stop holding back from being my full charming self. Falling for me is only natural.”
Oh jeez-
"Tabby is MY prince!" Levi interjected.
"We all know Tabby is going to choose me," Lucifer had dropped his voice deeper, and Tabby was fairly certain all her blood had rushed south. "Isn't that right? Prepare yourself, Tabby."
Am… am I awake right now?
~~~
Mammon saw his brothers gathered in a room and entered. The game had zapped everyone into new locations and he couldn't seem to find his human.
"Hey, Satan," he nodded as he approached. "Have you seen Tabs anywhere?"
"Nope. And even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you. Buzz off."
Wow, grouchy much?
"Hey, what the hell? In case ya forgot, I spent all day helping you out. What’s with the attitude?"
"Think about it," Satan tutted. "Here in this world, you and I are rivals fighting over Tabby. Here, we're enemies."
Just in this world? Riiiight.
"There is some logic to what you said, Satan," Lucifer spoke up. "However-"
"One winner takes all, this is," interrupted Levi. "Yet room for cooperation, there still may be."
"For the love of-" Mammon clenched his jaw. “Speak normally. Yer killin’ me.”
An’ why would Lucifer of all people be suggesting cooperation? To Satan?!
"Mammon," the eldest brother sighed patronisingly, "are you under the impression that one of us is guaranteed to achieve a happy ending?"
"Uh, yeah? That is the case, we’ve been over it."
"Ah, okay," nodded Satan. "I see what you're meaning."
"Exactly," Levi added. "It makes sense, right?"
"Whoa, hang on," Mammon shook his head. "Am I the only one who's got no idea what's goin' on here? Look, one of us - me - is guaranteed to get a happy ending, that’s the whole premise of the game! And yer sayin’ that’s not right? That we're not guaranteed to win this thing and go back to the real world?"
"Wow," snickered Levi, "Mammon keeps living up to the name I made for him."
"Just say that again," he growled in response.
"Even if you profess your love," Satan explained, "your intimacy score has to be above a certain threshold. And if it's not, then Tabby can’t accept you, the game won’t allow it."
"Well even I knew THAT," Mammon rolled his eyes. "Duh. That’s why we have ta raise the intimacy score in the first place."
"Okay then," sighed Lucifer, a tad melodramatically, "so consider what happens if none of us have managed to raise our intimacy score above that threshold?"
"And so, Tabby rejected all four of us," Levi announced grandly, "dooming us to the bad ending. THE END!"
This is ridiculous. They really think she'd let us be stuck here?!
"You do realise Tabs wants to get home too, right?"
"If we get the bad ending, what happens then?" Lucifer ignored him. "Will we still be able to exit the game?"
"Dunno," shrugged Levi.
"Whaddya mean dunno?!" Mammon's eyebrows shot upwards.
We really shouldn't have picked a brand new game…
The otaku started spieling about how they were now in a brainstorming session dedicated to working out how to raise Tabby's intimacy score.
Great. Just great.
"Really, we just have to do things that'll make Tabby happy," offered Satan, and Lucifer nodded.
"All right, everyone, call out your best ideas."
Make her laugh, listen to her, talk with her, be honest with her, cuddle her, look out for her, open up to her-
"Hey!" Levi pouted. "I’m the leader of this brainstorming session!"
-not that I need ta share any of that with these guys. Satan and Lucifer won't JUST be thinking about this damn game.
"This is just a dating sim," Mammon shrugged casually. "So we say some mushy over-the-top romantic lines, and then we'll be golden, right?"
"Oh no," frowned Satan. "It won’t be nearly that easy. Even the most romantic line can sound fake, or too heavy, or you might come on too strong. A cliche line isn’t authentic or personal, it’s totally transparent. Get it wrong, and your intimacy score will go down, not up."
Damn, he's really put some thought into this.
"Fine," harumphed Mammon. "Let's hear it then Satan, what are YOUR great ideas for raising the intimacy score?!”
"Mine is unbeatable," Satan declared, sounding confident. "You show an unexpected side of yourself."
"An unexpected side of myself?"
"Ooh! Good one, senpai!" Levi clicked his fingers. "Making Tabby fall for you by showing a secret side of yourself… high-level strategy, that is!"
"Exactly," smiled Satan. "A side of yourself that you don’t show other people. It could be small, a gesture or an expression, or the way your body language changes when you’re around them, an emotion you’d normally hide… It’s special, because only she gets to see it. Who wouldn’t feel their heart beat quicker in a situation like that?”
"The power of persuasion. Irresistible, it is!"
But if you're only doing it to achieve that goal, then is the side of yourself you're showing really that special? Tabs sees plenty of me that others don't, but it just sorta… happens.
An’ if it’s not just to achieve this goal, but something real, they can’t think she won’t have noticed before now. Hell, she can tell when I’m holding something back better than Diavolo himself can!
"So what do you think, Lucifer?" Satan smirked at the eldest brother. "If you've got a better idea, let's hear it."
"I do, actually," Lucifer stood perfectly at ease.
In fact, Mammon couldn’t remember the last time his elder brother had looked as relaxed and unruffled.
Is that an effect of the body swap or... is it Tabs’ influence?
"Whoah, I feel like he's about to drop something really amazing on us," murmured Levi.
Mammon swallowed hard.
What Lucifer wants, Lucifer gets…
"You force her against the wall, put one hand up against it, beside her face, and lean in very close. The humans call it kabedon."
Force-?!
As Satan's mouth dropped open, Mammon focused extremely hard on staying calm.
"Kabedon…?" he managed, narrowing his eyes at Lucifer. "I thought that was when ya grabbed someone by the front of their shirt, lifted them up, an’ slammed them against the wall?"
Or fucking THROUGH the wall if you fuckin' force anything on MY human-
"No," frowned Satan, "that's what you do when you're in a fight or-"
His gaze flicked to Mammon's clenched fist and back, and he trailed off.
"Kabedon can be done against the wall or the floor with you on top-" Lucifer continued, as Mammon stayed rigidly calm, concentrating on preventing his power from flickering in anger.
The FLOOR?!
"-Then there’s the second phase, where you put your hand to her chin and tilt it up so her eyes meet yours. It’s highly effective."
As is the knee to the balls Tabs would give ya.
"Whoooa…!" gasped Levi, looking both impressed and frustrated. "To do that, knowing they’re not gonna go, “YUCK, WTF?! LOOL!”, that takes pure, unfiltered confidence. The kind of relaxed, cool attitude that- that only normies can have! UGH, GO TO HELL, NORMIES!!”
"I gotta say, I'm surprised you actually know about that sort of stuff, Lucifer," Mammon said through gritted teeth, keeping his voice level, despite his fury.
"Levi, what about you?" asked his elder brother, deftly changing the subject. "What are your ideas?"
"Yeah," Satan looked thoughtful. "You were wanting to be the brainstorm leader, so I assume you have an excellent strategy to back up that claim?”
"Lol, obviously,” scoffed Levi. “Of course I do. Do you have any idea just how many games I've completed? Because it's A LOT. So first you 💋💋💋 and then you move to ❤️❤️❤️ and then it's like 😈😈😈 -"
WHAT?!
"HEY, WHOA!" Mammon cut him off loudly. "You're blowin' way past dating sim territory with that sorta talk, Levi!"
"How did you voice emoji?" blinked Satan. "Now I'm sorry I asked…"
"Well, I’ve learned one thing at least" smirked Lucifer. "I stand a good chance of beating Levi in this competition."
"Hey!" the otaku glared. "I wouldn’t be so confident if I was any of you. This isn't real life! I've beaten WAY more games than any of you have!"
Satan was quiet, seemingly perturbed by Lucifer's confidence, and Mammon stayed silent too. Having everyone fawn over Tabby was a nightmare scenario, but he couldn't help worrying that if the others were using actual strategies, the person who stood to be hurt the most was his human.
Much as I don't want them winning her over… they shouldn't be messing with her feelings. She'll know it's just a game but even so. We are fuckin' demons, an' her heart is more fragile. If she gets hurt…
The bell rang for class and he slouched in his seat, his mind clouded with worries. Still, there was one thing the Avatar of Greed knew for sure - when it came to winning games for a prize he really wanted, Mammon was unbeatable.
They wanna come at the king? Fuckin' bring it on!
~~~ |
Four years post-war
Hermione had never thought she was too indulgent. She liked the simple things in life. Old books. The spot in the library where the sun hit
just
right after lunch.
A peaceful world where she could quench her thirst for knowledge.
She was never much into makeup, or fixing her hair to appease those who couldn’t understand that it’s wildness represented something soul deep within her.
She knew that the person that was right for her would accept these things about her, even if they didn’t love them. Hermione was patient.
She could wait.
She would never settle.
Hermione never thought she aimed for anything that was out of reach. Sure, she dreamt of being Minister for Magic, but honestly? It didn’t seem that far fetched that one day— after she settled down and had several red haired babies with a simple, lovable man— that she’d pursue politics and change the shape of the wizarding world completely.
And she had changed the wizarding world. But no one could have predicted the turn out.
These thoughts raced through her head as she applied her red lipstick meticulously— because, yes, she wanted someone that could see her natural self and love every bit of it— but experimenting with makeup was almost as rewarding as finding the perfect potion ingredients.
Besides, Draco had loved her through a bloody war. There wasn’t much that could tear them apart at this point.
“Are you ready yet?” Draco’s head popped in and Hermione felt their bind pull tight and thrum contentedly. She leaned closer to the mirror, fingers playing at the edges of her lips as she perfected the lines around her mouth.
“We’ve got plenty of time before we need to make it to the field.” She pressed her lips together and turned toward him, brow furrowed. “Why are you so eager to get there early?”
He shrugged, raising his gaze to the ceiling and Hermione’s eyes narrowed. Under her searching gaze, she felt his nerves seep in through their bind.
There were so many things that went away after war that Hermione never thought she’d get back. She didn’t flinch when a door slammed a bit too hard. The last time she’d knocked someone out that had accidentally snuck up on her was nearly a year ago.
But she could still interpret body language as if it was second nature.
Hands in his pockets, feigning casualty, tensed shoulders that he attempted to hide by leaning against the doors.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m not going.”
Draco’s jaw popped open. “Why would you say that? We go every year!”
It wasn’t a mourning or celebration, but something in between.
Draco had been granted the land Malfoy Manor had once sat on. For a few months, they had considered rebuilding. Something modest— nothing near the monstrosity the manor had been.
But they’d gone back only twice before they realized it wasn’t right. Not the timing, not the placement and certainly not the feeling they got when they visited.
She wasn’t sure how it happened. It was almost exactly a year after the war had ended, and they hadn’t visited the properties in weeks.
Anniversaries were hard, even when the proper healing had— and was— taking place. They found themselves at Grimmauld Place with the others. Harry was already three shots in and Theo was twitchy because it was the night before a full moon. Everyone was on edge and the environment felt more like war than anything they’d experienced in a long time.
Draco was drunk when he’d offered.
Theo wanted fresh air— probably intending to head for the roof— but Draco grabbed him by the shoulder, his index finger straight in the air as if an idea of brilliance had just smashed into him.
“I know a place.”
And so they’d group apparated to the Manor grounds. They were still dusty and charred, and Seamus took three giant steps backwards once he’d realized where they’d landed, but… after the initial shock, it all seemed to… make sense.
People had lived there for centuries. Bigoted, close minded people that didn’t deserve the ground they stood on. And then people had fought and died here, and maybe Hermione didn’t think about it enough.
It was her war to fight. Her idea that helped them pull ahead. She spent so much of her time focusing on healing and becoming the future of the wizarding world that— maybe she had just never taken the time to mourn those that had fought until the very last second.
They stayed until the sun peaked out over the trees. Drinking and laughing, sitting in a circle and crying about the events they feared they might not truly ever get over.
Now, three years later, it was a tradition of sorts. It wasn’t the Ministry Ball that Kingsley had suggested, or the charity Luna had once mentioned in passing. But it was everything they were capable of at the time. That, more than anything, felt true and right.
“Last time you were this nervous Pansy announced she was pregnant.”
Draco scrunched his nose. “I’m still not sure why you had such an adverse effect to that. I was sick for weeks afterwards.”
Hermione shrugged, slipping her heels off. “Pansy. A mother. Who would have guessed she’d be any good at it?”
Draco shifted his feet. “I think we both knew that wasn’t what you were upset about.”
Hermione leaned back and averted her gaze. “Ginny and Harry disappeared after they had James. They came back, but what if Pansy wouldn’t have?”
Draco stepped forward, arms spread and Hermione held up her palm to stop him.
“Please, no. Gods, aren’t we going to get sentimental enough as it is?”
“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind and you’re coming?” His eyes lit up and she felt the joy seep into her bones. What an awful time to be reminded there was no serotonin release like Draco’s happiness.
“Fine.” She pointed a finger at him accusingly. “But no tricks!”
---
There were fairy lights hanging from the modest gazebo that had been built. Not exactly over the area the Manor had inhabited, but a little off to the side.
The sun was setting behind the dense forest, hues of pink and purple peeking out.
“Like a Bob Ross painting,” Draco noted, hands on his hips.
Hermione turned to him with a furrowed brow. “You've been watching too much PBS.”
“I’ll never understand how Wizards never incorporated television. It’s by far the superior form of entertainment.”
“It turns your brain to mush.”
“Whatever do I need a functioning brain for?” He gestured his arm out wide. “War is over, and with the end, took my last functioning brain cell.”
Hermione shook her head and pulled him closer, swinging his arm over her shoulder.
“You’ve gone far too soft in these past few years.”
He laid a kiss on the top of her head. “Better me than you.”
There was a crack of apparition then. Hermione turned to see Harry and Ginny with a tiny bundle in between their arms. James stood beside them, arms wrapped around Harry’s leg.
“James!”
He flew toward her as Hermione crouched down. He hit into her hard enough to make Hermione fall onto her bottom, arms flailing around her neck.
Draco walked over to greet the others as James pulled her to her feet and began babbling.
James dragged her hand away from his parents, repeating, “Aunt Mione!” because he’d finally learned a somewhat appropriate pronunciation of her name and loved to brag almost as much as his mother.
She let him lead the way for a while, stopping to greet others every now and again.
She met back up with Draco an hour later. There was a large blanket spread on the ground and he held two glasses and a bottle of champagne.
She plopped down next to him, leaning into his shoulder, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Celebrating, are we?”
The top of the champagne bottle popped off, sending foam all over the grass.
“One can only hope. As long as you respond well to what I’m about to ask.”
Hermione’s lips quirked down as Draco’s nerves once again flooded her system. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. “I should hope you aren’t making a big deal of this. You did promise.”
Fireworks shot off behind her. People let out exhalations of excitement at the beauty and Hermione punched Draco in the arm repeatedly.
“Ouch, yes okay, ow! Stop! Let me explain!”
She settled back onto her knees and reached for a glass and the bottle of champagne. “This is the worst marriage proposal I’ve received yet.”
“I’ve not even asked yet!” He frowned, his mouth popping open. “I would hope this is the
only
proposal, either way.”
Hermione shook her head. “Bobby Fline. First grade. Got on one knee on the playground and everything.”
“I suspect if I got on one knee right now you would break my nose.”
Hermione sighed contentedly. “Like third year. Oh, those little lovebirds had no idea, did they?”
The fireworks were still shooting off, and despite her apprehension on grand gestures, she had to admit they were quite beautiful.
“I know you prefer to keep a low profile, but I figure the proposal isn’t about just you, and if I’m not allowed to make an insanely expensive, mostly unnecessary romantic statement, then it would be a false pretense of who you were marrying.”
She pulled the glass to her lips and took a sip. “I’ve not agreed to any terms yet. Give me three reasons I should marry you.”
Draco reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. He opened it with a snap of his wrist.
“As it so happens, I’ve made a list of
ten
reasons.” He cleared his throat. “Number one—”
She tossed her arms around him and threw them both to the ground, lips pressing against his. His arms locked around her waist and she could feel his smile. She pulled away, eyes locking on his.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Her voice was soft and unsure. “Our life will be much different than anything you ever planned. “I will not be Lady of the Manor. I cannot give you charity balls or luncheons or heirs—”
“I do not want any of that if I cannot have you,” he insisted. “And I never wanted children anyways.”
Hermione had found out not long after the end of the war that her prolonged exposure to the
cruciatus
had left her insides much different than they’d been before. There had been many complications and issues, but the most devastating had been to her reproductive system.
“All young men say that,” she insisted. “If you change your mind in ten years—”
“Hermione,” he cut off. “I find it incredible that we wake up together everyday, that you feel my emotions flow through you every
second—
and you could still doubt that you are and always will be the best thing to happen to me. The only thing I want out of my life. Call me selfish if you must. I do not care about children or heirs or bloodlines. Not when I have you.”
She’d made peace with her inability to reproduce. It had stung at first, to watch her friends off and complete their families. But Draco had been by her side the entire time, holding her hand on the bad days and chasing after nieces and nephews on the good. Her only remaining fear had been that she was holding him back.
“You’re not,” he insisted, kissing first one cheek and then the other. Her forehead and chin and finally, her lips. “You’re the person that pushes me forward. Sometimes reluctantly. I love you and I want you. Please marry me, Hermione.”
And then she was kissing him earnestly and felt their bind ripple pleasantly and she felt so
whole—
so inconceivably happy as fireworks bursted behind her and the man in front of her wrapped his arms around her waist and they apparated away, back to their apartment to celebrate.
“No ugly Malfoy diamonds,” she breathed between kisses.
“You’ll have to talk to my mother about that.” His fingers pulled on the zipper of her dress and it pooled around her on the floor. “I think she already has the
perfect
one picked out.”
Hermione groaned but then Draco’s lips were on her neck and she was being backed into the wall, and their bed was
right there—
“No time,” he said as he stepped out of his pants. Hermione grabbed his cock as his fingers tickled up her thighs, teasing at her center. A moan fell from her lips as he sunk a finger in, toes curling against the wood floor before coming up to wrap around his hips.
Every time with Draco felt like pure sex magic. Like they’d drawn runes on each other and were participating in a ritual and it was addicting— the feel of Draco’s cock inside of her, his voice in his head, screaming his own joy and pleasure.
“I love you,” he said, over and over. “You can even keep your last name.”
Hermione groaned, eyes squeezing shut as she tightened around him and his hand came down to run slow circles over her clit.
“We’ll hyphenate.”
Draco finished inside of her with a grunt— sudden and surprising and she laughed through her own orgasm, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Every time she thought she’d reached pique happiness, Draco showed her new horizons.
She could not wait to see what came next.
|
Chapter 4:
Archons
Liyue certainly had a different vibe to Snezhnaya.
If the warmer weather was omitted it was a very good place to be, with people willing to help and welcome guests but always wary if they were near him, after all Childe was a harbinger of the cryo archon and even if there were diplomatic relations with the Fatuis thanks to the Northland Bank the people from Liyue were always one step ahead.
Almost six months had passed since he had arrived in the lands of the geo archon, six months of trying to gain contacts and the trust of several people who could be useful to him in the future.
Six long months since he had been able to see Aether.
He sighed with exhaustion and wiped the blood from his face, kicking the bodies of the hiluchurls that had gotten in his way back to the city, and if they attacked him he had no choice but to defend himself... Although clearly the scenario was more of a massacre than an act of defence, but that didn't matter to him as it allowed him to stretch his muscles after a very long walk in which he had tried to gather information about a god that was sealed in the deep sea.
There was still time before they started moving to get the gnosis from the archons, and Childe had to admit that he hated this plan to awaken an ancient god as he had to ally himself with people weaker than him and follow the protocol of the Fatuis.
What he would like to do is to find the archon and challenge him to a match, take the gnosis from him if he could beat him and be victorious or die in the attempt: dying at the hands of an archon in a one-on-one was definitely a death worthy of a warrior, and just thinking about what it would be like to fight against Morax, who is well known for his multiple victories during the archon war... Childe could only get more and more excited at the thought of it.
But the first thing was to find the geo archon and have him in his sights, try to strike up some sort of friendly relationship and perhaps get some friendly battles in if he survived the first and most important of them all.
He sighed with longing for a good dueling battle as soon as he set foot in the city, heading to the room he had rented in Liyue as he had a dinner with the consultant of a certain funeral parlour, who always had interesting topics to talk about and Childe could say he was the only one who seemed truly comfortable in his presence, almost as if they were friends rather than some sort of "business associates".
* * *
As usual, Zhongli had forgotten to bring his wallet, but Childe had gotten used to it by now and didn't mind having to pay for both as due to his job as herald and as head of the bank he had quite a bit of money at his disposal, what was a small investment in food with such goods? What he didn't expect was that when they were in the middle of dinner and Zhongli was telling him about some things from the archon war he felt a smack on his head out of nowhere and, before he could react, he was being dragged away by someone who was apparently apologising to Zhongli and telling him that he needed to steal Childe for a few minutes.
It wasn't until they were in some sort of alleyway away from everyone that he took the time to process whose voice it had been and so on, being overjoyed to see Aether in front of him, but removing his smile as he noticed the clearly annoyed expression on the blonde's face.
“Hello…”
“Six months, Ajax. Only six months and you're already on a date with the geo archon himself? Are you serious?” Aether didn't let him finish his greeting and frowned even more after he blurted out the second question, which left him puzzled.
“Archon... Zhongli Xiansheng is Morax?!”
“You didn't notice that?!”
“Ah... yes?”
“Ajax…”
“Would you stop saying my name, little prince? The walls of Liyue have ears everywhere.”
Aether crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, a pose that could only mean the blond was angrier than he looked, the thing was that Childe couldn't explain why.
He opened his arms and moved his head slightly to the right, giving a small smile to him, who sighed and almost immediately threw his arms around him so tightly that he managed to knock all the air out of his lungs for a few seconds.
“Stupid Ajax, six months of communicating with you through letters and under Scaramouche's orders and supervision in Inazuma while you're here dining out with an archon and paying for it…”
“What can I tell you, Xiansheng and I are something like friends, I just wouldn't know if it's truly that way. And I told you that…”
“Oh, there's a cryo barrier around us, they won't hear us, and if anyone tries to get close there are electro traps that will make them turn around and go the other way, though I'm still having a bit of trouble using electro, it's... weird.”
Three months ago Aether told him in a letter that he had gained the ability to use electro in the same way as cryo: without a vision. Since it wasn't normal for someone to be able to use two different elements without a vision and delusion in between, the blond told him that he was going to keep it a secret until he was able to go to Liyue and see him because, since Childe's delusion was electro, he could help him train and try to improve his control over that element.
Aether could already control cryo better than before and that was great progress, yet in some letters he even wrote that he accidentally froze Scaramouche several times while training as the sixth harbinger was too close and his distance control was still not too good.
There was one thing that bothered him though and that was the fact that he was able to use any weapon without any problems, but clearly he was more skilled with the sword than with the rest. The worst thing was the catalyst and he was even better with it than Childe was with the bow...
“Well, this hug has gone on long enough, will you let go?”
“Why should I, little prin-? Ouch! All right, I'll let go!”
Aether's punch to his stomach hurt quite a bit, as Aether possessed a tremendous strength that Childe didn't know where he got it from, but if he asked he knew he was going to earn a few more punches from him and he didn't feel like being a punching bag for him.
“As much as I like talking to you little prince, I can't leave Xiansheng alone for too long or they'll think he's the one who's going to pay when he doesn't have a single mora with him.”
“Why would the geo archon have no mora?” Aether had a point, but Childe didn't know how to answer. “All right, but tomorrow you owe me a paid meal, go on your date, Ajax.”
“That's not a date, we're just two friends having dinner and talking.”
“A date. Have a good night, Ajax.”
Well, Aether's behaviour had been rather odd, but Childe couldn't explain why he was acting like that. Then there was the fact that Zhongli was supposedly the geo archon, if that was true... how could he have known when archons knew how to disguise themselves among mortals?
That would be a question for tomorrow, for now Childe needed to make sure the funeral parlour consultant hadn't tripled the bill he was supposed to pay for dinner.
If Zhongli had to be honest about anything, it was that he enjoyed the company of the Tsaritsa's young harbinger.
His personality and demeanor reminded him in some ways of Venti, only trading the pacifist streak of the anemo archon for the battle-hungry one that Childe possessed.
If he left out that little detail he was almost certain that the two would get along quite well if they met one day, adding Childe's taste for strong alcoholic beverages that Zhongli would never be able to stand, but perhaps Venti would: after all the anemo archon was always an absolute fine wine-loving alcoholic and always willing to try any kind of concoction with some alcohol included.
The chats they had at dinner were pleasant, and although he knew Childe was there because of his gnosis he couldn't help but form a friendship with him, perhaps the first well-founded one in so many years, since what happened with Guizhong...
That's why he couldn't help but be surprised when he saw how a blond was stealing Childe's time, and he was going to let it go if it wasn't for the aura of that boy.
First of all he felt his blessing on him, but he couldn't remember ever having given it to someone like him at any time, it was almost as if... as if he had somehow obtained the ability to use geo without the need to directly obtain a vision of that element: wherever he looked, that blond didn't carry any kind of vision, but the powerful aura around him couldn't be omitted under any circumstances.
He followed them with his eyes until they disappeared into an alley, closing his eyes as he enjoyed his tea while trying to sharpen his hearing to see if he could catch anything of what they were saying just out of curiosity.
A shame, it seemed that the blond knew that Liyue had ears everywhere and had created a sound barrier of sorts, so he had no choice but to wait for his wallet to return to pay for dinner so he could retire for the day.
Perhaps it was a bit cruel to consider Childe as a human wallet, but if he paid for everything then it was a title he could refer to him by, even if only inside his own mind, as he would never in a million years dare to call someone that, not even Venti who often paid for him when they went drinking in the past.
And there went his mind, back to thinking about the anemo archon, who had been napping for almost five hundred years now. It hadn't been his longest nap, nor had it been his shortest, but not having his most trusted friend around was taking its toll.
After all, only the two of them were left of the original seven.
At some point Childe returned, and he didn't notice it because he was thinking about the past and when Venti would wake up... If the archon hadn't already done so and had completely forgotten to stop by to say hello, which if that were the scenario...
“Well, Xiansheng! Looks like you didn't run up the bill this time while I was out, good, good, you're learning not to ask for too much.”
“I didn't see the need to order more than what was already delivered, it was a very nice dinner, Childe, and I thank you for paying for it, since…”
“As usual, you don't have a single mora on you, do you?”
“Indeed.”
Childe began to laugh, but his laughter seemed more forced than usual, almost as if something was bothering him inside. He frowned slightly at that, had the young man from earlier done something to upset Childe?
“If I may ask, Childe.”
“Hm?”
“Who was that young man who came before?”
He saw a hint of light in those eyes that mostly looked dead, one of the greatest mysteries about Childe that Zhongli would like to decipher someday with his permission, after all they were friends, or at least something like it.
“Oh, he's just an old friend of mine who has come to visit, don't worry about him Xiansheng, if I remember correctly he's going to Mondstadt in a week, he's just passing through Liyue at least for now.”
There was a certain truth to the young harbinger's words, but there was also a certain secrecy attached to them, starting with the fact that he never mentioned the name of said friend, almost as if his very existence should try to be kept in some sort of anonymity.
‘Interesting…’, he thought, finishing his tea and gently setting the cup down on the table.
They continued their conversation about the archon war that had been left half-finished as Childe paid for dinner, taking their leave shortly after that and as Zhongli walked with calm ease through a late night Liyue he had to stop as he came face to face with the teenager from earlier, the one who was a friend of the eleventh harbinger.
They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment and the blond gestured for Zhongli to follow him, which he did without letting his guard down as there was a certain tension in the air that made him uncomfortable.
They walked to the outskirts of Liyue, on a hill where a teleport waypoint was located and from which the entire city could be clearly seen.
The teenager sat with his legs in the air, swinging them in a relaxed posture despite the tension that had not dissipated.
“Morax, I've come to make a contract with you.”
He was taken aback by that sentence. He certainly hadn't tried to hide the fact that he was the geo archon, but he hadn't told anyone at any point. Besides, this was the first time the two had met face to face, so how did he know?
Perhaps a conversation with him could clear up his doubts.
The week he spent in Liyue was very pleasant, particularly the time he was able to spend at Ajax's side bothering him from time to time as well as training his ability to control electro.
When he arrived in Liyue, something similar happened as in Snezhnaya and Inazuma: when he was near a statue of the seven, he felt a call, something asking him to come closer and, from one moment to the next, he already possessed the ability to use the element of that archon, as if he had been blessed, but always without a vision in between.
Perhaps it was because of the gnosis he possessed? Aether didn't know, and he would never know so lightly, since he couldn't go around asking people if it was normal —he knew it wasn't, but he didn't want to give up hope that it was.
His memory was still blank, but with each new element came back the feeling of yearning and extreme sadness, as well as the same silhouette, the same hand, and the same twisted voice.
Why couldn't he hold on to that little memory? Why did his mind insist that he remember nothing at all? What was the cause of this memory loss?
It hurt him to be so lost, not knowing what to do to get his memories back, not knowing what to do to remember who he was before he met Ajax and the whole situation he had gotten himself into.
The road to Mondstadt was long, but he had a mission, a mission to accomplish as the twelfth harbinger of her majesty the Tsaritsa.
Aether could not fail.
This year's Ludi Haspatrum was approaching in Mondstad, and everything was full of laughter and people going from one place to another to prepare everything for the festivity, especially for the throwing of the ball of flowers that was to take place in a few days.
Timmie was as usual feeding the pigeons on the bridge when he saw someone approaching the city, a person who unwittingly frightened the birds and the boy could not help complaining.
The teenager who passed by him crouched down to his height and offered an apology, taking off the backpack on his back and pulling a piece of bread from it, sitting down next to him and cutting the bread into small pieces, leaving them on the ground and waiting until the first pigeon returned, and gradually the rest did too, pecking at the bread with an eagerness the boy had never seen before.
Aether smiled at the child's happiness and told him that it was a bread made from wheat and berries that all kinds of birds loved, giving a pouch of it to the child and bidding him farewell.
Before he left Timmie offered to accompany him, and the guards looked at the young man weirdly when he approached the gates as people usually ignored Timmie and went on their way, not caring whether or not they had scared away the pigeons he so much fed and cared for.
As soon as they knew that the blonde was just an adventurer looking to enjoy the festival of freedom they let him pass as they had nothing against good-hearted people willing to hang out in Mondstadt.
They wished him a good day and that the wind would guide him to his destination, causing the young man to smile at both guards and continue his walk with Timmie, separating as soon as they reached the fountain next to the alchemy table since Timmie had to return home with his mother and Aether to continue on his way.
All was laughter, peace, calm and people in motion, as well as bards playing and singing in the streets, preparing for the competition to see who was the best bard in Teyvat, a competition that always took place in Mondstadt as their archon loved music and used to bless people with certain musical abilities as well as other reasons that varied depending on each one, but there was also that related to freedom and so on.
Among the bards there was one missing, a bard with green robes and an anemo vision at his waist, who had been looking for the strings of his lyre and that was why he had been delayed to sign up for the best bard competition: after all the prize for the winner was all they could drink at Angel's Share without paying for a month.
A month of free drinks, a paradise for Venti and at the same time a pity that it wasn't longer, but he had to admit that a month without profit from a customer could be considered enough for the tavern owner —who was rich, but couldn't afford losses any longer.
In his hurry Venti bumped into someone on his way to the marketplace, knocking them both to the ground and almost knocking over his lyre except that he clung to it as if his life depended on it —which was partly true, since it was thanks to it that he could play and earn money for his wine.
He was puzzled as he felt the aura of the person he had bumped into, somehow reminding him of Morax and a little of the Tsaritsa, with whom he hadn't had contact for about 500 years....
He shook his head and stood up, offering help to the blond, who gave him a small 'thank you' and stood up, dusting off his clothes and giving him a small smile.
“I was just looking for you, Barbatos.”
“Huh? Is he around? Where? You must have got confused, traveler, my name is Venti.”
Aether sighed and pulled something out of his pack that made him alert, removing Venti's cheerful expression from his face and changing it to one of seriousness.
“You must know what this implies, but today I come not on her behalf, but to make you an offer.”
|
Waking up was never Namjoon’s favorite part of the day, and for good reasons; He would usually have to wake up at ridiculously early hours because, despite what anyone would have you think, being a mafia boss and a global superstar means having little to no time to yourself.
Normally, he would be woken up by Bixby’s (loud) morning briefing or Hyekyo’s impromptu calls— those signified that a catastrophe was in the making, so he’d grown to be comforted by the A.I's greeting. Yet, on very special instances, he’d open his eyes to Seokjin’s soft kisses on his chest, delicately pulling him out of his usually not too deep sleep. Those mornings were the happy ones, where he felt like he didn’t have to rush from one thing to another. He liked those mornings, has grown to cherish them the most.
However, when he woke up that day to the heavenly mixed scent of all his pack members, Namjoon regretted ever sleeping anywhere other than in their arms. Because even though Seokjin smells like a dream, being able to take in each and every single one of their scents so early in the morning felt like a privilege— one that he wasn’t going to let anyone else have.
Lying there in their cuddle pile Namjoon could, even with his eyes closed, pinpoint where each of his packmates were.
Seokjin was on the other side of the bed, always sleeping closest to the door to ‘protect the pups from any eventual attack’ . Next to him was Taehyung, who was probably lying on his hyung’s chest. Hoseok would have his fingers intertwined with their prince’s, while having Jungkook’s face buried in his neck. The maknae was arguably always the easiest to find, not thanks to his distinctive oceany and rosy scent, but due to his habit of always staying in the center of any formation. Namjoon found that to be endearing.
From there it wasn't all that hard to guess, he himself was on the far left of the bed, holding in his arms their sweet suga and resting his hand on Jimin’s hip. Haneul should be lying in between the pack's omega and beta seeing as their scents were the softests and therefore the easiest on his still forming senses. Except, when he reached out to hold the pup...he found nothing.
Namjoon’s eyes flew open as he immediately shot up into a sitting position, feeling his worry spreading quickly in his body; where the hell was his baby?
His first instinct was to scan the den because although Haneul was the bestest boy, he would every once in a while slip from his fathers’ arms and waddle around the room. But when he looked, he was only able to spot his baby’s cardigan thrown near the door.
At the sight of the discarded item, Namjoon hurried out of the bed and was about to dash out of the room when Jungkook’s sleepy voice stopped him.
“I asked Jiwon-ssi to take Haneulie downstairs. He was getting fussy and needed to get outside.”
Namjoon’s whole body relaxed at the revelation. He took a deep breath and gave himself a second to calm down from the mini freakout he just had.
“Come cuddle me, hyungie.”
And what was Namjoon if not a stupidly smitten man for his golden pup?
He crossed the small distance between them slowly and reached out to Jungkook who already had his arms extended.
You smell different, Namjoon wanted to say. You also look like you haven’t slept much.
But the leader kept his mouth shut.
Instead, he just grabbed his beloved maknae and lifted him up. The surprised chirp Jungkook let out was always worth it.
He had grown so much lately; Namjoon would always look at pictures taken in the beginning and the end of each year and let a tear or two slip as he noticed over and over again just how big and strong he was becoming. And he was getting so handsome, had long ago stopped looking like a small pup and became a big wolf, an alpha and one who could lead any pack if he wished.
Namjoon, somewhere deep inside of him, feared that. He had no idea of what he could possibly do if one of those days Jungkook and the 95’ liners voiced their wish to step out of the pack and build their own.
It was their right, the alpha was aware of that much. Bangtan, as famous and feared as they were, didn’t have any permanent marks on them. They were all..unmarked, officially not belonging to anyone. And Namjoon was the one to blame because he had always thought that the maknaes weren't ready yet; they weren't ready to be marked, weren’t ready to be bonded, weren’t even ready to know the truth about their own clan. But as he held Jungkook in his arms and felt the younger alpha nuzzle his neck, Namjoon was able to feel just how much he… changed.
Jungkook would always be their spoiled baby, Taehyung their sensitive prince and Jimin their soft angel. But to the outside world, they were more than that. They were superstars, idols that many saw as real-life superheroes. Perhaps he had it all wrong. Maybe they have been ready all along and Namjoon had only been projecting his own fears, because the leader was so scared— God, was he terrified of waking up one day to find them all gone!
Namjoon loved them in a way that he’d learned to suppress; he loved them protectively, almost selfishly. In the alpha’s mind, they were all his. He couldn’t fathom the possibility of not spending the rest of his eternity with every single one of them. He wouldn’t ever accept that Bangtan might one day become just a name. It was bad enough that he had to sit through Yoongi getting married and leaving the den to live with his asshole of a husband. Yes, they had agreed on not letting any of them join the other’s pack but he was still far from them for over a year.
He wasn’t ready to experience that ever again.
He made a decision at that moment and when his mouth opened and he spoke, he felt his heart beating uncontrollably in his chest.
“Do you want us to mate?”
Jungkook didn’t answer right away. His eyes widened as he looked up to stare at his hyung in disbelief. He kept his mouth sealed, held his breath almost as if waiting for him to shout ‘sike’ .
“I am serious, Kook-ah.” The leader smiled and held the younger’s face in his palm, still carrying him with his other arm. “You’ve been waiting for long enough, haven’t you? Hyung is sorry that he didn’t realize sooner how much you’ve grown.” He planted a kiss on his cheek, and looked him deep in the eyes.
And out of all the reactions he had expected, a smirk was probably the last on his list.
“Does hyung want us to mate?”
It was Namjoon’s turn to stare back at him incredulously.
“Well, of course I do. Otherwise, why would I be asking you?”
Jungkook laughed and tilted his head, taking everything so lightly when all seven of them knew just how much he’s been craving this.
“Hmmm, well.” He grinned mischievously. “Gotta court me, right hyung?” He put both his hands on his and pulled back from their embrace. The younger man leaned in again when his feet touched the ground and whispered. “I heard that Bangtan’s maknaes are very spoiled and hard to get. You might want to step up your game, hyung.”
And with a last kiss placed conveniently on the corner of the hyung’s lips, he walked out of the den happily.
The sudden and almost instant change in the maknae’s demeanor kept Namjoon frozen in his place. Yet, he still couldn’t fight back a smile.
“Brat.” He rolled his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. Jungkook was indeed a brat but he was his little brat.
“Joon-hyung.” He heard him call out from downstairs. “Your phone is ringing.”
He hummed and, putting on a hoodie, headed to where Jungkook was.
He found him in the pretty kitchen (as named by their hyung) putting a large number of short ribs in a boiling pot. When he noticed him coming he cleaned his hands and reached to give him his phone.
“You took too long. Ahjussi already hung up.”
“Who’s Ahjussi?” He frowned and took the device from him before kissing his palm.
“Your father.” Replied a blushing Jungkook, which would have totally made him swoon if not for what he had just said.
Way to ruin his day!
He rolled his eyes and was about to put his phone in his pocket when Jungkook sent him a questioning glance.
“Won’t you call him back?”
Namjoon wanted to say no. He didn’t want anything to do with the asshole, but he stopped himself.
“I’ll call him later.”
“What if it's something important?” Jungkook looked up from where he was cutting vegetables. “Please call him, hyung. And...maybe tell him about the courting? It would be great if we could get his blessings.”
Jungkook’s eyes shone so much at the prospect and Namjoon felt like buying a proper dad just to give the maknae what he wanted.
“Okay.” He said, despite knowing he wouldn't. He moved closer to the younger man and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “What are you making?”
“Galbitang.”
They both laughed at the growling sound Namjoon’s tummy made at that.
“I’d help but…”
“But you need to go call ahjussi.” He winked and moved to clean the cutting board. “I’ll be fine on my own. It’s still early, the hyungs won't be waking up any time soon.”
Namjoon nodded, noticing for the first time since he opened his eyes that it wasn’t even 8 am yet. He made his way to the elevator and rode it upstairs to where his office was. He was, of course, not planning on calling his father ever, instead, he dialed Hyekyo, knowing that she would already be awake and in the company.
“Good morning, Boss-nim.” She greeted after picking up, her voice laced with fatigue.
“Good morning noona.”
“Is something the matter?” Hyekyo inquired, probably confused as to why Namjoon was calling her when he was supposed to spend the morning practicing.
“My father called.”
The alpha heard her breath hitch from the other line.
“I….I thought he wouldn’t bother you anymore. We always make sure that he has everything he needs.”
Namjoon scoffed and it was bitter; long gone was the cute hyung who was happy to spend a relatively relaxed morning with his packmates. Right then he was Boss, and Boss was very displeased by the morning’s events.
“Yet, here we are. Hyekyo-ssi, should I interfere?” His voice was calm when he spoke, but he knew that Hyekyo knew him well enough to understand that his patience was running out. She knew that if he were to take matters in his own hands, it wouldn’t end well for anyone; especially his father.
“I’ll go see him right away, Boss-nim. Don’t preoccupy yourself with such unworthy matters.” Her tone was assertive but Namjoon could hear her unspoken pleading. Please don’t hurt him. I’ll fix it, just give me a chance.
And he would, because the alpha trusted her and maybe because he wasn’t too fond of killing the man. Namjoon might be a monster but he was above all a father as well.
“I’ll let you handle it but make it quick. I would suggest sending him far away .”
“Boss-nim?” She pushed.
“Jungkook is starting to question things again, he might try to reach him or something especially since we discussed mating and stuff.” He frowned as he felt himself blushing.
“Ah…..” She laughed, despite probably trying hard to contain herself. “Finally? Oh my God, Namjoon.” The omega whimpered and Namjoon felt himself swooning.
“Aigoo, noona.” He shook his head, wishing to hug the older woman. “It’s okay, yeah? It took me long enough to realize that I should do something, but you were right. They’re not kids anymore and I should speak to the hyungs about making things official.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She sniffled and Namjoon forgot all the anger he was feeling a few seconds back. His alpha sensed that an omega he saw as family was distressed and needed to comfort her. “They’ve been wanting this for so long. Haneulie deserves to live in a mated pack as well, he needs all of you after what happened…”
Namjoon’s smile faltered at that, hating that everybody just had to allude to ‘what happened’. But it’s not like he wasn’t expecting it.
Years ago, when Yoongi came back home, broken and alone, he had carried in his arms a sleeping pup. It had been the first time they'd seen him in months and he looked exhausted and empty. His eyes no longer held in them that flame Namjoon knew him for. He had spoken, quietly, shamefully, and explained what had happened. He told them that the baby was biologically his, that the omega who gave birth to him was only a surrogate mother. He explained that it was meant to be a surprise for Chanyeol but when they decided to get divorced he chose not to tell him about it. And Namjoon, despite everything in him telling him that the older beta was lying, accepted his narrative.
He wasn’t dumb, he had known that Yoongi was hiding something. Their divorce didn’t come from nothing and the baby...the baby wasn’t simply a surprise. But what was he supposed to do, seeing the man he had loved for years so weak and pliant? He needed them and the small pup deserved a family and a pack. So he did what a true alpha, a pack leader would do. He pulled the shivering beta in his arms and whispered the words he knew his hyung would never forget. You’re both ours.
Yoongi had melted in his arms, crying— he had been sad but relieved and from then on, the pup became theirs. They all loved him and before they knew it, little Haneul became a part of their soul.
But people, no matter how close they were, couldn’t forget. Everybody knew that he wasn’t biologically theirs , they each created their own narratives and accepted them as the truth. Yet, he thought that at least his own right-hand person, his best friend and the godmother of the pup would know better than to bring that up.
Turns out that he was wrong.
Namjoon cleared his throat, signaling that the conversation was over. It was probably rude, but he definitely didn't care.
"Hyekyo-ssi." He switched back automatically to his Boss mode. "Reschedule yesterday’s postponed meeting for tonight at 7 pm. Inform all the leaders and be present alongside all the other right-hand men at 6."
"....Ye, Boss-nim." Namjoon sensed the sadness in her words but as much as he cared for her, he was not about to forgive her slip up.
"Also, ask what car model Jimin has been wanting recently. Maybe call Jihoon? Or one of his omega friends. I can't recall him requesting a specific brand but he might have told someone. When you find it, buy it."
"Okay. Anything else?
"Ah, yes. I'll scan a handwritten Angel , engrave it in the car."
"Of course, Boss-nim. Do you have a special color in mind?"
"A pastel pink would be fine, I guess. The hyungs will have other gifts ready as well and from what I heard they’re all going for everything shiny and pink. Angel likes pretty stuff."
"That, he does." He heard her smile.
"Great then. I'll be busy until…"
"3 pm. Your personal assistant sent me your schedule last night, as always."
"Right. Do I have to check anything?"
"A few papers concerning some antiques we acquired from Italy. I can send them to you."
He hummed and hung up.
The rest of his (early) morning was spent going over the emails Hyekyo sent. He wasn't all that involved normally in the company’s business seeing as it was only there to justify at least part of his fortune, but every once in a while when he wouldn't find anything better to do, he would go over a few of the antiques they sell. Arts in their various forms were a passion of his, and learning more about the masterpieces they manage to get their hands on was a good enough distraction from the hectic nature of his daily life.
He stayed there until he heard a soft knock on his door.
“Daddy?”
His face broke into a grin as soon as he heard his pup’s soft voice and he hurried to close his laptop.
“Get in baby.”
He stood up and was pleasantly surprised when he saw Taehyung entering the office, a giggling Haneul in his arms.
“Prince?” He smiled brighter and walked up to them. “What brings you here?”
“Daddy, daddy uppies. Uppies.” His son was motioning for him to come closer all while keeping his head on his Dada’s shoulder.
“Woke up to Mr. Haneul being all whiny and needing cuddles from his daddy so I figured we could all use some skinship.” The other alpha winked and Namjoon struggled to fight a blush.
He placed a soft kiss on Haneul’s head and preened when he heard the small content sound the baby let out.
“Baby’s here to cuddle his daddy?”
“Hmmm” He smiled and looked between them. “Daddy and dada always so busy...Haneul miss ‘em.”
“Awn.” Taehyung pouted and Namjoon marveled at the younger man’s beauty. “We can’t have our baby missing his fathers, now can we?” He nuzzled his hair. “Promise we’ll take the weekend off and go somewhere where we can cuddle as much as our little pup wants. How does that sound, huh? Good? Is our Haneulie happy with that?”
Taehyung’s eyes were wide open as he asked Haneul and the baby started giggling as his hands snuck up to tickle him.
“Dada, nooooo.” He tried to escape from the alpha’s hold and turned to Namjoon. “Daddy, help. Tickwes, tickwes so much.”
Namjoon faked a gasp.
“Oh my! What to do? We can't let the tickle monster get our Haneulie.”
“Ah, daddy.” Haneul laughed louder and reached out to him. “Uppies, uppies.”
“Uppies it is.” Namjoon smiled and scooped up the child in his arms and, after sticking out his tongue to the smiling alpha, he took off out of the room. “Run, baby. Run.” He smiled wider when the baby kept giggling as they went down the stairs quickly.
“Ah!” They heard Taehyung exclaim from upstairs. “The tickle monster is coming to get you both!”
“Da~ddy!” The child hid his face in his father’s strong chest. “Hide, hide.”
Namjoon laughed as they reached the (pretty) kitchen where Jungkook and Jimin were.
“Omo!” Jimin’s eyes widened when he saw them. “Why is my baby hiding?”
“Papa!” Haneul whisper-shouted and turned to look at his father. “Dada is tickwe monstew!”
“Oh no!” The omega gasped and hurried to come to hug the both of them so that Haneul was cuddled between his two fathers. “We must protect our little baby.” He smiled and looked up. “Hi hyung.” He whispered softly.
“Hey, Angel.” Namjoon placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. “Slept well?”
Before the younger man could nod, and while a sleepy Hoseok was making his way downstairs, Namjoon’s phone started ringing. Jimin pouted, silently begging him not to answer and Jungkook stopped laughing from where he was scooping out rice from the rice cooker.
Namjoon sent them both an apologetic look and reached for his phone. He frowned upon seeing that it was Sunghoon.
“What is it?” He let out hurriedly, not wanting to waste the precious moment he was having with his pack.
“Boss-nim, I am terribly sorry but it’s important.”
He growled low in his chest and let Jimin hold Haneul as he stepped to the side.
“Talk.”
“The police are here.”
Namjoon felt like laughing because...so what? Seokjin basically owned the police. Yet, as he heard the panic in the older man’s voice and because he knew him to be calm under all circumstances, he braced himself for the catastrophe.
“Why?”
“They’re here for Jimin-ssi...they say that he’s the main suspect in a murder case.”
Namjoon’s eyes widened as he tightened his hold on the phone.
“Hyung?” Jungkook’s voice was tense, sensing that his hyung was getting angry.
Namjoon took a deep breath and met eyes with Hoseok. He spoke with a cold tone that surprised his younger packmates.
“Jungkook, take your boyfriends and go to the den. Don’t come out of it, whatever happens.”
“H...hyung?” Jimin tried.
“I said, GO!” |
"See? I told you it wouldn't take that long."
Jumin's mouth twisted into an amused sort of smirk as the two of you exited C&R's headquarters. "So it didn't," he concurred, his tone ever-so-slightly teasing you, "but I believe my presence may have helped to expedite matters."
You scrunched up your face. "Pff. You can't prove that."
He chuckled, striding over to the limousine that was already parked out front. "If you say so, dear," he replied, opening the door for you all suave and gentleman-like.
You rolled your eyes, sneering at him in a playful fashion as you slipped into the vehicle. Your husband followed suit shortly thereafter, plopping down directly beside you despite the copious amount of other seats available to him. Like, the limo could literally occupy up to eight people, but no. Jumin had to be at your hip at all times. This wasn't even because of what happened last night, either. The dude was just… super clingy?
You didn't really mind, though. The attention was nice.
"So," Jumin mused, draping an arm over your shoulder, "where shall we tell Driver Kim to take us?"
"Hmm." You glanced down at your ludicrously expensive, diamond-studded wristwatch. "It's a bit early for dinner, isn't it? Maybe we should just wait."
Jumin frowned. "No. You've hardly eaten anything since yesterday," he said, extending his hand to caress the side of your cheek. "We should get something light, at the very least."
"Something light?" you echoed, mulling over an idea that suddenly came to mind. "Weeeell, I may know a place, then…"
If you envied Jaehee Kang for anything, it was for how fast her hair seemed to grow. It'd only been about a month since she'd stepped down from her assistant's position at C&R, yet her once immaculately maintained pixie cut had already lengthened into a curly, shoulder-length bob. You had to smile, though: She looked the way she wanted, acted the way she wanted, and was particularly enthused by the fact she was no longer restricted to formal wear. Now, with that said, the business world wasn't all sunshine and roses either: For one thing, she certainly wasn't as free as she hoped she'd be, but there was something about the way Jaehee carried herself now that suggested she was, at the very least, happy.
"My apologies!" Jaehee called from over her shoulder; clearly aware that someone had just entered the café, but unsuspecting that it was you. "I'll be with you in a moment."
You chuckled, watching as your friend hurriedly stacked an assortment of coffee mugs on the shelving units behind the front counter. "Take your time, Jae. Don't rush on our account."
Jaehee stopped what she was doing, perking up almost instantly in response to your voice. She swivelled her head to the side and smiled wide as she locked eyes with you — which, naturally, prompted her to put the mugs away in an even hastier manner than before. You laughed again, insisting that she really ought to slow down before she accidentally broke something, but it did little good; she didn't want to keep you waiting.
"Old habits die hard, I see," Jumin muttered, loitering beside you rather awkwardly. The tone of his remark actually hinted of mild amusement, but you nudged him in the side regardless; warning him to behave as you exchanged pleasantries with your friend. His rigid stature and cool expression did little in terms of reassurance, however.
"So what brings you by?" Jaehee eventually inquired, giving the two of you her full attention now that her task was complete.
"My wife wanted to visit you," Jumin answered dryly, seemingly disinterested in the whole affair, but his eyes betrayed a certain underlying curiosity as he silently surveyed the café.
You sighed, giving your husband a wry side glance. "Uh-huh, sure. We both did," you corrected, turning your attention towards Jaehee again. "I hope you don't mind us popping by unexpectedly like this, though?"
"Oh heavens, no! I'm glad to see you." Jaehee smiled reassuringly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She peered at Jumin just then, her smile turning a little nervous in the presence of her old boss. "And you, Mr. Han," she added, albeit a little quieter than before.
"…It has been a while," he whispered, his voice brimming with a vague sense of sentimentality, albeit not strongly enough for Jaehee to pick up on. You realized something as he spoke, though.
"Oh hang on, you haven't been here since construction started, have you, Jumin?" you asked, turning towards your husband. "It's got a bit of a Parisian look to it, don't you think?" you said, attempting to prod a positive response out of him instead of asking what he thought of the place outright. You didn't think he'd hate it or anything, but Jumin did have a habit of prioritizing constructive criticism over literally anything else, which presented a bit of a problem when you were actively trying to improve their relationship.
He considered your assessment for a moment, then nodded once. "In a quaint sort of way, I suppose," he replied, expressionless, but at least it felt more like a compliment than otherwise. "Although—"
Dammit. You tried.
"—business seems rather slow," Jumin continued, frowning ever-so-slightly at the unoccupied tables and booths. "Has there been issues with the location? I had wondered whether there would be too much competition for a place like this downtown, but with the university so close by—"
"The café always slows down a little around this time of day, Mr. Han. If you had come by at noon, I'm afraid we would've been at our seating capacity," Jaehee replied, calmly interjecting herself before Jumin could start lecturing her about advertisement strategies.
Jumin raised his eyebrows for a split second, visibly relieved, but soon reverted back to his previous, standoffish demeanour. "I see. Good, then."
Jaehee shared a perplexed look with you, but ultimately brushed off Jumin's conduct with a sigh. She must have been used to this sort of thing by now. "Would the two of you like to take a seat? Anywhere you wish is fine. I'll come by with some menus in a few minutes."
"Sure, sure," you replied, already eyeing a nice, sunlit table near the front window. "Thanks, Jae."
"…You can unclench now, dear. She's gone into the back."
Jumin glared at you, huffing slightly at the remark, but relaxed into his chair nevertheless. "Perhaps we should've gone somewhere else," he mumbled, fidgeting with his cufflink.
You frowned, folding your arms on top of the table. "And why's that? You didn't object before."
He looked at you as though the answer was seemingly obvious. "For your sake, I didn't, but… my being here is a trifle awkward, my love."
"I don't see why it should be? It's not as though you fired her," you replied, a little puzzled. "I mean, the last time the two of you were in the same room together she literally hugged you."
He visibly shuddered. "I know. Don't remind me."
…It took a considerable amount of self-restraint to stop yourself from bursting into laughter right then and there. "Traumatized, were you?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.
"Yes," he said, completely serious. "Irreversibly so."
You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. "Sweetheart. That's ridiculous, even for you."
Jumin narrowed his eyes. "…I'm not quite sure how to take that?"
You smirked. "Take it as me asking whether that's really the reason, then."
He sighed. "What else would it be?"
"Well, I don't know," you said, a little exasperated. "I can't read your mind."
He didn't say anything to that, but after a moment of pause... he glanced away rather dejectedly, something clearly on his mind.
You sat up a little straighter, your brow now furrowed with concern. "…Jumin?"
He breathed deeply. "I never kne— No. No, I never noticed," he admitted, his hand balling into a fist on top of the table. "She was miserable, truly miserable, but I was just… too preoccupied with my own troubles to realize. Meanwhile she— she's the reason I met you." He closed his eyes. "Can you imagine what would have happened, if you weren't here? What I might have done when she—?" he cut himself off, shaking his head.
You sat back in your chair, caught off guard by his sudden confession. Your eyes drifted to the ground, wishing you could disagree with him, or assure him he wouldn't have been as callous toward her as he assumed, but… you had lived through that timeline before, the one he couldn't will himself to imagine, and you knew he was right.
"She… doesn't hate you for what happened," you said, offering him a different truth instead. "Besides, I'm sure if she knew what was going on, she'd hardly— Oh." You glanced back upwards only to immediately bite your lip, stopping yourself mid-sentence.
Evidently, Jumin didn't seem to notice. "I appreciate the sentiment, dear, but I don't want to make excuses for myself. It'd probably be better for her if I just—"
"Uh, J-Jumin?"
He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Yes? What's—?"
Jaehee cleared her throat from behind Jumin's seat, which nearly startled him out of his skin. You didn't know how long she'd been standing there, or how the hell she managed to sneak up on you two like that, but from her wide eyes and gaping mouth, you assumed she heard… enough.
The dead silence that followed this revelation felt almost unbearably long, with everyone's faces plastered with some varying degree of embarrassment. Jumin's was by far the worst, though. You weren't quite sure if you've ever seen him mortified before, but he definitely was. Ooooooh boy, he was.
Eventually, Jaehee decided to speak first. "…I, uhm. Made this. F-For you," she stuttered, presenting the cappuccino she was holding to Jumin. She set the beverage down gently, careful to ensure she didn't accidentally disturb the foam art that looked suspiciously like Elizabeth the 3rd.
He stared at it, seemingly dumbstruck.
You decided to say something for him, lest you all descend into that godawful silence again. "Jaehee, is that…?"
"It… is," she replied, her cheeks flushing to a cherry shade. "I already knew how you take your coffee, s-so I thought that I'd just… you know? You know." An awkward laugh slipped past her lips. "O-Oh, would you look at that! I completely forgot the menus. I'll… I'll just—"
"How did you manage to get her paws to stick over the side like that?" Jumin asked out of the blue, his voice unusually quiet.
"Oh. It's just a trick I learned during my research." She folded her hands in front of her apron, wringing them anxiously. "Do you… like it?"
Jumin began by nodding slowly, then finally spoke. "Yes, it's… very cute. Rather accurate, too."
Jaehee shifted in her stature awkwardly, but she seemed pleased. "…I'm glad you think so, Mr. Han."
"Oh." He narrowed his eyes contemplatively. "There's… no need for that anymore, I think. I'm not your boss." He paused, tapping his index finger against the table, as though working up the courage to do something. "…Jaehee."
You and Jaehee both jumped a little, surprised to hear him address her so casually. "Al-Alright," she murmured. "I'll… get those menus now. Enjoy your drink, uh… J-Jumin."
His eyes flickered back to the drink, frowning somewhat. "Hmm. I almost wish I didn't have to. I don't want to ruin the design."
Jaehee paused, chuckling lightly as she started to turn away. "Well, they're not that difficult to make."
"I guess we'll have to come by more often, then," you added, a coy smile spreading across your face. "I mean, assuming that's alright with you two…?"
The two of them glanced toward each other, only to immediately turn away after accidentally locking eyes.
"That's… certainly fine by me," Jaehee muttered.
Jumin cleared his throat, stifling the smile which threatened to overtake his face. "Then I suppose we shall."
(illustration by moonglademermaid) |
Nightmare, the Guardian of Negativity and Prince of Darkness, sighed as he dropped the towel he had wrapped around his hips to the floor. He reached into the upper rack of his wardrobe and pulled out a comfortable set of pyjamas he would die rather than let his brother know he owned. They were a deep purple with white quarter moons scattered on them. They looked, in fact, like the outfit he had worn when he was young and naive. Nightmare was sure that Dream would be… well, confused by it. Dream still thought Nightmare hated him, as if he could ever hate his brother. What he really did was miss him, and if he could enjoy a little bit of nostalgia by wearing this, well, none of his datemates was going to stop him.
He’d only just gotten to lie down in the giant bed his poly (or “gang” as his brother seemed to think) called their own when it happened. The others were all cleaning up or cooling off after their latest fight with the Star Sanses; Horror was in the kitchen preparing dinner, Killer was sharpening his knives, Error was back in the Anti-Void, and Dust was soaking in the tub. That left Nightmare all alone in their bed to feel the massive spike of negativity that came from an… Underswap? They were usually so cheerful, though, and Error never went after an Underswap without backup.
Nightmare sat up quickly and probed the feeling a little further. Yes, those feelings of fear and pain were coming from an Underswap. It looked like it was… no, that couldn’t be right. Why would that much negativity be coming from the Underswap of the Star Sanses’ Blue? Not only from his AU, but it looked like it was coming from Blue himself!
The guardian considered rousing his team for a moment, but decided against it. They had taken a decent hit to their HP in this most recent battle. It wasn’t worth going after one of the most heavily defended AUs in the Multiverse for only a little bit of negativity. He let it go.
The second time Nightmare felt that upwell of negativity in Underswap he groaned. He had
just
managed to fall asleep after healing Killer’s wounds (a feat he was sure his brother no longer thought him capable of). He needed sleep. They all needed sleep, although a carefully searching foot failed to find Horror in his usual corner of the bed.
Nightmare sent out a tendril of magic to find his insomniac of a mate and found him in the garden. Nightmare smiled. Horror loved to sit in the blooming lilac at this time of year and stare up at the stars. He always loved to stare up at the stars - the thing that changed was where he sat. The garden was set up a bit like a floral calendar, with different plants set to give off different smells at different times of year. Nightmare was quite proud of his mates for thinking of it. He only had to use a bit of magic to keep it up, and it made Horror so happy it was worth it. Positivity didn’t hurt him if it came from someone he loved.
The negativity in Underswap spiked again and Nightmare sighed, turning his back on it. He was not going to wake up his boys for this. It wasn’t worth it.
When Nightmare felt that spike of pain and fear after their latest battle he snapped. How could Blue be feeling like that when they had just beaten his “gang” so solidly? Ink had left Dust shaking and relapsing into being taunted by his brother’s memory. Killer was holed up with him in the sauna, chasing away the spectre of the cold of Snowdin with insidious warmth and the smell of sunflower oil. Horror was cooking up Dust’s favorite stir-fry and Nightmare had only left to start a load of blankets in the dryer to warm for when they were done. Now this? He was so done. He was going to investigate this himself.
Nightmare hit the last button on the dryer and melted into the shadows behind it. He stepped out of the shadows in the brothers’ empty shed in Underswap and immediately pulled the chunk of lint out of his mouth that tasted so gross. Once it had been obliterated, Nightmare sent out feelers of magic to try and locate Blue without setting off any alarms.
He found his energy easily. Blue was radiating pain, fear, and betrayed despair like a pulsar. Nightmare followed the shadows to it and looked out into Blue’s bedroom from the shadows of his closet with his one working eye.
The first thing that struck him was how empty Blue’s room was. This was the room he would expect out of an Undertale Sans, not an Underswap one. There was a bare mattress on the floor in one corner of the room. A tornado of bloody bandages instead of socks occupied another. The treadmill was replaced with a hard metal chair, and the wardrobe was a desk instead. Otherwise, though, it was that same empty room.
The next thing that struck Nightmare was the room’s occupants. Stretch, Blue’s younger brother, had his back to Nightmare and his pants around his ankles. He was feeling so much pure eagerness and lust that it felt like Nightmare had been sprayed with Ink’s acid paint. Beyond him Nightmare could feel Blue still radiating those negative emotions. They felt like a balm.
Then Nightmare heard what Stretch was saying and it froze him in his tracks. “that’s it, brother, whimper for me. don’t hide back that pretty voice of yours. you sound so good when you’re in pain. you know you deserve it. if you didn’t go out there and put yourself in danger like this then i wouldn’t have to do this, would i? you know how i feel about you fighting with your friends against those bad sanses. error’s already kidnapped you once before. what’s going to stop him from doing it again? i need to drill it into your thick head what happens when you put yourself in danger like that, and this is the only thing that seems to get through your thick head anymore. i’m doing you a favor, really. now, let’s switch holes.”
That was all the warning Nightmare got before Stretch pulled himself out of something with a wet squelch and threw his brother to the ground. He shuffled his way across the clean floor, hampered by the pants around his ankles, and moved to the other side of Blue, who Nightmare could now see. Blue was tied up, hand and foot, and gagged with his bandanna. Tears were streaming down his face. His whole body was covered only in a thin ecto, way too thin for a monster in such a healthy universe. His tiny breasts were black and purple with bruises, and the nipples were leaking blood. His pussy, the only part of him that looked the proper weight, was oozing blood at a terrifying rate. Nightmare knew wounds, and, if Blue kept bleeding at the rate he currently was for another half an hour, he’d lose too much blood and Fall Down. Then Stretch buried his ultra-long orange dick up to the balls in Blue’s ass. Blue’s eyes flew open and he screamed around the gag.
That was all that Nightmare could take. The door he was hiding behind slammed into the walls, but it was slower than his tentacles, which slammed into Stretch and sent him flying back into a wall. Stretch’s squeak was followed by a scream as Nightmare grabbed him around the waist and smashed him so hard into the wall that the plaster cracked.
His arms and body were focused on something else. He had sprung out of the closet and caught the tied-up Blue before he could hit the ground. He automatically cradled him to his chest, just like he would one of his own boys. He made sure that Blue wasn’t going to fall, then glared at Stretch. He knew he had to play the villain perfectly to pull this off without raising suspicions, but it would be hard not to give in to his desires and kill Stretch. He knew he would just be back next RESET. No, he needed a warning that would be more effective than that.
He let a condescending grin slip across his face, the white of his teeth sharp and insidious. “Oh, Stretch, you’re such an idiot. Torturing your own brother like this was bound to draw me in. All those delicious negative emotions? Candy. I think - yes, I think I’m going to kidnap this delectable snack. Maybe I’ll return him. Maybe not. If you invite my energy here again, though, you will never escape the consequences.”
With that, Nightmare faded into the closet, taking Blue back to the castle and feeding off of Stretch’s delicious anger and fear as he left.
|
“If the tongue turns blue it means that the feeling is true — If it is green then it is better not to make any hope.”
Marco read and re-read the small pink bottle with bubbles and a chocolate-like aroma.
Some months ago a small potion similar to the love potion came out for sale with the only difference being that if the person drank from it and saw the first person their tongue would be painted either a blue or green color.
The young Ravenclaw was undecided about using the potion in Tom, one of his friends and by whom he seemed to be developing a slight crush. He always believed that they were just good friends, however something seemed different to when he was with him as when he was with Alfonzo or Ferguson, even with Star.
The only person he managed to confess to, and that was embarrassing was Star, his friend from Gryffindor and Tom’s ex-girlfriend — Yes, now you know why it was embarrassing. Even so the blond girl decided that there was no time to lose and when she and Janna went to Hogsmeade the blond witch bought the potion in Zonko’s jokes shop to know what Marco and Tom felt about the other.
First they wanted to try it out among themselves. Dropping a drop onto a cookie for each of them and after that they both ate the cookie and looked at each other, instantly their tongues were green. Star supported him by saying that he should use it with Tom however the Latino boy was still in doubt but decided to swallow his fear and prepare some food for Tom and pour the potion.
Thanks to Janna who knew the passageways of Hufflepuff’s room to the kitchen, the three arrived in the kitchen where some elves were not happy that Marco wanted to get his hands on his precious kitchen utensils, they just let themselves be convinced thanks to Janna and one of her many deals.
Marco decided that it was best to make chocolates, and when no one was watching he poured a bit of the potion onto the chocolate that quickly melted until the pink disappeared into the brown, as if nothing had happened.
The next morning Marco was waiting in the halls of Hogwarts for Tom to come out of his Transfiguration class.
“Marco Polo.” Tom waved and walked to the tanned wizard’s side, both sharing History of Magic.
“Tom, uh — Star brought me chocolate that she bought at Hogsmeade, however I don’t think I can eat all... Do you want some?” Marco spread the small box with the chocolates poured with the potion.
The pink-haired boy nodded and took at least two chocolates, would be a good snack, after transfiguration his mind was so tired that usually ended up sleeping in his next class. It was nice to have someone like Marco.
“They taste delicious; Maybe we can save them later and roast them on fire with marshmallows.”
“Yes.” Marco didn’t pay much attention to what Tom said, he only cared to see what color his tongue was. It wasn’t like he could just say ‘Tom, can I see your tongue?’ Maybe Star would have been very helpful now.
“Is something wrong?” Tom asked, his face was now curiously about Marco’s questioning look.
“No! Nothing.” Marco straightened up again, “I thought I saw something on your face, but no, no, it was nothing.”
“My face?” Tom spent his sleeve over his cheeks, “Maybe some spot of gunpowder or ink, thank you, Marco Polo.”
“He, you’re welcome” Marco sighed a little relieved that Tom didn’t decide to ask more, also, maybe the potion didn’t work, so he didn’t see anything particular, “By the way, about — ”
Marco listened as something fell behind him, something heavy.
“Tom?” Marco turned, “Tom!”
◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆
His leg kept shaking, a thousand and one thoughts hovered around Marco’s head about Tom’s fainting. ‘It’s all my fault.’, ‘I poison him.’, ‘Tom’s going to hate me.’
Finally, the nurse came out with the teacher who helped him to take Tom to the infirmary at Hogwarts. Marco ran to her side hoping it was nothing serious; Tom had only suffered from fatigue. Marco sighed more relieved and asked if he could come and see how he was, the nurse nodded and allowed him the passage to go and look for the prefect of the house of Slytherin.
As soon as Tom saw him, his smile grew larger, and the boy was already out of bed, adjusting his uniform.
“If you were so tired because you didn’t say anything?” Marco asked, handing him his robe.
“I didn’t think this would happen, it was my last class of the day, I would go to my bedroom, I would sleep for a while, and then we would go for a walk, I told you that we could even roast the marshmallows with fire.”
“Yeah... About the marshmallows... I threw them in the trash.”
“What?! Why would you do something like that?”
“I thought I had poisoned you!”
“Why would it?”
“Because I poured a potion to the chocolates!” Marco quickly covered his mouth as he confessed his most serious mistake.
“Wait, wait, wait, a potion? Why you wanted to do that?”
There was no way out, he could well finish this conversation by fleeing, but he had already taken off too easy, “I — Look... Tom, I feel — I have a crush on you. Yes, I know it’s silly but there was a potion that changed your tongue color depending on whether you feel the same and that’s why I decided to see if by chance you felt the same for me.” Marco saw that Tom had a slight blush on his cheeks, this became increasingly uncomfortable for both. “I don’t want you to feel weird about this, even if that wasn’t true, we can still be friends.”
“Then you want to see if my tongue is blue.” Tom looked away.
“Yes, I — Wait a moment, how did you know it was blue? I never told you what colors they were.”
The Slytherin wizard laughed, “Marco Polo, that potion is where it is now that it has become more famous, you won’t believe it but you are not the first one to try it with me.” Tom put his hand on Marco’s shoulder, “However you won’t need any more potions when it comes to you.” Tom said before he laughed and pulled Marco to walk out of the infirmary.
“What? Tom, that means — ”
Just as they were both getting out of the infirmary the boys’ duo collided with another student, Star, she was coming in a little agitated and at the same time shocked.
“Starship?” Tom helped them both up from the ground.
“I am dreaming. I am dreaming.” Star repeated like a mantra.
“What did you do now Star?” Marco asked as if it were a mother about to scold her son.
Star didn’t say anything else and showed his tongue, a perfect light blue was from end to end. Oh, damn it.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” Janna appeared eating chocolates — At what point did Janna have taken the chocolates Marco made yesterday? Now what must have worried them was the beautiful blue color that Janna’s tongue had, though.
“Oh, my.” |
This was the moment Steve has been waiting for.
After two years of being banished in Wakanda, they were finally going to go home.
Steve will finally fox everything.
The past two years were extremely tough. Being away from the compound, from being heroes, watching as the world fell for the accords, not being able to do anything. It was painful.
Scott didn't stay for long. He quickly abandoned them. Since he was the only one (other than Bucky) that the Wakandians were friendly too, T'Challa helped him get a pardon and get back home. A week after he left, Scott signed the accords and joined the Avengers. The help that he got, was never offered to anyone else.
Clint was constantly angry, a month after they got here, Laura sent him a divorce notice. She also got full custody of his children, winning the case because he wasn't there to contest it. What made Steve the angriest, is that she had the audacity to change the name of one of his children. Now there is no Nathaniel Pietro Barton, but rather Anthony James Bishop. How could Laura do that to him, or to Nat ?
Sam was dishonorably discharged from the military, and lost all of his money. He also lost his license in the V.A and will not be allowed to council again. What makes him the angriest, is that now veterans and other military speak about his friends with hate. Calling him a disgrace to the military, and just "Captain America's puppy." Sam stood quiet after that, shaken. Steve will fix that for him, Sam is one of the greatest soldiers.
Wanda, the poor kid. She is now viewed by the world as a monster ! She is literally, the most hated person worldwide. The world doesn't se her as the victim and the hero that she is, but rather as a person that needs to be collared and jailed. Some people are even talking about executing her ! Wanda had tears in her eyes, and her powers were going crazy, Steve has to help her. She is an innocent kid and doesn't deserve it.
Natasha, the world is outright humiliating her. They call her a disgrace for the spy and hero community. Now the world see's her changing sides to the good one as a traitor. Steve can't believe it. All of her profiles and work is now being mocked and ridiculed. Her file on Tony, is universally ridiculed with many professional psychologist saying that it has no training what so ever, and that that file is more of a description of Steve ! How dare they !
Bucky is still in cyro. Unlike the others, he is not receiving any hate. In fact, if there is one good thing, is that the world is aware of the turtore he went as the Winter Soldier, and are feeling sympathy for him. Steve is glad that at least that's going right.
But nothing compares to the hatred that Steve himself is getting ! Steve was dishonorably discharged like Sam, with the military saying that Captain America is just a stage name, and that he wasn't anything more than a private. He's title as the leader of the Avengers was also taken away. His exhibition in the museum was also closed for ever, planed to be changed to a super hero exhibition, and none of his team will be featured. Protests all across America and the world are calling for his arrest, the Americans publicly disowning him. They call Steve a traitor, a murderer, a bully !
Why ? Why where they saying all of that ? Steve fought for them ! He did this for them ! So that they can have their freedom to go save them when they needed. He did it for their independence ! Steve did the right thing as the hero that he is.
But the world chose a side, and it wasn't his.
It was Tony's.
Tony, the man that caused all of this. At first Steve thought that the man would fix all of this, this was his mess after all. But at first, the man didn't show up in the cameras. Wanda said that he was probably groveling and licking his wounds at their victory, something that Steve agreed with. But 4 months after he defeated him in Siberia. Tony showed up. But instead of admitting his loss and bringing the real heroes back home. He stood firm and said that he would rebuild the Avengers with the accords, and that this time, the team will last.
Steve knew he was bluffing, there was no way that Tony would do that.
But as time passed, the Avengers grew, more and more members entered the team, all singing the accords. Soon the Avengers were bigger than they ever were under Steve's leadership. The new members praised Tony, and condemned Steve and his team.
All they could do was watch.
They could only watch when as Thor and Bruce returned from space with the Asgardians, how they stood with Tony and rebuilt Asgard. How they happily signed the accords along side a woman named Valkyrie, and Loki of all people ! They had to watch as Loki got pardoned and got praised as a hero for helping Thor save Asgard, while the real heroes were still condemned.
They watched as Tony and Pepper fixed all of their issues, and not only got back together, but also got engaged ! Announcing it publicly in a S.I press conference. Steve wouldn't have even known when the wedding was, if it wasn't for T'Challa coming in and telling him he was going away with Shuri, and that his girlfriend Nakia is in charge. Steve asked him where he was going, and he replied that he was invited to the Stark wedding. He told them that the wedding was private, and it wouldn't be broadcasted. Steve was unable to watch that.
They could only watched as the Guardians of the Galaxy came in and warned the world about Thanos. They could only watch when Tony replied with a confidence that they thought he could never have, that they would win.
But then the time finally came.
Two days after the announcement of the coming of Thanos, T'Challa came in with the pardons.
"So we can go home !" Sam said exited.
"As long as you follow EVERY single rule, yes, you can. Please do keep in mind that this are conditional pardons, depending on how much you help with the situation of Thanos. If you mess up, and not help at all, there is no helping you getting out of jail.
Steve shook his head. There is nothing to worry about. He and his team are the greatest heroes on Earth, they are going to be instrumental to fight Thanos. The world will see that.
"I need to tell Bucky !" He has to tell him they can finally go home.
"That's impossible Mr. Rogers, Sergeant Barnes left Wakanda 4 months ago."
Wait.....what ?
"What, why !?"
"He received an pardon, but unlike yours, he's has no conditions. He is currently back in America, where you are bound to meet him. And before you ask, the reason that I didn't tell you, is because he told me not too."
So that's how Steve and his team found themselves in the entrance to the new compound.
He hoped that Tony would be waiting for them, to finally clear the air, accept the blame, and start fixing things.
But instead, they were greeted by a very pissed Nick Fury.
"Sir, it's good to see you...." Natasha began .
"WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK WHERE YOU IDIOTS THINKING !" Fury yelled.
"Sir, I don't understand...." Clint said.
"You don't understand what Barton ? Why the world is not groveling at your feet, why there is no one praising and cheering for your return ? Cause let me tell you, there are people here, but all of them are protesters wishing for your imprisionent and even death !"
Fury then locked his eye with Steve and then.....
BAM !
He punched him in the face.
"Wha...."
"If there is one thing I am Rogers, is a family man, and if you think I would greet with open arms the man that almost killed my godson, you are even more delusional than I thought."
"Your godson ?"
"Yeah, the man that you stranded in Siberia, Tony Stark."
"Wait, Stark is your godson !" Clint yelled.
"Dam right Barton. Also, Romanoff you and I are going to have words about the bullshit report that you wrote on him. I thought you knew that it was bullshit, but it seems you thought we were taking it seriously, I have some words to say about what you wrote of him. I should have never sent you there, or even made you an agent. Both you and Barton are disowned from SHIELD, we have much better agents than you now."
Steve watched as Natasha and Clint gulped, the former specially as even her own boss ridiculed her work. Steve can't understand, he thinks that the report is more than accurate.
"Sir I think...."
"Shut your mouth Rogers, now get in here, sign the fucking contract, and get to work !"
The compound was completly changed. No longer was it considered the home of the Avengers, but rather where they meet up and train. Tony, Rhodes, and Vision moved back to the tower, and since the rest of the team was in Wakanda, they took that decision without their consent.
Their big and homey rooms were gone, now they were forced to reside in a small room with just a bed, a desk, a closet and a small T.V.
"What happened to our rooms !" Wanda screamed.
"Well Maximoff, you should have thought of that before you sent Vision threw the floors of the place, and that the man that owned it wouldn't stay quiet after that." Carol Danvers, one of the leaders, said with disdain.
"Please Carol, thinking is something I am sure they are not capable off." Stephen Strange groaned.
Steve glared.
"The compound is our home, you can't expect us to just take this."
"Do you have proof ?"
"What ?"
"Do you have proof that you owned it, do you have a contract or any legal document that it can tell us that this place was yours ?"
.....
"Exactly. The compound used to belong to Tony Stark, and now he sold it to the UN, who now makes the rules. This place has never been yours, it has been from someone else, and if you want to keep living here, you will follow the dam rules."
"This is our home !"
"We already cleared that it wasn't."
"Now, your access cards are clear, if the light turns green, you are allowed, and if it turns red, get the hell out or face the consequences." Carol said.
"Wait a minute, here says that we have to pay for our food !" Clint yelled.
"Yes Mr. Barton, like all of us have too."
"We have no money, Stark used to pay for everything." Natasha grumbled.
"Well to bad that Tony has other people that now he takes care off, you know, his true friends. You all have a meal pass that allows you the three foods every day, and if you want more, pay it. Have no money ? Get a job.·
"Now look here Ms. Danvers...."
"It's Captain Danvers, Mr. Rogers. Unlike you, I earned the rank, and wasn't dishonorably discharged, I expect for you all to call me by my title."
Steve gritted his teeth.
"I think we can make some agreements, if I can talk to Tony....."
"Mr. Stark is currently unavailable, he has his own team that he is focusing on, not to mention that his wife is pregnant, he won't spend a single second with you, get that threw your thick and stupid head."
This was a leaving nightmare.
Steve and his team didn't get their very deserved apologies and their status back.
Instead they got even more hate than what they saw in the T.V.
They met Scott a week after their return, but the man cleary had switched sides.
"Get your hands off me !"
"What the hell man, we are just trying to be friendly !" Sam said.
"Yeah like I would believe that. All you want is for me to fall in line with your precious Captain America. I am not like you Wilson, I am no longer a blind follower. It took me a while to get my life together, and I will be dammed if I lost them again, so back the fuck off."
"Look Scott, we just....."
"Oh god Rogers, can't you take the hint, he doesn't want anything to do with you, now get the hell out of here !" Hope said.
The next morning, they met Vision in the common room. He complete ignored Wanda, and flat out told her to leaver him alone.
"Vis please."
"I won't say it again Ms. Maximoff, I don't want to be near you."
"Come on, don't let Stark between us."
"And that, is one of the reasons I don't want to be near you. I will not stay and hear you harass my friend, now leave."
The android went threw the wall after that, leaving a crying Wanda behind.
When he and his team heard that Thor got engaged to Jane Foster, they decided to congratulate him, as well as clear the air, no wonder what fake stories did Tony told him and Bruce.
They are staying in New Asgard, but they came to the compound to train. Thor and Bruce have their own team call, the Revengers.
But their greeting, was not what they expected.
"While I appreciate the message, I find it offensive. I am not stupid, this is an effort of you getting me to side with you."
"What ?"
"Thor, we are just trying to be good friends, and teammates." Natasha said.
"Oh yeah, then why was their no effort to congratulate Tony when he and Pepper got engaged, we know Steve sent letters, but none of that were about that right ?" Bruce asked.
How did they know that ?
"We read some of them before the delusions got to much. Everyone knows that she had a fun time destroying them." Valkyrie laughed.
"She, who's she ?" Clint asked.
"Oh you'll meet her." Loki said smirking. "That will be fun to see."
"Now listen you ass...."
"Barton, don't speak to my brother like that in my presence, unless you want to feel some pain." Thor growled.
"Look guys. We did come to congratulate Thor, but you have to hear us out. Tony must have told you many lies and you need to hear both sides..."
BAM !
With a green fist, Bruce punched Steve in the face.
"For your information Rogers. Tony didn't tell us anything, he was afraid we wouldn't believe us. Fury was the one that showed us all of the footage, including Siberia. We saw everything, and we have chosen our side. And if you think I will side with the man that included the woman that brainwashed me to Hulk out and attack civilians, you are sorely mistaken."
"Bruce, please just listen to us." Natasha begged.
"Oh fuck off Romanoff, you think he will listen to you after what you did. Bruce here was afraid to try a healthy relationship after what you did. I am glad I managed to help him." Valkyrie said while holding Bruce's hand. It's clear they are together, how could Bruce do that to Nat ?
"I won't say it twice. Leave now, unlike you we are taking things seriously."
"We have Steve, he'll be the one that gives us the victory." Wanda growled.
The Revengers watched each other, and laughed.
"You think Rogers here will stand against Thanos ! JAJAJAJAJA, not with her being here, she will be the one that takes him down, you people are useless." Loki laughed.
"Who's her !" Steve demanded.
"Peace of advice Rogers, stay the fuck away from Tony, or the Princess and the Cat will be pissed."
"If you are afraid of Hulk and I, be terrified of them." Thor said.
In training Steve met Spiderman for a second time.
The young man had a good heart, he can't let Tony corrupt him, so he asked him for a friendly spar, so that Steve could start teach him.
Spiderman accepted, but Steve had no time to talk.
The young man quickly put him in defense, and with some webs and kicks, he had Steve in the ground, his nose bleeding.
"This is for Mr. Stark, stay the fuck away from him." He said as he walked away, fist bumping Rhodes.
"Get that checked up Rogers."
"Aren't you going to do anything about that ?" Sam demanded.
"Rogers asked for it. Spiderman gave him the spar, if he can't handle that, he is no use against Thanos."
Steve and his team went to the cafeteria after his checkup.
"I can't believe things are going this way." Wanda grumbled.
"Any luck in SHIELD ?" Sam asked.
"Coulson said that he would have Johnson blast us if we came back. He also said that Carter wants to words with you Steve, she is pissed for what happened to her cousin."
Steve shook his head, leave it to Tony to take away his last connection to Peggy."
"I'll talk to Tony soon, and then we can finally start fixing things."
Just then, they heard a familiar laugh.
"It's Tony, he is in the cafeteria !"
"About time the asshole showed up." Clint said.
"Potts is in the tower, and we just left the others, he has to be alone, its our chance." Natasha said.
Steve quickly went to the cafeteria, the others following him.
But when they arrived, Tony wasn't alone.
He had 4 people that he had never met before. A man, and three women.
The man was a young black man with short hair, and some muscle. The first woman has pink short hair, wears a cape, and a crown ? The second woman has long blonde hair in a pony tail, she's wearing a red jacket and there is this confidence around her, and the last woman has short for hair and....cat ears, fur, and a tail ?
"What ?"
"Oh Mr. Rogers, didn't see you come." Tony said.
"I did, well I heard them." the cat lady said.
"Tony, what....who are they ?"
"Oh right, were are my manners. Allow me to present you my team. The man is Bow, an archer much more skilled that Barton here, pinky is Queen Glimmer, a witch that is much more powerful than Maximoff, the blondie is Adora, leader and the power house of the whole army, she is the strongest one fighting against Thanos. And the kitty is my other best friend Catra, the most skilled warrior in the universe, even Gamora and Nebula fear her, and also Morgan's godmother and the one that got me out of Siberia."
"I still don't understand the notion of god mother, do I have to become a god or what ? Because Adora is much more of a god than me." Catra said.
"You dummy." Adora laughed. "It has nothing to do with being a god babe, it means you are part of the girl's family."
"Oh, well I can do that. No one is hurting mini shell head."
"Shut up Kitty." Tony said.
"You know you love me."
"Oh are you betraying Adora ? I'm sorry, I got Pep."
"Catra how could you, betrayal !" Adora mocked.
They all laughed, ignoring Steve and his team.
Steve cleared his throat. "Tony, we need to talk. Alone."
"Oh really, let me see my schedule, what about if we meet in the 30th of February ?"
"Febuary ? Tony that's months away, and I can't wait for the 30th !"
Everyone looked at Steve weirdly.
"He does know that that date doesn't exist, right ?" Glimmer said.
"Steve, February 30th doesn't exist." Sam said.
"What ?" Tony was mocking him, seriously !
"That Rogers, is my way of saying that no, we are not meeting."
"Come on Stark, don't be petty !" Clint yelled.
"Do you even know what petty means ? Because there is a difference between that, and avoiding your abusers." Bow said.
"Please Bow, there is no way this idiots know that." Catra said.
"We never abused Tony !"
"As someone that was abused, I know how to spot them and that's what you are."
"At least Shadow Weaver kinda cared in her twisted way, but this guys are nuts." Adora said.
Wanda growled.
"You think I am going to allow your friends to muck us Stark ? I have waited long enough for this !"
Wanda made the red appear in her hands, Steve has to calm her, they can't get in trouble until they make Tony see sense.
But then, pink ropes appeared in Wanda's hands, and her magic disappeared.
"What ! WHAT IS THIS !"
"I bounded your powers." Glimmer said with a smirk.
"WHAT !"
"I told you, she's much more skilled than you. Heard how Stephen and Loki kicked your ass, well Glimmer here kicked their ass, so you should have listened."
"Tony, fix this at once !" Steve demanded.
"Nope.·
"Tony." Steve shook hs head disappointed. He went to grab him so they can talk, but out of knowhere, Catra caught his wrist.
"What ?" How did she move so fast, and how is she so strong ? Steve can't get free !
"You know there is a little thing called consent Rogers. You only touch someone when they want to be touched, and considering you aren't Pepper, I don't think Tony wants you to touch him."
Steve tried getting his arm free, but she was too strong.
"Oh I, and the others, have a lot things to say to you all. But I'll get my chance when Thanos is gone, trust me, you people are useless when we have Adora here. When this is over, your asses will go to jail, and I'll have the pleasure of dragging you there.
Her grip got stronger.
Stay away from my friend, or else I'll do what I did to your shield, tear it to peaces !"
With that she pushed Steve, her straight causing him to crash to the others and fall to the floor.
"Awww, you have really come a long way." Adora said kissing her.
"I mean, it helps being part of the Best Friend Squad, but I still don't like the name !"
"I second that." Tony said.
"It's the best name ever." Bow said offended.
"Let's shut go away from the assholes." Glimmer said.
"I feel left out, you two are together, and Catradora here is fussing, I need my wife !" Tony said as the left.
"Oh stop it cry baby." Glimmer laughed as they left. Not without Adora giving them one last glare.
"Stay the fuck away."
They had to be corrupting him.
They had to, those 4 were weird.
They were probably the reason that things were all going so bad.
Steve and his team made it their mission to safe Tony. But it was easer said than done.
Those 4 somehow outsmarted them at every turn.
The Bow guy, is like Tony said, an archer. Clint tried talking to him in the practice, but the man ignored him and continued to shoot, surpassing by far all of Clint's records, with no sweat.
"That's how a true archer does it." He said as he left a stunned Clint.
Glimmer always showed up when Wanda got near Tony, or Vision. With her in the place, Wanda actually got afraid, she didn't yell, and her powers were rendered useless. This girl took magic to another level. The strangest thing was that, Tony is completely fine with her using magic near him, while he hated it when Wanda did that, has he no shame !
Adora is weird. She is the more cordial of the group, not outright insulting them as they come in. But something about her is off. There is something that is setting Steve's warnings. The way that Thor, Carol, and even the Hulk not only see her as an equal in terms of strength, but as someone that outclasses them. The way that Loki is extremely well mannered and respectful to her, even bowing. How her presence makes everyone in the compound treat her with respect. Steve has still to see her train, but from what they have heard, she is something else. Someone with power that they have never seen before.
Steve somehow felt that he had to avoid her. He wasn't scared of course, he knows he can take her, he is just being cautious.
But then there is Catra.
The worst of the 4.
She took it upon herself to be kinda of Tony's body guard.
Everytime they tried sneaking on Tony, to have a conversation with him, she somehow showed up, and kept him away. She even managed to catch Clint and Natasha spying from the vents, and send them straight to the hospital. All that while she herself being in the vents.
Steve had to confront her, there is no way he is letting that go by. In the mats he challenged her to a fight.
"Oh you want to fight me, what a dummy."
"Here is the deal. If I win, you let me and my team talk to Tony alone."
"Fine, but if I win, you leave us alone for a week."
Steve accepted, knowing that he was going to win.
The next thing he remembered was waking up in the med bay, with a concerned Sam at his side.
"Sam, what happened ?"
"Steve.....it took her less than a minute to take you out. She took you out with two punches and a kick. You have been unconscious for 4 days."
"What ! No one can be that strong !"
"Well she is. But there is something worst."
"What ?"
"There is more of them. During the time you were out, more came, each and every one of them a powerhouse that I have never seen before."
There is more of them !
Steve soon met them. Mostly women but some men as well, that had incredible abilities. One of them controlled water, the other controlled the wind, a little girl could use ice at her will, a techno genius like Tony, and there is the weird insect like woman that is very good friends with Bruce. All of them treated Steve and his team as scums, lower than dirt.
They were taking over the Avengers. They already got Tony, and are slowly taking the others. Steve has to stop them.
But no one listened, they all praised the new comers. Even Pepper who Natasha tried to speak with when she came to visit Tony. Pepper used to hate Tony gong with the Avengers, but she had nothing but positive feelings for the others. Saying that she can rest easy with Tony being with them.
"I even made one of them my child's godmother. They are good teammates that truly have Tony's back Romanoff, and trust me, try anything against him, and it will be your back that is broken, and Tony won't help you."
People were calling them the key to defeat Thanos. Steve will proof them wrong.
He will defeat Thanos, his team will be the key to defeat Thanos.
He's sure of it.
"Tony, a moment please."
"Fuck off Rogers."
"Tony please, Thanos is close, you can't send us with subpar equipment !"
"So I should forget about my team to work for my abusers, got to hell Rogers, you'll wake Morgan up."
"Tony please...."
"He said fuck off !" Catra said as she jumped from the vents. " Or do you want round 2 ?"
Steve looked at them, and left.
"It wouldn't hurt to use your money for your friends Tony." He said.
"Oh I do, but you are not my friends." He said as FRIDAY closed the door on his face.
"What a jerk." Catra said.
"You tell me." Tony said. "But speaking of friends, I got it."
Tony got out a small box from his pocket.
"The best proposal ring I could find."
"Sweet, how do I pay you back ?"
"Pay me back by making me best man, and asking the dam question to Adora. She will say yes."
"It's not that easy !"
"Trust me, I have been there, but in the end, it will be worth it."
"Yeah, you're right. Consider yourself best man, shell head."
"Thanks Kitty."
The time has come.
Thanos is here.
Steve's chance to proof that he is the hero that the world needs has come.
He stood with his team, ready for the fight of their lives.
That's when he sees him.
"Bucky !"
During all this time, Steve NEVER saw Bucky. He was told he was healing and doing his own training, but he would be for the fight.
"Steve."
"Buck...where were you ?"
"In New Asgard. Some of Thor's friends helped me, as well as Entrapta and Scorpia."
"Who ?"
"Tony's friends. He helped me too, with BARF."
"You talked to Tony ?"
"Yep. He and I cleared the air, we're friends now."
"But....he refuses to even talk to me, sending the cat woman to protect him."
"Her name is Catra and punk, after how you all treated him, did you seriously expect for him to act different ?"
"What, no Bucky we weren't ....."
"Save it. Bruce showed me the footage. Honesty is disgusting, Steve you became a bully."
"How can you say that !"
"It's the truth. There is no time for this, we need to fight."
"I......yeah your right. But once you join my team we will show you how we truly are."
"I am not joining your team Steve. I am part of the Revengers now. Thor is my leader."
"The Revengers.....Buck you can't be there !"
"Why ?"
"Becasue Loki is there, I won't leave you with him."
"I would appreciate you not speaking like that about my boyfriend."
"YOU'RE WHAT !"
"Yo James, he's here, are you ready ?"
"Coming Scorpia. Take care Punk, do not do anything stupid."
With that Bucky left Steve.
Steve couldn't believe this. He has to save Bucky again.
He will do it once he takes down Thanos. This fight requires a hero, and Steve is the greatest hero that has ever lived.
The battle went by.
And Steve......could only watch.
He only took down some common soldiers, before everything was over.
He watched as Thor lead the Revengers (including Bucky) to take down the front lines.
He watched as Rhodes and Carol lead the New Avengers with such precision that no one was hurt.
He watched as how the new comers took down soldiers like fleas. Specially Glimmer, Scorpia, and the one called Mermista.
He watched as Tony and Catra teamed up and easily took down the Black Order, like they were just common criminals and not Thanos' top generals.
He watched as Adora unleashed her true power, in a form he later learned was called She-Ra, and went straight for the titan. And after a short battle, Adora took Thanos down, and used the stones to fix the damage that he did, and save the universe. The stones didn't hurt her in the slight-less.
The war was over, and Steve did.......nothing.
Others took care of it, others did the great work, the food fight. They left nothing for Steve and his team.
Steve watched as Tony and Pepper (who actually suited up for the fight) kissed in victory. He watched as Thor brought his team in a emotional hug. We watched as Carol and Stephen celebrated with Rhodes and Vision. He watched how T'Challa rejoiced with his sister, wife, and friend. He watched as the Princesses all hugged and kissed for the victory. He watched as Catra got on her knees and asked Adora to marry her, and he saw her emotional answer, which as yes.
Steve watched as everyone celebrated. While he and his team just stood there. Humiliated for how useless they were, forgotten by the others who were celebrating.
It wasn't suppose to be like this.
3 days later, it all went to hell.
Soldiers went into the room, all pointing guns at him and his team.
"What the hell is this !" Clint demanded.
"Well." Catra said as she got in front of the man, Scorpia right behind her. "King T'Challa did say that, your pardons were conditional on how much you helped against Thanos. Scorpia remind me how much they helped ?"
"They were completely useless."
"Exacly. You all just took 20 soldiers from the thousands. All of you combined, Maximoff was knocked out for most of the fight even. We didn't need you, you were useless, and there is no reason to forgive you for their crimes." Catra said smirking. " So it's time for you all to finally pay."
Wanda immediately got up.
"You will not send us to prison !"
Wanda tried to use her powers......but nothing happened.
"WHAT !"
"Oh, you really thought we would be so carless ? Glimmer stripped you from your powers while your were sulking with Rogers. You didn't even notice."
With that she quickly knocked Wanda out.
"So, anyone else ?"
Steve looked at his team and they nodded. They aren't getting out of this without a fight.
Soon, Natasha, Sam, and Clint were knocked out. Steve laid in the floor, bloody and beaten up. Catra once again defeated him, with no effort.
"I told you, I would drag your asses to prison." She said before knocking out Steve.
Once again, all Steve could do was watch.
He watch as every single one of his friends were sentenced to lengthy prison sentences, he watched as they were dragged away, he watched them for the last time in his life.
He watch as a jury condemned him for all of his crimes, as all the people that he had hurt came in and said their piece. He watched as they sentenced him to life in prison.
He watched as the world rejoiced for his sentence, as family celebrated with pure joy that he was behind bars like a criminal, not a hero.
But the worst thing to watch, was how the world forgot about him.
Soon, Steve's name stopped appearing in T.V, people stopped talking about him, specially when Bucky became Captain America.
He had to watch as Bucky made his life without Steve, he never visited or even wrote.
He watched as Iron Man became the Earth's hero, while Steve was no longer Captain America, just a common criminal.
And soon, everyone forgot of Steve Rogers. He's just a criminal that has been caught.
Steve can't believe that it ended like this, but there is nothing he can do, he lost.
He lost his status, his title, his friends, his home, and soon, he will even loose his strength. The serum will be taken out of him, and he will just be a stick once again, and there is nothing that he can do.
He'll just have to watch again.
Because that's all he can do now. Watch.
He might have won in Siberia, but Tony won the war.
Steve lost, and now is in a place worst than death.
He is forgotten, he can watch the others, but no one will look back at him.
That's all what he is now, and he will ever be.
Catra was right.
Steve is nothing.
Tony stood besides Catra when Adora came to the stand.
He cried with joy as the pair kissed, officially married.
He happily danced with Pepper as the celebration continued.
"So Mr. Stark, are you happy ?"
"Well Mrs. Stark." He said as he looked at Catra and Adora, who nodded with a smile. "With a wonderful wife like you, a beautiful baby girl, and the best friends I could ask for, how could I not be happy ?" |
When Lena stumbles into the kitchen yawning, Angela is scraping an omelette into a heat-keeping tin. She greets her with a simple “hello”. The time traveller cradles her RAF mug in both hands, its distinctive and peculiar shade of blue clashing with the loud yellow of her turtle neck. Her accelerator’s leg straps hang loosely at her sides of her jean capris, but the device was otherwise securely strapped to her chest and beaming brightly. She raises an eyebrow at Angela who clearly isn’t wearing a shred of her own clothing.
“Cor, you look like you’re swimming in that!” Lena giggles, crossing the kitchen in three short strides. She reaches for the coffee pot but Angela plucks it out of her reach.
“Lena, how many cups have you had? It’s nearly ten.”
“Not even one, doc! I slept late. No need to ration the caffeine, jeez.” Lena reaches up and pushes her hair back with a smile.
“You wouldn’t be the first one on that ration list,” Angela gripes, but fills her mug without any further prompting. She closes the tin and turns down the stove heat for another dish.
“Oi, you’re worse than Em. She’s always going on about caffeine addictions and all that but some of us need it to survive, okay?” Lena grimaces before taking a long gulp. Angela frowns, perplexed, as she retroactively adds milk and sugar cubes to the mug.
“Angie, you alright? You’re looking a bit puffy this morning,” says Lena, leaning back against the counter.
“Why didn’t you add sugar and milk before you drank it?”
“Maximum caffeine intake, Angie, we’ve been over this.” She sips at the diluted coffee. “You didn’t actually answer my question, though?”
Angela sighs. “The onions, Lena. Not everything is worth concern...but thank you.”
The brit glances down at the pile of raw vegetables sauteing in the pan, onions among them and then looks back up at Angela’s reddened eyes and puffy lids. A retort nearly slips out but she purses her lips instead and drinks more of her coffee. She watches quietly as the doctor scrambles more eggs and starts a mess of hash browns in another pan. It’s like watching a stretched rubber band; even in clothes far too big for her, Lena can see that Angela’s standing ramrod straight, moving gingerly without her usual quick grace.
“Angela.”
She hums in response, absently pressing the hashbrowns with a spatula.
“Is Fareeha okay?”
Angela’s brow furrows as she glances over at Lena who meets her gaze evenly.
“Yes,” she replies slowly. “Fareeha is fine. I just had a rough night, Lena.”
“Oh okay! Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, Angie! You’re always looking after everyone else after all. I just wanted to make sure-”
“That’s sweet of you, Lena.” Angela smiles as she stirs the beaten eggs into the veggies. Lena sheepishly rubs a hand through her messy hair and sets her mug back on the counter. The Swiss watches bemused as she hops onto the counter and starts rummaging in the jar of packaged tea bags on top of the fridge.
“I think it’s the caffeine in black tea that gets rid of puffy lids? You’d know more about that, I guess.”
“Well yes, it’s a vasoconstrictor, closes your blood vessels. I’d heard about it.” The probing questions have passed; she relaxes, flipping the hash brown patties and stirring the eggs a bit. She beats another couple eggs and throws them into the pan. After the night she had, Angela decides to indulge herself as she throws pepper, basil, and rosemary into the mix. While her own soy chorizo is sizzling, she’s thinking about whether Fareeha will want turkey sausage or turkey bacon when Lena pipes up again.
“You’ll look a bit silly with tea bags on your eyes but take a nap for a bit! No one will be any the wiser! Aha, here’s a couple!” Lena crows as she pivots one knee to show Angela her prize. Her expression slides from triumphant to horrified as the skin of her kneecap keeps sliding, aided by the produce bag from the onions, and she loses her balance.
In a half-second, Angela considers. No, she cannot let Lena get hurt. She has to break her fall or else Lena’ll break something, herself or perhaps something on the stove. Even if she does recall, there’s no telling as to when she’ll do so. If she falls and gets too disoriented, she might not recall at all. No, Angela has to catch her. But how? Lena may be shorter than her but she’s no featherweight. The most she going to be able to do is break her fall. Front or back? Accelerator hitting her back would be awful, too concentrated. The most she can hope for is the wall or the floor quickly shorting out the nerves.
Angela reacts, taking a step forward and putting her arms out to catch Lena as she falls. The back of the Brit’s accelerator hits her squarely in the sternum and her momentum throws them both backward. Before they fall too far together, Lena rewinds, ending up back on the counter with the tea pinched tight between her fingers. Angela, on the other hand, tries to correct for the lack of weight by throwing her left leg backward for balance, but she slips on the hem of her sweatpants. Now she’s in even more free-fall than she originally accounted for and frantically windmilling backward. She slams into the wall behind her with a sharp yelp and uses the remainder of the momentum to lurch forward. With her hands braced against the wall, she struggles to breathe through her nose as she bites her lip until it bleeds.
Lena watches all of this in horror as Angela softly, quietly keeps herself from crying out. She doesn’t notice Lena's expression; her eyes are screwed shut as her thoughts bounce rapidly in her mind: wait it out, don’t scream, keep breathing, don’t lean back, don’t scream, don’t scre-
“Angie? Angela!” Lena scrambles down from the counter, carefully this time. She hesitates before putting a gentle hand on the blonde’s knee. Angela takes a deep breath as the last aftershocks fade into a dull ache. She find Lena’s concerned brown eyes searching her own and can’t help but wish there was a different pair of brown eyes witnessing this.
“I’m alright.” Angela whispers. She licks her lip, wiping away the blood that’s pooled there. The metallic tang brings her back to her senses. One of the pans has begun to smoke. “Lena, the hash browns.”
Lena looks ready to murder her for putting hash browns over her own well-being, but she gets to her feet, dutifully flips the hash browns, stirs the scrambled eggs, turns on the exhaust fan, and turns off the stove top, moving the pans from their hot ranges. While she does this, Angela pushes off from the wall and gets her legs underneath her. Despite everything, she’s terribly pleased with her reaction.
“I’m a bit winded, that's all,” she says when Lena helps her to her feet. “Should have expected you to rewind, but I didn’t want to just let you fall.”
“And I shouldn’t have climbed on the counter,” Lena groans in response. “Are you sure you’re alright? You didn’t bash your head in, did you?”
Angela runs her fingers through the back of her hair, gently massaging her scalp with her fingertips. Nothing stings so she shakes her head. Lena exhales, relieved.
Satisfied with her quick checkup, Angela turns her attention back to her breakfast. Eating in the kitchen is no longer desirable if only to avoid having to suppress her reactions twice. If Lena’s awake, others are too. No reason to tempt fate. Angela puts her plate back in the cabinet and rummages around until she finds another takeaway tupperware in which to slide half the hash browns and the enormous serving of scrambled eggs. She grabs some turkey links from the freezer and throws them into the pan. Her stomach grumbles loudly at the scents wafting from the pans.
“Lena, can you put some English muffins in the toaster?” Lena startles from where she’s been standing, nervously sipping at her coffee.
“Sure thing!”
Angela grabs the shredded cheese from the door as Lena rummages in the fridge with one hand. Within fifteen minutes, Fareeha’s tin’s full of a muffin, omelette, hash browns and a couple of sausages. Angela’s, on the other hand, has 4 scrambled eggs, a heaping of soy chorizo, hash browns and a muffin. Lena raises an eyebrow as she struggles to close the tupperware but otherwise doesn’t say anything until she starts to tidy up.
“I can take care of the dishes, Angela!” says Lena, as she reaches for the dish soap. Angela pauses. “Really, go have breakfast with ‘Reeha!”
Angela smiles. “That’s kind of you, thank you. I’ll see you later, Lena.”
She pads out of the kitchen, gingerly balancing the tupperwares and two cups of orange juice as the sounds of the faucet and pans fades behind her. Ana passes her in the hallway; they murmur good morning to one another. The sniper gives her a knowing smile when she notices Angela’s cargo. She smiles back, ducking her head in embarassment.
Thankfully, Athena accepts her pinky fingerprint- it's the only finger that's not in on the balancing act- and lets her back into Fareeha’s room. The scent of her jasmine fabric softener fills her nostrils as her eyes slowly adjust to the dim lighting. Angela huffs out a soft laugh as she approaches the bed. Sometime in the last two hours, her girlfriend’s rolled over to cuddle the bear. She quietly places the heat keeping tin and orange juice on the bedside table but the soft clink they make has Fareeha stirring in her sleep. Angela bends over to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Come back to bed,” Fareeha whispers sleepily, her eyelashes fluttering. Angela winces as she notices the same puffiness under her eyes that Lena had pointed out under her own eyes.
“Not yet,” Angela sighs. She straightens up and takes one of the tea bags from her pocket and scribbles instructions under her earlier note. Fareeha grumbles sleepily and cuddles closer to the bear.
As she tiptoes back to the door, Fareeha murmurs, “But Teddiursa doesn’t like me as much as you do.”
Angela's heart shatters. She stares at the ceiling until she can respond without any tremors in her voice.
“But of course. No one loves you as much as I do.”
Fareeha only sighs. Angela leaves without another word, quietly closing the door behind her. She takes a deep breath.
Next stop, the med bay.
|
Jeongguk doesn’t even look up from his phone after arriving home, kicking his bag to the side in the hallway and collapsing onto the couch, eyes still on his device. After his encounter with Taehyung he’d found himself more motivated than ever to take more photos for his project, and had ended up on the college grounds with his camera out until dusk. Not that it was an issue; Jin and Namjoon were barely ever home until late most evenings anyway.
On his way back to the apartment he’d picked up conversations with both Jimin and Taehyung again. Jimin had given high praises to Jeongguk’s dance video, and sent him a follow up video of his own of him dancing to Drake’s ‘Own it’. Jeongguk found himself mesmerised by the other boy’s dancing, his mouth hanging open as he watched. Jimin’s movements were fluid and slow and sensual, and Jeongguk swallowed when Jimin spun onto the floor and rolled his hips up in two solid movements before gliding back up. The rest of the video was just as impressive, possessing the same level of talent and sex appeal as Jimin finished the dance number and the video ended.
jeongguk (6:17pm):
that was amazing, holy shit. seriously, ur an incredible dancer
After sending the message he wonders if he’s come off as slightly too much with his praises, but Jimin’s reply proves otherwise.
jimin (6:19pm):
thank you, but i’m not that great!! you’ve got insane talent too, would be awesome to practice together sometime :) after meeting ofc!
jimin (6:20pm):
srsly, thank you jeongguk, it means a lot
Jeongguk smiles down at his screen, he finds talking to Jimin so easy even after just an afternoon of chatting. The boy seems ridiculously kind but also really modest about his talent, and it just makes Jeongguk want to continue praising him. He’s typing the next message before he gives himself a second to think about it.
Jeongguk (6:22pm):
i’d love to practice together, i could learn a lot from u :) btw…do u want to meet up sometime?
He presses send and suddenly bites his lip. Okay, Jeongguk, you started talking to this guy 4 hours ago and you’re already asking him to meet up? That’s definitely going to put him off.
Before he has the chance to send another message and rectify his mistake a reply comes through.
jimin (6:23pm):
def! coffee on the weekend maybe?? i know a good place, i’ll send you details!
Jeongguk swears his brain stops functioning for a second. Was he just asked on a date? A coffee date? He quickly confirms before Jimin starts to think he isn’t interested and then lies back on the couch, placing his phone on his chest and staring at the ceiling.
He’s never been on a date before, what is he meant to wear? Where are Jin and Namjoon when he needs them? Shit, is he meant to bring anything for Jimin? They’re only going to just be meeting, so maybe not. What if he sends the wrong impression across and puts Jimin off when they meet? What if he-
His phone buzzes and Jeongguk physically jumps into a seated position. He takes a breath to calm down and pulls his beanie over his ears before checking his phone.
taehyung (6:26pm):
hey sunshine, any luck with the photos?? hope u haven’t forgotten about me ;)
Jeongguk can feel his ears heating up at the greeting. Taehyung really has a way with words and an odd charm about him. He quickly rushes up off the couch, heading to his room and switching on his laptop. While he waits for it to boot up he replies.
jeonggukie (6:28pm):
haven’t forgotten!! was taking photos all afternoon after u left, only just got home. i’ll send u some now, kay?
He pulls his memory card out of his pocket, uploading the new photos and proceeding to dig through them and a few of his older shots.
Eventually, after way too long spent editing and touching up pictures (all for one person, really Jeongguk?) he takes the business card out that Taehyung gave him and types the email into a new message. Jeongguk attaches the chosen pictures and sends them off, writing his name in the email so Taehyung knows it’s from him.
He glances down at his phone before pulling his eyes back to the laptop screen. Of course Taehyung won’t have replied yet, he needs to actually open the email and look at the photos. Jeongguk finds himself typing ‘Lex Photography’ into Google, clicking on Taehyung’s website as it pops up. The website itself is simple, but obviously Tae is a photographer and not a web designer. Jeongguk glances down the sidebar at the different genres of photography, noting that Taehyung dabbles in a lot more than he’d mentioned earlier. He clicks on the link ‘Expression’ and is greeted with many portrait style photos of different people with a range of looks on their faces. As he looks down the page he can feel the raw emotion from each shot, and he can tell that these are definitely not posed photographs. Taehyung has also expertly edited each photo to match the emotion being portrayed; using greyscale on a shot of a woman crying, and upping the saturation and contrast on one of a child laughing.
At the bottom there is a photo of Taehyung himself, and Jeongguk pauses on it. Taehyung is smiling, but it’s not the box shaped grin he had seen earlier in the day, it’s a softer smile with the boy glancing down at the ground to his right. When Jeongguk looks closer he can see a slight blush creeping up Taehyung’s cheeks, his right hand brushed through his hair. He stares at the photo for what feels like a long time, taking in every feature of Taehyung’s face. The longer Jeongguk looks, the more stunning the photograph becomes, not that he hadn’t noticed Taehyung’s beauty already. Yet the emotion he’s showing make him seem even more radiant, and Jeongguk feels a sudden desire to see that emotion from him in real life. As his phone screen lights up, it takes Jeongguk a few seconds to tear his gaze away from the screen.
taehyung (6:37pm):
what did u mean ur photography isn’t good?!?!?? i love it!! especially the one of that boy on the beach, its fuckin gorgeous gukkie!! (& the dog photos :pp)
Taehyung’s enthusiasm doesn’t go unappreciated; Jeongguk bites his lip to stop a grin breaking out onto his face. He thinks about the photo Tae was referring to; the photograph he’d taken a few months back of his older brother on Busan’s Haeundae beach as he watched the sunset. It was a bittersweet memory considering Junghyun had gone into the army soon after, but that’s was photography is about; capturing memories even if they aren’t the happiest. Taehyung seems to appreciate that sentiment too (and dogs, apparently).
taehyung (6:39pm):
u’ve got me all inspired now!! fancy heading out friday night to get some shots together?? photography date~ hipster as heck right?
…date? It’s been less than half an hour and he’s just been asked out again? Is it even acceptable to go on dates with two different people at the same time? Jeongguk doesn’t have enough knowledge of first dates to know, but he’s pretty sure it can’t hurt and he’s finding himself drawn to Taehyung’s charm.
jeonggukie (6:40pm):
yeah, i’d like that, sounds fun :)
“Jeongguk! Are you home?”
He stuffs his phone into his pocket at the sound of Jin’s voice, heading out into the hall to greet him. Jin waves brightly at him when he spots him, pulling off his coat and hanging it on the back of the door.
“Hey Hyung, how was work?” Jeongguk follows his cousin into the lounge as the elder kicks off his shoes and settles onto the couch, wincing as he folds his arms behind him to stretch his back.
“Shift work is going to be the death of me, I swear…”
Jeongguk notices the discomfort in Jin’s face and proceeds to climb over the back of the couch to sit directly behind him, pressing his thumbs into Jin’s shoulder blades to ease his back out. “Lemme loosen the knots in your back, Hyung, I’m good at this.”
Jin eases into his touch, smiling back at him. “The only reason you don’t pay rent is because you can pay in back massages. How were classes?”
“Classes were okay, I guess, but uh…” Jeongguk pauses, wondering how to tell his cousin that he’s got one more date than he bargained for. “I might have a date…or two.”
“Two?! I hope you’re not playing the playboy game now you’re a college student.” Jin raises at eyebrow at him.
“No, no way! I started chatting to a guy on Tinder, and then another guy approached me at college today…and they both happened to ask me on dates.” He bites his lip, watching Jin’s changing expression. “It’s okay to go on both, right…? I mean, I need to get to know them both first before I decide if either of them are right for me. They’re both super nice.”
Jin’s face softens, nodding back at him. “Yeah, it’s okay to go on both, don’t worry. You’re right; you need to get to know them both to see if you’re compatible with either of them. But don't lead them both on, Guk, you need to make a decision if you end up serious about one of them. Also make sure you tell me everything after~”
“You’re not my mum, Hyung…!”
“Actually, I’ll have you know I was entrusted with official mum duties by your mother before you left.”
Jeongguk grumbles, but let’s Jin win this one nonetheless. |
The full moon shone down on Angela and Stiles, making their white coats glow in the darkness of the forest. Derek would be out there somewhere keeping Jackson in check. The others had all found their anchors, cementing them into human form but Jackson was still working on it. Derek had nearly left the pack to take care of themselves, wanting to keep a watchful eye over Stiles.
Anger. That’s what Derek’s anchor had been for so long but not anymore. Now it was Stiles. Ever since that first time in the locker room, long before any words of love had been exchanged between them. Stiles was the anchor that kept Derek from being lost to the wolves that warred within him.
“Just a little further now,” Angela said.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope. Don’t worry though.” She winked at him knowingly. “You’re not going to end up in hospital.”
“Safe place then?”
“Ha! Hell no! It’s one of the most dangerous places on the planet. You just wouldn’t end up in hospital. Unless you count the morgue and only after they found all the pieces.” Stiles knew better than to ask. He probably wouldn’t like the answer anyway. She was looking at him again. “How are you feeling anyway?”
“Alright. Chest is still a bit sore but it’s going to leave a bitching scar. Something to woo the ladies with.”
“That’s not what I meant Stiles.”
“I know.”
They trekked on in silence, the tangible kind that seems to fill in your ears and demand to be filled. It was Angela who filled it.
“We’re not superhuman you know. This coat doesn’t give us any protection to our minds. A mental wound is just like any other. It can seem harmless at first but if you let it fester then it can prove fatal. Ever heard the phrase ‘death by a thousand cuts’? Chinese emperors sometimes had people executed by only cutting them gently. Eventually there were enough cuts for a man to bleed to death or to amputate a limb. It can be the same with the mind. This life is a tough one. It can break people.”
“You sound like Derek. That’s not about to happen anytime soon,” said Stiles. “I’ll let you know if any cracks start to appear.”
“Good. You got thrown into this world from a stand still. I got to ease into all this nice and gently before my first gore fest.”
“Yeah not so much in my case. More ‘werewolves exist, now run for your life!’ I think it was less than a month between Scott getting bitten and getting locked in school at night trying to avoid getting eaten by your boyfriend.”
“Peter is not my boyfriend,” Angela said for the hundredth time.
“Sure. You just spend all your time at his house, go out to the movies with him, talk to him every day…”
“He is a friend. Who is a boy. A man. He is a man friend. Emphasis on the man. So not my thing.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Good evening, My Lady of the White.”
Stiles spun around back towards where they had come from. A group of people were standing where there definitely had not been a group of people standing only seconds previously. No. Not people. Faeries. Many of them were men, dressed in what he assumed was faery armour but as it appeared to be made of glass or crystal Stiles had serious doubts about its protective capabilities. They stood around a woman dressed entirely in dark green silk, her auburn hair caught up in a golden crow.
Beside him Angela sank of one knee. Stiles stood gawping for a second before she grabbed his elbow and yanked him down beside her.
“And this must be the young one I have heard so much about from that scoundrel cousin of mine.”
The woman swept her arms forward and Angela got to her feet, once more having to drag Stiles with her. The woman in green walked up to him and regarded him. She was more graceful than the other faeries he’d seen and far more beautiful though the underlying feeling of wrongness still haunted Stiles when he looked on her.
“They tell me that you run with wolves but not tonight I see. ‘Tis a dangerous thing to join them in their jaunts.”
“Only if you don’t know when to get the hell out of the way,” he said.
The woman laughed like a spring breeze dancing through the trees.
“I shall have to pass this wisdom onto my guard.”
“Your highness,” said Angela. “It’s your cousin we want to talk to you about.”
“Oh I know what you want to talk to me about,” said the queen waving her arm at Angela. “Eoghan’s been bragging about his plans to kill your dear nephew for days, sending in the mad man to do the work for him.”
“Any you did-”
Stiles stopped when Angela smacked him upside the head where it was still bruised from being hit by a pipe. The queen looked at him with a flash of fury but it passed as quickly as it came, instead laughing at the two of them together.
“Families. Eoghan might be my cousin but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate the bastard. Alas he has done nothing wrong to break the treaty between our two people. Been most careful about that. He’s being a crafty beggar, make no mistake.” She made no comment about her trying to stop him or dissuade him from his path, Stiles noted. “Should he break the treaty and attack the young council man directly, he shall be immediately renounced from the clan, of course, and therefore no longer under our protection, nor the treaties and therefore subject to your judgement. No need to wait for a trial or bother with something as pesky as proof. We’ll take your word that he shot first.”
Eoghan must have been really unpopular if even his own kind were that willing to be shot of him. Perhaps most faeries weren’t that bad. The queen turned to Angela again.
“I hear the Sight has gone,” she said bluntly.
“Mine and Stiles’ both,” his aunt replied.
“What!” said Stiles.
He suddenly felt open. Undefended. He might not have his sight but at least he had Angela to hide behind. Now she was Blind too? They were screwed!
“The time of prophesy is upon us,” the Queen said ominously. “I’m rather excited! It’s been a good few hundred years since we had a good prophesy in these parts. Especially one with so much doom, death and destruction.”
“It’s my first. I don’t see it as quite so much fun,” said Angela bluntly.
“Prophesy? Doom? Death? Can someone fill in Stiles over here?”
The queen seemed so delighted in his cluelessness that she didn’t think to be annoyed by his insolence.
“Have you not told him about it? Dana Almighty what did you think was going on?” She laughed, at once beautiful and terrifying. “There once was a man called ‘the Hermit’ who decided that he wanted nothing better in the world than to sit in a hole in the middle of the desert and write down all the ways that the world was going to end.”
“So he was a crazy person?” said Stiles.
“Oh most definitely,” said Angela. “That didn’t stop him from being right. The Hermit’s prophesies have been kept by the faeries since they were first written down over four thousand years ago.”
“Sometimes I think it’s the only reason you’re lot keeps us around,” said the queen, a dangerous edge to her voice.
“Of course not my queen. You guarded them long before the first of the Council ever donned the white.” Angela turned to Stiles. “The faeries have always watched the world, both above and below the surface. When one of the prophesies kick in, they can tell us which one.
“This particular one is one of my favourites. Heralded in by the wolf born from the ashes of worms, the beast sprung from the king of hunters and the monster twice saved, once by love, once by loathing. The whole thing is rather long and ponderous, I’ll grant you but I think the last paragraph sums it up nicely. Beware the lull between the storms, for in the quiet shall come the greatest threat of all. In two worlds will they walk yet set no foot in either but should the path be worn unhindered then all the world will fall to darkness and blood.”
Stiles stared at her.
“I have no idea what you just said,” said Stiles.
“Peter, Gerard, Jackson. They were omens. Sign posts to let us know that something worse was coming.”
“Something worse?” said Stiles.
“The destroyer of the world of men,” said the faery queen with glee. “You get one or two coming along every century. Your race has not made yourself a lot of friends in the supernatural community but you’re just so much fun to play with I’d hate to see you go.”
“We think we know who it is,” said Angela. “The boy Jackson. We’ve still not confirmed it, but we’ve been following him and it looks likely.”
The queen’s face broke into a vicious snarl. “That foul creature? Yes, that would make sense. The seed of a human grown in a faery womb. In two worlds born indeed and I assure you that abomination will never set foot in mine.”
The shift in her demeanour shocked Stiles. He’d nearly forgotten what she was.
“We are not sure my lady,” said Angela. “He might still be innocent.”
“That thing is not innocent. He wears the sins of his mother and father on his very soul. I hope he is the one you seek. Should you have need, the Tuathe De Dannan will be ever glad to help in the monster’s obliteration.”
The queen turned, and in the swirl of her own gowns she disappeared, taking her guard with her. Stiles looked at the clearing, blinking rapidly.
“What just happened?” he asked.
“Hmm,” said Angela considering. She started walking back in the direction they had first come.
“Don’t you hmm, me. Everytime you hmm it means something bad. You said it about Jackson and now he’s off poisoning half the town.”
“We don’t know he’s doing it,” said Angela. “Innocent until proven guilty. This is no different.”
“He’s looking pretty guilty though isn’t he.”
“You don’t sound happy about that.”
“That’s because I’m not. I know I never liked Jackson-”
“Loathed I believe it says in the prophesy,” said Angela
“What?”
“Saved once by love, once by loathing. Lydia was the love, you were the loathing.”
“But I don’t…”
Angela didn’t need to say anything. Sometimes all it took was a look. Her looks were just a lot more judgemental.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’d lost your Sight!” Stiles burst out.
“You and I aren’t the only people who have lost our ability to see the future. Everyone has. Anyone who could see the future, Council or otherwise, can’t see it anymore.”
Stiles stopped watching Angela as she marched onwards.
“Everyone? It’s just gone. How can it just be gone?”
“We’re in a prophesy,” Angela said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“So it’s like kryptonite? Some mad guy says something and now I’ve lost all my super powers?”
“In a way,” said Angela. “And you haven’t lost all your powers, just your Sight. Your Uncle Connor explained it all to me once. He's a quantum-electro-something-or-other physicist over in London trying to work out the science behind what we do or some shit. When we see something in the future it’s just one possibility. All the other possibilities still exist, just some have a higher probability than the others. It doesn’t solidify until the moment that it happens. You get a prophesy and that sets a particular moment in stone, no matter what happens before or after that moment will happen as it has been Seen to. It’s like our deaths. The moment that a Council member dies there’s a brief moment of Sightlessness because the time line is pinned at that moment. Connor said these prophesies act like anchor points in the time line, stopping it from getting swept away. He’s currently working on getting this into the theory of general relativity and quantum mechanics. He tried to explain it to me in detail but at some point I blacked out and when I came to the chalk board in his office was just covered in math. It was very traumatising. Am I making any sense?”
“I did not understand a single word you just said.”
Angela patted him on the back with a smile.
“Basically what’s happening now is certain. Because it’s a prophesy it will happen the way it will happen, we can’t change it. Our power lets us see the probability that something might happen, so it won’t work until this is all over. This sort of thing happens from time to time. Different prophecies, different times. Understand?”
“Not really.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him.
“I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve just had this all dumped on you and then yanked away again but some big shit is going down. The whole world will be covered in darkness shit, not a joke. The lights are out and we are on our own. This thing happens the way it happens, the outcome is already fixed but we are the ones who make that outcome happen. There may come a time when we have to do something we really don’t want to do but that’s what being on the Council is.”
“You’re talking about killing Jackson.”
“I’m talking about doing what has to be done. Last time you hesitated, and I know why you did and that was the right thing, but if it comes to it this time can you pull the trigger?”
“On Jackson?”
“On anyone.”
Could he pull the trigger on a living breathing person? Someone he knew, someone he’d fought beside, studied with, argued with. If he had to, if it was the only way, could he kill someone and watch as the life drained out right in front of him?
Yes. He could. |
Ren is jumpy for the rest of their journey, and he says nothing else to her, but he looks over his shoulder the entirety of the trip. Despite this, Rey does not let go of his hand until the transport lurches to a stop.
When they arrive back at Theed the afternoon is turning into evening with saturated oranges and pinks scattered behind the palace. It frames the building in such a dreamy, soft glow. Rey wants to sit and enjoy it, but she is at once herded to festivities. She’s separated from her husband almost instantly, according to some of the palace ladies, his looks are unacceptable and he cannot be paraded around the way he is. Rey doesn’t think he looks too bad. She spares a glance back at him as he’s being ushered. She kinda likes him with wild hair and a little mud. However she’s glad he got slammed in the dirt, because they’re so busy fussing over him they don’t notice the mud on her hemline. She is led by a group of young, giggling women through a large crowd that’s formed outside. There seems to be the whole city crowded into the courtyard. People are shouting and laughing and dancing to music that she can’t quite find the source of. The lights are starting to turn on and they are bright yellows and oranges and paint the strangers faces like each one of them is art. There are families and lovers and clearly plenty of booze to go around. But the young ladies don’t let Rey enjoy the view, they do not slow their step at all and at once they’re inside going through several large grand hallways, and staircases that look like they’re out of a fantasy holo, till they eventually open up into a spectacular hall. It is very clearly set up for a big celebration, ribbons and candles adorn the ceilings, and fine tables cover most of the floor save for dancing space. Everything’s been scrubbed to shine. There are some servants bustling around,throwing down finishing touches,but otherwise it is solely empty save the Queen and her advisor.
“And the Emperor?”Queen Cadnelle murmurs to her advisor as ladies usher Rey closer. “Any second now, My lady.” Blawor answers back. Cadnelle comes even closer, and presents Rey with a small curtsy. “Excellent of you to finally join us, Empress Rey.” She says with a little more attitude than necessary as she rises. “I meant to announce you to the kingdom much earlier today but now that you’re here we can get things started. “ Almost on cue it seems as though the Emperor is shoved into the room. The ladies with him hot step on his heels straight to the Queen. They all give her a much deeper curtsy than what Rey received. “Sorry for making you wait, My lady. “ One of the girls speaks up. Cadnelle just waves a hand at her, as though to dismiss her. Rey takes a moment to gander the Emperor. He’s in all black, with long sleeves and a high collar, which is embroidered with little golden chains at the neck and cuffs. The buttons are gold and when the light hits him she can see that there is an almost invisible vine pattern in the fabric. His hair has been run through with a comb, and there is a very slight curl to it. Something about the lighting has his eyes glowing, and as he comes to stand next to her he towers over her. He clears his throat, and Rey realizes she is staring and quickly looks away. Of course she knew he was handsome. She remembers barely being able to tear her eyes away from their wedding holos, but in person, all done up, he’s almost a different man. There’s something ethereal about the way he stands, something otherworldly in his glare. “Come with me.” She says to Rey, not even sparing Kylo a glance. They both follow her to a pair of double doors. Blawor throws them open to reveal a massive balcony that perfectly overlooks the courtyard's celebration. As soon as the doors open there are trumpets and horns sounding. The rowdy crowd that Rey has passed through only moments ago turns silent on a dime. They all watch up with attentive eyes.
“QUEEN CADNELLE” a man shouts down from the edge of the balcony.
“Good evening citizens of Naboo!” The Queen speaks down to the crowd. For a second Rey wonders how they can hear her, before she sees the camera drone floating just above them that must be projecting on a screen somewhere below them. “And welcome to the first night of our annual Celebration of Majesty!I hope you’ve all been enjoying the evening so far! The festivities will be starting very soon but first I would like you all to welcome our guests of honor! “She gestures to them to step forward, and Rey throws her shoulders back and matches all of Ren's tentative steps into the light. “Please clap for Queen Amidala herselves’ grandson, Emperor of the First Order Kylo Ren and his wife, Empress Rey!” Then they erupt into applause. She can hear her name being screamed from below more than Rens but doesn’t think too much of it. Something about the crowd makes Rey a little brave, she grabs Kylo’s hand and raises it above their heads in a cheer as they receive praise, dropping it just before the crowd dies down.
- - - - - - - - -
If the Naboo were to be masters of anything, Rey would say it’s pageantry. After the Queen gave a speech about their past leaders to the crowd they opened up the palace to the public. And although the hall they eat and drink and dance in is still reserved to more recognizable faces in the palace hierarchy the festivities can be heard from all over. Each room has giant dance floors, where lords and ladies take turns doing perfectly synchronized waltzes and large group dances to the more up beat songs. Several ladies have already asked Rey when she and the Emperor will dance. It seems no one wants to miss the spectacle, but Rey has managed to wiggle out of those lines of questions so far. It isn’t until she and Ren are standing side by side for the first time all night sipping wine that she comes across a question she doesn’t have an answer for. “So the two of you have been married for a little over a year now, isn’t that correct?” One of the more interested women of the night asks. Rey raises an eyebrow. Has it been that long? She looks at Kylo as she starts to shake her head, but he’s nodding. “I believe our Anniversary was a month or two ago.” He says to her questioning eyes. “ sometime around the spring. “ “You don’t know it?” The lady seems flabbergasted that the date would not be memorized.
“We’ve just been busy with the Empress’ injuries after all.” Kylo fires back. “We’ve been more concerned with getting her back to health from her fall than trifling little things like that. “
“I hardly find it trifle. “She frowns with disapproval. “It’s your first anniversary. I'm surprised there was no big celebration. We were all waiting for some grand party to be televised. “
“Well, it was only the first. we’ve got the rest of our lives to have anniversaries. “Kylo looks down at her, and Rey can’t help but feel like he is speaking only for the woman’s benefit. “Why wait for one specific day to celebrate when every day married is a celebration. “
The woman looks like her heart has squeezed out of her chest, or maybe Rey is projecting because that’s how she feels. Still though, wow, an entire year is gone to her mind. If that’s really how he feels she desperately wishes for those memories back. And she was fully recovered by the spring, training with Snoke, and she had no idea of which day it even was- She didn’t even get to see him, to speak to him. Rey shakes the thoughts out of her head. He’s being nice here sure but it’s got to be for appearances. He’s a warlord, she tells herself again, and sure maybe he’s a warlord some other version of herself fell in love with and held close but those memories were taken from her and this man is a stranger now. The way her heart pulls around for him means nothing for who she is now. She was busy becoming strong whatever day in the spring the planets had turned 368 days, and if he had wanted to see her he would have but the fact remained that he left her alone all this time and it clearly has been for a reason. The fact remains that he still hasn’t enveloped her into his arms and sung of missing her all this time. He didn’t seem at all too happy to see her for the first time in months, especially knowing that so much of time spent apart was their first year of marriage. The music swells to a close and there is only a short pause before another tune starts.
“Oh now that the two of you are together you really must dance. “Says one of the ladies that has gathered. “We’ve been waiting all night to see a glimpse of the Imperial couple's charm. “Rey starts to shake her head and she opens her mouth to reject the idea but Ren gives a sly shrug and gestures his head to the dance floor.
“I would hate to disappoint you ladies then, if all you want is a little dance. “ he grabs Rey’s hand and pulls her to the floor, when they’re in the crowd he pulls the hand he’s holding to his shoulder, and his hands to her waist and back. “Follow my lead-“ he says with a chuckle. “unless you actually remember how to dance. “ Rey does exactly that and as they glide around he makes it easy enough for her to not look like she’s completely struggling. “I’m sorry I know you don’t like to dance with me too much-“ Ren leans in and whispers into her ear. “I just know if we don’t do it now they won’t stop bothering us all night about it. “ as he straightens back up he hits her with a small smile. Rey would be a liar if she said her heart didn’t jump, if she said his hands on her skin didn't feel like electricity. Does she not like dancing with him? She wonders, he seems sheepish at the idea of having to do so. Why would she ever not like this? “I don’t mind-“ Rey speaks up to him, a little sarcastically . “After all you're my husband. I imagine the least we have to do is pretend like we enjoy being with each other “ Then, Kylo Ren, Emperor of the First Order, warlord of the galaxy, laughs at her. He laughs at her. “I know you don’t know this-“ he says, still chuckling. “But sometimes you are very funny, Rey. “ “Is that why you married me?” She quips back, but kylos steps falter and he frowns. “You don’t remember why we got married, do you?” His tone has lost all playfulness. “I only remember bits of you to be honest. “Rey admits, and he moves his hand from her lower back to a bit more proper location. His whole posture changes honestly. It’s like he stiffens up. “What do you remember about me?” ——“What do you remember about me?” Kylo asks as they dance. He wants to shout. There’s no way this will be good. Rey’s entire face turns red right in front of him. “Well- Uhm- It’s a lot of less coherent things and more like quick flashes of stuff, like images and feelings.”Oh this would be really good, he wants to hear about her loathing for him all over again. Something in him craves it, like a sick little way to torture himself.“Well, then go on.” He prompts, spinning her. “ I remember these red street lights, and a hallway in a hotel. I remember a white garden and- and the way my vows felt in my bones, but I can’t remember what those vows were. I watched it all- I mean everything I could find. But I don’t remember saying any of it. And I remember that your hands are calloused, your lips are…” She gives a breathy sigh to relieve some embarrassment and Ren’s suddenly aware of just how much of the sweet berry wine she’s drunk in the last few hours. “-really soft. I-“ She stops for a second. “-I remember you in the snow, with a red saber and a lot of rage. I think we were fighting, you were bleeding everywhere. “ she pauses, here it comes- how much she wants him to choke on a bantha log and die. “And I remember thinking that I can’t live without you, but I shouldn't want that.”Kylo chokes, and trips a little. Oh.She thought she couldn’t live without him? She remembers the way his lips feel. The Emperor clears his throat. She just doesn’t know she hates him, he thinks. He can feel his heart in his temples, in his palms-Oh his palms are on her skin, and it’s so soft and warm and-She can’t live without him?She just thinks she can’t. She doesn’t know she hates him; she doesn’t know all the awful things he’s done. She doesn’t know who she is. She thinks about his lips- she thinks about his hands. She thinks about their wedding. He thinks about it too. Oh kriff what is this panic that’s come over him.
“We weren’t actually that fond of eachother.” He tries to balance her out, he has to tell her the truth- but that’s as close as he can get. He tries to open his mouth and tell her that she thinks he’s a monster but Rey just shakes her head.
“We did get married.” She says, matter-of-factly “I’m sure we didn’t get along sometimes but, Of course we loved each other, didn't we?” And Kylo softens into a smile. Maker, he wishes this were real. They’ve stopped dancing and he can’t stop himself from reaching over his shoulder placing his hand on hers. He gives it a little squeeze and she smiles up at him. She thinks she loves him. Maker, he lets himself picture it for a moment, what she must picture. Maybe they met on Jakku and he swept her away from a life as a scavenger. Maybe he charmed her into agreeing to marry him, maybe he got the chance to actually ask. Maybe their vows weren’t sith magic but the actual truth. He thinks about their kisses with no ill will or confusion. He thinks about their act but behind closed doors. They could’ve spent mornings together and made eachother laugh. They could’ve touched with no guilt. They could’ve held each other in the night. It could all have been real. She thinks it all was real. She thinks that they are in love. Ren is Honestly so stunned he does not know what to do. “But we really didn’t get along.” He says, overwhelmed with guilt. He wants nothing more than her reality to be the truth.
“Okay.” And she's quiet for a second. She links their fingers together and closes the distance between them. “ but we’re getting along now aren’t we?”
The song fades to a close and Kylo just stands there on the dance floor for a good second. He should kiss her, he thinks. It is what she wants. He can tell by the way she looks up at him under long eyelashes. He shouldn’t kiss her- she doesn’t know the truth. If he kisses her he’s just lying to her. The guilt becomes even heavier than it used to be- he can't lie to her. His mouth is suddenly dry- his feet glued to the spot. She’s waiting for you to do something you idiot, his thoughts are screaming at him. But too much time passes and she lets go of his hand and looks down from him, and then she’s turning and walking off the dance floor. And he’s still just standing there like a jackass. |
“You are an obsession
I cannot sleep
I am your possession
Unopened at your feet
There's no balance
No equality
Be still I will not accept defeat”
In Plato’s Protagoras, Socrates argued that akrasia – acting against one’s better judgment – wasn’t possible. I am living proof that he was wrong, since that’s how I’ve acted with Oliver, every step of the way.
From the moment I saw him, I was fascinated by him and that attraction soon turned into an obsession. What does Oliver think of me, was my constant preoccupation; I wanted us to be friends but didn’t behave like a friend: I avoided him, shrugged him off, refused to greet him when he came into a room. I attributed these slights to my inexperience and timidity: Oliver understood and forgave. When we got together at last, I kept lying, to myself and to him.
At first, I claimed that what I felt was only desire, but then I went as far as to justify my confession of worshipping him as a ruse to attract his attention: they were all lies.
I adored every single cell of his body, but I loved the man that he was even more.
I had never told him that I loved him not because it was obvious or for fear of giving too much away; the reason was far more devious: I had pretended that I could box that feeling and put it away once he was gone. I would render it episodic, like one of those portmanteau movies so popular in Italian cinema in the 1950s: there would be other stories and other lovers, and I’d be the only link between them. I would be the sole protagonist of this affair.
In Rome, I had caught a glimpse of the sexual freedom I could enjoy and found it exhilarating.
And then Oliver left, taking me away with him.
I spent days in a daze of despair, wondering why I had not said the words that mattered: come back to me, I need you, don’t ever leave me again.
He’d promised to come back at Christmas and even then I’d pretended I didn’t truly care one way or the other. When he phoned and announced his engagement, I congratulated him. I had the perfect excuse to erase him from my life: I could tell my parents and friends that I didn’t want to hear his name mentioned again. I was the victim, he was the two-faced scoundrel. But once again, I had not voiced my objections when he’d asked if I minded: yes Oliver, I do, because you belong to me only.
Patrice came into my life when I was at my lowest.
Since I had forbidden any mention of Oliver, I could imagine the worst: that he was already married, that his wife was pregnant, that he had forgotten me and regretted what had happened between us.
I needed to feel important, to make a difference, to matter.
Sex wasn’t a priority and despite finding Patrice attractive, I did not feel a fraction of the insane lust Oliver had elicited from me.
I had accepted Patrice’s physical distance in exchange for his devotion: I could be his friend and protector, and take care of him like I would have wished Oliver to do with me. I should have realised the fragile and illusory nature of our relationship, but like with all bubbles it was reality which pricked it.
The name of that reality was always the same: Oliver; his golden skin and broad shoulders, his large hands and rounded ass, his ocean-blue eyes and hairy chest.
At once, he was happening to me all over again.
He stood there, in my house, occupying the room that had been mine the previous summer, sleeping in the same bed.
The anger that I directed at him was in fact meant for me: why had I not known that I had not forgotten him? Why was he still everything and I had not realised it?
From that moment on, it was only a matter of time.
I was starved for his touch and he was on his own, half-naked on most days, available.
Like the eternal dissembler I was, I feigned to even dislike the smell of his sweat; that same sweat that made me instantly hard.
I wasn’t as drunk as he assumed when I went to find him in the attic. I also wasn’t ignorant of his presence: I knew that he would be there.
My plans had gone only as far as that, but I wanted his body, yearned for the brush of his skin against mine; I needed to kiss him and explode all over him.
In the meantime, Patrice had found someone who appreciated him like he deserved. I didn’t mind, I wished him to be happy. What I had not anticipated, was his shrewd reading of my nature. It was not pleasant to hear, but truth seldom is.
Oliver could belong to me again: I just needed to say the words.
Lost in contemplation of his statuesque body as he posed for Patrice, I lied to myself again. Lust and jealousy is all you feel, I repeatedly scribbled on my notebook; his flesh and his undivided attention: that is all you desire.
I was in charge of the situation, master of my emotions.
Only one final step was required to come full circle: I had to be him.
During my first summer of love, I had often wondered whether if I had been Oliver, I would cease obsessing over him. If only I had his strong muscles I wouldn’t long for them; if I had his experience and his nonchalance, I would stop envying them.
When I asked Oliver if he’d been mine only, he’d avowed that he’d made out with Chiara and some other girls. It was then that I’d resolved to follow in his footsteps.
Maybe, if I disappeared like he’d done, accepted invitations, stayed out for dinner, made new friends, became more popular and less dependent on his presence, I’d be finally free from this idée fixe.
It didn’t work, and how could it have? It was a castle of lies built on self-deception and wilful misrepresentation.
The company of other people – girls or boys – could never provide what Oliver gave me, because he was the only person in the world who’d really known me.
He had seen my pleasure and my shame: he’d shared them, instigated them, drunk them down while keeping his eyes open wide, never flinching or reproaching.
I was not the main actor in this affair, but rather one half of it, the other part being Oliver.
On Friday, Oliver went on a fishing trip with Paride and Anchise, and for the first time in weeks, I experienced his absence.
Several times, I had returned late at night pretending that the room next to mine was empty, that he was gone already. I’d been certain that I could take it, that I would be prepared for the sight of his packed bag on the bed, of his folded clothes piled upon the armchair. I had deceived myself and the awakening was brutal.
“Where are you going?” I asked, my heart thumping so loudly in my ears that I could hardly discern Oliver’s reply. At first, I feared that he was going camping with Stefano and his friends. The relief at finding out the truth loosened my tongue. I would wait for him, I'd said, all night if necessary.
He didn’t seem interested in what I had to say.
Had he given up on me for good?
I spent Saturday in a state of perpetual anxiety. I swam in the pond, tried to read the collection of poems Oliver had given me, played some Chopin on the piano, argued with Mafalda who scolded me for always forgetting to shut the door of the freezer. The weather was hot and humid; the hair so heavy it pressed down on my chest when I was lying on my bed.
Marzia and Raffaele came to dinner; he chatted with papà about football. Raffaele still hadn’t recovered from the fact that Italy had not qualified for the Euros and wasn’t at all happy about France winning. Dad was neutral, but he enjoyed being a contrarian, so he extolled the merits of Platini and Tigana while Raffaele scowled and shook his head.
Maman had gone to a pizzeria with a couple of friends, so it was just the four of us and Mafalda.
“Is that true about you and Susanna?” Marzia asked, as we attacked our panna cotta. “Lara said that she saw you two and that you were holding hands.”
In that case Oliver must have known too. Damn.
“It’s nothing,” I whispered, “We are just friends.”
“Like you and I were friends?”
“No, no, nothing’s happened. We’ve just made out once or twice.”
“And what about Patrice?” she enquired. I told her about Flavia and that he’d moved out and gone to stay at the old castle.
She seemed puzzled. “I always thought you and Oliver would find a way to be together.”
“He’s no longer engaged,” I blurted out. Her eyebrows shot up.
“Why are you not with him? Doesn’t he want to be with you?”
“It’s not,” I started, but didn’t really know how to continue, finally settling on, “We are figuring things out.”
She gave me a wry smile. “And that’s how you do it: you making out with a girl and him going fishing with two old men?”
“You should know me by now,” I grinned.
“Yeah, but Oliver might not,” she replied.
It hurt and strengthened my resolve.
Sunday, the sky was dense with clouds.
The weather forecast announced thunderstorms and strong winds.
“At least they haven’t gone boating,” I said.
Dad folded the newspaper he’d been reading and shot me a bemused glance.
“Paride has a boat,” he replied, “I thought Oliver had told you.”
“What?” I shrieked, louder than I’d intended.
“But he’s quite experienced and it won’t be the first time he’s been out during a storm.”
I was already predicting tragedy. A year ago, I had imagined Oliver’s dead and swollen body with something like relish; now, the mere idea filled me with horror. If anything happened to him, I would never--- but I couldn’t even contemplate the eventuality.
At four in the afternoon, the sky was dark and the distant rumble of thunder was fast approaching. The first drops were fat and clean; the ground smelled of gunpowder and freshly-mowed grass. After a timid start, it was the deluge.
Mafalda brought us a pot of Earl Grey and a box of white candles. The lights went out after the second bout of lightning. I wasn’t worried about the rain; it was the wind that terrified me. Once we’d had a storm of such violence that bicycles had been found embedded among the branches of tall oak trees and cars had capsized and been submerged by water.
“I’m so worried,” I told maman.
“They are going to be fine,” she replied, holding me tight.
She read out loud from “The Leopard” and the beautiful prose calmed me down. Oliver would have loved it too, and it was almost like having him there.
It was ten when the storm finally subsided.
The garden and the orchard looked like they’d been trampled on by giant creatures.
“Anchise will have his work cut out for him,” papà said, glumly.
“I wish they were back already.”
He patted my shoulders.
“They must have waited for it to stop,” he replied.
Like I’d promised Oliver, I didn’t go to sleep that night.
I wove in and out of a fitful doze, but never lost consciousness.
It was gone three in the morning when I heard the screeching of tires on gravel.
I went to the balcony and saw him get out of the minivan. Anchise was limping but he was in one piece and as for Paride, he’d been driving so he was surely alright.
Dad must have been waiting for them too, because he emerged from the house and grabbed hold of Oliver’s gear. They chatted briefly and I gathered that Oliver had told my father that he was okay and that the older men needed his help more than Oliver did.
I ran into his room and waited for him in the dark. |
Though Bilbo and Sig tried, Isengrim would not hear of them staying in an inn or camping, but insisted they stay with him.
“I owe you boys, and I am your uncle, after all. I’m sorry, Bilbo; didn’t think to mention it, I suppose.”
Sig looked at him in disbelief. “You didn’t think to mention it? You must have known from the very start!” He shook his head. “You knew what he would find there.”
“Well, I hoped the children would be with their father. I thought it was his day,” Isengrim said. “But I’m a coward and no mistake. I was so excited to surprise Bella, and then I realised... Shire folk sometimes don’t understand the mountain ways.”
Bilbo looked blankly at his hands. “Children,” he said.
Sig shook his head. “I’ll say Shire folk don’t understand the mountain ways,” he said.
“I’d like to go to bed now,” Bilbo said.
Isengrim sighed sadly, but showed Bilbo and Sig to the guest room they would share. Bilbo lay on his bed with his back to Sig, but he did not sleep for a long time.
In the morning, things looked no better to him. Sig took one look at his face and sighed.
“Shall we leave for Rivendell today?” he asked.
“I think I just want to go home,” Bilbo answered.
First breakfast was a very quiet affair. Isengrim seemed not to know what to say, and Bilbo did not want to talk, and Sig read his moods well enough.
Afterwards, Isengrim hesitantly offered them his guest room for as long as they wanted it.
“Thank you,” Bilbo said. “I think we’ll leave today.”
Sig shook his head. “We’ll need to go to the market for supplies first, Bilbo,” he said. “We don’t have food enough left for the journey home.”
“The market then, and then we leave,” Bilbo answered. He paused for a minute. “And when we get back to the Shire we tell my da we couldn’t find her.”
Isengrim tilted his head. “Do you think he doesn’t know?” he asked.
“I don’t know what he knows,” Bilbo said. “But he doesn’t know children.”
So Isengrim gave them directions to the market, though they refused his offer to walk them there.
“I can’t really like any of them,” Sig said, “and I feel bad saying it about family, but there you are. I look at the Dwobbits now and...Well, I just don’t know what to think.”
“Don’t you?” Bilbo asked.
“They can’t all have husbands or wives in the Shire,” Sig replied.
Bilbo said nothing. They had reached the market.
If he had been in a better mood, he thought he would have found the market fascinating. There were many Dwarves with amazing wares, from toys to jewelled combs to blades. Hobbits mostly had the food stalls, and that was where Bilbo and Sig needed to go. They had just bought a bag of apples and turned to the next stall for hard cheese when they saw her—the Dwobbit who was his mother’s daughter. She was buying bread across the way, and laughing with a young Dwarf when she saw him too. Bilbo turned away but it was too late. She marched across the aisle, grabbed his shoulder to stop him, and then slapped his face hard.
“Whoa, now,” Sig said, and stepped between her and Bilbo; and “Amy!” exclaimed the dark-haired Dwarf who was with her; but Bilbo only put his hand to his cheek.
“You made my mother cry!” she snarled at him. “She hid in her room and cried the rest of the afternoon.”
Bilbo didn’t answer her and tried to turn away again, but she grabbed his sleeve.
“I’m not done with you,” she yelled. “What did you do to her?” A small crowd had gathered to watch the show, Bilbo noticed. He flushed with embarrassment.
“Go away!” he hissed at her. “You’re making a scene!”
“I don’t care, you prissy Shireling!” she cried angrily. “I’m not going anywhere until you answer my question!”
Bilbo clenched his jaw. The harpy—he turned on her. “You were there,” he ground out. “You saw; I did nothing but stand there; she only looked at me and remembered what she is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And what is that?”
He leaned into her face and Sig must have seen something, because he said “Bilbo—“ with a warning tone in his voice, but Bilbo said it anyway. He was too angry to care what this harridan thought, or the Dwarf with her, or the entire crowded marketplace.
“A whore,” he spat at her contemptuously. “And she knows it.”
Sig exhaled, and stepped between Bilbo and the Dwobbit again, while she turned white and the Dwarf with her gave a start.
“You are speaking of her mother!” he protested.
Bilbo looked at him, then back at her. “And mine too,” he said, and pulled Sig with him as he walked away.
The harpy—his sister—only stood and watched him, her face flushed with anger, as her friend tried to talk to her. Though he only looked back once to know as he fled the market.
They retreated to Isengrim’s smial with their business at the market unfinished; but Bilbo would not go back and Sig would not leave him alone, so they would have to stay another day in Hollin. It was with some difficulty that Sig convinced Bilbo to sit out in the library rather than retreat to their room again after elevenses, and even then they sat in silence. After luncheon, though, Bilbo returned to his bed and didn’t leave it until Isengrim came to him a little before teatime.
“You have visitors,” he said.
“I can’t,” Bilbo answered him. “I don’t know anyone here.”
Isengrim stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I know this has been a shock for you, nephew,” he said. “But you must understand that things are different here.” He huffed, and shook Bilbo’s shoulder gently. “And I won’t let you hide away here until you leave. You’re leaving soon enough as it is.”
Bilbo looked at the wall. “Who is it?” he asked.
“Come and see,” Isengrim told him, and then he left.
Bilbo laid there a minute more, and then he got up. A check in the mirror revealed that his eyes were just as red and swollen as they felt. He brushed it aside and went out to Isengrim’s sitting room.
It was Amy; and she had two Dwarves with her now, the dark one from before holding one hand, and a blond one on her other side. She tilted her chin up defiantly when she saw him.
“I had Kili follow you,” she said. Kili must be the dark-haired Dwarf.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Bilbo replied.
“You have no right to judge my mother,” she continued, and then took a deep breath. “Our mother.”
“Don’t I?” Bilbo asked. He admitted that she was brave but he could not like this girl. He hated the very sight of her.
“Things are different in the mountain,” the blond Dwarf said.
Bilbo did not look at him but at Amy. “Mothers abandon their fauntlings here, then?”
“No!” Amy cried. Her eyes shone, and she blinked quickly to hold back tears.
Bilbo pressed on. “Mothers let their children go without word for two decades while they raise another family with another father? That is how things are in the mountain?” He sat back. “I wish I had never come, and I wish you would leave.”
Tears did roll down Amy’s face then, and she turned into the blond Dwarf’s shoulder. Nevertheless, Bilbo heard a muffled, “You are my brother.”
“I can’t do anything about that,” Bilbo said. The dark Dwarf—Kili—stirred.
“That was cruel,” he said. “Is that how you speak to a sister in the Shire?”
Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him.
“I think you ask much of me, to accept this with equanimity,” he said angrily. He blinked, and he knew that he began to cry too.
“It is not Amy’s fault,” chided the blond one.
Bilbo laughed, but it was an unhappy sound. “Look at the difference in our ages,” he said. “My father and I left for the Shire when I was five. Can you truly tell me it is not her fault?”
Sig stirred then. “Bilbo,” he said.
Bilbo shook his head. “I cannot do this,” he said. “It is too much to ask of me!” Sig came to sit by him and put an arm around his shoulders. “I cannot do it!” he cried. They all sat in silence then, but for the sound of Amy and Bilbo’s weeping.
After a while, when Bilbo had no more tears to cry, Sig said gently, “She is not to blame for what your mother did.”
Bilbo looked away, and met the blond Dwarf’s eyes by accident, and looked away again until he found a window to look out of.
“I wish I had never come,” he repeated. He looked to Amy. “I do not know what to say to you. I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
Amy sniffed into her handkerchief. “I don’t know either,” she said.
“We leave tomorrow,” Bilbo said.
She looked up at him then. “So soon?” she asked.
He only looked steadily at her.
“Please, at least come speak to Mother,” she begged. “You did not see her. She was so unhappy.”
Bilbo laughed again. “Do you think she will be happy after speaking with me?” He huffed. “Look how happy it has made us!” After a moment, he continued; and he tried to speak gently. She was just a tween, and Sig was right: it was not her fault. “I had questions when I came,” he said, “that I did not know how she could answer. I do not think I want to know the answers now.” Kili began to speak, and Bilbo glared at him. “I don’t really care how different things are on the mountain.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Kili protested. Bilbo looked at him, eyebrows raised. “All right, it was what I was going to say. But there is also this: you have Amy, and you have another sister, and a younger brother who you have not met. Would you leave without doing so?”
Bilbo could not answer. Finally he said, “I will think on it.”
Amy straightened a little. “Will you call on us tomorrow?” she asked hesitantly.
“I have said I cannot see her,” Bilbo sighed.
“No, come to the mountain, to our home there,” Amy said. “You will not have to see our mother.”
“Can we not meet here?” Bilbo asked. “I don’t particularly want to meet your father, either.”
“He will not be there,” Amy said. “If you come for elevenses, he will be gone to work; and he will not return until dinner time.”
Bilbo looked at Sig, who nodded gently. “How will I know where to go?” he asked. |
Bucky and Ann became a serious item and Steve hardly ever saw Bucky anyway due to the fact that their schedules conflicted. Bucky worked nights at the clubs, boxing or gambling, while Steve’s irregular bookkeeping jobs were all done during the day. When there was free time to be had, Bucky always brought Ann along. She was a sweet girl with a wicked sense of humor, and Steve could not bring himself to hate her as much as he wanted to. Bucky deserved to be with a fine girl like that, rather than humoring his friendship with a sickly and boring guy like Steve.
But all the justifications in the world did not make Steve feel any better about being abandoned, not matter how many times he told himself he was being childish.
It felt like an act of rebellion to keep going back to the Village to hang out at Little Buck’s. It was something that was Steve’s, and his alone: a place where he had never been with Bucky, and indeed was probably a place that Bucky would never go.
His third trip he brought his sketchbook and asked Margaret if he could draw her while she worked. She was very flattered and even bought him a beer once she saw just how good he was (and he offered to give her one of the drawings). Some people looked at him suspiciously as he drew, but he felt comfortable there, surround by (mostly) men, drinking a beer and relaxing without Bucky. Or, trying to.
“Well look at that! Pretty boy can draw!”
Steve looked up to see the same drunk guy, Charlie, who had seemed interested in him his first visit. Steve shook his head. “Barking up the wrong tree, mister.”
Charlie was not quite drunk, and his expression was a lot sharper than before. He stared at the sketch Steve was working on, a stylized, comical piece showing Margaret yelling at a guy for spilling his drink.
“Maybe not. You’ve got talent, kid.”
Steve gave him a sardonic smile. “I know that.”
Charlie laughed loudly. “And sass.”
Steve rolled his eyes and went back to his drawing, but Charlie didn’t move. “So what do you do? You work for the newspapers?”
Steve eyed him suspiciously for a second, but Charlie did seem genuinely interested. “No. Right now, looking for a job.”
The guy brightened up. “No kidding!”
“Not that desperate,” Steve said sharply.
Charlie laughed again. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. “Stop by my office. You might be the kind of guy we could use.”
The fact that Charlie had called hims a “guy” counted for a lot, so Steve took the card. It said, “Charlie Harper, Publisher, Treat ‘Em Right Publishing House, New York” with a business address underneath. Steve had never heard of them, but a job prospect was better than soup lines, any day. He pocketed the card as Charlie wandered off again. Margaret was there with her usual fierce expression.
“You going to warn me off?” Steve asked, picking up his sketch book again.
She bit her lip. “No, don’t think I am.” She sighed. “But, I know what Charlie publishes, and I don’t think it’s quite your style.”
Steve blinked. “Are you saying he publishes trashy stuff?”
She nodded slowly. “Something like that. Just…don’t be shocked.”
Steve laughed, and waved a hand around at the club. There was a large clutch of pansies gossiping at one table, various fairies wandering around made up to look like dolls in eyeliner and dresses, and a drag show on stage. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Margaret gave him one of her masculine belly laughs in agreement.
After a few more visits, Steve finally started feeling comfortable at the club. He always sat at the bar under Margaret’s tender care, watching the second-rate drag shows onstage and making sketches. No one looked twice at him after a while, and most of the regulars knew to steer clear of him. Steve was not particularly anti-social but he knew his no-nonsense attitude was read as brusque by the partiers who filled the place. Sometimes he thought of how great it would be to have Bucky there, to talk and laugh with about the shows or outfits. But then, he also knew he did not need temptation that close.
It was hard to think about himself that way, but Steve had faced the fact that temptation was a large part of the reason he kept coming back. At first, he missed what was really catching his eye. His sketchbooks, however, did not lie: they were filled with pages and pages of men in suits, alone or in groups, reeking masculinity and charm. It had been Margaret, of course, you pointed it out to him one night when Steve had one too many and was tipsy enough to share his work without feeling self-conscious about it. She had flipped through the pages, then smiled wickedly at him.
“Your like your men on the strong side, don’t you, love?”
Steve had not been able to answer her coherently, which he conveniently blamed on the beer.
But, it was the unavoidable conclusion, which left Steve wondering about himself. He liked girls, he knew that, and sometimes he even thought about hiring a hooker again just for that reason. It had been nearly a year since his birthday, after all. But girls were complicated and mysterious while men were straightforward and easy to understand. Like Bucky.
He was not too sure what he was supposed to do with those feelings. He did not feel like an invert, like a man whose needs were twisted up so wrong. And yet, the very idea of one of those strong, manly men on top of him always made Steve flush with need. He tried not to think about lying under Bucky the way Eunice had lain under him. He tried, and he failed, and it was a shame that had a name but Steve could not bear to claim it. Despite it all, he felt normal. He was just a kid from Brooklyn, not too special and moderately talented and completely, utterly normal.
So he sat alone at the bar, sketching, because it kept his eyes from wandering too much. |
The security system had been a nightmare to install, at first. Between the two of them Kes and Shara had almost overwhelming expectations, and that meant accommodating for all sorts of threats. Radar and multiple layer sonar and a lockdown system for the house, everything that would give them the fastest warning and the most protection. Shara had been anxious about a house that did not move, could not fly away as needed, and in some sense Kes had agreed.
And so they had agreed on a system, and all but built it from scratch. And in all honesty Kes had more or less forgotten about it until it had begun screaming at him in the middle of the night.
Instincts that never really went away had him on his feet in moments and stumbling to the display. It was an approaching transport. It was a trooper carrier, imperial class, and every nerve in Kes’s body went taunt. They had come for his kids, for the troopers, and they would almost certainly kill them and him if they—
“Stop.”
The word was whispered harshly into the night, even as the former rebel soldier- and soon to be current Rebellion fighter- tore into his dresser. Years of preparing in heartbeats had not left him in his older age, and he wriggled as quickly into heavy clothes and boots as he could before bursting into the hallway. The alarm had alerted most of the children, and they were tumbling out of their rooms at almost the same moment he had. And seeing the questions on their faces Kes spoke first.
“There are hostile forces approaching. Everyone dress in heavy clothes, your coats and boots. Pack what supplies you might need for potentially three days and assemble in the living room. We have ten minutes until departure, and I want you done in three!”
It was the first time he had used his command voice on them, and they reacted instantly. As they rushed around to pack Kes himself was already smacking the holoscreen, inputting Poe’s coordinates as he laid his hand against the safe room door. It took several seconds for the connection to catch, and htne he was greeted with a sleepy looking son—and what he guessed was the upper chest of an ex-storm trooper.
“Dad….what…” Poe’s voice was sleep stupid, and for all that it was perhaps the most adorable sight his adult son could produce it only made the older Dameron’s heart clench. He wasn’t at all afraid to lay down his life for either his son or the children placed in his care, but the idea that he was never going to see his son ‘grow up’, maybe marry and find the happiness he’d had with Shara…
There was no time for emotions, though, and Kes forced them aside. “Poe, we’ve got incoming First Order, twenty minutes out. I am evacuating the kids now, but they are going to need some help.”
In a flash Poe went from exhausted to alert, and he was scrambling to his feet. “Oh Gods, okay, I will scramble a response right now. We can be there in…” He was doing the math in his head, and Kes knew before his face fell that it was bad. “We can be there in six hours dad. Is there any chance you can…can the safe room.”
“Safe room can’t take six hours of First Order fire, Poe, no matter how paranoid your mother was. They’ll take the two speeders and head north for the space port. It’s one ship right now, so I’ll see what I can do here and give them some time to--”
“Dad that’s suicide, you can’t—“
“Poe Shasek Dameron I swear to the Maker if you talk back to me again.”
The familiar threat had Poe shutting his mouth out of habit, and the elder Dameron spoke before he could recover. “We have a plan in place, Poe. They have passes to get to Yavin, and from there to Hoth. You need to make plans to rendeavous with them there. I love you, Poe, so much. Your mother and I will always be proud of you.”
Ending the holocall he turned as the children came down stairs, and despite the situation his heart swelled. They were all prepared, packs on their backs and determined faces. Meetra and Zach were already rushing around with arms full of protein bars and sealed water pouches to push in on top, and if nothing else he knew the kids could take care of themselves until the resistance came.
“Alright guys, just like we practiced. Two speeders, keep parallel to each other. Once you reach the spaceport use the passes to arrange transport to Yavin—use my name at the Gordian Exchange, you’ll get passage on a freighter. Stay together, stay safe. If anyone asks you are on a school trip to the Massassli remains and got lost and your teacher is on the way.”
Time was running out and he knew it. There was no time to say what he wanted, what he needed them to know. Instead he only met each face in turn and nodded collectively to them all.
“I am so proud of all of you. Go now, and keep each other safe.”
There was little hesitation, despite the fear in their eyes, and they charged out of the house in organized lines. They had practiced the drill, several times, and so it was not a surprise to hear the speeders hum to life before zipping away from the house. And there was relief in knowing that they were safe, in knowing that they were on their way to being free and happy and…
Well. He was content with alive, but grandparents were allowed to dream.
With the biggest fear off his shoulders it was easier to walk into the safe room, to pick up his still useful blasters and take a few deep breaths. The house had been built for family, and as much as he wanted it to stay with Poe and the next generation of Damerons he was glad that it had been at least temporarily filled to the brim with children.
The low whine of the landing transport slowly filled his ears, and Kes tried for the peace that had always been his before the rebel battles. Serenity with his decision, determination in his actions. As close to being one with the force as he could be, a lesson taught by a much younger Luke Skywalker. And with that resolve behind his eyes, Kes stepped through the front door.-_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_-It was hard for Poe to keep calm. It had been almost four hours since the transmission with his father had ended, and in that time his heart had gone double time. His imagination ran wild with terror at what might have happened on Yavin 4, at the thought that the stormtrooper kids could be hurt or captured, and that his father…
That thought ached in the part of his heart that had not healed over completely from the loss of his mother. The idea of having to bury both of them, of being alone as the last of the Dameron family and never seeing his father again or hearing his voice or being told that he was loved—
The sob was involuntary, and for all that he locked it down hard he knew the rest was not far behind. Black One had been the best shield possible, particularly as General Organa had ordered radio silence for the lightspeed trip to Yavin 4, but he knew that his squad was watching him. None of their families had gone untouched in the war- Brightstaff, their youngest pilot, had grown up on Hosnian Prime and lost his whole world- but the idea of having to arrive home and see the destruction of his familial home was almost an unimaginable thought.
The proximity alarm began to beep at him, signaling the approach to Yavin, and Poe took a deep breath to settle himself before flicking on his commlink.
“Black Squadron, this is Black Leader, do you copy?”
The all signed off in turn, and Poe sought the commander persona he had strived for before speaking again. “We are going in fast. Circle Yavin and go stealth as we approach 4. Coordinates should be locked in. If there is no fire upon approach we will land alongside the target and assume hostiles in the building. Understood?”
“We copy, Poe.” Jessika’s voice was professional, but he could hear the sympathy in it. “Do you want to hang back and cover—“
“Negative, I know the area.” He paused, and then added more softly, “Thanks, Pava.”
He could only hope he didn’t regret it.-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-“Okay, run this by me again. You want to what?”
It had been a hideous night, and Kes Dameron wanted a drink more than anything else in the world. The adrenaline come down was playing havoc with his endurance and wits, both things he needed in spades to get through the challenge ahead of him. Challenges he did not feel even close to qualified for, despite the fact that no one had died or been captured and tortured.
The almost teenagers fidgeted from their perches around the glassed in room, glancing at each other as if waiting for anyone to speak. But before things could get too awkward the oldest of them- a tall young man with a shock of orange hair and more freckles than he knew what to do with- hesitantly raised a hand.
“We…that is to say, our cadre…We want to leave the First Order. They’ve been talking about how the Resistance will kill anyone who defects but…” He shrugged, and the hopeless gesture twisted something in Kes’s gut. “But they killed the entire platoon of the ones who ran away, for nothing! And FN-2187 is still alive, so we thought…”
“You thought you’d give it a chance, and see if you could get away?”
They all nodded at his words, looking about as worn out as it was possible for kids their age to look, and it was a deciding factor in a way.
When they had first arrived, marching off the transport in nothing but their underblacks, hands behind their heads Kes had thought it was a trap. He had confiscated their weapons and wiped the ship, running scans on all of them before even letting them speak. But they were all clean, free of trackers or hidden weapons. They were instead exhausted teenagers who had made a desperate gamble to get away from what no longer seemed much like order. And as the former soldier of an alliance that had been rather fond of disorder he could appreciate that.
“Alright, well, not much we can do tonight. The general will be able to make more decisions, but for right now lets get you fed and—“
It was all he managed before the doors burst open, and he found himself face to face with his son, his second favorite adopted child and the rest of Black squadron, all of whom he had met at some point or another in various holocalls. All were armed, blasters at the ready, and Poe looked like he had aged a year in the few hours since they talked.
And Kes would deal with that later, but for now he found his best command voice and barked out, “At ease, weapons down!”Habit had Resistance and ex-First Order alike jumping, and something like smug pride filled his chest—he still had it. Before the storm brewing in his son’s eyes could burst Kes moved between them and gestured between them.
“Black Leader, Black squadron, meet Command Cadre 5598. They are clean on trackers and have just arrived after a lengthy trip.”
“Why didn’t you update the Resistance on—“ Poe’s voice was low, and Kes cut him of sharply.
“Because, Commander, I was not going to make a transmission until I was absolutely sure that it was safe to do so.”
The sharp tone served both as a reminder of their scenario, and that Poe was before his own people— there was still a chain of command and he was still at the top of it. After a few moments Poe sighed, weight falling off his shoulders, and he finally smiled.“Well, Command Cadre 5598, good to meet you. I’m Commander Poe Dameron, this is my father, this is my house, and I need a drink.”And as his squadron broke out into snickers, and the storm troopers grinned nervously, Kes hung his head and reflected that that was one element of his son that he could not in fact blame on Shara. Damn. |
Zhongli walked along the streets of Liyue as the sun set. It was just one of his usual strolls but he felt somewhat lonely. He had hoped to find a certain someone to share the stroll with but he had found no trace of her.
If she went out on a commission, she would usually inform him, which he found endearing. In all honesty Zhongli tried to understand how he felt. For some reason he felt his heart tug towards her. Her smile could light up a room and was more radiant than any star he ever saw in the night sky. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of how excited she was to hear the random trivia he would nearly constantly say. Or the stories over a meal. They way she’d blush faintly when they would meet up.
He wondered if....there was more to this. Maybe it was just his imagination getting ahead of him. He was much too old.
He continued to the quieter pavilion, even the guards were more scarce here. Though a familiar aura and the sound of soft sobbing alerted him. Zhongli went around the corner to one of the pools to see who he had been searching for earlier. Except something was wrong, very wrong.
Lumine was hugging her knees, body shivering from what seemed to be the cold and from crying. He felt his heart crack at seeing her in such a state. The smile faded away to a concerned frown.
Zhongli quietly undid his coat and slid it off his shoulders before walking over. Gently laying it over her tiny form.
She let out a shuddering gasp of surprise that made her nearly drop the bottle she was holding. Then she looked up. Her eyes were red, cheeks stained with streaks of tears.
“Z-zhong-li.”
Then the smell of a strong wine reached his nose. Her voice slurred and was barely a whisper but combined made the cracks in his heart worse.
“No more of this.”
With an inward sigh, Zhongli sat next to her and gently pried the bottle from her tiny cold hands. Placing it out of her sight but she gave no fight. Whoever took advantage and gave her this strong drink would answer to him later.
There was a silence between them besides the crickets and a few soft sniffles from Lumine.
“I miss him...”
Lumine finally mumbled.
Zhongli looked over to see her enveloping herself completely in his coat. He understood all too well the pain of missing someone. Thousands of years watching people come and go taught him that lesson harshly.
She continued.
“We’ve been traveling together for so long, not having him around is like losing a part of myself. I know Aether is out there but...I can’t stop thinking what horrors he’s been through. Alone...”
Part of him didn’t know what to say to comfort her but he needed to say something. Reminded of something Guizong told him so long ago.
“I may not know of his situation but he isn’t completely alone. He has your spirit and love connecting you two. If you hold onto that then anything is possible.”
Zhongli lifted her chin and offered a smile, wiping away the tears.
“Don’t forget that the people you’ve made friends with along the way will happily support you. Myself included.”
Lumine stared into his amber eyes, the corners of her mouth lifted a little.
“Now there is a hint of that beautiful smile.”
Zhongli smiled more and got up. Offering a hand to her.
“We should get you out of this cold weather before you get sick.”
She took his hand and attempted to stand but her legs wobbled, causing her to fall against his warm chest. Though before she could respond, Zhongli effortlessly picked Lumine up bridal style.
“Watch your step.”
Zhongli chuckled as she hid her face into his chest. Though he needed to get her somewhere so she could clean up and rest. His place was closer than her room at the adventurer’s guild but would it be proper to do so.
“Lumine?”
“Hmm?”
“Would you be uncomfortable going to my apartment? It’s much closer but I do not wish to upset you.”
Zhongli asked, heading towards the way back down to the center.
He felt her shake her head.
“I don’t mind….”
Zhongli noticed how tired she sounded now and how light her body felt in his arms. Despite the odor of wine, her hair smelled nice. Like glaze lilies mixed with vanilla. No, he shouldn't think such things at this time. But he could stop from telling himself that he enjoyed it. Holding her in his arms.
Thankfully it didn’t take too long to arrive at their destination. After getting inside, he placed Lumine to stand on her own feet. She was still awake but looked worn out as she gave him back his coat.
“Are you able to stand steady or walk?”
Zhongli asked, making sure to stay nearby.
Lumine took a few steps on her own and nodded.
“Through that door you may wash up and even bathe, if you wish. I shall get you something clean to wear.”
Zhongli said, grabbing a black robe with geo orange trimmings from a drawer and handing it over.
“Thank you.”
Lumine said in a mumble,taking the robe, her cheeks were flushed. Then walked away into the other room.
He watched the door for several moments before rubbing the bridge of his nose. Deciding it was best to brew some tea at least. By the time the tea was being poured, the click of a door being opened was heard.
“I’m finished.”
“Tea is rea-”
Zhongli stopped what he was saying.
She was wrapped up in the robe, shyly trying to keep it up on her shoulders as she met his eyes. Then went to snuggle under the blankets.
Zhongli cleared his throat, then placed the tray of tea on the stand next to the large bed.
“Is there anything else you want? I can get food if you wish.”
“I’m fine. Thank you again.”
“You may have the bed tonight. I’ll be in my office so as not to disturb you. Feel free to look at any books on the shelves. I’ll let you rest.”
Zhongli said, smiling before turning to leave but he was stopped with a tiny hand pulling at his vest.
Looking back Zhongli tilted his head curiously. Wondering what she wanted.
“Stay….please.”
Lumine said.
He couldn't say no to those eyes.
“Just a moment.”
Lumine let go, trusting him. Zhongli went to put away his vest, tie and shoes before coming back. He was prepared to bring a chair over but she patted the empty spot on the bed. His mind went through another debate of whether he should or not. With a nervous swallow, Zhongli did as she requested.
When he was settled, Lumine leaned her head against his arm twining her own around it.
“ Can you tell me one of your stories?”
Zhongli swore his face warmed slightly. Was he blushing? Clearing his throat, a smile crept up on his face.
“Of course.”
|
Anakin Skywalker, Hero with No Fear, Warrior of the Infinite, Knight of the Jedi Order, pressed a hand to his face and desperately tried to muffle the hysterical laughter coming from his mouth as he collapsed against the wall of the elevator.
Never could he have ever in his wildest dreams imagined a council meeting to result in what had just taken place. The very idea of an uproar happening in that room, let alone with a non-council member and a clone trooper in attendance, was unthinkable.
But it had happened.
And Anakin had had the glorious pleasure of watching not only the infamous Negotiator, Obi-Wan Kenobi, fall speechless but Master Yoda and Master Windu as well. Today truly was the best day of his life.
It had all started before the War when Padmè and he had spoken about his training as a Jedi. He had long pushed his old childhood crush aside even with the dreams of her every night until he was 15, his feelings becoming affectionate but not entirely romantic.
(Not to mention when Anakin had been 14, he’d started realising that dreaming about Padmè without her knowing was invasive. Padmè deserved her privacy. He’d endeavoured to pry those thoughts out of his head, thinking of how the greatest love stories of his childhood had been about friends who endured hardship with each other. That was the great love he wanted. Falling in love with an image wasn’t real.)
Something had eased and with it, the words of loneliness, inferiority and homesickness slipped out when they had spoken with each other. Padmè had been wonderful and hiding on Naboo had only strengthened the bond he’d felt with her. At one point, an old vision, the one he’d had as a child of Padmè dressed in marriage clothes, flashed before his eyes. This time he caught more of it. Unlike the surety of his child self that he was the one Padmè was smiling so lovingly with, it was another with himself beaming to the side.
The vision only confirmed what he now knew. Padmè and he were destined to be friends. Close friends, Sandstorm siblings as his childhood would have put it. Friends who could endure anything, even an unrelenting sandstorm.
Naboo went mostly smoothly as Padmè and Anakin grew closer and fell into a friendship that felt almost too easy. He wasn’t afraid to call her out, unlike the feeling he had with the Jedi even Obi-Wan. It was like he was back on Tatooine amongst his old friends who would guard his back through anything.
They spent most of their time playing and relaxing with the odd bout of sparring (Padmè was lethal with a short staff) in Varykino after visiting her parents.
The only darkness was the dreams he kept having. By the fourth night, Padmè pulled him into a fierce hug and demanded they take a small ship to Tatooine. He’d been too shocked to deny her.
Later he’d be grateful. If they had been but a day later…
Of course, the sight of Senator Padmè Amidala being followed by a tall, charming young man spread like wildfire amongst the people, not knowing he was a Jedi. Rumours started.
He gathered the courage to ask about it while his mother recovered in another room. He got a flat look and a scathing glare shot at the wall.
“Some people believe that if they’re in a relationship with me, they can influence me. Possibly to the detriment of my people. I’ve been dealing with those types ever since I got elected. Everyone else just wants to know who I’m with and when I’ll settle down.”
Anakin had nodded and left it at that.
After the war had kicked off, Anakin had made a point to visit her. Partially because both of them made the agreement that the war did not exist within her home except her office. Also because the presence of Anakin visiting her regularly had a rather wonderful effect.
People who tried to influence Senator Amidala found themselves being glared at by a scowling Jedi Knight who was often perched on her desk when not on the war front.
Rumours spread that Senator Amidala and Knight Skywalker were in a relationship.
The first time they heard it, they had howled in laughter and decided that a little fun was in order. Sure, it meant Padmè’s would be suitors suddenly found themselves with other interests (tragically) and Separatists had to decide whether or not to incur the wrath of Skywalker was a fight they were willing to start (a terrible shame) but the idea of fuelling the rumour mill was too much to pass up.
After all, Anakin was still barely only 20 years old and Padmè had been under public scrutiny since she was 12. A little rebellion and immaturity was expected.
The only other person, outside of their families, C-3PO and R2-D2, who knew of the ruse was Queen Jamilla and later Queen Neeyutnee purely to ensure the Queens’ would not question the rumours. Both had found it hilarious and promised to keep the truth to themselves, seeing the advantage in having the man who had saved them during the Naboo occupation supposedly involved with their senator.
Queen Jamilla had even quipped cheekily that “so long as you don’t get married!” showing her true age.
(Later, near the end of the war, Sabè would be brought into the secret after a very uncharacteristically nervous Padmè asked to court her in the old ways of Naboo. Anakin had been sure to make his approval known as loudly and as obnoxiously as possible without blowing their cover.)
All in all, the rumour of Amidala and Skywalker persisted throughout the war. More than one bet was made and Anakin often had to refrain himself from placing a bet himself.
It had been the best relationship he had. It was open, honest, and often, the very thing he needed after a long day. He found himself blowing off invites by the Chancellor to chat with Padmè, sometimes dragging her into the office to talk politics and war, other times just curling up on the couch with her hands in his hair.
Even the incident with Rush Clovis hadn’t infuriated him as much as he thought it would. Sure, the guy was a huge sleemo and he’d chewed him out for trying to kiss Senator Amidala without her permission. Even more impressively, he hadn’t punched him after seeing that scene but had refused to leave her side afterwards.
Which had been key to preventing her poisoning.
(“Him, Padmè? Palo, I could understand. An artist is cute. I can appreciate art. Sabè is amazing and I can totally see why you’re in love with her. I completely approve and think you should go for it. But Rush Clovis?! I thought you had taste!”
“Shut up, Ani!”
“…Rush Clovis?”
“ANI!”)
The fact their friendship was rock solid meant Padmè had no qualms about mentioning her fears about certain senators, up to and including Chancellor Palpatine.
The first time she mentioned it, Anakin felt a blaze of fury overwhelm him and he had to take several slow breaths to ask why. When she gently explained it, the anger flowed out. A simple matter of opinion differences between politicians. Padmè made sense and Anakin could see why she was worried even if he didn’t think much of it.
Eventually, the evidence started adding up. Anakin felt awful for suspecting his mentor but the longer the war went on, the more he felt the Chancellor promised more than his actions delivered. It was when Fives came to him, deluded and clearly frightened by something that the final piece fell into place.
The Chancellor was either corrupt or being manipulated by the Sith. As terrible as it was, Anakin hoped it was the latter. Maybe that would mean all their earlier interactions actually meant something, not just the careful calculations of a politician looking for a Jedi ally.
Even then he was barely able to talk Fives into lowering the ray shield just before the Coruscant Guard entered.
A week later proved both his theories wrong. He spent the fall out hiding in Padmè’s apartment, trying to figure out how he couldn’t have seen it. How could the Chosen One with the highest midi-chlorian count in the Order not have noticed the Sith under their noses?
At least he had taken Pa-Sidious’ head for crimes against The Republic with Padmè providing evidence to the Senate beforehand. They had nearly lost several masters in the fight, but Anakin had shoved his way to the forefront and taken on the old man himself, opening himself up to the Force in a way he barely remembered from childhood.
For the first time since he came to Coruscant, he could hear the Force sing in his veins.
Apparently, it had freaked a few people out, according to Padmè. He had moved too fluidly, too swiftly. He’d also glowed for a good twenty minutes. A true instrument of the Force.
(Rumours of his power and no few images of him, glowing and ruthless, made their way into Separatist hands and the war ground to halt. News that Sidious was manipulating both sides mean peace talks became a viable solution as evidence of Dooku’s role in the war became clear.)
He’d collapsed into Obi-Wan’s and Padmè’s arms, absently noting Rex and a few other troopers hovering worriedly. All he could do was peer up at them brokenly and whisper, “He was my friend” before burying his face into Padmè’s shoulder and cried for the death of a man who had once been a friend to a lost and scared former slave boy even if it had been just a deception.
He honestly didn’t know what he would have done if not for Padmè in those few days. She’d fought for order in the Senate and then cowed any Jedi out of her apartment when she came home. Only Obi-Wan had been let in and that was supervised by an eagle-eyed Sabè.
It was only a ten-day later when Rex had shown up with a gift from the 501st that Anakin had made the effort to leave the safety of Padmè’s apartment. Mostly to the barracks where his troopers, his wonderful crazy brilliant troopers, kept him occupied and deflected any Jedi before escorting him back to Padmè’s apartment. It was rather like being doted on by hundreds of mother krayts, but Anakin didn’t argue. It felt good when they pulled him into conversations and strong hugs, affection flowing freely but never sympathy.
It didn’t hurt that Anakin convinced Padmè to put forward the bill they’d spent the past two years perfecting between them and a few other select senators, closing loopholes and shoring up legalities. It was a bill for the Rights of Cloned Sentient Beings. A few sly insinuations about how they had failed the clones and to oppose the bill would be to align themselves with the policies of a sith meant any rebuttal would be weakened.
(When the clones found out, a whole squad stormed Padmè’s apartment and piled themselves on top of Anakin. Rex, who had followed them and started to chew them out, was pulled in by Anakin. [“Just get in here, Rex. You look tired.”] Padmè came back to find her living room inundated with several snoozing clone troopers and a very happy Jedi. She left them to it, Anakin tucked under Rex’s arm safely and draped half across his chest.)
The bill passed by a landslide and Padmè found herself as a serious contender for Chancellorship. She turned it down immediately and pointed out several other candidates.
“While I am honoured and humbled by this nomination, I must decline. I am happy to serve the Senate and our peoples in the position I already hold at this point in time and would like to spend some time to come to grips with this war and my personal life.”
It was the first laugh Anakin had since everything had gone down. Leave it to Padmè to insinuate their relationship in an important moment like this.
It was that night that Padmè brought it up.
“Ani? I know we said we were pretending to… you know but, I want to ask Sabè to marry me. I want to start a family with her. This awful war has shown me life is far too short for fear.”
“Padmè, that’s wonderful!”
(Sabè said yes.)
That was when they decided to come clean. Mostly.
Senator Amidala announced her engagement, carefully avoiding names and pronouns as was custom on Naboo for the first two weeks before the names were released to give each partner time to start preparation, and Anakin was called to a Council meeting just as he and Rex arrived back from rescuing an injured Echo. He figured he’d drag Rex along to debrief at the same time.
However, since Master Windu decided to cut to the chase before Anakin had even made it completely through the door, Anakin figured that this might be the best council meeting he had ever attended.
“Skywalker. What the hell is this about your’s and Amidala’s engagement?”
Anakin froze and Rex stiffened like a pole of duro-steel next to him. “Er, masters? What engagement?”
Obi-Wan stared blankly at Anakin, the small signs of hurt around the edges. “Senator Amidala has announced her engagement and since we all know about you two, … well, I did expect you to have at least resigned before announcing it.” Obi-Wan stared at the far wall, not making eye contact with anyone.
Oh, Anakin was going to enjoy this. He shuffled into the middle of the room, cautiously followed by Rex after a brief gesture.
(The small part of him that was still aching after the Rako Hardeen incident thought Obi-Wan deserved this.)
Master Windu frowned and moved to dismiss him before Anakin interrupted.
“Masters, I must admit that I did know about the engagement announcement and that I approved of it before Captain Rex and I left to investigate the signal we received a few days ago.” Anakin started calmly.
Obi-Wan seemed to deflate in his seat. “Anakin, you know you cannot marry Senator Amidala and remain a Jedi. Attachments are against the Code, marriage included.”
Anakin turned to face his master with a gentle smile. “I am well aware of that, Obi-Wan. But I must admit as to why the news concerns me?”
Oppo Rancisis seemed to swell up indignantly. “Skywalker, stop being so-“
Adi Gallia intervened. “What Master Rancisis means is that we wish to know why you have not resigned when Senator Amidala announced your engagement to her.”
Anakin blinked innocently. Here was the moment he been waiting three long years for. A part of him was glad that he could share this moment with Rex. The men were going to love this. “I’m sorry, Master Gallia, but I don’t recall Padmè announcing my engagement.”
There was a beat of silence before what could only be described as pandemonium erupted from several masters.
“Impudence!”
“How dare - “
“The very nerve – “
“Skywalker.” The calm voice of Master Plo Koon cut through the noise and the room fell silent. Half of the Council looked furious, Windu’s eye was twitching, Yoda looked disappointed and Obi-Wan was staring at the floor. Anakin turned with a blank expression, carefully shoving his disbelief and glee down.
Sure, he was winding them up, but he hadn’t expected that reaction.
“Yes, Master Plo?”
The two stared at each other for a moment before Plo linked his hands together and leaned forward, a touch of amusement hovering in the Force. “Are you and Senator Amidala in a romantic relationship?”
Anakin said nothing but couldn’t help the unrepentant grin that slowly spread across his face.
(Clearly, he been spending far too much time with Fives and Hardcase.)
Dawning realisation spread through the Council and Anakin caught a blip of shock and something else that was quickly stuffed behind mental shields from Rex.
“Master Plo, contrary to popular rumour, I am pleased to announce that Sabè Tolerra has accepted Senator Amidala’s hand in marriage. Although if we could keep the knowledge quiet for a few more days, Padmè is giving the full announcement next Primeday.” Anakin said cheerfully, relishing in the stunned silence.
He flicked his eyes over to Obi-Wan and barely managed to muffle the snort at the sight of his Master with his mouth open and eyes wide. It was a look Anakin had never seen on his master and he loved it.
Windu was very much in a similar position.
Yoda had dropped his stick.
And his jaw.
There was a small noise and Anakin turned to see Kit Fisto bury his face into his hands, chuckling. Depa Billaba had stuffed her sleeve into her mouth to muffle her giggles. Gallia was silently laughing too with an amused smile.
Force, he hoped Rex’s helmet was recording this. Please, let Rex’s helmet be recording this.
Plo let out a low chuckle. “Please pass on the Council’s congratulations to the Senator.”
Anakin nodded as Obi-Wan finally managed to make some semblance of words.
“But… but… all those times you spent in her apartment?”
Anakin shrugged and tucked his hands into his sleeves taking on the air of a serene Jedi. He knew he was broadcasting a ‘Who? Me?’ aura but it was that or unrepentant mischief. “The Clone Rights Bill was hardly going to write itself and Padmè wanted an outsider’s perspective who knew the troopers. We couldn’t let it get out before it was ready, so I offered my experiences as a former slave. It also deterred certain senators from attempting to coerce her into an unwanted relationship.”
There was an uncomfortable silence before Fisto looked up with a chuckle. “And that time you looked ruffled in our morning debrief?”
“Partly writing the Bill, partly watching bad holodramas and listening to Padmè… er… decompress after a rough committee meeting the night before. A lot of wine had been involved.” There were a few chuckles from the more relaxed Councillors.
Windu still looked like Anakin turned his entire worldview upside down. Even the revelation of Sidious hadn’t visibly ruffled the man this badly.
“And the nicknames?”
He shrugged. “Inside jokes from when I was a child.”
Obi-Wan stared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question was plaintive, and he seriously looked as though he was questioning everything he ever knew about everything, up to and including his own sanity.
Anakin put on an expression of surprise and spread his hands. “You never asked!”
Obi-Wan blinked at him then buried his face in his hands. “Just… go, Anakin.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to debrief Captain Rex and I?”
“Out, Anakin.”
Anakin bowed and strode out of the room followed by Rex.
The door was just about to close when Anakin had a sudden thought and spun back around with a surge of confidence. “By the way, would it help if I said I was sorry for ruining your wagers?”
Obi-Wan looked up and scowled fiercely. “Now.” Several other Masters snorted and Plo broke into a low chuckle.
Anakin ducked back out and practically skipped to the elevator.
The doors closed, and Anakin couldn’t help himself. He broke into hysterical laughter and slumped against the side of the elevator. He pressed his hand to his mouth to try and calm himself, but it still took a few minutes for his laughter to abate enough for him to speak.
“Rex, please please please tell me your helmet cam caught all of them. I want Obi-Wan’s face when they realised it was just a rumour to be preserved for future generations. I want to make it into nose art for my fighter.”
He never would have had the courage to wind the council up like that when he was a padawan but the friendship Padmè and the 501st had given him a deeper sense of confidence. It was freeing, a feeling even better than when he was 9 and won the Boonta Eve Classic.
Eventually, Anakin wiped the tears away from his face and faced Rex who had taken off his helmet and was staring in disbelief at him.
“I can’t believe you kept that from us, sir.”
Anakin nudged Rex companionably with his foot. “Thought I told you to call me Anakin, Rex. War’s pretty much over.”
“You’re a worse liar than Fives. How did we not see it?”
Anakin snorted. “Nobody is worse than Fives.”
He grinned and bounced on his toes, revelling in the fact he managed to pull a prank of this magnitude over the esteemed Jedi Council. He was never going to be able to look Obi-Wan or Windu in the eye without thinking of the looks on their faces.
He failed to see the tentative glances Rex sent him out of the corner of his eye. |
“Excited for Gwance’s annual party, Merlin?”
The question was accompanied by a heavy arm slung over Merlin’s shoulders. If the gesture alone didn’t give Arthur away, the voice would. Merlin had known Arthur for six years, been mates with him for five, and had the most terrible crush on him for four.
Also, Arthur was the only one with a key to his flat, and who referred to Gwen and Lance as Gwance.
“What’s to be excited about?” Merlin replied, shrugging Arthur’s arm off and slipping away to sit on the sofa. “I don’t see why this year will be any different than the last.”
It was a sad truth that Merlin had long since accepted. Every year, he and Arthur went as friends, nothing more. There was always the horrible possibility that Arthur might bring someone else along as a date, someone serious, but so far that hadn’t happened. Still, Merlin didn’t want to get his hopes up.
And he couldn’t ask Arthur himself. They were friends, pals, mates; they played video games or listened to music or laughed at silly films. Asking Arthur out to Gwen and Lance’s spring party would be like asking a brother.
Merlin hated the friend zone.
Arthur plopped on the sofa and replaced his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, this time curling his fingers more firmly, obviously not to be deterred. “You never know, Merlin. You might meet someone special...” Arthur said, waggling his eyebrows.
Merlin rolled his eyes and pulled Arthur’s arm away. “You’re such a child, Arthur. And you reek! Why do you insist on coming over right after you’ve been to the gym?”
Arthur pulled back and feigned sniffing himself. He shrugged and gave Merlin a blank look, then said, “I’d told you eight o’clock. You freaked out the last time I was late.”
Merlin remembered clearly how upset he’d been, how he’d been pacing and biting his nails with worry. “Th-There was a severe storm warning!” Merlin exclaimed in his defence, nearly blushing.
“Whatever. Either way, it’s not like you don’t have a shower here. I can just use yours.” He grinned and stuck out his tongue, a flash of silver sparkling briefly in the light. Merlin’s heart skipped, the same way it did every time he caught a glimpse of Arthur’s tongue ring and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Merlin diverted his eyes and elbowed Arthur in the stomach. “Go on and use it then. If I have to be subjected to that stench a second longer I’ll pass out.”
Arthur’s hand came up and ruffled Merlin’s hair, the way Arthur knew annoyed him. “Always one for exaggerating, Merlin. Alright, fine, I’ll go clean myself for you.”
“You still have some clothes in my dresser. Third drawer down.”
“I know.”
Arthur got up from the sofa with a grunt and wandered off to the shower. Merlin was left feeling a little dizzy, like he always did when in such close proximity with Arthur. It didn’t help that Arthur’s sweat was so pungent and...there. Merlin had to fight every urge to run his nose all over Arthur’s body, exploring to find out where the smell was strongest.
Merlin returned to the book he’d been reading before Arthur had let himself in. He tried to focus on the words and not on the sound of the shower, where the object of all Merlin’s wank fantasies was currently naked and dripping wet.
According to the numbers at the bottom, Merlin read thirty-three pages when Arthur finally walked back in, damp and smelling fresh. What had been on those thirty-three pages, however, Merlin couldn’t quite say.
“Well that certainly took forever,” Merlin muttered as Arthur plopped down next to him.
Arthur grabbed the remote and clicked the telly on. “Yeah. Had a wank.”
Merlin nearly ripped a page in the middle of turning it. “Wh-What? In my shower?” he asked, staring at Arthur incredulously.
“There was this bloke doing squats at the gym. You should have seen him, Merlin, I swear—”
“Um, hello. My shower?”
“Oh. Yeah, well. It’s not like you haven’t done it at mine,” Arthur said, shrugging.
Merlin felt his face heat and nearly died from embarrassment. “You—how—”
“You weren’t exactly very quiet about it.”
“What you were doing, standing outside the door?” Merlin knew for a fact he hadn’t been too loud.
Arthur’s face turned deep red and he finally tore his gaze away from the screen to look at Merlin. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. Like I said, you weren’t quiet about it. So either way, you’re in no position to give me shit about getting off this once.”
Merlin grumbled, but it was mainly for show. Truthfully, he was willing his cock to stay down as he tried and failed not to imagine Arthur fisting his prick in his shower.
Arthur dropped it and returned to watching whatever he’d put on the television. Merlin saw images and colours and heard sounds but wasn’t really paying attention. He was too busy trying to surreptitiously inhale the scented air that clung to Arthur’s freshly washed skin. The thought of Arthur going around smelling like him was a pleasant one.
“Seriously, though,” Arthur said a little while later. “About the party. Do you want to go with me?”
Merlin furrowed his brow. “We always go together.”
Arthur sucked in his lower lip a bit and frowned slightly. “Yeah, but this time I’m asking you.”
Merlin was confused. If it was understood that they’d show up together, why did Arthur feel the need to ask?
“Um, why? Are you giving me the option to refuse now or—”
“Ugh, just forget it,” Arthur sighed and turned away.
“No, tell me. I want to understand.”
“Forget it, Merlin. We’ll just go like we usually do, okay?”
Merlin didn’t want to forget it. He didn’t want Arthur to be angry at him and not know what he’d done to deserve it.
“It’s not like I’m saying no,” Merlin told him. “Of course I want to go with you. I always want to go with you, don’t I?” It was so dangerously close to the truth, Merlin was worried he might have said too much.
Arthur didn’t stop frowning but his pout became less pronounced. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just wanted this year to be different, I guess. Whatever.”
Merlin wanted to push a bit more—he hated when Arthur’s face got that pinched look of frustration that he could do nothing about—but he decided it’d be best to back off. That’s part of what made them such great friends, anyways. Arthur knew when to leave things alone, and Merlin knew when to let things lie.
So even though it pained him, that’s exactly what Merlin did.
♪ ♫
“Wow, this is even better than last year,” Merlin remarked when they walked into Gwen and Lance’s garden a couple weekends later.
Arthur quickly agreed. “Yeah. I just hope nothing catches on fire.”
Merlin stiffened as he regarded the fairy lights strung up in the trees with a different perspective. “You don’t think—”
“Nah,” Arthur said. He ruffled Merlin’s hair and laughed. “Don’t worry, I’d pull you out of the flames if anything really did happen.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
When Arthur didn’t come back with a witty reply as usual, Merlin glanced over at him. He was just in time to see Arthur’s head turning, gaze fixed on a young man in skinny jeans and a check flannel shirt walking past with a clear cup of amber liquid in his hand. Arthur’s eyes quickly travelled up and down the man’s body, and with a mumbled farewell, he left Merlin to follow him into the crowd. Merlin’s heart sank and he tried not to let Arthur’s departure affect his outward appearance too much.
It was to be the same as every year, then.
At least the lights are pretty, Merlin thought in a half-hearted attempt to cheer himself up. It wasn’t just the trees that were lit, but the whole garden. A blanket of small, twinkling lights seemed to cover the area, creating a lower, more intimate night sky than the one above.
And since it was the first day of spring—the first real day, when the weather was a decent temperature—the flowers on the trees were in bloom and the breeze made everything sway gently. The air was sweet-smelling, and Merlin felt he could get high off the scent alone.
Then he caught sight of Arthur across the crowd of people. Arthur had already started to engage in conversation with the flannel-clad bloke and was laughing at something he probably didn’t even find funny. When the wind blew, and blossoms from overhead fell like drifting snow into Arthur’s blond hair, Merlin felt a sharp pang in his chest. He turned away and went straight for where people had started to take shots.
Merlin didn’t get too pissed, just enough to take some of the edge off of seeing Arthur flirt with everything that had a Y chromosome. It wasn’t like it was anything new; Arthur was a known flirt, the type of person that gave gays a reputation for being interested in nothing but sex with other men. Merlin knew Arthur wasn’t really like that, that Arthur hid a softness under his tough exterior, but Arthur could be real pillock most of the time.
Fuck it, Merlin thought, slamming his empty cup down. He’d had enough of wallowing in self-pity and drink. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t just as attractive, albeit in his own unconventional way. He knew how to turn on the charm when it suited him. He’d get up and dance, he’d have a grand old time, and he wouldn’t let that prat of a best friend ruin the party for him like always.
Merlin got to his feet, his shaky legs threatening to send him falling. He spied Arthur across the garden, already moved on to some other bloke, this one with brown hair cut short and bulging muscles. Merlin would have sworn the man was straight, but leave it to Arthur to bend someone’s sexuality, even if it was only for a night.
Merlin shook his head. No more thoughts of Arthur. He pushed his way into the crowd of dancing people and let himself slip into the rhythm of the music, feeling pulsing bass vibrate through his body. Soon enough, Merlin’s plastered mind was melded into the mesh of groupthink. All thoughts of Arthur were shoved in a drawer and locked away, at least for the moment.
After three songs—or maybe it was four, Merlin wasn’t really paying attention—a hand settled on his hip and lips brushed against his ear.
“Dance with me,” a stranger’s voice said.
Merlin didn’t turn to face the voice. It was better that way, really. He reached behind him, pulling the man closer and aligning their bodies. As veiny hands with thick fingers slid into the pockets of Merlin’s jeans, and an obviously muscled chest pressed against his back, Merlin gave into his body’s desires and began to dance.
It was so nice, almost like being held and taken care of. Merlin closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky, the fairy lights above shining even through his eyelids. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet spring air, and lost himself to the moment.
He snapped his eyes open when he felt someone’s body heat in front of him. It was that bloke that Arthur had followed before, the one with the flannel shirt. His shirt was unbuttoned now, framing his skinny chest and putting his sweating torso on display. Merlin had to admit, he did look quite delectable.
Flannel Boy didn’t even look Merlin in the eyes. He was clearly sure of his welcome, because with only a smile—that was more of a predatory grin, really—he stepped closer to Merlin and started to dance with him as well. Merlin found himself in a sandwich of heat. His alcohol-fuzzy brain was a bit slow to catch on, but then, then, he was in heaven.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” Flannel Boy shouted in Merlin’s ear over the music.
Merlin giggled. He didn’t know what to say really. He supposed a thank you would have done, but he couldn’t exactly think properly. The man behind him removed his hands from Merlin’s pockets and one of them ran up the side of Merlin’s body until it was at his neck. Strong fingers curled in Merlin’s hair and yanked his head back, baring his throat.
Merlin gasped, his heart stuttering with fear—he still hadn’t seen what the man behind him looked like—but no sooner had he slid into panic did the man in front of him attach his lips to Merlin’s neck and sucked a kiss there. Merlin had always had a sensitive neck. He couldn’t help but moan, and pleasure replaced his fear. It was Gwen and Lance’s party after all; it wasn’t like anyone dodgy had been invited.
“Beautiful,” the man behind Merlin said into his ear. A smile crept slowly across Merlin’s face at the compliment. If he couldn’t have Arthur...well, at least someone was admiring him.
Oh fuck, Arthur. Allowing one thought to sneak in had opened the floodgates, and Merlin found himself searching the crowd for his friend. He didn’t have to look hard. Arthur wasn’t far away, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed over his chest and glaring in Merlin’s direction. He looked about ready to murder someone, and his face was red with anger. As soon as he and Merlin made eye contact, Arthur looked away and stormed off. Merlin soon lost him in the crowd again.
Merlin abruptly stopped dancing and tried to wriggle his way out of the two bodies on either side of him. “Sorry, I have to...” But Merlin didn’t exactly know what he had to do. He just couldn’t get that look of fury on Arthur’s face out of his mind.
The bloke behind Merlin chuckled, his hands leaving Merlin’s body. “I get it. Our turn is over. Go on.” Before Merlin knew it, both men had disappeared, sending him off with a slap on his arse.
Finding Arthur again wasn’t too difficult. Gwen and Lance only had so much garden space in which to hold a party, and the gathering wasn’t more than two or three hundred people. Merlin only searched about ten minutes before seeing Arthur dancing with another guy in the shade under one of the trees. Arthur quickly caught Merlin’s gaze and held it steadily.
Merlin couldn’t help but feel like he was being challenged. He didn’t know what game Arthur was playing. They’d gone out clubbing before and Arthur had placed bets on how many men he could get to dance with him, but this time felt different, less good-natured. Arthur had never looked at Merlin so intently, as if silently saying, “Go ahead, try me.”
Growling in frustration, Merlin pulled the closest person to him. The person turned out to be one of his friends, Freya.
“Oh! Merlin, you scared me,” she said, giggling. Her eyes were glassy and her cheeks tinged with pink.
Merlin’s eyes widened in shock, then he smiled, anger somewhat dissipated as he was genuinely pleased to see her. “Freya!”
“Hiya.” She kissed Merlin’s cheek. “What’s with you, pulling people aside like you’re on some sort of warpath?”
“Oh, sorry about that,” Merlin replied. He formed his words slowly because his jaw felt heavy from drink. “I was just, er...”
“Trying to make Arthur jealous?” she finished, batting her eyelashes.
Merlin sputtered. “N-No!”
Freya threw her head back and laughed. “You’re doing a brilliant job of ‘not trying’ then. He’s absolutely seething. Not to mention he’s been eyefucking you only the whole night.”
“You’ve talked to him? What did he say?”
Freya shook her head. “No, I haven’t talked to him. But I have seen him watching you, and believe me, he’s not happy.”
Merlin snorted. “He’s not happy?”
Freya grabbed Merlin’s arm and looked him in the eye. “Seriously, Merlin. You need to work out whatever is going on between you two. I’m not the only one who’s worried.”
Merlin’s brow furrowed. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” It’s not like they were having a genuine row; it was just a few glares across a sea of people that probably didn’t amount to anything.
“It means that it’s not just me who’s noticed. Gwen and Lance have—”
“Shit, I forgot to say hi to them! Where are—”
Freya tightened her grip. “Don’t worry about it, Merlin. They’re fine.”
Nevertheless, Merlin craned his neck to look around. He found the host couple dancing not too far off and waved when Gwen caught his eye. She smiled and waved back.
“Merlin, are you listening?”
Merlin snapped back to Freya and blinked. “Huh? Yeah.”
Freya looked very sceptical and had opened her mouth to say as much when suddenly all went quiet.
And he realised with growing horror that a slow song had started playing.
Freya’s reaction was his exact opposite; she smiled and declared, “Now’s your chance!” She nudged him in Arthur’s direction, but he shook his head adamantly and dug his heels in the ground.
“No, no, no, no, no.”
“Merlin, why must you insist on being so stubborn? It's obvious you like him.” She looked like she was about to say something else, when Percival appeared out of nowhere to take her arm.
“Hello, Merlin,” Percival said with an easy smile as he wrapped an arm around Freya. “Why aren’t you dancing with Arthur?”
Merlin gaped. “You too? Does everyone know I like him?”
Percival had the decency to look sheepish but then Merlin caught sight of Gwen and Lance again, and they were looking at him a bit expectedly as well. And why did it look like they were holding back smiles?
Merlin spun around, convinced it was something behind him and not his current situation they were finding humourous. But when he turned, all he saw was Arthur, standing alone with his hands in his pockets under the same tree, looking around with the same awkwardness Merlin felt.
And those were two words that Merlin had never thought he’d put in a sentence together: Arthur and awkward. But there he was, biting his lip and staring down at the ground where he twisted his foot into the dirt.
Merlin turned again, but Freya and Percival had started dancing and Gwen and Lance had as well, and all four of them kept shooting him these side glances that he knew meant “What the fuck are you doing, dance with him already!”
It just wasn’t that easy, though. This was Arthur—flirtatious, loud-mouthed, Arthur—and Merlin couldn’t just walk up to him and ask to slow dance.
Merlin dared to turn back around, just to see if Arthur had found anyone yet. His heart leapt to his throat when he saw Arthur staring back at him.
For a moment, it was just that—staring. Then Arthur rolled his eyes, cracked a smile, and made an exaggerated gentleman-like bow, obviously inviting Merlin to make the next move.
Merlin didn’t want to let himself hope too much. Maybe Arthur meant to dance with him as some sort of joke. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, ignoring the rapid pounding of his heart, and crossed the nearly ten metres that separated them. The singer’s smooth voice had just started to sing when Merlin hesitantly held out his hand.
Arthur grabbed hold and pulled him close with a triumphant grin. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist and Merlin awkwardly placed his arms around Arthur’s neck, even though Merlin was the taller of them and he was pretty sure it was supposed to go the other way.
“Hello, Merlin,” Arthur greeted him as they started to move to the music.
“Arthur.”
It was so unbearably weird, at least at first, because they were best mates (no matter how badly Merlin wanted it to be something more) and they just did not do things like this. The way the singer’s calming voice made Merlin feel, safe in Arthur’s warm arms holding him close, and the way the guitar seemed to strum in time with Merlin’s heart...A feeling of deep contentment like Merlin was experiencing was more suited for lovers. It was nice feeling it with Arthur, because Merlin wanted to feel it, but it seemed an illusion. Merlin wanted this to last forever, so he could keep deluding himself that it meant something.
And then Merlin stepped on Arthur’s foot.
“Horribly uncoordinated as usual,” Arthur said, his voice a bit hoarse. Merlin’s heart skipped when Arthur’s thumb rubbed circles into the side of his hip, but he pressed on despite it.
“I’m perfectly coordinated, I’m just a bit pissed is all,” he said defiantly. Another breeze made more flower petals fall and Merlin’s breath hitched as they landed in Arthur’s hair again. Why did Arthur have to be so beautiful and annoying at the same time?
“And anyways,” he continued, “if I’m so bad at dancing, you can go right ahead and find someone else. Maybe one of those blokes you were so close with earlier.”
Arthur didn’t get upset, or even say anything snappy back at him, like Merlin expected. His brow furrowed and his mouth tilted just the slightest bit downward, and his eyes seemed to be searching Merlin’s for something. He looked as though he was fighting with himself for what he would say.
“I don’t want to dance with any of them like this,” Arthur said at last. “Just...just you.”
Merlin thought for sure he had misheard, but then one of Arthur’s hands came up and caressed Merlin’s cheek, softly, tentatively, as if unsure of its welcome. Merlin closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned into the touch, and Arthur’s hand became much more confident where it held his face. Merlin realised that maybe—possibly—Arthur liked him too, and the possibility made his heart soar.
"So...Do you...?" Merlin didn't want to come right out and ask, just in case this wasn't what he thought it was, but Arthur certainly wasn't making it easy. "Is this...romantic?"
Arthur's eyes raised to the fairy lights above them, the tree bristling in the wind, and the other couples dancing slowly around them, before he let his gaze fall back to Merlin. "Just a bit, I should think."
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he asked. He still couldn’t believe it was Arthur dancing with him, as perfect as though he’d come right out of Merlin’s own dreams.
“I tried. When I asked you if you wanted to come here with me.”
Merlin let out an exasperated huff. “That’s what you call saying something?”
“I was trying to be tactful, Merlin. Something you know nothing about,” Arthur explained, letting his hand slip from Merlin’s face. “And we’re best mates, yeah? I didn’t want to risk ruining that if you didn’t feel the same.”
Merlin gave a short laugh. So they had been thinking the same thing. “God, we’ve both been so stupid.”
“You more than me, obviously.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. Of course even when they were confessing their bloody feelings Arthur would be an arse. Arthur’s hands tightened on Merlin’s waist though, and he was pulled closer, nearly flush against Arthur’s chest, so he didn’t stay irritated for long. He brought his head forward and buried his nose in Arthur’s neck, inhaling the unique smell of him now because he could.
They stayed like that, moving slowly to music in each other’s arms for almost a full minute before Merlin dared to speak.
“Can I...Can I kiss you?”
Arthur’s body seemed to relax with unburdened weight as he exhaled. “For God’s sake, we’ve known each other for years, Merlin, don’t make it awkward now.”
Merlin smiled and raised his head just a little, brushing his lips across Arthur’s jaw on his way to Arthur’s mouth. He was nearly there when Arthur suddenly turned and made their noses bump together.
Arthur snorted in amusement. “Can’t you do anything right, Merlin?”
“Me? You’re the one that got excited and couldn’t wait for me to—”
Arthur surged forward, cutting Merlin off with a press of lips to his own. Merlin’s head spun and he may or may not have whimpered, and then suddenly it was over.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages,” Arthur whispered.
Merlin would hardly call that a kiss. That was just lips touching. He curled his fingers in the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck, and as the music softened for the singer to say “Come on, dance with me,” Merlin pulled Arthur in for a proper kiss.
He used his height to his advantage, making Arthur tilt his head back and open his mouth enough for Merlin to flick the seam of his lips with tongue. Arthur, not to be outdone, of course, responded by shoving his own pierced tongue deep into Merlin’s mouth, making Merlin so dizzy with pleasure he had to grab Arthur tighter. The metal of the tongue stud teased the roof his mouth, the inside of his cheek, and his own tongue when they slid alongside each other in a tangled mess. Merlin resorted to gripping Arthur’s shoulders, holding on for dear life, and the increased pressure around his waist told him Arthur was doing the same.
The pace wasn’t perfect, of course, because it was so new, but it was the best kiss Merlin had ever had. It was even better when he pulled back and pursed his lips to suck Arthur’s tongue, bringing forth a low moan from deep in Arthur’s throat.
Arthur got revenge by slipping his hand under Merlin’s shirt and sliding up Merlin’s back, his cold fingertips leaving a tingling trail of sensation where they passed over Merlin’s skin. Merlin pushed his hips forward, bringing their groins together where he’d started to harden in his jeans.
“Merlin,” Arthur gasped, pulling away.
Merlin blinked his eyes open and was surprised to find the song over, people around them dancing as they had before. He was still a little dazed, and had honestly forgotten where they were. When he looked back to Arthur, he saw Arthur’s face was flushed, his lips red, and his eyes not moving from Merlin’s mouth.
“Yeah?”
Arthur raised his gaze to Merlin’s eyes and licked his lips before cracking a playful smile. “Want to know what it feels like when I suck your cock?”
Merlin felt a powerful surge of heat rush downward, and only barely stifled a moan at the thought of it. He broke out of Arthur’s hold to grab Arthur’s hand and started pulling him in the direction of the house, Arthur laughing behind him.
Merlin pushed through the mass of people, apologising as he went, until they finally made it up the stairs and into an empty bedroom. As soon as they entered, Arthur shut and locked the door behind him. Merlin grabbed him by the shirt and reeled him in to resume kissing.
Arthur skipped right to his dirty tricks, driving Merlin wild with his tongue and the stupid stud pierced through it. He went back to what he’d been doing outside, running his hands up Merlin’s shirt and pulling him close. Merlin mirrored the action, mostly because he’d wanted to touch Arthur this way for years, and was finally able to. They’d wrestled playfully before, so Merlin was somewhat familiar with the warmth of Arthur’s skin and the firmness of his muscles, and he knew Arthur could keep him pinned down if he really wanted, but Merlin had never let his hands linger or slowly caress the way he was now.
He had to have more, and it seemed Arthur’s mind was the same place as his. Merlin pushed up Arthur’s shirt and Arthur raised his arms so he could pull it off, before doing the same for Merlin. They’d seen each other topless loads of times—they’d even seen each other in just their pants before—but not like this.
Arthur touched Merlin first, bringing his hand up to Merlin’s shoulder and dragging it down his chest all the way to his stomach. Merlin’s stomach fluttered at the light caress and the tickling of his chest hair, adding to the heat in his groin and the tension in his thighs. He raised his own hand and did the same to Arthur, letting his fingertips brush slowly over a nipple.
“I’m not—not sensitive there,” Arthur said hoarsely.
Merlin glanced up at Arthur’s face and smiled a little. “Me neither,” he said. “Just checking.”
Merlin took a deep breath then brought his hands to Arthur’s belt. Arthur made a slight humming sound in approval and jerked his hips forward, urging Merlin on. Merlin pushed Arthur’s jeans down as soon as he got them unzipped, and exposed Arthur’s deep red briefs, his cock clearly defined beneath the thin fabric. Without a second thought, Merlin rubbed the palm of his hand against it, both he and Arthur moaning at the touch.
“Definitely sensitive there,” Arthur panted. He stepped out of his jeans pooled around his ankles and set to work on ridding Merlin of his.
Merlin could hardly believe it—Arthur’s hands on him, undressing him. He couldn’t help but laugh a little giddily.
“What’s so funny?” Arthur paused to ask, brow furrowed.
Merlin shook his head. “Not you, sorry, it’s just...This is a bit weird, yeah? After so long being mates. It feels like that for you too, right?”
Arthur gave him a crooked smile. “Yeah. Can’t believe I’m about to fuck my best friend.” His smile quickly disappeared. “Not that I don’t—I mean I have no problem with you topping if that’s—”
“It’s fine,” Merlin said. He shoved his jeans down and pushed Arthur backwards onto the bed, crawling on top to straddle him. “I want it.”
He discouraged further conversation by kissing Arthur silent and rolling his hips forward. Arthur nipped Merlin’s bottom lip and moaned as the friction between their cocks increased, then finally just grabbed Merlin’s arse and switched the positions. Merlin grunted at the feel of heavy weight now pressing down on him, and hooked his legs around Arthur’s thighs as their bodies rocked together.
“Come on, get these off,” Arthur said, tugging at Merlin’s black and grey striped pants.
Merlin let his legs fall and Arthur shuffled back on his knees enough that they could both remove their final piece of clothing. As soon as Merlin saw Arthur’s cock spring free, his tipsy mind thought Gotta have that, and lunged forward, sucking a kiss to the shaft.
Arthur cried out and pushed Merlin away. “Merlin, the plan was to fuck you, remember?”
Merlin swallowed the taste of Arthur on his tongue and nodded. He met Arthur’s eyes and saw they were slightly amused, but mostly desperate.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Good.” Arthur smiled in that predatory way he usually did right before he pounced and tackled Merlin to the ground. He leaned over the side of the bed, searched through their pile of clothes, and came back with a packet of lube. “I, however, am going to be very selfish and have a lot of fun sucking that cock of yours.”
Merlin’s cock gave a very visible twitch as his arousal flared, but he ignored it and said, “Have I ever told you how much of a prat you are?”
Arthur laughed as he tore open the lube. “Only every day since we met.”
He trailed a hand up Merlin’s leg in a manner that was much more soft than his teasing tone before squeezing lube onto his palm and settling on his stomach between Merlin’s thighs. Merlin forgot about everything else for the moment and grabbed his balls to hold them up, baring himself to Arthur.
Arthur stretched Merlin open much the same way he did everything else, as though it were a competition and he was determined to be the best. He drew Merlin’s attention away from the initial discomfort by placing wet kisses across Merlin’s stomach and giving each of Merlin’s balls a little suck. Merlin’s vision blurred with pleasure, and he couldn’t decide which he’d rather endure: a hasty preparation before being fucked hard or this slow, nerve-numbing attention. He certainly knew which he’d expected Arthur to go with.
And then, when Arthur had two slippery fingers twisting inside and Merlin thought for sure he couldn’t take any more, Arthur’s free hand grabbed the base of Merlin’s cock and he took Merlin in his mouth as far as he could in one delicious slide.
“Ah, bloody fucking hell, Arthur!” he screamed. One of his legs jerked outward while the other hitched inward, and the heel of his foot dug into Arthur’s ribs. To top it off, there was the small but very very present sensation of Arthur’s tongue ring grazing the underside of his cock as Arthur slid up and down.
Merlin’s hands tore at his own hair and he could have cried with how hard to struggled not to come. He felt all electrified and molten inside, ready to explode, and thrashed as he fucked himself on Arthur’s fingers, only to thrust his cock upward into Arthur’s mouth.
It was the addition of Arthur’s third digit that made Merlin gasp and come down from his high, the burning sensation effectively piercing through the pleasure. Merlin inwardly cursed Arthur for knowing exactly how to bring him to the edge and back, as if being in tune with someone’s body was his favourite fucking pastime. To make it worse, Arthur pulled off Merlin’s cock with a loud pop, kissing the glistening side with red, swollen lips.
“God, I never thought you’d be this hot if I ever got you in bed,” Arthur said in a breathy voice. “Although I should have at least expected your complete lack of self-restraint.”
Merlin brought his fists to his eyes and whined in exaggerated agony. “Oh God, just fuck me already, you prat.”
Arthur—because he’s Arthur—simply laughed and pulled his fingers apart, making Merlin moan. “You’re kind of beautiful like this, you know,” he said.
Merlin pulled his hands away from his face and looked down his body where Arthur lay between his legs. “What?”
“I said you’re—”
“No, shut up.” Merlin could feel his face blushing. “We don’t—You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?” Arthur got onto his knees, never letting his fingers leave Merlin, and positioned himself until he was eye to eye with Merlin. Merlin looked away and tried to cover his face with his arm, but Arthur stopped him, even stroked Merlin’s cheek, suddenly serious. “I’ve always thought so. And now that we’re doing this, I wanted to tell you.”
Merlin couldn’t handle the intensity of Arthur’s gaze, especially not as such close proximity. And why did Arthur have to stop right in the middle of preparing to fuck him to say this? Merlin swallowed and looked sideways.
“Yeah, well. Maybe I’ve wanted to tell you something similar, but knowing you, I’d never get away with it because you’d just deny it and declare you’re handsome or fit or...something else really manly,” Merlin muttered.
“No I wouldn’t,” Arthur disagreed. “Because unlike some people, I know how to take a compliment.”
Merlin hesitantly let his eyes slide back to Arthur’s face where he looked down at him. He really did want to get to the fucking bit, and Arthur’s fingers holding his place in Merlin’s arse like a bookmark was a constant reminder of the urgent matter, but he also wanted to say this, too. He held his breath and dared to raise a hand to run his fingers through Arthur’s hair, the palm of his hand cupping Arthur’s cheek.
“You’re beautiful,” Merlin said quietly.
Arthur’s eyes sparkled with delight, and he placed a series of swift kisses to the side of Merlin’s face before finally reaching Merlin’s lips. At the same time Merlin was going to push him away to remind him of the very urgent matter, Arthur slid his fingers out and pulled back to rummage through their clothes again.
“Wait!” Merlin sat up, grabbing hold of Arthur’s forearm.
“What?”
“Let’s not—I mean, we’re not—”
“Merlin, what is it?” Arthur asked, clearly wishing Merlin would stop stuttering and get to the point.
“It’s not like we’re strangers,” Merlin said quickly. “We’ve known each other for ages. I know you’re safe and you know I’m safe, so...” Merlin shrugged the rest of the sentence. “In my dreams, anyways, you—”
Merlin cut himself off, not having meant to go quite that far. It didn’t escape Arthur however, whose eyebrows shot up before coming back down and arranging his face into a smirk.
“What do I do in your dreams, Merlin?” Arthur asked, pushing Merlin back down to the bed while giving his most wicked smile. “Do you let me come inside you, Merlin?”
Merlin was not going to succumb to Arthur’s intimidation tactics though, not when they were so close to finally getting on with it. He thinned his lips into a straight line and tilted his chin defiantly.
“Why don’t you stop being a prat for two seconds and get your cock at least near my arse, condom or no condom, see if I bloody well care.”
Arthur’s smile turned more pleased than devious and he hooked a hand under Merlin’s knee, hitching Merlin’s left leg up while slicking his cock using the remaining lube in his palm. Merlin’s heart pumped furiously as he realised it was really going to happen, here and now, after years of waiting. Arthur was going to fuck him.
He bit his lip as Arthur’s cock nudged his stretched entrance, and squeezed his eyes shut when it slid the first few centimetres inward. At what felt like the midway point, Arthur’s right hand came up and lifted Merlin’s other leg, as he pushed the remaining distance using just his hips. Just when Merlin felt he was going to burst from being so full, he felt Arthur’s balls come to rest against his arse and he let out a long exhale.
His eyes flew open when he felt Arthur’s forehead touch his. It was all so perfect, Arthur inside him, stretching him wide, and Arthur’s breath ghosting across his face as Arthur hovered above him.
“Finally,” Merlin whispered the same moment Arthur did.
They only shared a short laugh though, and soon Arthur was pushing into Merlin with smooth, languid rolls of his hips, fucking Merlin gently as his arse got used to taking it. He kept his arms under Merlin’s legs, raising Merlin’s arse off the bed, and Merlin kept his own arms out to the side, propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch as his best friend fucked him.
He let his head fall back and his eyes slide closed when Arthur picked up speed. Even then, when Arthur was biting his lip and driving into Merlin with forceful determination, Merlin couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Arthur, the same person he sat and drank beer with, traded insults with, played games on Sunday afternoons with, was here, in this bed, pumping his beautiful fucking cock into Merlin's arse. He’d wanted this for what felt like a million years, but he’d never thought he’d even get a glimpse of Arthur’s cock, let alone actually get to shag him. And even in his most vivid dreams, it had never felt so good. Merlin heard himself mumbling encouragements but was still too drunk to be embarrassed.
Arthur’s arms dropped Merlin’s legs, but his arse stayed off the bed by way of Arthur’s thighs beneath him. Arthur himself leaned forward, and suddenly Merlin felt his neck being sucked at, not to mention the wonderful friction of his cock between Arthur’s stomach. His arms shook with the effort it took to keep himself propped up and he moaned at the feeling of Arthur’s tongue stud tracing a pattern over his Adam’s apple. Damn his stupid, sensitive neck.
“Mine,” Arthur mumbled into Merlin’s throat before giving a particularly hard thrust that left Merlin dizzy. “Can’t believe they marked you. My Merlin,” he added with a growl.
Merlin had no idea what Arthur was talking about; he could only think yeah, harder, and oh, a bit more of that please, especially when Arthur hit just the right angle. But then the memory flashed through his mind, his dancing with the two men down at the party—And was that party still going on? Because it honestly seemed like ages ago—and how one of them had sucked his neck much the same way Arthur was currently doing. He remembered Arthur’s murderous glare, and that definitely made a bit more sense now.
Then Arthur’s arm slid around Merlin’s torso and before Merlin knew what was happening, he was being held in the tightest embrace of his life, while Arthur thrust into him with desperate force, each of his thrusts accentuated with breathy "uh, uh, uh"s. Merlin’s arms finally gave out and he collapsed, Arthur’s forearm keeping him from laying flat on the mattress. He felt Arthur’s need to finish seep into his own bones, and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, slipping his fingers into Arthur’s hair to anchor himself as Arthur fucked his body so hard it shook.
Merlin had never been very vocal, not when it came to sex, and it was only when he was pissed that he would mutter fuck yeah's and other such nonsense under his breath. He could whine and moan and grunt like there was no tomorrow, but rarely did he actually form words. Sex with Arthur, however, was like an out of body experience, and it felt as though they were two separated pieces melting back into one, especially when they were both sweating and Arthur held him so tight.
So when it all became too much, when the relentless pounding of his arse and the spine-numbing attention to his cock made it impossible for him to last a second longer, Merlin couldn’t help but cry out as he came.
“Arthur, Arthur, oh God yeah, Arthur!”
“Merlin...”
Merlin gasped for breath as the last of his orgasm shot out, but it wasn’t easy with Arthur restricting the rise of his chest. His vision reeled and he felt light-headed, pulled under a wave of pleasure that left his body flooded with warmth. Then Arthur grunted and gave four more hard jerks of his hips before abruptly halting and digging his fingernails into Merlin’s ribs. Merlin felt Arthur pulse inside him, filling him more with each throb of his cock, and he took a large gulp of air when Arthur finally loosened his hold.
Arthur pulled out slowly, and when he rolled over onto his back, his come flowed out of Merlin’s arse with him. Merlin’s heart—which had only just started to regain its normal rhythm—gave a quick stutter and he squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation. He closed his legs, feeling shamefully dirty, but kind of liking it.
“Oh, fuck,” he exhaled. Then he felt Arthur’s weight leave the bed, and though his eyes protested, feeling heavy from fatigue, he snapped them open. “Where are you going?”
Arthur chuckled as he stepped into his pants. His skin was flushed and shiny with sweat, making him look like he'd just run a marathon, and his hair had ‘sex’ written all over it. Merlin sort of wanted to take a photo.
“Don’t worry, I’m just going to get a flannel for you and to tell Gwance we’ve taken over their guest bedroom,” he said. “You know there’s no way you’re going home tonight. Alcohol always makes you tired and now there’s been brilliant sex to top it off,” he added with a grin.
Merlin did feel rather drowsy, now that he’d worked up a sweat and come down from the worst of his intoxication. Arthur bringing it up only made him more so, and he yawned. But what would Gwen and Lance think? From what Freya and Percival said, it seemed like they at least suspected their mutual feelings for each other, and Merlin had probably made quite a scene shoving people out of the way to get indoors.
“I don’t think they’ll be very surprised, to be honest,” Arthur said, as if reading Merlin’s thoughts.
Arthur didn’t bother putting a top on, or his belt. After he slid his feet into his shoes, he took three long strides over to where Merlin lay on the bed watching him.
“Sleep, Merlin,” he said gently, stroking the side of Merlin’s face. “I’ll clean you up when I get back and we’ll talk about where things go from here in the morning.”
Arthur’s voice was low and soothing, and Merlin felt his eyelids drooping despite his desire to keep them open. But more importantly, when did Arthur gain the ability to do anything even remotely gentle? He was always, always playful and rough.
“Who even are you?” Merlin asked, half in jest. He turned his head and rubbed his nose in the palm of Arthur’s hand, testing how far he could go.
“Just go to sleep, Merlin,” he replied, laughing. “I’ll be right back.”
Merlin frowned at the sudden retreat of Arthur’s hand, but let him go. He slid up to the pillows and got under the duvet before finally allowing his eyes to close. He meant to stay awake until Arthur returned, because he wasn’t a bloody infant that couldn’t wipe a bit of mess off his chest and arse, but by the time he heard the squeak of the door and felt Arthur’s weight on the bed, it was just easier to let Arthur move him as he saw fit, wiping him down with a damp flannel. He was so tired and boneless from the eventful night that he hardly noticed at all.
He noticed instantly, however, when Arthur pulled him close and aligned their bodies, preparing to sleep himself. Arthur was incredibly warm—apart from his toes, which were like ice—and even though Merlin was just a little taller, they seemed to fit perfectly. It probably had something to do with the way Arthur buried his face between Merlin’s shoulder blades, or how their legs intertwined and Arthur’s hand pressed right against Merlin’s heart.
Merlin contemplated rolling over and sleeping face to face; that way he could open his eyes and be immediately greeted with Arthur’s in the morning. But it seemed like too much effort, and he was already asleep anyways—or very nearly—and everything was just so perfect how it was now...
Merlin sighed and slid his hand up to join Arthur’s, curling his fingers in the empty spaces between that seemed to be made for just such a purpose. He felt a kiss pressed to his naked shoulder and then finally let himself drift to sleep. |
Lexa
Lexa's entire body was trembling. From the pulsing adrenaline she felt, the pull to do something, anything and the sheer terror that she may have ultimately killed her own mate. After the alpha had replaced the hallucinating Omega back into their bed, she'd hazardly thrown clothing on and run for Abby. She didn't know what else to do, Clarke was muttering to herself about soot balls and giggling in a high pitched tone. To Lexa it was like something out of a horror movie. Now she stood at the end of her bed, watching as mother examined her passed out daughter.
She shifted from foot to foot, anxious for any news. Anything, good or bad. Thought Lexa would have rather heard the first. Get body felt uncomfortable, along with the surge of adrenaline running through her, her skin itched, her muscles ached, and the prolonged appearance of her cock was uncomfortable. She wasn't used to having to accommodate to the flaccid penis in her underwear. Sure, Lexa had been wearing male boxers since she could remember, they were far superior in the comfort department, but her Alpha cock was usually done and gone within two hours tops of an orgasm. It was her second day of having the extra appendage just, well, just there.
“hers breathing steady, pulse is a bit erratic, and the bonding mark had healed over. So what ever amount of Wolf's Bane you managed to get into her system, is there,' Abby sighed, stroking Clarke sweat damp hair once before standing to face Lexa, “I swear now, as an oath to you Alpha, if she dies, your going to have me to deal with,”
The threat didn't unnerve Lexa, but the calm tone that it was spoke in did. Abby stood tall and proud, het eyes narrowed and her chest puffed, asserting what little dominance she had as Clarke's mother. Lexa nodded sharply,
“ Abby, Doctor Griffin, I, Erm, how much has Luna been able to find out about the Wolf's Bane and how it effects wolves?” Lexa felt het cheeks beat as she clasped her hands over her crotch area. The bulge wasn't unnoticeable, as well as the damn penis staying in place, Lexa was pretty sure she'd thickened and lengthen in size. Abby eyed her for a moment, her bright eyes scanning Lexa's body. Taking in the still wolf yellow iris's, the slightest hint if fanged canines and the badly hidden bulge in her pants,
“Not a lot, she's scanning the books in the study for any hint of information,” Abby's tone was back to doctor mode, Lexa nodded, her eyes flicking to Clarke,
“I'm sorry,” The alpha muttered, her eyes down cast as she did. Abby let out a low sigh and moved forward, tugging the young female alpha into warm hug. For a moment, Lexa wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't used to this type of hug from a motherly figure, since her own had lied to her all of her life about who she was,
“I'm sure Clarke will be fine. She's a stubborn ass,” Abby reassured as she let Lexa go from the award hug. Lexa nodded slightly, and Abby patted her firmly on the shoulder before taking her leave. Lexa then looked to her sleeping mate, who was completely gone. The Alpha had always thought Clarke was adorable when she slept, peaceful and angelic with her blonde hair like a halo. But now, she was sickly pale, a thin sheen of sweat across her face, her body still racked with trembles. Lexa crept towards her, kneeling beside the bed as she swept some of the Omegas damp hair away,
“I'll fix this, I promise. I love you Clarke.”
Kane
Kane dived under an over turned car as the hulking white wolf beast roared again, it's pure black eyes rolling in search of its next victim. He'd never seen anything like it before, towering and monstrous, the creature had begun tearing through any wolf that crossed it's path. It didn't matter if they were two or four legged, it just kept stomping around, crushing anything under its jaw.
Kane drew in a ragged breath, thinking fast. He'd lost sight of Bellamy and still couldn't find Indra. He had to find them, they were his kin. The ground shuddered as the beast loomed closer to the over turned vehicle Kane hid behind. It felt like an elephant was coming his way, the ground trembling with each step the beast took. All Kane could think was when he'd seen Abby again. With a hard swallow, Kane threw himself onto his feet, running for the corner of the closest building. As he hit the ground, skidding through the dirt on his belly, screams filled the air once more.
More and more of the Sankru wolves where flocking to this little compound, this hidden place they'd once called sanctuary. Coming from all corners of the valley, the Sankru wolves began to defend their home from a mistake they'd made with joining Nia. Kane scrambled to his feet, he didn't dare look around the corner in fear of the monster wolf seeing him. Instead he peeked through the window next to his head, finding yet another meth lab like set up. He frowned hard, moving away from it. The bearded Beta wolf crept along the buildings edge, keeping as low as he could. He would deny it when asked later on, but as Bellamy appeared around the corner, Kane nearly lost his composure,
“Jesus boy! Dammit, where did you go?” Kane hissed, his brows furrowed,
“To find Indra. What about you?” Bellamy shot back, crouching before the older man,
“The same. What the fuck is that?” Kane nodded his head towards the sounds of loud growing,
“Nia. Its Nia,”
“How the hell?”
“She's injected a mass amount of Wolf's Bane. It looks like the Sankru and what Nia has of The Azgeda have been meaning with it, trying to get it to a point where it's immune to silver and anything else really,” Bellamy explained quickly. He paused as the ground shook again, the sounds of falling bricks hitting the floor, “It's…she's getting closer. Come on, I think I've found something useful,” Bellman darted away then, maneuvering between buildings and piles of rubble. Kane could only follow quickly. They darted behind the monster wolf, Nia, and disappeared behind another still standing building.
Once around the far side, out of the eye shot of the monster wolf, Kane found himself being dragged inside the grey, flat building. They were inside another lab like atmosphere, meatloaf tables, chemistry sets and vials upon vials of dark purple liquid,
“Is that?”
“Yeah, yeah that's the Wolf's Bane. But not the stuff that's in Lexa. She's only got one strain of alpha blood cut with the aconitum plant, but that –“ Bellamy paused to point his hand in the direction of the monster wolf. Lane saw the long white tail flick past the window of their building. The two men ducked down quickly, “That's got like five different sets of Alpha blood cut with the plant in her. More juice to it,”
“How do you even know this?” Kane quizzed quickly, eyeing the window again. Bellamy hefted a low sigh, before turning his head to a corner Lane hadn't noticed before. Crouched down there was a shiny, dirty blonde haired woman, who looked malnourished and scared out of her wits.
“Echo. She's been here since she was let go by Lexa. Nia's been forcing the Wolf's Bane into every Azgeda wolf who came to her, getting them hooked while trying the stronger doses on the stuff on them,”
“shit,” Kane murmured. That was truly twisted, he thought fast, calculating a plan of action. They had to help the Delphi, who were still fighting as wolves against the Sankru, Azgeda and monster wolf. But they still didn't know where Indra was. Plus the Kongedakru needed to know what was happening, “We need to get word back to Kongedakru, we need back up, help. Anything,” Kane whispered. As he did, the room was engulfed into darkness. The three occupants looked up to the windows and found what they dreaded to see. One large, unblinking black eye glared in on them, the stark white fur around it stained with crimson.
“Run!” Bellamy yelled as he grabbed Echo, diving for the door. It was the last thing Kane heard before the walls fell around him. |
Traffic is light tonight, so Terry finds himself pulling up to the park around 11:30. Fucking finally! Fuck, he just wants to pick up Edd from the bathroom and curl up with him in his own bed again. The notion of getting a quick one in before going to sleep is becoming a far off fantasy. No, just snuggling up with his little darling as Christmas comes to a sleepy close sounds so much fucking better.
However, despite how eager he is to get inside, he parks as slowly and as quietly as possible outside the fence and shuts the van off. Practically holding his breath, he grabs the bag of gifts and food and sneaks into the park. Everything's just as quiet and still as it was when he left it this morning, and as he returns to his trailer in his faded footprints, he's relieved to note that the snow is otherwise undisturbed around his door. No surprise visits from Mike today. Not that he's surprised, but he's still grateful.
Silent as can be, he slips inside and stalks through the dark trailer. Though it'd be easier to turn on a damn light, he doesn't want to risk it right now. Besides, his eyes have been adjusted to the darkness for a while now. The lights would only blind him. Case in point, as he enters his bedroom with the bag of gifts and flips on the overhead light, he has to shut his eyes tight for a moment. When he regains his sight, he places the bag on the bed to unload it. First, he puts the clothes on top of the dresser and the blanket near the head of the bed. Once that's done, he brings the food to the kitchen to store the leftovers in the fridge.
At last; the moment I've been waiting for. Withdrawing his keys, he unlocks the bathroom door and slips inside. The lights are off, and after he flips the switch, he finds out why. Edd's snuggled up on the floor, having been sleeping. Now, of course, he's roused by the harsh overhead light and is rubbing at his eyes with adorable little whimpers. As Edd wakes, Terry looks around the bathroom, surprised. Edd had clearly succumbed to boredom in the fifteen or more hours he'd been stuck here alone and had decided to spend that time organizing everything in his tiny space. The food is arranged based on the size of the packaging in a neat, descending order beneath the sink, with the paper bag folded meticulously in front of them. The medicine cabinet has been categorized alphabetically on the three shelves and the mirror wiped towels in the closet have been folded meticulously, providing even more room that Terry didn't realize was there. And with what little tools Edd had at his disposal, he managed to carefully scrub the bathtub and sink so that they shine. Frankly the only mess in the room is around the waste basket, which is overflowing with used tissues and toilet paper. As Edd slowly rouses himself, he releases his loose grip on a yet-to-be-used tissue.
"You've been busy, haven't you, sweetheart?" he asks, stepping away from the door.
He hears Edd gasp softly and jolt up a bit, his eyes wide. After a moment, however, he calms some and sits up more slowly, rubbing his eyes as the sleep catches up with him.
"Oh…" he grumbles, "It's you…"
He begins coughing, covering his mouth with the tissue. When he calms again, he lowers the tissue, groaning as he moves to rub the bridge of his nose to relieve his sinuses.
"You don't sound too happy to see me?"
"Should I be?" Edd scoffs hoarsely, glaring up at him, "Because I was anticipating that you just wouldn't return at all."
"If I never came back, then you'd be stuck here forever," Terry informs him smugly, "Alone. No one would have found you."
Edd averts his gaze, pouting; "Then at least I would have perished with the comforting knowledge that I never would've seen your wretched face again."
Terry grits his teeth, his fingers clenching into a fist for a brief moment. Taking a deep breath, though, he's able to cool himself down and smirk again.
"Such a mean thing to say," he notes, taking another step into the room, "C'mon, now, sweetheart. We still got a few minutes left of Christmas. Don'tcha think we should try to enjoy it?"
Edd groans; "Your idea of 'enjoyment' differs greatly from my own."
"Well, would you 'enjoy' sleeping in a warm bed?"
That makes Edd falter in his response. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, fidgeting with the blanket. Got him on the hook…
"I'm feelin' generous," Terry continues, "So how about I bring you back to the bedroom and you can sleep in my bed. With me."
Edd doesn't answer right away. His fidgeting worsens and he begins whining softly as he bows his head. C'mon, darlin'…It's an easy decision…
"I got lots of leftovers too," he presses, "Perfectly cooked ham, au gratin potatoes, green beans, biscuits —the works."
That earns him an impatient growl from Edd's stomach that he tries his damnedest to stifle. Curling up and holding his gurgling middle. Got him…Terry carefully kneels down beside him. He doesn't get too close — doesn't touch him. He gets just close enough to speak more softly to him.
"And of course, I'm more than happy to share with you," he licks his lips, "In exchange for a little affection."
Shivering, Edd brings his hands up to cover his ears, digging his fingers into his scalp. Cocking his brow, Terry tests the waters by placing his hands over Edd's arms. Still, he doesn't touch him, just hovers his hands over the fabric of the robe clothing him. Edd hunches his shoulders a little, anticipating the physical contact.
"Would that really be so bad?" Terry coos, finally resting his hands on Edd's arms, "C'mon, Princess. Delicious food, a warm bed." He gently pulls Edd's hands away from his ears. "All while you're nestled in the arms of the only person who loves you."
Edd shakes his head, squirming away from him.
"No!" he whimpers, "No!"
Rolling his eyes, Terry lets him scoot away, quivering.
"Y'know, Princess," he grumbles, "you should really be a lot nicer to me. I'm the only thing you've got left in this world."
"No you're not!" Edd retorts, rubbing fiercely at his eyes, "You're lying! I know you are! I know I have family and friends who love me and miss me. You don't care about me at all."
"You sure about that?" Terry asks, sitting back a bit as he reaches into the pocket of his plaid shirt, "You really so sure that they give a damn about you?"
"Of course I am!" Edd snaps back, "Mother and father must be sick with worry. And Ed and Eddy…" His shoulders slump. "They must be devastated…"
Terry can't restrain his wicked grin. Edd's so hopeful, so ready to believe that his family wants him. As sad as he finds it to be, there's some twisted part of him that is delighted at the notion of poisoning that hope as he gazes down at the photographs. He picks out one to start with; the Polaroid of Edd's parents and his old man. That'll be a fun place to start. Does he even know what my dad looks like?
"I think this says otherwise," he comments finally, holding the photo between his index and middle finger.
Edd glances at him and is surprised to find him holding the small square. Of course, he can't see what the image is, drawing him to furrow his brow in confusion.
"What's that?"
There's a bit of a waver in his voice and a look in his eyes that belies the confidence with which he so desperately defended his parents' affections for him. Licking his lips a bit, Terry flicks the photo towards Edd, where it flutters to the rug in front of him.
"See for yourself, sweetheart," he nearly laughs.
He waits impatiently as Edd hesitates a moment, gazing at the Polaroid as if it were going to bite him. After sucking in a sharp breath, he reaches his shaking hand towards it and picks it up. The change in his expression is exquisite. From confused to horrified in the matter of seconds. The Polaroid crinkles a bit in his hands as his fingers clutch at the fragile photograph. Tears well in his eyes as he stares at the faces he's seeing. Those happy looks and carefree smiles. Damn that's gotta sting…
Gritting his teeth, Edd slowly lowers the photo to hold it in his lap, his entire body shaking.
"Where…Where did you…?" he pauses, his eyes flickering over the image again, "M…Mr. Samspon…?" He glances up at Terry again. "How did you get this? Have you been spying on my friends too?!"
Terry scoffs; "Are you really not gettin' it yet, Princess? Is this really not sinkin' in?"
When Edd stutters out non-answers, Terry rolls his eyes and holds up the second picture.
"Maybe this one will clear things up a little more?" he suggests, tossing the photo Edd's way.
Eyes wide, Edd scrambles to catch it, only to miss and let it land on the floor behind him. Recovering it, he scans the photo once, then again. He looks back at Terry in horror. Back to the photo. Finally, he sinks his weight backwards off of his knees. He doesn't say anything at first, just stares silently at the Polaroid quivering in his fingers. Say something already, dammit! Terry resists the urge to move towards him or say anything. He wants Edd to speak first. To an extent, he finds it kinda funny. He can so clearly remember a time when he couldn't get Edd to stop pestering him about home and who he is and all that shit. Now he's just sitting there; wordless and tearful.
After several long, agonizing minutes, Edd finally does speak.
"Eddy…" he mumbles as he slowly turns his head in Terry's direction, "You…You're…That can't be right…"
That's…not quite what he was expecting. Arching his brow, he shoots the boy a questioning look.
"What can't be right?"
Raising his head a bit, Edd glares at him, his chest heaving as he starts to breathe heavily.
"This is a lie!" he insists, stumbling to his feet and turning to him, "You can't be him! You can't! You can't be this fabled person Eddy always told us stories about! You can't be the person he always looked up to and aspired to be! I refuse to believe it!"
Once that hits him, Terry releases a sharp laugh. Edd bristles in defiance, dropping the photos and clenching his fists.
"This isn't funny!" Edd snaps, struggling to fight back his tears, " You're lying! I know it!"
"What about this is so damn hard for you to believe, sweetheart?" Terry asks, leaning against the wall, "The family resemblance ain't enough?"
Edd stutters again, unable to properly articulate his response. He eventually gives up speaking and just stares back at Terry, his brow furrowed as he tries so hard to process everything and as he teeters on the verge of tears.
"It's not true…" he mumbles his fists shaking in rage, "It just can't be true…Eddy never…Eddy never mentioned anything about you being…about his brother being like this."
"Pipsqueak doesn't know me near as well as he lets on, Princess," Terry retorts, picking under his nails with his thumbnail.
"Pipsqueak…" Edd echoes, his shoulders falling.
His fingers unfurl and he stumbles back to sit on the toilet lid. So that worked, but not the pictures…?
"That's the name on the mail he would receive…" Edd continues, his eyes unfocused and staring down at the ground, "It was always addressed to a 'Pipsqueak'…"
He shakes his head, digging his nails into his scalp.
"No!" he cries, "That could mean anything! Anyone could find those letters and use that name for another person!"
"Seriously?" Terry guffaws, "For months, I can't get you to stop bitching about who I am and when I finally fuckin' tell you, you just won't believe me?"
"Because you're a liar!" Edd snaps back, jumping to his feet and taking a step towards him, "All you've ever done is lie to me! Why should I believe you're my best friend's brother — the individual that Eddy idolized above all others?! The person he once used to instill fear and his own twisted view of respect into our neighbors through a warped rumor?!" He's hit with a small coughing fit. "Why—" Cough-cough. "Wh-Why would I believe you're him?!"
Terry observes him carefully, giving him a minute to catch his breath.
"Cuz I am," he finally answers, "My name is Terry Sampson. That little Pipsqueak you're so fond of is my brother and that jackass in the picture with your so-called parents is my douchebag of a dad."
"B-But that…" Edd stutters through his panting, "Th-That doesn't make sense!"
He pauses, his twitching fingers fidgeting with the robe as he mumbles incoherently to himself.
"P-Prove it!" he demands after a moment, "Prove to me that you are who you say you are!"
Terry scoffs; "And how would you like me to do that, Princess? You won't believe the fucking photographic evidence. What more do you need?"
"Um…" Edd pauses, searching the floor for an answer, "Uh…Oh! H-His bedroom! Eddy's brother boarded up his bedroom and—"
"Bullshit!" Terry interjects, "My folks did that after I moved out. I mean, sure, I used a fuck ton of locks and I didn't mind camouflaging and locking the outside of the door, but my folks are the one who kept it boarded up after I left."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Edd looks away indignantly; "That's not what I was going to say, but fine. Either way, that room was boarded up when Eddy broke in to give Ed and I a tour."
"Little fucker…" Terry grumbles, but snickers as a thought occurs to him, "Bet he got more than he bargained for with my safe…"
Edd bristles; "No! But that safe nearly broke my foot!"
"What?!" Terry sits up, clenching his fist, "That little shit let it fall on you?!"
"Well—"
"I'll fucking kill him…" Terry snarls, glaring down at his hands, "Next time I see him, I'm gonna wring his fat little neck!"
"Anyway," Edd speaks through his teeth before taking a breath, "I…Just to be sure…If you are who you claim to be, then you can tell me what you had hanging on your walls."
"Do you mean in general or is there a specific wall you have in mind?" Terry shrugs, calming down again, "I put a lot of shit up in my room."
Edd pouts; "I suppose that's a valid point…It's not unusual for a person to put a great deal of decor on the walls…Okay…Um…Oh!" He snaps his fingers. "Eddy's brother had a taxidermy animal in his bedroom. What was it?"
Taxidermy? "What, you mean the camel?"
That shuts him up for a second. He wants to deny it so damn bad…
"Uh…Th-The map!" he cries after a few moments, "Eddy found a crude 'treasure map'…which…didn't really lead to much of a treasure but…a map nonetheless. Where was that map hidden?"
"Map…" Terry pauses to think for a moment before it occurs to him suddenly, "Oh yeah…I hid it in some cheap ass trophy. So the little fucker finally found it, huh?"
If Edd were capable of cursing, he's sure he would have after that.
"Wh-Where did the map lead?!" he asks, ignoring Terry's question.
"Well, if I remember right, he woulda ended up somewhere in the trailer park," Terry answers, stroking his goatee, "Didn't bury anything there, just an empty hole."
Again, Edd looks frustrated, still desperate to prove that it's not true.
"Okay…" he whines, "One more…"
Terry rolls his eyes; "Fine. What is it?"
"There were few areas on the walls," he begins uneasily, "Places that were labeled for…whatever reason. What was labeled and what did they say?"
Terry cocks his brow, surprised by Edd's inquiries.
"Alright," he crosses his arms over his chest, "Next to my refrigerator bed and my car, I had a toilet seat hanging from a noose and two prosthetic arms on either side of it. The label under all that said 'Lucky'. Beside the door, was a trash can lid that I labeled with 'Angst'. And finally, there was a spot on my wall near the camel where I tore away the drywall that I labeled with 'Decay'. Is that enough detail for you, Princess?"
Edd's shoulders fall and his body slumps down to the floor again. He's back to shivering, back to silence. He's crying again too, his eyes gazing at everything and nothing at the same time. He slowly, stiffly curls up on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. Terry doesn't say anything. He's clearly gotten through to him — Edd clearly believes who he is. But there's something else he's struggling with. Something he still can't wrap his head around.
"I don't understand…" he mumbles finally, "If you're really him…then why…?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you do this to me?" Edd clarifies, "You'd never even met me before…I think I spoke to you once over the phone, but that's it." He pauses glancing up at him. "Why…Why did you do this to me? What did I do to make you do this to me?"
"You didn't do anything…" Terry retorts with a grimace, "It was the little fuckin' Pipsqueak that did it."
"Eddy…" Edd gazes at him, confused, "What on earth did Eddy do to make you do this?"
Gritting his teeth, Terry glares at the floor just in front of him.
"They wouldn't stop…" he mumbles, "All the letters…those pictures…"
"Pictures…" Edd's eyes grow wide, "E-Eddy sent those photos to you?! Wh…Why?!"
"Just couldn't fuckin' help himself…" Terry continues through his teeth, "Just couldn't stop bragging about you…Always shoving these pictures of the most beautiful fucking thing in my face…Just to spite me…Cuz I couldn't have you."
He trails off, his fingers curling into a fist as the anger builds again. Just thinking about that period of time is enough to enrage him. Son of a bitch…
"What did they say…?"
He returns his attention to Edd, who's looking less angry at him and more concerned. Still curled up, he looks even smaller than he is and he's shivering terribly.
"What's that?" Terry asks, slowly unclenching his fist.
"The letters…" Edd mumbles, "What did they say…?"
"I just said it," Terry shrugs back, "He talked about you."
Bowing his head, Edd looks to be thinking carefully.
"Did…" he pauses again, rethinking what he wants to ask, "Is that how Eddy sees me…?"
Terry furrows his brow; "The fuck you going on about?"
"Those…things you said…" Edd verifies, "About my parents and…and my life…Is…Is that what Eddy told you?"
"Oh," Terry scoffs, "No. I just guessed as much based on the stories he'd tell me."
"What kind of stories…?"
"Stories like…" Terry searches his memory for an example, "How him and that big idiot once tricked you into believing your folks would pile insane chores on you. He said you were so scared to go home that you tried to move in with him."
Edd bristles at that, hunching his shoulders and grimacing.
"That's a poor example…" he grumbles, "I knew they were playing one of their immature pranks…My 'moving in with Eddy' was more of a ploy I was using to get back at him for putting me through so much stress that day."
Terry shrugs; "Sure, Pipsqueak was probably exaggerating, but he also told me over and over that your parents were never home and that you'd start most days by going through a giant fucking stack of sticky notes they'd leave you."
Edd doesn't have much of an argument for that one. Cuz it's fucking true.
"He made it pretty clear that they treated you more like a servant then their son," he concludes, "And when I met 'em over dinner, I got the same vibes."
"So you really didn't meet them before…" Edd notes with a grumble, "You were just…guessing?"
"I'd call it more of an 'educated guess'," Terry corrects, "Going off of what Pipsqueak told me, but yes."
"So you don't actually know that," Edd assumes, "You don't actually know how mother and father feel about me."
"I wouldn't say that," Terry argues, "I'd say I know plenty. Cuz those two definitely don't give a shit that you're gone."
"Stop saying that!" Edd cries, covering his ears, "It's not true! I know it!"
"I saw it with my own eyes, Princess."
Edd lowers his hands, glaring at him; "What?! What is it you think you saw in them?! What is this so-called proof that you claim to have about them?!" He picks up the Polaroid of his parents again and shoves it towards Terry. "This shows me nothing! A captured moment in time when they allowed themselves to relax and stop hurting while they were surrounded by friends…and you…That means nothing."
"It may be a moment, but it was one of many," Terry replies, "They never once mentioned you and they didn't look bothered by the fact that you weren't there. Anyone who saw them would say the same thing I am; that they don't give a shit that you're gone."
Not technically a lie. Eddy's the only person at the table who dared to mention Edd by name (or, rather, his name for Edd) and the only one who seemed to be thinking about him at all aside from Terry. He can't speak for Ed at all. He was mostly quiet during the visit, but maybe that's another indication that he was thinking about Edd too — just not talking about him? For that matter, he never looked like he was avoiding that topic at any point during the visit. Eddy was, but not Ed. It seemed more to him that Ed might have just been too dense to think about something unless it was in his direct vicinity. So the subject of Edd may have been out of mind for the day. Not to mention his shared excitement with Eddy over Terry's return was probably enough of a distraction.
"The point is, the way they acted made it clear that they don't care about you," Terry grumbles, "That dinner was business as usual for them. You being gone meant nothing."
Edd pouts back, gripping the sleeves of the robe.
"Did…Ed or Eddy mention me at least?" he asks, "Surely they miss me…"
"Not really…" Terry scoffs back, "They were too busy crawling all over me and Pipsqueak only ever talked my ear off about some fucker named 'Kevin'."
Okay, so that's mostly a lie, but again, he's careful to sneak in those little nuggets of truth. And it seems to be at least a little effective as the name seems to startle Edd.
"But…" he mumbles, "Th-That's not right…I mean, sure, Eddy obsessed over Kevin to an unhealthy degree at times, but…why would he talk about him like that over Christmas?"
He watches the mood change in fascination. From somewhat concerned to horribly downtrodden as Edd continues speaking softly to himself.
"Eddy always did want to assimilate into the larger group…" he muses, "Even with all of our scams, he still wanted their approval…Have…Have they actually accepted him as part of their group?" His hands find their places against the sides of his head again. "Was…Was I the reason Eddy never made the friends he really wanted? If I'm not there…does that mean it was my fault…?"
Ooh…opportunity.
"Sure seems like it…" Terry comments.
"B-But…" Edd's crying again, tears welling up in his eyes before falling fat and fast down his cheeks, "No! That would mean that…th-that they didn't really…that they weren't really my friends…That I was just…there…"
With an anguished cry, he wipes the tears away with the sleeves of the robe and pushes himself to his feet.
"No!" he sobs, "No! You're lying! All you ever do is lie! That's why Eddy thinks you're so wonderful! He doesn't know the truth!"
"Whatever the hell Pipsqueak told you about me is shit he made up himself," Terry retorts with a grunt.
"Yet you lied to me about who you were!"
"Hey, I never lied about that," Terry stands as well, taking a step towards him, "Just cuz I never actually said it, don't mean I lied. That's different."
"But you also said it wasn't important!" Edd argues, holding his ground, "Whenever I'd ask you who you are you'd always wave it off and claim that it didn't matter — that it wasn't 'important for me to know'!"
"Cuz it isn't," Terry insists, "Who I am don't mean dick. All that matters is that you're where you fuckin' belong."
"It absolutely matters!" Edd snaps back, "If I knew who you were I could've—"
He stops himself suddenly with an angry groan. I see.
"You could've what?" Terry dares, taking another step, "Could've called home? Could've got the cops here faster? You couldn't even get out of the fucking park."
"But if I'd just—"
"And what would've happened if you did?!" Terry snaps, cornering him, "Do you really think those folks of yours would've come running to your rescue? That they would've cared to come get you?"
"W-Well yes!"
"Bullshit!" Terry's voice is getting louder as he towers menacingly over Edd.
Those pretty eyes are full of terror as he gazes up at him, pressing his little body against the wall. Terry realizes in that moment that he could hit him if he wanted to. That he could beat this message into him.
But no. That's not how he gets through to Edd. He knows it. Violence only scares him and adjusts his behavior for a short time. He's gotta approach this from a more…psychological angle.
"Even if they did come for you," he presses, "Do you really think they'd comfort you? That they'd give a shit about what's happened to you?"
"Y-Yes!" Edd insists, his voice and stance wavering more and more.
"I doubt it," Terry places his hand against the wall and leans down closer to him, "After all you've done here."
"Whuh…Wh-What?!" Edd forces himself to glare at him, "Y-You mean what you've made me do! All of those abhorrent things—"
"And what do you think your precious mommy and daddy would say if they heard about those things?" Terry asks, "If they heard about how you'd suck me off and spread your little legs for me? About how you'd eat like a dog and sleep on the floor? About how you'd moan for me during sex?"
"I didn't choose to do any of that!" Edd insists, covering his ears, "You made me do th—"
"But will they care about that?" Terry snaps, "Will that matter when they hear it?"
Edd doesn't respond, but his fingers curl around his ears.
"Face it, Princess," Terry continues, lowering his voice, "Your family doesn't love you. They aren't even looking for you. And your so-called friends don't care about you — hell, they ain't lookin' either."
Finally, he touches Edd, gently moving his hands away from his ears. He goes no farther than that, only holding Edd's hands away from his ears.
"That little Pipsqueak sent me all those pictures," he continues, "Dangled your pretty face in front of me, expecting me to take the bait. He's the reason you're here. He doesn't care about what happened to you."
Edd shakes his head, struggling to pull his hands away from Terry's grip.
"It's not true…" he weeps, "He didn't know…"
"Oh yeah?" Terry grins wickedly, "Then why did he send you home alone that day?"
Edd's struggling stops in an instant. Almost there…
"Why didn't he just let you wait at the school for him and the other one?" Terry presses, leaning a little closer, "He practically gift-wrapped you for me."
Edd blinks away the tears, unable to respond. Go in for the kill.
"No one out there cares about you," Terry's close enough now to practically press his forehead against Edd's own, "No one out there loves you. I'm all you've got. I brought you here because I care about you. Cuz I could see that those friends of yours were just using you. That your parents were only using you. All I want — all I've ever fucking wanted — is treat you the way you deserve to be treated. And if you'd just cooperate with me, I can make you happy and give you all the love and affection you could ever want."
Still, Edd doesn't respond. Only stares down at the floor with wide eyes.
"N…No…" he whimpers after a moment, "I…I don't…"
With a sigh, Terry releases him and stands straight again.
"Fine," he relents, "I ain't pushing this anymore tonight. I've had a long fuckin' day and I wanna fuckin' sleep. If you wanna keep arguing this, then I'll leave you to it. But I'm going to bed."
Frustrated, he crosses the bathroom to the door again, but stops. Goddammit, he came in here for a reason…He turns back to Edd as he places his hand on the door. Edd's still against the wall, looking confused and hurt. Vulnerable.
"My offer's still open, Princess…" he informs him, "You can stay here if you want; be cold and and keep fighting with yourself about this. Or you can come and sleep with me in my bed. It's your choice. But you don't have to be alone tonight."
As expected, Edd hesitates, his eyes flickering between the discarded photos on the floor. It takes a minute or two as he mulls it over silently in his head before he uneasily pushes himself away from the wall. He says nothing as he crosses the room, holding the robe closed over his body. Standing beside Terry, he fidgets uncomfortably. After a moment, he glances shyly up at him.
"May…" he mutters, "May I have something to eat as well…?"
With a grin, Terry places a hand on Edd's shoulder, pulling him to his side.
"Of course you can."
Gotcha.
|
I'd decided, around day four of my trip, to not worry so much about Will. Of course he was always, would always be on my mind, but I refused to let my imagination run wild. I was no longer going to let thoughts of illness, and harm, and expiration dates, consume me. Will had promised me at least seven months and five days from that day in Switzerland, and I was going to hold him to that. I was going to make the most of every second we had left together-even the ones we weren't actually together for. I was going to live boldly. I was going to live, just like he'd asked me to.
However, that didn't mean it wasn't painfully hard being away from him for that long, and by the end of day twelve, I was about ready to jump out of my skin. I stuck it out though, but only up until the morning of day I was suppose to arrive back home.
Armed with my belongings and additional carry-on I was forced to purchase, holding all of the goodies I was bringing back home, I stepped onto the train a whole ten hours before I was scheduled to. I was so giddy with excitement that my knees were bouncing up and down the entire ride. That excitement only seemed to skyrocket on the ride home. I must have been chatting so incessantly that even the taxi driver couldn't wait to get rid of me-so much so, he sped through the countryside, arriving at Granta house in record time and refused the generous tip I had offered him.
I slipped quietly through the house, secretly hoping to not run into the Traynor's before reaching the annex. Throwing the door open, I nearly squealed when I saw Will sitting at the table, staring at his computer screen. Sure, I'd seen him multiple times a day while I was gone, through video chats and photos Nathan had sent, but to see him now, in person, looking so much healthier than he did when I'd left, made me heave a huge sigh of relief.
"Clark, what are doing back already?"
The shocked look on his face made me giggle. "Surprise!"
"Yes I am," he shot back jokingly, though the smile he was wearing, didn't quite reach his eyes. "I thought we were to pick you up tonight at 8."
"You were. But I couldn't wait to get home, so I exchanged my ticket for an earlier one. It didn't cost anything and I wanted to surprise you. I stopped at a few cafes before I left. Figured I could fix those delicious steak sandwiches for lunch today. Didn't bother with the frites though, they would have just gotten too soggy on the-"
"Alrighty Will, laundry is done." The voice that cut me off got louder as the source rounded the corner. "I suppose we should be thinking about what you'll be having for lunch today."
A woman suddenly appeared before me, mid to late forties, dressed casually, but not in the medical scrubs I was expecting. "Oh, hello-"
"Louisa, this is Helen," Will introduced, voice cracking slightly. "Helen, this is Louisa."
"Louisa, yes," she greeted with a smile and offered her hand. "Will and Nathan have told me so much about you."
I smiled back and shook her hand, taken slightly aback by her friendliness. Agency nurses weren't usually this cordial, she must have been a temp from a private facility. "All good, I hope," was my instinctual response. I then turned to Will. "No Nathan today?"
Will's face went as rigid as his body, when like magic, Nathan appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey Lou, I thought I heard your voice. Welcome home," he greeted, then turned confused and glanced between the two of us. "Wait. I thought your train wasn't due to arrive until tonight."
"Yes well, that seems to be the consensus."
There was a sharp edge to my voice and I could tell Will noticed, even if he had avoided making any eye contact with me. Instead, he glanced up to his right. "Thank you, Helen. Since Louisa has arrived back early, armed it seems with lunch for me, you're free to take the rest of the afternoon off if you'd like. And not to worry, the time off will not affect your pay."
"Why thank you, Sir." The smile was genuine as Helen collected her things. "Goodbye Nathan. And Louisa, it was very nice to finally meet you."
"You as well," I replied, my voice soft and still unsure. How did this woman apparently know me so well when I'd never even heard her name mentioned?
"Alrighty then, I'm off. Have a nice weekend and Will, I'll see you Monday morning, 8am sharp."
My eyes followed Helen out the door, my ears buzzing with the words she'd just muttered. I snapped my head back. "Will, what-?"
I couldn't miss the glance exchanged between Will and Nathan....something along the lines of I-told-you-so. "Well I see my assumptions weren't totally off. No, you didn't want me gone so you could harm yourself, you wanted me gone so you could have me replaced."
"It's not like that, Louisa."
Will looked pained, and while my heart softened a bit, I stood my ground. "What is it like then, Will?"
Nathan cleared his throat to excuse himself. "I'll give you two some time to talk," he stated as he walked pass Will. "I need to go over this supply order form with Mrs. T before I leave, anyway."
I only broke my intent stare on Will for a moment when Nathan paused in front of me. His small smile was encouraging, but his eyes conveyed something altogether different. He wanted me to take it easy on him, to not jump to conclusions before hearing him out first, and I suddenly felt guilty.
Will waited for the door to close behind Nathan. "I didn't want you gone-"
"But you've replace me as your carer?"
"Yes."
My heart broke in that instant, and it looked as though Will's had too. "Why?"
His gaze dropped to a spot on the floor and he took in as much air as he could-an action that mimicked a heaving sigh. "You need your freedom, you need to be able to focus on your studies without-"
"I will," I shot back in protest. "I'm taking correspondence courses, Will. Everything is done online. I can still go to school and take care of you. I can do both."
"But I don't want you to have to do both."
"What about what I want?"
At my plea he glanced up, as if he hadn't actually thought of that. "Clark, I can't-"
"I can do it, Will. I want to do it." It suddenly struck me how tired he was becoming, not a proper lack of sleep tired(though that must have been a factor), or a still recovering type of tired, but that highly medicated kind of tired, and in obvious pain. "Really, I can." As I stepped closer, I could see how truly bad off he was. The muscles in his neck and shoulders(the area of his body that gave him the most frequent and severe pain) were completely seized, so much so, he could barely move his head to look at me, only his eyes. And he was relying on his headrest, something he hardly ever used at home, only when were were out for long periods, traveling, or he was reclined.
I gently brushed my knuckles across his cheek and smiled down at him. "You wouldn't even have to pay me," I began, my grin wide, my voice soft. "I mean it's not like you can afford to anyway, you've already given me all of your money."
"Not all of it," he muttered back, almost playfully. "My parents won't touch a cent of their cut, and I stopped payment on Georgie's check."
"Will?" I gasped incredulously.
His lips began to spread into a tight smile, pained as it was. "What? It's not like she knew it was even coming. She wasn't due to get it until my birthday."
"Why your birthday?"
A soft chuckle escaped the sly grin on his lips. "Because I knew it would piss her off."
"You're awful," I teased with a giggle, then moved my fingers up and through his hair.
Will closed his eyes and I could see his tension release ever so slightly. I continued my ministrations, caressing his scalp, until he spoke again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Helen. I didn't want to ruin your trip."
His eyes remained closed, but I smiled anyway. "You need to stop doing that," I scolded mildly.
"What, not tell you things, or ruin your trips?"
"Both."
Will's smile faded slightly as he popped one eye open, then the other. He held my gaze for what felt like minutes. "Helen stays."
"Part-time," was my instantaneous compromise. "She can take the morning while I do my schoolwork, and I'll take the afternoon." I paused a second, then smiled again. "That way we can have lunch together, chat a while, then you can help me with my homework."
Will made an adorably horrified face that made me giggle. "I'm not sure we can ever possibly agree on the same definition of fashion, Clark."
"But it'll be fun."
"That it will," he replied, pulling one last smile out for my benefit. "Now go show me what you've brought back from Paris in that absolutely hideous bag of yours."
|
“Ellana, Vivienne sent these recipes to help with your morning sickness,” said Cullen as he looked the papers over. “I should go and pick up what we need. Do you want to come along?”
“No.” Ellana was curled up in bed, trying to keep her food down. She felt the bed sink down next to her as Cullen came to sit.
“Love, maybe getting out of the house will help a little. Vivienne said that you should try to keep active.” Cullen ran his hand along her arm, trying to soothe her a little. Cullen was growing increasingly worried at how sick she was, and he had breathed a sigh of relief when the letter from Vivienne came. “You should probably see the healer anyway. You haven’t seen her in a few weeks right?”
Ellana groaned. “I suppose you’re right. I just hope I don’t heave all over someone’s shoes. They already have enough to gossip about.” She sat up and let Cullen hold her a moment before getting up to comb her hair. “Thank you, Vhenan.”
“I know it’s hard, Love,” said Cullen. “Let’s just hope that these new recipes help.”
………
Ellana turned as she heard someone call her name and smiled as Dottie came running up. “I’ve been hoping to come see you, but with the weather and all…”
“I know, Dottie,” said Ellana. “This winter has been a challenge so far. What brings you to town?”
“Supplies, and Robert needed to go to the healer. He’s been doing so much better.” Dottie took Ellana’s hand in hers. “We can’t thank you enough for the medicine you made for us. It’s made a world of difference. Robert was able to clear the snow away by himself, and he wasn’t even tired!” Dottie’s exuberance made Ellana smile. “What about you?” asked Dottie. “Stocking up on supplies as well?”
“I’m here to see the healer myself and stop at the Apothecary.” She saw the look of concern come across Dottie’s face. “It’s all right, Dottie.” She looked around and saw no one standing near, and she leaned in. “I’m pregnant. Not many people know yet. I have been having a lot of trouble with vomiting.”
“Oh- congratulations! On the baby part of course, not on the vomiting part,” said Dottie as she hugged Ellana. “I won’t tell anyone- except Robert if that is all right.” Ellana nodded. “I was lucky that I never got very sick. If you need anything- you let us know right away. Come on; I’ll walk with you.”
When they entered the healer’s office, Robert was just coming out of the examination room, the disgruntled healer coming out behind him. “My lungs are almost entirely clear,” said Robert, smiling. Dottie threw her arms around her husband and hugged him tightly.
“Yes, there is a remarkable improvement,” said Becky. She looked at Ellana. “I’m told you gave him something to take. I wish you would have talked to me first- mixing medicines could have had a disastrous effect.”
“But I wasn’t taking anything,” said Robert. “You told me there was nothing more you could do.”
“Be that as it may, I’m the healer in this town.” She looked at Ellana again. “I’ll thank you to keep your diagnosis to yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ellana. “I didn’t mean to interfere. I’d seen this before- almost an entire town down with the same thing. Our apothecary had come up with this, and I thought I would offer it since there didn’t seem to be any other chance.”
The healer nodded curtly and motioned for Ellana to enter the exam room. She said goodbye to Robert and Dottie and went to sit on the table and wait for the healer.
“Now, how are you doing?” asked Becky as she had Ellana lay down.
“Not well,” said Ellana. “I’m still vomiting a lot. I can’t seem to stop. I tried all the remedies you recommended.”
“You do seem to have lost some weight,” said the healer. “That’s not good.” She prodded Ellana’s belly a little. “Any other pain?” Ellana shook her head. “Well, give it a bit longer- it should go away.” She helped Ellana sit up. “I’ll be honest. I think you should consider ending this pregnancy. Another month and it will be too late. You are still sick; you are losing weight when you should be gaining, and you already are showing a little. That shouldn’t be happening yet. I wouldn’t recommend it if I had a better solution.”
“I appreciate your concern,” said Ellana, “but I’m keeping the baby.”
Becky pressed her lips together as if to keep from arguing. “I want to see you next week then,” she finally said. “Let’s hope this vomiting clears up by then.” Ellana nodded and got up to leave.
“I’m sorry about not talking to you about Robert,” she said. “I meant no harm.” The healer nodded and accepted coin from Ellana for the visit.
After stopping for their supplies, Cullen and Ellana headed for home. “You’re quiet again, Love,” said Cullen.
“She’s mad at me for interfering with Robert,” said Ellana. “And she still wants me to end the pregnancy. She didn’t seem very happy when I said no.”
“Robert's mostly recovered?” asked Cullen. Ellana nodded. “Then what is she so upset about? She had already given up, and you happened to have experience with the illness. You’d think she’d be taking notes and asking questions.” He shook his head, not liking the situation. “If there were another healer in town, I’d send you there instead. But we have to take what we can get until Dorian or Vivienne’s people come. Did you tell her about Vivienne’s recommendations?”
“No,” said Ellana. “I figured I pissed her off enough for one day.”
“I have a feeling that was a wise idea,” said Cullen.
………
Ellana spent the rest of the day working on the recipes Vivienne had sent her and felt better almost immediately after taking the first one. “I almost feel like eating a little,” she said to Cullen, who smiled and put the kettle on for some tea and got her some crackers and bread and butter. When she awoke the next morning and didn’t have to scramble for the pot right away, she felt encouraged, and Cullen felt relieved. He still was just enjoying the fact that he could lay in bed with his wife without worrying about someone pounding on the door, or having to get up to take care of his daily duties. After years of getting up before the sun, he still awoke early as a habit, but instead of getting up and dressed, he used the time to hold Ellana, often ending up making love before getting up for the day. It had been a while since she kept getting sick, but this morning was different, and Ellana wanted to show him how much she missed him. After a very satisfying time together, she got up to make breakfast and enjoyed a leisurely morning that felt well-earned by the both of them.
………
Rosalie grinned when she opened the door to find Ellana. “Ellana! Are you feeling better?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, much,” said Ellana. “My friend Vivienne sent some recipes from the College of Magi that have helped a lot.” It felt good to get outside again, even if it was cold. “I just came to see how you were.”
“I’m fine. I feel good,” said Rosalie. “I’ve just been working on some baby things.” She took out her basket to show the little shirts she’d been working on. “Mia has been helping me a little- she’s good at straight stitching.” She folded the shirts after Ellana had admired them. “I guess Cullen told you what happened with Mia?”
“He did,” said Ellana. “I wish things were different, and I know Cullen does too.”
“Is he still thinking about leaving South Reach?” asked Rosalie.
“I think so. I know he wrote to Alistair about it. Alistair said he would help us wherever we go. He’s been a good friend.” Ellana smiled, thinking of Alistair and Elissa and the good times they had in Denerim after the war. “I’m reluctant to leave though. I know that you said that you would come with us, but I think about Bran and Nicky, and even Ben’s family. I don’t want to leave them behind if we don’t have to.”
“I don’t want to leave either,” said Rosalie. “I keep hoping Mia will come around, but I just don’t know if it will happen. I think we will end up having a better life if we go with you though. Patrick will have work he loves, and I will too. Our children will grow up together.” Rosalie sighed. “I guess we’ll just take things as they come.”
“Don’t give up hope yet,” said Ellana. “Maybe in the spring, people will have better things to do than gossip about me. By the time fields are planted, I’ll be old news.” She hoped so anyway. Shaking her head, she changed the subject. “I have to go to the healer tomorrow. Are you going too?”
“I suppose I should,” said Rosalie. “Is Cullen going?” Ellana nodded. “Patrick will probably go too. He pretends to be laid back about it all, but I know he’s so excited about the baby that he can barely stand it. We’ve been trying a long time.” She elbowed Ellana. “Maybe the Maker made us wait until you came along.”
Ellana laughed. “Maybe. I’m glad we’re going through this together. We’ll always have a sympathetic ear when the husbands give up on us.” She looked at the clock. “I should get back. Tomorrow after breakfast then?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” smiled Rosalie. |
Midoriya nudges a pebble into the water with his toe, watching the ripples before dipping his entire foot into the creek. It’s cold and he makes a noise, pulling his foot out and hears Todoroki chuckle at his reaction.
“You have to ease yourself into it.” He tells the boy and sets his bag of clothes down on the bank before slowly easing himself into the water until he was about knee deep and motions for the other to follow him in. “You won’t stay cold for long, just got to adjust.”
“Aren’t you afraid of snakes or snapping turtles?” Midoriya asks, slowly makes his way over to where the other boy is, shivering cold and looking around their legs frantically.
“They more scared of you than you are of them, don’t stress out so much.” Todoroki lowers himself to sit down in the water, staring up at him as the water comes up to his chest. “Aizawa wouldn’t bring us here if something were going to hurt us.”
Midoriya figures the boy must be right and slowly eases himself down, turning when he hears someone coming into the creek behind him and assumed it was Bakugou coming to shove his head under but instead it was Uraraka and Tsuyu, both wearing their swimsuits with addition of a t-shirt for Uraraka since she was a little self conscious.
“It’s freezing!” Uraraka shivers as Tsuyu plops down into the water, down until the water was about to her neck.
“I think it’s nice.” Tsuyu replies, her eyes flicking over to Midoriya. “You’re anxious.”
“I think my stepdad’s phobia of water may have rubbed off on me a little.” He rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle, turning to the bank and seeing Toshinori sitting on a towel talking to both Yamada and Aizawa.
“Did he nearly drown as a kid or something?” Tsuyu asks bluntly, snapping the boy out of his thoughts before he shrugs his shoulders.
“I’m not sure, he doesn’t talk about it much.” Midoriya sinks in the water and looks at his reflection on the surface. “He’s just always been afraid of swimming, mom said something about getting a pool when they first met and he got all anxious about it so she decided not to in he end.”
“Sounds like he had a near death experience to me.” Tsuyu mutters mostly to herself, all being brought out of their thoughts when they heard a shriek from Ashido, seeing her holding the front of her swimsuit and turns to see Bakugou picking up Mineta in a rage to throw him into the creek.
“Knock it the fuck out, creep!” He shouts angrily, loud enough for them to hear, only to be stopped when Aizawa rushes over to them, grabbing the smaller boy out the blonde’s hold before he could toss him and sets him on the ground, keeping Bakugou from reaching for him while he tries to calm the boy down.
Yamada rushes over to Ashido to help her because the boy must have snapped the straps of the top piece of her swimsuit.
“They should really send that boy home before someone hurts him.” Midoriya comments, watching Yamada pull off his own shirt to give to the girl.
“Or he could just knock it off.” Todoroki mutters as Aizawa drags Mineta back over to where the counselors sat and makes him sit down next to Toshinori, most likely not allowed to participate anymore.
“Boys like him don’t know how to stop.” Uraraka huffs, crossing her arms with a bitter look on her face. “What’s even worse is his type likes to act like a victim when they get caught in the act.”
“Really pathetic.” Tsuyu adds in, tapping her bottom lip. “Me and Momo caught him trying to sneak into the girl’s cabin the other night...”
“Did you report him?” Midoriya asks, looking concerned but she shakes her head.
“No, me and the other girls beat him up and threw him out.”
“You could get into trouble for that, Tsuyu.”
“He wouldn’t be able to tell on us without ratting himself out and besides...most of the counselors were in bed already and Yamada, Aizawa and Kan were all gone for the night anyway.” She points out.
“Why did they leave again?”
“Nobody knows why.” Tsuyu scratches her head.
“M-maybe another wolf got into camp?”
“I heard Kirishima say something about how they had sort of business thing and had to be gone all night.” Todoroki says, making them all wonder.
“Well, it’s probably just some camp business.” Midoriya rationalizes.
“Sero says they went up into the woods that night.” Tsuyu adds in, crushing Midoriya’s hopes of just changing the subject. “Said Yamada urge them to leave before watching him walk back into the woods.”
“Scary.” Uraraka frowns.
“Midoriya is right, it’s probably nothing for us to worry about.” Todoroki mutters before they started to talking about anything that came to mind.
Midoriya glances towards his stepfather again and his eyes catches Aizawa staring in their direction, not even trying to be subtle about it and he nervously glances away.
No way Aizawa could have heard them this far away so why was he staring at them like that?
“Hey guys, care if we join your little circle here?” Ashido says, sitting down next to Uraraka along with both Kirishima and...Bakugou.
“Sure, no problem.” Uraraka smiles, though Midoriya feels like hiding behind Todoroki.
“As long as Bakugou leaves Midoriya alone.” Todoroki gives the boy a look of warning.
“Nah man, it’s cool.” Kirishima sits down next to him and playfully nudges Todoroki’s shoulder. “He said he would behave, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou waves off, sitting down next to the red haired boy.
“So nice of you to take up for Ashido.” Uraraka chimes in, gives the boy a smile and he just glances away, muttering no problem under his breath.
“I wish Aizawa would just make him leave, I’ve had to be on constant guard since I got here because of that little weirdo.” Ashido pouts, crossing her arms. “He’s a gross little perv and I want to kick him into the lake!”
“He always seems to target you, doesn’t he?”
“He tried looking up my skirt earlier.” Uraraka huffs, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anger.
“So why do you guys think some of the counselors left that one night?” Tsuyu asks, turning to Kirishima. “You said they had some sort of business?”
“That’s what I heard Yamada say at the docks.”
“What if they’re all three secret lovers and wanted to get away for the night?” Ashido gushes, earning some weird faces from her friends. “What? No?”
“Only Yamada and Aizawa are together.” Kirishima comments, splashing water in her direction.
“You don’t know that, I saw Yamada resting his head on Kan’s shoulder this morning.” She argues.
“They’re just friends.” Midoriya replies. “Friends do that too.”
“Mm-Hmm.” Todoroki leaning his own head down on the boy’s shoulder, making the boy’s face turn pink.
The girls giggles at his reaction, making him turn even redder and tries to hide while the other boy has small smile on his face. |
“I was talking up a vampire at a bar a few weeks ago, a man by the name of Asato Takuma, worked under Katsura― I don't know if he still does or not. Anyways, he was, in your vampire sense, blackout drunk while saying all this to me. Told me how he’d been drinking because he’d just “seen a man get decapitated for some insignificant bullshit.” I asked him what he meant, he told me that one of his fellow gang members, Miyake Kazuo, had just been killed for threatening the security of the gang.” Akito says, tracing the cuts on his stomach mindlessly while he talked.
“What’d he do?”
“Not sure. But he said how this guy… Kawahara… something was going all ballistic, yelling about how he was gonna quit the gang, cursing the lives of all kindred. I don't know, that’s all he told me and I didn’t want to know more. Ignorance keeps us humans alive when dealing with your kind.”
Gintoki nods in agreeance, passing over the last cigarette to Akito, who graciously took it. “I understand.” He slides off the side of the bed, fixing his covers up nicely before putting on his clothes.
Akito watches him make his way to the door, smoke delicately blown out of his lips as he relaxed. “See you around.”
“Don’t get yourself killed playing with fire like you are.”
There’s a laugh before he gets a reply. “Something tells me you’re not one to talk.” Gintoki snorts and Akito can only grin; he closes the door quietly behind him, the scent of tobacco still lingering on his tongue.
-
It’s currently six in the morning, two days after the last murder, and he’s sitting in front of the Bakufu police headquarters waiting for the gates to open. He’s attending a meeting pertaining to the recent killings and the public’s outrage over how the police forces have been handling it. What should be happening at this meeting is them discussing actual solutions, what will happen is multiple threats to all their jobs and lots of yelling.
He’s accompanied by Yamazaki, who was just the driver, and Sougo. Yamazaki was his head spy and Sougo his first captain on the front lines for the kindred extermination effort. He has to give it to Yamazaki, for as much shit as Hijikata gives him, Yamazaki is a rather diligent hard working man once you take away the badminton racket. Sougo, however, Sougo was mostly a different story― skipping out on the important things. Just this morning, Hijikata had been pleasantly surprised when he had gotten in the car and Sougo was actually there.
After a couple minutes of Hijikata running his day’s plans through his head, the gates opened before him, allowing them and several other Mimawarigumi and Bakufu officials to enter into the Imperial Palace. Soon enough, they reach their specific meeting hall, each of them taking a seat at their set tables. He can see Sasaki Isaburo and his right hand Nobume across the room, both of them munching on glazed donuts quietly. Hijikata crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair as Matsudaira took his sweet time.
There are whispers all around them, talks of what the upper officials in administration could be wanting to call a meeting together for, what could possibly come next after all the bloodshed. A man behind him whispers something about how the mass public is starting to catch onto the secrets that the government has been hiding from them. The man next to him says the riots would be worse if they had.
Hijikata’s too tired for all the gossip, especially this early. He wishes he could pull what Sougo was doing, who had already leaned back in his chair, sleeping mask over his eyes accompanied by a slight snore. Shame.
He knew he was here for a good reason, he can’t say he necessarily wants to be known as lazy either, so he perks his back up a little straighter in the chair and texts Kondo his plans for taking off work a little early later in the day.
Soon Matsudaira steps onto the small platform, face as pinched as ever, cigarette lowly burning between his index and middle fingers. He’s not yelling, not yet at least, and he calls the meeting to order with a long glare around the room.
“You all know why we’re here…” He draws out, emphasizing the ‘why’. “We are gathered here today to talk about how there have been over twenty killings… and not one single person avenged.”
There’s silence across the room, ever-present guilt hanging in the air, choking them like a noose. Matsudaira continues, “Why- is- that-?!” He slams his fist on the podium after each word. “The people are starting to lose trust in their government, the bakufu, and most importantly, the shogun! We were precisely put into place to uplift and protect not only the shogun’s life, but his image as well! It’s this insolence that is sparking riots among the civilians! What have you to say for yourselves? Please, present your findings to the elects, starting with you, Toshiro.”
Gently sliding his chair back and bowing, he opens the folder he brought containing an overview of all the leads that the Shinsengumi had collected since the time of the first murder, and begins to deliberate the case. When he finishes, Matsudaira nods slowly, then moves onto Isaboro. Isaboro’s case is shabby at best, there are multiple missing links in almost everything he presents as evidence and most importantly, there's no leads.
Once done, Sasaki sits down, indifferent to the restless legs bouncing in the room and the palpable air of frustration brewing because of not only his lack of evidence, but the lack of evidence as a whole. Matsudaira just rolls his neck, the cracking of built-up stress echoing throughout the room. “Interesting.” Is all he says before he too closes the folder he’d brought up to the podium to reference.
There’s a long sigh, the annoyingly bright, buzzing LED lights causing glare to fall over his aviator sunglasses in the process. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but if this becomes a further problem, expect some… changes in the program. That’s all.”
-
“Hijikata-san, Harada and his team think that they might have uncovered a kindred hideout and they want you to see the pictures. It’s near the recent murder too, which makes them all suspects for the killing.” Yamazaki says as he’s driving Hijikata and Sougo back to the barracks from the Bakufu meeting.
“Tell him to bring them to me as soon as possible. I’m tired of getting yelled at for not having any damn leads on the murders.”
“Is that what just happened?”
“Mmm, technically I can’t say.”
“I see…”
“At least we’re actually trying to solve them. The idiots at the Mimawarigumi have horse shit for evidence.” Hijikata says with a snap, feeling his shoulders tense up more as each second passed. It’s true, compared to Isaboro’s faction, the Shinsengumi’s insignificant leads made them seem like they actually knew where they were going with the investigation. Despite it all, it didn’t exempt him from getting the higher-ups wrath when it came down to it. He wasn’t trying to be the perfect child here, not at all, it was all just another slap in the face― a cruel reminder how terribly this case had been going, with not one single killer brought to justice as the bodies kept piling up.
Hijikata smokes his way to the barracks, thanking Yamazaki for the ride when he arrived. He shuts the door behind him, sitting down to do reports until he could find time to visit the perm’s apartment later on.
-
The first thing Gintoki does when he wakes up is call Katsura. He knew that if Katsura wasn’t at the apartment then he wasn’t about to risk sleeping, so he was bound to get an answer. Sure enough, the wig picks up, and Gintoki tells him to meet him at the apartment as soon as he could.
Gintoki loiters over to the bathroom, rinsing off quickly and brushing his teeth so he’d at least be smelling like mint and not sex and tobacco when Katsura arrived. He still needed to get more money for the kid’s food for the rest of the week so as soon as the night hit in a few hours, he’d be out on the town once more.
It’s four hours later that Katsura finally makes it to the apartment, the sun inching it’s way down in the sky. He lets himself in, not hearing the fast beat of two teenage hearts inside.
“I brought sake.” The wig states, setting the alcohol down in front of Gintoki and blinking into the kitchen to get cups.
“I saw.”
The one by one, cups are tossed to Gintoki from the kitchen doorway, and the perm flings an arm back to catch them before they hit the floor and caused Otose to yell at them from the bar below. “So!” Katsura says, flopping down onto the couch as the perm poured their drinks. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on with you first? Why are you so energetic?”
“No reason in particular. Not yet at least...”
Gintoki furrowed his eyebrows at the answer, downing his cup of sake. “Anyways, I need to talk to you about a situation I was recently informed of. Asato Takama, you know the name?”
“Yeah, he works under me. Why?”
“He knows where or what happened to Kawahara, I’m sure of it.”
“Would he be at your base?”
“Said bye to him before I came here so he should still be there. I doubt he went out to feed.”
Gintoki doesn’t say anything, instead getting up to go to his room to change from his green pajamas into his normal attire. Katsura follows him, the bottle of sake in hand.
“How are you?”
“‘M fine,”
“How are you really, Gintoki? When was the last time you ate something?”
“Last night, now get off me. I know what I’m doing.”
Katsura shrugs, mumbling, “That’s not the issue though―”
Once more, Gintoki drops the conversation, tightening his belt in place.
“Ready?” Gintoki nods, and Katsura is about to turn around but before he can he stops abruptly, whispering, “You hear that right?”
There’s footsteps coming up the steps, heavy, unfamiliar footsteps. “That’s not the weight of Shinpachi and definitely not Kagura, and Otose is quieter than that.”
‘They’re no kindred either.. You weren’t expecting anyone here today, were you?”
“Why would I invite someone over while I have one of Edo’s biggest terrorists in my house?!”
“Wow, rude-”
“Shhh! Just hide!”
He doesn’t have time to figure out where Katsura blinks off to, all he knows is by the time he makes it out of his bedroom, there’s a knock on the door. Gintoki slides his bokuto into place, preparing for the worst. He undoes the lock, opening the door to meet none other than the demon vice-commander.
“H-Hi.” Hijikata unusually stutters out, handing Gintoki the yukata he borrowed. “Thank you for your help the other night...” Gintoki looks down at the blue swirls, still trying to piece together the situation. “It’s washed, of course.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“May I come in? I have something I want to speak with you about.”
“Yeah…” Gintoki moves aside, sliding the door open a little further to let Hijikata in.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this earlier, I didn’t think you would appreciate me using police databases to get your phone number.”
Gintoki lightly chuckles, but it’s more of a nervous ruse than anything. Undoubtedly, Katsura knows good and well who exactly is in his house because he’s hiding his presence so well that Gintoki doesn’t even know where the idiot went.
“Did I interrupt something?” Hijikata asks, sitting down at the couch, the two sake cups still sitting on the table, glaring mockingly back at him. Fuck.
“What? I’m lonely, can’t a man drink his sorrows away with his make-believe friend?” Gintoki grabs the cups up from the table, taking them to the sink. He turns around, head facing Hijikata as he spoke, hands reaching for the clean cups in the cabinet. “Just kidding, those were from last night, I’m just too laz-”
He’s got two fingers in Katsura’s nose before he realizes that the bastard is hiding in his cabinet.
There’s a moment of silence where the two make eye contact, and Katsura pulls his hand up to take Gintoki’s index and middle fingers out of his nostrils.
“Is… something wrong?” The vice-commander says from the living room, undoubtedly having seen the demeanor change seconds before.
“No, sorry― I just thought I saw a rat in my cabinet but it was just my eyes…” Gintoki passive aggressively snatches the glasses in a way that Katsura can clearly see, taking caution not to bring any more attention to the situation than what had already been brought.
He doesn’t know where the sake bottle went when Katsura fled, the idiot probably has it in there with him, but he doesn’t have the time or the energy to check and see. “Whiskey is all I got, that fine with you?”
“Ah- yes, that’s fine.”
Gintoki makes his way back to the living room, placing the cups with ice in them on the table and pouring their drinks. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“I got a lead today from one of my men...” Hijikata nods towards the brown folder on the table, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Thought maybe you might know something about it.”
The perm opens the folder, skimming through it’s contents. The first page was a tip on a Kabukicho club called Essence, supposedly co-run by two kindred he’d never heard of before. He had visited the club on a few occasions, never staying too long.
“I know the place. However, it’s not new news for popular clubs to be run by vampires, commander.”
“Look at the address.” Hijikata says, “The last victim in this area was killed not a block away.”
Gintoki shrugged, “It’s Kabukicho. I’d say that area of town isn’t good but this whole town isn’t good.”
“Just look at the next page before you dismiss it.”
Gintoki flips the page over, and a collection of fuzzy photos taken hurriedly at night lay before him. They’re not the easiest to make out because of the rain and the circumstances, but there’s definitely the dumpster and the alleyway, and towards the direction of the nightclub there’s the light trail of wispy smoke that follows behind vampires after they blink.
The photo underneath it grabs his attention, however. A tall, skinny man, one he’d definitely seen at the club at least twice, was turning the corner, presumably before he began to blink away back towards the nightclub. Although the picture was not making it easy to see, his hands are definitely bloody and there’s an odd pattern of darkness to his clothing in certain places, a darkness that rainwater soaked clothing couldn’t make.
“Hmm.”
“Anything?”
“I’ve seen his face when I visited. He’s definitely tied to the club one way or another. He’s a vampire, that’s for sure; the man carries himself like he owns the world but I never really had any intuition that he was a big shot, or that he would kill a man in cold blood like that. He’s actually pretty reserved, from what I can remember.”
“I sent a subordinate to investigate the facility tonight, if he reports anything, I’m going myself tomorrow night to see.” Hijikata finishes his drink, setting the glass down on the table. “I’d like you to come with me.”
“Huh? Why me? Don’t you have Shinsengumi spies for that or something?”
“Yes, but high profile kindred tend to know the faces of Shinsengumi leaders such as myself, so if I bring you instead of a subordinate of mine, I not only have a familiar face of the club, but I also only have to worry about disguising one of us.”
Gintoki has to hold back his laugh so he won’t spit whiskey all over the table and the vice-commander. With a hard gulp, he grins, putting his glass down and leaning back against the couch mockingly.
“You’re gonna put on a wig, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes? That comes with it. Why are you asking?”
“You know, I was gonna ask you for payment but on second thought... if I get to see you dress up as a woman, you’ll get Gin-san’s help for free.” There’s a sadistic smile that creeps across the perm’s face and Hijikata narrows his eyes at it before giving up with a sigh.
“Well it wouldn’t be the first time... you have yourself a deal, asshole.” Hijikata gets up to leave, closing the folder and putting it back safely in the inside of his jacket.
“See you tomorrow then, Miss…”
Hijikata rolls his eyes, glaring back at his recently acquired informant. “Himiko.”
“Until then, Himiko-chan~”
“I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss a meeting place, and I’m taking your number from the database since you want to be an ass about it.” Gintoki just chuckles in reply, watching Hijikata grab up his katana and leave for the night.
As soon as the vice-commander is all the way down the stairs, he hears the loud burst of a cup falling and breaking on the counter, spreading shards of glass across the kitchen making Gintoki once more reminded of the fiend stuffed in his kitchen cabinet.
“You’re making this way harder then it needs to be, just get out of the cabinet. The blinds are closed, no one’s gonna see anything if they’re spying, just please, get out of my fucking cabinet.” Kasura blinks down and into the living room, finishing off the last bit of whiskey from the bottle.
“I do believe...” He slurs, eyes softly glowing, white teeth peeking out from below his upper lip. “That if we weren’t dead, we’d be alcoholics!”
“Zura, I don’t think that you have to be dead to be an alcoholic.”
Katsura laughs, then his face gets too serious too quick and Gintoki knows he’s reached his limit. The wig blinks over to the bathroom to empty out the contents of his stomach, while Gintoki takes a moment of (relative) silence to contemplate what eternal life is going to be like with Katsura.
“Curse my lack of digestive capabilities-!” He says, fist in the air vengently as the other hand clung to the door frame.
“Don't act like you didn’t hurl up alcohol as a human too, now come on; I’m trying to meet with this underling of yours before it gets to be hunter territory of night.” Zura fixes his haori before following after the perm, the door to the apartment locked behind them. |
The morning was uneventful, as uneventful as mornings went. Sehun roused the usual and endless bustle of the metropolis. Some days, the flurry of the city was comforting. Other days, it was just too loud. So loud that it was deafening. Those days, Sehun wanted nothing more than to sit in a corner and put his arms around his body, not wanting to let anyone in.
He had gotten stronger, he believed. But he doubted that he could ever get strong enough to put the memories and horrors, that continued to haunt him on cold nights, to flight. Not for the lack of trying. Nothing really worked. Those days, he would really just have to grit his teeth and power through.
He sat up on the couch which he had fallen asleep on last night. He had neither the mental capability nor the physical strength to confront Jon last night. As much as he liked Jon, he certainly did not like him enough to open himself up to him. The last two times Sehun had done it, he had gotten hurt severely. And the wounds never scarred. They continued to hurt him, cause him an agony like no other. He did not think that he could survive another blow, another betrayal like that. So, he kept Jon at bay, not wanting to open up ever again to another person. He was not sure if he were capable of a love like that anymore.
Rubbing his eyes on the hilt of his palms, he huffed heavily and raised his head to stare at the blank screen of the television. Then he looked in the direction of the bedroom. The door was open. Jon must have left for work. Sehun knew he was the one who was at fault. Jon had his rights to ask Sehun the questions he did. And he was probably hurt from Sehun’s response. Sehun owed him an explanation. But what could he possibly tell Jon about his nightmares? About the reason why Sehun had lost a part of him and would never be able to recover it and give himself to another else?
His nightmares… They were the worst. Sometimes, Sehun wished that he would not be alive to be put through another night of those nightmares. It would be easier to cope if he weren’t the one who was suffering in those dreams. The pain of seeing the man he had once loved so dearly, so madly being chained to a chair and having done all sorts of horrid things to him…
Sehun clenched his eyes and swallowed hard. Then drawing in a sharp breath, he rose from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. Pouring himself a mug of lukewarm coffee, he wandered over to the balcony, drawing the curtains aside.
He leaned over the railing, hands wrapped around the mug. He gazed down at the straggles of buildings that were scraping the sky, lines of roads that were thronged with honking cars, swarms of people basically racing past each other on the sidewalks. Sehun took a swig of the coffee. It hit the spot.
Even if he was no longer in Sehun’s life, he continued to haunt him in ways that were inescapable. Sometimes, even the littlest things reminded Sehun of the good and unfortunately, the bad memories of him. When he took a look into the coffee in the mug, he thought of the time Kai smiled at him faintly while sipping some coffee before he told Sehun about his past. All things which Sehun had fallen for.
Letting out a sigh, he pulled away from the railing and wandered back inside before he could throw himself off the balcony to stop the pain.
When he walked into the bedroom, he stopped to glance at the digital photo frame that rested on the bedside table. It was the first picture he and Jon had taken together. First date. Sehun remembered being nervous, not excited. It had been a while since he had gone out with a civilian. And let’s be honest. He had shitty luck when it came to men and romance.
But Jon had been… healthy, to say the least. He offered Sehun the soundness of mind he needed. A fresher perspective. Normalcy. When he came back from the agency, Jon would be waiting for him with the solace Sehun sought. But it was not enough.
He stepped into the shower and let the water run down his back for a while, recalling the past two years. When he closed his eyes, he saw images of the fight on the roof behind his lids. He took in a sharp breath, ran his fingers through his wet hair, turning off the showerhead.
He stood in front of the mirror after drying himself with a towel and surveyed the dry, jagged scars on his body. When Jon had asked, in horror, where Sehun had gotten them from, he simply told his boyfriend that he would tell him one day. He did not feel like telling Jon another lie. To Jon, Sehun was an ordinary man with an ordinary job, working at an ordinary company. Sehun doubted that Jon would love him if he knew half of Sehun’s history.
Pulling on a white shirt, Sehun tucked it into his blue jeans and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. He neatened his red hair and fastened a watch around his wrist before he grabbed the car keys and sauntered out of the apartment.
He would have to make it up to Jon when he came home tonight.
* * *
“You’re late,” B.I pointed out when Sehun walked into the room. Jaehyun was already seated at the table. Julien was perched on the edge of the table, rubbing his bearded jaw.
“Sorry,” muttered Sehun, sinking into a seat. “I had kind of a… rough night.”
“Spare us the details,” said Jaehyun.
Sehun rolled his eyes at him. “I did not mean that.”
“Okay, pay attention,” interrupted Julien, sliding the tablets over to Jaehyun and Sehun. “We got some information out of Harlan earlier today.”
“What did he divulge?” asked Sehun.
“His works are always kept on the DL,” said B.I. “That is why he has a great demand on the dark market. His heists are smooth, his jailbreaks can never be predicted. And he leaves almost no breadcrumbs behind. But he is not the one who’s doing all the dirty work.”
“Now, we expect that Red Peril wants Harlan’s resources for a heist,” said Julien. “A small heist, which is Harlan’s field of expertise. You two will go in tomorrow and meet Red Peril. Whatever they demand, agree to it.”
“What, we’re going to perform heists now, if that is what Red Peril wants from Harlan?” asked Jaehyun.
“Exactly,” said Julien. “We are going to do exactly what they want Harlan to do. Otherwise, we are not going to get much further. We need to catch Red Peril red-handed. What is their next plan? Their next move.”
Red Peril. A massive yet silent terrorist organization that had already pulled four monumental terrorist attacks in four different states. Its members were sleeper cells, which made it incredibly difficult for the agency to track them down. It could be anyone. It could be someone you brushed shoulders with on your way somewhere. It could be your local baker. Your teacher. Your neighbour. They waited and waited for their orders from the leader of the organization. Harlan was their stepping stone to get to Red Peril.
“Sehun will pose as Jude Beckett,” said B.I, pointing to the tablet Sehun was holding. “You will find all the particulars you need about him on there. Which isn’t much. Red Peril is probably not going to care about who you but what you can do.”
“What if we can’t handle their demand?” asked Jaehyun.
“You retreat,” said Julien. “At all costs. Do not try to be a hero. You get your asses back to home base and we’ll re-strategize.”
“Where is this meeting?” asked Sehun.
B.I hesitated to answer. “Japan,” he sighed at length. Sehun’s heart stopped beating for a second.
“You’re going to send us to Japan?” asked Jaehyun. “Just the both of us?”
“We are trying to prevent conspicuousness, Agent Jung,” said Julien. “In the past, we have trusted too many people, which we should not have. Red Peril administrates with sleeper cells. We cannot afford to trust our own people. And it will be the three of you. B.I will be going along.”
“If we’re voting, I would like to vote myself out,” said B.I. “Japan is like the nerve centre of Red Peril.”
“You’re going,” said the General. “Now, when you’re there, you will be welcomed by one of our associate agencies. You will get your arms, your slugs, your munitions, your whatnots there.”
Sehun found it difficult to breathe, his throat closing around a thick lump that made the back of his eyes sting. Japan… After all this time, all these years, he was being forced to set foot in the place he had been avoiding for so long.
“General,” he called when he finally found his voice again. Julien already knew what had Sehun looking so grievous and unsettled.
“Agent Oh,” said Julien before Sehun could continue. “You are the one I trust the most in this agency.”
“None taken,” B.I muttered while Jaehyun coughed.
Julien ignored them as he leaned forward and took hold of Sehun’s hand. Though he and Julien had once shared a hot affair during Sehun’s self-destructive phase, they only had a professional relationship now. But every now and then, when Sehun needed a pick up, Julien was there for him as a friend.
“I understand why you might be reluctant, but I need you,” Julien told Sehun. He retrieved his hand and rose from his seat. “It’s been years, Agent Oh. I need you to do your work.”
Sehun lowered his gaze. Julien was right. That was a closed chapter now. And he had a job to do.
Jaehyun was staring at him with his eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn in something like curiosity and confusion. Sehun doubted that the new recruit would not have heard muckrakes about Sehun’s past in the agency, but perhaps he had been oblivious.
“I believe you have flights to catch tomorrow evening,” Julien said as he started for the door. “Don’t mess it up.”
As soon as the General was out of the room, Jaehyun sat up straighter in his chair and said, “What was that all about?”
Sehun did not answer as he stood up.
“You don’t want to go to Japan or something?” asked Jaehyun. “What’s in Japan?”
B.I kept mum with his head lowered, pretending to be busy with his tablet.
“I have to get going,” said Sehun. “I have a bunch of Rank-1s and Rank-2s to train.”
* * *
“I still remember how you made me run around the compound in the name of training. I remember when you stumbled after kissing me for the first time. I don’t know if that was an act as well, but it meant a lot to me. Every time you ran away, I’m not sure if that was part of your plan to play hard to get, but I wanted to hold you closer, pull you back to me. I thought it was too good to be true. That you were too good to be true. It hurts to think that all those times, I was a fool. You must have laughed real hard at me. But that Kai isn’t real. He was full of lies and tricks. You. You’re a bastard. A cruel, selfish bastard. But you’re real. The moment I pull myself away from you, you immediately do something to drag my attention back. You wanted me to look at you. You kill my friends, but I don’t know how many more reasons you might have for that because apparently, you never do anything without solid reasons. You keep on hurting me with your words. You keep on hurting me with everything you do. But by the end of the day, you come by my apartment to watch me sleep. I can’t understand you, Kai. Why do you have so much fun in torturing yourself and me? You’re a literal headbanger.”
Sehun had meant every word he had said in that moment.
When he entered the apartment, he found Jon on the couch, watching a football match.
“Jon,” Sehun called, shutting the door behind him before he approached his boyfriend, who was clearly expecting an apology.
“Wait,” said Jon, surprising Sehun, as he rose from the couch. “I’m sorry.”
Sehun stilled and blinked at his boyfriend vacantly. “I should… be the one who’s sorry.”
“No,” Jon let out with a lopsided smile. “I should not have pushed. You told me that you have a hard time opening yourself up to people. I should have known to not to push.”
He closed the distance between them and took hold of Sehun’s face in his hands. His green eyes bored into Sehun’s for a moment. His faintly dark skin often reminded Sehun of another, whose taste still lingered in his mouth to this day.
“I know you need more time to tell me more about yourself,” said Jon. “I am willing to wait because I know that you are worth it, Sehun. And I know you will tell me yourself when you are ready.”
Sehun lowered his gaze, his lips stretching into a trembly grin. “How did I get so lucky,” he muttered in a breath.
Jon pressed a kiss to his forehead and wrapped his arms around Sehun’s body. “Just know that I love you.”
It unnerved Sehun a little. Jon’s affection for him was real. He was just not so sure how real his own affection for Jon was.
“Look,” he said, interrupting the moment as he pulled away from his boyfriend’s embrace. “I need to go away for a couple of weeks for a business trip. I leave tomorrow.”
Jon’s eyes widened. “What? That’s… sudden.”
“Yeah,” said Sehun, rubbing the back of his neck. “A colleague of mine backed out, so I have to fill in. I’ll be back earlier if I could manage.”
“Where to?”
“Uh… Japan.”
Jon looked a little conflicted. “All right,” he then sighed, collecting Sehun back into his arms. “I suppose we will just have to be together until we’re sick of each other for two weeks.”
Sehun chuckled, throwing his arms around Jon’s broad shoulders. “I guess that is ideal.”
* * *
He stared into the dark of the room, his boyfriend’s soft snores sort of lulling the ambience a little. Jon was fast asleep at his side. But Sehun could not find the rest he needed so badly.
He sat there on the bed, back leaned against the headboard, thinking about why it had troubled him so much to hear that he would be going to Japan today. Well, the reason was obvious, but why? Had he not moved on? Had he not put everything in the past already?
He had. He had.
Kai was nothing but a horror of the past now. So, why couldn’t Sehun forget about him?
Was it guilt? He had been the reason for why Kai was at the Central Directorate. The cynosure of all capital punishments. The centre of criminal justice. The base where criminals were coerced into divulging valuable information through the cruellest, most murderous of means. Over the years, Sehun had avoided any lowdown about Kai. He did not want to even know if the man was dead or alive.
As much as he attempted at keeping Kai and all that was related to him at bay by eschewing everything that concerned the bastard, his dreams and memories were stubbornly persistent at reminding him of how much he had loved Kai.
Toxic.
“Sehun?” Jon called in a hoarse voice, rousing from his sleep. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you asleep?”
Sehun shook his head and carded his fingers through his boyfriend’s dark hair. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep. I just wanted to get some water.”
Jon dropped his face back onto the pillow and fell asleep immediately. He was tired. Sehun climbed out of the bed and made his way to the kitchen. As he let the tap water run, he grabbed a glass and gripped it tightly in a hand, leaning over the sink counter.
“I feel you, I love you, I hurt you when I touch you. When I fuck you,” he remembered Kai saying as the psycho had him pinned to a wall. “And I love it so much.”
“Shit,” Sehun hissed under his breath as the glass he was holding shattered in his forceful grip. He quickly grabbed the kitchen towel to clean it up with a bead of tear rolling down his cheek.
No, he would not be as weak as he was when his love for Avin failed so painfully. He was not going to forgive Kai. He was not going to pity him. Kai deserved what he was suffering. Sehun would try to his very last breath to forget that son of a bitch. |
Lucy hiccups halfway through her drink and she’s not sure how many she’s had by now, but she definitely drank more than five glasses. “So yeah, like I said, I really don’t remember who my son’s father is,” she says, repeating herself.
“If there would be a way to find out, would you want to know?” Sara asks, throwing her glass back before ordering another.
“I don’t think I can find out,” Lucy answers, not going to delude herself with the idea that she’d be capable of doing that. “I’ve been to a bunch of parties that day, like from strangers and stuff, so I don’t even remember the locations, let alone which people were at it.”
“But if you could find out,” Sara repeats. “Would you want to know?”
“How am I supposed to find out?” Lucy asks, confused. She’s not sure if she’d want to know because there’s a chance Sirius’ father is some kind of asshole or whatnot.
“Say you could go back to the past or had the means to view the past,” Sara answers. “Then would you?”
“Go back to the past?” Lucy scoffs, feeling like Sara watched too many movies. “This ain’t some Marty Mcfly stuff,” she says skeptically. “What you’re talking about is some time traveling mumbo jumbo, which doesn’t exist.”
“Are you willing to bet on that?” Sara asks, gripping her next glass.
“It doesn’t exist,” Lucy answers, not believing that type of fantasy stuff.
“Aliens and metahumans exist,” Sara points out. “Would time traveling be so odd?”
“Next thing you’re going to tell me you traveled through time,” Lucy replies lightly. She’s going to need a lot more drinks if she’ll keep listening to this.
“I’m not from this earth,” Sara confesses quietly.
“You’re not from earth?” Lucy asks, surprised. “I didn’t take you for an alien.”
“I said I am not from this earth,” Sara repeats, stressing the word this. “I’m from another earth.”
“First time traveling stuff and now another earth,” Lucy sighs, feeling like she’s about to have a headache soon. “Even if I would believe in all that stuff, I guess my answer would have to be no, I don’t want to know who my son’s father is.”
“I was skeptical at first as well,” Sara recalls.
“I’m going back to the pool,” Lucy says, leaping of the stool she’d been sitting on. “Are you coming with me?” she asks, not wanting to seem as if she’s ditching Sara.
“No, I’m going to have a few more drinks,” Sara answers.
“Are you going to keep pouting?” Lena asks Kara, who has been pouting ever since they returned to relax at the pool.
“Yes,” Kara answers, sighing deeply. “I want an inflatable thingy too,” she says, staring at Lucy’s giant inflatable swan.
“I can buy you one,” Lena offers, wanting to make Kara smile. “There are shops here that sell inflatable things for the pool,” she recalls, having noticed them earlier.
“Ooooh, can I have a turtle?” Kara asks sweetly.
“Yes, you can,” Lena answers. She smiles while she grabs her purse and hands it to her wife. “I’ll see you back here in five minutes?”
Kara squeals happily. “Five minutes,” she confirms.
“Cousin Kara, can I go with you?” Lyra asks pleadingly.
“Of course,” Kara answers, taking Lyra’s hand in hers. “We’ll be right back,” she says to the others.
Lucy is lying down on top of her swan, next to Astra since there’s enough space to fit two. “You’re warm,” she murmurs, feeling Astra’s arm brushing against hers.
“As are you,” Astra replies without opening her eyes.
Lucy sighs softly and stirs, trying not to fall off of her swan. “You’re also soft,” she whispers, trailing her fingertips over Astra’s stomach. “So smooth,” she mumbles.
Astra opens her eyes and catches Lucy’s hand to still her fingers.
Lucy is about to pull her hand away and apologize, but then Astra is massaging her hand, which feels pleasant. She can feel that Astra is being gentle, making sure not to add too much pressure.
Lena raises her eyebrow when Lucy nuzzles against Astra’s shoulder while their fingers are intertwined. It’s a very rare sight to see Astra being that close with someone.
“You’re seeing it too, don’t you?” Maggie asks from behind Lena, who jumps up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologizes.
Lena takes a deep breath and turns around. “I didn’t know you and Alex had returned,” she says, having been caught off guard because she was staring at Lucy and Astra. “And to answer your question, yes, I see it.”
“They’re being slow about it,” Maggie whispers, feeling the urge to tell Astra and Lucy to just get it on already.
“That’s Astra and Luce you’re talking about,” Alex cuts in, trying to keep her voice as low as possible. “They’ve both been through a lot, the last thing they need is to rush anything,” she says, cutting them some slack.
“You are right,” Lena says, agreeing with Alex.
“I want them both to be happy,” Alex says, really just wanting everyone she knows to be happy.
“Did you happen to see our parents, Lee?” Maggie asks curiously, not having spotted them yet.
“And where are Clark and Lois?” Alex asks, not seeing them either. She knows Kara and Lyra went to buy inflatable animals for the pool because she passed them with Maggie on their way to the pool.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lena answers, not having seen them yet.
“Hmm, they’re probably out for some activity then,” Maggie says, unless they stayed in their unit.
“Look what we bought!” Kara shouts when she returns with Lyra.
“A zoo of inflatable animals,” Alex guesses, from the looks of how many her sister and Lyra are carrying.
“I got one for everyone,” Kara replies. She begins to blow them up in record time, tossing them into the pool.
Maggie wriggles herself to sit between Alex’s legs, smiling as her wife wraps her arms around her. She likes that they’re about to have a movie night in their unit, which reminds her of all the movie nights they’ve spent in National City. They’re all huddling up together on the couch, cozy. Well, all is not entirely correct. Her parents, Alex’s parents, Clark and Lois aren’t here.
Kara is sitting next to Alex with Lena on her lap and even if there had been more space, she’d still want her wife to sit on her lap. It’s unfortunate that Clark said no, but that’s mostly due to Lois who doesn’t get along with Lucy. She has two cousins and yet she only ever spends time with Lyra.
Winn is blushing while he’s atop Mike’s lap at the corner of the couch, next to Harley who’s sitting on Ivy’s lap. He likes being around his friends because they’re the closest thing to a family he has. He’s happy that his boyfriend is his soulmate so they will have a future together.
Lucy is on Astra’s lap, purely because Lyra is sitting on Sara’s lap and there weren’t any other spots left. This couch only has six spots, one being shared by Alex and Maggie, the second by Kara and Lena, the third by Mike and Winn, the fourth by Harley and Ivy, the fifth by Sara and Lyra, which left the final spot for Astra and her. She knew Lois would pass up the opportunity and it sucks a little bit that she doesn’t get along with her sister. They never really got along, but ever since she ended their father in prison it didn’t improve.
“I like this movie,” Lyra says, her eyes glued to the screen while Over the Hedge plays.
“It’s not bad,” Lucy mumbles, having seen it before. She unfolds a blanket, attempting to cover them all a bit so they can be snug.
Kara brushes Lena’s hair to the side, smoothing it over her shoulder so she can kiss her neck softly. She rests her head on her wife’s shoulder, happy to be sitting here with those who are closest to her.
Maggie plays with Alex’s hands under the blanket, lacing and unlacing their fingers several times. She doesn’t complain when her wife shifts her a bit so she can sit more on her lap rather than between her legs, because they’re all sitting quite pressed up against each other. The movie is cute and she knows they’ll watch a more mature movie after this one, when Lyra goes to sleep.
Astra’s arms are around Lucy’s waist and she feels Lucy’s hands resting on hers, gently caressing. Her daughter had been quick to sit on Sara’s lap rather than hers and she knows Lyra is rather fond of her niece’s friends.
Lucy leans back a bit, resting closer against Astra to be comfortable. She nuzzles her head in the crook of Astra’s neck, fluttering her eyes shut for a moment to relax.
“I will get us some drinks,” Harley says, moving the blanket aside to get up from Ivy’s lap. “Cola?” she asks, glancing at her friends.
“Two glasses of water,” Kara answers, since she knows her aunt and her cousin tend to drink water instead.
“Okay, ten glasses of cola and two glasses of water,” Harley notes, grinning when Ivy looks at her as if she couldn’t do basic math like that. “I’ll grab a tray,” she says while she walks towards the kitchen, unable to carry it all at once otherwise.
“Can you please get some snacks, too?” Kara asks pleadingly. “I’m hungry,” she whines, needing some food.
“You ate a five course meal for dinner,” Alex says, gaping at her sister.
“I know,” Kara sighs. “But I’m hungry again,” she says, wanting snacks.
“Good luck having her live with you permanently, Lee,” Lucy comments, amused because she knows Lena will have to buy tons of food. She’s seen Kara eating more than Astra and Lyra combined, which is crazy.
“I think it’s adorable,” Lena whispers, not bothered by Kara’s extraordinary appetite.
Harley sways her hips when she walks back to the couch, a tray in one hand and a bowl with chips in the other hand. “Here you go, doll,” she says to Kara, handing her the bowl of chips.
“Thanks,” Kara replies gratefully, eagerly accepting the bowl.
“You better share those chips, little Danvers,” Maggie says, trying to grab one while Kara is holding the bowl away from her. “If you don’t share I’ll kidnap Snowball.”
“You wouldn’t,” Kara gasps, but seeing Maggie’s serious look she decides not to take any chances. “Fine,” she grumbles, holding the bowl out to her friend. “You can have one.”
“Okay,” Maggie agrees, smirking when she grabs a handful of chips. “One,” she states.
“Alex, your wife is being mean to me,” Kara whines to her sister. “Do something.”
Alex’s response is taking a handful of chips as well. “Sharing is caring, Kara,” she says, looking at the others to see if they want some chips too.
“Pass the bowl,” Lucy says, stretching her hand out because she can’t reach it.
Maggie snatches the bowl away from Kara to pass it to Lucy, ignoring the pout she’s receiving. “Won’t work, little Danvers,” she says calmly. “I’m immune to it.”
“My secret weapon, destroyed,” Kara replies dramatically, smiling when her friends laugh.
“I’m sleepy,” Lyra whispers, struggling to stifle a yawn.
“Time for bed, my little darling,” Astra says to her daughter. She taps Lucy’s thigh so she can stand up to go tuck Lyra in.
“Good night,” Lyra says, waving at them all while her mother scoops her up.
“Goodnight, Lyra,” they all reply at once.
“The movie’s almost done,” Ivy points out, shrugging when they stare at her for knowing that. “Which one are we going to watch next?”
“We’ll have to vote,” Alex answers.
“I vote for something gay,” Maggie says, sharing her thoughts.
“I’m down for that,” Alex agrees.
“Fine by me,” Lucy says, nodding to agree as well.
“I don’t think any of us would mind watching a gay movie,” Sara comments. “None of us is straight.”
“S makes a valid point,” Lucy says, because it’s true, none of them is straight. “A gay movie it is then,” she continues, grabbing the remote. “Which one?” she asks, looking through the options they have.
When Astra sits down after having tucked her daughter in and having sang the Kryptonese lullaby, she finds Lucy sitting at her spot, waiting for her to sit on her lap. Before she had gotten up, the young woman had sat on her lap and it seems unusual to switch that now, though she doesn’t complain.
Lucy watches Astra purse her lips and for a second she thinks Astra is going to complain and refuse to sit on her lap, but then Astra sits down anyway. She lets out a slow exhale, circling her arms around Astra. While the movie plays she moves her fingertips across Astra’s arms.
“This is an impressive advanced piece of technology,” Jeremiah says to Lena, interested as he studies the soulmate device which Harley brought along for this trip. “You created this by yourself?” he asks, not hiding his admiration for Lena’s skills.
“Yes, I did,” Lena answers. She’s relieved that she may be bonding a bit with Kara’s adoptive parents. They are all sitting on the sand at the beach, in a circle and this time not a single one of them is absent. “It felt unfair that so many people were being kept in the dark about the existence of anomalies, some not even knowing they are one,” she explains, glad that she shed a light on that.
“Would you mind if I test it?” Jeremiah asks, not wanting to overstep.
“By all means,” Lena answers, holding her hand out in a signal that says go ahead.
Jeremiah pricks his finger and smiles when the light turns green on the display. “This means I have one soulmate, right?” he asks, already knowing his wife is his soulmate.
“Yes, precisely,” Lena confirms.
Eliza tests the device as well, after Lena’s permission, getting a green light as well.
“Most of us already tested it before,” Harley says, remembering that day.
“I had an orange light,” Sara reveals, unashamed. “Multiple soulmates,” she clarifies for those who don’t know.
“Same as me,” Alex sighs, relaxing as Maggie holds her.
Maggie notices something strange about the way her parents look at Alex, as if she said something disgusting or whatever. “You should both try it out as well,” she insists to her parents.
Elvira is the first to comply, getting a green light. She shares a worried look with her husband when it is his turn.
“This is not how you were supposed to find out,” Angelo says to Maggie. “Your mother and I didn’t want to tell you,” he admits.
“Papa?” Maggie asks, confused. “You didn’t want me to know what?” she asks, but she gets her answer when the display lights up orange for her father. “You have multiple soulmates.”
“Yes,” Angelo confirms. “I chose your mother and married her.”
“You never told us Alex is an anomaly,” Elvira says to Maggie, a bit disappointed.
“It didn’t seem relevant,” Maggie replies and it’s also quite personal, besides Alex is her wife.
“Is that a problem?” Alex asks, feeling nervous and worried that Maggie’s parents would no longer accept her now that they know that she’s an anomaly.
“Have you met your other soulmate?” Angelo asks Alex.
“I have,” Alex answers, deciding not to get too detailed. “I’ve always known it was going to be Maggie for me,” she says, not revealing that Astra is her other soulmate.
“You should try it,” Harley says to Lois, pushing the device in her hands.
Lois seems hesitant, but tries it out anyway, getting a green light.
“I already tested it before,” Clark says quickly, aware that the needle can’t pierce his skin.
“Luce is the only one who hasn’t tested it yet,” Harley says, remembering.
“But that day at school we all tested it,” Winn objects.
“Not Lucy though,” Sara points out. “She didn’t feel well and excused herself.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Lucy replies, recalling how sick she felt during that time. “I didn’t test it yet.”
“Better late than never,” Maggie says, shrugging.
“Sure, why not,” Lucy agrees, considering she already knows the results from the others. She pricks her finger with the needle and presses her droplet of blood against the strip. Now she just needs to wait a few seconds for that light to show up. “Um, Lee, I think this device is broken,” she says when no color shows.
“Let me see,” Lena replies, taking the device from Lucy to test it. After a few seconds, it’s clear nothing is wrong with her device. “I don’t understand,” she says, genuinely confused. “You should be getting either a green, orange or red light.”
“I understand why,” Astra says while her eyes are wide. “All these years I believed it to be a myth, a legend.”
“What’s a myth?” Lucy asks, leaning in closer to listen to Astra while the others do the same. She knows Astra shared her knowledge about anomalies before, but right now she has no idea what Astra is aiming at.
“You are so very special,” Astra whispers. “More than you know,” she continues. “According to an old legend, a handful of people have the power to choose their own soulmate, even if said soulmate was bound to be someone else’s. If such a person shares a true love's kiss with someone, then that person becomes their soulmate.”
“Wow,” Lucy whispers, surprised that she’s like that. It’s quite funny how she used to think she couldn’t find her soulmate when all along it’s been all within her powers, though she’s not sure if she can ever share a true love's kiss with someone when that someone has another soulmate, and it sounds like robbing someone else from their soulmate.
Maggie’s eyes flit between Astra and Lucy. She has a hopeful smile that they will both turn out okay. The way she sees it, Astra and Lucy simply need to share a true love's kiss and then they’ll be happy. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
|
‘Oh my God, I see how everything is torn in the river deep,
And I don
’t know why I go the way down by the riverside.
When that old river runs past your eyes,
To wash off the dirt on the riverside.
Go to the water so very near,
The river will be your eyes and ears.
I walk to the borders on my own,
Fall in the water just like a stone,
Chilled to the marrow in them bones,
Why do I go here all alone?
’
-Agnes Obel
Isabelle
The blade sliced through the demon and it let out a fractured howl, clawing for me and missing by inches. I ducked swiftly, rolling out of reach and using the momentum to plunge my weapon deep in the stomach of the one Clary was fighting off.
Of the four lower demons who attacked us, two were now dead and the other two furiously lashed out, determined not to follow their fallen comrades.
Fighting something felt good. Solid, real enemies I could hit and cut down. It felt like screaming, letting the frustration and anger pour out of me until I was empty and shaking, except with more blood and stabbing.
The demons scrabbled closer to each other, forming a frontal attack. Clary and I mirrored the action and together, we ran at them. A flurry of claws and blades, pain and adrenaline and then… stillness.
‘Fuck,’ Clary gasped. ‘I’m out of shape.’
I grinned crookedly at her. ‘You did good.’
She shook her head. ‘My lungs are burning. Where did they spring from? I haven’t seen demons in months!’
‘Yeah,’ I said, kicking the slimy body drenched in ichor. ‘Guess they’re back.’
‘Because of Nick being dead, you think?’
‘Has to be. They were no-shows for so long. Now he’s out of commission, I guess they don’t have to worry about being infected by the drug.’
Clary sighed, giving me her full attention. ‘You OK?’
I couldn’t pull my gaze from the corpse. ‘After cutting Sang into a dozen pieces and scattering them in a landfill?’
‘Well, that too, but also your neck.’
I hadn’t noticed there was a pretty nasty gash across my collarbone. ‘Nothing a healing rune won’t fix. See? Fine.’
With a dry laugh, Clary said, ‘Fine like and Jace and Alec are fine?’
‘Fine, Izzy style,’ I said, having applied fresh healing runes and dropping her a reassuring wink. ‘As in actually fine. Not great, but fine.’
‘Hey,’ Clary said. ‘You are great.’
I looked down at the bodies. ‘Not today.’
Clary looked around ‘You wanna get something to eat?’
I shrugged.
‘Yeah, let’s go get something,’ she said as though I had agreed. ‘C’mon, I’m starving. They’ll… dissolve, right?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘They’ll be goo in an hour or so.’
‘Great. I want sushi.’
‘You’re high maintenance.’
The sushi place was expensive, but I didn’t care and Clary definitely didn’t. It was a tiny little shop with cushy booths inside and the pleasant smell of sticky rice.
Clary shrugged off her jacket. ‘I want, like, a million things.’
I picked up a menu and glanced at it. ‘Eh, it looks weird.’
‘Sushi isn’t weird, it’s amazing. What do you want? My treat.’
‘What’s a small, plain dish?’ I asked, stomach clenching and tightening. ‘I’m not that hungry.’
‘Well, I’m gonna order at least ten things, so why don’t you just share with me?’
She said it really casually, but it was a calculated move. Clary knew me, she knew I hated the pressure of eating food set in front of me if I was under stress.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I relented, grateful for her in every way.
A waitress came over and Clary, true to her word, ordered so much sushi I didn’t see how it would all fit on the table. The young girl also gave Clary and I long, worried looks, lingering on our torn clothes and slightly bloodied appearance.
‘Do you girls need me to call the cops or…something?’
‘We’re fine,’ I told her. ‘Too much rolling around in the park.’
‘Yeah, be more careful next time, babe,’ Clary said seriously. ‘Forgetting the safe word is no joke.’
The waitress didn’t seem entirely appeased, but she left to the put our order in anyway, glancing back at us as she went.
‘That’s a lot of sushi you ordered.’
‘It comes in tiny little platters,’ Clary defended. ‘This place is great. My Mom used to bring me here when I was little, but I would only eat plain rice.’
I looked around. ‘The last time I ate in a restaurant was with Sebastian.’
‘Huh,’ she said, nodding. ‘I haven’t heard any more from him.’
‘You think you will?’
‘In time, yeah. I know he’s giving me space right now, that’s how he sees it.’
‘Must be weird,’ I said. ‘How do you feel about him now? I mean, he did help us. He told us about Jace and even gift-wrapped Sang.’
Clary’s expression darkened a little. ‘I think gift wrapped it exactly right. I can’t get over the fact that it was all for me. It creeps me out still.’
‘It’s a lot to process.’
‘Yeah,’ she said and now I knew she was going to swing the conversation back to me, more accurately to what was happening with Jace and Alec. ‘I think everyone is in crisis mode.’
‘I don’t even know most of what’s happening with Jace and Alec,’ I admitted thickly because Clary was someone I could be vulnerable with. ‘There’s stuff they don’t tell me, there has always been stuff they don’t tell me, but this is different. Something is wrong with Jace.’
‘But I thought the drug was removed? Alec sold his memories to remove it, no?’
‘I don’t think it’s that.’ I shook myself, trying to focus my thoughts. ‘He’s like… pretending to be OK. I can see the effort that goes into it. I don’t know what happened with him and Alec the last few weeks, but it’s affected him that’s for sure.’
‘You asked him what it was?’
‘What’s the point? He’ll just lie.’
‘Maybe he won’t.’
I ran a hand through my hair, still spattered with ichor and leaves. ‘I think I’m scared to ask him.’
‘Maybe he needs you to ask. You gotta think that Alec, this Alec, doesn’t know what’s been going on the last few weeks. Jace must feel so alone.’
I rubbed my eyes. ‘That’s true, I guess.’
‘I mean, at least all this is well timed, though,’ Clary pointed out bitterly, as the waitress brought over two trays of tiny round plates covered in sushi dishes. ‘Worked out well in Alicante at least. That fucker, Henson.’
The waitress seemed pretty nonchalant as she left, but Clary picked up her napkin and stared at it.
‘What?’ I asked.
Clary grinned and showed me. The waitress had written on the napkin, If you need me to help, come to counter and complain about something.
‘She thinks you’re the one being abused?’
Clary sighed and dug into the food. ‘Guess I just exude innocence. Mmmm! Try this one.’
To please her, I stabbed at a tuna roll with my fork and popped it in my mouth. It was delicious and full of flavour. ‘That’s good.’
‘Right?’ she said, her eyes happy and glowing now that I’d eaten something. ‘So, have you seen Simon lately?’
‘Like, clapped eyes on him?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Not really. He’s called me a few times, but I’ve been really busy.’
Her expression softened. ‘You still not ready?’
I ate another roll, giving myself time to consider. ‘I just… look at Jace and Alec, you know? It’s so messy. It’s messy because they care. They care way too much.’
‘Caring is good, babe.’
‘Caring is fine. Caring and sex, I don’t know.’
‘Christ, you sound like Jace.’
‘Maybe he has a point.’
Clary sighed and looked down. ‘Izzy, I know you don’t really want to hear this, but have you thought about… whether or not you’ve been damaged as well?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘From Sang’s? I mean, you didn’t drink there as much as Jace, but you went there way more than Alec.’
My stomach twisted and the small amount of food inside it made me feel sick. ‘I’m OK,’ I said, reaching for a glass of table water.
‘Are you? Did anyone else even ask?’
I swallowed. ‘They’ve got their own stuff going on.’
Clary was insistent. ‘So have you.’
‘Not really on the same level, though, is it?’
‘Fuck, Izzy! That doesn’t mean your life isn’t important, all right? I’m always here.’
My nose stung with unexpected tears which I kept at bay, but only just. ‘I know, but you’ve been through so much with Sebastian and everything.’
‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t do that, don’t make excuses. You’re important to me and I need you to let me help when it’s necessary.’
I managed another piece of sushi and smiled weakly at her. ‘I’ll try.’
She reached across the table and took my hand in hers, not for any purpose but to simply hold me while we ate in companionable silence.
‘Mom,’ I groaned down the phone, looking up at the ceiling hoping it would give me some fucking strength. ‘No.
‘A party is what everyone needs. A little fun to lighten everyone’s spirits!’
‘First off, you hate fun.’
‘I do not hate fun, Isabelle.’
‘Secondly, you don’t even know Simon.’
‘What better way to get to know him by throwing him a party?’
I pinched the bridge of my nose in an attempt to fend off a growing headache. ‘Mom,’ I said. ‘No one wants a party right now.’
‘We could make it a joint party for Simon and Alec! We never got to throw one for him and it was his twenty-first.’
‘Is this to get back at Dad?’
Haughtily, my Mom scoffed. ‘I couldn’t care less about your father. His behaviour in Alicante speaks for itself. Believing the worst right away.’
‘Yeah, he’s a dick,’ I sighed, rummaging through my drawers for a bra. ‘No party, Mom. Now isn’t the right time.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…’ I hesitated, thinking of the dozens of reasons, none of which I could tell her. ‘Because we’re too old for a party and even if we weren’t, maybe Simon doesn’t even want a party!’
‘What about Max? He’s been asking me for weeks if we can throw a party, he feels so bad Alec didn’t get to have one.’
‘Low blow, Mom,’ I sighed.
‘It’ll be laid back and chilled.’
‘Please don’t use those words, I just had an aneurysm.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘No!’
‘Perfect, why don’t we have it in your new apartment?’
‘No, no, that’s not a good idea.’
‘Oh, all right,’ she said, sounding rather put out. ‘I’ll sort it all out. When is his actual birthday again?’
I gave up. ‘The seventeenth.’
‘Let’s do it this Saturday, sound good?’
‘Barring vicious demon attacks, I guess so.’
‘Lovely. I can’t wait to see you all! I’ll text you with details once it’s arranged. Love you, Isabelle!’
‘You too, Mom,’ I said wearily and hung up, dropping the phone on my bed. I finished dressing and applying a little makeup. Today was going to be difficult, I felt an uneasy sense of dread at the thought of trying to reconnect with Jace and Alec, mostly Jace. The day hadn’t exactly gotten off to the best start, either. Fucking Mom and her bullshit.
Deep beneath the shaky veneer of everything was fine I knew there was something seriously bad lurking. It was time to delve deep and see what mess they’d gotten themselves into.
My phone went off again and I almost ignored it, sure it was Mom calling back to ask about fucking balloons or Angel knew what, but a glance at the screen showed it was Simon.
After a brief moment of indecision, I answered it.
‘Hey,’ I said, sitting down.
‘You answered!’ he said. ‘I mean, sorry - I didn’t expect you to actually answer.’
I laughed. ‘So why did you call?’
‘Urgh, that was a bad start. Do-over coming up. Hey, Isabelle, it’s Simon. How are you?’
‘I’m good, Simon,’ I said, playing along. ‘How are you?’
‘Well, Izzy, I’ll tell you. I miss you a lot and I feel like I’ve been sort of frozen out which is fine and all but you left a gaping hole in my chest and most days I stare at my phone hoping to see a snarky text or something.’
‘Well, that was…’
‘Honest.’
‘Yeah, honest is good.’
He chuckled. ‘You don’t think that.’
‘Sometimes I do.’
‘Rarely, if ever. So, I ask again - how are you?’
‘I’m…’ I trailed off, wondering how to even begin with an honest answer. ‘Maybe tonight we could go out somewhere and I’ll tell you.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure.’
‘Like…a date?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I suppose you could call it that.’
‘OK,’ he said, sounding extremely pleased. ‘Where do you wanna go?’
‘Not a restaurant,’ I warned.
‘No, I knew that already, I meant is there something specific I should book? Have you ever been rock climbing?’
‘What? No, I h--’
‘No, wait!’ he said excitedly. ‘I got it! OK, I’ll text you shrouded details unless you want me to send an Uber?’
‘I’ll meet you there, let me know the time.’
‘Can’t wait,’ he said.
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘See, that was honest,’ he pointed out. ‘I can always tell with you.’
‘Later, dork.’
He hung up first and I couldn’t help but smile. This was good. I could warn him about the monstrously awkward party about to be thrown for him against his will and maybe talk about the other heavy shit going on around here.
Feeling a little stronger, I left to go in search of the boys.
Jace was doing laundry, something he did a lot of lately. The room was noisy and warm, lots of moving machines and a strong smell of detergent and steam. I knocked loudly before entering, but he still jumped when I spoke.
‘Hey,’ I called over the din of the machines.
‘Oh hey,’ he said, almost covering his tracks, but not quite. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, letting the door shut behind me. ‘More laundry, huh?’
He shot me a brief smile. ‘It’s actually soothing, like a zen exercise.’
‘Not a hiding away from Alec exercise?’
His hands faltered on the sweater he was folding. ‘He knows where I am.’
‘Jace,’ I said gently. ‘So much has happened lately and I know you’re struggling. Alec might be being a huge dumb-ass, but I’m always here for you.’
‘I know you are,’ he said perfunctorily with a tired smile. ‘I just…’
‘Yeah?’
‘Never mind,’ he said, shaking it away. ‘How are you?’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘We haven’t talked properly in weeks, Jace. I’m so worried.’
He laughed, but there was a hint of nervousness to it. ‘Why?’
‘You’ve folded that shirt five times,’ I pointed out. ‘Something isn’t right.’
He glanced down at the garment and blinked forcibly. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘Do you feel different? Without that stuff in your system?’
‘I do,’ he admitted carefully. ‘I do, but it’s not quite registering. If circumstances were different… maybe I’d feel it more.’
‘What do you mean?’
Quietly, he said, ‘It’s probably the only reason I’m alive.’
That shocked me. I didn’t even know what to say to him, how to demand that he explain himself. ‘Jace,’ I said, not knowing how to follow up with the questions I needed answered.
‘So much has happened,’ he said, trembling hands starting to fold clothes again. ‘And you know what’s the weirdest part?’
‘You miss the other Alec.’
His eyes met mine fully. ‘Yes,’ he said and I saw the pain of his loss there for the first time. ‘I miss him so much and it’s fucking with my head because Alec is here! He’s here with us and it’s the real Alec! But I still miss that part of him, despite what he did.’
I looked down. ‘Can I ask why?’
‘He was… he understood me.’
‘And Alec doesn’t?’
‘Not every part of me.’
‘Which parts, Jace?’
The question seemed to cause him pain so I didn’t press. ‘I think I’m grieving,’ he said instead. ‘With the memories gone, it’s like that part of him died.’
‘Well, that’s completely natural to grieve over. He’s still in there, though. That part of Alec is always there, in the back of his mind. He’s not really dead, just not in control.’
He frowned, like that hadn’t occurred to him. ‘I guess.’
‘We never talked about you and Alec,’ I said. ‘Sleeping together.’
Jace looked so ashamed I almost wanted to cry. ‘Are you going to tell him?’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘I know you don’t want to tell him and I understand that completely, but… Jace, he has a right to know.’
‘He’ll never forgive me, Izzy.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know he wasn’t himself.’
‘I think maybe I did know,’ he said quietly, staring down at a shirt. ‘When I look back, I think I knew the whole time right up until the end. Something in me recognised it, but I didn’t want to believe it, so I lied to myself. I’m good at that.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘Izzy I…I slept with him again,’ he said, voice tight. ‘In the apartment when he was inside Magnus’s barrier. I went in there with him and we slept together.’
The urge to slap him came and went, hurried out of perspective by the sheer look of desolation on his face. ‘Is that what’s upsetting you?’
He didn’t say anything for a long moment before closing his eyes. ‘Part of it, yes.’
This was it; we were nearing the thing that had been eating away at him. I knew I had to tread carefully. I wasn’t Alec - I would not be able to pull the truth from him if I mis-stepped.
‘What’s the other part?’
He waited so long before speaking again that I half expected the door to burst open or for us to be disturbed in some way. No one came, though and he didn’t seem to be able to verbalise it.
‘I…’ he said after a moment of strangled silence. ‘I want to tell you.’
‘But you can’t?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
I hid my disappointment and touched his shoulder instead, gentle and non-committal. ‘It’s fine, don’t be sorry. Maybe we can talk later.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, looking away so I didn’t see his over bright eyes.
Unable to ignore it anymore, I said, ‘Maybe you could stop by for a haircut?’
Bemused, he ran a hand through his hair. ‘Haircut?’
‘It’s longer than it’s ever been,’ I said, smiling. ‘I mean, unless you’re growing it?’
Self-conscious, he said, ‘I didn’t notice.’
‘You normally get it cut like every three weeks, the sides at least.’
‘Yeah, I uh… haven’t been out a lot lately.’
‘So come to my room, I’ve got scissors and skills.’
He eyed me doubtfully, but agreed. ‘What could go wrong, eh?’
Alec, it turned out, was looking for me. He found me in the weapons room, examining blades carefully, inspecting those that required repairs or sharpening. He opened the door abruptly, entering in a way that made it clear he was in a bad mood.
‘Mom just called,’ he said, voice barely held together from how angry he was.
I gave him a sympathetic look of shared suffering. ‘At least she didn’t try and make it a surprise.’
‘You agreed to this?’
I scoffed. ‘Yeah, ‘because Mom is such a pushover. C’mon, Alec, you know how she is. She wouldn’t let it go. Poor Simon, he doesn’t know what he’s in for.’
Alec didn’t seem reassured. ‘She said it was a joint party for us both!’ he said, voice getting steadily higher.
‘I guess so,’ I sighed, putting down the blade. ‘But look, just let her do this and then we won’t have to see her for a while after. It’s all to get back at Dad, somehow.’
‘That was about 25% of the impression I got,’ Alec said. ‘But the other 75% seemed to be guilt and her wanting to meet Simon properly. She asked me if he was your boyfriend.’
‘Fucking hell in a hand-basket! How does she even find out these things?’
My brother’s expression blanked out in shock. ‘He is, then?’
Distracted, I hadn’t followed his line of thought. ‘Is what?’
‘Your boyfriend?’
‘What? No, well…. No.’
‘No?’
I slanted my head a shrugged. ‘Well.’
Alec raised his hands. ‘OK, I get it. Space given. We need to cancel the party, you realise that?’
‘How? She’s probably already invited everyone we’ve ever met!’
‘Izzy,’ he said, seriously. ‘The last thing anyone needs is a fucking party.’
‘You mean the last thing Jace needs,’ I pointed out.
He seemed exasperated I wasn’t fully on board with destroying party plans.
‘I mean, it’s hardly top on my list of priorities either,’ he said.
‘Alec, have you spoken to Jace lately?’
He bristled, crossing his arms. ‘Of course, I have.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Do you know what’s happened to him?’
His blue eyes darkened. ‘I’m not certain.’
Despite how much I wanted to demand why he hadn’t asked Jace outright, hadn’t done everything he could to get the truth from him, it wasn’t helpful. They were both fragile in their own ways.
‘OK,’ I said, pushing away from the workstation. ‘Well, I’m here if anyone ever actually wants to talk to me voluntarily.’
The date with Simon turned out to be ice skating and it was an unmitigated disaster of the most wonderful proportions. He took me to a small outdoor rink decorated with lights and music. Simon, it turned out, had never actually been skating more than twice when his Mom took him as a kid. He couldn’t skate to save his life.
I, with my years of balance and training, managed to stay upright with relative ease and even skate a little when I wasn’t supporting Simon who seemed to have decided flailing and wind-milling his arms was the way to go. People laughed and some even stared, but I didn’t mind. Being with him was fun and freeing.
‘This is sexy,’ I said, patting his hand currently in a death-grip on my forearm as we inched forward on the slippery surface. ‘I’m so hot for you right now.’
Simon tried to laugh but almost lost his footing again. ‘Yeah, well I’m freezing my ass off!’
‘That’s ‘cause you fell, a lot.’
‘Oh, I give up!’ he wailed miserably. ‘This was not how I planned it at all!’
With care, I guided him to the edge of the rink, bypassing proficient skaters. He clung to the edge and caught his breath.
‘How did you plan it?’
‘If I’m being honest, I thought our positions might be somewhat reversed.’
I laughed. ‘That’s not likely.’
‘Yeah, I kinda forgot how absolutely fucking amazing you are at everything,’ he wheezed, but then he caught my gaze meaningfully. ‘For like ten seconds, anyway.’
A strange fluttering sensation blossomed throughout my body, emanating from my chest. A half smile curled without my permission.
‘You’re a vampire, Simon. Where’s your amazing abilities?’
He scoffed. ‘Apparently ice skating is like garlic to my impressive vampire grace and cat-like agility.’
Carefully, we made it to the exit and walked on stable floor still wearing the bladed boots. I helped him to the nearest bench and he collapsed there in a huff. I unlaced my boots beside him, glancing at him now and then.
‘You wanna eat?’ he asked super casually.
‘No,’ I said with a well-practised smile. ‘I ate earlier. Let’s go somewhere else.’
‘You sure?’ he asked, yanking off his boot. ‘Carrying me around like a princess didn’t give you an appetite?’
I winced a little at his clumsy attempt, made all the more obvious by Clary’s deft and confident ways of getting me to eat. He was trying, which meant a lot but the attention was verging on unbearable.
‘You don’t even eat,’ I pointed out, returning the skates and getting our shoes back. Simon’s ratty, worn All Stars and my knee-high leather boots which still had a little demon ichor from the other night. The guy who handed them over gave me a long up and down look, nodding to himself as though I’d ticked some kind of checklist. A sharp comment was ready and waiting on the tip of my tongue, something to jolt him out of his sense of entitlement in staring at me like a slab of meat, but it would escalate and I didn’t have the energy.
‘I could drink coffee while you ate,’ Simon suggested, but it was weak now, he was running out of attempts. Clary wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.
‘We can go get coffee later,’ I said and he shrugged, giving up.
‘OK, where to next?’
‘This was your date, Simon,’ I pointed out with a grin. ‘Did your plan end with me swooning over your skating skills?’
He rolled his eyes good naturedly. ‘It may have.’
‘Come on, then. My turn.’
Tuesday night was trivia night in the Gaelicious Pub and I loved the atmosphere. It was rough and highly un-modern with bare brick walls and ridiculous Irish signs everywhere. The whole place was stuck perpetually in St Patrick’s Day, but they had great beer.
‘Did you bring me here to I could fight off a load of burly Irish guys who hit on you?’ Simon asked, looking around as he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the back of a wooden chair.
‘I did not,’ I explained. ‘I brought you here because it’s the weekly trivia contest.’
His eyes widened, looking at the bar where a huge sign announced that it was indeed Trivia Night.
Panicked, he said, ‘I suck at trivia.’
I laughed gently. ‘Me too, but I never play. We couldn’t even if we wanted, you need minimum four to a team and I usually come alone or with Clary.’
Sadness tinged his expression and I realised I’d just declared I was an enormous loser who never had enough people with her to take part in a fucking trivia night.
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘Yeah, but it’s really fun to watch and we can see how many questions we know.’
He smiled. ‘Like, do our own little trivia contest?’
‘A secret one,’ I said, helplessly smiling back because he hadn’t teased me, he’d understood.
‘OK,’ he said, nodding seriously. ‘This will require beer.’
Simon and I turned out to be pretty good at trivia when combining forces. He knew every single question about films or TV and I knew a lot of the history and science questions. We failed dismally at sport, but it was hard to care when we were having so much fun.
I didn’t drink enough to get drunk, a few beers and then onto water. I felt relaxed, just enough to let my guard drop a little. Simon embraced the trivia competition with gusto, getting a little competitive with the other teams despite the fact we weren’t allowed to play officially.
‘I’m telling you, we came second,’ he insisted to me as we left. ‘We need a team - we can trounce those guys next time!’
‘Maybe,’ I said lightly, smiling as the fresh, icy air hit my face. It had been hot in there, though not unbearably so. ‘That was fun.’
‘Yeah, it was.’
He wrapped his arm around me. We walked along the streets together with no direction in mind, simply content to be together. I knew I had to get back soon, I’d been away a while already but his presence was soothing and I longed to be closer, to kiss and feel him undulate under my touch.
‘You have a good time?’ he asked, pressing a kiss to my hair as we reached the underground station.
‘Yeah, it was great,’ I said, leaning into him. He wasn’t warm, but he was solid and right there. He wasn’t looking around for anyone else or wishing I’d leave so he could talk in private. It felt nice to be wanted.
The thought prickled ice cold guilt right up the base of my spine. That was a shitty thing to think and neither Jace nor Alec deserved it. They’d been through so much.
‘Shall I insult you by offering to walk you home, Miss Lightwood?’
The returning smile was weak, I couldn’t fully laugh. ‘No,’ I told him. ‘But thanks. I actually have to tell you something.’
He braced himself for whatever I was about to lay on him. He hadn’t asked me if there was anything I wanted to discuss all night, presumably waiting for me to bring it up first. ‘OK, of course. You can tell me anything.’
I sighed heavily. ‘My Mom is throwing you a party.’
He didn’t react beyond saying, ‘Huh?’
‘My Mom,’ I repeated. ‘Has decided to throw you a birthday party. It’s for Alec too, apparently but… well, I think she wants to meet you properly now that she suspects.’
A smile coloured his eyes. ‘Suspects what?’
‘Suspects that I like you,’ I admitted with a grudging smile.
‘Oh, so you admit you like me, huh?’
‘Obviously I like you, Simon. We just went on a date!’
His teasing expression softened. ‘But you’ve never said you like me before.’
I sobered. ‘I like you a lot,’ I told him. ‘I care about you more than I can really admit.’
Somehow, our bodies had drifted closer without me noticing. I looked up at him, just an inch taller than me. He was uncomplicated and solid, imperfect and un-swaying.
Fuck being a Lightwood. Fuck this bullshit about sex and love not mixing.
I pressed my mouth to his, lips closed but insistent. I wanted to gauge his reaction first and when he kissed me back with a low moan, I took all that carefully crafted control and shoved it away as far as it would go.
‘You look cheerful,’ Jace commented as he came into my room later that night. It was quiet in the Institute, a big training session organised by Alec and Henson to get everyone up to speed on the latest slew of demon attacks. Part of Alec’s Get Everyone Else More Involved plan, which was really fine by me. Others picking up some slack wasn’t a bad thing.
I shrugged, trying to temper my smile. ‘Am I?’
He stopped and squinted, grinning slyly. ‘Oh, I see'.
‘Fuck off,’ I said playfully.
He raised his hands, shaking his head. ‘Don’t shoot the observer.’
‘Sit down, idiot.’
He sat in my chair at my dresser. His hair was wet from a recent shower. He seemed to take a lot of showers these days. I couldn’t help but notice at the hem of his t-shirt his skin was red in patches, like he’d scrubbed too hard.
‘OK, now you want it like you had it before, yeah?’
He was quiet for a moment. ‘Actually, no.’
‘Oh, you want it a little longer?’
‘No, shorter. Make it shorter, if that’s cool? Not, like, join the Army short, but…’
‘Different,’ I filled in, studying the back of his head and the set of his whole body. My brother, the boy we grew up with who knew no fear beyond his own incapability. Something bad had happened to him. The knowledge sat in my mind, heavy and sick, worried to death of what he would reveal whenever he was ready.
‘You got it,’ I said lightly, grateful he couldn’t see the slight tremble of my fingers as I took out the clippers, sharp scissors and a comb.
I started by shaving the back, getting it even and the turned my attention to the wet strands of long hair, past his ears at this point. Jace’d had long hair for such a long time now, I had to stop and ask, ‘Are you sure?’ before I cut it away.
‘Yes,’ he said.
I began cutting and I felt almost sad, like I was cutting away a happier part of him. I shook myself and the stupid thoughts away, trying to make something resembling idle conversation with him.
‘Simon took me on a date,’ I told him, prattling so he wouldn’t have to. I ran my hands through his hair often, less to measure length and more as a comforting gesture. ‘It was a disaster. He took me ice skating and he couldn’t even stand up! I ended up having to hold him the entire time and I swear to the angel if vampires could blush—’
‘I was raped.’
I thought at first something had got stuck in my throat because the words literally caught and died there, my brain jarring and searching to see what had caused the collision. My heart had lurched as though falling through a floorboard.
My hand froze, hair literally mid-way in the blades of the scissors. I heard rain outside, heard it hitting the windows in would-be soothing patterns.
What had he said?
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please don’t stop cutting my hair, OK?’
I blinked slowly, confused.
‘Please?’
Because he’d begged, I had no choice but to comply. My focus was shot, but I carried on slowly. When I did, he spoke again.
‘I got drunk, went to Sang’s a week or so ago and these guys, three of them, attacked and raped me.’
It was strange, I thought maybe I was dreaming it. Like, the dream had been perfectly normal up until then and suddenly it had taken a weird left turn.
‘Alec, the other Alec, he felt the whole thing but he couldn’t find me in time. He brought me home, cleaned me up and I haven’t spoken about it since then. I don’t… I really don’t remember it. He did, but now that’s gone.’
I tried to finish his hair but my whole body was shaking now. I let out a shuddering breath, feeling bile climb up my throat. I stopped abruptly and put my hand to my mouth, helpless tears forming. He didn’t turn around. I leaned against the strong wooden dresser, shaking the scissors off my other hand.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,’ he said and I could hear he was crying. ‘I thought that if I pretended it never happened, I’d feel normal again but I have to tell you, Izzy. I have to tell someone. Alec…our Alec doesn’t know.’
‘Can I…?’ I croaked, clearing my throat. ‘Jace, please.’
He nodded jerkily and I moved around to his front, his face tear-stained and so young, so fucking heartbroken it tore me up. I took him in my arms and held him so tight it must have hurt, but he hugged me just as hard. We clung to each other as I tried to contemplate how fucking much he had gone through this last month. To think the last few days he’d been enduring it alone!
I drew back, smoothing his hair away from his face, shorter and much more like Alec’s style. As I scrambled for normality, I brushed the hair I’d trimmed off his shoulders, while he stared at me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I breathed shakily. ‘So sorry.’
He laughed sadly. ‘That’s what Alec kept saying.’
‘Can I do anything?’
‘I don’t even know,’ he said, clasping my hands and leaning his forehead to mine in a rare gesture of closeness. ‘I just can’t be alone in this anymore. I can’t. You see,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t tell Alec anything.’
‘Jace,’ I said, blinking fresh tears. ‘You must tell Alec.’
But my brother just shook his head. ‘He’ll blame himself. He blamed himself before when he was cold and selfish, how will he cope now, knowing he wasn’t there to stop it?’
Carefully, I cupped his face. ‘You have to tell him! He’ll feel it eventually and Jace, you can’t survive without your Parabatai. How much distance is necessary to keep this from him? How much more distance can you two even stand?’
‘To protect him from this? As much as possible.’
I wanted to point out that Alec would most certainly not see it as protecting him, but I didn’t have the heart to argue. My heart was broken for him. I couldn’t even articulate my sorrow and grief for the loss he’d suffered.
The thing Alec and I had always tried too hard to hide from him, his last piece of childlike belief that people were not capable of hurting him…
That was gone forever.
I couldn’t help it, I pulled him back to me and held him so close, crying quietly.
The drink was easy to toss back. Years of practise.
Nick Sang’s death and dismemberment had not impeded his nightclub business in any way, except that security was a little more lax in his absence. Sang’s was packed, never mind that it was a Thursday.
I was alone, stood by the bar.
‘Another,’ I said with a smile to the bartender.
‘You sure?’ he said with an easy grin. ‘Lotta people complaining the booze don’t taste the same.’
‘Make it double then and one for yourself,’ I said, slurring for effect.
After a few minutes of drinking alone surrounded by the magnificent din of Mundanes and their music, I saw who I’d been waiting for.
I tipped back the last of my drink and headed over to him.
‘Adam?’ I squealed, hands reaching for him as I smiled. He looked round and couldn’t help but smile in return, especially since the last time we’d spoken had resulted in me insulting his lineage and elbowing him in the face.
‘Izzy!’ he cried, and greeted me like we were best friends. We hugged and I felt how damp with sweat he was. Up close, he looked like shit. Eyes red and bloodshot, skin blotchy and he absolutely reeked. ‘Your uh, your brothers here?’
‘Just me!’ I said, throwing my arms wide. ‘I’m so bored! Let’s go outside, c’mon, I’ve got the best shit in my purse!’
He followed me without question, leaving the two others he came with. On the benches outside, I sat while he covered me as I raked around in my handbag.
‘That stuff, y’know from Central Park?’ I declared, holding up the bag. His eyes widened.
‘Fuck, really? No one can get hold of it anymore!’
‘You want it?’ I asked, dangling it. When he reached for it, I held it back. ‘Answer my questions and I’ll give it to you.’
Adam seemed torn. Now that he realised there was a condition involved it was clear he wanted to leave, but the bag was too tempting.
‘OK,’ he said, eyes locked on the bag.
‘Do you know who hurt Jace?’
‘Someone hurt Jace?’ he echoed too innocently.
‘I swear I’ll scatter this shit on the pavement, you lying little prick!’
His expression soured. ‘Fucking bitch!’
‘Answer me!’
‘Yeah, I fucking know, everyone knows! Jace, man – he had that coming. Years he’s been slutting himself around and it finally caught up with him!’
I kept myself from cutting his tongue out and asked, quite calmly, ‘Who hurt him?’
Unable to look away from the thing he wanted most, Adam gritted his teeth and said, ‘Dan Ashton and his friends. I don’t know their names!’
‘How many friends?’
‘Two! I think one's a cop! C’mon, hand it over, you bitch!’
‘One more question,’ I said, holding the bag out of his reach a little more. ‘Did Dan and his friends drink in here a lot?’
He scowled impatiently. ‘What? What the fuck does that have to do with anything?’
‘Were they regulars here?’ I demanded.
‘No! Once or twice at most, OK?’
Satisfied, I threw the bag down and he dropped to his knees, frantically feeling for it in the dim light. I left without another word, pulling my phone from my pocket and Googling.
It didn’t take long at all. Social media led me right to him and his friends, Mike Haynes and Scott Wells. Scott was indeed a recently graduated Cop, engaged to be married in the spring.
The bar they frequented was nearby and by the time I got there, their last night on earth was in full swing. I had a few drinks, carefully scoping out the room. All three of them were together, but not alone. Some of Scott’s new Cop buddies had come along. Dan was much taller than the others, laughing magnanimously as he bought rounds of drinks for everyone in their group. He wasn’t with a significant other and neither were the other two.
It wouldn’t be the way I wanted it to go. Not slow or torturous.
Needs must, though.
Poison was far too good for them. I didn’t want to put it in their drinks, lest the bar get the blame. But they were sharing a nice bag of cocaine, discreetly passing it to each other when one went to the bathroom. Perfect.
In the ladies’ room, I deactivated my rune so I was invisible to the Mundanes and carefully waited inside the men’s room. Dan came in next, heading into the stall and sniffing loudly. The other men in the room didn’t notice or care. He came out of the stall and took a piss. Carefully, I stood behind him and slid the bag out, opened it and poured the powdered poison inside, then closed and returned it.
He frowned, turning, but he assumed someone had brushed up against him. I waited until he left to follow, staying invisible and watching all three of them closely.
The next time one of them took the bag to the bathroom and returned, he looked worse for wear and something vicious and dark rejoiced inside me. He handed the bag discreetly to his friend, rubbing his nose and scowling.
After an hour, the three of them weren’t looking so hot. They began to make excuses to leave and my heart sped up, grimly excited.
Outside the bar, they immediately began arguing. Who had got the bad batch? Who had cut it and taken some?
I followed close behind, stealthy and silent. The argument turned heated, falling back on testosterone and stupidity. They were starting to feel something was wrong. I waited until they were in a dark place, no CCTV of any kind able to detect them. I swiftly came up behind Dan and precisely pinched a nerve in his neck, making him drop like a ragdoll. He cried out, falling hard and awkward, skinning his elbow. When he was down, I pressed my index finger into a certain place a third of the way down his spine and rendered him temporarily unable to move.
The other two were slow and sluggish in their attempt to respond. Scott thought Mike had knocked Dan down. I used their distraction to do the same thing to Scott and while Mike desperately tried to pull his friends up, I did the same to him.
Three grown men. Powerful predators of the night no more.
Base panic set in and they began screaming. I made myself visible, shocking them into a momentarily stunned silence.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ I said, lip curled with disgust. ‘Anyone makes a sound I’ll cut you into pieces, and believe me I know how.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Scott demanded with the kind of authority meant to frighten me into answering. ‘What did you do to us?’
‘Temporary paralysis,’ I told him, toeing his useless legs. ‘It only last twenty minutes or so. You won’t make it to then, though.’
Dan struggled to move, trying to rock himself back and forth. ‘Fucking whore!’ he snarled.
‘You’ll be dead in less than five minutes,’ I said, watching each of their faces. Disbelief, anger, fury, frustration, horror.
‘Lying little slut!’ he spat.
‘I dosed your coke. Put something inside it that’s already killed you, it just takes your body time to realise it. Won’t look like anything but a bad batch, cardiac arrest. So much better than anything you deserve.’
Mike spat at me, but it didn’t reach.
‘We don’t even know you!’ Scott grunted and I pulled out my seraph blade, silencing him effectively.
‘I’m not surprised you’re not afraid to walk down dark alleys,’ I commented. ‘Because you’re the monsters, aren’t you? This is where you hunt.’ I crouched low in front of Dan; eyes locked into his. ‘Well, I hunt monsters. You’re just lucky your world has laws otherwise I’d spend hours taking you apart until you were nothing but a hunk of meat surrounding lungs and heart with a sobbing head on top.’
‘Fuck you,’ he breathed, but there was fear in his eyes now. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m Jace’s sister,’ I whispered and the fear bloomed. He swallowed, pulse quickening as the drug began to hit his heart. ‘You’re gonna die for what you did to him. You’ll be dead in minutes. I hope it was worth it.’
‘I-I’m sorry,’ he stammered as I stood and turned away. ‘We didn’t mean to hurt him, it was – it was a joke, right, Scott?’
Scott was having trouble breathing, his face reddening. Mike was still trying desperately to move, but his muscles were locked in place.
‘FUCKING PRETTY BOY DESERVED IT!’ Mike roared, failure to move bringing out a dark toxicity I knew was lurking.
‘No!’ Dan insisted. ‘I didn’t want to hurt him, it was them! They made me to do it! I liked Jace, I really liked him so much and when we--!’ his breath caught in a horrible glottalstop, eyes bulging.
‘You’re dying, Dan,’ I said measuredly. ‘Do you feel it? Your life leaving your body? You're dying and there's nothing you can do about it. So helpless!’
Scott was the first to stop twitching, followed by Mike who died with an expression of almost comical anger on his face. Dan went last, pleading right up until the last few moments when inevitability made itself known and he gave me a look so cold, it chilled me.
‘Your brother… was a… whore!’ he managed.
The temptation to hit him, kick his teeth out, stab him… it made me dizzy, but I resisted. Only when all three of them were dead did I feel any small measure of peace.
You just killed three humans; my mind pointed out.
I stared down at their rapidly atrophying bodies, thinking of Jace. Of what they’d done to him. It would never make it better, but they couldn’t be allowed to exist.
It should have felt like some monumental line I’d crossed. Premeditated murder, cold bloodedly killing three Mundanes. It felt normal, no different than killing demons. Maybe I’d made the world a little safer, too.
I left the scene and went back to my default state of invisibility.
* |
9th Month of 285 A.C. Winterfell
Lord Eddard Stark
It had been a trying few months, there had been the issue with his friends from the tower that had needed dealing with, Brandon as always leaving him a mess to clean up, and the issues with what his father had been planning had been rearing their ugly head once more. Sometimes, Ned wished he could just give it all up, there were times when he cursed the gods for handing him this chalice, and then there were other times, times when he would look at Cat and their children, all three of their beautiful children and he would wonder how he could ever want to give this up. It was something he could never truly understand, but now with Benjen married and prepared to move forward as well, it seemed things were finally going to be alright. Of course as always, there was a part of him that felt sad about the nonexistence of his friendship with Robert, but he pushed such thoughts aside for now and focused on the lords before him.
Ned takes a deep breath and then speaks. “Lord Cerwyn, Lord Manderly thank you very much for coming today. I appreciate that with winter having ended, there is much and more that we all need to be doing, but I promise that what I have to discuss with you today will be of great interest to you both.” Ned pauses allowing himself time to gauge the two lords reactions, old Lord Cerwyn is looking at him with a lot of eagerness, the Cerwyns have always been staunch allies to Winterfell, even though they might well have a better claim to it than Ned’s line does. He pushes that thought from his mind, Manderly is looking at him with some curiosity, and he knows the man has reservations about him, but perhaps this will ease them. He takes a breath and then continues. “For too long the north has merely gotten by on the meagre production of grain and wool, and the odd silver that is found in White Harbour. We have so much more potential, the mountain cows that we have are some of the finest within Westeros, and they also produce the finest meat within the seven kingdoms, something that has been proven time and time again. Our horses produced in the Rills and Barrowton are in high demand in the Riverlands and the Westerlands as well as in Dorne. We must exploit this whilst we can, and now I believe is the time to do it. My lords, I propose we begin construction of a canal. On the western tributary of the White Knife, where it meets with the main part of the White Knife, trade can flow in through White Harbour and out into Cerwyn and Winterfell lands. The benefit we could gain from such a thing cannot be under spoken.”
He pauses and allows this to be digested by the two lords, as always Cerwyn is the first to speak. “I think that this is a very smart idea my lord, and something that could well be exploited to further develop the north, and with relations with the throne not being completely cordial, perhaps this might aid in our development?”
Ned knows that Cerwyn is being so enthusiastic about this as it means if the project does go ahead, he will have a strong income coming in, and something sufficient enough to leave to his daughter and Benjen. Lord Wyman however is somewhat sceptical. “Building such a thing, would be quite costly. Furthermore, we have just come out of a winter, where will we find the men for such a thing?”
Ned had expected such a question and so presents his answer. “Whilst we have had a winter, it is not as harsh as was expected. We have men who are desperate for work, women as well. It would be a crime to not allow them to do as they wish, give them work on this canal and they will not resort to their usual means. Furthermore, I know that my goodfather Lord Hoster would be more than willing to send men to work on the canal alongside us.”
Wyman looks at the map before them and asks. “So if I have understood you correctly me lord, you would see the canal built where the western and northern tributaries of the white knife meet.”
“That is correct my lord.” Ned says nodding in agreement.
Lord Wyman looks at the map again before asking. “And what would the taxes be like? Trade would come from Gulltown and the Vale, from the Free Cities, as well as from the other parts of the kingdom. That is a lot more trade coming into the north than at present, what rate of tax would you set for the people bringing their goods here, and what rate would be charged to go to Winterfell?”
Ned considers this a moment and then responds. “Considering the feeling between Winterfell and the Iron Throne at this moment, it would not do to overly antagonise the king, and so the rate of fifteen percent of the goods the vessel carries seems reasonable to me. As to what the percent of this cut going to Winterfell would be, I do believe seven percent would be a fair price to pay for the beginning. Let us asses the level of demand before we increase or decrease it.”
Lord Wyman considers this silently for a moment before nodding his agreement. “Very well then, I accept these terms. What I wish to know now my lord, is when do you intend to begin building the canal? Such things do take time, and we cannot afford to waste such time if we are to have this running before long.”
Lord Cerwyn voices his agreement. “I believe Lord Wyman is correct my lord, the sooner the better I believe. There is nothing worse than allowing such a thing to go unchecked as it were.”
Ned looks at them both before replying. “I intend to start building the canal within the next moon. I merely needed your consent before building began. I expect you both to raise a suitable amount of men for the task at hand, whilst men from Winterfell and other areas of the north shall be joining us as well.”
There is a moment’s silence and then Lord Wyman says. “Very well then, I shall make sure that this is made a top priority within White Harbour.”
“I shall do the same.” Lord Cerwyn responds. Both men stand up then and shake his hand before turning and departing.
A moment later, Benjen enters the room, his brother is beginning to look more and more and like Brandon by the day. Tall, handsome and with an easy smile on his face, Ned feels jealous of his younger brother sometimes, and he wonders at that. “How did it go?” Benjen asks, sitting down into the chair previously occupied by Lord Wyman.
Ned rubs his eye tiredly. “As well as could be hoped. Both were receptive to the idea, of course I always knew Cerwyn would be. It was a case of making sure Wyman was as well. And it turns out he was, so all is well for now. When it comes time to building the actual canal, well that in itself will tell us what we need to know.” Ned pauses a moment and then asks his brother. “How is Jonella doing?”
His brother looks somewhat tired at this, but smiles all the same. “She is well, but so demanding. She wants one thing or another. I never knew a woman could be so demanding.”
Ned laughs. “And in what sense is she demanding Ben?”
His brother groans then. “She wants one thing or another, and is never satisfied whenever the thing is there for her to try or use. It’s almost as if she thinks we have an unlimited budget, just because I am a Stark. Perhaps I should learn to say no. But then she will merely go to her father. And he never refuses her anything.”
Ned looks at his brother, an amused look on his face. “Have you spoken to her father? I am sure Lord Cerwyn would be more than happy to explain the realities of the world to his daughter.”
His brother shakes his head then. “I have not. I think the man has merely accepted his daughter for what she is. And as such I do not know whether the man has the urge to fight with her anymore.”
Ned looks at his brother surprised. “What do you mean?”
His brother looks at him as if he was grown a second head. “Come on Ned, don’t tell me you missed it?” Ned looks at Ben confused. His brother sighs. “Lord Cerwyn is dying Ned. That was why he was so agreeable to whatever you said. He has some sort of disease, and as such is trying to leave as favourable an impression on you as he can. Ever since his wife died alongside his son, he has known that a Stark would rule Cerwyn, and as such he is trying to make sure you do not make it so that when he is gone, I am named as de facto lord.”
Ned looks at his brother shocked. “I would never do such a thing! Your wife would be the rightful ruler in that instance, and whilst you might rule in her name, she would still be the rightful lady.”
“And yet our children would bear the name Stark. I am surprised Cerwyn did not ask you about it today. He seemed determined to bring it up, when I was arguing with him a few days ago.” Benjen responds.
Ned sighs then. “Well he did not bring it up, I expect the announcement of the canal quite shocked him. But that is true, by rights of marriage the children would bear the name Stark, it is by far the more prestigious name, and as such makes sense for your children and house to be House Stark of Cerwyn. Furthermore, with the canal and the benefits that will come from it, well, ah.”
Benjen looks at him and says. “Medgar I do not think would like that. He is proud of his family, and whilst his daughter might be verging on a simpleton, she is still his daughter, and as such, I think he wants more for her than to simply be a brood mare.”
Ned laughs then, and in response to his brother’s questioning look replies. “You sounded so much like Brandon in that instant, it was quite funny.” he pauses then, after a moment goes on. “But tell me you do not see her as just a brood mare Ben?”
His brother shrugs his shoulders then. “I…I do not know, we have been married for just over two moons now, her womb has not yet quickened with child, but I do not know. She is a nice girl, but there are times when I wonder what happened to her as a child.”
“What do you mean?” Ned asks concerned.
His brother looks at him a moment and then says. “I…I do not know how to explain it, but it seems as if there are times when she is not an adult, but more a child. As if she never grew out of being given everything whenever and by whoever, it can be quite frustrating.”
“So like Lyanna then?” Ned jokes.
His brother glowers at him and then his shoulders slump. “Yes.”
“Well never fear brother, for I intend for you to go to the Iron Islands.” Ned responds.
“The Iron Islands? Whatever for?” Benjen asks.
“I want you to go and speak with Lord Harlaw and some of the more reasonable Ironborn lords about creating a trade alliance. We must keep our options open, and with the Lannisters growing in power, we can never be too careful. It is time we opened talks with one potential ally.” Ned says.
12th Month of 285 A.C. Lys
Queen Lyanna Targaryen
Lys, the cell she had chosen, or rather the cell Rhaegar had chosen for them. She had not had a say in it, just as she had not had a say in fleeing to Dorne. There was much and more about her time with Rhaegar that she had begun questioning. She had been enamoured with him at Harrenhal, after spending time with Robert, Rhaegar had felt like a breath of fresh air, she could speak to him about books, music and poetry and he would listen and speak with her as if she were his equal not beneath him. And then they had fled, run away with one another, and the war had begun, and she had felt torn and horrible, even now she felt bad for all that had happened, for all Ned had had to go through, and yet Rhaegar did not seem to care. They barely spoke anymore, but they did care about their son, about little Jon and she treasured him.
That did not mean that she did not care for her husband or even love him, and she listened as he spoke now, his head in her lap. “I do not know what to do. We know from our sources that Oberyn is looking for her, and Arthur so far has not been able to find any word or trace of her. It’s almost as if the spider and his friend are hiding her separately from Viserys and my mother.”
“Perhaps they are.” Lyanna suggests.
“But why would they do that?” Rhaegar asks. “It does not make sense, Varys was my ally at court for so long, though there were times when I wondered at his motives. For the most, he seemed to want only stability and seemed as though he was a true Targaryen loyalist. No, it must be his friend, or something else happened.”
“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself Rhaegar, you will only worsen the worry. Arthur and Oswell will find her, they are two of the best knights within the known world and know how to track someone. Prince Oberyn might be looking for her, but he will not find her before those two. Two are always better than one.” Lyanna says.
Her husband looks at her then, pain in his eyes. “And what of Viserys and my mother? I do not know what to think about this. I feel as if I am letting them down. It’s almost as if there is something within me that is wanting to tear me apart. On the one hand there is my daughter, who I need to be by my side, and then there is my mother and brother, who I want here as well. But from what we know they are not in the same place. Why is that? What could’ve happened between them leaving Dragonstone and arriving at Pentos or Braavos? The very fact we have received conflicted reports as to where they are is proof enough of that.”
Lyanna runs her hands through her husband’s hair and whispers softly. “Worrying about it now is not going to do you any good my love. Surely, it would be better served thinking of other things, like what you wish to do when she does arrive here? And what about with Jon?”
“You mean Jaehaerys?” her husband asks. “What about it?”
“His name is Jon. And well, he has grown up surrounded by adults for most his short life, surely it would be good to discuss how we are going to make sure he does not react angrily to it.” Lyanna responds.
“He is the heir to the throne. The rightful heir to the throne, and as such he much have a Targaryen name. It will make his legitimacy more secure.” her husband says.
“He is also half Stark, and as such why would it not be okay for him to be called Jon? Who truly is going to go against him when we retake the throne? From what we know, Robert has done much and more to alienate the realm already, and Ned is moving along quite quickly with his plans. We are secure enough with our allies that they are not going to care what his name is.” Lyanna responds.
Her husband sits up then, and responds stubbornly. “He is a Targaryen by birth, he is my son and heir, and he shall bear a Targaryen name whether you approve or not. He can be known as Jon in the comfort of your mind and in private, but in open he shall be known as Jaehaerys.”
Lyanna looks at her husband then and groans. “Why? Why call him Jaehaerys and not something new and original such as Aemon? Why reuse an old name?”
“Because there was no King Aemon, there have been two King Jaehaerys’, one was one of the greatest kings to ever live, and the other was my grandsire and as such was the reason for this all happening.” Rhaegar responds.
“Yes because your grandsire truly was such a great man. He only reigned for two years, and in that time he did not do anything of significance. In fact it was your father who did anything of note. He repealed all his grandfather’s reforms, and put the realm into the hands of Tywin Lannister. Whilst the Aemons I know of, one was the Dragonknight and the greatest knight who ever lived and the other was a fierce dragon prince, who rode Vhagar. So forgive me if I do not want my son given a dragon name that has no positive connotations.” Lyanna snaps.
Her husband merely looks at her and says. “We are not discussing this issue any further, the boy shall be known as Jaehaerys. And furthermore, remind your brother next time you write to him that he must send some more information to us, the bare minimum as he seems to be implying is not enough.”
Her husband is standing completely now, and Lyanna has to bite back a sharp retort, instead she takes a breath and replies. “Of course.” Her husband nods and then walks out of the room, leaving Lyanna alone for a moment and then she sighs. Her husband and she have not been as in love as they were when they were in the tower, and she wonders at that, she wonders whether it was real or if it were merely a lie. Gods she hopes it was not. Trying to keep her thoughts from straying into a dark area, she herself stands, and walks to her son’s crib. She looks at her son, with his brown curls, and his chubby cheeks, and hopes that when he grows up, he will not have to hide who he is, that he will not have to hide anything. That he can fight and love in public. She thinks of her father then, and wonders what he was planning all those years ago, before her mother died. She does not remember her mother, but she knows her father was never the same after she died. She runs a finger across her son’s cheek, determined that her son will know nothing but love.
She moves from the crib and then opens the attached door, and calls out for her ladies in waiting, only one lady comes out, and she is the only lady she trusts in truth. Lyanne her childhood companion and someone who was there with her at Harrenhal and came some time ago, she is not sure how Ned found her, but he did and he sent her, and for that Lyanna thinks she could love her brother all the more. “What is wrong Lya?” Lyanne asks. “You look stressed.”
Lyanne looks at her and replies. “That’s because I am. I do not know what I am doing. My husband seems to be pulling away from me, and my brothers are distant to me now, more so than they were when we were growing up. Sometimes I wonder why I did what I did, and other times I think I made the right decision, that I could never have been happy with Robert. And now, well now I know all I can do is make sure my son is safe and secure. But I do not know whether I am happy with that.”
Had she said that in front of anyone else she would’ve received all sorts of chastisements, but with Lyanne she can speak truthfully. Her friend is silent a moment and then responds. “I think that you are coming out of the dream and back into reality. There are times when we do something and everything is perfect for the first little while, and then things go back to reality, and we begin wondering whether or not things will ever be the same again.” her friend pauses a moment and then goes on. “Nothing will ever be the same again Lya, there is no point in wanting it to be the same, but you have been given a chance, and a gift. Your son is a gift, your husband is a gift, cherish them and they will cherish you. Do not worry if his grace does not seem to be completely filled with joy, he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. It is time for him to learn to share.”
Lyanna snorts. “He is a dragon, I do not think he knows how to share. I mean look what happened when he tried. The realm got torn asunder. But that was also my doing as well. I do not know Lyanne, am I a bad person? For taking what I wanted and not worrying about the consequences?”
Her friend shakes her head. “No, you were not a bad person, a careless one yes, but not a bad person. I do not think you could be a bad person. The deaths of the rebellion are not solely on you, in fact I do not think they are even on you. They are on those who fought and shed blood for the actions of a mad king. Never forget that, and never allow anyone to tell you differently. You are the Queen now, Lya, and you must be strong.”
Lyanna looks at her friend then and says in a very soft voice. “I do not know if I know how to be strong anymore. I wonder if I am too broken to fix.”
Her friend looks at her with her fierce gaze. “No, you are not broken Lya, so stop telling yourself that. You are not broken, nor have you ever been. You have no reason to be, you are alive and well as is your son and your husband. Remember that, and remember that there is always someone out there who could be suffering a lot more than you are. So you are not at home just now, you will be soon enough. Your brother is working hard to make sure of that, and you are not going to be stuck waiting.”
Lyanna looks at her friend then a small smile on her face. “When did you become so wise?”
Her friend laughs. “I’ve always been this wise Lya, you’ve just never thought to ask me about it.”
Lyanna smiles sadly at her friend then and takes her hand. “No, I never did, did I? And for that I truly apologise, it was not right nor fair of me. I should have asked more for you and about you. Instead of merely taking you for granted. Can you forgive me?”
Her friend smiles. “There is nothing to forgive my lady. We are here together now, and we can work together.”
Before Lyanna can respond, there is a knock on the door, and Lyanna calls for whoever it is to enter, and when she finds herself looking at Ser Jaime she looks at him inquisitively. “King Rhaegar requests your presence my queen.”
Lyanna looks at Lyanne, and releases their hands, stands and then follows Ser Jaime to the hallway of the house, where she finds Rhaegar holding a girl with dark black hair and brown skin in his arms. There is a deep smile on her husband’s face. Her husband looks at her and smiles. “Lyanna, meet Rhaenys, my daughter.” |
The problem with Steve’s plan was that both he and Bucky had avoided the post-Prohibition gangsters out of a sense of self preservation. It was bad enough when they were kids and turf wars broke out over liquor but since the repeal, organized crime had become more brutal and less visible. Most of the people Bucky had been a runner for just two years earlier were either dead or in jail, while the gangsters he knew from the gambling and boxing scene were distant with him. The Jews and the Italians had closed ranks, which made sense, but also made Steve’s plan to trap Duke into a corner of his own greed almost impossible.
A month after their first talk about it, a grocer’s daughter ended up in the hospital. Gossip at the barber shop said that she had been defiled and beaten, but that she wasn’t talking to the cops and her parents were going to send her to family somewhere out West in order to escape the scandal once she was well enough to travel. Reading between the lines, it was obvious that the parents were worried that the girl might have been knocked up. Steve knew the girl, Cecelia, who was young and pretty and dainty and not unlike the fairy he had watched Duke murder. Steve knew exactly what happened, but he needed to be sure.
“Steve, no. Cecelia’s been through enough,” Bucky hissed at him over their beers when Steve proposed his idea.
“We need to know for sure, Bucky. I need to talk to her.”
“No. That’s final. Final! No!” Bucky slammed his hand into Steve’s back, pressing him down on the stool.
“Fine. You stay here. I’ll be back,” Steve squirmed away and stood up.
“No no no no no! Damnit, Steve, you’re one hot headed fool. Get back here!” Bucky slammed the last of his beer as he hopped up to follow Steve out of the bar. He kept grabbing at Steve as they walked towards the hospital. “You’re crazy, you know that? Stop! No!”
Steve shoved him off and brushed his hands away. “You don’t have to help!”
“Of course I do! Because you don’t know any better! You always shoot first, Rogers, and then expect me to be around to do clean up.”
“I don’t expect you to clean up, you’re just always there. I can take care of myself.” Steve took a deep breath as he stomped along, trying to keep his lungs going. He figured at the very least, if he had an asthma attack he’d already be at the hospital anyway.
“Aw, shit, Steve. God damn it. Okay! Fine!” Bucky patted him down as Steve gulped for air. “Just calm down. Breathe. We’ll do this. And when we get arrested, remember to let me take the fall, okay?” Bucky gave him a resigned smile.
Steve gulped for air. “Not…not gonna get arrested. Now come on.”
They got to the hospital and went to the ladies’ ward on the third floor as if they belonged there. When they got near a nurses station, Steve’s plan, such as it was, consisted of Bucky charming a nurse for information while Steve wheezed to the side. As with most plans that relied on Bucky’s ability to sweet talk, it was successful, and after the nurse made a production of listening to Steve’s lungs (she frowned a lot) in order to impress Bucky, they made their escape.
“Room 327. Private, unguarded. Her family might be there, you know.”
“No, Saturday’s are always busy at the store. With Cecelia out her dad needs everyone there to help.”
“Man, you thought of everything,” Bucky complained.
“Stick with me, kid, we’ll go places.”
Bucky rolled his eyes as they got near the room. “Yeah, stinky hospital wards.”
Steve put his hand out. “Stay here, keep guard. If anyone comes, act like you’re pulling me out of the wrong room, I’m here to visit my sister and we’re in the wrong place.”
“That won’t be hard, because we’re in the wrong place,” Bucky murmured as Steve approached the room, but he leaned against the wall like any other afternoon visitor.
Steve cracked the heavy door open and stepped into the room. It was small, no bigger than a closet, but it at least had a window that was propped open for a breeze.
“Cecelia?”
“Steve?” The girl looked up from her book with big round eyes, one of which was swollen shut with a livid bruise around it. She was pale and other bruises were peppered down her arms, some of which looked like finger marks. “Steve Rogers? What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I hate to do this to you, but I’m here to ask you a few questions.”
She blanched. “You should leave.”
“No no, listen. All I need to know is if Duke did this.”
“I already talked to the cops. Get out.” She closed her book and looked away.
“Cecelia, I’m not the cops. I don’t care about the cops. I care about Duke hurting people in our neighborhood.”
“Like you can do anything to stop him? The cops don’t even care! They know who did it, I told them! But they don’t care!” He voice started rising.
“I know! I know that! Jeeze, Cecelia, come on. I’ve been shopping at your dad’s store my whole life. Come on. Trust me!”
She pursed her lips but at least looked at him again.
“I don’t need to know what he did. I don’t need to know how it happened. I just need to be sure, Cecelia.”
She nodded. “Like I said, I told the cops it was him. Doesn’t matter. But it was Duke. It was!” Her eyes watered and Steve shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“I know, I believe you. I’ve seen him hurt people before.”
She glared at him. “Can you stop him?”
Steve sighed. “Honestly? Probably not. But Bucky and me, we’re up to here with this. Bad enough we got the gangsters running every bar and crap game in town, and the cops all on the take. Now this? Someone’s got to stop that bully. It’s just got to stop.”
“He won’t stop. Not until he’s dead,” she said, spitting the word out.
Steve flinched. “Well, we’re not those kinds of guys. I have an idea, which might not work. But it’s something. It won’t get him killed but might get him run out of town.”
She looked like she was going to say more, but stopped. After a few moments, she tried again. “If I can help, I want to help.”
“I thought your folk were sending you to family out West.”
She crossed her arms. The black eye and the bruises made her look like a parody of a little girl. It turned Steve’s stomach. She shook her head. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I belong in Brooklyn, and I’m not leaving. I won’t let that trash chase me out of my home.”
Steve shrugged. “I don’t think you can help. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
“You better, Steve Rogers.”
“We’ll do what we can, Cecelia. Don’t expect miracles.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve got that Barnes boy with you, don’t you?”
Steve shrugged again. “He’s my best friend.”
Her expression turned appraising and thoughtful. “Okay. Just don’t get yourself in another scrap, you can’t take him.”
“That’s not the plan, believe me. Not this time, anyway,” he said with a small smile.
She nodded and her eyes went watery again. Steve said goodbye hastily and walked out before she broke down in tears, which was one thing he knew he would not handle well.
Bucky eyed him. “You sure talk smart with the ladies when it doesn’t do you any good.”
Steve slapped at his arm and started walking down the hallway. “She’s just a kid, what, fourteen? And she’s been hurt.”
“Yeah. I peeked in. That bastard did her up good. I don’t know what we can do Steve, but I want to do it.”
“Spoken like a true Barnes man.”
Bucky slapped the back of his head and Steve snickered. Steve was angry about Cecelia, but glad he had a chance to talk to her. It proved what he had said to Bucky about Duke, and it meant that whatever they had to do to chase Duke out of town was justified.
The plan was to have Bucky warm up to a runner, a kid who might give Bucky some inside information. The problem was that Bucky was on the “outside” and while he could talk them up they weren’t too forthcoming. One of the Italian ones asked if he was interested in becoming a “made man” and Bucky backed off quickly. There was also the danger that if Steve and Bucky somehow arranged a confrontation, Duke might hurt or even kill the runner. They went back and forth for a week trying to figure out the thorny problem, until the following Saturday when Steve was at the grocery store.
“Steve Rogers! I’m so glad you’re here!” Cecelia said brightly as he picked up a can of beans.
“Uh. Thanks?” He looked over at where Cecelia’s father was watching them with guarded eyes from behind the front counter. “How are you?”
“Much better! I was hoping to see you.” Her back was to her father and she gave Steve a pointed look.
“Oh! Yes! Glad to see you too?” Steve smiled.
“You want a soda?”
“Sure. Yeah. That would be great,” Steve answered, trailing her as she went towards the back of the small store.
She handed him the orange soda. “What about Duke?” She whispered
Steve smiled and nodded at the soda in his hands as if it was the greatest thing ever. “I don’t know, we’re trying to set up a sting, but keep the mob out of it. It’s not simple. But we’ll figure something out.”
She grabbed a tin of coffee and showed it to him as if trying to get him to buy it. “I might be able to help with that.”
Steve took the tin skeptically. “Cecelia—”
“Trust me!” She pointed at the coffee and leaned in just a little, whispering again. “Send Barnes by on Monday afternoon. I’ll know then if I can help!”
Steve frowned but put the coffee in his bag. “Okay.”
She smiled and walked back to her father, who was clearly displeased about anyone talking to her (she still looked bruised about the face, so there was no hiding from people what had happened). Cecelia was behind the counter, standing just out of her father’s peripheral vision, and wore a dark, angry expression. Steve gave her father his best, most harmless-looking smile, paid for his food and extra coffee, and got out of there.
Bucky had a boxing match set up so they only had time to grab supper together at their usual diner, and for a change Ann was not around. Bucky shrugged when Steve told him what happened at the grocery.
“Everyone shops there. She’s got contacts I can’t match. Everyone at the bars know me, know who I used to work for and that I don’t work for anyone now. I’m low man on the ladder, just a boxer and sometimes bouncer. She might be the ‘in’ we need.”
Steve frowned at his grilled cheese sandwich. “I don’t like it.”
“Steve, part of doing something like this is working as a team. You and I aren’t getting anywhere by ourselves. Cecelia is a kid but she’s scrappy and she’s got an interest in this.”
“You talk like you’ve done something like this before.”
“You know I haven’t. But I’ve watched the mob long enough; they aren’t strong just because the guy at the top is smarter than all the other scum. They’re strong because everyone works for the same goal, because the mob boss keeps everyone in line so that they are all playing the game plan he lays out. The wild cards don’t last. They get taken out or absorbed.”
“You make the mob sound like something out of Amazing Stories,” Steve said, wrinkling his nose as thoughts of H.P. Lovecraft floated through his mind.
Bucky thought about that, then nodded. “Honestly I think they are.”
Steve laughed and went back to picking at his food, despite his lack of appetite. There was nothing to do but wait until Monday to see what Cecelia had to offer. |
Printing out a map of the Military Building for Lacey had been relatively easy. It had taken May a few minutes to get it from their website. After that, she only needed to head to the copier store to get it printed, then maybe drop by the grocery store to talk to Aaron.
Then she would get to see Lacey. Her heart throbbed with nervousness and excitement.
Lacey
. It would be so nice to see her smile. She had seemed down lately, and May was going to cheer her up if it was the last thing she did.
“May! Hey- hey May!” May turned around, only to see one of Don’s team members- Sandy, if she was correct, standing before her.
May took a step backwards, wary. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” Sandy sighed. “I need your help.”
“What do you possibly need
me
for? Don’t you have a tournament final to win?”
“That’s the thing. We were kicked out.”
“Why?”
“Well, this is what I need help on,” Sandy went on, “It was Don- Don got us kicked out. He’s just- he’s so angry now all the time, I’m worried he’ll hurt himself. None of us know what to do and you- you were pretty close to him, right? I thought you might have some ideas.”
May froze. “I...” she trailed off. Don was the last person May wanted to be thinking about.
“I really need your help,” Sandy begged, desperately, “I need something,
anything
to know how to fix him.”
“I barely know Don anymore. I don’t know who he is, or what he needs, or anything.” May sighed. “And I don’t want to see him right now. It still hurts to think about what happened.”
“It changed him a lot.”
“Yeah,” said May, resigned. “He’s not like he was as a kid at all.”
“Still,” Sandy pleaded, “you don’t even need to go anywhere; any advice you have would be helpful to me. Gravel and Terra and I- we don’t know what to do anymore. He avoids us all the time, and he won’t listen to a word we say.”
Shrugging, May pulled her sweater further over her shoulders. “When we were kids, he never really got angry.”
She could still remember so many incidents where he should have been angry but hadn’t been.
“D-Don, I uh, I think I broke your ink gun-”
Don came up to her, examined the gun, smiled a bit. “That’s okay, May. It wasn’t your fault. I can get this fixed in time for the tournament. We’ll be okay.”
But it had been her fault. That time, she had broken into the gun to get a piece from it, something she had needed for her modded roller. She had felt sick, lying like that, but she had reasoned that it was better than seeing him upset because they had lost.
“But,” May continued, “it took a lot for him to listen to me back then, too. He was sort of lost in his own world. Usually, it took a lot of prodding for him to even acknowledge a problem.”
“Well, he hasn’t changed much there.”
“I guess not. Sorry I wasn’t much help.”
“Well, thanks anyway,” Sandy shrugged, “everything helps, right?”
May nodded. She turned, waved back at Sandy, and left to go find Aaron. She sort of needed to talk to him, now.
Taking a moment to catch her breath in front of the door, Sandy steeled herself, clenching her hands into fists.
Prodding. Right. She could do prodding. She wasn’t sure how, but she could. Terra and Gravel were on her side. They would help.
She opened the door. “Don.”
Don looked up from where he was camped out on the sofa. “Sandy.”
“We need to talk.”
“I have nothing to talk about.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“Is this about May? If this is about May, I don’t want to hear it. She’s done nothing but ruin my life.”
“May is a perfectly decent Inkling and-”
“So you’re taking
her
side now?” Don’s eyes flashed.
“No- Don-”
“Just let it go Sandy!”
“How about
you
let it go!”
“I can’t! I can’t just forget what she did to me!”
The kitchen door opened. Out stepped Terra, and behind her, Gravel, watching silently as they always did. Sandy sighed. They probably weren’t going to be any help.
“It doesn’t work like that!” Yelled Don, “I can’t forget when I’ve been hurt.”
Terra glanced off to the side. Her fingers clenched at her skirt.
“Is there something you want to say, Terra?” Sandy asked. She needed backup, and Terra looked torn between helping Sandy and staying out of it.
Terra glanced at Gravel. Gravel glanced at Terra. There was a silent deliberation.
“You’ve forgotten that you weren’t her only victim.” Terra said, slowly and hesitantly.
“Do you see Terra and I pissed off at her?” Gravel added with a scowl.
Don blinked. “None of you knew her like I did! I was the one she hurt the most!”
“Do you really have to resent her for the rest of your life?” Sandy reasoned.
“What kind of stupid question is that? I won’t stop- I’m not going to stop- I can’t stop and you can’t make me stop!”
Terra tugged on both of her tentacles, looking uncharacteristically frustrated.
“Well then,” she cried suddenly, “what do you expect us to do! Just accept that you’re going to be angry and pissed forever? Your tantrum is making the rest of us feel awful!”
“The rest of us? The rest of us? Who the fuck is us anymore? You? What about Gravel?” Don suddenly looked to him, “you’ve barely said anything this whole time! Just one measly sentence! Are you going to yell at me too? You just follow Terra around blindly!”
Gravel stepped back as though slapped.
“You’re awful!” Terra yelled. “You’ve become just awful!”
“You can blame May for that!”
“And now you bring us back to May,” groaned Sandy, “May this, May that, May May
May
! Do you ever think about anything other than how much you hate her? Is that all you are now?”
“Yes!” Don snarled.
“What kind of bullshit answer is that?” Terra’s voice somehow escalated. “You’re just accepting it?”
“What else do you expect me to do?”
“I don’t know! Anything other than just accepting that you’re going to hate May forever!”
“I resent her- I hate her- I can’t think of anything else!” Don’s hands clenched into fists. “None of you understand me or anything I’ve been through! You don’t listen! You
never
listen!”
“All you do anymore is scream about May!”
Before Don could even retort, Gravel cut in. “You hate her so much you don’t even care about us anymore!” He yanked Don by the shoulder. “You’re being a selfish little
baby
right now, that’s what I think!” Knocking Don backwards, towards the door, he continued. “Well selfish people like you can just
leave!
” Before Sandy knew what was happening, Gravel had pushed Don outside.
Terra started, “Gravel-”
“Come back when you get over May.” And on that final note, he slammed the door. Turning, Gravel stormed his way into the living room.
“Gravel,” Terra tried again, only to be interrupted.
“I hate him so much,” Gravel snarled. “I wish I’d never met him.” He stomped into the kitchen, slamming the door.
Don slammed on the door. “Gravel you piece of shit- let me in!”
Sandy went to get the door, and then wished she hadn’t. Terra was glaring at her.
“Terra?” Sandy asked, horrified.
Terra only sighed, resigned. “That was a long time coming.”
“We’re just kicking him out?”
“I don’t think he’ll listen to us any other way.” She shrugged. “It’s for his own good, see?”
“But Gravel-”
“Gravel is upset. Having Don here will just upset him more and then nothing will get done.”
“Gravel!” Don cried out. “Terra!”
“I don’t like this,” Sandy said, “I’m going to let him back in.”
Terra caught her wrist. “I don’t like it either. Don is my brother, and I have to look out for him. But if he stays here for even one more minute, this whole place will explode with all the tension.”
“Sandy! Sandy! Please!” There was a sickening crack in Don’s voice. It sounded so broken, all of a sudden.
“I need to calm Gravel down now.” Terra said. Promptly, she turned back into the kitchen.
Sandy stared at the door.
Prodding, huh,
she thought.
“Sandy- Gravel- Terra- I-
Please!
I have nowhere to go!”
Sandy took a daring step forwards, leaning against the door. “I don’t think you should come back in, Don.”
“Sandy- I- what!?”
“If you come back in, I think Gravel will just kick you out again. And I think he may be a bit right. You’re behavior is hurting the rest of us. I personally don’t agree with this but- there isn’t much I can do. Here.”
Sandy slid a wad of cash under the door.
“Go and find yourself a hotel to stay in for the night or something. I can help you find your own place tomorrow. Right now I- I’m really tired.” And she was.
“Sandy-”
“Just go, Don.”
Silence.
Sandy slid down the door, resting her face in her knees. The feeling that she had just done something terrible was like an anchor in her gut, and she knew it would not go away anytime soon.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Terra.
Sandy thought.
If Don didn’t hate her by tomorrow morning, she would help him find a place to stay.
Don wasn’t sure what had brought him back to the grocery store. He just- he needed to go somewhere,
anywhere,
and it was the first place that had come to mind.
He stood in front of the automatic doors, too far away to be detected, and stared at the empty checkout counter. There was nobody there. Then, from around the corner, came two inklings.
Aaron... and May. They were smiling.
A little late, Don realized, they were walking to the door. May must have been just leaving and Aaron was probably walking her out.
Then they left the grocery store, and Don watched as May’s eyes went wide with recognition and her smile faded.
Don let out a shaky breath, watching as it condensed into a puffy cloud.
May’s nervous stare shook Don.
He wondered- he wanted-
It’s starting to get colder now,
he noted, a bit feebly.
Don tried to yell at May, to scream at her, to blame her for what had just happened. But he couldn’t. He found he was frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the person he hated most in the world.
I hate him so much, I wish I had never met him. Gravel had muttered. Don had heard through the door.
He had thought that about May for so long- and now someone so close thought that about him.
“Don,” May asked shakily, “what are you doing here?”
He had no idea. He couldn’t tell her
I got kicked out because I hate you so damn much.
Not in front of Aaron; not in front of May. She would laugh at him, would hate him back, would ruin the last piece of dignity Don had left.
He wanted-
“Are you back to tell me how much you hate me again?”
He wanted-
“When will you leave me alone?”
He wanted-
“Don?”
He had no idea what he wanted.
“I think I’m going to head home,” he heard May say. It sounded muffled, far away.
“You alright?” Aaron asked. Don could barely hear him over his own heart.
“Could be better.” May muttered, quietly.
“Do you need me to call you later?”
“I think I’ll be okay.”
“Alright, but if you need anything just call me.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna help Don out now.”
“Yeah, alright. I’ll see you later, Aaron.”
“Goodbye, May.”
Footsteps. Suddenly, there was a hand on his wrist. He startled at the contact.
“You okay?”
Moving was just a little easier, with May gone.
“Hey- Don, talk to me here. Is everything alright?”
Don wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Here, why don’t you come inside.” A hand found its way onto his shoulder, comforting where Gravel’s had been bruising.
Warmth rushed around him as the two entered the grocery store. Absently, Don found himself being seated. Pressing his arms against the counter, he shoved his face in the crooks of his elbows.
“I’m going to make you some coffee, alright?”
Don curled up further and hated something. He found it wasn’t May. All of a sudden, he couldn’t bring himself to hate May anymore. He had done that, and look at what it had gotten him. Just three lost friends and nothing.
He was supposed to be angry. He was supposed to blame May. That’s how it went. How it always went.
Then why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he blaming May? He blamed her for everything. Sandy, Gravel, and Terra had thought it was wrong. Hating May was all he ever did. Was that wrong? Had he been wrong?
Without his hate, what was he?
Who
was he?
He didn’t know.
There was nothing now.
“Here’s your coffee,” said a voice. It didn’t matter who it was- just another person who hated him. Something was placed on the counter in front of his arms.
“Did something happen?” asked the voice. The hand came back, pressed gently against Don’s arm. He looked up. Aaron- he had forgotten about him- had a concerned look on his face.
Don nodded absently. Pressed his hands around the coffee cup. Felt the warmth in his hands.
There was a sudden pattering on the roof. It was raining again.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Don shook his head.
“I-” he said. His voice cracked. He felt like crying.
Instead, he looked away, stared out the window at the rain pouring down on Inkopolis. May was out in that rain. Had she made it home without getting splatted?
It was his first thought in years about May that wasn’t saturated with hatred.
“Don?”
“I-”
His hands tightened around the flimsy paper cup, crushing it. Coffee spilled out on his fingers. He didn’t care.
“Take your time. You don’t need to rush yourself.”
Don looked back to Aaron. The inkling was
smiling
. Don thought back to the things he had said, to Sandy, Terra and Gravel. When was the last time anyone had smiled at him? They never smiled at him. They looked, and all they saw was his hate.
Yet this guy was
smiling
at him.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Aaron’s was suddenly by Don’s side. “Do you want me to give you a hug, or something? Will that help?”
Don shrugged. Aaron took Don up in his arms and Don buried his face into Aaron’s chest. His arms hung loosely at his sides. Trembling, Don lifted his arms to wrap them around Aaron. How long had it been since he had been hugged, anyway?
“Yeah see? It’s all good.”
Don struggled to form a coherent sentence. “No- it’s not good- I don’t have anywhere to go, I don’t have anyone-”
“Hey,” Aaron gave Don a soft smile, “that’s not true. You have me, don’t you?”
“But- you-
May-
”
“May knows I’m helping you. I told her I was going to.”
“When’d you decide that?”
“A bit after you left the store the other night. You need help, and I’m going to give it, alright?”
“But-”
“It’s too late now, man. You’re stuck with me.” Aaron’s voice softened. “You can crash at my place, alright?”
Don nodded.
|
To say that Bilbo was angry would be a gross understatement. The hobbit was absolutely furious and desired nothing less than to tear Elrond a new one, a distinctively large and painful new one. The problem was that, at present, he could not. Indeed, he had his arms quite full of terrified fauntling. Why oh why did the dwarrow have to show up? He was only just coming to terms with living without them and with one look, his hard earned resolve blew away like leaves in a hurricane. He absently wondered if the others were here as well, with his luck most likely. He was not ready for this, maybe in a few years he could have gazed upon their faces and not have to fight against himself not to throw himself at their feet and bag for forgiveness. It had taken so much energy to not claim his ones lips after the he had struck him. How could such contrary emotions live within him? He pushed his door open and brought his still shaking fauntlings to his room where he sat them on his bed. For the next hour he proceeded to coo and comfort them all the while trying to justify the dwarf kings actions. He did not care if they forgave Thorin or not, he simply did not want them to be afraid of every dwarrow they would encounter. And if his gut feeling proved true that would be a good number in the next few days.
He put them down for a nap before walking to what he perceived as his doom. He was going to see the dwarrow sooner or later in Rivendell, and he preferred it to be on his terms. Indeed, he was the one to hold the cards this time, he had control over almost every variable and the advantage of being on his home turf. Adrenaline and battle instincts were still high from his little escapade to Mordor and his actions would no doubt reflect that.
He grinned to himself, after he was done with this little dwarrow infestation, he had himself an Elven Lord to roast.
***
Thorin stayed were Bilbo had left him for quite some time. His mind simply couldn’t comprehend what had happened, emotions whirled within him. Bilbo was alive, he was living in Rivendell, he was safe and he was unharmed. Another thought came unbidden, he was beautiful. He had always admired Bilbo, but this was something else. His body was toned, his skin enticingly tanned and his posture confident. His face was fierce and determined, but as delicate and sharp as always. His eyes burned with a fire seldom seen in any, much less a hobbit. And his hair… Oh his hair. It was everything Thorin had ever dreamed about. The sun had shone on his One’s (there was no denying it now) flaxen hair and reflected on some sort of mithril object braided therein. His long mane gleamed like gold and silver and enticed him more than all the treasure in Erebor ever had. He wanted, no needed the hobbit by his side and resolved not to return to Erebor without having secured him as his consort. Unfortunately, something broke his fanciful thoughts of the future, the small ones had called him papa. Bilbo had sons. Thorin was old enough to know that one did not beget such beings by oneself. Bilbo had given himself to another. Dreams of a future with Bilbo always at his side shattered and Thorin ignored the tears that gathered in his eyes. It would seem that his happiness was not meant to be.
***
Lord Elrond hid in an alcove the moment he saw Bilbo turn the corner. The hobbit looked beyond furious and he knew he was to blame. Why ever did he think inviting the dwarrow was a good idea?
***
The captain slowly stalked his pray from afar, assessing in the same sweep their number and locations. He knew he could get fairly close before any of them even realised he was there. His suspicions were proven true and the whole company was present. He stealthily made his way closer to the group. He examined their moods and their body language. They were weary, most likely from their travels. But something told him it was more than that, they seemed sadder than he remembered them, which made no sense. They had their mountain back, they were meant to be happy and safe. Yet they were not. The looked tired to their very core and it had nothing to do with physical fatigue. If he did not know any better, he would have said they were mourning. But that could not be, who could they all be mourning so deeply? He crept closer to hear what they were saying.
"Our little burglar used to love it here. Remember when we first came how much awe was in his face?"
Bofur’s voice had scarcely changed in their time apart and it soothed something in Bilbo to know that not everything was different. He held no ill will towards the hat wearing dwarf, quite the contrary, Bofur had always been great to him.
"Aye, our hobbit even managed to slip away the first night to visit the gardens. I never even would have realised if I wasn’t standing guard. That, honestly, should have rung alarm bells. I was simply too set on underestimating him. "
Here Balin’s voice trailed off as he looked in the distance. It seemed his dwarrow (no, not his anymore) were reminiscing about him. They seemed surprisingly fond, perhaps they had forgiven him for his actions? Then again, they did not know he had committed them against his One. Bilbo was quite certain this apparent fondness would evaporate once they got a hold of that little fact. Ones were sacred for dwarrow and betraying one was the highest felony.
"Don’t beat yourself up brother, we all underestimated the small one, even after he saved us time and again. Anyway, it hardly matters now does it?"
Dwalin’s brass tones chimed clearly across the room, regret permeated his voice.
"Aye Brother, he is gone, but it is hard for my old heart not to consider the what ifs."
Gone? The dwarrow thought he was dead? Perhaps they had been informed of the attack on the Shire and had once again underestimated him. Then again, they would have been right to do so. Without his life as John he never would have survived it.
"I’m with master Balin on this one. Sometimes when I am in my shop I cannot help but wonder what Bilbo would look like drinking tea there. What would his favourite tea be? Would be recommend any blends to me? Help me bake the treats?"
Dori let out a wistful sigh. Ori came over to his brother and patted his shoulder in sympathy.
"You are not the only one, every time I pick up a Sindarin book in the library, I wish our burglar was there to translate it with me, my elvish was never any good. I sometimes wonder if we could have gotten permission to teach him our language, he would have loved that."
"Indeed he would have. I mean you saw how fast he was able to pick up signing to communicate with Bifur? I would not even be surprised if he had already acquired a good grasp on Khuzdûl. I could have used his help in the kitchen, none of the arriving dwarrow understands me and my methods like Bilbo did."
Bombur and Bilbo had indeed developed a staunch friendship over food which had only grown with Bilbo efforts at communicating with his brother. The hidden hobbit only smirked at the mention of the secret dwarven language. Dwarrow were forbidden from teaching it, but no one had ever told Bilbo he could not learn it on his own. As such, he had developed a rudimentary grasp on it and could follow most conversations.
"He was ever the sneaky one our little burglar, I would have liked to have him in my spy network. I could have taught him all kinds of things. "
The company’s thief wore his usual smirk, but it was lacking. It was but a shell of the thing it was before, still there and complete, but empty.
"He could have helped me gather the herbs I need. I must also say that some of the hobbit remedies he shared with me are rather efficient. I would have loved to pick his brains for more."
Oin’s voice was of course the loudest due to his low hearing. His brother Gloin patted him on the shoulder.
"I would have loved to present him to my wife and lad. They’ve heard so much about each other that it seems odd they will never meet."
Bilbo was stunned in his hideout. He had no idea his friends had missed him so. He was not sure on his course of action now. Were they only fond of him because he was gone? It was a known fact that no one speaks ill of the dead. He gazed upon two huddled figures. His boys, Fili and Kili, had not spoken with the others. They seemed unable to even utter a word as they held onto each other for dear life. This reminiscing was just too painful for them. They had loved Bilbo as much as they loved their uncle and to lose him had been a hard blow.
Upon seeing such pain etched upon their faces, Bilbo could not simply leave them like this. He remembered what Sherlock’s faked death had done to him and he could not bare the thought of inflicting such pain unto his friends. With that last thought, he stepped into the light. |
Fuck…The static enshrouds his senses. No dreams yet, but consciousness still feels so far away. Nothing but silence and a darkness that feels like it's buzzing with hushed whispers and unintelligible stuttering. A thousand conversations at once. All he's completely aware of, though, is how completely and truly comfortable he is right now. Warm and so relaxed he would sooner die than try to move from this spot.
thumpth-thumpthump
Which is why he's beginning to feel so damn upset that he can feel himself start to wake up. He groans very slightly as his arms close tight around the warm, little body beneath him. What the fuck? It can't be morning already! There's no damn way he's slept all through the night. It's not so unheard of for him to wake up after sleeping only a couple of hours, but he's been sleeping so soundly as of late. But now? Something's…wrong.
th-thumpthump
A noise…Yeah, that makes sense. A noise that's pitter-pattering across the floor. Did some varmint slip into the trailer when he came in last night? Did he leave a window open for something to sneak inside? Maybe one of the vents? With another groan, he drags his hand down his face, reluctantly admitting that he's indeed awake. Maybe a little midnight sex will help ease him back to sleep?
th-thumpthumpthump
But, finally…finally it hits him. As warm as he was feeling, it's only him. The 'body' he thought he was cuddling is limp and lifeless and all fabric and stuffing. The presence he's so used to have sleeping alongside him, locked in place as he fucking well should be…It falls into place in his mind. The footsteps. Not some intruder looking for a scrap of food, but the timid steps of something fumbling to…
Adrenaline courses through his veins as he bolts upright in a panic. The bedroom door; carefully opened to let something slip away. The keys are still hanging from where they'd been carefully worked into the lock and turned. And beside him…
"Dammit!" he hisses, throwing the covers off of himself.
He reaches for his robe on the floor and is startled to find not only his jersey gone, but also his plaid overshirt. Why the hell…He doesn't finish that thought, opting instead to frantically pull his pants on. If Edd grabbed the heavy, plaid shirt, it means he's trying to get out.
And it's cold as fuck out there.
Throwing his robe on over that, he grabs his keys from the door and gives chase. As he enters the hall, he spots him at the front door, struggling silently with the knob and the lock there. The plaid shirt is even bigger on him than the jersey, falling to the backs of his knees and concealing the entirety of his body from the back. The lock clicks open and he turns the knob.
"Get back here!" Terry snaps, his fingers curling into fists as he pushes himself away from the bedroom doorframe to take off after him.
Edd glances back at him briefly with a horrified look before he finally gets the door open. Without anymore hesitation, he races outside. Terry feels his blood run cold, panic freezing his mind as he fights to figure out what to do.
But Edd's not started screaming. He stops briefly when his bare feet hit the cold snow and his entire body tenses, but he forces his shivering legs to keep moving. Seizing his opportunity, Terry shoves the kitchen table aside, making it skid noisily against the floor, as he scrambles to grab the chloroform sitting on the kitchen counter and a dishrag from the edge of the sink. Edd's been slowed down by the cold, but he's sure to be on the move again before he can blink and he doubts he'll be stopped long. There's also the possibility that Edd manages to scream even after he gets his hands on him. He needs a contingency plan.
As expected, Edd's already started moving by the time he gets to the door and is running for the park attractions. Ignoring the burning cold against his feet, Terry follows. He glances around carefully as he does. Before he left, he didn't have a chance to catch the time, but the lights in the other trailers are all out. The only lighting in the entire park is coming from his place and the tall yellow lights on the paths.
Definitely didn't sleep through the night.
He curses under his breath as Edd stumbles between the various tents, food stands, and rides. Dammit! He stops after a moment, looking around for any sign of the kid. In the dim light, he can just barely make out the tiny footprints in the snow. Panting a bit, Terry follows them as they wind around the path, his steaming puffs of breath trailing behind him. He spots a few places where the snow is heavily disturbed, with a couple of handprints on the ground as well. God dammit! The layer of snow on he ground isn't very high, but it's still enough that Edd's little feet must be going numb. If he doesn't get to him quick enough, he might get frostbite! Not to mention if he starts screaming…Why the fuck isn't he screaming?! At least I'd be able to fuckin' find him if he was…
He tries to move as quietly as possible, keeping an eye out for the red of the plaid shirt or the yellow of the jersey. Anything moving that might stand out enough for him to find. Glancing back at the gathering of mobile homes, he decides to try something different.
"Princess!" he calls. Not too loud so as to draw the attention of his coworkers (if they're even awake), but loud enough for Edd to hear him. "C'mon out, sweetheart!"
No answer, of course. He grits his teeth a bit.
"You must be so cold! Come back to me and I'll warm you up!"
Still nothing.
"I'll be gentle with you! If you just come out and come home, we can forget all about this! We can go back to being happy!"
Finally, he gets somewhere. Coming up on one of the food stands; the footprints end here. The door is closed, but the snow in front of it is stamped down, with a few clumps under the door leading inside. Gotcha…Whoever worked here last (probably Dave — lazy motherfucker) must've forgotten to lock up. Lucky lucky. Pouring what is likely an excessive amount of the chloroform onto the rag in his hand, he creeps up on the door. He tries to stay low to avoid casting a shadow in the window as he gets closer. Brow furrowed, he carefully leans in, pressing his ear to the door. It's faint, but he can just make out Edd's muffled whimpering.
"…tay calm…y calm…e home soon…find…exit…someone…help me…Moth…fath…Ed…Eddy…Jus…tay calm…"
Terry stands up a little bit with a grimace, still keeping out of the window, and slowly and carefully wraps his hand around the door handle. Glaring straight ahead, he makes his move. Twisting the handle and yanking the door open in one swift motion, he storms his way in. As he does, he finally gets that scream he's been anticipating for the past several minutes. Why Edd waited this damn long for that, he doesn't know, but he doesn't care. The sound is loud and echoes around him in the confined space. He's sure it's reaching far too. If anyone's around, they'll hear it. They'll come running.
He'll be caught.
He lunges at the boy, who's cowering in the corner against a cabinet and trying to make himself look as small as possible. Edd struggles against him, his scream silenced as he tries in vain to shove him away. Grabbing the back of the boy's head and digging his fingers into his hair, Terry shoves the rag over Edd's nose and mouth with the other, holding it tightly in place. Thrashing wildly, Edd grabs at Terry's wrist, scratching him in a desperate bid for freedom. Tears run fast down his cheeks, gathering in the cloth as he kicks frantically at Terry's legs and stomach. Terry nearly loses his grip when one of his feet makes contact with his crotch, sending a jolt of pain through his entire body. Gritting his teeth through the agony, Terry refuses to relent and squeezes Edd's cheeks and jaw as tight as he can to prevent him from slipping out of his shaking grip. It feels like forever, but finally, Edd's thrashing slows. He blinks his eyes open, glaring up at the man as his body goes lax. That doesn't last long, though, as he begins losing consciousness before falling limp in Terry's arms.
With a relieved sigh, Terry wraps the rag around Edd's head to ensure he continues breathing in the chloroform. It wore off way too damn fast last time and he can't risk that yet. Surely keeping him exposed to it will make sure he stays out longer? He groans, cradling his crotch as the throbbing pain persists. Push through it, dammit…With shaking hands, he fumbles around the trailer in search of something — fucking anything — to restrain Edd from trying to run again. He finds a collection of zip ties in one of the drawers and grabs a couple of them. He's seen Dave and Adam use these to lock certain things down on windy days. Usually tarps or banners that have to be attached to the trailer. Whatever. They're perfect. After attaching them to Edd's wrists and ankles — locking them together tightly — he steps back to calm himself and soothe his pain.
"Hello?!"
Fuck.
Clearly no time to relax. Stepping outside, he shuts the door and tiptoes around the trailer to peek out at more of the park. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He's not alone anymore. Mike and a few others are wandering about, shining flashlights and calling out for…someone.
Goddammit, Edd.
Adjusting his robe, he takes a breath and collects himself before stepping out.
"Hey!" he calls, hoping his voice doesn't sound too strained.
Mike turns to him, his entire face contorted in confusion. Aside from that, he looks dead on his feet. Probably just woke up from a dead sleep or somethin'. His dark eyes look sunken in and he's got heavy bags under them and his already greasy black hair looks even more messy. He's bundled up in a huge coat over his own robe and he was at least smart enough to pull on some fucking boots as well.
"'The fuck?" he guffaws after recognizing his employee approaching him, "What's going on, man? We heard a scream?"
"Yeah, yeah," Terry waves, "I heard it too, but I got it all taken care of."
"The fuck does that mean?" Mike groans, crossing his arms over his chest.
Uhh…
"It means…" Terry begins in a matter-of-fact tone which quickly trickles away as he tries to piece together a story, "That uh…a bunch of…teenagers snuck into the park."
"Teenagers?" Mike cocks his brow, "A bunch of teenagers broke into an amusement park at three in the morning? In winter?"
Terry scoffs; "W…Yeah. What? You don't believe me? I did a helluva lot worse than that when I was their age."
"Well, that I believe…" Mike grumbles, shifting from side to side, "What was with the scream?"
"Hey!"
Their attention is redirected as a woman runs up to them. She's looking just as disheveled as Mike, but for vastly different reasons. Her fiery red hair is curled tightly against her head, but some of it looks to be coming out from the coils. She's bundled up a lot more than Mike is, in a big furry coat, a scarf that looks like it could span the length of a football field, and a pair of mittens. A little much…? It's cold out here, sure, but not that cold. Her footwear is probably less than ideal for the snow, though, as she could only grab a pair of rubber wading boots.
"What's going on?" she huffs, "Does the fatass know something?"
"Yeah, fuck you too, Sheena," Terry spits back.
"You're the one in a bathrobe and pants with no shirt," Sheena scoffs back, rubbing her arms, "I just call it like I see it."
"I return you to my previous statement," Terry sneers, "Fuck you too."
"Enough," Mike groans, massaging his temple, "Goddamit. I could be sleeping right now, Terry. What the fuck's goin' on?"
Well, if there's one good thing that came from Sheena's interruption, it's that it's given Terry a chance to get his story straight in his own head. Perfect timing, too, as several other people approach them. Looks about right. There's only a handful of people who actually live in the park and even fewer who stayed for the holidays. Mike and Sheena were probably banging, so even if either of them had families to go back to, they'd probably stick around here just for that anyway. Then there's Paul, Steve, and Russ. Three surly-lookin' motherfuckers wearing mostly light jackets over their boxers. Paul was more weasley than the other two, with stringy hair sprouting around a bald spot that took up most of the top of his head. Steve looked like someone out of a mob movie and kinda talked like one too, and Russ is almost positively on something illegal. For that matter, he's never really known much about them or their home lives, but he has a pretty strong feeling one or two of them might be a convict. Steve in particular liked to talk about shit he snatched from local stores. Come to think of it, he's pretty sure it was Steve who left the food trailers open at night just so he could swipe some of the stock. Answers a few questions.
"Jesus, settle down, man," he replies with a grumble as he rubs his eyes, "I told you, I took care of it. A bunch of bratty fuckin' teenagers broke in — probably some kinda bullshit dare or somethin' like that — and when I found 'em, I scared 'em off."
"That makes sense," Sheena snickers, "If I saw you comin' at me in the dark, I'd run too."
He hears Russ giggle behind his hand, making him grimace.
"Why are you here?" Terry retorts, glaring at her, "Isn't there a pole somewhere you could be grinding on right about now?"
Sheena opens her mouth to retort, when Mike waves his hands.
"Alright, alright!" he snaps, "That's enough, dammit! It's too goddamn early for this bullshit. What about the scream?"
Ignoring the hateful look he's receiving, Terry strokes his goatee; "Oh, well, when I caught one of 'em, I scared the piss out of 'im and he screamed like a little bitch. They fucked off after that."
"Only one of 'em screamed?" Paul asks, shooting him a suspicious look.
"They were a bunch of teenage boys," Terry shrugs back, "Y'know how it is. Gotta act all macho n' shit. Specially when one of your buddies is actin' like a pussy."
The men seem to accept that answer — some of them were probably in similar situations themselves — but Sheena still looks suspicious.
"What were you doing out here?" she asks, brow and hip cocked as she leans her weight on one leg, "Aint you up past your bedtime?"
Shit…
"I needed to get some air…"
"Where are your shoes?" she presses, her eyes shifting down to his feet, then back to his face.
Fuckin' cunt!
"Like I said," he snarls back through his teeth, "I needed some air. Wasn't gonna be out long, so I just walked out of my trailer to stand outside the door. I saw some flashlights and figured some little fuckers must've snuck in. So I ran off to take care of 'em."
"What're you doin' up at three in the morning?" Mike asks.
"Just feelin' the stress of the holidays," Terry shrugs back, "My folks've been ridin' my ass for months to come home for Christmas. Well, my mom has. My old man wouldn't care if I ended up dead in a ditch somewhere…Anyway, I ain't been sleepin' well."
Mike hums thoughtfully, rubbing his face. After a moment, he yawns.
"Alright fine," he sighs, "That all sounds like bullshit, but I don't feel like dealing with this right now."
"Does this mean we can go back to bed?" Russ asks.
"Yeah," Mike replies with another yawn, "I'll check the rides for damage n' graffiti n' shit in the morning. For now, I'm gettin' my ass back to bed."
"I'm gonna hang back," Terry states, hoping it sounds enough like an offer, "Give the place a once over n' make sure those little bastards really are gone."
"That's awfully helpful of you…" Paul comments with a snide grin.
"Hey, I just don't feel like cleanin' up their shit if they're tryin' to stay the night," Terry shrugs, raising his arms defensively, "Just flushin' out the rats, y'know?"
Sheena scoffs, turning back to the mobile homes; "You have fun with that. I'm going the fuck back to bed."
"Yeah, that's a one-man job," Steve waves, following her, "You can handle it yaself."
Paul and Russ begin walking off as well, stretching and yawning as they grumble about 'getting up for nothing'. Mike shoots Terry a grimace.
"Don't stay out here too long," he warns, "No shoes on? You'll get frostbite."
"Aww, Mike," Terry says with a mock coo, "Ya do care."
"Hardly," Mike begins walking away with the others, "If they gotta amputate your feet cuz you were too stupid to wear shoes in winter, I'll be out an employee."
That sounds about right…
"Really feelin' the love there, asshole…" Terry mutters under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest.
Standing in the same spot all this time has really driven home how cold it actually has gotten. His feet feel like they're burning…That can't be good. Once they're far enough away, he returns to the food trailer and slips back inside. Edd still seems to be out, for the most part, but he's squirming slightly on the floor. Closing the door behind him, Terry takes a seat on the floor. He can't risk bringing Edd back right away. He'll have to let some time pass before he heads home. Taking his robe off, he wraps his feet up in it before leaning against the door.
Glancing over at his captive, he finally gets a good look at him. The bottle of chloroform is laying on its side, tucked under a cabinet. Fuck, he didn't even think about that while he was talking to Mike and the others. Thank god that was in here. Looking over Edd, he notices that he took a few precautions before running away (again). Aside from the plaid overshirt and jersey, it seems he also took the time to find himself a pair of boxers. Terry thinks back to when he woke up. The boxers he'd been wearing were still on the floor with his pants. Did Edd seriously go through his dresser to find a 'clean pair'? Well, knowing Edd, that kinda makes sense. But that raises another concern. How long has Edd been planning out this little stunt? He clearly didn't plan very far ahead — the fact that he only made it as far as the park proves that much — but he did manage to get out.
He gets a sense of deja-vu as he sits here, thinking over everything that's led up to this. Everything he did wrong. He gave him too many freedoms, clearly. He was too nice to him. Too compassionate and gentle. But it all seemed to have fallen into place so well! Edd had been behaving himself perfectly. Well…Now it's kind've obvious that it was all a front, but still. Being mean to him and torturing him is not what he wants. He was supposed to be providing a happy life for his little darling. Not making him more miserable than he was at home with those horrible parents. But how could he do that with Edd making things so damn difficult?
Well, either way, he doesn't have a choice tonight. Edd fucked up and he'll be dealing with that properly when he gets him home. Into a nice, soundproofed room where no one will ever hear him scream again. He'll make him cry. Make him bleed. Make him regret ever making such a bold, cruel attempt as this. He won't go too far. He won't break anything. Won't knock anything loose. Just do enough damage to leave Edd in pain for a few agonizing days.
When the feeling has returned to his feet, he carefully unwraps the robe to inspect them. Still a little red, but the numbness has faded significantly and he can still move his toes. Thank God for small miracles, I guess…Rising to his feet, he throws the robe back on and opens the door. Before anything else, he's gotta go scope out his coworkers' trailers to make sure the coast is clear. When they come into view, he finds all of their lights out with the exception of his own. His door seems to have swung closed, but it's not secure by any means. He can still see it moving in and out. Everything's quiet again.
It's now or never.
Relieved, he returns to the food trailer, and takes a moment to put everything back where it should be and pocket the bottle of chloroform. With that done, he hoists Edd over his shoulder. It gets him a tiny whimper in response, but that's about it before Edd goes silent again. Sighing softly, Terry leaves the trailer once and for all, locking the door from the inside before closing it behind him for the last touch.
Though he's sure everyone's back in their trailers, he's still careful as he sneaks between the different stands and rides. When his trailer is in sight, he takes a long look at the windows, waiting for any sign of movement. Certain that he's in the clear, he makes a break for it. He hardly notices the snow beneath his feet, but he doesn't care. As he reaches his door, he slows himself down to prevent any unnecessary noise before slipping inside. He sets Edd down beside the door before taking one last look around.
No movement. No sound. Satisfied, he closes the door and secures the many locks.
Resting his forehead against the door, he takes a moment to calm down. There's probably a lot of damage control to do in the morning with them, but for now he's safe. Now he can deal with the damage control in here.
Shooting Edd the most hateful look he can muster, he kneels down. Removing the makeshift gag, he stands straight and sets it and the bottle on the kitchen table. He'll put them away later. When that's done, he returns to Edd and grabs the collar of the jacket before dragging him to the bathroom. As he enters, he hears Edd start groaning. Good. Let him wake up.
Before taking care of him, he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He retrieves the keys from the bedroom door first, then the handcuffs from the drawer. He won't need anything else. Just this. Other than that he roots around on the top of his dresser in search of a pocket knife. Once he finds it, he returns to the bathroom.
Edd's awake now and struggling against the painfully tight bonds around his wrists. He stops dead when Terry shuts and locks the door behind him and his eyes grow wide in horror as he flicks open the blade. Oh, but Terry has no intention of using the knife on Edd's body. All he does is remove the plastic ties. Not to make Edd comfortable, of course, but to remove his clothes from the boy. Off comes the red plaid. Off comes the jersey. He's a bit taken aback by the fact that Edd had gathered the waistband of his boxers and tied them off just above his hip so they would stay on his scrawny body. Fuck him for being so fuckin' cute. Of course, Edd doesn't just 'let' him do this. He struggles like mad, thrashing and kicking him again. Screaming and sobbing for him to leave him be and let him go. A few sharp slaps to the face distract him enough to put a stop to that.
After throwing the clothes, knife, and broken zip ties out into the hall, Terry locks them back in. Edd goes still when the man turns to him. He's sure the look on his face could fucking kill. Damn straight. Without a word, he cracks his knuckles, prepared to make it as painful a night as he fucking can. |
Chapter Three, The Solicitor
Minerva McGonagall was in her office working on a large pile of paperwork that never seemed to cease, even in the summer. She was pulled from her work by a knock on her door. "Come in," she called placing down her quill and looking up. The door opened to reveal her old friend Poppy, but McGonagall was surprised when Honor Potter, one of her favourite students, followed the healer in. "Poppy, Honor, this is a surprise."
"Hello Professor," Honor greeted, rather nervously it seemed to McGonagall. "Minerva," Poppy began, "we seem to have a slight situation. Honor here would like to ask for permission to stay in one of the married apartments." Minerva raised an eyebrow at the fifteen year old witch. "May I ask why, Ms. Potter?" Honor gulped nervously under her head of house's gaze. Poppy placed a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.
"It's alright Honor," the healer assured her. Honor nodded and raised her head so that her gaze could meet McGonagall's. "I'm pregnant Professor." McGonagall's eyes widened and she turned to Madam Pomfrey for confirmation. The healer nodded. The Transfiguration mistress took of her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She took a calming breath before speaking. "First I would like to say that I'm disappointed that you have been so irresponsible as to end up in this situation Ms. Potter." She leveled a chastising glare at the younger woman who she saw as a granddaughter. "That said," her face softened and she smiled, "I will do everything I can to help you." Honor smiled. "Thank you Professor."
____________________________
As soon as Poppy took Honor to an apartment, Minerva made her way toward the Headmaster's office, hoping he was there. She was lucky to find Dumbledore sitting behind his desk. "Minerva, what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus asked, as he folded a copy of the Daily Prophet and set it aside.
McGonagall frowned, the paper had began to slander Albus and, more recently, Honor. Merlin knew she didn't need this on top of her pregnancy. "I just had a visit from Poppy. She had Honor with her." Dumbledore sighed. "We must really find something else for Mundungus to do. It's clear that he's worthless as a watch-out. Since Ms. Potter was in Poppy's care, is it reasonable to assume that she is ill or injured?" Minerva sighed.
"It's a bit more complicated than that Albus. The girl's pregnant!" Dumbledore's eye's widened as his head whipped around to look his deputy headmistress in the eye. "Pregnant?" He closed his eyes and began to rub his forehead. "This complicates things much more. I assume that she has asked to move into one of the married quarters?" Minerva nodded. "Yes."
"Who is the father?" "I don't know Albus, Honor hasn't even told Poppy. In fact, Poppy is currently contacting Andromeda Tonks because Honor doesn't want to inform the father," Minerva explained. Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Has anyone else been informed?"
"No, and Honor is scared to tell Sirius. She's afraid he'll be disappointed in her. And since her friends aren't being very forthcoming in their letters to her, she's not inclined to inform them immediately either."
"I think, after speaking to Andromeda, that it might be prudent to move Honor to headquarters, at least for the summer." Dumbledore sighed he needed to think this over carefully, he knew that Honor would never abort or give her child up for adoption and he wasn't going to insult the girl by suggesting it. He didn't like to think on what Sirius and Remus would say to him when they found out, if there was one thing he knew for certain it was that they would stick by the girl no matter what and blame him and the father of the child instead.
____________________________
Honor had gotten two elves willing to bond with her, and as Winky made her way around the apartments small but open plan kitchen/dining area, Honor was unable to to recognise the drunk and depressed elf she had known earlier in the year. The fact that Honor had informed her that she would have to take care of a baby in a few months, while she went to classes, seemed to make the elf's day. Dobby had also wanted to bond with Honor, and had taken to keeping the small apartment clean. Both where also free to help the Hogwarts elves as she didn't have much for them to do. Hermione was going to kill her when she found out.
She was pulled from her musings by the portrait of a mother wolf, named Marianna, started speaking to her. "A Mrs. Tonks is outside the portrait, she wishes entrance." Honor smiled nervously. "I'm expecting her. You can let her in." Marianna nodded before vanishing to her portrait at the entrance to the room. A few moments later, a black-haired woman with pale-blue eyes and a regal demeanour stepped through the entrance to the apartment. She smiled at Honor.
"Hello Ms. Potter. I'm Andromeda Tonks, Though you can call me Andy." She held out her hand and Honor shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Tonks. Would you like some tea or something?" Andy smiled. "Tea would be lovely." Honor gestured for them to sit as Winky brought over tea and pumpkin juice for Honor.
"Has Madam Pomfrey explained my problem to you?" Andy nodded as she took a sip of her tea. "Yes. But before we get into that, I'd like to say that I'm here as your solicitor. Whatever you say here, stays here unless you say otherwise or it comes up in a legal proceeding. That said, I can't help you unless I know who your baby's father is, and why you don't want him to know."
"So you won't tell anyone else?" Honor asked for confirmation. "Not unless you allow." Honor sighed. "Draco Malfoy. As for why, Lucius. I know Lucius is a follower of Voldemort, he was at the graveyard at the end of the tournament with him. I...I just don't want anything to happen to Draco or our baby if Lucius finds out and tells Voldemort." Honor shivered and placed a hand over her still flat stomach, she couldn't bare to think if what could happen to her secret, well not so secret boyfriend and their baby.
They had been dating since third year in secret and friends since first when Draco found her in an abandoned corridor crying after she was picked on for not having any parents by Fay Dunbar in her dorm room, after she had spilled her heart out to him telling him everything from the Dursleys treatment of her to why she rejected his hand on the train they had immediately struck up a fierce friendship with Draco doing everything in his power to protect and watch out for without letting on he was doing so.
Andy was silent for a moment and smiled weakly. "Draco is my nephew. As for what you can do, there's not much. Legally, you must inform the father and give him the right to claim or disown the child. Illegally, you could try and get someone else to claim it, but I don't advise it as it can come back to bite you and your child in the rears if it's ever discovered. If your only concern is Lucius, and his connection to Voldemort, let me sound my sister, Draco's mother, out. We're not as close as we once were, but we do talk on occasion."
Honor stood up and crossed her hands protectively over her stomach. She paced for a few moments before speaking. "I'm fifteen Andy, I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is that I want what's best for my baby." She turned to look at Andy. "What would you do in my place?"
"I can't answer that Honor," Andy said sadly. "I'm not you. What I can say is that I think Draco deserves to know that he's going to be a father, and that you shouldn't let Lucius stop you." |
November 1978
“Are you hurt?” Remus’s voice sounded so desperate as they apparated into their flat and Sirius fell to the floor.
“Yes. My shoulder.” Sirius growled, wishing he had been just a little faster before that Death Eater cursed him.
“Hold still,” Remus said, kneeling on the floor and lifting up the arm of Sirius’s robes to get a good look at his shoulder.
“Can you fix it?” Sirius asked, feeling woozy.
Remus stared down at Sirius with deep concern in his brown eyes. His honey-brown hair was matted with sweat and dirt. He had a cut on his full, pouty bottom lip.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’ll send for help,” Remus said and Sirius closed his eyes and felt darkness overtake him.
Sirius awoke to morning light pouring in from the bedroom window of their flat. All was silent. He felt exhausted but his shoulder didn’t hurt anymore and there were no marks. He was lying in bed shirtless and in those muggle pyjama bottoms, Remus had bought him as part of their goal of fitting in while they lived so close to Muggles. Sirius groaned and Remus popped into the room almost instantly.
“You’re awake. Thank Merlin. I was getting worried. Remus came over to Sirius’s side.
“It seems I’ve been well tended to.” Sirius could hear how faint and weak his voice was.
“I sent for a healer as fast as I could. You’ll be as good as new after some rest.”
“Cheers. Merlin, what would I do without you, Remus?”
Remus smiled tenderly, the cut on his lip only faintly visible now. “Dumbledore thinks we should be careful for a few days. No going outside the flat unless we absolutely have to.”
“James and Lily? Peter?” The chaos of the night before replayed in Sirius’s mind.
“Are all fine and accounted for. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes. Please.” Remus nodded and left the room.
Sirius sighed. His chest felt tight and filled with a pain unrelated to the curse he was hit by. The true curse he carried had been eating him alive for years. It wasn’t his fault, not really. He couldn’t control the hideousness inside of himself, that dirty thing his mother had always suspected was there. Muggles had a word for it: gay, though it was Muggleborns at Hogwarts who had first taught it to him.
That’s what Sirius was. Gay. He had been repeating the word inside of his head for years, hoping that the more he said it the more at ease he would feel. But it didn’t make him feel any better. His mother was still in his head, spewing slurs, hate, and insults.
Sirius started going to a gay club for Muggles in London, thinking that community would make him feel better. He got lots of attention. He’s young and good looking after all. Sirius had never doubted his good looks. Girls at Hogwarts had fawned over him but he had never given them much attention.
The men at the club were handsome and vivacious. Many of them were no doubt experienced in the sorts of things that Sirius had only dreamed and fantasised about, late at night in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. Sirius could’ve gone home with someone but it wouldn’t have felt right. It would have only been temporary relief and it wasn’t what he really wanted. But what he wanted was something he could never have.
It was only natural that Sirius fell for Remus Lupin. He was good-looking, a little reserved but not too reserved, while at times feeling dangerous and taboo in a way that would make Sirius's mother faint and he was completely and utterly emotionally unavailable. Sirius couldn’t blame Remus for keeping such tight control over himself. He was a werewolf, for Merlin’s sake.
Remus was the last one to find out Sirius was gay. James had naturally been the first. He earned that right as his best mate. In fourth year after Sirius turned down a girl that James was convinced was one of the prettiest girls at Hogwarts, he asked Sirius point blank and he answered.
Peter found out in fifth year. Sirius still wasn’t sure how Peter found out. James swore he never told Peter and there was no way James would lie or break his trust. Perhaps, Peter heard a rumour and had merely decided to trust it. But Sirius had done such a good job hiding it.
Sirius had avoided letting Remus know for as long as he could. Remus knowing he was gay was one step too close to Remus knowing that he was in love with him. Sirius couldn’t risk their friendship by ever letting Remus know how he truly felt.
Sirius could tell that James and Peter had tired of keeping the secret and even Lily seemed distressed as she abhorred keeping things from her best friend. So, Sirius did it. I’m gay. On the last day of seventh year he said the words, flatly, succinctly, and without warning. Yeah, had been Remus’s only reply. He didn’t seem surprised. His face showed nothing at all, his brown eyes turning out towards the lake.
Sirius had built the whole thing up in his head. For a moment he had allowed himself to envision a scenario where Remus was overjoyed and proclaimed his undying love for Sirius and they kissed by the lake, not fearing who was watching.
Instead, they said nothing else about it. That was six months ago. Now he and Remus were hiding out in a London flat. They were living together. It was Remus’s idea. Let’s give James and Lily some space, he’d said. They took turns sleeping on the sofa or sleeping on the bed. Sirius had cried himself to sleep more times than he could possibly count. The pain of being so close to the one you love so wholly absent of intimacy or reciprocity was a torment that no person should find themselves burdened with.
He still feared Remus finding out the truth. What if Remus freaked out and abandoned him? The thought of being at Order meetings with Remus and Remus avoiding even looking at Sirius wounded Sirius more than he could take.
The war did make for an occasional distraction. When things were busy there wasn’t much time for pining. But then things got quiet, say after a dangerous night on the job and an injury after which Dumbledore tells them to stay inside… together.
When things weren’t busy Remus spent a lot of time playing his record player and sketching in his notepad. He blasted those Muggle bands that he loved. Pink Floyd. Led Zeppelin. Queen. Or sometimes he put on something soft with acoustic guitars and harmonies like Crosby, Stills, and Nash. Sirius had thought it was all garbage back when they were thirteen and he played some of his record collection for them all. But falling for Remus made everything he loved seem so much more important and interesting.
On days when Remus sat silently in a chair lost in his own world, with his sketchpad or a book, Sirius never knew what do with himself. He had always hated doing things alone. His brother was the loner. Sirius liked being with friends. He wanted the Marauders to be together like they had been at school. But war complicates matters as does your best mate marrying his girlfriend months after they finished Hogwarts. We should give them space, Remus had said. So they gave them space so that James and Lily could do all the things that Sirius wished he was doing with Remus. And Peter was rarely around.
So, Sirius went to the clubs and danced with gorgeous strangers that weren’t Remus. Your hair is so long and pretty, they would whisper in his ear. Sirius would thank them but when they invited him home with them he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shag a stranger. He wasn’t sure he could shag anyone who wasn’t Remus Lupin. The idea bordered on revulsion. The flame he carried burned for only one man and it would he would let it consume him before he ever gave it to another.
Remus came back into the bedroom with a cup of tea, setting it down on the end table next to Sirius.
“Thanks, Moony,” Sirius said.
Remus gave Sirius a bright, curious smile. “You never call me Moony when we’re alone, anymore. I was wondering why you had stopped.”
Sirius felt himself turning red. He had stopped calling him Moony without ever noticing. Merlin, how had he never noticed? For all those years at Hogwarts, he had called him Moony with affection, even when they weren’t with the other boys. But then school ended. Sirius came out and Remus gave him no reaction. Something inside him had died on that day.
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed. I guess… things felt different. With the war and all.” It was only a half lie.
“If I’ve ever done anything… I’m sorry.” Remus looked genuinely regretful. Sirius wondered what moment he was thinking of. Probably not the one Sirius was thinking of.
I’m gay.
Yeah.
“Of course, not. Perish the thought.”
“Good to know, Padfoot.” Remus got up from the bed.
“What are you going to do?”
“Drink my tea. After that, I don’t know. I was thinking about reading The Lord of the Rings again.”
Sirius gave Remus a skeptical look. “It really can’t be that good. And everything you’ve told me about how it portrays wizards isn’t comforting.”
“I’ve read it four times. The magic is all wrong but the story is good. And good triumphs over evil. It makes me feel better about the way things are going. Fiction is powerful.”
Sirius had never thought about it that way. “I see your point.”
Remus gave Sirius a little smile and nodded then left the bedroom. Moments later the stereo was playing Led Zeppelin and Sirius coaxed himself back to sleep, wishing Remus was there beside him.
“Evening, Moony.”
Remus was startled, stirring him out of his Lord of the Rings induced trance.
Remus turned around to see Sirius standing at the doorway to the bedroom, tall and shirtless. His long, dark hair was a mess. Part of Remus wanted to take a brush to it but another part of him thought it made him sexier.
“Aren’t you cold? It’s the middle of November.” Remus liked the view but the last thing he needed was a sexy Sirius-shaped distraction walking around the flat. It was a dangerous temptation. Not for Remus. For Sirius. Remus denied himself these things for Sirius’s benefit.
“I suppose I can find a shirt.” Sirius popped back into the bedroom. A moment later, he was back out wearing a grey tee-shirt, his hair having been somewhat brushed. Sirius normally took impeccable care of his hair but under the circumstances, he couldn’t be faulted for a little bit of messy hair.
“How’s the book going?” Remus knew Sirius wasn’t actually interested but he couldn’t blame him for feigning interest.
“Frodo’s made it to Rivendell. This is where it really starts to pick up.” Remus closed the book with his bookmark safely in place.
“Good job, sir hobbit.” Sirius laid himself down on the sofa.
“You were able to sleep through the music?”
“Yes. I’m used to it by now. It’s actually sort of calming.”
Remus got up from the dining table and came over to sit in the chair opposite Sirius, desiring to be closer to him.
“My mum played me children’s records when I was young. It helped me get to sleep. Especially before… you know.” Remus remembered those long ago nights before Hogwarts when he could feel the change approaching.
Remus never told anyone how scary it was, how sick it made him feel, how letting go of his control to allow the change to happen was almost better than all the waiting for it to happen. It wasn’t easy growing up a monster. A freak. To feel an inner part of yourself that was so at odds with the image that you had for yourself. Knowing that this was something done to you that could never be undone…
But then Hogwarts came and so did his friends. The Marauders. They saved his life. In his heart, he knew that he wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for them. They gave him something worth living and fighting for.
And there was Sirius… Unfairly beautiful, Sirius Black and his grey eyes that always looked at Remus the way lovers looked at each other in the movies. He wasn’t sure when he realized that Sirius was in love with him. Definitely, before Sirius rejected that girl in fourth year and definitely before he came out to James. Remus thought he knew before anyone, maybe even Sirius himself.
When Sirius had invited Remus to walk along the lake that morning Remus had felt almost paralysed with anxiety. He had misunderstood Sirius’s intentions. He thought Sirius was going to confess his feelings. Surely, Sirius knew that Remus had known Sirius was gay. But no. There was no love confession. Though it would’ve brought Remus some joy to have that brief, perfect moment, he still would have gently turned Sirius down.
What kind of a friend would he be to inflict himself upon the man he loved? Sirius loved him and Remus would only bring him pain and suffering. He could never be the man that Sirius deserved.
So instead he suffered in silence. He was good at hiding his feelings. There was an art to limiting touch and preventing wandering eyes. There was no reason to make things worse for the both of them. But then Sirius started to go out alone at night and Remus was tormented. Right before the full moon Remus’s sense were on high alert and he could smell other people on Sirius. He desperately tried not to but there was no stopping it. It filled him with rage, jealousy, and a desire to hunt and do harm. He hated feeling like that.
Remus would go to bed those nights trying not to cry and trying not to imagine the things that Sirius was out doing. It’s none of my business, let it go, he repeated in his mind on a loop. How could he love you and still be doing things with other people? He knows you’re not good enough for him.
In the mornings after those long nights when Sirius went out, he would wonder why he had suggested that they move in together in the first place. Sure, he claimed that it was for James and Lily’s sake but that was only part of the truth. He didn’t want to be away from Sirius. Even if they could never be together, if Remus could never really give him his love at least he could be there with him, living the ghost of a life he’d only ever dreamed of.
“Remus… has there been anything wrong with your changes lately? Anything different?”
Different? What was Sirius on about? “No. Why?”
“I was just wondering. You’ve seemed agitated. You know if there’s ever anything I can do to help you before the change, I will. I would do anything to help you.”
“I’m not really sure what you could do. Best to just avoid me.”
Yes, great. Encourage him to go out and seek comfort in the arms of strangers. Damn you, Remus Lupin.
“I think I’ve grown tired of going out. I… Oh, you probably won’t want to hear it.”
The truth was he did and he didn’t. But the only possible answer was, “You can tell me anything.”
“I’ve been going to these Muggle clubs. They are very loud and play disco music. They have no idea who I am. It’s refreshing in a way, the anonymity. And people are drawn to me.” Just as Remus suspected.
“And are you finding what you’re looking for there?”
“I don’t think I can find what I’m looking for there.”
Remus hesitated then said, “Oh. Well, what is it that you are looking for then?”
Sirius seemed frozen and it killed Remus. Remus knew exactly what Sirius was looking for. A man with less self-control might’ve started crying at that moment, angry at himself for denying himself such love but Remus only waited patiently for a reply, burying everything else down.
“Oh. Um… Something… more. More than just a shag with someone I don’t know. I can’t imagine being with someone… being with someone I didn’t really love. I’m sure that’s stupid.” Sirius looked equal parts ashamed and melancholy.
“Not at all. Everyone wants to be loved.”
Including you, you bloody stupid arsehole, Remus screamed at himself in his mind.
“True enough. Sadly, with the way this war is going, I’m afraid it’s my destiny to die alone.” Sirius gave a long, sad sigh that completely broke Remus’s already wounded heart.
It wasn’t the first time he had considered the possibility that they might die in this war. Every sign that he could see pointed to You Know Who winning the war. He had faith in Albus Dumbledore but when so many people they knew had already died it was difficult to remain hopeful.
It was at that very moment that Remus finally found a crack in his own facade. The only thing worse than never sharing his love with Sirius Black was the both of them dying having never told each other how they felt. If they were both going to die what did it matter if he was a monster? If Sirius wanted to love a monster before he died, who was Remus to deny him? He gripped the arm of the chair. If he wasn’t certain the full moon was a couple of weeks away, he might’ve thought the change was about to happen for how hard his heart was slamming in his chest.
“I know how you feel.” Remus was shocked at his own words. There was no turning back now. This was happening and there was nothing Remus could or would do to stop it. He had lost control of the true beast inside of him, not the one with sharp teeth and claws but the one with the power to the break heart of a beautiful man.
“You do? That’s funny. You’ve never shown much of an interest in romance.” Sitting up and turning to face Remus with interest. Sirius’s hair hung down, framing his pale, thin face in a way that really wasn’t helping matters. Remus searched for what to say.
“I guess I keep things to myself.” Remus really never had been the most forthcoming about his feelings, no matter what they pertained to.
“Well, who did you fancy? Peter always said you fancied Lily but I thought he was being daft.”
“Lily? Of course not. She’s my best friend. We’re mates.” Lily was certainly attractive but he never came anywhere close to feeling that way about her.
“What are you saying that someone couldn’t develop feelings for a friend?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. With frustration Remus thought, he’s got me now.
“No. I’m not saying that at all.” Remus’s palms were sweaty. This was a mistake. But it was too late to back out. Much too late.
“Is it because she’s a girl? Remus are you-“
“No! I’m not gay.” It was an honest answer. He’d never loved a woman but he knew enough about himself to know he found them desirable.
Sirius looked crestfallen and let out a simple, “Oh.”
“Which is to say… I mean…” Remus stammered, trying to will the words out of his mouth.
“What?” Sirius looked confused, clearly not getting it.
“I’m bisexual.” Remus felt like he couldn’t breathe. He’d never told anyone this but Lily, five minutes after she had told him the same thing about herself.
“Bi… bisexual?” Sirius asked, the word sounding completely foreign on his tongue.
“Yes. Bisexual.”
“So you like girls and blokes? That hardly seems fair.” Sirius laughed. He seemed pleased in a way that Remus hadn’t expected.
“Well, in theory anyway. I’ve found girls attractive but never really had any interest in anyone in particular.”
“So there’s been blokes you fancied?”
Remus felt a bit like he was strapped to the front of the Hogwarts Express and it had gone berserk, hurtling towards the nearest castle, lake, or mountain.
“Bloke. Just one.” Remus looked away, knowing what the next question would be. He kept reminding himself it was ok. It’s ok if I ruin his life if we’re just going to die.
“Oh. And who’s that?” Everything about Sirius’s voice and demeanour appeared to Remus as if he genuinely had no clue. Was it really that unthinkable to him?
Remus's mouth searched for words. He knew the longer he went without saying something the more the silence would say it for him. Fuck it, he thought. I don’t care anymore. I want this. Why can’t I have one good thing?
Remus grinned and said, as casually as possible, “You, of course.”
Sirius’s mouth hung open. He was completely still but Remus could see tears welling up in his eyes.
“You never told me. Why?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Remus tried to swallow his own tears but it was no use.
“When I told you I was gay… you didn’t even react.” The hurt in Sirius’s voice was palpable.
“I know. I… I couldn’t. I was afraid. I’ve always been afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Sirius got up from the sofa to kneel by Remus’s side, his cheeks shining with tears.
“Myself. I’m a monster, you see. I’m no good inside. I promise it was always me I was afraid. Never you, I swear,” Remus said as Sirius placed a hand on Remus’s hand, currently resting on his knee.
“Do you still feel that way?” Sirius looked up at him with more emotion in his finely featured face than he had ever seen someone display
“Yes. Always.” Sirius squeezed Remus’s hand harder.
“So why tell me now? All those years at Hogwarts and you never said anything.”
“Because I can’t bear the thought that one of us might die and never know how the other one felt. I’ve been so afraid that I’ll fuck you up or hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
Remus shrugged. “Maybe I will. But I don’t care anymore. I just want you. I need you.”
And then Sirius was on him, hands on Remus’s face as they kissed, their faces both wet from tears. Remus could feel both their bodies shake, in Remus’s case he thought he was simply feeling more feelings than his body was capable of handling at any given moment. Sirius pulled away and they embraced, Sirius burying his face in Remus’s neck and sobbing.
Remus rubbed Sirius’s back, realising how freeing it was to show such affection to the one he loved after all this time.
“Would you like to go sit on the bed? It might be more comfortable” Remus asked, feeling their current situation made affection difficult. Remus knew how it would sound to Sirius. He wasn’t trying to seduce Sirius but if things went that way he wouldn’t resist it. He no longer cared. They could both burn to ash as long as they burned together.
“Ok.” Sirius offered Remus his hand, which he took, the two of them walking to the bedroom. As soon as they crossed the threshold they kissed again. Remus blessed Lily for teaching him how to kiss a couple of years ago. Remus assumes Sirius must’ve learned how to kiss from the men at the clubs. But Remus didn’t want to think about that. He thought if he did he might bring too much of the beast in him out and tenderness was what they needed now.
They pulled apart and Remus guided Sirius to bed. Sirius slid in, moving to the middle as Remus came behind him. Remus put an arm down Sirius’s side, feeling the soft texture of his pyjama bottoms against his skin. Remus moved as close as he could, desperately wishing he wasn’t wearing a sweater. In truth, he wished they were both wearing a lot less.
Sirius was still shaking. “Are you ok?” Remus dropped his voice to a low whisper. He kissed the side of Sirius’s neck.
“No.” An honest answer. Remus could appreciate that.
“I don’t think I’m ok either. I haven’t been ok for a long time. I’m not sure I ever will be.” His voice remained low. He was trying to keep his touch on this side of sexual but it was difficult. His body had always responded to Sirius on instinct, an unfailing chemical reaction brought on by raw animal attraction. His body desired Sirius’s body. His heart and mind desired his heart and mind. Nothing could stop that.
Remus was also certain that Sirius was pushing back again. Oh yes, he wanted to ravish Sirius, take him hard and fast, show him all of his desire, and more. No. That was too fast. He had to resist.
Instead, Remus took his hands and slid them inside Sirius’s shirt, rubbing his bareback. Sirius made an approving sound and then yawned.
“Thank you, Moony.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
“Remus… would you like to read to me?”
Remus was taken aback. He smiled and said, “Of course, I would. What would you like to hear me read?”
“Anything. I don’t care. I just want to fall asleep listening to your voice.”
“Lord of the Rings it is then.”
Sirius didn’t last long into the book but Remus kept on reading anyway, until he became too tired, at which point he slipped back into bed, returning to his spooning positioning. His body would still respond but that was ok. He was going to have to learn to live with that.
Soft snores stirred Sirius out of sleep. For the first time in his life, he woke up next to the man he loved. The day before had seemed so magical that he had almost convinced himself it was a dream. But it wasn’t a dream. Remus was there, fast asleep, still wearing his clothes. Sirius wasn’t sure what he thought of Lord of the Rings but he had found Remus reading it to him to be very soothing. There was something hypnotic about his deep and soft voice.
Sirius got up and took a shower. He had to admit that he was a little disappointed things hadn’t gone further physically with Remus last night but he was pretty sure if they had he would have came in his pants anyway. But oh how he had wanted to give himself to Remus completely, show him what a good dog he could be.
He also wanted to fall to his knees and declare his undying love and servitude to Remus. He would worship Remus if Remus allowed it. He prayed to God that Remus wouldn’t allow it. He prayed to God that he would as well.
Sirius would wait to tell Remus he loved him. But not too long. What if they died? Remus was right. They had nothing to lose but their lives. Who cared if one of them got hurt?
Sirius got out of the shower and saw about making tea while Remus got up and did his morning things as well. He came out and they sat down for tea.
“I appreciate you reading to me last night. I needed that.”
“I think I did too.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want things to go further. Physically.”
Remus made a small smile. “I did too. But I was afraid.”
“I thought we were getting over fear? What is there to be afraid of?”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back. Understand that it’s not the wolf in me I’m afraid of. It’s the man. The man wants to claim you, fuck you so hard you know you’re mine. That side of myself scares me. I try so hard to be a calm, gentle man. Nurturing. I don’t like… violence.”
“Moony, it’s not violence if I welcome it. If I want it. And I trust you. I know you can stop yourself if you need to. If anyone knows self-control it’s you.”
“Padfoot, I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’ve read books but nothing beats real experience when it comes to learning.”
“Then we’ll learn together.”
Sirius stood up and came around to Remus. Remus turned, setting his tea down as Sirius helped Remus remove his shirt. Remus wasn’t exactly muscular but his weight was well formed on his too-thin frame. Sirius slid one of Remus’s nipples between his fingers feeling it get hard at his touch. He felt so nervous and had to remind himself that he wasn’t being graded. Professor McGonagall wasn’t going to lecture him if he got it wrong. At least he bloody hoped not!
Remus spread his legs and Sirius got on his knees and scooted forward. Sirius’s hands moved up Remus’s thighs, eventually finding his groin, rubbing him through his jeans. “This is ok?” Sirius thought it was worth asking to be sure. Remus nodded and Sirius began to unzip and unbutton him. He pulled his jeans and pants down, watching as his erection sprung out, long and incredibly thick. Sirius wrapped his hand around it, feeling how hard and heavy it was. Sirius lifted it up straight, assessing the length. It was longer than Sirius’s bloody wand, he was almost certain of it.
“What?” Remus looked worried.
“I’m just admiring your beautiful cock. I’ll admit to being a little… surprised at its size.”
“Its size? What do you mean?” Remus seemed genuinely confused.
“Remus, haven’t you ever looked at any other men naked?”
“Not really. I was always shy about that sort of thing.”
“I can’t relate there. I’ve always been curious about other men’s bodies. I’ve also watched a fair bit of Muggle pornography.” Sirius’s hands slid up and down the long shaft.
“Is there something wrong with me? I always thought I was normal.”
Sirius laughed. “Nothing about you is normal and I mean that in the best way possible.”
“So, what? It’s big or something?”
“No, this isn’t big, Moony. It’s massive. I wonder if this is some kind of werewolf trait… no. Probably not. It’s gotta be all you.”
“I’m sorry if it’s too big. I didn’t know.”
“It’s beautiful because you’re beautiful. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’m just… in awe.”
“It’s ok. As long as you like it. That’s all I care about.”
Sirius checked Remus’s bollocks as well. Rather proportionally they were big and heavy too. Sirius let them go and said, “Let’s go to the bedroom.”
Sirius stood up and pulled his own shirt off, stripping on his way into the bedroom, down to his pants. Remus entered the bedroom naked and looked even more impressive standing there, his heavy cock drooping a little but not as much as he would expect given the size.
“You’re breathtaking, Moony.”
“I could say the same to you. What do we do now?”
“We could take turns telling each other what to do. For a start.” In truth, Sirius just wanted Remus to take control and tell him what to do but thought he might need some practice first.
“I’ll go first. I would like you to kiss me… starting from here,” Remus said, gesturing at his neck then continued, “Down to my feet.”
“I would love to.”
Remus got into bed and then Sirius climbed on top of him and pressed his lips into the softness of Remus’s neck. Sirius dragged his lips down to Remus’s shoulders then down the center of his chest and over one of his hard nipples.
Sirius crouched over Remus as he kissed down Remus’s belly to his thigh. Remus’s cock was almost impossible to ignore but he managed, instead kissing the tenderness of Remus’s inner thigh, feeling him squirm beneath him as his cock twitched. Sirius carried on, kissing down Remus’s leg, to his ankles then the top of his right foot to finish the journey.
“Mmm. Very good.” Remus’s cock twitched again as he said it. The tip of it was dripping with arousal and Sirius wanted so badly to lap it up.
“I want you to touch me. Every part of me. With just your hands.” Sirius pulled off his pants and then laid face down on the bed, arse facing up. He closed his eyes and felt Remus shifting about before lifting up the back of Sirius’s hair and softly stroking it. It was an unexpected calming gesture, one that he would have to remember for later.
Setting Sirius’s hair down, Remus’s hands massaged Sirius’s back and his sides. Remus’s touch was gentle and firm, a perfect representation of the man himself. His hands cupped Sirius’s arse and squeezed, exploring their shape and curve before dragging them down the backs of his thighs and down to his ankles.
Sirius flipped over. Remus moved back up to Sirius’s head, placing a hand on a cheek and stroking it with affection. His hands moved over his arms and his torso and back down to his thighs. He then gripped Sirius’s cock, wrapping a hand around it and using the other hand to tug on his bollocks. Sirius grunted with sexual frustration as Remus released him and continued the journey down to his feet.
His task complete, Remus knelt between Sirius’s legs, softly stroking himself and licking his lips.
“Will you kiss me… kiss it… All over.” Remus nodded down as if it weren’t clear enough what he meant.
“With pleasure.” Sirius got on his knees and wrapped long fingers around the thick base of Remus’s cock. He pressed his lips to the head, finally getting a taste of Remus’s damp arousal before dragging his lips down the shaft before starting over from every angle he could. Remus giggled and let out soft moans, especially when Sirius kissed the wide, swollen head.
“You look ready to explode. Sure you don’t want me to suck you off?” Sirius was feeling playful and kept opening his mouth over the head, making like he was going to stick it in his mouth before pulling back.
“But it’s your turn.”
“Yes and for my turn I want you to touch my mouth with your cock.”
“Yeah. Ok.”
Sirius stroked the long shaft, feeling the foreskin’s gentle glide. He lowered his mouth to the head, wrapping it around it, aware that he couldn’t get much more than that in his mouth unless he really tried. He wrapped his mouth around the ridge of the head of his cock and Remus flinched.
“Watch the teeth.”
“Sorry.” Sirius felt embarrassed by tried not to let it throw him off too badly.
Sirius put his mouth back on Remus’s cock, taking more care to use his lips and tongue to shield the sensitive flesh from his teeth. Sirius then slowly sucked while his hands stroked the shaft. Sirius couldn’t believe how hot it felt on his tongue. Remus’s body lightly rocked and his frustrated grunts and moans increased. Poor bloke was nearly out of his mind with sexual urgency, Sirius thought. He thought of his heavy bollocks and imagined Remus tensing up and exploding in his mouth.
“I’m not gonna be able to hold on long, Padfoot. Just a warning,” Remus said then brushed some hair out of Sirius’s face.
“It’s ok. Come for me, Moony.”
Sirius sucked and stroked with all he could. Remus was making tiny thrusts, sounding more and more desperate. “Fuck, Padfoot. Oh, Merlin. Oh! Unnhhhhh.”
Remus’s cock flexed in Sirius’s mouth while he howled a moan. Hot fluid spilled onto Sirius’s tongue and down his throat. Sirius continued to suck as Remus grunted with every spasm of his cock. Sirius's hands squeezed and pulled the shaft, pushing every last drop into his mouth.
“Padfoot, that was… incredible.” Remus was breathing hard and looking down at Sirius with so much love.
“Cheers.” Sirius gave his cock one last suck, making Remus yelp.
“Ok. It’s my turn. Lay back and I’ll take care of you.”
Sirius moved swiftly, obediently. The look in Remus’s eyes said that he had not even begun to show Sirius the animal inside of him. Remus dropped down and quickly wrapped his mouth around Sirius’s cock, taking all of him into his mouth and throat. Remus’s lips glided up and down Sirius’s cock with a flawless smooth motion. Sirius wagered that Remus must’ve practised somewhere.
“Fuck, Moony. How did you… Ugh.” Sirius squirmed knowing that at this rate he was going to shoot his load in mere seconds. His cock felt so sensitive and he was filled with electric urgency, the tension building rapidly. Sirius clutched the bed sheets in anticipation.
“Fuck!” Pleasure peaked and he came into Remus’s eager mouth.
Remus made happy sounds as he continued to suck, Sirius's cock still pulsing into his mouth. Remus continued to suck until Sirius’s cock grew soft, unable to find the energy to tell him to stop.
Remus then giggled and leaped on top of Sirius. They playfully kissed as Sirius rolled Remus over. Remus nippled on Sirius’s ear and neck, giving Sirius goose pimples and making them both laugh.
“I love you, Padfoot.”
This surprised Sirius. He smiled and replied, “I love you too, Moony.”
They kissed again as Sirius’s heart skipped a beat. Beneath him, he could feel Remus’s cock fully hard again, pressed against his belly.
“You’re already ready to go again?”
Remus laughed. “Padfoot, you’re going to discover that I’m not easily sated. I’ve always known this about myself but I haven’t… had the outlet for my desire.”
“No, I like it. I love it.”
“Can I show you something Lily gave me?” Remus said with a wolfish grin.
“I insist that you do.”
Remus slid from under Sirius and ran over to the dresser, pulling a jar of clear fluid out and bringing it over to the bed.
“This is lubricating potion. It makes things slippery. Feel it.” Remus opened the jar and Sirius dipped a finger in and pulled it out. The fluid had the most peculiar consistency. He rubbed his fingertips together, amazed at how the fluid made them glide.
“Does that give you any ideas?” Remus said.
“More than a few,” Sirius replied.
“For instance, how would you like me to finger your arse?”
Sirius’s cock, also now hard again, twitched with approval and he nodded enthusiastically. He got onto his belly and slightly raised his arse. He felt Remus come behind him and place a hand on his arse, feeling the shape of his cheeks again. Sirius then felt cool pressure on his hole, circling with a finger.
“Oh. Hm.” The lubricant felt nice as did the pressure. Sirius felt Remus slowly slide a finger inside of him. Sirius had fingered his own arse before but it wasn’t really the same thing. Remus slide himself deeper than Sirius had ever been able to manage on his own and when he hit the right spot Sirius moaned, “Oh, there!”
Remus slowly slid the finger in and out of Sirius’s arse. As nice as Remus’s finger was, Sirius couldn’t help imagining Remus’s cock inside of him. Being so stretched and filled would be incredible. So filled with Remus because there was so much of him with which to fill. But he would need more preparation. “Add another finger?”
Remus pulled his finger out and then poured a little of the fluid on Sirius’s hole making him giggle at how cool it was before he pushed two fingers inside.
“Ahh.” Sirius moaned, liking how much more full he felt with even one more finger.
“That’s nice, is it?” Remus’s fingers slid in and out with amazing ease.
“Very. Oh, Merlin.” Sirius rubbed his prick against the bed, feeling himself growing desperate for friction again. “Third finger?”
Remus poured more lubricating potion and then added a third finger. Sirius arched his neck in pleasure as he felt his arse being stretched even further. He never realised he could stretch so much.
After letting Remus finger him with three fingers for a short while Sirius thought he was ready.
“Moony, I want you inside of me. I need you inside of me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please!”
Sirius hated feeling as Remus removed his fingers, leaving his arse feeling strangely empty. Remus climbed off the and Sirius turned to watch him slick up his shaft before getting back on the bed. Sirius rolled over onto his back, wishing to look his lover in the eyes. Remus smiled as Sirius spread his legs and lifted his arse up.
Remus pressed the head of his cock to Sirius’s hole and rested it there. Sirius closed his eyes and enjoyed the heat and sensation of it. He then gently nudged the tip inside, Sirius feeling grateful they started with fingers. Already he felt so full and there was so much more of Remus to go.
Remus pulled the tip back out and then slid it back inside, letting a little more of himself ease in. Sirius watched with fascination as Remus repeated this. Remus’s face looked terrified and fascinated. He was licking his lips repeatedly as he continued the slow motion of easing himself inside.
After a few minutes, Remus had managed to get an inch or two inside. He thought Remus was being even more cautious than necessary which was sweet, sexy, and a little frustrating all at the same time. Remus continued to ease his way in and it seemed to get faster as they went along. Sirius began to stroke himself, watching Remus’s face and enjoying how excited he seemed.
A few minutes more and Remus seemed to be as deep as he could go. The feeling was astonishing. But it wasn’t just the feeling. It was the intimacy. Their mutual vulnerability.
Remus made long, deep, and slow thrusts, gazing down at Sirius with his deep brown eyes.
“It’s ok to let the animal loose. Being loving doesn’t mean being gentle.” Sirius whispered it in Remus’s ear, Remus grunting softly in response and picking up speed. Sirius was utterly filled by Remus in every way possible. Remus had feared so much giving in to loving Sirius but Sirius didn’t fear Remus’s love now. He felt protected by it. Shielded. He felt safe in his arms.
Remus pushed his weight down on Sirius. Sirius clutched Remus’s back tightly as he pumped himself deep, harder and harder, Sirius sucking on Remus’s neck. Remus growled, really picking up speed, his cock slamming into Sirius’s arse.
“Yes, that’s good, Moony. So good.”
For the first time in his life, Sirius felt like all the noise in his head was silenced and they were all that existed. They were all that needed to exist. Sirius felt connected and complete in a way he never felt was possible.
“I want you to come in me. Please come in me, Moony.”
Remus grunted, moaned, and let out ragged breaths. Sirius thought Remus was crying. Sirius was as well.
And then Remus cried out, “Ahhhh!”
“I love you, Moony. Come for me.”
“Padfoot!” Remus shook and Sirius could feel the pule of his hard cock inside of him. Sirius bit Remus’s neck, perhaps a little too hard. Remus continued thrusting for a while until he was too soft to remain inside.
As Remus lifted off Sirius quickly put lubricating potion on his fingers and started to stroke himself.
“Will you watch me come?”
“I would love to.” Remus smiled as Sirius stared up into his eyes, quickly climaxing, shooting his load up his torso, more than he expected for a second round.
Remus smiled proudly as Sirius breathed hard. He hadn’t realised how tired and sore he was until arousal slipped away. Remus dropped next to him and they kissed, Sirius finding it difficult to move. As he pulled away he glanced down below, seeing that Remus was already fully hard again. He laughed.
“I think I need a break. Perhaps for some tea. I think our cups are probably cold now.”
“Then maybe we can snuggle while I read to you some more.”
“That sounds lovely, Moony.”
Sirius got out of bed and got dressed. He refused to believe their love was doomed. There had to be a chance for them, no matter how slim. Maybe they would die but no matter what he knew their love was real. Nothing could take that away from them.
|
Sarah took another step forward and reached her right hand out to him. Carefully tracing her fingers along his jaw, she gazed into his blue eyes. "Is it really you?" He simply nodded. "Then show me."
He smirked and with a wave of his hand Jareth stood before her in his true form, hair long and wild, eyebrows arched in that otherworldly way that she had always found so beautiful. "Better Precious?"
"You're really here? This isn't another dream?" She asked as her hand caressed his cheek.
"I'm really here. No more dreams Sarah. I…"
The rest of what he was going to say was cut off as Sarah quickly pulled her hand away, brought it back to her head, and then slapped him as hard as she could. "You sneaky bastard!"
Jareth blinked several times, his eyes wide in shock at the force of her hand against his cheek. It's true he probably deserved it, but he hadn't expected it. "Really Sarah is that anyway…"
Once more he was unable to finish his sentence, but this time it was because she had grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him to her, and crushed her lips against his in a desperate and needy kiss. It only took him a second to respond by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. He moved his lips over hers and tried to pour all the passion he felt into the kiss. Sarah moaned softly when his tongue invaded her mouth and battled for dominance against her own. Her hands tangled themselves in his blonde locks as his hands gripped her ass, squeezing gently.
When she finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes as she tried to control her emotions. "I should be so pissed at you. I should hate you for all you've put me through. Yet part of me is thrilled and relieved that you're really here. You're an evil, sneaky, conniving bastard and I should say the words and make you go away…" She paused and Jareth tensed up. His heart felt as if it might break, being so close only to be rejected again. "But I can't bring myself to do it."
Just as he began to hope, she let go of him and pulled away. Turning her back to him, Sarah cursed herself for the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. She wasn't sure if they were tears of joy that he was alright after seeing the city burned and empty in her dream or tears of anger for letting him deceive her in such a way. Either way, she didn't want to cry in front of him. "Why?"
Jareth sighed and walked over to her. "Sarah." He placed his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged them off and stepped away.
"Why the games? Why all the dreams and then pretending to be my librarian? I thought James was someone who truly cared and someone who might help me forget, but it was you all along. Just messing with my head." Her hands balled into fists as she spoke and her anger increased. "Why?" She turned to face him, glaring at him as tears rolled down her cheeks, though she no longer cared about that. "Why couldn't you leave me alone?!" She shouted.
His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as he listened to her accuse him. "Leave you alone?" He nearly laughed. "Do you really think this was all my doing?" He stepped towards her and when she brought her hand up to slap him again, he grabbed it.
"Let go!"
"None of that Sarah. Once was quite enough." He held her arm tight and pulled her to him. "I told you the dreams weren't my doing. Or did you ignore that because it was said in a dream?"
"What?" Sarah thought back to when she had asked him if he was really in her dreams or just her imagination. "So that was really you?"
"Yes!" He shouted. Sarah jumped slightly when he raised his voice. "It's always been me! In every dream, you've had since you left me in the ruins of my castle." His voice was filled with venom and his eyes were dark as he glared at her. "I've played your villain." He spat, the last word coming through gritted teeth. "I've been your hero, your slave, and your plaything. I even wore a damn kilt for you!" He let her arm go and pushed her away from him as he felt himself losing control of his own emotions. "I told you once I was exhausted from living up to your expectations of me, yet here I am still letting you exhaust me." He turned his back on her this time and closed his eyes. He truly felt exhausted and grabbed onto the back of the chair by the bed for support.
Sarah watched him for a moment and thought back to what he had told her in her dream. He had suggested to her the possibility that she was pulling him into her dreams and that he let her because it was the only way he could see her. "I thought the dreams were the only way you could see me?"
He shook his head and chuckled. "They were. I found a loophole, one that allowed me to come here to see you."
"Why hide? If you knew I was the one pulling you into the dreams, why not tell me it was you? Why the lies?" Sarah demanded.
"I never lied." He turned his head and glared. "Not once have I ever lied to you." Closing his eyes briefly, he moved to sit in the chair and Sarah watched him feeling very confused as he returned to looking like James Kingsley.
"Why did you change back?"
"Because I had to!" He snapped at her. He held his hand out and wasn't surprised to see that no crystal appeared. He was physically, mentally, and magically exhausted. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. "I told you it was the only way I could see you, and for the longest time, it was. At first, I was content with being able to see you. Our game of cat and mouse was amusing. I enjoyed chasing you through the Labyrinth over and over. But after the first time you kissed me, things changed. I didn't want to be your villain anymore."
"What did you want?" Sarah asked as she cautiously stepped closer.
"I honestly didn't know at first. I was tired of being the bad guy. I wanted you to run to me, not away from me. As you got older, your dreams became more… vivid." He smirked slightly at her blushing. "The first time I heard you call my name in pleasure was music to my ears. I began to long for you to call out to me, even if it was only a dream. After a year of our sexual rendezvous, I had to see you in person again. I needed to know."
"Know what?"
"I needed to know how you really felt." He looked at her with hopeful eyes. "I needed to know if you were calling for me in your dreams because you actually felt something for me or if I was simply a convenient outlet for your sexual frustrations."
Sarah moved to sit on the bed across from him. "In the dream where you told me about the possibility that it's really me pulling you into my dreams I asked you why you wanted to see me."
He nodded. "You tried to tell me there was nothing special about you."
She stared at the floor for a moment before making herself look at him once more. "I woke up before I heard your response. I saw your lips move but I couldn't hear you. What did you say?"
Taking a deep breath he shook his head. "I don't like to repeat myself, Sarah."
"Oh." She looked down at her hands, which were gripping the end of her skirt.
Leaning forward, Jareth placed a finger under her chin and made her look at him. "But I will repeat myself this time because it was important and because it's you." He gave her a soft smile. "I said I want to see you all the time because you're an amazing woman, the Champion of the Labyrinth and its King, and the only woman I've ever loved."
Her eyes widened as what he told her began to sink in. "You… you love me?"
"So much that I came here to find you and learn if you feel for me at all. The loophole I found and exploited wasn't an easy one and it was also extremely dangerous. You asked why I changed back into Kingsley, well it's because I am Kingsley. In order to come aboveground and find you, I became human."
"You're human? But you changed a bit ago." Sarah argued. She didn't want to believe that the mighty Goblin King was now just a normal human like herself.
"I have limited access to my magic." He explained. "The spell grants me one year as a human with some magic at my disposal. The more I use it the less I have and if I use it all before my year is up I'm stuck here."
"How much do you have left?" Sarah asked.
"Time or magic?" Jareth questioned as he watched her. She was staring at the floor, her hands clasped in her lap as he left leg twitched nervously.
"Both."
"Not a lot of magic left and I've got a week to go." He answered. "It took quite a while to find you, unfortunately. I knew you left for college, but I had no idea where and I don't think your family would have simply told a complete stranger where you were."
She nodded and bit her lip as she thought everything over. "Why hide who you are though?" She asked as she looked up to meet his gaze. "What good did pretending to be the librarian do?"
He shrugged. "For one I wasn't sure you were aware it was really me in your dreams or that you were pulling me into them. I wanted you to know that first. Secondly, if I had just shown up at your door you would have tried to send me away. So, I thought if I was close enough to monitor your dreams and interact with you while you were awake that you might say something and you did." Slowly he stood and moved to kneel before her. "Sarah, you practically asked me for permission to go on your coffee date. I nearly told you then."
"Why didn't you?"
"Honestly I was having a bit too much fun playing with you." He grinned.
"Jerk." She playfully smacked him.
"While I was enjoying the game, I was also afraid. You admitted that you were scared of calling for me because you were worried the real me wouldn't be as kind and gentle as I was in your dreams. I wanted to show you the real me as Kingsley. I wanted you to trust and believe me enough that when I revealed myself to you, you wouldn't immediately try and kick me out of your life." He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips and kissed them softly. "My precious Sarah, while you got to know me by a different name, it was still me. I hope you see just how important you are to me. Please don't shut me out of your life."
Giving him a gentle smile she shook her head. "I couldn't even if I wanted to, which I don't." She confessed. "I'm still scared to death and I have no idea where we go from here or what we are to one another, but I want to explore it," Sarah told him softly.
"That's all I ever hoped for." He kissed her hands again and moved to sit beside her. Brushing her hair from her face, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"So do I call you James or Jareth?" She asked shyly.
"In private call me whatever you prefer. In public it would be best if you continued calling me James or Mr. Kingsley." Jareth responded as his eyes wandered over her body. He had been so concerned about her safety earlier that he hadn't truly noticed how she was dressed.
"So what happens now? I mean you said you only have a week left. What happens next week?"
Jareth turned his head to focus on their conversation instead of the low cut of her blouse or the shortness of her skirt. He was almost certain her roommates were responsible for her attire and he didn't know if he wanted to thank or strangle them. "Well…" He paused, took and a deep breath, and turned his head back to her and prayed he could keep his eyes and mind off of her very appealing and tempting body. "Provided all goes well this next week, I will return to my normal self and be able to return to my Kingdom. I shall have to be extremely careful and use my magic very sparingly. So no more entering your dreams or changing to my usual appearance."
"Well now that I know it's you, there's no need for you to enter my dreams in order to talk to me or…" she stopped as she gazed into his eyes.
"Or what Sarah?" He inquired as he leaned closer.
"You know." Her cheeks were turning rosy as she blushed slightly thinking about their usual activities in her dreams.
"Perhaps, but I'd rather you tell me so I'm not making assumptions." His face was inches from hers and he could feel the warmth of her breath.
"This," Sarah whispered before she closed the final gap between them and kissed him. |
Chapter 26
The mortal woman experienced continuous pregnancy symptoms, vomiting, and pain as the days passed.
Lady Míriel helped her where she could as she was a worldly, Edhil female who had a child before. But the older woman was not always certain about how she could deal with Pecco’s circumstances as the effects of pregnancy on human females might have differed from the Eldar. By the time Pecco’s stomach started to show a slight bump, nausea had lessened. But whereas she had been very thin before, her modest breasts had begun to ache. Her thighs and hips started to swell wide to ready themselves for the birth of the babe.
Pecco’s moods became more erratic to her own frustration and chagrin. There were days when she got overly emotional and theatric over things she would not have noticed before such as watching a hawk swoop down to eat a smaller bird. And sometimes, she became irrationally angry, especially if Lady Míriel teased her about trivial things like her Secondborn traits or clumsy habits.
Pecco suspected her present amnesia affected her mental state of mind as well.
Lady Míriel took it all in serene stride - Ever the elegant Firstborn she was. Thanks to Pecco’s new situation and the woman’s insistence on the babe being her grandchild, she was less close-mouthed about her own life and history. The mortal’s ever-changing health and emotions prompted the Elven woman to distract her with stories and activities that were not taxing on the body.
“I had a son with my then, husband. The father’s name is Finwë. So, we named our firstborn, Curufinwë, as respect to the father’s side of the family. Finwë is remarried now; to a golden-haired beauty of the Vanyar tribe was last I had heard and seen,” Míriel told her one morning as the two walked the mountain trails. They were picking herbs together to make medicine, food and tea.
“But I named him, Fëanáro . Or if you prefer, Fëanor.”
“Fëanáro. I do not know what it means, but it sounds like a very important and dynamic name,” Pecco commented. She did not let the woman know how much that name had shaken her body which she tried to still.
“Indeed. In a broad sense, ‘Fëanáro’ means ‘spirit of fire.’ Which was fitting because it was a difficult birth. When I carried him underneath my bosom, I felt the heat of his flames then. The boy had so much energy that he took all of my strength with him when he came out of my womb. In the end, I chose to follow Mandos into his halls to weave the walls for his wife, Vairë. I was too tired to carry on living in the physical world by then.”
Lady Míriel bent down to inspect a few, decaying toadstools by a tree stump. Meanwhile, Pecco was taking in the woman’s story. Her hands roamed over her bulging stomach which was increasing by the day.
“You do not mean to say that you believe I am carrying your Fëanor’s son…” Pecco breathed out. Saying the name in her mouth began to stir memories inside her.The same grey eyes as his mother’s but somehow, even more, mischievous and intrusive. A sharp and tender tongue that never failed to dissect her or soothe her like a balm. An overwhelming fire that touched her soul.
'Khánh.’
Pecco blinked out of the daze of visions before gasping out.
“Khánh?”
A sharp hand tapped her.
“Are you listening to me?” Míriel asked, archly. “Who is this ‘Khánh’ you are muttering about? Yes, I am telling you that I think your babe is my son’s or at least a relative of ours. I can feel and know his fëa very well. Although if the child is indeed another offspring of his, Valar knows he needs any more with already seven children!”
The Edhil female gazed at her.
“I knew from the moment you have arrived in these neck of the woods, drifting almost lifelessly along the river, there was something different and special about you, Pecco. To me, at least.”
“Khánh.”
Míriel smiled with lifted brows: “Pardon, my dear?”
“I think…” The mortal girl spoke with wonder and amazement. “My real name is Khánh. I heard his voice call my name.”
The latter’s eyes widened in surprise before chuckling in relief. The mortal girl did not understand why the Firstborn looked close to tears for a stranger such as herself who barged into her life so abruptly out of nowhere.
“Well, that is great news, little one. You are beginning to recover your memories. Khánh, it is then.”
oOo
Míriel Perindë watched the odd, little Aftercomer twist and rustle restlessly in her sleep.
Her small physique, and the peculiar bulge on her stomach were covered by the many quilts laid upon her by the female Elf. She mused if humans were prone to bad dreams. Khánh has had many disquieting nights in Lórien; a fact that was not able to escape Míriel. Her keen ears could hear Khánh’s quiet groans and occasional sniffles at whatever she was currently dreaming about. The effects of her pregnancy were one thing. But Míriel presumed she dreamt of her past life as well. The injury from her river fall, and the amnesia were starting to wear off.
The Eldar lady sighed deeply to herself.
Here, was an Edain girl, lost in the forest of the Vala Irmo. She had very limited recollections of her identity and past. She was carrying a life that had connections to her son as well as herself.Nerdanel had already officially separated from Fëanáro with all seven of their sons coexisting between them. A pity, that. Míriel had truly loved Nerdanel from afar when she was accompanying Vairë in her majestic halls.
But she supposed if two Elves no longer loved one another, there was not much that could be done. She, herself, had left her own spouse - not because she did not love him any longer. But because she loved him too deeply to subject him to her own decline is Past Arda. She had, in good faith, watched his marriage to Indis with nothing but blessings for the both of them.
The mystery at the moment, however, was why her spirited and arrogant son had lain with an Aftercomer? Did he love her or was their tryst just a passing dalliance? Yes, Khánh did have her charms, and even Míriel was beginning to grow attach to the girl. But she also knew Fëanáro to have exacting standards for everything, including his bonded partner. In the kindest way Míriel could put this, Khánh was not exactly the comeliest of females, even for a human. Her features were irregular and not pleasing for the average individual to look at. Her figure was waif and small. She was neither tall nor elegant.
But then, Nerdanel had not been a beauty either.
Khánh must had been extraordinary in some sense. If there was one thing she noted, her son had a particular type, and it was not the conventional female at all.
Either way, Fëanáro should know and sense that he had another child, incoming. Why was Khánh in Lórien’s forest and not with her son? If he did not take responsibility for this babe, she would have a special word with him, and it would not be pleasant.
Closing her eyes, she saw through her mind’s vision for a feeling of Ungoliant’s spirit. There were none. She intuitively concluded that the arachnid monster had finally perished.
Very well. At last, Fëanáro could be at peace in that regard.
She then searched for his Fëa. It was still lingering, but somewhat weak. She frowned and unlaced the portrait of her only child on her weaving loom.
She started her project all over again.
oOo
Months of cycles and hardships passed for Khánh.
And so, with the helpful assistance of Lord Irmo, Lady Míriel and a Maia specializing in Midwifing, the infant was finally born. The child delivery was surprisingly not all that painful. This was due to Lord Irmo forcing her to drink a special tea he concocted specially for her before the process.
“Oh, how lovely! She has her mother’s beautiful lips and skin tone,” Irmo marveled as he placed the baby girl into Khánh’s tired arms. “Although I suspect the eyes and hair come from…Her father’s?”
He chuckled.
She could not tell just yet. The startled babe was too occupied with crying whilst her small eyes were closed tightly. Until they opened at last. And Khánh saw the nostalgic, silvery eyes staring back at her curiously. Overcome with emotions, the mortal mother sniffed back tears from unexplained emotions. She wished she knew the child’s father already; to have him here and take in the moment with her. She knew she had left him for a good reason, but her heart told her she loved the man still.
All the while, Míriel gazed at the newborn with approval and love. She nodded gently.
“Yes. That is my son’s daughter for certain. I know that he can feel her spirit very starkly where he is in the world.”
Khánh tucked the babe closer to her chest in a protective embrace.
I love you, she thought - looking down at the newborn who was beginning to fall asleep against her after tiring out from wailing so much. The Elven woman stepped closer to look at the newborn.
“What will you name her? In Elven culture, usually both parents name their child a special epithet that is particularly related to the respective parent in some way. So once Fëanor meets the child, he will give her a name as well.”
Khánh gently rocked the sleeping babe. Her swollen breasts had been newly supplied with milk which she could use to feed the child later when she woke up.
“Bảo-Anh,” She decided, firmly. “This is for good luck and it is fitting.”
“Fitting, how so? What does ‘Bảo-Anh’ mean?” Míriel inquired, testing out the foreign name with inquisitiveness. Khánh smiled a bit.
“It means peace and security. The symbols might be boring, but it is meaningful to me that Bảo-Anh is always cherished and protected. That she finds peace wherever she goes in life.”
Míriel shook her head: “It is not boring, at all. It is a good and practical name without the need for fanciful frivolousness. It sounds beautiful, my dear.”
The two relished their agreement with each other in quiet acknowledgment before a shadow crossed the mortal woman’s face.
“However, I cannot meet up with your son just yet.”
“Why not? He has the right to see his own child, no?” The Eldar asked, sharply. “And your memories are slowly reviving.”
Even though the female Elf was indeed intimidating, Khánh steadfastly shook her head.
“I may not have remembered much, but I am confident that there was a reason why I left Fëanor when I did, my lady. For now, I insist on raising Bảo-Anh on my own until all of my memories completely return.”
“This is selfish and you know it. Fëanáro deserves to see and hold his daughter too,” Lady Míriel looked unimpressed. “Besides, you do not have any coins on you to take care of yourself, let alone another life. You need help, Firieth .”
She closed her eyes, trying to rack her brain. Right. Lord Irmo and Míriel’s charities only went so far, and she could not depend on them. She, too, had her pride. There was a vision of a school in the forest - somewhere far away. It looked familiar like she had been there before.
“I will find a human town,” Khánh spoke. “I will become a teacher of some sort…Perhaps herbal lore and medicine. I have an inherent knowledge of it that I cannot explain from whence it came. I can economize off of those skills to survive. I shall rent a room in town to stay in with the babe.”
Lady Míriel contemplated and scrutinized her proposal. She did not like the idea of it, of course, but she looked wise enough to not argue with a bull-headed human.
Then she relented with a sigh.
“Very well. I shall help you get to a human village, but I will check in on you once every seven days. I do not trust the idea of allowing a lone woman with memory loss and no experience with tending to babes on their own in an unknown place. You understand that this is my grandchild as well.”
Her tone brooked no argument, and Khánh readily conceded. She would feel better and secure that way too.
oOo
Ungoliant was dead.
Elvinia was dead.
His sons had dispersed to live their own lives and start their own families.
Little Elrond had returned to Imladris, permanently. He officially informed Fëanor, that under no circumstances, would he work with the Noldor ever again.
Nerdanel had moved on once she met another fellow Elf during a sculpting meeting at a local academy.
Most damning of all, Khánh had upped and left him. She carried their offspring with her on the foolish and dangerous escape from the former Enedduin Castle. And he had no blazing idea where the two of them were. The sharp, onslaught of pain, despair, rage, and loss was something he felt every moment and day. She dared to abandon him just like that after claiming to love him.
But then his rational side argued that she was not to be blamed after every hurt he had put her through. He selfishly wanted to find his own happiness with her despite the chain to the late Ungoliant monster.
And here he was, wandering aimlessly from Valinor and all the Western side of New Arda to foreign lands. Blind, miserable and lame. He had nearly died in the terrible fire that thoroughly destroyed Enedduin to smithereens. With the help of his children, he was able to escape being burned alive - but at the loss of his sight. The burnt debris and shrapnel efficaciously scarred his eyes until all he saw was darkness.
Fëanor never thought such tragedy could continue to instill upon him in a newer world by the grace of Eru.
But this was his karma and lesson to learn.
He could still feel the bond of his fëa to Khánh. His child had just been born, and the strength of the link felt more excruciating than ever. To be apart from the both of them was, simply put, unbearable. At the present, all he could do was try to converse with his beloved through his mind and will her back to him.
“Khánh, how could I find you if you do not wish to be found?” He asked the winds.
He was here, at last. In Hyarmen Rôm-Nam - the Southeast Orient region Khánh had originated from. All this, he accomplished by foot and by swimming across many of Lord Ulmo’s oceans whilst blinded. It was a half-suicidal mission. He succeeded and he was alive.
He could not see, but the air and temperature was drastically different from where he came from. It was firstly hot, a little humid and he felt the blazing heat of the sun without Laurelin’s lights shining down on him. The air was moist and the winds blew trees that sounded like palms. The sea surrounded most of this country. The local people and children laughed and spoke in a language he did not understand. It sounded funny to him, but not something he would not eventually learn and quickly adapt to.
Like how he vowed to her, he would build a little house here for the both of them. They could survive and thrive off of his craftsmanships and her healing services. He knew how much the values of her background meant to Khánh. They should raise their children here.
Fëanor would always wait for her to come back to him. He might not be a patient man, but he was persistent one.
Names and Translations
Edhil/Eldar/Firstborns - Elves Edain/Secondborns - Mortals Firieth - Mortal Woman Curufinwë/Fëanáro - Fëanor Hyarmen Rôm-Nam - Vietnam Fëa and Hröa - Spirit and Physical Body
Ending Note: Thank you to all who read and reviewed~! There were several POVs in this chapter. |
Eric wakes up somewhere soft and warm.
His first thought is that he’s in heaven, and that’s a lovely idea until he realizes that his left arm stings and that he’s also a bit too warm. His eyes jolt open in surprise. He’s in a bed, and through the tiny window on the wall opposite him, he can see that it’s dark outside.
And there’s a person there with him, pressed up along his back. That’s why he’s too warm; the combination of the body heat and the covers has him nearly sweating.
He breathes in, and then he knows. It’s Parse. Everything smells like Parse, and Eric’s not dead, and Parse is behind him in a bed. If it weren’t for the twinge in his arm, he’d think this was a dream, because this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.
He looks down at himself, and ugh, he’s still in the same clothes he’d been wearing before and he’s sure he doesn’t smell too good either—what a great time to be sharing a bed with a cute guy. Yeah, it’s his would-be killer, but. Eric’s not dead, and so that means—Parse didn’t kill him.
What?
Gingerly, he rolls over to his other side. The bed’s plenty big enough for both of them, but Parse is very close, face soft with sleep and hands curled loosely between them. His hair’s a mess in the pillow, and Eric kind of wants to watch him sleep, but his desire to find out what the hell happened is much stronger. He reaches over and nudges Parse’s shoulder.
Parse’s eyes flick open in an instant. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” he mumbles.
“Obviously,” Eric responds.
Parse snorts. “Hey, I could have given you too much anesthetic or something. Trust me, being awake is a good thing.” He stretches, and the covers ride down his body, exposing more of his white t-shirt and the edge of his boxers. Eric pointedly doesn’t look.
“I’m not dead,” he nearly whispers.
Parse’s lips twist. “Yeah, about that. Sorry. I couldn’t—“ he starts, then mutely shakes his head.
“Why’re you apologizing?” Eric asks. “That’s a good thing for me, huh?”
“Yeah, but. You could still die.” Parse props his head up on one arm. “And on top of that I’m probably going to get in huge fucking trouble, but? It’s already done, so. I dunno. They might not let me do it when the time comes.”
When. Not if. The hysteria returns quickly, clenching around his throat, making him want to wail except that his voice has abandoned him—fuck fuck fuck, nothing is better.
“Why?” he mouths, because why would Parse do this if it won’t even help?
“I just—I couldn’t,” Parse says again. He’s starting to look angry. Eric is almost scared. “I put you out and then you were limp and—I dunno. God, I’m a terrible fucking kidnapper, aren’t I?”
Eric can’t speak, so he says nothing. He looks around the room instead, at the small table with its two folding chairs and the tiny kitchenette crammed in next to a messy desk. It might even be cozy if there were anything at all on the walls, but Eric sees nothing, not even pictures—nothing to distract him from the situation he’s trapped in.
“Where am I?” he finally asks.
“My room." Parse's lips twist. "I didn’t really have a better place to hide you. If I could’ve, I’d have taken you away from all of us entirely, but. I wouldn’t’ve been able to keep an eye on you then, would I?”
Eric raises an eyebrow. “You could just let me go free, you know.”
“Not gonna happen,” Parse says immediately, rolling his eyes, and Eric hadn’t thought so but it’d been worth the shot. “But—anyway. I brought you here and I thought about things, and—don’t get your hopes up, but. I might have a plan.”
Hope jumps in Eric’s heart. “A plan?”
“Please don’t look so happy.” Parse averts his eyes, guilt lingering in his frame, and Eric tries his best to subdue his expression.
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
Parse shakes his head. “It’s all right. But—you’re really not going to like it.”
“Oh,” Eric says, and suddenly he’s anxious.
“You can’t go back into the world, knowing what you know as a civilian,” Parse says, sighing. “But maybe—if we can get you trained, we might be able to have you become one of us.”
It takes a second for Eric to unscramble the meaning in Parse’s words. He sits up, heart leaping with fear. “You mean—like. A killer?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t use that word, but yeah.” Parse sits up too, face unreadable. “I told you that you weren’t gonna like it.”
Eric stares down at the blanket, thoughts churning beneath his skull. “And there’s no other way?”
Parse shakes his head. “For you to stay alive? No.”
Eric thinks and thinks and then his breathing is getting faster and he feels nauseated—he presses a hand to his mouth, shaking his head, feeling trembly and absolutely filled with despair.
“Hey—shh, shh, breathe, it’s okay,” Parse murmurs, his brow furrowed. “Here, breathe with me.”
He starts exaggerating his breaths so that Eric can follow, and Eric does his best to cling on, to match the rise and fall of Parse’s chest. Slowly, the nausea fades, though he keeps breathing with Parse until he’s sure it’s gone. He feels drained, exhausted but not sleepy, and he kind of wants to hug Parse but he’s not sure Parse would take kindly to that.
But as if he’s read his mind, Parse says, “Want a hug?” and Eric has never been so happy to hear those words. He relaxes forward into Parse, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to associate this smell with comfort for the rest of his short life.
Because—“I d-don’t think I can,” he murmurs shakily into Parse’s shoulder.
“Think about it for a little?” Parse asks. “Please, I—shit, I know this is a lot, but I really don’t want you to die.” He sounds sincere, and Eric—
Well, fuck. Eric kind of still wants to kiss him. That’s almost as devastating as finding out he has to kill or be killed—except this time it’s his heart lurching instead of his stomach.
Slowly, he pulls away, biting his lip. He wonders if Parse feels this too, because when he gets the courage to look up into his eyes, Parse looks completely transfixed.
But that could well just be Eric’s imagination.
He swallows. “I’ll think about it,” he says quietly.
And Parse beams at him. “Let me know, okay?”
Eric nods slowly. His body still feels like it’s filled with lead. Slowly, the happiness drains out of Parse’s face.
“I have something to apologize for,” Parse says quietly, and Eric blinks at him because he can think of a number of things. “I—shouldn’t have hit on you yesterday.” His face is blank.
Eric’s heart freezes. “Um—why?”
“It was—well, for one it was kinda dick-ish of me. But mostly because—I didn’t think that I was gonna be seeing you for more than that day, and—I’m afraid I might’ve gotten your hopes up. But—“ He sighs, looking like the words aren’t coming easily. “But I kind of can’t date anyone right now, is all.”
“Oh,” Eric says. The dismissal hurts more than he’d thought it would. “I’m sorry.” He crumples, and maybe if he lies down he’ll feel better so he does it, pressing his face into the pillow.
“I’m sorry too,” Parse says, voice strained. “But, like. I meant all of it, you know. You’re really attractive, so please don’t think it’s about that, because it’s not. I’m just—I can’t really look for something like that right now.”
Eric nods into the pillow, furiously trying to remind himself that he basically knows nothing at all about Parse, that Parse had been about to kill him, and that it’s basically ridiculous to feel so disappointed about it all.
Parse is silent for a few minutes, though Eric pretends not to hear Parse’s quiet, shuddery sigh as he shifts against the pillows. “Hey,” Parse finally speaks up, “Hungry?”
“Uh,” Eric says, because he feels slightly queasy in a way that offers to get worse if he puts food anywhere near his mouth. “Not at the moment.”
“Hah, I thought so.” Parse chuckles. “Anesthetic’s a bitch on stomachs. It’ll wear off, just let me know when you need food. You wanna shower, then?”
“God, please.” Eric pushes away his feelings of depression the best he can, turning his head so he can eye Parse’s face.
“All right, we can probably make that happen, but—uh. You’re gonna have to come with me. I share a bathroom down the hall, and we can’t really have you walking around by yourself.”
“Okay,” Eric says, because that doesn’t sound too bad.
Until, that is, they actually arrive at the bathroom, Parse darting through the hallway to check ahead before they go. It looks more like the dorm bathrooms from when Eric had gone to freshman orientation than anything; a few sinks lining the wall opposite toilet stalls and a shower room further down.
“Now,” Parse says, “We got up stupid early, so no one’s gonna be in here right now. You can use the toilet and stuff because that’ll be fast enough, but—God, okay.” He scrubs a hand over his face, looking annoyed. “I’d really feel safer if you came in the shower stall with me? That’s like, not a come-on, I promise. Just—you can’t get caught.”
Eric’s stomach feels like it turns to stone, worse than the time he’d accidentally taken a bite of a moldy bagel. “Um,” he says, flushing brightly. He understands the need for secrecy, but also—
“I’m not going to look or anything,” Parse adds hurriedly. “Promise.”
Eric swallows back his nervousness, because God, it doesn’t seem like there’s any way to get around this and he really needs a shower—so he gives a reluctant nod and says, “Um, okay.”
“Sorry. Really,” Parse says again, then heads off to the showers.
Eric quickly uses the bathroom before finding Parse, who’s standing outside the far stall. There’s a small bench outside the shower curtain, on which Parse has put towels and changes of clothes for both of them, but the inside of the shower is definitely going to be a tight squeeze.
“Hey, if you want—” Parse strips out of his shirt, and Eric pointedly looks away. “You could shower and I could wait out here? I might have to jump in real quick if it sounds like someone’s coming in, though.”
Parse leans in to turn the water on, and Eric briefly weighs the suggestion in his mind. Then he shakes his head. If they have to do this now then chances are they’re going to have to do it every time Eric showers. He might as well just bite the bullet. “Thanks, but. We probably shouldn’t take chances?”
Parse raises his eyebrows, surprised approval evident in his face. “All right,” he says, then he turns in the opposite direction. “Go ahead and get in, then.”
Eric strips down as fast as he can without falling over before stepping into the shower—and oh, the spray feels like heaven on his skin. He’s so pleased to finally be washing all the grime off of his body that he nearly doesn’t register when Parse gets in—it’s not until Parse nudges his shoulder, holding a bottle of shampoo and looking carefully in the opposite direction, that Eric realizes how close they are.
“Thanks,” Eric murmurs, and then—fuck, his eyes slide over Parse’s body without his permission.
Oh, hell. Parse is really attractive, well-muscled and fit—and Eric gets a glimpse of his ass too, which is unfairly, ridiculously gorgeous, and that makes him blush more horribly than anything else. Lord. He dumps a glob of shampoo into his hand and passes the bottle back without another word, hoping Parse hasn’t noticed the redness on his cheeks.
He stares at the wall as he washes his hair, praying that against all odds he won’t get an erection—at least his nervousness is useful in that regard. As he rinses his hair, his eyes flick over to Parse again, who is still firmly not-looking.
“Um—are you cold? Sorry,” Eric says, realizing that Parse hasn’t even gotten fully wet yet.
“Nah, it’s all right,” Parse says, but Eric steps aside anyway so he can get under the spray. Parse does a funny maneuver so he can back into the water without looking at Eric, and Eric squints up at his face.
“You don’t hafta try so hard to look away? It’s okay if it’s an accident,” he says quietly.
Parse chuckles slightly. “I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not! I mean, you’re not leering or anythin’, so—“
The bathroom door opens with a squeak. Quick as a flash, Parse slips a hand over Eric’s mouth, effectively cutting off his voice.
“Who the hell’s in the shower this fucking early?” a tired but good-natured voice calls. Eric’s pulse ratchets up, beating heavy in his lips against Parse’s palm, and he’s immediately glad they hadn’t used two separate showers or tried anything even riskier.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Parse calls back, brow furrowed with stress.
“Oh,” the voice says. “You know, Parser, you didn’t have to do what you did yesterday. I could’ve taken care—“
“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Parse grumbles.
The voice pauses, then the sound of a toilet flushing rings over the noise of the shower. “Suit yourself, bro.”
And Eric knows that voice. It’s one of the unnamed voices in his head, the second of his kidnappers. God, they’re talking about him, aren’t they?
The door squeaks again, and Parse lets Eric go almost as fast as he’d grabbed him. “Shit, sorry about that. That was Holster.” His lips twist as he turns away. “Good dude, but easily suspicious.”
“It’s okay,” Eric says honestly, because he’s well aware that he probably would’ve kept running his mouth if Parse hadn’t grabbed him. “Was he—supposed to do it?” To kill Eric, instead of Parse?
Parse sighs. “Yeah. I outrank the rest of the guys on the hall, so usually one of them gets this kind of dirty work, but.” He shrugs, picking up the soap. Eric’s stopped trying so hard to avert his eyes, at least from Parse’s face, because it’s pretty much a lost cause at this point.
“Do you think anyone suspects anything? Since you don’t normally do this kinda thing?” Eric chews his lip.
“Let’s hope not,” Parse says as he slicks up his own back.
They finish washing in silence.
Eric feels so glad to finally be clean when they return to the room that he doesn’t even care that Parse’s shorts and t-shirt are a size too big for him. He perches on Parse’s bed, legs drawn up, and watches Parse as he squints at the titles on a small bookshelf that hangs over his desk. “I know you haven’t agreed, but—while you’re thinking on it, you could do some reading?” Parse suggests carefully.
Oh, right. The dying thing. “You’re gonna make a killer out of me whether I want it or not, aren’t ya?” Eric mutters, his stomach flipping.
“If there was any other fucking way, you don’t think I would try?” Parse shoots back. He sounds caught between annoyance and desperation, and after a moment, he huffs a sigh and leans a hand on his desk. “Sorry. But like, seriously.”
Eric hates himself a little bit for squeezing his eyes shut and saying, “Fine.”
Parse is silent for long enough that Eric blinks up at him after a few long moments. Parse is staring at him. “Wait—the reading, or—?”
“Don’t really have much of a choice about joining ya or not, do I?” Eric wraps his arms around himself, feeling a sudden flash of cold even though the room is warm.
“Oh, thank God,” Parse says, taking two steps toward Eric before suddenly stopping himself. He was about to hug me, Eric thinks, and hugging would be better than sitting here all cold by himself, so Eric sits up on his knees and reaches out.
Parse hesitates, then smiles softly, stepping forward and pulling Eric into his arms. The warmth nearly makes up for the coldness Eric feels for selling his soul, for trading an unknown number of lives for his own, and that’s if this actually works.
“I’ve got to stop touching you,” Parse mumbles, but he doesn’t let go and neither does Eric.
“Hugging is okay, right?” Eric asks, because hugs from Parse are the only things that are keeping him sane right now.
Parse snorts. “They’re—okay, I guess. I just—fuck, I shouldn’t.” He makes as if to pull away, and Eric’s embarrassed that his first reaction is to cling harder.
And then he sees the guilt on Parse’s face, and a realization hits him like a brick. “Are—are you dating someone?”
“What?” Parse says, half in Eric’s arms and half not. Somehow he looks even more tormented than he had a moment ago. “I—no. I’m not.”
“Okay,” Eric says, because that’s a weight off of his shoulders.
“Well,” Parse says, fingers sliding down to grip Eric’s elbows, and Eric steels himself. “I’m not dating someone, but—there is someone—ah, fuck it. We’re sleeping together.”
Oh. And that makes a lot more sense. “Sorry,” Eric says, scooting away. His neck flushes hot with shame.
“Don’t feel bad. It’s really my fault, for hitting on you in the first place, yeah?” Parse says ruefully. “I just don’t know—he and I—I mean, he’s said he’s fine with me sleeping with other people, but I still feel kinda weird about it.”
“I understand.” Eric looks away, and he does, really. He makes a vow to himself to try his best to not touch Parse, because of all the things he’s never wanted to be, a relationship-wrecker is second on the list. (A killer is first. Looks like he’s striking that list down one-by-one, almost entirely on accident. God.)
“Thanks.” Parse smiles at him. “You’re really something, all right?”
Eric flushes. “T-thanks.”
“Shit. Okay, so I’m really bad at not-flirting, if you haven’t guessed that by now.” Parse sits heavily on the bed next to him. “So if I’m overstepping, you can tell me. I don’t wanna make this any harder on either of us.”
“I can try,” Eric says, swallowing against the dryness in his throat.
Parse nods, filling the air with a moment of silence, before speaking up. “Let’s get some food in you. Then we can see what you’ve got, yeah?”
Eric takes a moment to make sure that his stomach is no longer protesting the thought of eating before he nods.
xXx
Kent is pretty sure he’s on a vast, slippery slope to hell. Of course, he’d been on that slope for a very long time—years, probably. But today he’s slipped down a good couple of feet, because today he’d woken up with this cutie in his bed, then fucking showered with him, and now he’s feeling so sexually frustrated he might burst because there is nothing at all that would make it right for him to touch the guy.
He’ll allow hugging. That’s it. Because cuddling is probably his favorite thing in the world, and hugging is just an extension of that, right? Bros hug all the time. Hell, Ransom and Holster down the hall are all over each other daily, although Kent suspects along with just about everyone else on his floor that they’re more than just roommates.
Kent and—and fuck it, he doesn’t even have a name to put with his face. Ar-something. Aaron? Ari? He laughs to himself—neither of those fits him at all.
He and Blondie take their time eating, because Kent has nowhere to be and he’s pretty sure the dude’s stomach is still fucked up from the anesthetic. He’d tried his best to make something nutritious, but his cabinet is honestly pretty lacking—he’d scrounged up some noodles and pasta sauce, along with some canned peas and carrots, but Blondie doesn’t seem too bothered by the strange mix in the small portion Kent had given him. Instead, he chatters all through the meal, telling Kent stories about baking, of all things. Kent finds he’s actually enjoying hearing him talk. It’s a nice change from Zimms’ gruffness, at least.
The cutie looks up—and fuck it, not having a name for him is really dumb.
“Okay, since you’ve basically said yes to this all—we’re getting you a nickname,” Kent blurts out.
Cutie stops mid-rant about some jam-argument that Kent had lost the plot of three minutes ago, quirking an eyebrow. “What’ve you been calling me?”
Kent flushes. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Riiight. It’s not still ‘that cutie from last night’, is it?”
“No,” Kent rolls his eyes. “Blondie. That kid. And—fine, sometimes cutie. Can we move on?” And maybe he’d said it just to see the resultant blush that burns under the guy’s freckles, but self-control has never really been Kent’s strong suit when it comes to flirting with friends. Friends. That’s it. Really.
“So—what kind of nickname?” Blondie looks down at his plate, empty except for the peas, and Kent makes a mental note not to bother with those next time. He reaches forward and tugs the plate over his side, picking up his own fork again and considering the question.
Usually they rotate the alphabet for nicknames, just to keep things orderly—he thinks they’ve wrapped around to ‘b’ at this point. Blondie might work, except that’s kind of vague and could refer to multiple people in a room, Kent himself included. Hmm—“Maybe like, Bitty? Cuz you’re kinda small?”
“I ain’t that short,” Cutie defends himself, but a smile pricks at his lips nonetheless. “That might be okay?”
“Okay,” Kent grins at him. “Bitty.”
“Bitty,” Bitty says it aloud to himself, smiling back with a small shake of the head. “Lord, this is so strange. I’m being renamed for goodness’ sake.”
“That okay?” Kent asks him, shoveling a forkful of peas into his mouth.
“Never really liked my name anyway.” Bitty shrugs. “It’s a nice change.”
“That’s settled then.” Kent nods firmly. He finishes Bitty’s peas, and then he stands, motioning toward the center of the room. “Would you mind coming over here?”
“Sure,” Bitty says, pushing back his chair as he stands and walks over in front of Kent. He looks steady, which is a good sign—Kent had been a little worried for his health, what with the beating he’d taken a couple of nights ago. “What are we doing?”
“I’m gonna try to evaluate where you’re at skill-wise,” Kent explains, inspecting Bitty’s body. He’d caught a brief glimpse in the shower, even though he’d tried his hardest not to, and it’d been enough to tell him that Bitty has a good amount of muscle for someone with as slight a frame as he has. “You said you figure skate, right?”
“Mhmm.” Bitty nods. “Is that—helpful?”
“Maybe,” Kent says.
Casually, he pulls back his arm and goes in for a punch. He’d intended to stop his fist inches from Bitty’s face, but Bitty spins out and away before Kent can even get that close—“Jesus, Parse, what the hell!”
Kent’s grudgingly impressed. “You’re really fucking fast,” he admits—maybe even faster than Kent, which kinda rubs up against his ego the wrong way. Ah, well—if that means that Bitty actually has a chance at staying alive, Kent will take it.
“Thanks?” Bitty says, eyeing him distrustfully from halfway across the room. He looks scared.
Kent sobers. “Sorry I didn’t warn you. Wanted to test your reflexes.”
“Consider them tested, then,” Bitty mutters hotly.
Well, that’s definitely something they’re gonna have to work on. Being fast is one thing, but if Bitty is so afraid of being hit that he flees like he had just now, his speed isn’t going to be of much use.
“Come back? I won’t hit you again,” Kent tells him.
Bitty sighs, obviously trying to tamp down his discomfort—and Kent bets there’s definitely a story there but he’s not going to ask—and walks over again. “So?”
“Hmm,” Kent hums. “You’re probably pretty flexible, right?”
Bitty quirks an eyebrow at him, puts his arms out to his sides, and sinks into a split. “Just a little,” he says with a shrug.
“Impressive.” Kent gives him a grin as Bitty stands up again. “Huh. Fast and bendy—probably would be better to train you on smaller weapons. We want to make sure you can move around easily.”
Bitty wrinkles his nose at the word ‘weapons’. “Couldn’t I just not—hurt people at all?” His lips twist as he asks.
“Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of positions that don’t involve fighting,” Kent tells him. “I wish I could tell you differently, but unless you’re literally a strategic genius or something, it’s pretty doubtful. Unless—how are you with blood?”
“Not good.” Bitty shakes his head, looking down at his hands—and right, he’d skinned them when he’d fell. Kent had gone through the effort of rinsing the wounds before putting Bitty in holding, because infection is a bitch even if you’re not alive for most of it.
“Damn. We can’t have you on medical duties then.”
“Thought so.” Bitty sighs, shoulders slumping. Kent is very, very tempted to hug him again, but—he should probably cut down on the hugging, because he’s already starting to get too fucking attached.
“Well—anyway,” Kent says, and his palms are tingling now because he had kinda really wanted to hug him, damnit. He turns away to give himself something to do, picking up the books he’d set aside on his desk and searching his shelf so he can add another to the pile—an introductory book on knife-wielding. “Here.” He hands the small stack to Bitty. “Reading these will help a lot, I think. I have a knife somewhere that I can lend you for practice, but you’ll have to be careful. Oh, and if you’ve got a workout routine, it might be good to get back into that.”
Bitty inspects the books, eyes skimming over the synopses on the backs of the covers. “Most of my workouts tend to involve ice, you know,” he points out, perching on the edge of Kent’s bed.
Kent laughs. “We don’t have any of that here, sorry.” He shrugs, stepping back to sit at his desk. “You’ll have to make do.”
Bitty sighs. “I figured. So—what are we gonna do once we get me all trained up?”
“I, uh—haven’t really gotten that far?” Kent tries for a smile, and Bitty looks three seconds away from an eyeroll so he hurriedly adds, “I’ll probably try and let someone else know what’s going on, though. Maybe start telling people slowly?”
“Like Zimms?” Bitty asks him.
Kent nearly flinches just thinking about it. “Oh fuck no,” he snorts, shaking his head. “He would be probably the worst person to tell. He’s very no-nonsense, if you haven’t figured that out already—he’s one of the guys who was with me when we picked you up, I dunno if you remember.”
Bitty looks like he’s thinking on it. “The one who told y’all to get rid of my phone?” He wrinkles his nose bitterly.
Wincing, Kent nods. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m gonna be so bored.” Bitty groans, slumping sideways on the bed. “This Zimms guy seems kinda like a hard-ass.”
“Better bored than dead,” Kent grumbles, because sure, yeah, Zimms is a hard-ass but Kent kind of hates having it pointed out to him. But then Bitty makes a little surprised noise and Kent sees that his face has gone all pale, and then Kent feels bad—“Sorry,” he mutters immediately.
Bitty gives him a look. “Whatever happened to my wallet, anyway?”
“I burned it. Dumped it in the water along with your phone.”
“Oh. Okay,” Bitty says. He sounds absolutely exhausted.
Kent gestures at where Bitty’s lying. “You should take a nap, get your strength back up. I’ve got some errands to run anyway.”
Bitty agrees gratefully. Kent had lied—he doesn’t really have much to do so soon after a mission, but he figures he should let Bitty get some uninterrupted sleep.
His eyes linger over where Bitty’s tucked himself into bed for long enough that he has to force himself to actually leave, and then he wanders the hallways kind of aimlessly because the only person he really wants to talk to is Zimms—which is a fucking terrible idea, seeing as Kent has an illicit captive sleeping in his bed. Kent likes to think he’s good at lying, but not with Zimms. Never with Zimms. He knows Kent too well, and that’s part of why they make such a great team—they know each other’s patterns like the back of their hands.
Which is why, when he inevitably runs into Zimms a few days later, his pulse nearly skyrockets.
Kent and Bitty have fallen surprisingly easily into a daily routine. Kent wakes up earlier than normal so he can take Bitty to shower with him, although that’s still really fucking miserable in regard to his libido—Kent’s not sure he’ll ever be entirely immune to the fact that there’s a naked, fucking adorable guy in such a tight space with him. Either Bitty doesn’t notice Kent’s untimely erections, or he’s just being polite and not saying anything about it, but Kent keeps his eyes away from Bitty until Bitty has clothes on and that seems to help at least a little.
After showering, they go back to the room and eat breakfast. Bitty takes over for that part almost immediately—and okay, so Kent’s eggs the second day had been a little rubbery, but they weren’t terrible. However, it’s kind of nice to have someone else cooking for him, so he holds off on grumbling about it especially after taking his first bite of Bitty’s French toast—Kent hadn’t even known he’d had cinnamon in his tiny cabinet, and shit, this boy can cook.
Bitty had mumbled something about not being very good at staying focused while studying when he’d first started reading the books Kent had given him—the one on knife-wielding, as well as two Aces Inc. manuals filled with rules and protocols. But as far as Kent’s been able to tell, Bitty’s had his nose in a book almost every waking moment since then, studying like his life depends on it.
And all right, it kind of does, so Kent honestly shouldn’t be surprised about that.
Bitty’s busy reading his books every time Kent pops into his room to check on him—at this rate, he’ll be done soon, and Kent hopes he’s retained most of the information. It leaves Bitty obviously worn by the end of the day when Kent gets back from training (or maybe the tiredness is left-over from Bitty’s stint in solitary—Kent’s not really sure. He’s trying his best not to think about the hours Bitty had been left in there alone, because that inevitably leads to thinking about Bitty’s ticking death sentence that Kent’s trying to shove away one day at a time).
And so a few days later when Zimms walks into the gym right at the start of Kent’s workout, Kent’s almost certain Zimms can read every little thing in his eyes, can see that Kent had woken up this morning curled around Bitty entirely on accident, can see that he’d liked it, far more than he should have. He briefly considers just leaving the gym, but that would be even more of a red flag than just sticking it out. So he keeps his head down, focuses on his workout, heart racing even though he’s barely moved on from his fucking warm-up.
He’s doing his cool-down when Zimms comes up to him, and oh, shit. Kent had been doing too good of a job of blocking out the room, it seems, because the group of guys from Kent’s hall that had been in here have left and now, fuck, he’s alone with Zimms. Well, here goes nothing.
“Hey… look at you,” he sinks down into a stretch and offers Zimms a smile, because he might have a fucking huge secret but that doesn’t mean that Zimms isn’t still—well, lots of things. His best friend. His confidant. The only giant dork that’s willing to wade through all of Kent’s shit on a regular basis in order to hang out with him.
“Hey.” The edges of Zimms’ lips twitch in a way that tells Kent he’s trying not to smile. “Mind if I stretch with you?”
“Knock yourself out,” Kent says, gesturing to the floor beside him.
They’re quiet for a while, because Zimms is as serious about stretching as he is about everything else he does, but eventually Zimms speaks up. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Have I?” Kent says, aiming for nonchalance.
“Yes,” Zimms says, tone making it clear that means he’s not fucking around.
Kent sits up, meeting Zimms’ eyes, trying to read what he’s thinking. He’s not entirely sure. “All right. Maybe a little bit.” He looks off to the side.
“A lot ‘bit’. You didn’t meet me for dinner last night,” Zimms says, and shit, somehow Kent had completely forgotten about their weekly dinner—he’d come back from training and Bitty had been frying something on the stove, and he’d managed to tie one of Kent’s larger t-shirts like an apron around him in a way that was entirely too charming. Kent had sat down and chatted with Bitty and let Bitty feed him, and it’d been kind of ridiculously fucking domestic—and now Zimms is staring at him, looking hurt.
Fuck. Kent doesn’t really have an excuse lined up for that, and it’s his own damn fault. “Sorry, Zimms…”
Zimms sighs and lowers his voice, changing positions. “It’s okay. Um—so Holster mentioned something in passing about you not sleeping well, and I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier but I’m sure that witness from over the weekend must’ve reminded you of—things. I should’ve noticed, maybe said something. Just—take care of yourself, all right?” He sounds guilty.
Kent stares at him, because—all right, yeah, maybe Zimms is right—fuck. Images flash through his head that he hasn’t drudged up in months, flashes of being locked in a cold room, the sound of gunshots, his father—Dad—
Kent hadn’t entirely realized just how much seeing Bitty curled up in that room had reminded Kent of himself.
“Thought so,” Zimms murmurs, breaking Kent out of his thoughts. Zimms pulls himself into a cross-legged position across from Kent, leaning forward. “I know I’m not the best person to talk to all the time, but—you can talk to me if you ever need to. You know that, right?” The blue in his eyes is sharp and genuine.
“Yeah,” Kent says, chest tightening with emotion. Fuck, he hates feeling vulnerable, but sometimes he forgets that Zimms knows everything about him, knows just how often Kent used to wake up from nightmares when they were younger, knows all of the fears and insecurities that he tries so hard to hide from everyone else. He sighs. “You’re not a bad friend, all right, Zimms?” He knows that Zimms tends to worry about not being there for Kent, even though he’s basically the only one there. “I just—I don’t really wanna talk about it. But—if I ever do, you’ll be the first to know,” he promises, smiling weakly.
“Okay,” Zimms nods, because of all people, he certainly knows when to leave a topic alone. Kent’s grateful for that, both because he really doesn’t want to talk about it (or even think about it) and because it’s honestly a much better excuse for his shiftiness than he could’ve come up with on his own.
They stand, and Kent goes in for a hand-clasp but Zimms catches him in an unexpected hug, his arms coming around Kent in a way that makes him feel soft and warm, makes him want to spill all of his secrets into Zimms’ neck even though he knows all too well that doing so would destroy him.
“Zimms,” Kent whines slightly when Zimms doesn’t let go—he complains even though he likes this, loves it even, because he can feel his lips loosening every moment that he’s in Zimms’ arms.
“What?” Zimms finally pulls back, a twinkle in his eye, and Kent knows they’re all right.
“You’re gonna make me wanna follow you to bed,” Kent mutters, waggling his eyebrows and grinning when Zimms flushes.
“Parse.”
“What? It’s true.” Kent picks up the small towel he’d brought with him, wiping the sweat off of his brow. He’s glad to have changed the conversation, though he’s sure that if he steps out of line again, Zimms is going to notice.
Zimms walks by him, shoving him lightly in the shoulder as he walks to the door. “I wouldn’t say no,” he murmurs so quietly that Kent almost doesn’t catch it.
Ah, shit. Kent’s been horny as fuck for the last few days, and the invitation is almost too tempting to pass up.
But then he thinks of Bitty, sitting alone in Kent’s room, maybe with dinner already made. He thinks about how vulnerable he sometimes gets after sex, and how dangerous that vulnerability is right now—and God, he has to say no. “Maybe—not tonight,” he says, feeling torn as he follows Zimms out the gym door because he really, really wants to.
But he can’t.
“That’s all right.” Zimms waves it off, and if he’s letting it go because he thinks Kent’s too caught up in the past right now, Kent’s not going to say anything to alert him otherwise.
The night air is cool on Kent’s skin as they pass the training facility, heading toward the residential building. They take the elevator up, and Zimms bids him farewell when they reach his floor with a soft kiss to his temple. God.
Kent’s skin burns where Zimms’ lips had been, all the way down the hallway, and damnit—he has to try his best not to read too much into it. It’s not like it means anything, this amorphous thing between them that they’re obstinately not talking about. Zimms always unsettles him, doesn’t he? Usually in the best way, but sometimes in the worst—somehow he always seems to dig his fingers under Kent’s skin, and then he goes and does something like kissing him on the temple and Kent basically melts.
He does his best to calm himself before he unlocks his door and walks into the room. Bitty’s sitting at his small table, book in front of him next to a bowl of something that looks like soup, and Kent’s stomach grumbles.
“Hungry?” Bitty’s lips quirk.
“Yeah,” Kent says, tossing his sweaty towel in the laundry. He kind of needs a shower, but the thought of food is too tempting to pass up.
“Well, if you’re nice to me, I might just let ya have some,” Bitty drawls, looking back down at his book.
It hits Kent then just how used he is already to coming home to Bitty, to seeing him in his room, nose in one of Kent’s books. And maybe he’s still vulnerable from his encounter with Zimms, but he can’t help but walk over and wrap his arms around Bitty’s shoulders.
“Hmm?” Bitty’s head perks up—they haven’t purposely touched since the day Bitty had agreed to train with him.
“I’m being nice,” Kent tries to joke, but it accidentally comes out much softer than he means it to, and fuck—he pulls away, face feeling hot, and busies himself by heading over to the kitchenette and investigating the pot of soup on the stove.
“Sure,” Bitty mumbles. Kent looks over at him, and Bitty’s tucked his face back into his book but his ears are bright red. Kent feels a little unsteady. Shit, he really had meant to stop flirting with him, but there’s something about him that makes Kent want to stay near him, to share leisurely touches and joke around like nothing’s wrong.
And then the guilt starts spiraling in his head, starts burning right in the spot where Zimms’ lips had touched his face. He shouldn’t be touching Bitty, shouldn’t be thinking things about how nice it is to be spending his spare time around him. Not to mention he’s worried as fuck that Zimms is going to find out that Bitty’s still alive. That weeks from now, Kent is going to come back to a cold, empty room—because Bitty will be dead.
The thought makes his chest feel too fucking tight, so he stops thinking about it and finds a bowl for his soup.
xXx
It had been an interesting change, disassociating himself from his name. He used to be Eric, but now there’s a good chance he’ll never be allowed to be Eric again. He’s Bitty now. And that’s okay—‘Eric’ reminds him too much of jeering classmates and being stuffed into the janitor’s closet anyway. He’s glad to give it up.
And he likes ‘Bitty’, likes the way Parse says it like it’s a private joke between them. It makes him feel warm inside, feeds the flames of the quiet crush that he can’t deny anymore. Lord, he wishes he didn’t have that crush, because being around Parse and sleeping next to him and showering with him would be a lot easier if he didn’t have to worry about flirting. But Parse has been keeping his distance and Bitty has no choice but to follow suit.
Bitty’s lying on the bed, reading the final chapter of one of the rulebooks Parse had lent him when the door to the room unlocks. Parse walks in, only this time he has someone following behind him, and Bitty sits up in alarm.
“You won’t tell anyone, right?” Parse is saying.
“It depends on—oh, shit,” the girl says, catching sight of Bitty as she walks further into the room. The door shuts behind them, and the three look at each other in heavy silence before the girl speaks up again. “Bro, you’re gonna be in so much fucking trouble.” Bitty’s briefly surprised to hear that sort of language from the girl—she’s short, and her hair is buzzed severely on one side. But the set of her eyes is kind, and Bitty already thinks he’s going to like her.
“I know,” Parse deadpans. “But—it’s already done, so.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that,” the girl nods, her eyebrows creasing as she looks Bitty up and down.
“Um. Hi?” Bitty says, marking his page and setting the book down.
“Hey.” The girl comes forward, holding out a hand. Bitty takes it, and her grip is firm as she introduces herself. “I’m Lardo. Did this guy even tell you I was coming?” She lets go of Bitty’s hand, jerking her thumb toward Parse.
“No.” Bitty shakes his head. “Would’ve been nice, though,” he adds, raising an eyebrow.
“Sorry about that—it was kind of an on-the-spot thing.” Parse grins wryly, coming over to sit next to Bitty on the bed.
“Huh. You guys could pass as cousins, honestly—he looks more like you than Holster does. Might be useful,” Lardo is looking back and forth between them now.
“Remember when I was talking about strategic geniuses? Well, you’re looking at one,” Parse tells Bitty.
Lardo flushes. “Thanks, but bribing me isn’t gonna help your case. I’m not gonna tell, but if anyone asks—I had no idea about any of this.”
“Of course,” Parse nods. “I dunno—I feel like some of the other guys might be chill with it, too.”
Crossing her arms, Lardo gives him a look. “Parse. You know no one’s opinion is gonna matter if Zimms doesn’t agree, right? He’s the only one who has a running chance of getting this approved by the Heads, and even that’s not a given.”
Parse lets out a long sigh. “I know.” He looks at Bitty for a moment, then turns back to Lardo. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any ideas about convincing him—“
“Nope. No way,” Lardo interrupts, laughing. “I might get along with him, but that doesn’t mean I know how his head works. You’re on your own, buddy.”
“Damn,” Parse leans back on his hands. “Ah well. I tried.”
“I’m gonna head back to my room, then,” Lardo tells them. “The less time I spend around here, the better.” She turns to Bitty. “Good luck, ah—?”
“Bitty,” he fills in.
“Sweet nickname, bro. But really—good luck. Parse might be a total dork, but he’s pretty reliable. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”
Bitty can’t help the smile on his face when he says, “Yeah. I know.”
Lardo leaves, and Parse flops back on the bed, covering his face with a hand. “Fuck, I don’t wanna tell Zimms.”
“Kind of sounds like you have to,” Bitty says, lying down next to him and carefully ensuring that they’re not touching. His heart races anyway. Damn.
“Yeahhh. Fuck,” Parse swears again, but he mostly sounds resigned instead of frustrated.
Bitty swallows. “Lardo’s not—the person you’re sleeping with, right?”
“What? No, no, of course not.” Parse laughs. “I mean, she’s cute, but I’m pretty sure Shitty would kill me if I tried to go after her—he’s had his eye on her for like a billion years.”
“Oh, okay,” Bitty nods. “I thought you’d said it was a guy, but I was just checking.”
“What?” Parse turns his head to look at Bitty, smirking. “Trying to get details out of me?”
“No,” Bitty grumbles, but his flush betrays him.
Parse laughs at that. “Sorry, but I’m not telling. Technically it’s in the rules that none of us are supposed to sleep together—not that anyone pays attention to that, cuz it’d be a madhouse if we were all trapped up in here without sex, but we try to keep it on the down low, you know?”
Bitty nods contemplatively. He’d read that in the rulebook, but it’s good to have a confirmation. “Sorry. I won’t ask, then.”
Parse waggles his eyebrows. “Now I know you’re thinking about it, though.”
Blushing hotly, Bitty leans over to flick him in the arm without thinking about it. “Stop flirting.”
“Shit. Right. Sorry,” Parse replies.
He doesn’t look all that sorry, so Bitty raises his eyebrows at him until Parse starts laughing again.
xXx
Kent steps in the shower a few days later, yawning, keeping his eyes away from Bitty as usual. Not that it helps all that much—he’s still hard, but he’s mostly stopped trying to worry about that.
Except that when he turns around to hand Bitty the soap, Bitty’s flushed and staring at him. Well, staring at his dick.
“Um. Hi,” Kent says, feeling his face heat. “Shit, sorry about that.” He turns away, willing his erection to go down as quickly as possible.
But Bitty’s not going to make it easy on him, because then he says, “It’s—that’s all right.”
Kent shakes his head. “It’s not. I shouldn’t be—“
“I mean,” Bitty cuts him off, “I’m, um, also hard?”
Kent turns his head to look at him, eyes wide. He does not look at Bitty’s dick. He honestly wants to look at Bitty’s dick, but he’s not going to. Really.
“Fuck, never mind, I’m being—um. This is really embarrassing, I’m so so sorry.” Bitty turns away, covering his face. “I’ll shut up.”
“No, no, it’s not your fault.” Kent’s this close to turning his entire body toward him before he remembers, oh, right, not a good idea.
“Ugh,” Bitty makes an embarrassed groan. “It kind of is.”
“I mean—it’s a natural reaction, right?” Kent points out.
“I guess so.”
“I mean, I’ve been hard every time—yeah, all right, shutting up now.” Kent nearly claps his soapy hand over his face because what the fuck is he doing?
“You—really?”
“Uh, fuck. Yeah.”
“Oh,” Bitty says, his voice coming out strangled. “I, um. Not all the time, but—sometimes.”
“Oh,” Kent says, staring at the wall, and now he’s thinking about Bitty getting hard while standing less than two feet away from him, and—yeah, that’s not helping his erection at all. “If you wanna—take care of that, I can uh, leave?”
“That’s not really safe, is it?” Bitty muses quietly. “And besides—you should, um, be able to take care of it too?”
“Fuck,” Kent sighs, because all the blood in his body seems to be heading straight toward his groin. So he closes his eyes, trying to stave it off, except that’s a terrible idea because now he’s imagining Bitty touching himself, leaning back in the shower spray and letting out a moan—and fuck, he should not be thinking these things. “Look—why don’t we just—“
“Both?” Bitty interrupts.
Kent really does turn and stare at him this time. Bitty’s flushed all the way down to his chest, and it nearly steals Kent’s voice away entirely. “I—I was gonna, um. Say we should forget it?”
“Oh, Lord. You’re right. Fuck, never mind—“
“But that’s a good idea too?” Kent says, because Bitty had looked like he was getting sad and Kent doesn’t want him to be sad, and also he’s so fucking hard it hurts.
“Wait—really?” Bitty asks quietly.
“I mean—yeah.” Kent swallows. “We can just—not look.”
Slowly, Bitty nods. “Okay,” he says, voice as light as a feather.
“And we can’t make a lot of noise.”
“Okay.” Bitty nods again, and then he slowly turns around and face the shower wall.
Kent turns in the opposite direction, trying desperately not to think about how insane this is, and finally, finally takes his cock in hand. He clamps his teeth shut against the moan that wants to escape his mouth, but then he hears Bitty’s quiet whimper behind him and he nearly comes right then, fuck—oh God, they’re actually doing this. The slick sound of hands over skin seems loud in his ears, even though they’re being fairly quiet, and he hasn’t jerked off in days so this feels really fucking good.
Bitty whimpers again, lets out a low keen, sounding all shuddery as if he’s coming—and he may well be, Kent realizes. The little panting noises Bitty is making are devastating—fuck. Kent strokes himself feverishly, squeezing his eyes shut and just imagining it. He barely lasts another minute before coming all over his hand.
It takes approximately ten seconds of awkward silence before the guilt hits Kent like a fucking truck. Shit, Zimms. Logically, he knows Zimms has said it’s all right for Kent to be with other people, but Kent still feels like—God, like he should tell him or something.
But he can’t tell him, because Zimms doesn’t even know Bitty exists.
Kent and Bitty—they didn’t touch at all, anyway. They didn’t touch, so—maybe Kent doesn’t have to worry too much about Zimms not knowing. But still—fuck, what was he thinking?
He feels unfocused as they finish washing off. He doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes—he can’t. He feels too raw. The silence is only punctuated by the sounds of their own wet skin and the bathroom door closing, and Kent still can’t look at Bitty.
They towel off and trudge back to his room without speaking. Kent feels like he’s being stretched, being pulled apart piece-by-piece.
xXx
The rest of that day is hard. By the time he goes to meet Zimms for their weekly dinner, the secret burning in his chest like a fiery boulder, Kent feels so lonely he’s aching from it. He’s barely said three words to Bitty all day.
He should have known right then that everything was going to go to shit.
Of fucking course, the one day he doesn’t talk to Bitty is the day that he stands outside Zimms’ door, having knocked three times already, and realizes that Zimms isn’t there.
Zimms is always on time. He’s early, if he can help it. Kent’s first thought is that maybe he’s on a mission, and Kent won’t have to tell him today after all—but no, that’s dumb. Kent would probably be well aware if Zimms was on a mission. Hell, Kent would probably be on the mission with him.
It’s times like these that he wishes they were allowed to use some sort of communication devices, even though he knows it’s risky as hell. Where the fuck is Zimms?
He’s leaning against Zimms’ door, twiddling his thumbs, when the thought hits him like an egg cracking over his skull, oozing down his spine and penetrating his limbs until he feels numb. Someone had closed the door to the bathroom earlier that morning, right before he and Bitty got out of the shower. Which means someone had come in the bathroom, and Kent hadn’t noticed, and he hadn’t tried to shut himself or Bitty up.
Fuck. Fuck.
He’s tearing down the hallway before he can even think about it, jamming the button to the elevator—but fuck, no, that’s way too slow, so he takes the stairs down, nearly slipping on the last flight. God, Bitty, Bitty—
He slows as he turns the corner near his room. Zimms is there, sitting against the wall with his head in his hands, and Kent wants to fucking cry.
“Zimms,” he says, no more than a whisper.
Zimms looks up at him, eyes dull. “What am I going to find when I walk into your room?”
Kent’s tongue is stuck in his mouth. He can’t, he can’t—he shakes his head, feeling numb, feeling like he wants to do nothing more than claw his way out of here.
Bitty’s going to die. Oh, God. Bitty’s going to die.
Zimms’ lips tighten. “Really, Parse? In the shower? What, couldn’t wait until you got back to your bed to fuck him? Christ! He’s a captive!”
Kent shakes his head faster, no, no, no—“I didn’t touch him, Zimms. Please, I didn’t touch him, I swear,” he chokes out, and it’s the truth, it really is. Not that he didn’t want to, but he’ll admit anything it that takes for Bitty to stay the fuck alive—“Is this—God, Zimms, you said it was okay for me to sleep around.”
“I know.” Zimms grits his teeth, looking away. “This isn’t about that—he’s a prisoner, Parse. You’re not supposed to be fucking captives, whether you’re sleeping with me or not. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I don’t know.” Kent shakes his head. “I don’t. Bitty is—he’s—”
“You gave him a fucking nickname?”
“I—yeah, but—“
“They could kill you for this!” Zimms stands suddenly, looking him in the eye. “Don’t you know that? What the hell, Parse?”
“I was thinking—we could train him, and then it would be all right—“
“Hell no! Parse, this didn’t go through any of the right channels. He’s probably lying about everything he tells you just to get free. There’s no way, Parse.” Zimms glares at him.
No—no, Bitty’s not lying, Kent’s sure of it—but Zimms isn’t going to believe him, God. His breath is coming so heavy that he can barely speak, and then Zimms takes his card-key out and reaches for Kent’s door. “Don’t!” Kent begs, grabbing his arm.
“You missed your chance, Parse. You missed a million fucking chances, and every second he’s breathing is a second that this whole thing could be blown straight into the media.” Zimms voice is tight, his eyes hard. He’s not going to listen.
He’s going to kill Bitty.
“No,” Kent chokes out again. He still hasn’t let go of Zimms’ arm, because if he lets go then Zimms can move, can walk into his room and squeeze all the life out of it, fuck—“Let me—let me do it,” he gasps. “I promise, I’ll—I’ll do it. Just let me—let me go get my kit, I promise, you can watch me do it, but—I promised him I’d be the one to—so don’t, you can go in and talk to him, but—“
“Parse.”
“Please, Zimms, please—“
“Parse. Shut up.” Zimms reaches up and squeezes his arm.
Every muscle in Kent’s body goes tense.
Then Zimms looks away, expelling a long, harsh breath. “Go get your kit.”
“Zimms—thank you.”
Kent allows himself to shudder once. Then he tears himself away, back down the hallway, out of the building, and runs toward the training building.
xXx
The lock clicks open. Bitty looks up from his book, an apology on the tip of his tongue for the fiasco this morning. He’d skipped making dinner tonight because he’d known Parse would be out tonight anyway, and Bitty just didn’t feel up to it, not with the shame eating away at his chest.
But the gaze he meets on the other side of the door isn’t Parse’s. He has dark hair and blue eyes and a strong body, and his face is currently contorted with agitation. Dear Lord.
The man closes the door. And then he speaks, and Bitty’s stomach turns to ice, because he knows that voice.
“So tell me,” Zimms says, “What exactly did you say to convince one of my best agents to fuck up like this?”
The words echo in Bitty’s brain, repeating themselves over and over. Lord, Bitty’s a fuck up. He’s Parse’s fuck up, and he’s going to die.
When Bitty doesn’t speak, Zimms pulls out the chair across from him at Parse’s small table, straddling it backwards. “Calm down,” he says gruffly. “I won’t touch you.”
Bitty tries to take a relaxing breath, but it comes out only as a gasp. “Where’s—Parse?”
“He insisted on finishing this himself,” Zimms growls. “Aren’t you lucky?”
Bitty’s heart is pounding so hard that he feels like he’s shaking to pieces. “I—asked him to. It’s my f-fault,” he gasps out, my fault my fault—
Zimms rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t really care whose fault it is, honestly. This should never have happened. I hope you know that.”
“I d-do.” Bitty forces himself to nod solemnly. He leans forward with his elbows against the table, takes a deep breath and sighs it out. Parse is coming, at least. Bitty won’t be alone.
Zimms is quiet for a moment after that, and Bitty glances furtively at him. And huh, the anger in his face has softened somewhat. Now that his expression isn’t so hard anymore, he’s really kind of handsome—which is a really dumb thing to be thinking about right now, but Bitty can’t help it. Not that any of it matters, of course. Bitty’s still never going to be kissed before he dies, let alone be kissed by Zimms who quite obviously hates him. And Zimms is probably straight anyway.
Maybe Parse will kiss him before he dies. It’s a baseless daydream, but it makes something flutter in Bitty’s chest nonetheless, takes his mind off of dying—even though Bitty’s fairly sure Parse wouldn’t want to kiss him in front of Zimms. Hell, Parse doesn’t want to kiss him anyway. Parse is basically taken. The guilt in his eyes after this morning had proven how he feels about that more than anything else.
“So you were showering with him,” Zimms says suddenly, as if reading his mind, and Bitty’s face flushes red-hot.
“I—um. It was so I wouldn’t get caught,” Bitty explains quietly.
Zimms raises an eyebrow. “And was that what the sex was for, too?”
Oh God. Bitty covers his face. “I—” he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say to that. Was it even sex? Bitty hadn’t thought about it that way; they hadn’t touched or even looked at each other, although Bitty can’t deny that he’d been so attracted to Parse in that moment that he’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “It wasn’t—he didn’t touch me,” he settles for eventually. Because Parse wouldn’t. Besides the casual flirting, Parse really has tried his best not to encourage anything, keeping a careful distance when they’re lying in bed or standing in the shower.
And oh gosh, now Zimms knows that Parse likes boys. He wonders if Zimms had known that beforehand, because he really hopes Parse didn’t accidentally get outed because of all this, oh God. That would be even worse than simply getting caught. Bitty would know for the rest of his short life that Parse’s world had been turned upside-down, and it’d basically be Bitty’s fault because he can’t keep his mouth shut, because someone overheard them in the bathroom this morning and it’s all Bitty’s fault.
So he makes himself ask about it, because he’s scared and because it can’t exactly make anything worse. “Did you—know before? That Parse liked boys?”
Zimms looks up at him, gaze cool, and lets out a short laugh. “Yeah. I knew. Everyone does.”
Bitty smiles weakly, because at least Parse’s life won’t be ruined after Bitty’s dead. “Oh. Good.”
“What do you have to be smiling about?” Zimms frowns at him.
Bitty looks away—Zimms’ gaze is just this side of too intense. “I just—I didn’t want Parse to be outed because of me,” he says.
“You’re about to die, you know,” Zimms says bluntly.
Bitty flinches. “Y-yeah. I know.”
“And yet you’re worrying about Parse?” Zimms leans forward, draping his arms over the back of the chair.
“Um—yeah.” Bitty swallows.
Zimms blinks at him. “You’re a strange one.”
It’s not a compliment. “Thanks,” Bitty laughs hollowly. It’s not a compliment.
Mouth twisting, Zimms sits back again. “You must’ve had trouble with that kind of thing, for you to be worrying about it for Parse.”
Bitty’s surprised at the sudden probe into his history, but it’s a distraction from from the whole dying thing so he might as well go with it. “The deep South ain’t the friendliest place for people like me.”
“Ah.” Zimms nods. “That’s rough, eh?”
Bitty tilts his head. “You’re Canadian?”
“Sure.” Zimms cocks an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I’ve never heard someone say ‘eh’ in real life before.”
“Huh,” Zimms says. Bitty starts to smile at that, but ends up covering it with his hand. Zimms had questioned him the last time he’d smiled, after all, and anyway he shouldn’t be smiling at all because he’s going to die.
But halfway through that thought, he realizes that he’s not actually panicking anymore. He’s scared, yes, but—it won’t hurt. Parse has put him to sleep before, and it’d been nearly painless. He’ll go to sleep, and he might not ever wake up again, but there’s really nothing he can do to help that. Parse will be here soon, at least, and hopefully Parse will smile at him again—maybe even flirt with him if Zimms leaves. Bitty will have that to look forward to, even if part of it’s only wishful thinking.
And—this talk with Zimms is one of the last conversations he’s going to have on this earth, isn’t it? He might as well enjoy himself.
“So…” he asks, “What do you like to do for fun?”
Zimms stares at him. “What?”
Bitty clears his throat nervously. “Just curious.”
Zimms blinks at him. “All right… Uh, I like reading about history?”
“History is cool.” Bitty forces a smile. “Honestly, I think the history of food is really interesting. My Moomaw taught me all sorts of things about food back when she was a youngun, and I haven’t done a lot of reading on it but I’d really like to learn more. There’s a lot of neat wartime trends, you know?” And yeah, he’s kind of babbling, but now there’s a spark of interest behind the strange look Zimms is giving him.
“I’ve read about that, actually,” Zimms says slowly, as if he can’t believe he’s getting dragged into this discussion. “One of my favorite historians wrote a book on it.”
“Ooh! Can you tell me about it?” Bitty lights up.
“Uh. Okay,” Zimms says, and then he leans forward and starts talking. It’s the strangest thing, because he slowly gets more and more animated as he speaks, until he’s making big gestures with his hands and Bitty is honestly at ease.
He’s—enjoying himself, as strange as that is.
“That’s most of what I remember, anyway.” Zimms finishes with a shrug, and then the edges of his lips quirk up in what might actually be a smile.
“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” Bitty mumbles quietly.
Zimms nods along, but Bitty hadn’t been talking about the history lesson.
They lapse into silence until Parse returns. Bitty’s anxiousness trickles back into him, pervading his mind all over again, but at least he’d made the best of his last few moments.
He’s going to die.
xXx
Jack turns around when Parse bursts into the room, obviously out of breath with briefcase in hand. Parse blinks, confused, and Jack realizes they must make a strange picture, him and—Bitty, was it?—sitting at the table as if nothing is wrong.
Except then, across from him, Bitty starts to shake. “H-hi,” he says.
Parse makes a funny gasping sound. “Uhh—hey.”
And fuck—Jack’s starting to realize that he’s actually upset that Bitty has to die. Bitty’s small and sweet and a genuinely nice conversation partner, and sincerity practically radiates from his body—Jack can understand now why Parse had saved him in the first place.
Worse, Bitty reminds Jack entirely too much of Kent—back when he’d been younger, back when he’d been a little more carefree. Fuck. This is even worse than Jack had imagined.
His hands start to shake. He moves them to grip his chair so no one can see.
Parse comes over and sets the briefcase on the table, and Bitty instantly recoils. Then he bites his lip, leaning over the kit as Parse opens it. “I can look, right?” he asks.
“Sure,” Parse answers, but he sounds worn. “You would’ve seen a similar layout in the manual, I think.”
“Giving him all our secrets, aren’t you, Parse?” Jack’s anger flares unexpectedly. But he’s not really angry with Parse anymore—he’s angry at the whole situation, angry at the circumstances that have led him here, to this chair, to watching Parse kill an innocent boy. Goddamnit.
Parse shoots him a glare. “Look, Zimms. I’m getting ready to kill him. You literally cannot ask me for anything else, okay?”
Jack nearly flinches from the disgust in Parse’s face. He grits his teeth, trying to keep himself from lashing out, because the moment they’d started fighting Bitty had curled in on himself in fear.
“Whatever, Parse,” he mutters.
Parse blinks down at the kit for a moment, then shakes himself out it. He reaches down, briefly fingering one of the small knives in the kit. “We never did get to practice,” he murmurs to Bitty, turning pointedly away from Jack.
“Might’ve been fun,” Bitty says. His voice barely hides how much he’s shaking. “Those look awful sharp, though.”
“I would’ve given you a blunt one,” Parse says, and then instead of picking up anything from the kit, he walks over to Bitty and wraps him in a hug.
Bitty sighs into it, resting his head in the crook of Parse’s neck. There’s no awkwardness in it, as if they’ve done this several times before, and Jack is suddenly feeling angry all over again. “Can we get a move on?” he grumbles, looking away, and the guilt is fucking eating him alive.
When he looks back, Parse is glaring daggers at him over Bitty’s shoulder.
“Grow a fucking heart, Zimms,” he spits. And then for good measure, he keeps holding onto Bitty for much longer than is frankly necessary, until the jealousy is itching, burning under Jack’s skin.
He shouldn’t be jealous, he really shouldn’t. But knowing Parse sleeps around while off on missions and watching him hug someone else right in front of him are completely different things, and even though Jack doesn’t want to tell Parse how to live his life—he doesn’t get that privilege, not after everything that’s happened—he still wishes Parse were hugging him instead.
Hearing Holster gossiping about the shower tryst barely an hour ago had rubbed him entirely the wrong way. “I think Parse was fucking his mystery boyfriend in the shower this morning!” Holster had nudged Ransom as they passed Jack in the halls of the training center, and—and Jack knows Parse wasn’t fucking his “mystery boyfriend”, because the alleged mystery boyfriend is Jack himself. Only they’re not boyfriends. Sometimes he wishes things between him and Parse were that easy.
But being jealous is one thing. Making Parse kill the boy is something else entirely, something that’s more than a little fucked up.
It’s when Parse finally lets go that Bitty starts crying. Parse’s face crumples too, and he doesn’t cry but the look of distress in his eyes is enough to send another pang of guilt vibrating through Jack’s body. God.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Parse says, sliding his hand through Bitty’s hair. “It’s okay, shh.”
Their faces are so close together that it looks like they might kiss.
They don’t.
But the damage is already done, because Jack looks at Parse, heart starting to race because then he realizes—oh. Fuck. Parse loves Bitty, at least a little bit. Jack has no idea if it’s platonic or not—although he’s betting not—but his gut twists in panic. He’s just ordered Parse—his best fucking friend—to kill someone he loves.
What the fuck is he doing?
Parse keeps his hand in Bitty’s hair, leaning over to reach for the kit syringe. Bitty starts crying harder, staring at Kent’s chest, his whole body shuddering. “B-bye,” he whispers.
Parse rolls his head up to stare at the ceiling. He’d uncapped the syringe, but his hand is shaking, and he hasn’t looked at Jack for at least five minutes.
He might never look at Jack again, at this rate.
Jack squeezes his eyes shut, but then unbidden images of a different scared, blond boy immediately assault him—fuck. He quickly reopens his eyes. He doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now.
But Parse’s words echo on and on in his brain—Grow a fucking heart, Zimms.
Goddamnit—Jack’s heart beats faster, faster. His mouth feels dry.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Parse looks back down at Bitty. He shakes his head slowly and reaches for Bitty’s arm. “I’m not gonna say goodbye. It’s too sad.”
“Okay,” Bitty says, and then he laughs through his tears, a little gasping sob as Parse readies the needle.
Parse’s hand is still shaking. He’s going to miss Bitty’s arm. Jack opens his mouth and orders, “Stop.”
“I can do it, Zimms,” Parse bites out.
“No—no. Stop.” Jack stands, crossing his arms. “Put it away.”
Slowly, Parse and Bitty both turn to stare at him.
Jack doesn’t know what he’s doing. He prides himself on making decisions that are based on logic, on careful consideration of all the circumstances, and this is not one of those decisions.
Or maybe logic is the very reason he’d decided to stop this. Parse would have been devastated; Jack only has to close his eyes and imagine Parse sobbing over Bitty’s body to know that. And then Parse never would have confided in Jack again, because Jack knows that Parse would most definitely have blamed him for how this had ended.
And Jack can’t stand not having Parse in his life.
“W-what?” Bitty asks. His hand slips up to grip Kent’s shirt like an anchor.
“Are you at all athletic?” Jack asks him instead of answering, words coming out like punches. He’d been angry before, and now he’s angry at himself too, because he’s going to have to find a way to explain this to fucking everyone—
Bitty opens his mouth. “Um. I figure skate?”
Jack breathes in very slowly, then expels the breath, trying to imagine that it’s taking all the worry out with it. It doesn’t quite work. “Parse,” he grits out, turning to him. “Put the damn syringe down.”
“Yessir,” Parse says, nearly dropping it in his haste to comply.
“One, don’t call me sir. Two, you are still in a monumental amount of trouble for this, you hear?”
Parse nods, face pale.
“You are going to be responsible for the entirety of his training.” Parse starts to nod again, but Jack holds out a hand to stop him. “You may keep your room, but as of this moment you have been functionally demoted. You will not be allowed to go on any missions until he’s completely ready. Understand?”
“But Zimms—“
“Understand?”
Parse breathes out a shaky sigh and he nods once more. “Okay.” Then he turns to Bitty, and slowly, his face splits into the biggest grin Jack has seen on his face in years. “Bits.”
“P-Parse,” Bitty chokes out, but he’s smiling—and then he jumps up into Parse’s arms with such enthusiasm that his feet literally leave the ground. Parse swings him around in a circle, starting to laugh, and the twinges of jealousy in Jack’s stomach come back in full force.
He turns to leave. This moment is not for him. But before he can turn the doorknob, he feels a hand on his back. Turning, he’s surprised to find that it’s not Parse, but Bitty, eyes still brimming with tears.
“Thank you,” Bitty whispers, and then he leans up and hugs Jack too.
Jack doesn’t quite know what to do with his arms. He brings them up and lets them rest awkwardly on the small of Bitty’s back, trying and failing not to catch Parse’s eye—Parse is smirking at them now.
“Why’re you still crying? You should be happy, eh?” Jack asks quietly.
Bitty laughs at the ‘eh’, just like Jack had maybe wanted him to. “Happy tears,” he explains, pulling away.
And then Parse nearly barrels Jack over as he hugs him, and Jack knows this touch, lets it leach some of the worry from his skin. He has a million excuses to make, and the sooner he can start the better, but right now… Right now, Parse doesn’t hate him, and that’s enough for Jack. |
Gwyn
*
The first Seelie fae to ask for asylum were the trows, who were being commanded to sever all ties with their cousins across the river, likely because their Unseelie brethren were quite proud of working in Gwyn’s castle. They refused, and were fired from many of their positions. They were teleported into the Kingdom by their Unseelie king, asking for safe haven. Gwyn granted it, then spent the next hour trying to think of what they were going to do to overcome the issues that were growing more noticeable every passing day.
It had been two weeks since the battle, and though the Unseelie Court had mostly managed to keep their entrances clear due to attacking from within, there was no guaranteed safe passage for underfae into the Court. Nor for carts and wagons and caravans. New places had to be organised for drops of goods and materials, and the Seelie had enough fae of their own leftover to hunt out those places frequently and destroy each one, so that merchants never quite knew where was safe to go to deliver their wares.
Prices rose as merchants needed to ensure their safety, and others dropped out of servicing the Unseelie Court altogether.
Some of the Courtland fae were able to teleport some distance away to pick up supplies, but they were tired, frightened, and it spoiled their good will to ask them to do too much on behalf of the Kingdom. They were not naturally self-sacrificing. The Unseelie did not put their lives in danger without expecting some sort of payment in return.
Then came the Seelie ambaros who lived with the marid-djinn afrit, citing mysterious ‘disappearances’ of their own kind and the suspicion that Albion had an elite team to deliberately fragment and fracture Unseelie-Seelie communities by hunting members. Ifir’s wife, his sons and daughters, they weren’t there in the group that begged for asylum, and when Gwyn talked to Ifir about it, Ifir had only looked off into the distance and said:
‘It’s a bad business, Gwyn, this fucking mess. I want them safer than safe. A Court’s not that place.’
Gwyn agreed, and they’d left it at that.
The section of palace put aside for Seelie guests wouldn’t be big enough, and Gwyn quietly changed the permissions of the castle one day, expanding the safe places for Seelie fae. He informed the servants and the Unseelie trows, asking them to pass the message along.
In the two weeks leading up to the Wild Hunt, the Winter Court – for the first time since the Raven Prince’s Court – included both Seelie and Unseelie fae. Tensions were high, and Ash was often there, keeping things as calm as possible. No one liked knowing the Seelie military was hemming them in, and the Unseelie had to be reminded not to feed their true appetites in the bounds of the Court. Three times, Gwyn had to be called to intervene and eject Unseelie who were too angry or bitter to keep charge of their own hungers, their own malice.
There were whispers that Gwyn was too sympathetic to the Seelie.
Seelie underfae attempted to make it into the Unseelie Court, but such pilgrimages were often fatal, given that most couldn’t teleport, and allies in the Unseelie Courtlands were no longer there to provide assistance. As quickly as Fenwrel tried to make portals for them to use to access the Gwylwyr Du, they were taken down. After all, word had to be passed around so the Seelie underfae knew where to go, and inevitably, someone of the Seelie who were allied with Albion would find out, and the portal would be removed.
Gwyn took a break from sitting in the throne room, where he’d been listening – almost non-stop, it felt like – to people talking to him, asking him questions about what was happening, what would happen, what the plan was.
Plans were in development, but there was only so much they could do. Aside from their sneak attacks on the Seelie military, they had no brute force left. Gwyn had handed over management of future plans to Gulvi, Mu and Vane, who were together especially suited to stealth. One of the solutions already being implemented was to sabotage Seelie food drops – a military had to be fed, after all – and then teleport entire caravans of food directly into Unseelie Court.
Now, Gwyn rubbed at his forehead as he stared at a blank piece of newly stretched parchment. Nearby, several fresh pots of ink that had never been opened. He’d thought to take his mind off things with cartography, but he was out of practice, and he didn’t want to ruin the parchment.
He looked up when Augus entered the room.
‘We have a full house,’ Augus said. ‘More are coming. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was deliberate. To bleed us of our resources.’
‘It is deliberate,’ Gwyn said quietly, ‘but not in the way you think.’
‘In what way, then?’
Augus came to stand near him, placed a hand on the back of his shoulder like it was easy. Gwyn still tensed. He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t even that he was afraid of Augus. He was just so unused to someone offering gentle touch.
‘I need to speak with the others. My thoughts on the matter are still coming together. I don’t want to burden anyone until after the Wild Hunt. We need that inter-alignment symbol more than ever, right now.’
Augus was silent for a long time. His thumb moved over the grain of Gwyn’s shirt, stroking small, slow circles. Gwyn’s head tilted towards Augus’ hand.
‘You don’t think he’s going to sabotage the Wild Hunt?’ Augus said.
‘Albion?’ Gwyn said, turning and looking up at him. ‘Augus, I know he’s broken an awful lot of rules lately, but the Wild Hunt is sacrosanct. No one’s gone after it before. I’ll be there. The Inner Court. Some of the generals. Hopefully some Seelie fae turn up.’
‘You think they will, knowing how Albion is beginning to treat Seelie who interact friendlily with the Unseelie?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gwyn said, knuckling a fist into the side of his temple to try and knead away the headache.
Augus bent down until his mouth rested in Gwyn’s hair, his nose bumping into his scalp.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Augus said. ‘I have my concerns. But even more than that, to be able to enjoy the Wild Hunt again, to know you’re there – it reminds me of a different time in my life. And who knows? And if I don’t take the win, I can slake my own bloodthirst in other ways, can’t I?’
Augus’ fingers crept up Gwyn’s neck, and Gwyn shivered. Smiled in spite of himself.
‘You don’t need to wait for the Wild Hunt for that, Augus,’ Gwyn said, and he felt Augus’ huff of amusement.
‘So you say,’ Augus said, ‘but I don’t see our schedules looking anything like they’re giving us free time lately.’
Gwyn groaned in acknowledgement and nodded. That was true. For about five minutes a day he managed to teleport away to a remote area, stand and breathe air that wasn’t the Court’s air, feel the zahakhar not pressing upon him – welcome though it could sometimes feel. Sometimes he thought it was the only thing keeping his heartsong in place.
He was certain the Wild Hunt would strengthen it again, as it had in the past.
*
The Wild Hunt was held in a forest so eldritch that even the fae milling about felt the power of their own kind, grounded and exhilarated all at once, remembering that they were born of the land and the elements, and to both they would return. Gwyn looked over the crowd, lit by tiny lamps floating near trees, glowing in white and green and yellow. Above them, a full moon hung fat and ripe in the sky, a fruit waiting to be plucked and devoured.
Gwyn’s entire Inner Court was there with him; Augus and Gulvi, even Ash, who had never been to a Wild Hunt before, despite Augus having run it for many years. Other Unseelie fae had turned up – including Ifir, drinking a tankard of some thick black ale that looked like it had a texture of molasses. Vane sipped at green drink served in a long glass and gazed at his recurve bow with the kind of single-minded focus that made Gwyn abruptly miss being able to shoot with the bow and arrow. Gwyn had a sword strapped to his side, and nothing more. He no longer had a sure enough shot with the recurve to risk sullying the King of the Forest’s death.
Vane chose that moment to look up, giving Gwyn an odd look. Perhaps Vane was annoyed at how Gwyn had left things after the battle, but Gwyn really did think it was for the best. After a moment, Vane looked back to his recurve and seemed preoccupied with its balance and flex once more.
The air was sharp with the scent of pine, linden and birch. Around them in the understorey, cherry trees and broom, pyrethrum and lily of the valley. The latter always flowered at night in the White Stag’s forest. The bell-like flowers shone a pale, additional light to show the way for those who might step in the sacred forest, smell the wild, hungry air and feel themselves as prey or predator.
There was a murmur, and Gwyn looked in the direction of a new arrival, and then his lips tensed on a smile.
Marika saw him and bowed formally, the appropriate response of a fae to a King – even one of an opposing alignment. Then she rose and walked towards him, seeming to glide over the ground. Her pointed ears were adorned in small pearls, and her dress was modified from the transparent silks she usually wore. Diaphanous hunting attire, and strapped to her calf, a small hunting blade. Around her long fingers glittered rings, and Gwyn had no doubt that one of them housed a sharp little spike.
‘Well met,’ Gwyn said.
The Unseelie watched until Ifir deliberately turned away and started up conversation again, and Gwyn felt a wash of gratitude. Ifir could have caused a scene. But it seemed the more that rumours went around that Gwyn was a Seelie sympathiser, the more Ifir stepped back from stirring trouble.
Perhaps he just didn’t want his other horn sawn off.
‘A Wild Hunt again,’ Marika said, holding her hands out, palms up. ‘I appreciate the normalcy at a time like this.’
‘I’m surprised you’re not out there ringed around our Court as we speak,’ Gwyn said, clasping her hands in return.
‘Do you think Albion trusts me?’ Marika said. ‘I’m lucky to not be in a cell.’
Several more fae teleported into the clearing, and Marika stepped away, gravitating towards Gulvi.
In the new crowd, a gnome with a conical red hat that Gwyn knew from previous Hunts, who bowed to him so deeply that the tip of his hat brushed the floor and his hands had to come up to hold it in place. There was a Seelie barbegazi, laden with frost and icicles, squat and clearly friends with the gnome. When the barbegazi bowed, her icicles tinkled musically. In the crowd, two common fae who Gwyn didn’t recognise, wearing merchant garb, and a small group of Unseelie goblins who carried polearms and bowed to Gwyn, then walked straight to Augus in a way that seemed menacing at first, until it was clear they knew Augus very well. Augus stepped aside to greet them all, speaking in their language fluently.
Gwyn wondered if that was a diplomatic relationship Augus had maintained from some time ago, then he was drawn into more introductions.
A few more minutes and they’d get started, the energy in the air beginning to peak, the King of the Forest sending his own silent signal through the atmosphere.
‘Hey, so, am I unwelcome or what? I’m kind of feeling like I’m unwelcome.’
Gwyn turned, his eyes widening in shock. Mikkel stood there, looking sharper-eyed than usual as he took in all the other fae, some who had turned to gaze at him. Marika’s eyes skated over him like he was just one of the crowd, but Gwyn knew – and obviously Mikkel could tell as well from the way he turned to her – that she’d seen more than she was letting on. He’d been present during her interrogation after all. At his waist, Mikkel wore a belt and a holstered gun. His shoes were a bright red leather, his flatcap smelled like it had been newly washed.
Gwyn gestured for Mikkel to follow him, and they trailed a ways into the forest, Gwyn’s blood hammering through his veins with the need to hunt.
Mikkel swallowed and looked over his shoulder. Long moments passed, and Mikkel’s shoulders hunched, his head pushed forwards.
‘Wow, it’s something, huh? Never done a Hunt before. Not like this.’
‘Mikkel, you are not a hunter. This is not safe.’
‘I’m getting tired of that,’ Mikkel said, looking up at Gwyn with a gaze that was hard and worn through all at once. ‘Just…really tired, Gwyn. I just want to do something fun, okay? With a friend? If there’s any consequences, you just let me wear them.’
‘Mikkel…’
‘They’ve seen me now so it’s too late for the warning, Cupcake,’ Mikkel said. ‘Maybe I’ll ask for asylum at the end of the night, yep, that could be a thing. Didn’t know Marika would be here.’
Mikkel looked over his shoulder again, and when he looked back his was still squinting.
‘Are you Reading them?’ Gwyn asked.
‘Am I ever not?’ Mikkel said, his voice caustic. He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry man. Weird night, hey. Feels like a night where big things are gonna happen. Is that the Wild Hunt energy?’
‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘At the very least you’ll be safe here. So if you ask for asylum, you can come straight back with us. There are already Seelie fae there, Mikkel. You wouldn’t be the first.’
‘Huh,’ Mikkel said, sighing. ‘Safe here? I’m safe as houses, Cupcake. At least here. Hey, Gwyn, if I asked you something, would you maybe take me seriously, and not think of me as some young, baby idealist?’
‘You’re not an idealist,’ Gwyn said, smiling wryly. ‘I think you’re bitterer than I am.’
‘Oh, yep, got that covered,’ Mikkel said, looking down at his feet. Some time passed, and Gwyn could feel the itch in his blood grow stronger, knew he had to get back to the clearing. The King of the Forest didn’t appear on Gwyn’s schedule, Gwyn had to make sure he was in place at the right time.
When Mikkel looked up again, his eyes were bright. Gwyn was taken aback by the nakedness in them, as though Mikkel had stripped something of his usual façade away. ‘I won’t take long, I promise. Gwyn, can you just... I know things are really hard for you guys right now. The Unseelie. And you’re probably the wrong person to ask. But you seem like a good sort. I think deep down you really want to be a hero. I’m gonna ask you to think something over before we go hunt a big deer.’
‘Stag,’ Gwyn corrected.
‘This thing that I said about you treating me like a young baby, that’s you doing it. I know it’s a stag. Let me call it a deer, okay?’
There was something so desperate in Mikkel’s gaze, in his round, drawn face, that Gwyn nodded, feeling immediately wrong-footed.
‘Can you, uh, make a refuge? For Readers? Something away from the Courts? I dunno…if it’s possible. Seems everyone wants to use us. But I just feel like maybe we need it. It gets to a guy, y’know. This life. And I think- See, you don’t even think it’s possible. You’re thinking about it and dismissing it already.’
‘Mikkel,’ Gwyn said, holding up a hand, ‘you need to give me a chance to really think about it. Yes, it seems…I’m not sure how it would work, but that doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned your idea.’
‘You’re my friend,’ Mikkel said, taking a deep breath and then looking surprised at what he’d just said. ‘Okay, I’ve picked better friends in the past. But you’re not so bad.’
‘Thank you,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head. ‘Given I know that I’m terrible at friendship, that’s actually quite a compliment.’
‘Yep,’ Mikkel said. ‘Don’t mention it. Now do we go hunt a deer or what?’
Gwyn opened his mouth to say ‘stag’ and then thought the better of it. But then as they walked back towards the crowd, Gwyn couldn’t resist saying:
‘He’s not a deer, he’s ‘the King of the Forest.’’
‘I knew you were going to do that,’ Mikkel said, without looking up at Gwyn.
‘You couldn’t know that. That wasn’t an emotion.’
‘Baby,’ Mikkel said, laughing under his breath, ‘you don’t know how strong I am, or what I know. Or how lucky you are to have had me here, helping you out.’
‘No, Mikkel. That I do know,’ Gwyn said softly. ‘You’ve saved a lot of lives.’
‘Yeah, well, shut up, because some of them are really curious about what we’re talking about, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Gwyn said.
*
When no one else turned up, despite Augus looking on edge the entire time and clearly expecting sabotage, Gwyn let the fierce black horses with their blazing eyes into the clearing, and each of them picked its rider. Gwyn was surprised to see Mikkel entirely at ease with his horse, since he didn’t seem like the kind of person who might know anything about how to ride, let alone how to act around them. Gwyn wondered how far his Reading extended. To animals as well?
Everyone present was chosen by a horse, though Gulvi waved hers away, preferring to fly without. Before mounting, Gwyn turned and sent his awareness out prickling, seeking. When he found what he was looking for, he sent out an invisible call, a pulse of energy.
A great baying filled the air, rippled through the night sky. A howling of the cwn annwn – the hounds of the Wild Hunt – as they came streaming into the clearing, familiar with this forest, this night, this ritual. They were bred only for the Wild Hunt and they were hungrier for it than many of the fae there. They bared their sharpened fangs at each other. Their long snouts pushed into the air as though they could nudge the stars, seeking the King of the Forest’s scent. They whuffed and chuffed at each other, moved between the dancing legs of the horses.
The energy around them fizzed into a greater life, and Gwyn felt he could breathe it in like nectar or drink it like sweet, thick blood.
They all mounted at once. Gwyn could feel Ash lulling his own horse with glamour when it was obvious he wasn’t used to riding. Gulvi laughed nearby, pushing his leg affectionately. Augus sat astride his horse and looked down at it with distaste. His rapier belted to his side. His shirt a rare black, dark green cufflinks pinned to his sleeves.
Ifir was rubbing his horse’s neck. Vane had strung his bow and looked over at Gwyn again, as though trying to figure him out. It wasn’t as awkward as if Vane had continued trying to flirt with him, so that was something.
Marika pushed up nearby, offered Gwyn a smile. The few other Seelie fae followed behind her, looking excited to be there. Pleased perhaps that the Unseelie would host the event, and the Seelie King of the Forest would allow himself to be sacrificed, only to return in an endless, eternal Hunt, reminding both alignments of their connection to each other, their place in a mysterious, treacherous world.
‘The last time I opened the Wild Hunt,’ Gwyn said, knowing the way the ritual words were meant to be spoken, ‘we had dark times upon us, and those dark times remain. This is the first Wild Hunt in many months, I know. But let that remind us that even when all seems lost, rituals return, are maintained, will flow into our futures. The Wild Hunt is not about war or battle, and it is not about bloodshed or sadness. It is about returning to what we truly are. Some of you are old friends, some new, but all of us here are here to a purpose, to reforge what it is to be fae, to breathe the magic of the world in our veins and let our aim stay true.’ Gwyn looked at everyone individually, reins wrapped around his hands and his horse tense beneath him. ‘Everyone is welcome.’
They rose into the air as one, the horses and hounds, Gulvi graceful beside them, her daggers already out.
They waited again, looking down between the dense canopies of trees into the tiny openings, some breaths held, others turning slow and steady with the focus of a hunter that knew they could not afford to forget to breathe.
The rules of the game were simple, and had never changed: the first fae to kill the King of the Forest was the victor of the evening, and everyone would race to be the first.
Sometimes the King of the Forest was never found, eluded all. Such was the way of the Wild Hunt.
Gwyn waited with a growing excitement that glowed in him until he felt suffused with it. He looked over at Augus, who was already looking at him, a pleased gleam in his eye. They’d both run the Hunt together. Lifetimes ago. Gwyn had only hoped for a connection. It felt incredible now to know that he had it, and that it was real.
‘Oh!’ Mikkel shouted, pointing through the canopy towards a place no one else could see through. Gwyn stared at him in wonder. His Reading? ‘Oh! Oh my god!’
Mikkel was staring down past his horse with the kind of awe of someone who had never met a creature such as this before.
The King of the Forest – a white stag too large to be a normal stag – appeared in a clearing below them, giant antlers branching with strength, his body muscular and streamlined. He looked up with eyes that radiated ancient wisdom, watched them all.
‘Well met,’ Gwyn said, his voice was loud enough amongst the quiet breeze blowing through the canopy, that everyone heard it. Then the wind dropped and the night seemed to hold its breath around them. Gwyn smiled down, feeling his heart rate pick up, his fingers tightening around his reins.
‘All right. The rules remain simple. We hunt!’
The King of the Forest’s hind legs bunched and then he pivoted smoothly, springing away, moving in a blur too fast to track properly.
The hounds bayed. Horses neighed and whinnied their excitement. The fae gave chase.
The hooves of the horses devoured distance as they followed, glimpsing flashes of white here and there in the forest. The hounds moved ahead, and Gwyn, Augus and Marika quickly took up the lead, with Fenwrel and many of the others already beginning to lag, though Gwyn could practically smell smoke on his heels, which meant Ifir wasn’t far behind.
They raced over the endlessness of the King of the Forest’s land, the altitude rising and lowering, crags sometimes jutting out of pine-covered land, snow-capped and immune to summer’s heat. Gales blew around them, encouraging them forwards or dragging them back. The King of the Forest manipulating the elements of his land to give himself the best advantage.
Gwyn leaned low on his horse’s back, looked down and ahead, the horse putting on a burst of speed in response. But despite the bloodlust beginning to haze his vision and make his whole body feel like it was being attacked with a feverish heat, it was Augus who drew forward, silent and leaning off his horse, staring intently ahead.
Augus didn’t often seek to take the quarry for himself, even when he’d led. He had an unusual method of hunting.
Minutes passed, Ifir drew level with Gwyn, whooping in delight. Behind them, several other fae took up the call, crowing, crying and roaring with the exhilaration of the evening. Augus was far in front of them now, Gulvi a few paces behind him.
Augus’ horse began to drop closer to the tree canopy, a controlled, fast stoop, its legs tucked up tight underneath itself.
Augus unhooked his feet from the stirrups, seemed to hold onto the horse with one hand. Quickly, the horse changed direction and instead of being unseated, Augus swung his legs over the back of the horse and then plummeted down towards the ground feet first, as heavy as stone. Gwyn’s heart felt like it was somewhere up in his throat, excitement and apprehension both. He would never get used to this.
Augus disappeared through a tiny gap in the tree canopy, and then seconds later, the heavy sound of a waterhorse’s hooves pounding at a fast gallop on the ground ahead. He would not take the King of the Forest’s life in any form but his true-form. But he refused to change where others could see him, so he had to wait until the right moment, drop and transform under the cover of the King’s forest. It was dangerous, and required complete mastery over his shifting ability.
Minutes later, the rest of the hounds and horses dropped below the canopy when a clearing appeared. Bound to the ground now, they followed the scent trail of Augus and the King of the Forest both. The wind whipped past Gwyn’s face, snuck into his shirt, cooled the crevices of his fingers. He loved the vibration of the gallop moving through his body, hooves pounding the ground instead of the air. His heartsong flared inside of him, responding, and he felt a moment of peace that felt true and ineffable.
A single bell-like chime sounded and at once, the horses slowed their pace, the hounds called frustration and elation both.
Augus had made the killing blow, the Hunt was over.
‘He’s covered some ground,’ Ifir said, when – ten minutes later – they finally came upon the white body of the King of the Forest lying on his side, his throat torn cleanly open from a bite far bigger than Augus’ mouth now that he was back in human-form. For Augus stood by the King of the Forest’s side, a broad paint-stroke of blood clinging to his mouth and chin and moving down his neck. He had shifted back into human-form already, alternatively licking at his lips or dabbing at the wetness at his neck with a black handkerchief.
Gwyn dismounted, walked over and knelt down by the King of the Forest’s head, reaching out and feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. Gwyn could see his own reflection in that ocular curve, but nothing of life.
‘It is a just death,’ Gwyn called clearly, and Augus huffed out a breath of air, as though it could never be anything else.
Augus looked like he was wearing a costume over an intense, feral need to devour. Even now, his green eyes were lambent, as though lit from within. Every now and then he licked at the blood covering his lips. The handkerchief was held just a little too tightly between his fingers, which were white-knuckled.
The horse that had chosen him came up to him, whickering at the stag that lay upon the ground before nosing at Augus’ side. The hounds milled around the stag. They would leave his body alone now. They all would. The King of the Forest would rebirth himself in solitude, and they would wait for him back at the main clearing, refreshments waiting for them, a night of revels and conversation ahead.
Gwyn looked at the small, intimate crowd of fae. Most seemed pleased. No one seemed visibly upset that Augus had won the Hunt, even after all that he’d done. The goblins were smiling. Perhaps the Hunt itself had served of a reminder of the days when Augus had loyally served the Raven Prince, carried on the Wild Hunt for him, and was nothing more than a quiet-spoken diplomat with an odd vocation and a preference for being alone.
‘I don’t know about the rest of you,’ Ifir said, leaning his head back, ‘but I could really do with a drink.’
Agreements all around, and they all turned and made their way back to the clearing. It would take far longer now, a time for conversation and peace.
Augus wasn’t in the mood for talking, he hung back on his horse, having cleaned off his mouth. He looked like he was focusing on grounding himself, so Gwyn left him and moved up until he was a fair way behind the crowd, but not too close to bother Augus either.
Vane lagged back and pulled even with him, offering a winning smile that showed no sign of the troubled expression Gwyn had seen earlier.
‘You trust the Seelie here tonight?’ Vane said. None of the others were close enough to hear him over the sound of the hooves and running hounds. Gwyn transferred the reins to one hand and shook his head.
‘It’s not quite that simple,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s the Wild Hunt. It’s inter-alignment. Don’t tell me that you take the same hard line against the Seelie that Albion is trying to take against us?’
‘Unlike Albion, I’d be well within my rights to,’ Vane said, his voice strangely playful. ‘You really have no idea how much the Seelie military has taken from me and my people.’
Gwyn frowned, and Vane laughed, the sound bubbling and sweet.
‘You know,’ Vane said, ‘once upon a time, the fie ellyllon used to have a very positive relationship with the Seelie ellyllon and their allies. We were known for it. The Raven Prince didn’t trust anyone, he certainly didn’t trust us.’
‘There were rumours that you were informants,’ Gwyn said, his eyes narrowing.
‘Before my time,’ Vane said dismissively. ‘We learned our lesson. Being shunned from the Unseelie Court was a blow too large. But there were consequences for our splitting from the ellyllon. We went from being mildly protected by Seelie goodwill, to being targets of a military far too resourced for us. We’ve suffered. You come to realise that everyone is out for themselves, and that it’s not just an Unseelie philosophy.’
‘So this is where the cool kids hang out,’ Mikkel called, having turned his horse to join them. Gwyn gazed over with an expression that pretended not quite at disdain, and didn’t betray how well he knew Mikkel. ‘Nice. All that jewellery must be heavy.’
‘I’m stronger than I look,’ Vane said, smiling.
‘Yep,’ Mikkel said, returning the expression, though it looked oddly forced.
‘You’re interrupting a conversation,’ Vane said. ‘Surely you’ve not forgotten the most basic of etiquette, have you?’
Mikkel’s eyes widened in shock that looked a shade put on. ‘Oh shit, huh, sorry. I just…I just wanna talk to the King about something quickly. I’ve never been good at manners, you know?’
‘Of course, with being what you are,’ Vane drawled. ‘Is it overwhelming, to be a Reader during the Wild Hunt? I’ve heard Readers cannot do their job properly when there’s too many people about.’
‘What?’ Mikkel said, looking around. ‘This is a small crowd. It’s not so bad. Everything’s a bit scrambled because of all the glamour and stuff, but that’s pretty normal. I work best in a one on one setting, don’t I, Your Majesty? You’d remember that?’
Gwyn frowned at him, and Vane made a sound of disgust and encouraged his horse into a trot, leaving the conversation and joining the rest of the crowd. Mikkel watched him go, his eyes glittering.
‘So about that refuge,’ Mikkel said, as they approached the clearing.
‘Mikkel, Vane and I were having a conversation.’
‘Huh, well, you can talk to him any time, can’t you?’
Gwyn wished he were better at these sorts of interpersonal dynamics. He cast about for something to say, and came up with nothing. Mikkel didn’t seem to be in the kind of mood to help him out either, even though he must have known Gwyn was finding things difficult.
It was only when Gwyn slowed his horse to a halt in the clearing that he realised that Mikkel hadn’t talked about the refuge – or anything – at all. Mikkel moved on ahead and dismounted, then walked over to the tables of food and looked at everything with mild interest. Gwyn dismounted and patted his horse affectionately, carefully scratching its nose while avoiding being nibbled by sharp teeth.
He watched as the other fae ate from platters offered, drinking down tankards and glasses and carved wooden cups. People were naturally sectioning off into groups. Marika was talking with Zudanna, both of them laughing. Ifir had hived off with some of the other generals, and two Seelie fae that Gwyn didn’t know. Vane offered apples to the horses, their big bodies shifting restlessly. Vane then offered jerky instead, and one of the horses snatched up the dried meat with a happy rumble. After that, he almost disappeared amongst their hungry forms as they crowded towards him, only his curly gemmed red hair visible. Ash, Gulvi and Fenwrel chatted quietly, and Augus joined them a moment later, looking over at Gwyn as though checking on him, before bumping shoulders with Ash in a familiar movement that made something settle in Gwyn’s body.
‘Hey,’ Mikkel said, coming over, standing in front of Gwyn and looking up at him. ‘You think the King of the Forest ever wakes up one day and doesn’t feel like dying?’
‘I don’t think he ever feels like it,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s a part of his magic; this forest, this predator-prey cycle.’
‘You don’t think it’d be shit to die and wake up again?’ Mikkel said.
‘What’s going on?’ Gwyn said under his breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mikkel said, not looking very sorry, though he did look lost, and not quite present, as though half his mind was off listening or Reading everyone else. Perhaps he was. ‘It’s been a bad week. And I thought when I came here tonight… I just wanted to spend a night with a friend. But I’m starting to think that things aren’t really ever going to go my way. You know, sometimes there’s only bad choices, Gwyn. But you have to remember that my choices are my own, got it?’
Gwyn shook his head at him. ‘Please just ask for asylum. People will understand.’
‘Yep,’ Mikkel said. ‘In about an hour, I promise I will. I don’t really want to live in the Unseelie Court. Or the Seelie Court. I guess there’s really nowhere for me these days. There never kind of was, once my parents told me to go?’
Mikkel touched the leather around his neck and twisted it with fingers that ended with bitten fingernails.
‘You’re a good friend, Gwyn,’ Mikkel said. ‘I’d do a lot for you, it turns out. Even ask for refuge in your stupid Court. Which I’d hate. I’d hate living there.’
It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
‘Mikkel, it’s not…evil there. We try and make it comfortable. Unseelie fae like good food and beds and furniture too. And I will do whatever I can to-’
‘Think about the refuge,’ Mikkel said abruptly. ‘Really think about it. I know you’re not now. But… Maybe. Ah, who knows- You have to be more careful, Cupcake,’ Mikkel said, looking up at him.
‘So I’ve heard.’
‘Uh huh,’ Mikkel said, blinking several times quickly, staring at Gwyn’s neck, like he didn’t really hear what Gwyn had said. ‘The Wild Hunt’s really sacred isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Gwyn said. ‘Mikkel, you’re hard enough to understand as it is, sometimes. Take pity on someone who’s not a Reader.’
‘I’m too full of self-pity tonight to have anything left for you,’ Mikkel said, his eyes meeting Gwyn’s as he smiled sadly. ‘You know how hard it is to be the best Reader? One of the very best? You didn’t know that about me, did you? You know, Cupcake, I know that you’re confused and frustrated with me, I know that your heart longs for that waterhorse over there and I know that you think you’re lost even though you’re really not. Not anymore. Not the way you think. And I know there are all sorts of things that shouldn’t be happening. And I get so tired of it. Not just how you feel. I just get so tired. You ever just want to sleep for a really long time?’
Mikkel smiled at him, the gesture pained and sympathetic.
‘Just…promise you won’t be mad, Cupcake,’ Mikkel said again, his gaze going far away, the smile remaining.
Mikkel took a single step to the side.
A spasm when the arrow went through Mikkel’s body, the arrowhead jutting out through his chest, Mikkel looking down at it and then looking back up at Gwyn with knowing on his face.
Vane stood amongst the horses, his recurve arrow drawn, hatred on his face.
Gwyn knew the arrow had been meant for him.
‘Ow,’ Mikkel whispered. ‘Fucking…hurts.’
Mikkel’s knees buckled. Everyone moved at once. Ash and Augus used their compulsions to halt Vane, and then Vane was seized by Ifir and shoved down, recurve bow ripped from his hand and flung away, hands wrenched behind his back. Fenwrel had her staff out. The goblins started shouting. Marika looked on in horror.
‘Gulvi, we need damage control!’ Fenwrel shouted.
Gwyn stared at the bloodied arrowhead, his breath coming faster, his body turning cold. Mikkel didn’t fall backwards, but onto his side, curling over the arrow like he wanted to protect it.
Gwyn dropped to his knees, and Mikkel turned his head, blood already spotting the corners of his lips.
‘Get Aleutia!’ someone shouted.
The sound of an arrow and then the thock! it made as it penetrated true, ripping through flesh and fabric both and Mafydd’s voice dying…
‘Aw, Cupcake,’ Mikkel said, his voice strained and comforting, thick with blood and something else. ‘I’m not him. This isn’t anything like that time, I promise. I promise you. My choices, remember?’
‘You knew?’ Gwyn said, his voice cracking. ‘Mikkel, I can’t be killed by an arrow, but you can.’
‘It’s…poisoned,’ Mikkel said. ‘She made it, I think. Your mother. Talk to- Fuck…’ A long whine, and Mikkel’s eyes filmed over with tears. ‘Fuck. Vane knows. Just glad that I figured his game out, yep. Two birds with one stone, Gwyn.’
‘No,’ Gwyn whispered, staring at him.
‘You ever just want…to sleep for a really long time?’ Mikkel said. ‘Might as well have been now.’
‘No!’ Gwyn shouted at him.
Mikkel smiled at him, his teeth bloodstained. The expression was so at odds with the chaos around them. Gwyn felt a wash of impotent anger move through him. Behind it, older memories, a roaring of grief that was turning to splinters in his chest.
‘Readers get…bored,’ Mikkel said, his voice rasping. ‘We get so bored. You all feel…the same.’ Mikkel’s eyes begged Gwyn to understand, even as tears leaked from the corners. ‘Even you, Cupcake. As special as you are…to me.’
Gwyn’s own chest was a roar of pain. He stared at the arrowhead. It looked so small. But it was a true shot, it had sailed all the way through his heart, Gwyn knew. But…they’d saved Augus from worse, hadn’t they?
They’d saved Augus from death, so this would be- this would be nothing. And then he would make Mikkel understand that it didn’t have to be like this, that it didn’t have to be- that this wasn’t the way…
‘Couldn’t…have stopped me,’ Mikkel said, closing his eyes and then making a low, animal noise of pain. ‘But I really liked…having a friend, truth be told. You made me hang on longer, you…needy bastard.’
Mikkel’s breathing faltered, and Gwyn reached out to touch him, then at the last minute his hand stopped, just above a crease in his shirt. The horror inside him ruptured, revealed a suppurating mass of fury. Gwyn’s breath hissed through his teeth, his hands hurt.
Rage turned to heat inside of him, he staggered upwards and his light leapt through him in sparks so big that he flashed with it, even as he stalked over to Vane, held in place by Ifir. Vane looked up at him, looking furious and smug all at once.
‘You…’ Vane breathed, sounding nothing at all like he normally did. ‘She said it would be easy to get you into bed if I played the lost, vulnerable, young, whimsical bowman. If I had a bow and simpered around you, asked to be tutored – if I pretended I needed your big, strong protection. Maybe I didn’t play the role well enough because you were too stupid. Watching you all these months, oblivious to everything.’
‘You saved my life,’ Gwyn said, ‘before, with the generals. When Ifir attacked.’ His voice came from a great distance, sounded breathless.
‘No, I swore a blood oath to your mother that only I would be the one to make the killing blow. She had very clear instructions, you see. There is a poison. A rare poison, so very hard to make. It takes months to get the alchemy of it right, but even then it still isn’t potent enough for what she needed. The potion only activates upon the death of a mother, and only if she thinks hatred towards her child when it happens.’
‘Mothersbane,’ Fenwrel whispered from nearby. ‘By the gods.’
‘And then,’ Vane whispered, a malevolence shining from his refined features. ‘It will kill anyone, even if they are King.’
Nearby, Mikkel made infrequent guttural sounds of pain. Vane looked over at him and bared his teeth.
‘There’s no cure,’ he said, smiling with an innocence that didn’t fit him, looking back at Gwyn. ‘And you’ve always underestimated me. Always. Could there have been someone more…ill-suited- After everything you’ve done to us. For three thousand years. You thought there wouldn’t be consequences? You are hated. And I am not…the small, weak prince you all seem to think I am.’
A burst of magic and Vane struggled to get free, even as Fenwrel used her staff and Ifir bore down with his brute strength, growling. Vane was still able to get a hand free, and in a single, blurred movement of speed that he was known for, he brushed his own hand over the tips of his arrows, breaking the skin.
Poisoning himself.
Vane made a sound as he was newly restrained, swallowed it down, turned back to Gwyn with his eyes narrowed so much that Gwyn could only see a sliver of blue.
‘Do you know how many of us have this poison on our arrows?’ Vane said, his voice already turning hoarse. ‘How many…have orders, if I die? We’ll be but waiting for our moment. She swore to me, Gwyn. She swore she could make it happen. She was one of the best poisoners in the world, and the members An Fnwy estate were always so good to us. Until you.’
Vane’s body went limp in stages. His knees loosened. His neck went limp, head lolling forwards.
Gwyn knew that he was meant to be holding things together, but he felt like a foundation stone had been ripped away.
Augus had always been sure Crielle had another plan.
‘Gwyn- Your Majesty,’ Aleutia said from nearby. When had Aleutia arrived? ‘There’s nothing we can do. It’s…’
…Too late.
Gwyn’s breathing was too rough. He was too tense. Flayed apart from the inside.
Aw, Cupcake. I’m not him.
‘No,’ Augus said from nearby. ‘No, Gwyn, don’t- Gwyn-’
But Gwyn had to, because his light was tearing him apart, and if he didn’t leave, he’d take them all down with him.
He teleported away.
*
The Caves of Argoth, which were less caves and more a series of unstructured caverns that frequently opened to unforgiving, razor-sharp stone structures. The place where he’d dumped Efnisien’s body, knowing so few could go there to see the evidence for themselves. Above, plumes of unbreathable air for anyone that depended on oxygen to survive. The smells of sulphur and other gases sharp and rich and scraping at Gwyn’s nose the way Albion’s salt water had.
The breath he drew was strangled for more than one reason.
The light he released was so powerful that he felt a part of him collapse beneath it. Felt it pushing up out through his ribs and out of his belly, flooding down through his legs, turning his arms into cinder. He’d not felt this bad in so long. He was a six year old child again, outraged and venting upon the An Fnwy estate, not realising that his power was going to eat him alive if he’d let it.
Because he could feel how it wanted to.
But he didn’t call it back, even as stone crumbled around him.
Didn’t call it back until he thought it really would eat him alive. Screaming through clenched teeth, exerting a willpower over himself that made him feel like he was somehow betraying himself, he pulled his light back into his body and then shoved it down towards his feet, where it leapt and fought back against him – a wild, unbridled thing that wasn’t yet done.
He wheezed as he kept it down, going down to his hands and knees, as though the physical posture would help the mental struggle.
Aw, Cupcake.
‘No,’ Gwyn said, pressing his own forehead into stone, his hands clasping at his hair.
It took a long time to get himself under control. He felt as though he was seconds away from trying to destroy the entire Seelie palace. From demanding to see Albion only to put a bolt of light through his chest. Going to the ‘new’ An Fnwy estate and razing it. All his light wanted to do was explode out of him and destroy everything it could.
His light had burnt out his capacity to cry, to feel anything but outrage and vengeance and betrayal.
Just…promise you won’t be mad, Cupcake.
His lips brushed against rock as he keened.
Gwyn knew he had to go back. Knew he had to return. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but it was enough to know that he couldn’t leave them alone. That it wasn’t good for his reputation to run away and not return.
He pushed himself up and absently wiped at eyes that were dry.
The explosion of light had burnt the insides of him to wreckage. Or at least, that was how it felt in the emptiness of his mind.
He looked down at the cracks and crevices in the skin of his arms and hands and swallowed saliva that tasted like acid.
It was harder to keep his light under control when he called it forward for teleportation, but he managed it, returning to the White Stag’s forest with a heavy, hollow heart. |
It was a calm autumn day and the house was quiet. Yuisu was sitting at the kitchen table going over finances for the month, while Haru and Tsuen were at their jobs at the butcher and gym respectively. Mara was gaming in her room and since the sun was still up, Chione was fast asleep in bed. Judging by the quiet murmurs escaping Mimi's room, she was on the phone with her boyfriend Hajime, like always. Lastly, Quess and Iormu were up in the cabin. Those two had become inseparable, spending nearly every waking moment together.
With all the homestays living there, it meant Yuisu had a lot of receipts to organize and submit to Agent Will for reimbursement. Yuisu rubbed her weary eyes, then copied another receipt onto the expense form, thinking, Another 3,000 yen for flowers… though with summer over, the flower shop is going to close soon. At least Quess has her other source of food.
As she was wrapping up the last couple receipts, Yuisu heard the back door slide open and then click closed. She looked up to see Quess sliding into the kitchen. Speak of the devil, Yuisu thought, then she said, "Hi, Quess. How's it going?"
Quess looked side to side, checking if anyone else was around. Her pink surface, normally glistening and bright, was dim and dull, and she looked absolutely exhausted. "I've got something urgent to talk to you about." After a second, she added, "Uh, and Agent Will too, actually."
Yuisu stood up quickly, concerned. "Alright. I can drive you over to his office right now, if you want," Yuisu offered as her mind wandered, guessing at what the problem could be.
Quess shook her head slowly. "Uh, actually, Iormu should be there too." She stared down at the floor and slumped a little.
"Oh, alright. I'll call Agent Will right now. As soon as he can get here, we'll come find you. Okay?"
Quess nodded and slid back out of the room, looking only a little less tense.
Yuisu ran over to the phone, thinking, Did something go wrong between Quess and Iormu? As Yuisu dialed Agent Will's number, she recalled when Iormu broke up with Antonio, and shuddered. If that made her destroy a boulder in the hot spring, what could happen this time?
"Ahh!" Tsuen screamed. "Get it off!" Her shrill voice carried from the bathing room, through the laundry room, and out into the hallways.
A few seconds later, Mara threw open the bathing room door and leapt inside. She landed with her spider legs firmly planted and her arms raised in a shoddy kung-fu stance. "Tsuen, are you okay?! What's going on?"
Tsuen was already wiped out from a long and busy day at work, helping guests, answering questions from other trainers, and leading workouts. She didn't have the energy left to deal with this uncomfortable situation, so she just pointed at the top of her head and whined, "Get it off, please."
At first, Mara had no idea what she was looking at. Tsuen was just cowering on the floor, naked and in the middle of rinsing off before taking a bath. Then Mara saw it. There's some sort of purple goo stuck in Tsuen's hair for some reason? After a second, the goo started to move, forming into a round blob that was still tangled in Tsuen's pink mane.
"A slime? Did it come back with you from town?" Mara muttered, but thanks to years of experience with games and puzzles, she was already formulating a plan.
First, she grabbed two plastic basins from the wall and dunked one in the bath to fill it. Next, Mara handed the empty one to Tsuen. "Hold this out a bit, so it won't get any water in it."
Before Tsuen could ask why, Mara was pouring the other basin on Tsuen's back and steadily moving towards her head. Just before the water hit Tsuen's hair, the purple slime leapt away from the water and landed in the other basin.
Mara dumped out the last of her water and flipped the plastic tub over, then clamped it on top of the one that held the slime. "Gotcha!" She held the two tubs together with both hands and started toward the door.
Mara turned back and she could see how exhausted Tsuen was, so in a soothing voice, she said, "You go ahead finish your bath, Tsuen. I'll bring this slime to Yuisu. Maybe she will know what to do with it."
Yuisu watched the featureless violet-colored blob jiggling contentedly in the white plastic tub for a bit, then shook her head. "I have no idea what to do with it. I've never even heard of a purple slime. I would call Agent Will, but I already know he's not there. His voicemail said he gets back into town tomorrow morning."
Mara scratched her chin in thought, then said, "Maybe Quess will know something, since she's a slime and all."
"Great idea, Mara," Yuisu praised, making Mara smile. "You keep an eye on the slime and I'll go get Quess."
She checked Quess's bedroom first but unsurprisingly, Quess wasn't there. She'd basically moved in with Iormu, after all. Then Yuisu went out the back door and jogged up the wooden path to the cabin. The weather was crisp and cool, as if the mountain had grown tired of the heat of summer and wanted to welcome winter as soon as possible. The handful of deciduous trees were starting to turn orange, standing out amongst the evergreens.
Appreciating nature would have to wait, however. As soon as Yuisu reached the cabin, she knocked on the door. "Quess? We need your help in the house," she called out.
A loud bang and the sound of smaller objects crashing to the floor was the only reply. Oh god, are they fighting? This is worse than I thought! Yuisu tried the door and found it unlocked, so she opened it and ran inside.
Rather than being engaged in a lover's spat as expected, Quess and Iormu were on opposite sides of the building, frantically rummaging around in the kitchenette and bedroom. Quess lifted a pot from the cabinet, then tossed it aside with a clang. "Not here either!" she yelled out.
Iormu's voice came from the bedroom. "Nothing in the bedroom at all."
"Where could she be?!" Quess cried out, sounding worried and frazzled.
In Yuisu's head, the puzzle pieces started to come together. Quess wants to talk to me and Agent Will about something, a mysterious slime appears in the house, and then Quess is turning the cabin upside down looking for something. She must already have known about this slime…
"Quess… Iormu… what's going on?"
Quess and Iormu froze, noticing Yuisu for the first time. They both turned and looked at her like little kids caught misbehaving. Iormu looked about as frazzled as Quess, with dark circles under her eyes and tangles in her long purple hair.
Yuisu asked, "Is something wrong?"
"Whatever do you mean, Yuisu?" Quess said, trying to act calm and collected, but failing miserably. Her whole gelatinous body was quivering with nervous energy.
"I think you know what I mean, Quess. I think what you're looking for is back in the house… and trying to grope Tsuen…"
"Thank Odin!" Iormu suddenly rushed forward, all forty feet of her tail pushing off against the floor. She swatted Yuisu out of the way to get through the door, shouting, "Hold on, princess! Mommy's coming!"
As Yuisu was sent flying by Iormu's monstrous strength, the final piece of the puzzle slammed into place and she thought, The purple slime is Quess and Iormu's baby?! Thankfully, Quess caught the flying host with her squishy body before Yuisu could impact the kitchen cabinet.
Yuisu, Quess and Iormu sat around the kitchen table in an awkward silence, except for the occasional squelch or squeak coming from the infant-sized purple slime cradled in Iormu's arms.
Yuisu broke the silence. "I don't even care about the 'why' or the 'how' right now. I just need to know the 'what': What the hell happened?" Yuisu looked back and forth between Quess and Iormu, waiting for an answer.
"Well, uh," Iormu started, then she shook her head. "I think Quess should be the one to answer." Once the attention was off her, Iormu smiled down at the royal purple blob in her arms and tickled it with a finger. It jiggled in a cute sort of way, despite not having eyes or any other features.
Quess cast a glare at Iormu, then took a deep breath. She let it out slowly, then said, "First, I want to make it clear that I didn't mean to divide, to reproduce…"
Yuisu raised an eyebrow and said, "A while back, you mentioned that a slime could breed with any species. Is that true? Is that what happened?"
Quess glanced around the room, as if something might be able to magically free her from this conversation. Finally, she answered, "Yeah, that was true. But, normally it's a totally conscious decision for a slime to reproduce. The slime takes some DNA from someone, sections off a bunch of stored energy, and splits in two." Quess shrugged and smiled awkwardly. "But I guess I had too much extra energy, so my body split on its own."
"Too much energy?" Yuisu wondered aloud. "You were eating a normal amount of flowers, and I assume you were getting a little energy from the romance in the house…" Yuisu eyed Quess and Iormu suspiciously and said, "Wait a minute. When you two were spending all your time together in the cabin, what were you up to?"
"Reading," Quess answered immediately.
"And sex," Iormu whispered. She blushed a vivid red and added, "Actually, pretty much just sex."
"All day, everyday," Quess admitted, wearing a smug, awkward smile.
Yuisu's eyes went wide. "So that's why you haven't been in your little form lately…" she mumbled.
"Yeahhhh," Quess sighed. "I had so much energy that I'm not sure I could have condensed down that small if I wanted to. Of course, I probably can now, since little Pwess split off from me."
"Pwess…" Yuisu repeated. "So just 'Quess' with a 'P', for 'purple'?"
"Nope." Iormu shook her head, still beaming at the baby slime wiggling around in her arms. "If Quess is a queen, then Pwess is our princess."
Perhaps recognizing her name, Pwess stretched a bit of her body up toward Iormu's face, elongating it into a solitary tendril like Quess's.
Iormu smiled wider and cooed at Pwess, "You love your mommies, don't you, Pwess?" She rocked gently side to side, wiggling her wide hips, and continued to play with Pwess's tendril.
Mommies, huh? Yuisu thought as she looked between Iormu and Quess. Iormu had taken to being a mother like a champ, especially considering she hadn't been the one to give birth. Quess, on the other hand, looked nervous, lost, and even a little bit terrified. Yuisu thought, Now that I think about it, I'm feeling a little lost and terrified by all this too…
Apparently, queen slimes grow up very fast, at least in their infancy. By evening, Pwess was peering out at the world with adorable round magenta eyes. By the next morning, she'd learned to control her shape, and she even had a favored form: Iormu's. Shaped like a tiny Jormungand, Pwess had a purple tail that was only about eight inches long, about the same size as her pink upper body. A little tendril topped her head, sticking out of short purple slime-'hair'.
Since Pwess kept getting caught in Iormu's hair, Iormu had it pulled back into a large bun on the back of her head, which made her look even more motherly. The translucent pink and purple slime had free reign to slither up and down Iormu's arms and across her bountiful bosom. She played and roamed over Iormu as she sat at the kitchen table.
"Ahem," Agent Will cleared his throat in an attempt get everyone's attention back from the slime infant. Yuisu, Quess, and Iormu turned and gave him most of their focus, but Pwess was too adorable and distracting for that to stay true for long.
"Children resulting from extraspecies homestays are not totally unheard of, though they usually aren't so sudden. There's normally a gestation period involved…" He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Also, they normally involve a human mating with a liminal, meaning a lot more paperwork and a lot of nasty lawyer stuff, so, uh, thanks for both being liminals."
Iormu and Quess both giggled at that and Quess said, "You're welcome."
Agent Will pushed his sunglasses back into place and continued, "In any case, there is still a fair amount of paperwork to fill out. Due to a lack of government foresight of this particular situation, the forms were written with expectation of one mother and one father. I assume neither of you want to be called a father, so I'll be correcting and initialing every mention of the word. Let me know if you see one I missed."
Agent Will scanned each page, corrected things as needed, and then passed them off to Iormu and Quess to fill out. After several minutes of that, Iormu suddenly shoved a page back at Agent Will.
"What the hell is that?!" she yelled, startling little Pwess, who cowered against Iormu's shoulder.
He glanced down at the page, then said, in a very calm, level voice, "That is a form to put the baby up for adoption, only if that is what you two want to do. Most homestays are simply not capable of properly caring for a liminal child during their homestay period."
A sad, resigned look appeared in Quess's eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself and started to cry. "Maybe we should, Iormu. I can't be a parent. I have no idea how to be a mother…"
"No," Iormu said with surprising force. "Pwess is my daughter, and I will be there for her." She turned and made eye contact with Quess, then smiled warmly. "We both will. We can do this together, Quess. We can be the moms she needs."
"Moms," a voice called out from somewhere. Everyone looked around, trying to see where it had come from. Yuisu had made sure to tell the other girls that the kitchen was off limits during this meeting.
"Moms!" the voice came again, echoey and hard to place. Iormu looked down to find Pwess nestled in between Iormu's breasts and staring up at her. "Moms," the tiny slime said with a tiny smile.
Quess's worries and her heart both melted immediately. In awe, she mumbled, "Her first word… it was 'moms'…" Quess turned to Agent Will and proclaimed, "Take those forms back, because Pwess isn't going anywhere," then she rushed forward to cuddle with Iormu and Pwess, wrapping them in a slimy embrace.
Agent Will let out a relieved breath and grinned. "Well, that's a little less paperwork, but now we've got a different type to fill out." He grabbed some more papers from his briefcase and passed them to Yuisu. "You know the drill, Yuisu. Time to welcome your newest homestay, Pwess." |
The neurologist didn’t think there was anything organically wrong with John’s brain. That was good. She took him through some techniques that might help him recover all or some of his memories. But it essentially came down to time. John had to give it time. With time most people improved.
He didn’t get back to his room until quite late in the afternoon. John was tired and hungry and his bladder was full. He felt cranky. John didn’t want to take it out on Sherlock or anyone else, but the thought of seeing people right now was exhausting.
John’s lunch had been delivered while he was out. It was cold. Excellent! There was a nurse in his room – a different one from last night and this morning.
“Can you help me get to the loo?” He asked her. “I can probably make it by myself, but if I can’t...”
“OK.” She said. She sounded a little put out which didn’t help John’s mood at all.
“I just need a spotter.” He said more sharply than he intended. “Sorry. I’m more tired than I realized, I guess.”
The nurse helped him stand up and let him keep his hand on her shoulder as he walked across the room. She rolled his IV stand with him, making sure it didn’t come loose. He left the door ajar, but closed it enough for privacy. He struggled with the pajamas. He felt grubby. He wanted a proper wash, but he wasn’t going to get it until his incisions healed a bit more. He wet a flannel and rubbed it over his face. He was all stubbly.
“Nurse, would you be able to look in that duffel over there and see if there’s a dopp kit or even a toothbrush? Thanks.”
She knelt by the bag and rummaged through it. “Your laptop is in here.” She called. “Yes,” she said standing. “Sherlock packed your dopp kit.” She handed it to him.
“God bless, Sherlock.” John said absently, taking it into the bathroom. He spent the better part of fifteen minutes cleaning himself up. When he emerged, the nurse was still there. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to wait.” He needed to lean on her more heavily on the way back to the bed. She was pretty, blonde with intelligent eyes, about his age. “Thank you so much.” He said as she helped him swing his legs onto the bed and lie back. She pulled the blanket over him.
“You should take a little morphine for the pain.” She said.
“I’m fine for now.”
“You’re not. John, you’re white as a sheet. And you’re clenching your jaw that way you do...” She trailed off. John was staring at her hard.
“Jesus.” He said. “You’re not a nurse, are you? Have we met? Are you someone I should know?”
She looked sad and kind of pissed off all at once. “Yes, John. We’ve met.” She said tartly.
“I’m so sorry – I don’t remember.”
Sherlock burst through the door carrying a little girl in his arms. She was shrieking with delight as he swooped across the room. “We’ve been visiting the morgue. How many corpses were there, Jane?” Sherlock asked.
“five.” Jane said uncertainly.
“Yes! Five corpses. Look – Daddy’s back.” Sherlock told her swooping her towards the bed.
“More!” The child demanded. “Ock, more!”
“No. Time to visit daddy.” Sherlock pointed to John and the child reached out.
“Daddy!” She cried.
“And look, mummy’s here too.”
“Oh bloody fucking christ.” John said under his breath. He took his eyes off the girl to look sheepishly at the woman. “I’m sorry.” He said again.
“It’s all right, John.” She said in a tone that didn’t quite convince him that it was, in fact, all right. “Come here, big girl.” She said, taking the child from Sherlock. She sat next to the bed and balanced the girl on her knee. “Daddy doesn’t feel good, so we have to be careful.”
The girl leaned towards John and he reached out and took her hand. It was so small. She tightened her fist around two of his fingers. “Daddy.” She said. He almost cried.
“Here, can I hold her?” He indicated his good side and the girl’s mother picked her up and positioned her on the bed next to John, his arm around her. She wiggled around to face John, propping herself up on his shoulder. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was small but hardy with blue eyes and short ginger hair – she’d got that from him. “Jane?” He asked.
“Yes.” Sherlock said. He was slouching by the windows. “And Mary.”
“Yeah, I, erm, worked that out. Eventually.”
“Don’t feel bad., Mary” Sherlock said. “He threw ME out. I slept on a chair in the hall.”
“And I’m going to do it again if you don’t shut up.” John grumbled.
“Well, some things don’t change.” Mary said and Sherlock laughed.
John ignored them. Jane was touching his cheek, running her hand over his freshly-shaved skin. He leaned in and kissed her head. “I HAVE to remember you.” He whispered to her. His breath tickled her and she laughed and threw an arm up over her ear. The sudden movement jostled him and he must have winced.
“I’ll take her.” Mary said immediately.
“No, she’s fine.” John said. “Let me hold her a bit longer.”
“I will. If you take some of the morphine.”
Sherlock sat up. “Are you in pain, John?” He asked.
“Or I’ll just tell Sherlock.” Mary said.
“One more word and I’m throwing everyone out.” John said. He watched as Sherlock and Mary shared a look. “Bloody christ.” He said. “I’m not a child.” Just then Jane leaned across his torso and the pain was blinding. “Oh!”
“Here we go.” Mary said, scooping up Jane. “Daddy hurt his chest, so we can’t touch him there, honey.” She told Jane.
“I’m fine... I’m fine...” John said, but Sherlock was already fiddling with the IV stand, looking at the morphine controls. “Sherlock.” He said. “I’ll do it myself.”
“John, you haven’t...”
“I’ll do it myself!” John shouted. He took a breath and continued more calmly. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I need you all to back off.” Sherlock stood back and John painfully took hold of the IV stand and moved it to where he could see it. He pressed the button that would dispense morphine into his veins. He saw Sherlock wanted him to dispense more, but he ignored it.
“Well, we have to get going.” Mary said. “Say goodbye to daddy and Uncle Sherlock, Jane.”
John sighed and held out his hand to her. Mary brought the child back over to him. “How old is she?” He asked.
“20 months next week.” Mary said.
“She’s beautiful.”
Mary smiled at him sincerely and John saw how lovely she was. “She is. Goodbye, daddy.”
“Goodbye, Daddy.” Jane said. Mary leaned down and kissed John on the lips, surprising him. He watched them leave.
Then he caught sight of Sherlock’s face, twisted with jealousy. The emotion quickly smoothed away as if it had never been there.
John sighed. ”Come here.” He said to Sherlock. “Sit with me. Please.” Sherlock sat in the chair Mary had just vacated. “I thought she was a nurse.” John said.
“You thought I was a chaplain.”
John laughed. “I knew you weren’t a chaplain. I just couldn’t figure out what you were. I’m still not sure.” John reclined the bed. “The morphine is going to put me to sleep. Will you... will you stay with me until it does? I’m... “ John sighed. “I’m frightened, Sherlock. I don’t like that my friends are strangers. That I don’t even know my own daughter. I just want to REMEMBER.” Sherlock had scooted his chair closer and reclined it a bit so he leaned back next to John. John took his hand, watching Sherlock’s long fingers fold around his own. “I imagine you want that too.”
“More than anything.” Sherlock said.
“Mmmm.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand and let go. John was starting to feel the morphine. He closed his eyes. “Wake me for dinner, will you? I’m starving.” John said. “And maybe go get us some takeaway. This hospital food isn’t so good.” John was drifting, he wasn’t sure if he’d said that last part or not.
–––
John had slept for hours. That was good, he needed it. Sherlock had sat next to the bed reading quietly until John started moaning. He thrashed abortively. Nightmare, Sherlock realized.
At home he would hold John and pet his hair, whispering reassuring words until he calmed down. But now?
John flung his good arm, almost twisting the IV lines.
Fuck it, Sherlock decided. He might throw me out again, but I can help him. He leaned in close, took hold of John’s good hand and ran his other hand over John’s hair. He made his voice soothing. “You’re ok, John. I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you. You’re ok...” After a minute, John quieted. Sherlock laid his head on the pillow next to John and closed his eyes. It felt so familiar, so good.
He thought back to the first time they’d slept together – Sherlock had been so worried that he would disturb John, do something wrong, that he had stayed awake and watched John sleep.
They had been on a case –a good case, a nine maybe even a ten. It had not only made Sherlock work hard, they had had to travel across London to unfamiliar neighborhoods, infiltrate a warehouse abandoned for the night and pass themselves off as arson investigators. It culminated in a blocks-long sprint away from the chasing killer. Finally, a knackered John had pulled Sherlock into a pub and coached him on blending in. It had worked and, out of danger, they got a cab home.
They giggled in the cab about Sherlock’s ineptitude at ‘blending in.’ It had been like that for a while – weeks, maybe months – John relaxed, laughing with Sherlock again. Teasing him. It was almost like it was before Sherlock went away (Sherlock just thought of it as ‘before.’). But now there was Jane and John’s new job – both of which gave John so much joy.
Sherlock had unlocked the door to 221 Baker St. and they tumbled in, still laughing (arson investigators!). John had started up the stairs but turned back to say something... Sherlock had been right on his heels and suddenly they were face-to-face, chest-to-chest, John on a higher stair bringing their eyes level. Sherlock could feel John’s breath and without thinking he reached up and straightened the hair at John’s temple, his fingers trailing down John’s cheek.
Then John just leaned in another inch and brushed his lips against Sherlock’s. John looked at him, a question in his eyes – ‘do you want this?’ And, oh, Sherlock did. He wanted the kiss and everything that went with it. He pulled John against him and they kissed. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, it was hard and demanding and John shoved Sherlock against the wall and pinned him there, his hands exploring under Sherlock’s coat, his groin grinding against Sherlock’s.
Sherlock had been hard with another person once before, but that was so many years ago he couldn’t remember the details. He hadn’t been able to climax, Sherlock remembered that. The encounter had left him confused and a little bit frightened of the passion his partner had seemed to feel.
This was so completely different. John’s touch electrified him, transformed him into another creature entirely – one that looked like Sherlock but was made of pure desire. He couldn’t get enough of John’s mouth and tongue and neck and hands and the grinding contact of their torsos – his entire body felt ready to explode.
And then he DID explode. Bucking and shuddering, Sherlock had come in the stairwell, in his trousers, in John’s arms.
John had laughed – not AT him, not unkindly. He hadn’t made Sherlock feel ridiculous for coming in his pants like a teenager. John had giggled sweetly and whispered things in Sherlock’s ear. “You are so beautiful.” He had whispered. “You are gorgeous when you come. Will you let me make you come again?”
“Yes, John.” Sherlock had said and John’s giggles were infectious. John took him by the hand and led him the rest of the way upstairs.
It could have been awkward, Sherlock had very little idea what to do. But John had the knack for doing and saying the right things. He didn’t seem to care about Sherlock’s inexperience, he didn’t make any demands. He snogged him out of his coat and jacket in the front room, shedding his own somewhere along the way. “Is this uncomfortable?” He’d asked, his hand pressed against the wet spot on the front of Sherlock’s trousers. “Do you want to take them off?” They both felt Sherlock start to get hard again at the suggestion.
They went to Sherlock’s bedroom. “Can I touch your skin?” Sherlock had asked, not sure what John would say, but wanting to have his hands on John’s bare skin so much. John had smiled and unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and the top two buttons then pulled his shirt, jumper and vest off over his head all at once and John was naked to the waist. Sherlock had touched John reverently, tracing the scar on his shoulder, trying to memorize every divot and ginger hair with his fingertips. John had let him and somehow unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt without him noticing and pressed their bare skin together. John explored Sherlock’s skin then too, his hands wandering across Sherlock’s back, pulling him close for kisses...
Sherlock had tentatively taken initiative, tugging at the buttons on John’s jeans. While John took them off, Sherlock divested himself of his own damp trousers and pants. He stood there, nude, waiting for John to extricate himself from his shoes and jeans. John looked up and caught his breath. “You are so beautiful.” John said again. “I don’t deserve you.” Which bewildered Sherlock – John was absolutely perfect.
John’s hand snaked around Sherlock’s cock. “Do you have...” John looked around. “Lie down.” He said. “I’ll be right back.” And John had left the bedroom in only his pants, returning a minute later with something in his hand that he set on the edge of the bed as he climbed on next to Sherlock.
Emboldened by his success thus far, Sherlock had slipped a finger under the waistband of John’s pants with a pointed look, and grinning, John had taken them off. He was hard, of course, his cock as perfect as the rest of him, thick and rosy, the moist head peeping out of its foreskin. Sherlock wanted to taste it, but he didn’t quite dare.
John stretched out next to Sherlock and ran a hand over Sherlock’s hip, down his ivory flank then back around to grip his buttocks. Sherlock brushed his knuckles against John’s cock and John made a small but very pleasing noise. Sherlock took it in his hand and jacked it, taking in its length and girth, evoking even more pleasing noises from John.
John kissed Sherlock, then – to Sherlock’s chagrin – suddenly turned away. He did something Sherlock didn’t quite see, then turned back and stroked lubricant down Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock understood what John had done. John stroked more onto his own erection, then gripping Sherlock’s arse again, rubbed his hard cock against Sherlock’s, it slid up his belly pressing into Sherlock and Sherlock realized the person crying out was him.
They kissed and rubbed and thrust their hips, ground their bodies together. If Sherlock hadn’t already popped off in the stairwell, he wouldn’t have lasted 30 seconds. But he had and it seemed to go on and on and on, like waves on the ocean the incoming tide relentless and glorious. Sometimes Sherlock took John in his hand and experimented, seeing what made John moan more, and more loudly.
John rolled on top of Sherlock, their cocks still together, and thrust into the hot, lubricated crevice between their bodies. It felt amazing to have John’s weight pressing into him, pinning him to the mattress. Sherlock thrust as well, and moaned out loud. It felt SO good this way. They both thrust hard and fast and Sherlock was balanced on the knifepoint of inevitability. His orgasm had surprised him with its suddenness and intensity, his back arching up off the bed, crying out and shooting hot semen between their chests.
John had come a moment later, grunting and juddering and grabbing at Sherlock’s arse and hair.
Sherlock felt a bit lightheaded after that. At some point, John had cleaned them off with a wet flannel then climbed back into the bed and pulled the duvet over them.
“Is it OK if I stay?” John had asked, pressing up close to Sherlock.
“Of course.” Sherlock hadn’t considered any other possibility. “John,” He said. “We do this now. We do this from now on.” After he said it, Sherlock realized it was a question.
“Yes.” John said. “We do this from now on.” Sherlock could feel him smile against his skin.
John stirred again. It woke Sherlock – he had dozed off in hospital with his head on John’s pillow. He pulled himself back onto the chair with a sigh.
“Monsters were chasing me. I fucking hate morphine.” John said, eyes fluttering. “Ugh. Something died in my mouth.” He finally opened his eyes and looked around the dark room. “What time is it?”
Sherlock glanced at his phone. “Half seven.” He said. John looked rumpled and creased.
John focused on Sherlock for a long moment. “Thank you for staying with me. It helps.” He said softly. “But if I’m keeping you from anything, please don’t feel you have to stay.” He pressed the button to make the bed sit up more.
“John,” Sherlock said and scoffed a little. “There’s nothing more important than this.”
“I’m serious, Sherlock....”
“John, whether you remember or not, you are my best friend. I have a duty of care.” He smiled wryly. “If you get sick of me, you can always throw me out again.”
John touched the other man’s hand lightly. “You really hated that.” He said.
“I understood.”
John nodded. “Help me to the loo? I’m desperate for some mouthwash.” Sherlock helped him up. “I can do this, just give me a hand, yeah?” He took hold of Sherlock’s arm. “Is this OK?” John asked.
“Yes.” Sherlock said. It wasn’t ok. Even before they were lovers, John would have put his arm around Sherlock.
Sherlock pushed John’s IV along. When they got to the utilitarian en suite, John went in, holding onto the grab bar, and shut the door behind him. That was normal – John wanted privacy at home too. Sherlock knew what morphine did to the bowels.
His mind drifted back to Mary. She and John weren’t on kissing terms as far as Sherlock knew. So she’d kissed John on purpose. Why?
She hadn’t fought him on the divorce, but it was apparent to Sherlock, if not to John, that she wanted him back, that she thought he WOULD come back. And why not? They had a child together. He had loved her. John couldn’t be angry forever. Sherlock himself thought it was as like as not to happen eventually.
It wasn’t until John had told Mary that he was with Sherlock that she abandoned her hopes. Sherlock remembered how late John got home that night, his face worn and grim. Sherlock had discovered bruises on his body from where she’d hit him. John didn’t talk about it, but it was obvious she had let loose all her grievances and disappointments, burning down bridges as she went.
Oddly, Mary had not been angry with Sherlock. She must have always known how much Sherlock loved John, better than Sherlock knew himself. She had – as Sherlock (mostly) had – believed John when he said he wasn’t interested in men romantically, so she had no reason to be threatened. In taking up with him, John had betrayed her, not Sherlock.
Sherlock heard the shower. John must be feeling better.
There was a knock on the door – it was the delivery man with the takeaway. Sherlock had ordered John’s favorite, thai. He paid the man and started unpacking the bag on the rolling table.
There was a sliding thump from the en suite. Sherlock was at the door immediately, listening. “John? Are you ok?” No answer. He knocked. “John?” Sherlock only heard the shower. He opened the door. “John?”
Finally he heard John. “Call a nurse...” He said. Sherlock looked round the door - John’s legs were sticking out from the shower, splayed across the floor.
“John!” Sherlock surged into the small room and pulled back the shower curtain. John lay where he had fallen, gasping for air, his bandages soaked, pink staining some. Sherlock turned the water off and waded in to help John.
“Get out.” John gasped pushing Sherlock’s hand away ineffectually. “Call the nurse. Please. I need a nurse.”
“Ok!” Sherlock said. He left quickly and poked the call button a few times. He ran into the hall and shouted, “I need a nurse RIGHT NOW!” Then he ran right back into the bathroom. “They’re coming.” He said.
“Cold.” John said.
Sherlock grabbed a towel off the rack and quickly wrapped it around John’s shoulders, kneeling next to him. “Tell me what you need.” He said. The pink bandage was now seeping red. “Can I help you sit up?”
“Probably not...a good idea.” John panted.
Sherlock didn’t like that his breathing was still so rapid. He also didn’t like that John was lying on the broken arm. He hated this, he hated feeling helpless. Where was the nurse!?
Finally she arrived. “In here.” Sherlock shouted. “He’s fallen.”
It was nurse Helen from yesterday. He stood back so she could get to John. She talked to him in a low voice.
“Yeah, I realize ... this was stupid...” John shouted. “Can you help ... me out of... the bloody shower!?”
Sherlock smiled to himself – THAT sounded more like normal.
It took a while, but with Sherlock’s help, Helen got John sitting up and breathing more normally. John realized then that he was completely naked, and turned bright red. Sherlock handed him another towel and he covered himself. Sherlock used the last towel to dry John’s hair and his legs. Then per Helen’s instructions, he crouched down and held John’s good arm over his shoulders and helped him stand. Then they painstakingly maneuvered him back to the bed. He lost his towel along the way and cursed imaginatively under his breath. Finally they got him to the bed. They sat him down and Helen bent down to pick up his legs. Sherlock saw John’s embarrassment – he didn’t like being so exposed but was in too much pain to do anything about it. He pulled the blankets over his lap quickly.
“Sorry about that.” He said to Helen.
She laughed. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” She said. “Other than showering before you’re ready.” John was still blushing. “You also don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” She said and winked.
“Perfect.” John muttered. “Bloody perfect.” Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh.
It took a while to peel off his bandages and assess the wounds underneath. He’d pulled out some stitches and would need more scans to look at his lung and his arm. Helen applied fresh bandages.
“They won’t get to you for a few hours.” She said before she left. “You should try and eat. Looks like your man got you something special.”
John was already floating on the morphine, but Sherlock still saw his grimace when she said ‘your man.’
Sherlock pulled the table over. He wasn’t hungry any longer, but John should eat if he could. This was nightmarish, being here with John who wasn’t HIS John. He was trying, Sherlock could see, and now and again Sherlock could almost lie to himself that John was OK. But he wasn’t. Nothing was OK.
“Is it SO ridiculous to think that I might be ‘your man?’” Sherlock asked the room.
John didn’t open his eyes, but he replied. “Not ridiculous. I just promised myself I’d never do that again.” He was high on the morphine - Helen had given him a bigger dose. John giggled. “You’re ridiculously out of my league, yeah.” John said. “That’s how I know this is all a joke.” He giggled again and then seemed to sleep. |
Mace Tyrell spluttered. “But this is not what Renly and I discussed!”
“My brother made vague promises without understanding the full scope of what an agreement of this sort entails, Mr. Tyrell. Your proposal is almost identical to the arrangement BI made with the Tyrell Corporation a decade ago. Renly was still in high school at the time, but I remember. I remember the plant we had to shut down. I remember the five hundred people we had to let go. I will not allow that to occur again.”
Halfway down the boardroom’s long table, Renly slumped in his chair. Stannis paid him little notice, instead focusing on the opposite end of the room.
Mace wiped his florid face with a handkerchief and muttered to the stately older woman sitting at his side. Olenna Tyrell. Stannis had been looking forward to dealing with her directly. She was one of the few business people in all of Westeros that was close to his equal at the negotiating table. Up to this point, however, she had remained quiet.
“You have already been given the updated contract, and my team has been going over the details with yours all weekend. Don’t pretend that you were unaware.”
Stannis shut his folio, leaned back, and smirked. “We hold all the cards, Mace, and you know it. As it is, you will come out better than you went in with this contract. If you choose not to follow through, Baratheon Industries still gains, but you won’t.”
Mace Tyrell puffed up in his seat. “How dare you! I’ve never attended such an insulting, contradictory meeting in all my life! Why, I-”
Olenna Tyrell spoke up, interrupting her indignant son. “Oh, put a sock in it, Mace. You ought to have listened to me. Stannis is no green boy. I told you he would never agree to those terms. Sign the papers and call it a day. I have a luncheon to attend.”
Once all the papers were signed, photos taken and hands shaken, Stannis departed the boardroom for the quiet of his own office. He let Renly conduct the social pleasantries - Stannis had last minute instructions to write and his limited patience for useless chit chat had been exhausted.
He had barely sat down when a knock at the door heralded the entrance of Olenna Tyrell. She was the real power and brains driving the Tyrell Corporation. This conversation, however rambling it might appear, would be anything but worthless chatter. Stannis remembered his mother’s lessons and stood to welcome her into his office.
“When I saw you enter our boardroom I thought perhaps you had an alternate proposal, yet you remained quiet, Mrs. Tyrell. I had been looking forward to the challenge of facing you across the table.”
Olenna Tyrell graciously sat down in the chair Stannis held for her, and with equal aplomb accepted the small snifter of cognac he offered.
“You’ve changed, Stannis. Normally drinks in the morning are more of your brother’s disposition.”
He shrugged. “Even Robert has his...charms.”
Olenna glanced at the bottle with an expression of pleased surprise. “Rémy Martin! You have done your homework, haven’t you?”
Stannis gave in with a nod. Renly’s prattling on about seemingly useless trivia had its uses.
“To address your previous statement - I had nothing to add to the contract. I was here merely to ensure that my son didn’t do anything stupid.” She took a sip of her cognac. “You’ve certainly validated your reputation. You’re a hard-ass negotiator, but a fair and honest one, I’ll give you that.”
“I work in the best interests of my corporation and employees. We don’t answer to shareholders, nor will we sacrifice our quality and reputation for the sake of an extra penny’s profit.”
Olenna stretched back in her seat. “Yet not only does BI hold zero debt, but it also sits on the Fortune 50 list. Petyr Baelish would do anything to get you to go public, you know. He’s been itching to get BI shares into his hedge fund.”
Baelish? Stannis stood up quickly, unable to contain the surge of anger upon hearing that name. Why would Olenna mention him here and now? Was she fishing for information? Stannis knew that Baelish had travelled to the Reach recently - he made sure to keep tabs on the man’s whereabouts - had Petyr and the Tyrells been in talks?
Stannis paced to the windows, speaking as he stared out over the Financial District to the glistening bay beyond. “Non-existent shares. And that is how it shall remain. A cold day in hell it will be, Olenna, before I allow Petyr Baelish any access to this corporation.”
“Duly noted.” Olenna looked away, out the windows, and sipped her drink. Both were quiet as Stannis stalked back to his desk.
“I never thanked you for saving my granddaughter that night. The Tyrell family is in your personal debt.”
“Hmm?” Stannis froze for a moment, then remembered the brunette with tears running down her face. “Oh yes, Margaery. Sansa’s friend. It was nothing.”
“Well, perhaps to you, but I assure you that to Margaery and our family, it was certainly something. I saw the video, you know.” Stannis snorted softly as Olenna spoke.
Who hadn’t seen it?
“Most impressive, especially for someone of your status.”
Now he was certain she was fishing. But he wouldn’t bite. “I am a Stormlander first, and ours is a martial tradition. Some call us pugnacious. We may have exchanged the battlefield for the boardroom, but occasionally the situation calls for a more physical solution.”
Like wringing that little maggot’s neck.
“Indeed. Clearly you’ve proven yourself in both venues.” She snorted too, most unladylike. “We in the Reach grow things. We grow wheat, we grow grapes, we especially like to grow bank accounts. And yet we’re not always so adept at growing intestinal fortitude.”
Stannis leaned back in his own chair, steepling his fingers. “Yet here
you
are. And the moment Mace pushed back, you shut him down. Why?”
She looked away again, fingers fluttering over her mouth for a moment, to suppress a grin or a sigh, Stannis did not know. But when she met his gaze her eyes twinkled, and a small smile appeared on her lined yet regal face.
“I am rather fond of young Sansa. She and my granddaughter are quite close, and I’ve come to know her well. And so when she warned me that Joffrey was a monster, I listened.”
Stannis straightened up. Why mention Sansa?
Olenna sighed. “Margaery is a sweet girl, but often foolish, and she did not listen. So I sought out information from an acquaintance, information which proved most useful. Joffrey was soon gone from King’s Landing, and the Lannisters dropped a previous agreement my idiot son had signed with them.”
“Joffrey’s parentage.” Stannis barked out a laugh. “I had always suspected the truth, but was never able to prove it. Apparently this acquaintance has channels of information that even I lack.”
“Blackmail has its uses.” Olenna leaned forward, expression now serious and intent. “Another monster lurks, Stannis Baratheon. I tell you this because you saved my granddaughter, and because I would not wish any harm come to Sansa. I suggest you pay attention.”
A low growl filled the room, punctuated with a snarl as Stannis thought of a name. A name he associated with darkness, danger, even desperation. He caught himself before uttering it out loud, instead merely nodding to the older woman seated across from him who maintained her own composure even as he nearly lost his temper.
“I suspected that you were already aware. Good.” Olenna relaxed once more. “So how
did
Sansa manage to attract your notice? And how did you, of all people, capture her heart?”
Stannis stood up, walked to the door, opened it. Some information was not available for public consumption. Their relationship, for all the attention they’d received, was private.
Olenna sighed, took one last drink from her glass, then joined him at the now open doorway. “Not going to answer, are you? Well, it’s good to know that at least some of your prickly persona remains intact. It’s been a pleasure, Stannis.”
He nodded once to her as she passed. “Olenna.”
Not ten minutes later Renly barged through Stannis’ office door, his normally handsome face flushed red, tie askew, collar soaked with sweat.
“Damn you, Stannis, for making me look like a fool!”
Stannis barely looked up from his laptop, then continued typing. “You didn’t need my help. You did that all on your own.” Finished, he closed down the machine, packed it up, and only upon rising did he focus his full attention on his angry younger brother.
“I don’t appreciate the way you spoke to Mace. It was rude and disrespectful.” Renly blocked his path. “Furthermore, I promised him that this was a done deal! It was a win-win for both the Tyrell Corporation and Baratheon Industries. Then you blew it all to hell.”
“I did nothing of the sort. I ensured that this agreement worked in favor of our company and our employees. Something you seemed to have forgotten.”
Stannis pushed his brother aside with a wave, and kept walking into the bustling executive lobby. Several heads swivelled in the brothers’ direction as they cut through the throng.
Stannis stopped suddenly and turned around, wagging his finger right in Renly’s face. “You didn’t have the authority to make those promises, and you’re too blind to see that what Mace offered was a win-lose proposition. A big win for him, a bigger loss for us.”
“Shush! Do you want to offend them?” Renly gestured to the group of Tyrell executives eyeing them curiously.
“Why should that concern me? Truth is truth.” Stannis took two more steps, then paused. “You need to recognize the Tyrells for what they are - schemers. Just because they tell you what you want to hear doesn't mean they won’t screw our company first chance they get. Remember which family you are a member of. Remember where your loyalties lie."
“That’s not fair!” Renly whined. “You just didn’t like the optics of it because Loras is my partner. Because I’m gay.”
Stannis raised his voice, snarling. "Don’t throw that in my face. You know damn well I don’t care that you sleep with a man, Renly. But I do care that the man you sleep with is a Tyrell.”
“Well, at least he is a man. At least I’m not the one fucking a child.”
Fury boiled. Rage consumed him. Roaring rushing sounds pounded in his ears. Everything else faded away - nothing existed except his brother’s smug face, floating in a sea of red before him.
Stannis reacted instantly, backhanding Renly hard across the cheek. His brother stumbled into the receptionist’s desk, scattering papers, pens, and coffee all over the surface. He was on top of Renly in an instant, pinning him face down to the desk. Stannis shoved his arm hard into his brother’s neck and leaned down to growl in his ear.
“Don’t you dare ever speak of Sansa like that again!” He could feel Renly’s heart beating hard and fast, even through multiple layers of clothing. Renly’s eyes grew wide, his breath hitched, and sweat poured down his neck. Stannis could smell the stench of fear.
Good
.
Stannis hauled Renly upright, scoffing at the welt spreading across his brother’s face. The entire incident took less than five seconds, yet Renly was disheveled, sweaty, and pale, save for the red mark.
“Show some respect,
boy
. That’s what you are, Renly, a naive little boy, whining and throwing mud balls, hoping they’ll stick. Grow the fuck up.” Stannis straightened his own suit coat and tie, and took in a deep, calming breath. “As for Sansa, she is a woman grown, and our relationship is not open to discussion.”
Renly backed away silently with his hands raised, mouth half open, breathing heavily.
Maybe he’ll learn to keep his trap shut.
Stannis strode to the open elevator, sneering as the silent crowd parted and made a wide path. It was about time people acknowledged his status.
No one entered the elevator with him. Inside, Stannis took a long look at himself in the mirror. Today he played the powerful business executive - three piece custom suit, briefcase, hard nosed negotiator. Hidden, for now, was the fighting Stormlander. Mostly. Renly had to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. His brother would think twice before speaking of Sansa in such a manner again.
He hadn’t wanted to leave Sansa for this meeting, but Robert had an equally important appointment elsewhere, and besides,
‘Do you want Renly to finalize this instead?’
Robert’s words had been taunting yet the answer was obvious. Renly was little more than a boy - he had no business negotiating anything, especially not when the Tyrells were involved.
Part smirk, part sneer, Stannis’ reflection looked back from the mirror as he considered the Tyrells. He had waited
years
to get back at Mace for what he’d foisted on Baratheon Industries a decade earlier. It felt damn good to be in the driver’s seat today, putting Mace in his place, and winning one of the most important negotiations of his career.
Once at his car Stannis automatically reached into his pocket for his keys - his hand came back laden with both keys and a red tin. He opened the tin without hesitation; it was a habit now.
Just a pinch.
As he drove back to Robert’s estate he mulled over the last conversation he and Davos had held, down near the waterfront several nights ago. He didn’t like the idea of using Spike, yet he couldn’t think of another way to maintain his edge. Getting thumped in his own house had shown Stannis just how reliant upon the substance he had become. What other choice did he have?
At Davos’ behest, and out of respect for Sansa, he had ceased prowling Flea Bottom entirely. He had returned to his normal day schedule - albeit working remotely - and instead went to Fury Road in the evenings to work through his extra pent up energy. He made sure to return by ten each night. Sansa accepted his explanation about going to the gym without question. It wasn’t a lie.
The highway was mostly free of traffic at noontime, and Stannis wanted to get back to Sansa. The Mercedes’ v12 engine responded so smoothly, so quickly, that he was soon coasting along well over ninety miles an hour, smoothly changing lanes without so much as a wobble or a bump. He would never admit it to Robert (or anyone else), but occasionally Stannis loved to really open it up on the highway.
The speedometer read 102 mph when a Stannis spotted a highway patrolman driving in the opposite lane. He didn’t slow down, just smirked as the cop turned his lights on and off again.
He can’t catch me, and we both know it.
He had called ahead to let Sansa know that he would be back soon, but it still caught Stannis off guard to see her waiting for him under the portico. A feeling grew, one as novel as the first time Sansa had touched his hand or kissed his cheek. Warmth welled up from deep inside, knowing that she genuinely cared for -
loved
- him.
Someone to call his own. Someone to come home to.
Sansa skipped over to him, bare feet dancing lightly across the flagstone driveway, white sleeveless dress bouncing across her tanned thighs. Stannis smiled back at Sansa’s beaming face as he caught her lips in a soft kiss. It was good to see her so carefree once again.
“Hi. Are you hungry?”
Hungry? Oh yes, he was hungry. But his idea of hungry was probably very different than what she currently had in mind.
He wrapped his arm around Sansa’s shoulders and guided her back through the front door, escaping the midday heat and humidity. She leaned in closer and reciprocated - her hand warm and inviting against his side.
“Stannis?” A tug on his waist stopped Stannis at the bottom of the stairs. How did they end up there?
“I asked if you ate lunch yet. But you were in some other world. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, girl, fine. I was just a little distracted, I suppose.” He reluctantly turned away from the stairs towards his temporary office. “To answer your question, no, I haven’t eaten, and yes, I am hungry.”
Stannis walked towards the large desk situated in the office, but stopped when Sansa spoke up. “What, exactly, are you hungry for?” She stood near the door, twirling her hair in her fingers, long legs crossed, small smile playing shyly across her face.
Is she flirting with me? Is she ready?
Sansa padded towards him, bare feet making no sound as she glided across the thick woven rug. “You know, when you wear a three piece suit like this, you look like a boss-man.”
“Hmph. The proper title is Chief Operations Officer. I am not a member of the mafia.”
“Still, there’s something about a man in a suit. You fill this out well.”
He grunted, all the while shrugging out of the slightly too snug suit coat. “Too well, perhaps.” Free of the confinement, Stannis swung his arms back and forth to loosen them up. “I’ll have to get it let out. Or drop some weight.”
“I think you look great.” She sashayed up to him in her little white eyelet dress, hips swaying with a mind of their own, and ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest.
Definitely flirting.
Stannis took a deep breath, his nerves all afire, resisting the urge to take her like a caveman. As it was his waistband grew uncomfortably tight, yet he relished that pressure.
“I like it when you throw your weight around.” Sansa leaned up against him and whispered in his ear. "Like a boss."
Fuck.
He pulled her against him so fast she gasped, but her eyes turned dark and her hips moved with his.
“I think you know what I’m hungry for.”
“Tell me.” Part command, part plea, Stannis was more than willing to comply.
“You. I’m hungry for you. I want you, girl, here and now.”
“Here? Now?”
“Here. Now. Nobody will bother us.”
“What if we’re seen?”
Reckless abandon surged. “We won’t be, don’t worry.” He picked her up, kissed her, and carried her to the desk. Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist and ground against his erection, moaning and panting through their kiss.
“Stannis…” She keened, rubbing against him harder. That just made Stannis more eager to have her. His. His alone.
With a sweep of his arm Stannis cleared a section of the desk, sending various books and other items to the floor with a muffled crash. He didn’t care. It had been too long. She wanted him and he wanted her.
Sansa kept her toned legs wrapped tight around his middle, and tugged on his tie as she lay back on the desk, pulling him down with her. She wriggled beneath him, sucked on his ear, licked her lips, nipped his neck. He reciprocated.
With his hands and with his mouth Stannis rubbed and licked and nibbled his way down Sansa’s glorious soft body. She smelled of strawberries and flowers; tasted of honey; sang sweet music in his ears. He couldn’t get enough of her. And when he reached a barrier in the form of her panties, he levered himself up long enough to pull them off her hips and toss them aside. They were in the way.
Soon Sansa bucked up against him, with her legs wrapped up around his neck and calling out “Now, Stannis, please!” Her frenzied cries, musky scent and taste acted like another drug that short circuited his brain.
He responded to her plea in the only way possible. Stannis unzipped and plunged himself into her all the way, relishing the last throes of her orgasm that continued to squeeze and pulse around him.
“Fuck, Sansa, you are hot, woman.” Moving, thrusting, rubbing, kissing, Stannis was dimly aware that the desk moved with each successive thrust. Sansa arched her back so that her her hair flowed behind her to the desk, and her slender neck was fully exposed, surrendering herself to him.
Mine
. Stannis lost it then, coming with one final deep thrust and a garbled shout.
They lay there for a moment, him draped across her body, her halfway across the desk, with her legs shakily clinging to his desk. Sansa was the first to regain her senses.
“Wow. You moved the world.” She still sounded breathless and woozy and full of sleepy pleasure. Then the desk
did
move, making a screeching sound as it scraped across the floor.
Sansa giggled. “Literally.” Then she winced. “Stannis...That was so wow, but the edge of this desk is digging into my back. Help me up?”
He cursed his insensitivity, and quickly helped Sansa to a sitting position. “Sorry. You ok?”
Sansa smiled. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. That was fun.” Then Sansa blushed, adorably so. “Do you think anyone knows?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know, don’t care.” And that was the truth.
They left the office together, Sansa just a little bit wobbly-legged. Stannis might have been a little less than steady on his feet as well. He placed his hand at the small of her back, escorting her up the stairs.
They both were of one accord as dark stormy eyes meet bright blue. “Shower.” In unison. Then she giggled. Giggling girls had always annoyed him before, but Sansa’s giggles echoed like a Siren’s song to him. He would never tire of them.
Just as they reached their suite a bellow echoed up from the front entryway. “Stannis!”
“Damn it,” Stannis muttered. “What does he want now?”
“Stannis!!” Again, Robert.
“You go on in, girl, get your shower. I’d best go see what he wants before his howling brings the roof down around us.”
Robert was in the study, pouring himself a drink. Typical. He didn’t give Stannis a chance to start talking though, instead just launched into his spiel without even looking up.
“Renly said you were acting crazy this morning. Talking down to Mace, bringing up the past. I settled that business a long time ago. There was no reason for you to mention it again.”
Stannis threw his hands in the air. So much for enjoying the afterglow of a midday quickie. “Renly had no business attending that meeting. He’s a green boy, Robert, and you know it. He nearly gave up a sizable percentage of revenue to the Tyrell Corporation, just to get in Mace’s good graces.”
“I’ll give you that, but why did you have to hit him?”
Stannis scoffed. “I put him in his place. Nothing more.”
Robert scrubbed his florid face, and sank down heavily onto the leather sofa. “You just had to do it in front of witnesses. All this public attention is getting to your head. Now I’m going to have to put out a statement of some sort.”
“I do not seek attention. That’s Renly. It just seems to have attached itself to me lately.” Stannis had studiously avoided the limelight. Always.
“Renly.” Robert spat their brother’s name as if it tasted bad. “Renly fucked up, true. But then you hit him in front of witnesses. He still hasn’t decided whether or not to press charges.”
Stannis whirled towards Robert. “If he does then I’ll tell the press exactly what Renly said about Sansa, and I guarantee you don’t want that splashed across the front pages. It was ugly, Robert. I won’t stand for it.”
“Sansa, eh? You know what, I think you’re just cunt-struck. You’re making up for all those years of not getting any, and now it’s too much for you to handle.”
Stannis stomped away from Robert. He couldn’t take hearing Robert mention Sansa and
cunt
in the same conversation. It wasn’t right.
“I am not discussing sex with you. Certainly not where Sansa is concerned.”
Robert frowned, and rose with alacrity uncommon in a man of his size. He stomped from sofa to desk, reached behind it, and came up with a pair of white lace panties in his hand. His eyes grew wide, and neck flushed red.
“Really?” He sniffed the air, and all but growled at Stannis. “You may not want to talk about it, but you sure as hell did it! Don’t even try to deny it.”
Stannis put his hands on his hips and refused to say a word. It wasn’t Robert’s business.
Robert couldn’t let it go. “My goddaughter! In my house! In my office! On my desk?!” He gestured broadly to the mess on the floor.
Stannis rubbed the back of his neck. Why was it so hot in here? “It was a …. Moment.”
“A moment?! It was Sansa! She’s not a moment, she’s Ned’s little girl!!”
“What? It's not like you never fucked a girl in
my
office.” The words were callous, and Stannis regretted them almost at once. They completely belied his feelings towards Sansa.
“But none of them meant anything! None of them was a Stark!” Grief flashed in Robert’s eyes, ever so briefly. But it was there. Robert had truly loved Lyanna, but she was the one that got away, the one who remained pure and wholesome. It was at that moment Stannis realized that Robert never had a sexual relationship with Lyanna.
Something stirred in Stannis’ gut. Something deep, dark, and ugly. He had curbed it all his life, but now he was done with that, done with self-suppression, done with appeasement, done with Robert’s shit.
“That’s right.” Time to twist the knife home, all the way. “None of them ever was a Stark, were they?”
Robert’s face flushed crimson from neck to forehead, and he let out a garbled yell as he swung his meaty fist directly towards Stannis’ head. Stannis anticipated this, and easily dodged away from the openly telegraphed move. Without a target to connect with, Robert’s swing pulled him off balance, and he stumbled past Stannis into the desk.
“Too slow, brother.” Stannis’ feet instinctively danced in a fighter’s pattern, moving him several feet out of harm’s way. His blood hummed, skin crackling with energy. He felt lighter than a feather, stronger than an ox.
“Damn you.” Robert shoved himself upright. “I’ll show you slow!”
With a roar Robert charged head on into Stannis. They tustled and fell to the floor, crushing a coffee table beneath them. Back on their feet. Another charge met head to head. Lamps busted, glass shattered. Yet neither man landed a serious blow to the other.
The brothers squared off next to the overturned couch. Their breaths came labored, echoing like a bellows. The room was in pieces; neither brother was injured.
Robert pointed a finger at Stannis. His sentences came in short barks. “I was supposed to have Lyanna. Become Ned’s brother. He’s a truer brother than you ever were.”
The words stung. For twenty years, he had done everything his brother asked of him, and so much more. The words
hurt
, more than Stannis would ever admit out loud. “So that’s it then? You’re jealous? Of me?”
Robert scoffed. “Ha! Hardly. Who would want to be jealous of the cactus? You weren’t supposed to join the Stark clan. I was.”
Stannis let his arms flop to his sides. He had always suspected it, but Robert had never explicitly stated that he wished Ned were his brother instead. Until today. Stannis blinked his eyes, so much so that he didn’t see the oncoming fist until it was almost too late. This time, Robert knocked Stannis down with a glancing backhand strike.
In the gilded foyer, newly decorated with rich hangings of crimson and gold, Robert backhanded fourteen year old Stannis hard across the face, hard enough to knock the skinny teen to his hands and knees. “Baratheons don’t run away! They stand and fight! What the hell is the matter with you, are you still a little boy? Only little boys run away from school.”
Robert hauled Stannis to his feet by the scruff of his jacket, and dragged him out to the waiting car. Stannis struggled and pounded on his brother’s arms and torso, but to no avail. Robert weighed twice as much as he and then some, and was far stronger still.
“You can’t hurt me, little bro. You’re too small and weak, so quit trying to fight a real man. Now get your scrawny ass in that car. You’re going back to school.” Robert threw Stannis through the open door into the car, and spoke quick instructions to the hired driver. “You’re not wanted here - I don’t have time for wimps or quitters.” He slammed the door shut and walked away. Stannis’ eyes stung, and he scrubbed at them with his sleeve as the car started moving, heading back to the military academy, back to a lonely, stone prison.
“You still can’t beat a real man, can you? You’re as weak as you ever were.” Robert gloated as Stannis stumbled back to his feet. Humiliation warred with rage for primacy. Rage, cold rage, not hot, won out. No longer a young boy, he stood straight and tall before his brother, shaking but certain. He would not walk away. Not this time.
The moment came almost immediately. Robert scoffed at Stannis, then glanced away to survey the mess.
No. You will not dismiss me.
Hands clenched, shoulders tightened. Stannis let go with a mighty punch, fast and straight and true, directly into Robert’s face. His hardened fist, propelled by extraordinary strength and backed by two hundred fifty pounds of body mass, smashed Robert right between the eyes.
Robert fell.
He paced back and forth, energized, blood pumping, body afire. He looked down at his prone brother with a mix of detachment and exhilaration.
I beat him.
On the floor Robert moaned, his eyes fluttered half open and his arms flopped without really accomplishing anything. It took Stannis a moment longer to realize Robert was not fully conscious.
He glanced around quickly, taking stock. A bottle of water stood unopened on a nearby end table.
It works in the movies…
Apparently it worked in real life too. Robert gasped and his eyes flew wide open, breaths coming in sharp, rapid spurts. As soon as his brother’s bright blue eyes met his Stannis could see that Robert was coming to his senses. He dropped a handkerchief on Robert’s chest, and waited for his brother to get himself upright.
“Out! I want you out! Now!” Robert’s voice gurgled through the blood pouring out his nose and mouth. He pointed forcefully towards the door with one hand, while trying to stem the red river flowing from his nose with the other.
Stannis stood his ground - legs spread apart, arms crossed. He stood tall over his prostrate elder brother. “Not without my girl.”
“I didn’t say Sansa. I said you. Out.” Robert gestured once again towards the door. “Sansa should stay here, where it’s safe.” He tried to stand, but wobbled and collapsed back onto his rear end. He looked at Stannis with both exasperation and anger, halfway lifted his arm, then dropped it again with a grunt.
Stannis had been there once or twice himself. And no one had lent him a hand, least of all Robert. He shook his head and stepped away from his rotund brother, who just sat there listlessly on the floor with his paunchy belly overflowing the waistband all around.
You’re weak, Robert. Weak and fat and used up. I’m the stronger one now.
“No. I’m not leaving Sansa’s side. Wherever she is, so go I.”
Make me.
“Figure it out, because I sure as fuck don’t want to see or hear you. Tomorrow morning, you’re out of here.”
Robert clumsily rose to his feet, nose now swollen and dripping with blood and snot. In spite of that, he stood tall, once more looking the part of an imposing CEO. His voice was oddly calm, and definitely cold. “One more thing, Stannis. I had already decided to put you on suspension before this. But now, now you are no longer welcome at the Tower. Your behavior today was reckless and irresponsible. You’re out.”
Stannis jerked back.
I run that damn company! How dare he?
“You can’t fire me. It’s ironclad, in the corporation’s charter.”
“No. But I
can
put you on an indefinite leave of absence. Effective immediately. That
is
in the charter, and Renly will go along with it. A statement will be released tomorrow. Now get out of my sight, and stay gone.”
Stannis’ insides churned. Whatever adrenaline rush he’d surfed had long since faded. Now he just felt exhausted. And ill-used. “Fine. When Renly fucks up and it all goes to hell don’t say it’s my fault.”
Upstairs Stannis paused outside the suite he and Sansa shared. He flexed his hands, in particular the right hand that he used to knock Robert out. His knuckles were reddened and would probably bruise. They were certainly going to be very sore soon. It was a miracle that he hadn’t broken his hand along with Robert’s nose.
I knocked out Robert. He never saw it coming.
Stannis laughed quietly.
Neither did I.
Actions have consequences. But for the moment, he put those aside. Now all his attention could be focused on keeping Sansa safe. Determined once again, he entered their room.
Sansa was not in the shower like he expected, but rather perched on their bed with a big fluffy towel wrapped around her torso. Her dry hair told him that she had yet to bathe. “I wanted to wait for you. I heard some noises though. What was all that commotion downstairs?”
“Robert. We might have had a small altercation.”
“You mean you and he had a fight? Like a real fight?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Brothers shouldn’t fight.”
“In my defense he tried to hit me first.” But even as he spoke the excuse rang hollow in his own ears. He’d unleashed his full strength because he had wanted to, not because he had to. But after all these years, all the slights, mockeries, and dismissals, for all that, it had been worth it.
“Oh no, Stannis! Why?”
“Renly must have gone bitching to him. Apparently I can’t be seen bullying my little brother. He confronted me, and we exchanged...words. It escalated from there.” Some things were best kept between brothers, and Stannis wanted to spare her the unsavory details. Nevermind the fact that Robert knew about their midday escapade in his study. Sansa would be mortified.
“What happened at the Tower?”
“Renly mouthed off in public. I won’t repeat what he said, it’s too ugly. Suffice it to say, my baby brother deserved some schooling.” He shucked off his tie, vest, and suspenders. “A vice it may be, but I have my pride, and I will not tolerate being mocked by my brothers any longer.”
Sansa remained silent for a few moments, and she looked down at her hands, her feet, out the window. She looked lost, lost in a melancholic past, and he wished he could send those feelings away from her. But then she shook her head and looked back to him with a more neutral expression, and he wondered if he had just imagined her sadness.
“Isn’t it going to be a little weird to go to work with them now?”
“Weird would be an understatement.” Stannis snorted to himself. “But it won’t be an issue. Robert suspended me.”
“What?! Can he even do that?”
“I could fight him on it, but only if Renly backed me up, which he won’t.” Stannis sighed. “As of now I am on a leave of absence. At least that’s what the press release will say.”
He tried to remove the cufflinks from his sleeves, but his right hand refused to cooperate. Sansa took over, carefully placing them back in their case on the bureau. Just like that day on the mezzanine, she gently rubbed and massaged his hand, easing the tension and ache that had already settled in. As she worked she spoke softly, eyes never leaving his hand.
“You know, my dad said it was only a matter of time before you and Robert got into it. I don’t blame you. Robert’s been like an uncle to me my whole life, and Renly more like a cute but clueless cousin. I love them both. But I don’t like the way they treat you.” Sansa looked up and gave Stannis a cheeky little grin. “I’m glad you stood up to them. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
Stannis harrumphed, and kissed her. He felt all warm all at once, all over. “It’s worth everything. Thank you.”
“What else aren’t you telling me?” Sansa’s quizzical blue eyes narrowed as she gazed up at him.
She’s more perceptive than most.
Stannis took a deep breath and gave Sansa’s hand another squeeze before he sat down heavily at the edge of the bed. “Along with that Robert has demanded that I quit the premises. But I won’t leave without you by my side. And I will not bring you anywhere that isn’t safe.”
She flopped down next to him. “So now what?”
Bear had told him just last night that the final match had been postponed once again. It might not even be held before the next circuit season commenced in the fall. Stannis didn’t know what that was about, but it would give him some much needed time. Time to end the mess once and for all.
“How about we get out of town, just the two of us? Apparently I have some time on my hands.”
Sansa’s squeal startled him out of his inner musings. “Gods, yes!” She launched herself into his arms, her momentum carrying both of them flat onto the bed. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that! I feel like a prisoner in here. It couldn’t come soon enough.”
In spite of himself, Stannis could not help but smile back. Her presence made everything so much
easier
. “Good. We’ll leave tomorrow. Let me make the arrangements. It’s past time I introduce you to somebody.”
While Sansa took a shower Stannis stepped out onto the balcony to place a phone call. He hesitated for a minute. They hadn’t spoken in so long, would he still be welcome? Putting it off wouldn’t answer that question. He dialed the number. A gruff, familiar voice answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Uncle, it’s Stannis.”
He slumped in relief as he listened to the surprised and happy greeting on the other end of the line.
“Yes. Actually, I would like to come down there for a few days. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
|
At first Hux felt vindicated when he felt the pain through their bond, Kylo was hurting and he damn well deserved it.
It had been almost three week since they returned and they hadn’t spoken since, or it would be more accurate to say that Hux hadn’t returned any of the many messages he received from the knight, or any private attempts to speak. He had read each message though, pleading and sometimes downright begging to speak to him.
Hux knew logically he would have to respond, and even the anger he had wrapped around himself didn’t stop him from still loving Ben. They would just have to figure out how Ben fit into Kylo.
The pain was also draining. Kylo had always been emotional and now Hux could feel it, feel the ache that echoed through his own chest at each slighted message.
That is what finally broke him, made him give into the inevitable. On principle he waited until the end of the cycle. He could try and ignore how tired his mate was as he lay in bed thinking about him, but he could never really block it out. As much as Brendol hated to admit it, it hurt him as well.
He missed his big stupid mate, or at least Ben with that dopy smile he got when Brendol gave into him. Being cut off from Kylo wasn’t hard, but not talking to Ben every night left him with his own dull ache.
It frustrated him that he had fallen so hard so fast, but he was a realist. As much as he hated to admit it his feelings couldn’t be ignored.
He arrived outside of Kylo’s quarters after his shift and didn’t even have to touch the buzzer before the door slide open.
“We need to talk.”
Hux said as he looked at the dark mask. It was jarring to know that that was his Ben.
“Come in.”
The voice was modulated, and he wanted to tear the thing off his head. He resisted the urge.
Brendol followed the figure into the room. He’d never seen Kylo’s quarters before. They were as bare as the house he had, there was a desk and a chair and against one wall there was the bed. It made Brendol curious to know what he kept in his bedroom.
Kylo waved to the one chair and seated himself on the bed.
Brendol ignored it, standing with his arms crossed in front of him. If he stayed standing he would have height on the alpha, it was easier to intimidate that way. It was one of the many tricks he had learned while at the academy.
“Take that thing off.”
Brendol bit the inside of his lip as hope bloomed out from their bond; it was so hard to ignore Kylo’s feelings. Every inch of him wanted to give in and wrap his arms around his mate.
Kylo brought his gloved hands up and he heard the rush of air as it released. It was so strange seeing that it was real, that it really was his Ben under all that. Knowing and seeing were two different things.
“I didn’t trick you,”
Came the petulant reply, it sounded like something Kylo would say but his expression was the one he had looked into so many times before. It was hard to see them as one.
“Yes, you did. You might not have tried to, but you did.”
He hissed, trying to reign in his own anger.
“I thought you knew.”
Brendol looked out the transparisteel behind Kylo’s head and tried to calm down, a ship came into view. They would get nowhere if they went through this again.
“I think we should try again.”
He said, his eyes still fixed on the tie fighter that had launched from the ship for training.
“Yeah?”
Ben was never any good at hiding the expressions on his face, and now was no different. His face lit up, his teeth showing as he smiled.
“I have a list of conditions.”
Brendol uncrossed his arms and held out the pad. It wasn’t much, but it would be a start. It would help him feel like he could trust the person he was now mated to. Kylo was so much a stranger even if he felt like he knew every bit of Ben.
“This is a little bit much don’t you think?”
Kylo’s eyebrows rose as he looked over the list.
“This isn’t a negotiation; these are the conditions that must be met.”
Kylo looked as he was trying to figure out if he was serious or not.
“We’re bonded you can’t just cut me off.”
“Don’t underestimate my ability to cut people out of my life.”
Brendol kept his voice firm, even if he knew that Kylo was right. He loved him enough that he had begged for the bond in the end, no matter how angry he was he would always have to forgive Kylo in the end because he couldn’t stand to be without the other side of him.
Even if Kylo could feel Hux’s emotions, the general had long since learned to control his emotions. He was sure Kylo would feel that calm he had found.
“Alright, no helmet while on board the Finalizer, no hiding anything from you, and no more destruction of any Order property. If it can be helped.”
The agreement made him relax and Brendol could see the smile return to Kylo’s face when he felt the relief.
Brendol crossed the space between them, straddling Kylo’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. His alpha slipped his arms around him in return and Hux knew at this was where he was meant to be.
Since he had stopped the suppressants he could smell his alpha and it was a scent he wanted to roll in.
“I’m sorry.”
Kylo said, in the voice that Hux had fallen so in love with. Even knowing it was the same person, this still felt like his Ben. The one that only he got to see.
"Kylo, I know."
The sound of the name on Brendol's tongue was strange, but he could get used to it.
For the first time since they had returned to the ship he could feel their bond settle between them. It was not a source of stress as they became more in tune.
Kylo turned his head and he felt lips press against his jaw.
He let him kiss a trail to his lips and then he opened his mouth for him. Tongue pressing between Kylo’s lips tentatively.
His body hummed with the feeling of rightness and he relaxed even more into the hold, pressing his body forward until they were tight together.
Brendol could feel the edge of desperation from Kylo, but now that they were so close he could also feel the warmth.
The worry over starting a family with someone he didn’t know slowly melted as he felt his Ben in his arms.
It would be a while before he started to show, so Hux would wait to tell Kylo of their incoming parenthood. That could be a conversation for another time.
Hux didn’t want the trouble between them to shadow the news. When he told Kylo there would be only joy. |
Meta Knight’s lovely, sleek hair was spread across his pillow like blue spider’s silk. The moonlight streaming through the window left delicate highlights on his face, accentuating the high cheekbones and his thick eyelashes. Dark’s bite still marred the skin of Meta Knight’s throat, leaving a blotch of burst blood vessels. Dark knew there were more injuries beneath Meta Knight’s shirt, and yet Meta Knight slept peacefully, his blankets tangled around him and Galaxia’s blade lying against his stomach. Seeing no signs of wakefulness, Dark strode closer and observed his double.
Meta Knight really was a lovely creature; he’d taken more from his mother than Nightmare. Dark thought of striding across the room and going for Meta Knight’s throat, of watching his double snap awake. He thought of those grey eyes opening, of how the confusion and panic would melt away for ferocity and anger. Meta Knight would go for Galaxia, of course, unless Dark was too fast for him. Dark would have to break Meta Knight’s arm. It wouldn’t be hard. Dark could pin him to the bed, use the mattress and bedding to muffle Meta Knight’s screams, and break the bone cleanly. Dark had years of practice in breaking bones.
Dark took a deep breath and bit his lip hard as if paying a penance for having such horrifying thoughts. He hated it when his mind went in such irrational, violent directions. They were pointless, for Dark had no intention of hurting Meta Knight de Brillante Armadura, who slept enthralled in a web of Nightmare’s dream magic.
Dark felt Nightmare’s dark magic seep through the walls, but it had neither waxed nor waned, indicating the wizard was being still. He was likely as lost in his dreams as Meta Knight was. Wasn’t it curious how nice this version of Father seemed? Very curious.
Kirby hadn’t made it sound like Nightmare was a man who ought to be trusted, yet here was Meta Knight, sleeping in his father’s house and bound in his father’s magic. Something was amiss. Whatever it was wasn’t Dark’s problem, but, still, he did sort of owe Meta Knight for his involvement.
And maybe for abducting him. And for letting Dark Mind torture him.
Dark swore softly. Why did he have to develop a conscience now? Well, that question was easily answered; Shadow had been fretting over Meta Knight since he’d left. And maybe Shadow’s worries had spurred Dark’s actions just a little. After all, Dark was going to be a good king, and part of being a good king was repaying debts and showing compassion.
Dark walked around the room. He raised an eyebrow at a framed photo of Meta Knight and Nightmare. Meta Knight looked younger, probably in his late adolescence, and perfectly groomed. His hair was short and blond. Nightmare evidently hadn’t changed much, but then, Dark’s own father hadn’t changed much either. Dark hummed and called his magic to him, changing his shape, so he resembled the wizard. He stumbled over the dark, sleek shoes, off-balance without his usual heeled riding boots.
“Father?”
Dark smirked to himself and spun around. “Hello, pet,” he said.
He waited for Meta Knight to sense his magic and realize that Dark wasn’t his father, but the realization never came.
Meta Knight sat up straight, rolled his shoulders back, his chin high, and his eyes lowered. Dark recognized the mingling of confidence and submissiveness that his own father always demanded. Dark smiled with Nightmare’s teeth and face. Surely, Meta Knight should’ve noticed.
Cautiously, Dark sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed gentle circles over the bruises and welts dotting Meta Knight’s wrist. Dark Mind had never put him in bed to recover like this. If Dark was injured, Shadow or Dedede were his only caretakers, and if Dark took too long to recover, Dark Mind would sometimes swoop in and demand he get up. The severity of the injury didn’t matter. Recovery time was minimal, sometimes nonexistent.
“Just checking on you,” Dark said, managing the voice flawlessly.
Dark fumbled for an affectionate gesture. His father hadn’t been an affectionate man, and Dark doubted Meta Knight would react favorably to having nails digging into his jaw. Perhaps, a hug? Like the rare ones he and Shadow had exchanged? Yes. Nightmare had hugged Meta Knight in the Mirror World.
Dark settled beside Meta Knight and put an arm around his shoulders. Meta Knight’s face brightened. He eagerly pressed against Dark’s side and leaned his head against Dark’s shoulder. Nervous laughter bubbled in Dark’s chest, and he pulled his arm away. His hug wasn’t supposed to go over that well.
“Father, I…” Meta Knight trailed off. “Thank you, Father.”
Oh. Dark clambered from the bed, trying to put distance between them. Meta Knight’s face revealed nothing. Whether he was heartbroken or angry would’ve been impossible to guess, but this didn’t make sense.
Abruptly, Meta Knight grabbed Galaxia and moved into a fighting stance. His bare feet bounced lightly on the mattress.
Dark knew he was caught and let his disguise slip away.
“Took you long enough,” Dark said.
“Why are you here?” Meta Knight asked.
Dark raised his hands placatingly and perched on the corner of Meta Knight’s bed, mere feet away from Galaxia’s steel.
“I wanted to see how you were,” Dark replied. “For Nova’s sake, sit down. I’m not here to fight, and even if I were, you wouldn’t even be a challenge.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“Sure, you are. Is your magic so weak you really couldn’t sense my powers? That’s pathetic.”
“I’m on suppressants. My magic is fine, and Galaxia is still very powerful, I assure you.”
Ah, so Galaxia had caught him.
“Suppressants?” Dark asked. “They make it so you can’t use magic? What are you—some kind of masochist?”
“It’s not what you think. Sometimes, our medicine can have unexpected reactions to magic. Suppressants thwart any unexpected side effects.”
Dark flopped back onto the bed, momentarily startled by the softness of the mattress. He tilted his head and gazed up at Meta Knight, his disheveled hair ruining the fierce knightly look he was clearly going for. “I’m envious of your hair. Father would’ve never let me do something so outlandish with mine,” Dark said.
“That’s because your father is an abhorrent human being.”
“From what I hear, yours isn’t much better.”
“Then, what you hear is wrong,” Meta Knight replied. “He’s better than your father, and—”
“My father used to make me wear a muzzle when I spoke out of turn.”
“That proves my point.”
“He used to make me punish Shadow every morning. Father liked to punish his servants,” Dark said, wincing. “He said it kept them cautious because they never knew when it was coming, and he said it would teach me how to rule responsibly, to make difficult decisions.”
Meta Knight plopped onto the bed beside Dark. After a moment’s hesitation, Meta Knight lay back, mirroring Dark’s position. “I can’t imagine being made to do that to Kirby,” Meta Knight admitted softly. “And Dark Mind checked to make sure Shadow was really hurt, didn’t he? He did that thing where he circles and inspects you.”
“Yes. And of course, there were the whippings, the brandings, losing my eye, beheading my own mother…” Dark trailed off. “But I’m losing my point. It’s no great prize to be better than a man like that. Don’t use my suffering to justify your abuse. It’s an insult to us both.”
“My father isn’t abusive. Maybe he was a little intense when I was younger, but now, he’s trying better. You have no right to judge him.”
“Of course, he’s trying better. You’re giving him what he wants.”
Meta Knight glared.
Dark grinned, unperturbed. “You’re adorable when you’re angry. Perhaps, I ought to consider wearing your face more often, hm?”
“Get out, or I’ll call Father. I’m not supposed to have company this late.”
Dark heaved a longsuffering sigh. Meta Knight’s steel would show itself when it came to his father. “But I don’t want to go, Mety Knighty. Your bed is so delightfully soft. What feathers is it stuffed with?”
Meta Knight grimaced, seemingly in an attempt to keep from smiling. “We don’t stuff our beds with feathers. Sometimes, our pillows. We have stuffing for that. It’s like artificial feathers and snow combined into one.”
Dark wrinkled his nose and tried to puzzle out how that would work.
“If you’re going to stay, you could at least offer to answer some of my questions,” Meta Knight said.
“Oh? I might humor you,” Dark said. “What did you want to know?”
“What was your mother like?” Meta Knight asked. “Cruel, I know, but what else?”
“What was your mother like?” Dark asked.
“I never knew her.”
Dark bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you hoping we have the same mother?”
“It seems logical that we could have. At least, she might’ve been a reflection of my mother,” Meta Knight said. “I assume our parents would be the same, although Dark Mind is hundreds of years older than my father, so maybe not.”
“Did Shadow tell you about Sectonia in our world?”
“Please, tell me I’m not the Queen’s illegitimate son,” Meta Knight said, his eyes wide with alarm.
“No, definitely not,” Dark replied. “Did Shadow tell you about Sectonia?”
“Briefly, yes.”
“After Sectonia launched her rebellion, Mother suggested I use my magic to seduce Sectonia through her mirror. Father was delighted, of course. I did it, and Mother coaxed me through it. She showed me how to pick apart someone’s insecurities, how to change what they saw, and I picked away like Mother had taught me. I made Sectonia so obsessed with her own reflection and her own beauty that when I told her true beauty is control, she believed me. I broke her, Meta Knight, and Mother was so proud. She liked breaking people.”
“What happened to Sectonia?”
“She turned against her own rebellion, afraid they would betray her. Eventually, she was killed, and Dedede’s mother took over. She’d learned from Sectonia’s failure, and she’s still fighting us. Clever creature. She’s become good at avoiding reflective surfaces.”
“Delilah is a good woman. She…takes good care of me.” Meta Knight said it like he’d had some great revelation, but whatever it was, he didn’t seem inclined to share.
“But for all of that, Mother was witty, lively, ambitious, and incredibly intelligent,” Dark said.
“I thought it might be something like that,” Meta Knight said. “Maybe I like the idea of a mother more than I would actually like my mother, but Father won’t tell me much about her.”
“But it’s difficult to tell if he’s trying to protect you or hiding information with some ulterior motive?” Dark asked. “I understand that.”
“You’re surprisingly decent when you aren’t trying to assault me,” Meta Knight said, absentmindedly fingering the bite-mark.
Dark smirked and rolled onto his stomach. “I like marking my conquests.”
Meta Knight grabbed his pillow and smacked Dark in the face with it. “If you ever refer to me as a conquest again, you won’t live long enough to brag about it,” Meta Knight said.
“You are my conquest. I defeated you, and I outrank you.”
“I was injured. It wasn’t a fair fight. And you can’t call me your conquest. That—that implies something else on this side of the mirror.”
Dark hadn’t realized that, but he caught the implications in Meta Knight’s tone. “Implies what?” Dark asked, feigning innocence.
Even the dim light couldn’t hide that alarm and embarrassment painted across Meta Knight’s face. “It implies we might have engaged in certain, adult activities,” Meta Knight replied.
“Such as…?” Dark trailed off in a sing-song voice.
“You know precisely what I mean.”
Dark sighed. “What a charmer. I bet everyone is fighting to tip the velvet with you.”
Meta Knight snorted and put a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. “Tip the velvet? Is that what you call it?”
“That is a perfectly acceptable euphemism. You have no idea how many people it’s worked on. Of course, the shapeshifting helps, too. I can be anyone.” Dark paused and called his magic, teasingly copying Meta Knight’s midnight blue hair. “I can…show you her if you like.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Father can’t know,” Meta Knight said slowly. “He’d be angry if he knew.”
“Because you learned something about your mother?”
Meta Knight paused. “He’s just trying to protect me.”
Sure, he was, and Dark was going to abdicate his hard-won throne and become a hermit. “Do you have a mirror?” Dark asked.
Meta Knight slid off the bed and walked into another room, Dark following. After Meta Knight flipped a switch, light flooded the room. It was a large space, all blue marble. Was it a bathroom? It looked odd, but that explained the large basin set into the floor. Dark had many questions, but he withheld them. Meta Knight’s mirror was nothing impressive—just a piece of glass and a gilded, silver frame. It wasn’t even magical. Still, it would serve its purpose well.
“Give me a moment,” Dark replied.
He started with the clothes: the long, multi-layered skirts, the tight corsets, the sleeves that fell off her shoulders. All in shimmering, gold cloth. She loved jewelry, but Dark wasn’t wearing any. He could transform already existing materials, but he couldn’t create from nothing. He winced at the unfamiliar tightness against his stomach; Mother always tied her corsets very tightly, even though her waist was already tiny. His mother had worn scandalously low necklines. She knew she was beautiful and liked to show it.
Her skin was the same warm brown as his, so that didn’t require changing. Dark peered into the mirror and blinked a couple times, forcing his irises to match the piercing gold hers were. He lengthened his hair into chestnut ringlets that nearly fell to the floor and made his cheekbones less prominent. His cheeks a little fuller, and his nose slightly more upturned. Dark titled his head to the side and placed a hand against his throat. Meta Knight’s reflection showed apprehension.
Dark sighed and frowned at the unfamiliar restriction of his chest. He hadn’t seen Mother properly in so long; Father had burned all her portraits. Dark swallowed and spun around, skirts swirling dramatically around him. He was shorter than Meta Knight, but not by much.
“Wow,” Meta Knight said, awkwardly raising a hand and letting it fall.
Dark arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t feel like I’m actually looking at you,” Meta Knight replied. “I’ve just never…I’ve never seen her.”
“She liked to call me darling,” Dark said, altering his voice so it matched the trilling sweetness of his mother’s. “Darling Meta Knight.”
Meta Knight didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at Dark with something akin to worshipful fascination. Dark put his fingertips lightly against Meta Knight’s chest. “Darling,” Dark purred, capturing his mother’s exaggerated drama.
“Did she love you?” Meta Knight asked, letting his fingers settle on Dark’s.
“Does Nightmare love you?” Dark asked.
“Of course, he does.”
“Do remember what I’ve said. The moment you do something that displeases Nightmare, all his affection fades away.”
“I’ve no reason to displease Father. He’s trying to help me with a difficult transition.”
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten that you turned into a monster with an insatiable lust for the blood of innocents.” Dark patted Meta Knight’s cheek, equally amused and dismayed by the angry scowl. “Do you bite, Mety Knighty? Oh, don’t hurt me.”
“Get out.”
Dark strode away and bowed, shedding his mother’s form as he did. Something flashed fleetingly across Meta Knight’s face—perhaps, regret—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“As you wish, Sir Galacta Knight. You do realize, of course, that I’ve killed more people than you have, don’t you? See; it isn’t that hard to kill someone. It just requires the right mindset. You’re nothing special.”
Before Meta Knight could respond, Dark called his powers and vanished. The world rippled coolly over his skin, and once his feet reached solid ground, he was home.
That wasn’t Dedede. Meta Knight froze and stared blankly at the woman. She was very tall and broad-shouldered, nicely-dressed in a petal-pink pantsuit with a black, silky top beneath her suit jacket. This wasn’t a servant; this was someone clearly important and likely his social superior. Meta Knight bowed. What if she thought he wasn’t supposed to be there and demanded he be thrown out? What if she did something worse?
Okay, this was bad, but salvageable. All he had to do was pretend to be Dedede’s servant. Because the Lord of the Stars would employ someone who looked so pathetic. Right. Just…
Just be reasonably polite. “Um…are you certain you’re in the right apartments?” Meta Knight asked.
That was horrible. Of course, she’d know.
Meta Knight tilted his chin up, trying to copy the effortlessly cold confidence his father was so good at portraying. “My Lord is out,” Meta Knight said. “I fear if you’re seeking an audience, you’ll need to return later, my Lady.”
The woman laughed. “If Dedede is your Lord, I suppose that makes me your Lady, then.”
Oh, no.
Meta Knight moved into a fighting stance and hoped the woman wouldn’t notice. He moved back a bit, putting the counter between them. Display his magic or no?
No, she might read it as a threat, rather than a warning.
“I—I can explain,” Meta Knight said.
She raised a hand and shook her head. “Poor pet, someone has treated you very badly, ain’t they?” she asked. “You ain’t got nothing to fear from me. I won’t hurt you.”
Right. How many times had Meta Knight’s own father said that same thing? And how many of those times had devovlved into fights or full-fledged brawls?
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“That’s fine,” she said. “If someone had treated me so badly, I doubt I’d wanna trust a complete stranger either.”
She was acting compassionately; that was worse.
“I’m Delilah, Duchess of the Stars, and Dedede’s mother,” she said. “I’d wanted to surprise him by coming down early. What’s your name? Is Dedede taking good care of you?”
Lie or no?
“It’s Meta Knight.”
“Meta Knight Nocturne,” she said slowly. “Yes, I know about you.”
Nocturne. She knew his last name. She knew who his father was. Meta Knight was about to be thrown out. Probably unceremoniously and painfully.
“You don’t look like you’ve been eating well,” Delilah said. “Poor thing, when was the last time you ate something?”
“A few days ago,” he replied. “I tried this morning, but I can’t keep anything down, so…”
“So let’s get you back to bed, and I’ll make you some tea,” Delilah said.
Back to bed? Tea?
“You aren’t throwing me out?”
Delilah prepared the tea kettle before Meta Knight’s bewildered stare. “Of course, not! It’s freezing outside! Only some sorta monster would throw someone out in this awful weather! And it being this close to Solstice…no, you’re gonna be our guest! Now, back to bed. C’mon.”
She offered her hand. Meta Knight didn’t take it, but instead, walked past her. She followed him into the room. Hesitantly, Meta Knight climbed into bed. Delilah pulled the blankets up to Meta Knight’s chest and, then, pushed the blankets more tightly around him. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
“Tucking you in,” she said, with a flutter of laughter. “Ain’t anyone ever done that for you?”
No. Father hadn’t had time.
“What? Like I’m four?” Meta Knight froze, mortified. “I…I didn’t…”
“When people are hurt, sometimes, they lash out. It’s okay,” Delilah said. “Just relax, and I’ll bring you something to eat.”
She pulled a soft, fluffy blanket from the nearby wardrobe and added it to Meta Knight’s bed. Then, she left. Meta Knight stared at the door. This felt like a trap, but he didn’t know how. Still, the bed was warm, and the injuries from his fight with Marx hadn't entirely healed yet. Meta Knight's fever had lessened, but the flu was proving difficult to shake off. He grabbed Galaxia off the nightstand and put her under the blankets with him, being careful to hide her. If the duchess saw he had a sword, she might take her like Dedede had.
I don’t think she means you any harm, Galaxia offered.
“I can’t take that risk,” Meta Knight murmured. “I’m not strong enough to fight back if she does mean me harm.”
He pulled the blankets over his shoulders and grasped Galaxia’s hilt tightly. Of course, he wasn’t in the best shape or position to attack anyone, but Galaxia’s warmth and closeness made Meta Knight feel just a little safer.
Delilah returned with a silver tray, upon which sat a teapot, two cups, and a chunk of wheat bread. The duchess carefully set the tray on the nightstand and poured the tea into the cups before Meta Knight’s watchful gaze. The thin, familiar scent of mint wafted through the air. Meta Knight took the cup he was offered and curled his hands around the warm porcelain. Slowly, Delilah sat on the edge of the bed and sipped from her own cup.
“You ain’t gotta eat all the bread,” Delilah said, “But try and drink all the tea. The mint oughta help settle your stomach, and the honey oughta soothe your throat. You sound a little hoarse, pet.”
She’d taken her tea from the same pot, so it should be fine. Unless there was some drug or poison in it that she’d systematically built up resistance to, and—
And that was an absurd, irrational thought brought on by binge-watching too many fantasy movies.
Meta Knight took a careful sip of the tea—sweet and warm—and received a charming smile in return. Delilah stood and patted Meta Knight’s knee through the blankets. “Get some rest, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll getcha better real fast!”
“Thank you,” Meta Knight replied. “You don’t have to do this, and I realize that.”
“I’d have to be some kinda monster not to help you,” Delilah said. “Doncha think you’ve been beaten down enough, Meta Knight? ‘Sides, you saved Dedede, and I love Dedede more than anything in this world. One good turn deserves another.”
“I guess.”
Meta Knight drank a few sips of tea, trying very hard to finish it. Once Delilah left, though, he abandoned the cup in favor of curling beneath the blankets with Galaxia. His eyelids fluttered. He was so tired, and the bed was soft and warm.
“Can you wake up for a minute, pet?”
Meta Knight groaned in protest, even as he opened his eyes. Galaxia rested beside him, her blade shimmering in the gentle swaths of morning light. Meta Knight hadn’t wanted to keep her, but he needed her healing magic and her warmth. Her soft, gentle presence. “Good morning, Father,” Meta Knight said cautiously.
No, it isn’t Dark, Galaxia murmured.
Nightmare brushed Meta Knight’s bangs back from his face before kissing his forehead. The gesture was gentle, but Meta Knight’s heart still quickened with it. Considering what he’d been dreaming, Dark masquerading as his father might be preferable. Father would be upset if he knew Meta Knight had been dreaming of Dedede’s mother. Nova, Meta Knight ought to be upset he’d dreamed about her. He had a father. What right did he have to dream about someone else’s parent?
“Hush, now,” Nightmare said. “I’ll let you go back to sleep. I just wanted to let you know I’m returning to the office today. I’ve told everyone that you’re only allowed one guest at a time, but I don’t expect Dedede to follow the rules.”
Meta Knight rubbed his cheek against his pillow. He shouldn’t smile.
“Fae is already downstairs. She brought work to do while she sits with you, and I imagine Delilah will stop by, too.”
Meta Knight glanced at his father. Did he know?
“Why couldn’t she stay away?” Meta Knight muttered. “I’m keeping her from her work.”
“Her work is the least of her worries at the moment,” Nightmare replied. “For her flaws, she has done—admittedly—a decent job in improving Dreamlandic-Floralian relations. Otherwise, Alera would’ve stripped her of her titles long ago. It’s no secret Delilah and the Queen hate one another.”
“That’s high praise from you.”
“It’s grudgingly given.”
Meta Knight furrowed his brow. “Hate each other, though? I know they dislike one another, but that’s…” Meta Knight trailed off.
“It was before your time,” Nightmare said. “What do you know about King Daedalus?”
Meta Knight hummed. “He…became king of Dreamland through a legal battle, right? Technically, he was a distant descendant of Bikaia’s, but he came from a separate line from Alera. There was a succession crisis, and after he became king, he married the Queen, who was second in the line of succession anyway. It was complicated.”
“Very complicated, yes. However, Alera wasn’t Daedalus’s first choice. No, he was a bit of a romantic and fancied the young duchess of this little, backwater duchy along the Floralian border. Unfortunately, this duchess couldn’t bear the heirs Daedalus needed, and as the future king, it wouldn’t have been very wise to flirt with another potential succession crisis with Dedede.”
“I never knew that.”
Nightmare smiled thinly. “I don’t imagine Alera likes it being brought up. She was the second choice, and she knows it. I think she really loved Daedalus, too. It’s quite tragic, really. She married the man she wanted and watched him long for another woman. Perhaps, that’s why she let him be killed.”
“That’s a conspiracy theory.”
“Is it?”
“A Halcandran man assassinated him,” Meta Knight replied. “It was part of an attempted overthrow. They tried to assassinate many nobles.”
“They did. But isn’t it odd that they managed to assassinate the king? Surely, you of all people know how tight the security in the palace is, especially around the king and queen’s chambers. It seems strange that a man with no ties to the royalty or nobility could so easily gain access to the king and kill him. Don’t you think?”
“But…”
“I don’t mean Alera actively tried to kill the man, but, perhaps, she saw an opportunity to grasp power and took it. And now, she reminds us of the poor king’s death every year, so we remember who to blame. That isn’t the sign of a devoted wife, Meta Knight. That’s the sign of a guilty conscience trying to persuade everyone she’s innocent,” Nightmare said, “And of course, there’s the added bonus of reminding Delilah just who she lost her beloved to.”
“I never knew that,” Meta Knight muttered.
“I imagine there’s much you don’t know about her,” Nightmare said, “But if it’s any consolation, I believe Delilah also wants Taranza’s opinion on a proposal of hers.”
“A proposal?”
“Something about educational reform to promote a cultural and intellectual exchange between her duchy and Floralia,” Nightmare replied. “I’m told that Sectonia is intrigued by this proposal, too, although I’m sure Alera won’t consider any of her input. Our dear princess will likely be on a short leash for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sectonia filed reports with A.M.B.E.R.”
“I don’t…?”
Nightmare stroked Meta Knight’s hair. “She ordered a dozen agents to safeguard a mirror in an antique shop and ordered that mirror moved to the castle vault. When she came to rescue you, she had her body-double with Taranza, and no one would’ve even missed her if Alera hadn’t decided to check in on her. Of course, once she was discovered missing, she had to admit to entering the mirror and facing an evil wizard—a wizard that could only be defeated by Galaxia, a weapon that’s been missing for years.”
Meta Knight stared blankly at his father. “I’m…in trouble?”
Nightmare shook his head. “Not yet. Evidently, Delilah and Sectonia convinced the Queen that it would be horrible PR for them to arrest the chosen wielder of Galaxia. However, Sectonia is being forced to resign. She’ll no longer direct A.M.B.E.R.”
Since its conception, A.M.B.E.R. had always been taken under the direction of the crown prince or princess when he or she turned eighteen. It was a rite of passage, a preliminary test of leadership. To be forced to resign was unthinkable. “This is my fault,” Meta Knight said.
“No. She chose to do a good thing and help rescue you. It’s just that sometimes good deeds are met with misfortune. Especially since...this good fortune of yours comes with a catch."
"A catch?"
"Lord Perry Dee wishes to challenge you to a duel."
"And Waddle Doo is fighting in his stead, isn't he?" Meta Knight asked. "Why? Is it over Bandanna Dee?"
"I suppose that's the official excuse they'll use. You defeated a favorite member of Queen's Guard. Did you think that wouldn't eventually come back to haunt you? She won't arrest you, but humiliate you? That's another matter entirely. I'm certain she expects you to lose, but we'll worry about that when it happens. For now, you need to rest. If you need anything at all, tell Blade."
“Blade?”
“The new parlor maid. She’ll be attending you when I’m unavailable.”
“Thank you, Father,” Meta Knight said.
“Of course, dearest. We’re on the same team, after all.”
The same team?
Nightmare’s dream magic fluttered in the air, trailing behind the wizard as he left. It lulled Meta Knight to the edge of sleep.
The same team. That didn’t sound right, but, then again, Nightmare was the only person left that Meta Knight didn’t present a danger to. Not only was he a danger to everyone, but he’d ruined Sectonia’s reputation. Possibly Delilah’s and Dedede’s, if Alera suspected they’d known about Galaxia all along. Bandanna Dee had died because of him, and no amount of reassurances would change any of it.
On second thought, maybe he and Father were a team. Maybe it was really for the best that they remain that way.
Inside Dreamland University’s library, there was a tiny coffee shop. It was always either empty or packed to the brim with students. Presently, it was quiet. Bandanna Dee sat at the table in the far corner of the room and held onto his phone as if it was his lifeline. His glassblowing class had ended half an hour before; Kirby’s class would’ve ended five minutes before. That meant he’d arrive at the café any minute.
Bandanna Dee kept opening his texts and gazing at them. When he wasn’t looking at his texts, he was looking at his reflection in the phone screen. In an attempt to bolster his confidence, Bandanna Dee had worn his favorite, powder-blue bandanna. It was a move inspired by Meta Knight, who always dressed extra nicely when he was nervous or feeling sad; he swore it helped. Bandanna Dee wasn't sure dressing nicely was enough. Powder-blue was a peaceful color, a hopeful color. A silent wish for Kirby Stellarum, the classmate—his favorite classmate—that he’d only known for two months, to react better than Bandanna Dee’s own family had.
Because Bandanna Dee’s secret was out, and Kirby had already sent that terrible, foreboding text.
Hey dee? Can we meet and talk about something?
Kirby hadn’t needed to say what it was he wanted to talk about. Bandanna Dee had realized what it meant when he returned home, his shirt still unbuttoned and bloodied, but clearly displaying his sports bra to the world. He remembered standing before the bathroom mirror and praying to Nova that Kirby—somehow—wouldn’t have noticed in all the chaos with Dark Mind and the revelations about Meta Knight.
Kirby was the only one who really mattered.
Meta Knight and Dedede had already known Bandanna Dee was a transgender man. Nightmare had probably known or suspected because he was that sort of person. Sectonia might’ve guessed. But Bandanna Dee hadn’t particularly cared what they thought.
But Kirby Stellarum…
Bandanna Dee bit his lip. He’d still neither answered Waddle Doo’s texts nor told his friends about them. He hadn’t told them he was meeting Kirby either. And now, this meeting with Kirby felt like a terrible prequel to some terrible main event.
It wasn’t too late to text Dedede or Meta Knight for back-up. Dedede would come in a heartbeat, even if it meant skipping a couple classes, and despite his reservations, Meta Knight probably would, too. If he was well enough. Although this being Meta Knight, he’d probably come for back-up if he was at death’s door.
Kirby walked past the windows. Bandanna Dee fidgeted with his phone, dropping it on the table. Kirby looked so adorable with his pastel pink hair fluffed by the autumn breeze outside and his oversized pink coat. Too soon, Kirby entered; the light behind him glowed like starlight around his head. He looked so friendly and so cute, and as he approached, Bandanna Dee felt like sinking lower and lower into his chair.
Bandanna Dee pretended not to notice Kirby’s approach. He fixated instead on looking outside at the bright blue sky and the cheerful sun. It was a gorgeous day on which to have his heart broken into a million pieces.
“Um…hey, Bandanna Dee,” Kirby said.
Bandanna Dee forced a smile and looked up. He managed the motion just right, just a small twinkling of oh, I really didn’t see you there. The gesture felt fake. Kirby’s smile looked equally fake.
“Do you want to sit?” Bandanna Dee asked. “Or did you want coffee?”
“Oh! Oh, yeah! Hold on! Uh…do you want anything?”
“No. No, thank you. I already drank my hot chocolate.”
Bandanna Dee watched Kirby closely, as he went to order. The warm lights of the café highlighted Kirby’s thin spattering of freckles, making them look like tiny golden stars. Although Bandanna Dee couldn’t hear Kirby’s exact words, he caught the distinctive chirp of Kirby’s voice. Kirby paid and waited.
It wasn’t too late to flee. Bandanna Dee could be out the door before Kirby could catch him.
Kirby returned with a cup of hot chocolate. He sat across from Bandanna Dee and cupped his hands around it.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Bandanna Dee asked.
As if they both didn’t already know. Still, it was probably best to let Kirby get in the first word. Then, Bandanna Dee would be able to breathe more easily.
“Your…” Kirby trailed off, his eyes darting curiously over Bandanna Dee. “You’re a transgender man. Right?”
“Right.”
Kirby nodded.
Silence.
Bandanna Dee felt like he might actually break his phone in half if he grasped it any tighter.
“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Kirby asked. “I…I assume that’s the real reason your parents…”
“Yes. They didn’t think I was…” Bandanna Dee trailed off. “They didn’t think I was good for their reputation, essentially, and I wouldn’t comply with what they wanted. And I’m not really related to Dedede. He’s just terrible at lying when you put him on the spot.”
“Oh. So, um…Bandanna Dee is your…” Kirby trailed off. “Why did you choose that name?”
“I found it in a name book—sort of. It was spelled d-i, but it meant day. When I lived with my parents, they forbade me to spend time outside because it might tan my skin, and the aristocracy considers pale skin to be a mark of beauty. But when I left, I could do anything! I could go outside all I wanted! So it was celebrating my freedom in a way,” Bandanna Dee said, “And Dedede actually came up with the ‘bandanna’ part. My parents wouldn’t let me wear bandannas, and I discovered I really loved them. Dedede gave me the nickname, and it stuck.”
“Wow. That’s…that’s so poetic,” Kirby said. “I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt, though. To have to leave everyone like that and having to hide for all this time.”
“I wanted to tell you,” Bandanna Dee said quickly. “I just…”
“Have to be careful?” Kirby asked. “Because some people are really cruel?”
“Yes, exactly. And I like you, and I didn’t want to risk you not being my friend.”
“This doesn’t change anything,” Kirby said, his eyes wide and sincere. “I promise. We’re still friends.”
Still friends? Bandanna Dee sighed in relief, as giddy happiness filled him. It felt like a remarkable weight had been lifted. He didn’t have to worry extra about Kirby finding out. He didn’t have to second-guess how he looked in the mirror for Kirby anymore. “Best friends,” Bandanna Dee said.
Kirby’s face lit up. “Forever?” he asked.
Bandanna Dee nodded.
Kirby jumped from his chair and hugged Bandanna Dee around his shoulders. It was an awkward gesture, but heartfelt. Bandanna Dee relaxed easily into it. Maybe he’d been wrong about Waddle Doo. Maybe Kirby’s easy understanding was the prelude of something wonderful, and the cosmic forces had finally aligned and smiled down upon him. Yes, Bandanna Dee would respond to his brother’s texts as soon as he could tell Meta Knight and Dedede about them. With their support and Kirby’s support, surely, everything would be fine.
It was a dream, and Galaxia was there. At the sight of her, Meta Knight’s thoughts came to a crashing halt. Here she was, openly appearing in his dreams for no reason at all.
“You promised I’d be yours forever, and you’d be mine. I branded you as something sacred. You can’t go back on that, beloved,” Galaxia said, doubtlessly sensing his insecurities. “Come. Since your father is away, I think, perhaps, I might be the mistress of your dreams for a little while.”
Galaxia offered her hand. Meta Knight hesitated.
“I won’t hurt you, dearest.”
“I’m…” Meta Knight trailed off.
“Afraid of me? I know, and it’s fine. You’re trying to come to terms with who you are,” Galaxia said.
Meta Knight took her hand and let her link their arms together. “Tell me, dearest,” she said, as they began walking. “What started the Halcandran-Dreamlandic War?”
Meta Knight frowned. “Because…the early Halcandran-Dreamlandic relations were good, but King Sol of Halcandra desired a Dreamlandic queen named Katrice, who was already wed, so Sol abducted Katrice, confident that he could defeat any Dreamlandic forces that might rise against him. That started that war. The Dreamlandic King…King…”
“Adstellam.”
“Yes, he launched a full-scale assault on Halcandra, managing to slay their king. Then, the Dreamlandic forces stormed Sol’s castle, Katrice was dead, having been poisoned. Grief-stricken, King Adstellam refused to back down, and the violence persisted. Desperate to end the violence, Queen Estrella of Halcandra gave into King Adstellam’s demands and agreed to let her children be raised in Dreamland. He slaughtered them all, save one, and reignited the war, which went on for over a hundred years, right?”
Galaxia nodded.
“So King Adstellam summoned his most powerful sorcerers, and they managed to seal away Halcandra. This left many Halcandran people displaced, especially those that lived near the border with Dreamland. And then, Adstellam started his great hunt. Adstellam’s son, Noven, eventually rebelled against his father, but not because he was slaughtering the Halcandran people. It was…” Meta Knight trailed off. “I can’t remember. Something…”
“He was a cruel man in general,” Galaxia said. “And very careless with the money in the royal treasury. He was bankrupting Dreamland, and Noven knew there was a rebellion brewing. He sought to be on the correct side of it.”
“Right,” Meta Knight said slowly, “And in the ensuing rebellion, Sir Galacta Knight of Halcandra—who is a woman?”
“Yes. The title dame hadn’t been invented yet, and Galacta Knight was the first female knight.”
“So they called her Sir, and the historians assumed she was male.”
“I assume so, although I doubt Galacta Knight would've minded. She might've called herself gender-fluid if she'd had the vocabulary to do so. My mistress never really cared for what others said she ought to be doing."
“But Mace Knight was a female knight—and wait. She was knighted two-hundred years after her death,” Meta Knight said. “I see. So Sir Galacta Knight of Halcandra found an opportunity to make the royalty of Dreamland suffer as the Halcandran royalty had; Galacta Knight abducted Prince Bikaia and held him captive for…”
“Bikaia doesn’t remember it that way.”
Meta Knight glanced quizzically at her. “I do not know all of Galacta Knight’s history,” Galaxia said. “Although she was my creator, she never bonded with me. She shared very few of her memories. I still don’t know where she came from, why Nova imprisoned her, or why Galacta Knight decided to slaughter so many people. I do, however, have Bikaia’s memories.”
The bushes rustled, and Bikaia emerged. The face wasn’t quite like the portraits always showed. He looked to be in his late teens with bright, blue eyes and hair that was thin and whispy like cotton candy, whereas his portraits always made him look stern with a sharp jaw and a strong brow. He also couldn’t have been more than five-feet tall. Meta Knight sensed Galaxia looking at him. “Cute kid,” Meta Knight said. “Where’s he going?”
“To find the Knight of the Slaughter.”
“To find her?”
“Yes. Perhaps, we should follow him, dear heart, and see how his little adventure ends.”
|
4.
Prompt: IDW Optimus topping Megatron, fragging him really slowly and thoroughly and Megatron being reeeally into it. I'd enjoy it to be set somewhere where autobot!megs isn't a thing (anymore or yet, you decide :D).
Rating: NC-17
“Megatron?” Optimus raised his head from the neck cables he was nibbling at and stopped his fingers’ movements. “You’re so tense. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
“No, I… I’m fine.” Megatron closed his optics and forced himself to relax. “It’s just… It has been a long time.”
Optimus hummed in understanding and proceeded to lave Megatron’s neck with attention. He knew that trust was a rare and dangerous thing among the Decepticons, especially high-ranking Decepticons. Especially their leader. Optimus had a lot of critique to offer, but this was not the right time. Perhaps a demonstration would be more effective.
He went back to gently rubbing Megatron’s closed interface panel, feeling it grow warmer under his ministrations. When his fingers slipped to tease the sensitive thigh joints, he could feel stray drops of lubricant forming at the seams and the faint trembling of those silvery thighs. Megatron groaned, trying to push into Optimus’s touch, and the Prime smiled.
“Patience,” he chastised, pushing Megatron’s hips down with the flat of his palm. “I told you, this will be no quick romp in a dark passage. We’re going to do it my way, and this means that you’ve got to do what?” He bit Megatron’s neck slightly to accentuate the question.
“Ah!” Megatron’s thighs twitched again. “Optimus, I know…”
“Answer the question, Megatron.” Optimus rolled the thick cable between his dental plates. They were in no way sharp, but still made his point clear. “You’ve got to..?”
“…To obey your commands.”
“That’s right.” Optimus licked the abused cable. “And since you’re being so good… Open.”
Megatron sighed in relief as his interface panel retracted, and Optimus couldn’t help but smirk. His slow approach was already bearing fruit, judging by the sheer amount of lubricant that flowed onto his fingers. Still, it didn’t mean that he was going to speed up. He traced the rim of Megatron’s valve with one fingertip, enjoying the wet heat of it, smearing the lubricant all over the swollen folds. What a sad life Megatron had sentenced himself to, if nobody had ever been allowed to show this valve the appreciation it deserved. Optimus found the pulsing nub of the anterior node and circled it, never quite touching it directly.
“Prime!” Megatron’s back arched, and his claws dug into the berth’s padding so hard they could tear it. “Stop teasing, slag it!”
Optimus just laughed, allowing his other fingers to slide against the valve’s opening, never entering it.
“I will stop when I deem it enough,” he said, smirking. “And I want to see how many overloads I can wring out of you before I properly take you.”
It was two, as he soon learned: Megatron overloaded to the sound of his voice the moment Optimus finally rubbed his anterior node, and second time – on Optimus’s fingers, biting the back of his own palm to muffle his cries and riding Optimus’s hand with ragged, fervent thrusts.
This was when Optimus finally took pity on him (and on his own straining spike). Hooking his arms under Megatron’s thighs, he moved between them and nudged his spike’s tip against the valve’s opening. Megatron whimpered – truly whimpered! – and Optimus paused.
“Do you want it?”
It took Megatron several seconds to comprehend the question, and he groaned, his head lolling to the side.
“Pits, Optimus… Yes! Yes, I want it! Come on, frag me already!”
“Very well.” Optimus braced himself and finally pushed inside.
The sensation overwhelmed him. He could tease Megatron all he wanted, drawing out every caress and making him fall apart under his touch, but Optimus couldn’t deny how it all affected him, too. Soft, silken walls of Megatron’s valve clenching around him, slick and scorching hot after two overloads, charge crackled where their EM fields clashed… Yet Optimus refused to give Megatron that fast and rough frag he was probably expecting. Collecting himself, Optimus opened his optics he didn’t realize he shut and began moving – slowly, deliberately.
Megatron cried out, thrashing underneath him, but, to Optimus’s surprise, he didn’t snap at him or demand that Optimus moved faster. The tension that held his joints in an iron grip went away, leaving him warm and strutless; Optimus leaned down to kiss him, Megatron’s thighs still in his hold, and Megatron wrapped his arms around Optimus’s neck to pull him close.
“Yes…” He gasped between the sloppy, languid kisses. “Frag me! Optimus…”
Optimus cursed under his breath, forced back his impending overload and complied.
5.
Prompt: Drabble Request for the end of House Divided; Megatron annoying Optimus when he's in a playful mood by picking him up and carrying him around when he least expects it.
Rating: PG
Optimus supposed he could blame himself for this. He was sitting over the energon farms reports for twelve hours straight now, trying to figure out how to distribute resources between the rebuilding colonies (Sentinel was more than happy to drop most of his duties on Optimus). His head was spinning, numbers and demands buzzing in his mind like a hoard of insects, so he didn’t quite hear what Megatron asked him. His systems didn’t even register the Decepticon’s presence fully, and when Megatron’s heavy palm descended onto his nape, it took Optimus by surprise.
But Megatron didn’t stop there. He grasped Optimus firmly and plucked him from his seat like an energon crystal. Before Optimus could protest, Megatron was already walking out of the Prime’s office, said Prime dangling in his grip.
“Hey! What are you doing?! Put me down!” Optimus was trying to struggle, but the fatigue after long hours spent crouched over his desk took ahold of him, making his movements quite uncoordinated.
Megatron just hummed.
“If you’re not going to take care of yourself like an adult, I’ll treat you like a sparkling. It’s a pity that the sparkling lock doesn’t work on you Autobots, but oh well.”
“I can take care of myself! I have work! Ratchet! Help me!”
But Ratchet, who was walking down the hallway towards them and, apparently, heard their last exchange, just nodded at Megatron.
“Make sure he gets a good night’s rest,” he said. “Doctor’s orders.”
“What?! Ratchet, you traitor! Megatron, put me down right now!”
He was graciously ignored.
***
“I don’t know, Megatron, are you sure this conference hall should have such high ceilings?” Optimus mused as they walked back from the meeting with the Alliance Hall’s project team. “I mean, I know you Decepticons are larger than us, but these dimensions are ridiculous!”
“Space is considered a luxury among my people. These dimensions are meant to show the importance of our truce and respect to both parties.”
“Alright then, if you say so.” Optimus put his datapad away and took Megatron’s arm – only to release it immediately. “Oops, sorry. I forget sometimes that you don’t like when – ah!”
He didn’t finish his apology, because Megatron scooped him up and continued walking with Optimus firmly tucked under his arm.
Optimus growled.
“If you tell me this is some damn warbuild tradition of showing affection…” he began angrily, but the Decepticon interrupted him.
“No,” he said, “I just like carrying you around.”
Optimus opened his mouth to retort… but then sighed and allowed Megatron to do as he wished.
It was kinda nice, after all.
***
Theoretically, the idea of them sharing an apartment was great, both from political and personal standpoint. But as Optimus stepped into the living room of his and Megatron’s quarters for the first time, he felt… unsure. Giddy. It was such a blatant proof of how much had changed – for Cybertron as a whole, for them… Of how close they became.
His line of thought was broken when he was swept off his feet and lifted to lie in Megatron’s arms bridal-style.
“I believe this is how it was done in those Autobot videos?” Megatron was smirking at him.
“Of all the fetishes you could have developed...” Optimus shook his head, yet couldn’t help but smile in return. “Very well. Carry me to the energon dispenser, I want a drink.”
“As you wish, my Prime.”
Yes, this was definitely a fetish Optimus could enjoy.
6.
Prompt: angsty megop idw? perhaps like,,,theyre unsure what to do at this point bc everything is soo different; they're lost 8)) nsfw if u want!!! (if u choose nsfw, then megs top
Rating: PG
This drabble has a soundtrack! But seriously, go listen to this song, it's amazing.
Megatron’s cell is dark and quiet, the silence disturbed only by the low hum of the variable voltage harness.
Optimus doesn’t understand why he came here again. After their last talk there is not much Optimus wants to discuss, and in fact he is aware that he shouldn’t discuss anything with the warlord. Megatron’s words cut him too deep, strike too precisely; Megatron knows him too well.
And yet he is here again, listening to the VVH buzz and watching Megatron’s impassive face. His optics are dark, and he seems offline – so much that it creeps Optimus out, even though the monitors tell him that the Decepticon is alive.
“Why did you come again, Prime?”
Megatron’s voice catches Optimus unawares, and he doesn’t reply. It makes Megatron activate his optics at last.
“Do you seek my company?” It should sound sarcastic, but it doesn’t. To be honest, it sounds… sad.
“No.” The words come out before Optimus can even will it – like an excuse. “I don’t need your so-called company.”
“Indeed?” There is this intonation again, this… pity. “You keep telling yourself that, but, I’m afraid, you will never escape my presence. Even if you kill me, Optimus, you will carry a part of me in your spark – forever.” A corner of his mouth rises – a crooked, bitter smile. “You can’t hunt monsters without becoming part monster yourself.”
Optimus wants to retort, to prove him wrong, but objections get stuck in his throat. He can see the melted wiring in Megatron’s seams, the paint-less parts where Ratchet scrubbed the scorched marks off – visible proofs of his rightness. Optimus tortured him, tortured his prisoner to satisfy his own fury.
Everybody saw his as an infallible icon, when his core was rotten.
“I’ll tell you why you come to me, even despite it hurts you.” Optimus raises his head, expecting to see Megatron’s usual smirk – but, once again, there is none. Although he thinks he’d prefer another venomous jab to this… understanding in Megatron’s optics. “You come because you’re lonely.”
“So are you,” Optimus rasps, and for once Megatron doesn’t answer.
***
His visit to the Lost Light was supposed to be strictly business, but long before Optimus steps on board his spark begins pounding in his chest, each beat resonating with pain. He will see Megatron. He will have to speak with Megatron. It fills him with terror he cannot describe.
So when the official matters are taken care of and they end up (of course!) alone in the empty meeting room on the top deck, neither knows what to say. They are driven to each other – this either of them accepted long ago – but the fissure between them is raw and hurting, will remain raw and hurting for many years to come.
Megatron just was the first to figure it out and put it to words, turning Optimus’s world upside down. As he always did.
A joyless chuckle escapes Optimus’s lips.
“You were right,” he says, and Megatron glances at him in confusion.
“Back then, in Omega Supreme’s cell,” Optimus explains. “I do carry a part of you in my spark.”
Megatron’s shoulders droop, an invisible weight bending him to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the genuine remorse in his voice is like a knife to Optimus’s spark. “I started thinking of myself as a monster, but I had done something much worse: dragged you with me. Made you think this way of yourself. I’m sorry, Optimus.”
“Don’t.”
Megatron is startled when Optimus takes his hand, and his red optics are wide and shocked, but Optimus needs him to listen. To hear it.
“War has made us all part monsters. And if there was no war, we still wouldn’t be pristine pure. You, me, all of us.” Optimus squeezes Megatron’s hand, partly comforting, partly seeking comfort. “Of all the people around me, you were the one who never saw me as the perfect unblemished Prime; you brought me a lot of sorrow, Megatron, but I think… you were the one who kept me sane.”
Megatron continues to stare at him for a while – and then he shakes his head and laughs.
“What a mess we present, eh, Optimus?”
“Yes,” Optimus agrees simply, and they speak no more. |
ONE DIFFERENCE: JACKIE DOESN'T GO TO THE WATER TOWER
Jackie slammed open the door to Eric's basement with her right hand. Her right wrist was strong, unsprained, and would have to do the work for two people. Such was the burden of love.
"Michael?" she said, stepping inside, but the Sesame Street theme song chimed in her ears. Michael still liked watching that show. He said the characters reminded him of his friends: Cookie Monster was Fez, Bird Bird was Donna, Oscar the Grouch was Hyde, but Grover—Eric—was sitting in the basement alone. Sesame Street had captured his glassy-eyed gaze
She approached him and cleared her throat, but his attention remained on the TV. "Eric!" she shouted, and he jumped off the couch like a cricket.
"No one's having sex with anyone!" he said, seemingly to no one, but his shoulders drooped once he spotted her. "Oh. Hi, Jackie." He sank onto the couch again. "What're you doing here?"
"What are you doing watching Sesame Street?"
"It's the only wholesome thing on TV, and—"
She raised a silencing hand. His Eric-y-ness couldn't distract her. Her boyfriend had fallen off the water tower last night. She should've been there, but she'd gone to a party instead, celebrating Julie's promotion to cheer-squad captain. "I can't believe no one called me from the hospital!"
"It was after midnight," Eric said. "Kelso was out of it, and the rest of us had to take care of him." He tilted his head, as if he were reconsidering his words. "Okay, Hyde took a nap on Kelso's hospital bed, but it's not like he'd ever call you, so..."
"Oh, whatever. It's Hyde's fault this happened in the first place." She glanced past the stairs to the bathroom door. Maybe Michael was inside. He'd called her only after lunch. Their first day of summer vacation, and he'd waited hours to tell her something this important? "Painting a pot leaf on the water tower was a dumb idea," she said, "and having Michael do touch-ups was even dumber! Why didn't any of you stop him?"
Eric ran fingers through his floppy bangs. He could've used a haircut, but styling him was Donna's job. "Jackie," he said, taking a tone she didn't appreciate, "when have any of us been able to stop him from being stupid?"
She crossed her arms over her chest. She was covering her pretty new blouse, but he didn't deserve to see it. None of her friends did. They'd all let Michael down. And by letting Michael down, they'd let her down. "Don't you care that he got hurt?"
"Of course, but the world doesn't stop spinning because Michael Kelso fell off the water tower." He sighed dramatically. "If only it did."
She dug her nails into her arms to keep from pinching him. "My boyfriend's wrist is sprained, Eric! At least tell me Hyde gave him cool sips of water in his hospital bed, like Gale Sayers did for Brian Piccolo."
He twirled his finger, indicating the basement. "This isn't the Chicago Bears. This is us. Kelso hurts himself, and Hyde laughs. That's how it works around here."
"Hyde laughed?" Her eyes narrowed, and she gritted her teeth. Michael was surrounded by animals. "Where is he?" because she would so yell at Steven Hyde later. "And where is Michael?"
"Kelso's upstairs … I think. Once Mister Rogers came on, everyone ran out of here. Kelso said he wanted some sympathy from my mom—" His mouth dropped open. "My mom..." He leapt to his feet and ran for the stairs. "Kelso needs to leave her alone!"
Jackie followed but kept her distance. Eric was acting weirder than usual, and she didn't want to catch whatever he had. Her boyfriend needed her healthy and sane.
"They're not here," Eric said when they reached the kitchen. "Why aren't they here?" He peered through the sliding glass door. "The driveway's empty, but maybe the garage..."
"The garage? Your mom's probably in her bedroom."
"Not the bedroom—!" His eyes took on that glassy appearance again, but he grasped her shoulders and spun her toward the swinging door. "Jackie, you have to do me this favor."
"What?" She slapped his hands off her. "What favor?"
"I need to know where my mom is, but I can't go upstairs."
"And I need to find my boyfriend." She pushed past him, intending to leave through the glass door, but he grabbed her wrist. "Let go of me, you sweaty dumbass!" She tried to shake him off. "You sprained Michael's wrist, so now you want to sprain mine, too?
"No, that's not—" He let go of her and wiped his palms on his corduroy pants. "Listen, I'll find Kelso and send him to you, but I'm really worried about my mom. I need to make sure she's not … busy."
"Busy?" She cupped her forehead. How did Donna deal with him on a daily basis? "Fine. I'll go upstairs and check on your mom, but you send Michael to the basement and keep him there."
"Will do." He clasped his hands together. "Thank you, Jackie. I'll meet you in the basement."
The glass door slid open. He left for the driveway, and she went to the second floor. The door to the Formans' bedroom was closed. She knocked on it to no answer, but Eric's concerns were laughable. What could Mrs. Forman possibly be busy with? Nursing her tacky furniture to a state of classiness?
Jackie knocked on the door a second time, but Mrs. Forman was either asleep or not home. Maybe Eric had sent her here as a diversion, to let him get to Michael first and brainwash him against being angry. Because Jackie would certainly tell Michael to hold his friends accountable.
"Ooh, Michael is getting a new clique, starting today!" she whispered. Her father's upper-class colleagues had sons Michael's age. He should be hanging around with them, not Grover, Cookie Monster, and Oscar the Grouch. It would be good practice for his future as her husband.
She stomped toward the staircase, but a goofy, male laugh tickled the hairs on her nape. It came from the end of the hall, and she followed the sound to Laurie's room. A feminine giggle leaked from a crack in the door. Laurie clearly had a guy with her. Jackie didn't need to know the details, but her legs wouldn't move.
"Won't you be my neighbor?" the guy said from behind the door, and her skin prickled. She had to be hearing things, conjuring Michael's voice out of worry.
"Kelso," Laurie's voice said next, "you're such an idiot."
Jackie pressed a hand to her quickening heart. What would Michael be doing in Laurie's room? Laurie couldn't stand him. Jackie peeked inside the door, and her thoughts smashed into one another. Michael was sitting on Laurie's bed. He'd wrapped his good arm around Laurie's shoulders and was kissing her. French kissing her.
"Michael!" Jackie flung open the door. "What are you doing?"
He withdrew from Laurie and hopped off the bed. "J-Jackie? Wha—no! She attacked me!"
"I don't believe you!" Jackie clutched the material of her blouse. "You're cheating on me—again!"
"Jackie, baby—" He advanced on her, but she backed away. "I just wanted Laurie to check my sling, see?" He presented his sprained wrist. "Her mom's a nurse, and I thought she could re-tie it. The knot's coming loose—"
She smacked his sling-covered arm. He cried out in pain and stumbled toward the open closet. "How long?" she said.
"Before we went to see Star Wars together," Laurie said from the bed. Her powder-blue shirt didn't hide her lack of bra, and the sight clenched Jackie's fists. "But we didn't actually see much of the movie. Kelso's face was in the way—you know, since he was making out with me."
"That's a lie!" Michael held his hurt wrist close to his body. "I was checking her for a sty!"
"For two hours?" Laurie said.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Damn, Laurie, the theater was dark, and the usher wouldn't give me his flashlight. God!"
Jackie had heard enough. She sped from Laurie's room, but memories of Michael kissing another blond, Pam Macy, chased her down the stairs. How could he cheat on her again? It had been only three weeks since they got back together. Weeks!
Her eyes blurred with tears as she raced out of the Formans' house. She had to get home, to talk to her parents. They'd understand. Her dad would finally buy her that Firebird, and her mom would soothe her heartbreak as only mothers could, with wise words and a manicure.
Hyde slid on his shades and headed toward his room. He patted the torn upholstery of Edna's couch, saluted the splintered bureau against the wall. Solidarity, man. The furniture here was like him, fucked-up but still standing. His dress shirt and khakis made him feel like a home inspector. He had to change out of them, into clothes more suited to his cruddy surroundings.
Halfway to his room, his shoe stepped onto something crunchy. The sensation vibrated into his foot. Unpleasant, and he shook the feeling from his body. His only pricey pair of shoes didn't shield him for shit, not the way his uncle's boots did. But the roll of Ritz Crackers he'd just partially flattened would've been dust otherwise.
The living room needed a sweep, but Edna had broken their broom smashing it onto a rat. His fingers would have to do. He picked up the Ritz-Cracker roll, and crumbs rained from it. Crap. The rats would eat well tonight, but so would he. The roll had two uncrushed crackers left, and he changed course to the kitchen.
A roach skittered under the baseboard in the hallway. Most of the wallpaper had peeled off or, in his less than stellar moods, had been pulled off by him. The house was a rundown, ramshackle mess. Edna had let the place go to turds the last month, not that he'd done anything about it. Every night, he imagined hearing tiny teeth scraping on wood. Termites had to be devouring the house from the inside-out.
His shoes made a sick ripping sound when he walked into the kitchen. A layer of sticky grime coated the floor, and red wine stained the counter. Edna had spilled it during last week's poker night. She was out now buying fresh supplies for her gambling buddies. Maybe she'd get them some Montilla Rum or a high-end, imported beer. Only the best for her trucker boyfriend and their buds while her kid got a roll of crushed Ritz Crackers.
He opened the fridge. Empty, except for half a stick of butter and five cans of Schlitz. He grabbed two of the cans. They'd go well with his crackers. A burger from The Hub would've been better, but his date had flaked out on him. She probably figured he didn't have a job or much dough. Not a wrong assumption, but he would've spent what he had on her.
She was classy, straight-laced—hell, the valedictorian of Point Place High's graduating class. Kelso had challenged him to ask her out. Normally, dares didn't inspire him to action, but she was the opposite of Chrissy and exactly what he needed. Miss Future Einstein could have taken his mind off his lack of future, but she must've realized he was the opposite of what she needed.
He carried his beer into the hallway and tore off a piece of wallpaper. Man, he'd put on his cleanest, nicest clothes and brushed his teeth again for nothing. His mouth tasted like peppermint, not a good flavor to combine with beer.
A flickering light met him the living room. The table lamp's bulb would go out soon, and he plunked down on the armchair. Dinner, such as it was, had to be quick. He placed one of the Ritz Crackers into his mouth, indulged a moment in its saltiness, then chewed it to pieces. He cracked open a beer, but a knock rattled the front door. The knock was heavy, frantic, and sounded unencumbered by the screen door. Had to be Edna. Damn it. He'd intended to bolt out of here before she got home. .
He swallowed a few gulps of beer as the knocking grew more intense. "All right, all right!" he shouted and put the beer on the floor. He strolled to the front door, unlocked it, and turned the knob slowly. "What's the matter, Edna, gamble away your keys for some—"
Standing in the doorway, with the screen door pressed against her back, was Jackie. She glared at him with red, puffy eyes. Her cheeks resembled a Jackson Pollock painting, dripping, chaotic streaks of makeup covering her skin. Either she'd just had her first circle, and it didn't go well, or she'd been crying.
His fingers stiffened on the doorknob. Her white Lincoln Continental was parked in the street. She'd driven to his neighborhood, but was she alone, or was her dad waiting in the car?
"Jackie," his knuckles began to hurt, but he didn't let go of the doorknob, "what the hell are you doing here?"
She answered in a string of shrill words. It garroted his eardrums and was totally incomprehensible.
"Slower and lower," he said, and her hand flew out and slapped him. His cheek burned, but he wouldn't rub it. Only his ma ever hit him like that, and he never showed her a reaction either. "Okay, nice seein' ya." He started to close the door, but Jackie's palms slammed it open.
"You. Ruined. My. Life!" Her voice was guttural, like she'd rip out his throat with her teeth, and he backed up. A mistake because it allowed her to enter his house. She stepped close to him, stood on her toes, and got in his face. "You destroyed everything, Steven Hyde!"
He backed off further and bumped into the TV set. This had to be about Kelso's sprained wrist. "So your boyfriend got a boo-boo," he said. "Nothing's broken—"
She tried to slap him again. He dodged and side-stepped the TV, but she grabbed his shirt and screamed something at him. Her spit landed on his chin. This chick was nuts, and he'd yielded enough ground to her.
He pried her hands off his shirt and tried to hold onto them, but one wriggled free and pinched his arm. "Shit—Jackie!" He recaptured her hand. "Jackie, would you calm the hell down? No one asked your moron boyfriend to get on the railing. It's his own damn fault he fell."
"Who cares about that?" She struggled against him, but he held onto her wrists. Her next slap could knock off his shades. Her nails, though not long, might do serious damage. "I caught them, Hyde!" she said. "I caught both of them—"
"Caught who?" He shouldn't have asked, but fresh tears spilled from her eyes, and snot ran over her mouth. She didn't give a crap how she looked, which meant she was in some kind of trouble. "Caught who doing what, man?"
"My—" She turned away from him, as much as his grip would allow. "My..." Her voice lost its snap, and she resembled a wilted version of herself. It could've been a trick, but he loosened his grasp.
"Your what?" he said. "You've already hit me in the freakin' face. Don't wuss out on me now."
She straightened up and looked him in the eye. "Michael! I caught Michael kissing Eric's sister."
A chuckle ricocheted in his stomach, but he muffled it. "And Laurie kicked him in the stones. So what?" Because Kelso had been after her since he got his first pube, and she'd always shot him down.
"No," Jackie said. "She kissed him back."
"Come on..." A smile slid over his lips, inappropriate, but the idea was too funny. "There's no way she'd let him touch her—"
She yanked her wrists from his fingers. "I saw what I saw, Hyde."
"Okay, let's say you did see 'em locking lips; how exactly is that my fault?"
"Because," she moved to the couch and sat down, "if you hadn't goaded him into—" She sprang up with a shriek. "Is that pee? Did I just sit on pee?"
"Booze. Edna gets clumsy." He turned over the wet cushion, exposing a tear in its upholstery. Stuffing blossomed from the hole. The other two cushions were decent enough, but Jackie sat in the armchair instead.
For less than a second. She jumped to her feet and said, "What did I sit on now?" Her butt had pulverized his remaining Ritz Cracker to crumbs. "Is nowhere in this house safe?"
"Nope, so why don't you get outta here before the roof collapses?" He gestured to the front door, but she didn't budge. "Look, whatever you want from me, you're not gonna get it."
She sniffled, but it didn't help the state of her face. Snot dripped off her chin, and he scanned the room for a tissue box. He'd spotted one the other day, but the rats must've scurried off with it.
A large glob fell from her nose. She caught it with her hand, and her second shriek pummeled his skull. He had to get her a paper towel, to get her something, before she drowned in mucus. He jetted into the hallway without telling her to wait. She wasn't going anywhere. She'd stand in his living room until she cried an apology out of him.
He cursed Kelso's name while searching the linen closet. Jackie's unwelcome presence in his life was Kelso's doing, but Hyde couldn't kick her out in this state. At the very least, he'd have to drive her home because she'd come here alone. Her dad would've honked the Lincoln's horn by now or stormed the house.
A screech tore through the hallway. Jackie must've caught another snot-glob, and Hyde dashed to the living room. "'A gift' from our school," he said and shoved a roll of toilet paper at her. It was one-ply, but it was all he had.
She ripped off some toilet paper and blew her nose. She wiped off her fingers afterward, mashed the used toilet paper together, and said, "Where should I...?"
"Just toss it on the floor."
"Ew, no."
"Then hold onto it. Your choice."
She wrapped the snotty wad in cleaner toilet paper and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. "I never would've found them," she said, "if you hadn't pestered Michael into fixing that stupid pot leaf. He wouldn't have fallen off the water tower, and I wouldn't have found them." Her eyes squeezed out more tears. "Don't you understand? I wouldn't have fount them!"
"I didn't push him, Jackie," he said. "The railing was slippery—"
"That doesn't matter!" She smacked the Ritz Cracker crumbs off the armchair and dropped onto it. She covered her face with the roll of toilet paper. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, and he had no idea what to do. Edna would be home any minute, maybe not alone. She couldn't find him here, not with Jackie.
"Okay, so Kelso's a cheater..." He went to the armchair, and a memory of Chrissy scudded through his brain. She'd offered him a chance at a punk-rock future. He rejected it, and she motored out of town with a guy who wasn't him. "Better you find out now then a few months down the line, right?" he said over Jackie's sobs. "You two haven't been back together that long, and he is who he is."
Her crying grew louder in response. She probably needed some reassurance or some shit like that. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "You can do better than him, man."
She glanced at him with red, wet eyes and said, "Like who?"
Like almost anyone, but the front door bounced against the wall. Edna had shoved it open with her hip. A grocery bag dangled from her arm, and she was carrying a pizza box.
"Steven, take this." She held the box out to him. He rushed over and grabbed it. "Don't you eat any," she said when he opened the box, but the smell of pepperoni woke his stomach. It was rumbling, and he sneaked out a slice.
"Jackass!" Edna shouted, but he took a large bite "Those are for—hello." Her gaze fell on Jackie. "Who's this?"
"No one." He left the pizza box on the couch and pulled Jackie from the armchair. "We were just leaving."
"Oh! I am not no one." Jackie pushed herself in front of him and held out her hand. "I'm Jackie Burkhart."
Most of Hyde internally groaned, but a fraction hoped Edna gave her a hearty handshake. Jackie hadn't washed up after playing catch with her snot.
"Burkhart's kid?" Edna raised her eyebrows at him and ignored Jackie's hand. "I thought you'd stolen that fancy car out there. None of my friends could afford a Lincoln Continental." She chuckled. "None of them have the balls to hot-wire one of them, either."
"Not even 'Uncle' Trucker?" Hyde said and took another large bite of his stolen slice. "He got you that blender."
"Easy pickins, Steven." She passed her grocery bag to him. It was heavy, and glass clinked together. Had to be filled with booze. "Put that in the kitchen while I get acquainted with your girlfriend."
He swallowed the last of his pizza. Eating fast was an art he'd learned years ago. "She's not—she's just a friend, Ma."
"The kitchen, Steven. Now."
"Whatever." He hightailed it to the kitchen and dropped the grocery bag on the counter. Jackie was still alive when he returned, but she'd gotten comfortable in the armchair.
Too comfortable. She'd scrubbed most of the Jackson Pollock painting off her face. The roll of toilet paper stood on the floor, between the beers he wished he could empty. And she was jawing with Edna, who'd taken a spot on the couch next to the pizza box.
"Interesting thing, Steven," Edna said, eyeing him. Her fingers closed around a pack of cigarettes, but her mouth didn't have a stick yet. "Your friend, here, just told me she caught her boyfriend cheating on her."
"And not for the first time, either!" Jackie said. "I first caught him with another girl months ago. He promised me it was a one-time thing, and I forgave him. Then I broke up with him again after a pregnancy scare—"
Edna grinned in Hyde's direction, a smile formed by seventeen years of resentment. Her story about Bud knocking her up had to be trapped behind her lips.
"But Hyde got us back together at the prom," Jackie continued, but Hyde needed her to shut her pie hole. Why was she blabbing so much to somebody she didn't know? To his freakin' ma?
"Did he now?" Edna moved the pizza box to the floor and patted the cushion next to her. "Sit down, Steven."
"No, thanks. Jackie," he hiked his thumb at the front door. "if you come with me right now, I'll kick Kelso's ass for you."
"Steven," Edna said. She was over-using his name as an attempt to control him, but it hadn't worked since he was twelve. "Stop being rude to our guest and sit."
A chill skated over his spine, kicking up the hairs on his arms. Our guest? She had to be playing a game, taking a gamble. This was the most she'd spoken to him in two weeks, after he'd decided not to leave for New York. What did she think was in the pot? Screwing his reputation with Jackie? The chick already thought he was scum.
"Nothin' rude about standing in my own damn house." He leaned against the dressing screen. It was folded between the splintered bureau and a squat bookcase, and his position gave him a view of both Edna and Jackie.
"It's not your house; it's my house." Edna stuck a cigarette in her mouth. She lit it with her lighter and took a drag. "My paychecks keep the lights on and put food in your mouth. Everything you have is thanks to me, including this."
She tossed her pack of cigarettes at him. He caught it and threw it back to her. He wouldn't smoke in front of Jackie. He barely smoked in front of his friends—cigarettes. Joints were another thing, but the tobacco industry had him under its addictive, chemical-laden thumb. Every time he bought a pack, he strengthened corporate control over the country. Every time he lit a cigarette, he hated himself a little bit more.
"You don't have to be shy in front of your little friend." Edna plucked a stick from the pack. "I'm sure she knows all about your habits." She extended the cigarette toward him. His fingers itched to take it, but he wouldn't make the pot richer. Edna could play this game all by herself.
"I'm quitting," he said.
"Suit yourself." She offered the cigarette to Jackie. "How about you, sweetie?"
"I should pick up smoking after what I've seen today," Jackie said. "Does it help?"
Edna blew smoke from her lips. "Help what?"
"To smoke when the people you love the most betray you? Does it make you feel any better?"
"Nah." Edna slipped the rejected cigarette into the pack. "You know what does, though? A good f—"
Hyde faked a coughing fit. He couldn't let Edna finish that sentence.
"Steven, are you okay?" The question came from Jackie, and she'd called him Steven, not Hyde.
"Fine," he said. "Jackie, let's get outta here, okay? I'll take ya wherever you want." Edna's poker buddies were due in less than ten minutes. Some of them wouldn't give a crap that Jackie was underage. They'd hit on her—maybe touch her—and that wasn't happening on his watch.
"You can go if you want." Jackie's focus return to Edna. "What did you do when Mr. Hyde left you? Why did he leave you? Was it the booze you're always drinking?"
"Holy hell—" He shut his eyes, and when they opened, Edna was grinning that dangerous, resentful grin.
"Mr. Hyde is the alcoholic," Edna said. "I just enjoy a drink or two—"
"Dozen," Hyde said.
Edna swatted her hand at his interruption. "Mr. Hyde left me for Miss Tight-Ass, his secretary."
Jackie gasped. "So he cheated on you!"
"Oh, yeah. He left me to raise this one," Edna jabbed her cigarette toward him, "all by myself. Being his mother was hard enough when his father was around. Without him … well, I'm sure you noticed how lazy Steven is." She flicked cigarette ash onto the floor. "It's a motivation problem, really. He has no ambition besides getting wasted or stoned. Does he help out around here? Of course not. Never has. He's a carbon copy of his father."
Jackie nodded, as if she understood, but Hyde's stomach was folding in on itself. The conversation had crashed into the manure pile he carried on his back. Pulverized turds fell onto his skin, but as long as Jackie insisted on staying put, he had to endure the smell and smears of shit.
"Why do men cheat?" she said. "I mean, why aren't the women they commit to enough for them?"
"Some of them are just weak." Edna sucked in an extra-long drag. Smoke leaked from her nostrils, and she coughed before speaking again. "Their egos are fragile, and they need shinier and shinier objects to chase."
She kicked her legs up onto the couch and lay back. All she needed was a bottle of Smirnoff, and Jackie would get the full Edna experience.
"But why?" Jackie twisted the hem of her blouse. "Is it in their DNA? Is it how they're raised?"
"Without women, men wouldn't exist," Edna said, launching into one of her favorite rants. Hyde had heard it countless times, usually when she was drunk. "Deep down, they know this. They feel like powerless little boys whose strongest drive is to suck on Mommy's teat forever. So they try to regain their power by cheating on us and suppressing us." She waved her cigarette in the air. "Why do you think society is the way it is? It's all—"
Hyde's laughter silenced her. It was throaty and bitter, fueled by seventeen years of Edna's "wisdom". He'd learned how to get some amusement out of it, but Jackie seemed to soak in every drop. It had to stop.
"Jackie," he said once his laughter faded, "why aren't you talking this out with your own parents?" His back pressed harder against the dressing screen. Pain bit into his spine, but it kept him from throwing Jackie over his shoulder and escaping with her. "They've got a decent marriage, so they're the ones you should be gettin' advice from."
Jackie's cheeks flushed. She lifted her feet onto the armchair and buried her face in her knees. Shit. He'd set her off, but how? He hadn't burned her, just made a reasonable suggestion.
"Good job, Steven," Edna said. "You made her cry." She stubbed her cigarette on the hardwood floor and stood up. "Jackie, honey, can I get you anything to drink?"
Jackie's face rose briefly from her knees. "A Tab?"
"You're in luck. I bought a six-pack of Tab for Dizzy. She won't miss one." Edna disappeared into the hallway. Dizzy was one of her poker buddies, a skeletal loudmouth who enjoyed goosing Hyde every chance she got.
And this was his chance to get Jackie out of here. She was still sobbing, and he knelt in front of her. "Jackie, it's gonna be all right." He reached toward her head. Her hair covered her face and knees, and he brushed some of it behind her ear. "Everything's gonna be fine, okay?"
She whipped up her head. "How can you say that? My world's falling apart!" Her eyes seemed to ask the same question, and he tried to give her silent reassurance. His gaze stayed on her face, but looking at her added to the ache in his stomach. Her tears had created a fresh Jackson Pollock painting on her skin, though this one was subtle. Not much makeup remained.
"Not all guys are assholes," he said. "Plenty of us can keep it in our pants, and you'll find somebody great, man. Somebody who'll want only you." He opened his arms to her, offering a consoling hug. It was camouflage, concealing his escape plan.
"I won't!" she said, thrusting herself at him. Her arms clamped around his waist, and her wet, snotty face pushed into his neck. "All men are cheaters. Every single one!"
"That's the spirit!" The encouragement came from Edna, and he flicked his eyes toward her. She was standing in the hallway. A glass of Tab—and whatever else she'd put in it—was in her hand, and she gestured at him with it. "Jackie, you shouldn't trust this one. He'll never be faithful. He's too much like his father."
Hyde's arms tightened around Jackie, and he stood up with her. Pressure had built inside him, along with adrenaline, and he maneuvered her over his shoulder. She screamed at him to let her go; her fists pounded into his back, but he charged toward the front door.
"What, you're gonna leave?" Edna said. "Well, one of these days, I'm gonna leave you, and you'll know how it—"
Hyde slammed the door behind him. The sky was oranging, darkening, and a cool breeze ruffled his shirt as he carried Jackie down the porch steps. Her car was a few steps away, and he slid his hand over her hip. If he didn't find the keys on her, he'd have to break into the Lincoln and hot-wire it.
"Stop. Stop it!" Her protestations stomped on his chest. She had a right to be pissed. Molesting her wasn't his intent, but he rummaged in her jeans pockets until he found the keys. They were buried in the left one, and he opened the car door with them.
"I'm not done talking to your mom!" she said when he dropped her into the passenger seat. He strapped her in with the seat belt. Her fingers went to unbuckle it, but he blocked them. "Hyde, enough! You can't treat me like this."
"Jackie, it's not safe in there, man. That Tab she brought you was probably laced with vodka."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do. What do you think she was up to? She knows you're loaded, and she wanted to get you loaded with booze so she could con you. How much dough are you carrying?"
Her gaze shot to the car's center console. Her purse was lying on top of it. "Fifty dollars."
"It's her poker night, man. She would've gotten you to stay, and you would've kissed that dough goodbye. Now, are you gonna let me drive you home or not?"
"Are you sober? I saw those beers—"
"I had three sips twenty minutes ago. I can drive."
"Fine." She quit trying to unbuckle her seat belt. "But don't take me home."
Hyde shut the passenger-side door. He got his butt into the driver's seat, but a question flicked at his skull. Getting more involved in Jackie's business was a bad idea, but as he drove aimlessly around Point Place, the question punched into his brain: why didn't she want to go home?
"So alls you did was catch Kelso kissing Laurie?" he said, turning onto Birch Road. He sped by the Piggly Wiggly, where Edna should've spent her last paycheck. "What'd you—"
A station wagon pulled out of the supermarket's parking lot. It was a Volvo and moving slowly enough to be dangerous. Hyde honked at it but got no response. He checked the rearview mirror. An AMC Gremlin was driving behind him, but not tailgating, and Hyde pressed on the breaks. Tires screeched on the pavement, not just the Lincoln's but the Gremlin's, too. With the Volvo's road-hogging move, it had blocked all traffic passing the Piggly Wiggly.
Jackie rolled down her window and stuck her head out of it. "You idiot!" she shouted. "Are you trying to get us killed? There are other people on the street besides you!"
Hyde tapped her arm. She stopped yelling at the Volvo and scowled at him. "What?"
"Did you run home after catching Kelso?" he said.
"Yes."
"And?"
She stared at the Volvo through the windshield. "That grandma's finally moving. Let's go."
The Volvo had situated itself properly on the street. It put some speed in its wheels, but Hyde drove past it. His driving was no longer aimless. Their destination had to get him an answer, and Jackie's eyes widened when they arrived fifteen minutes later.
"Why did you take me here?" she said.
"This is where it all started, according to you."
She stepped out of the car. He did the same and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. The water tower loomed over them and rose above the surrounding trees. The pot leaf he and his friends had painted was a drippy mess, tinted orange by the setting sun.
"That's what Michael sprained his wrist over?" she said.
"Yup."
"It looks like it's giving us the finger."
"That's why I told Kelso to fix it, but I never told him to get on the freakin' railing. That was all his idea." He scratched the nape of his neck. He'd also never told Kelso to get off the railing. His main concern had been the pot leaf. "Maybe if..." He angled his head, but looking at the leaf from below didn't improve it. "Yeah, there's no fixing that." He and his friends would have to start from scratch, paint over it and stay the hell off the railing.
"He's so dumb! And I'm even dumber for believing in him." Jackie's shoulders slumped; he felt their drop against his arm. "True love … it doesn't really exist, does it?"
She tapped on his knuckles when he didn't answer, and he turned toward her. "You're asking the wrong guy."
"Do you think your parents ever loved each other?"
"Got no clue."
"I thought my parents did." Her lips pressed together, and her mouth twitched, as if she were biting her cheek. She dabbed the corner of her eyes. The wetness on her fingertips had an orange tinge to them, thanks to the sunset. "But my dad, when I got home … he wasn't alone. And he wasn't with my mom."
Wind swept through the trees, shaking their leaves, and Hyde blew out a breath. "That sucks," he said, but it more than sucked. He'd finally gotten his answer. Kelso had stabbed her. She crawled home for help, and her dad shot her. Now she was bleeding out.
"He didn't expect me home," she went on. "I was supposed to be with Michael—and my mom? I don't even know where she is. H-he must've sent her off somewhere with his credit card."
She cupped her forehead and swayed on her feet. He grasped her arm to steady her. "Jackie, you gotta breathe, man."
"Wh-what am I supposed to do?" She was hyperventilating, and he kept a grip on her. "If I keep it to m-myself, every second of my life will be a lie. If I t-tell my mom what I saw, my parents will divorce. I'll get twice the presents, b-but who will I live with? I barely see my dad as it is. N-now I'll never see him."
She clutched her hair and screamed, "Oh, my God!" into the sky. He released her but didn't back away. The full weight of the truth was pressing down on her, cracking her reality like an eggshell. He knew this because it had happened to him, seven years, four months, and two days ago.
"Jackie, hey..." He drew her into his body before her sanity spilled out. His arms enveloped her like a force field, and his mouth whispered by her ear, "You've got a place to go, man. The Formans. They'll help you … and if true love fuckin' exists, you'll find it there."
She turned into a collection of whimpers and sniffles. The sound tightened his arms around her. He struggled to stay quiet, but he couldn't quit talking. "Just 'cause you chose wrong the first time doesn't mean you'll do it again. Forman's a good guy, right? He'd never cheat on Donna—partly 'cause he knows she'd castrate him. But mostly 'cause that's not who he is."
"Why is Michael like that?" she said moistly, and her knotted hands pushed into his spine. "Why is my dad?"
"Can't speak for your dad, but Kelso just doesn't think, man. Not about consequences. Not about other people. He's selfish."
"Yes, he is—and so's my dad." Another bout of crying followed, but she eventually calmed enough to withdraw from him and said, "I used to think you were selfish, too." She pulled the clump of toilet paper from her pocket. It was the only tissue available, and she wiped her eyes with it, blew her nose. "But you're not what I thought at all. Nothing is."
He cleaned off his damp neck with his shirt sleeve. "Some things are, but you'll figure it out when the dust falls."
"How long—" Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. "How long did it take for the dust to fall for you?"
He stole a glimpse of the setting sun. It was a wound sitting on the horizon, bleeding orange into the sky. "It's still falling."
She slapped her legs. "Great! So I'm gonna feel like this forever."
"Not forever, and not every day. That's what your friends are for."
"My friends won't care." She dug her right shoe into the dirt. "They'll gossip and ask me what guilt-gifts my parents bought me, but they won't care.."
"Donna'll care," he said. "Fez'll care, maybe too much. He might try to shove his tongue down your throat while he's caring, so watch out for that." He adjusted his shades, making sure they were still on his face. "And, you know, you could talk to me … as long as I don't gotta listen."
"But you're listening to me now."
"See, you only think I'm listening. I'm not, but I'm really good at pretending."
She giggled. It was faint, but she was definitely laughing. A relieved smile seized his lips, but he got control of it. He'd showed her too much of himself already.
"Take me to the Formans'?" she said.
"You got it."
He guided her to the Lincoln. She sat in the passenger seat but grabbed his wrist before he could close the door. "You're so polite."
He tried to muster a belch but failed. "You're imagining things."
"No, you listen to your mom too much. You pretend not to, but you do." She let go of him, but her warmth remained on his skin. "You shouldn't believe a word she says about you. She's wrong—and I'm not imagining things. I'm done dreaming."
Her declarations tangled in his ribs. His heartbeat throbbed in his fingertips and heated his neck. What did she see in him? Who did she see? Somebody better than he was, but as he drove them to the Formans', his blood circulated a silent promise: he'd watch over her while the dust of her life settled. She deserved somebody guarding her back, and he'd report to duty every damn day until she could dream safely again.
Complete Tree Brush Pack by Horhew
|
“Sorry for yesterday,” Courfeyrac tipped back in his chair and twirled the phone cord between his fingers.
“You were a little distant,” Enjolras agreed. His voice was tinny though the phone, and surrounded by the buzz of a busy office floor. Courfeyrac knew he was unbelievably lucky to have an office of his own.
“Well it’s your fault. This stupid bet; how am I supposed to think straight?”
“And whose fault is the bet?” Enjolras teased.
Courfeyrac could hear him typing away in the background. No doubt the phone was trapped between his cheek and shoulder; their conversation a background task whilst he typed up a report.
Courfeyrac swung his chair round to face the window. There wasn’t much of a view, the building next to them was too tall, but if he looked up he could see a thin strip of sky overhead. Thankfully the rain from yesterday hadn’t persisted but summer was already a faint memory.
“If I’d known I was going to meet Combeferre I never would have agreed to it,”
“Agreed to it? Courf it was your idea,” Enjolras laughed.
“Yeah, well,” he picked at a stray thread on his trousers miserably, feeling as overcast as the hazy grey sky.
“You really like him don’t you?”
Courfeyrac hesitated. The static from the phone line buzzed between them. Coughing, chatting, beeping and ringing hummed from Enjolras’ end. In Courfeyrac’s office you could hear a pin drop. He fancied you could hear his heart beat as it thumped away in his chest.
It was one thing to think it, quite another to say it out loud.
“I think I love him.” Courfeyrac admitted to Enjolras.
Enjolras was quiet for a good while. He’d stopped typing.
At last he replied, voice tinged with a genuine regret, “a bet’s a bet,”
“I know,” Courfeyrac sighed. He might have hoped that his admission would be grounds enough to call it all off, but Enjolras had more integrity than that; and he expected others to show the same.
“There can’t be long left…”
“Nine days, 13 hours and 21 minutes.”
“That’s an accurate count.”
“Tell me about it. I’m going mad here, Enjolras. I ran into him on the stairs this morning and I was rendered speechless. I’m never speechless! I always have something to say, but I couldn’t even manage a good morning. My throat felt dry and I was too scared that if I tried to say anything I’d end up blurting out that I love him and scare him off forever.”
Now that he’d said it once he couldn’t stop. He wanted to shout it from the rooftop and proclaim it to the world, bake it into cupcakes, paint it twenty feet tall onto the side of a building, sing it from the top of the Eiffel Tower; “I love Combeferre!”
“But you can’t tell something you love them before your first date,” he continued. “You can’t even tell them on the second. And I’m so far away from any of that, and, oh,” he wanted to flop onto the desk and slowly bash his head against the keyboard. But his office door was open, anyone could walk past, and he wasn’t about to give into his pathetic miserable mood somewhere so public.
“Why can’t you?”
“Why can’t what?”
“I told Grantaire I loved him before we started dating,”
“Yes, but you’re different. You two were pining after each other for years. The entire universe knew you two were in love with each other before you started dating. There were extra-terrestrials placing bets on when one of you would pluck up the courage to let the other know. I lost 30,000 space dollars to a Plutonian because you lost your nerve on Valentine ’s Day.”
Enjolras didn’t need to say anything for Courfeyrac to know that he had an eyebrow raised and lips pursed with a quickly evaporating patience.
“You’re Enjolras and Grantaire. You’re like the exception that makes the rule,” Courfeyrac sighed.
“I don’t think we are.” Enjolras replied slowly. “Sometimes I think you’re right, that I don’t know the first thing about relationships,”
“Hey,” Courfeyrac sat up, suddenly alert. “a, that’s not what I said – I said you didn’t know how to flirt which you don’t but we’re not having that argument again that’s what got us into this mess,” he said all very quickly without taking a breath, “and b, you two have been together for over a year now, things are good, aren’t they?”
“I don’t know,” Enjolras hesitated. “They’re great, it’s just,” he trailed off.
Courfeyrac waited, it was ever so rare for Enjolras to talk about anything like this; Courfeyrac wasn’t about to push him.
“It’s nothing. I’m just overthinking everything,”
“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac started, wanting to assure Enjolras that he could tell him anything, but a movement down the corridor stilled him. Shadows stirred, and then he heard the unmistakeable voice of M. Danvers.
Swearing under his breath, Courfeyrac dropped the phone into the crook of his neck and shuffled some papers around on his desk trying to look busy.
“Yes, so if we could expedite the delivery on those visas, that would be excellent,” he invented, ignoring the way Enjolras had begun to snicker on the other end of the phone. He shot M. Danvers a half wave and mouthed a good morning. “Hmm, ideally we’ll need them by next Thursday, uh huh, yeah,”
He waited until his boss had definitely disappeared round the corner, before slumping back into his chair and running and hand through his hair. Enjolras was still trying to stifle his laughter.
“Not funny,” Courfeyrac insisted.
Enjolras’ tailing laughs begged to differ. “I should probably get back to work,” he said, leaving no room for returning to their previous conversation.
“Me too,” Courfeyrac groaned, twisting his chair from side to side. “What time are we flyering Saturday?”
“8am sharp.”
“You do realise that normal people won’t leave their houses until around 10, yeah?”
Enjolras stoically ignored him. “You’re still alright to print the flyers for us, yes?”
That was news to Courfeyrac. “What? No.”
“Well I can’t print them; our machine has a vendetta against me.”
“It does not, it’s a printer, Enjolras, it can’t hold vendettas,”
“Usually, I’d be inclined to agree, but this morning it ate my document. An original copy, mind, the only original copy. I was trying to take a scan, and it ate it. Jammed up the machine and ripped it into irredeemable pieces. I now have to track down the client who is somewhere near Lyon at the moment and get a new copy. How is that not holding a vendetta?”
“Oh god, you sound like Bossuet, but more grumpy. Fine. How many copies?”
“Ten thousand?” Enjolras asked in all seriousness. Courfeyrac waited for him to hear how ridiculously excessive that number was. But he remained oblivious.
“Yeah, I’m going to print five hundred at most.”
“What if we run out?”
That was never going to happen. Courfeyrac would be happy if then handed out half that many.
“Then we’ll print more.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Please, I have a key.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“What if I have a date on this side of town? Things are going well, the Metro’s stopped running and I have no money for a cab? I’m not going to waste this perfectly good deskage.” Courfeyrac lied with flare. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d been entrusted with a key (or an office for that matter), but he wasn’t going to argue.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“But you love me. Right, I really do have to get back to work now, especially if you expect me to print out 500 illegal flyers.”
“At least thousand?”
“Goodbye Enjolras.”
He put the phone down and stared at the wall for a few moments trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to print out that many flyers without anyone noticing.
Eponine.
She’d know what to do.
=
Courfeyrac stopped off at his apartment just long enough to drop off the boxes of flyers and change into his jogging gear. His thoughts were all over the place and he needed to blow off a little steam. With cheesy pop tunes at full volume in his ears he raced through the streets of Paris, through the Jardin du Tuilleries and along the Seine before double back to his apartment. The air was crisp and refreshing and the leaves were just beginning to turn. Courfeyrac was definitely loved summer the most, but he couldn’t deny there was something comforting and nostalgic about golden autumn evenings.
His limbs ached as he climbed the endless stairs back up to his apartment, but his thoughts were clear and he felt sufficiently reinvigorated. All he needed now was a nice long shower and an evening with friends and he’d be as good as new.
The water cascaded around him, fogging up the shower screen and clouding the mirror. He tipped his head back and exhaled, letting a slow smile spread across his face as the warmth engulfed him.
About 45 minutes later he emerged, flushed pink from the heat and feeling almost blissful. He wrapped a towel round his waist, and danced towards his bedroom; skidding to a halt when he spotted Grantaire sitting on his couch.
“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, “what the fuck are you doing here?”
“It’s Friday.” Grantaire shrugged, not taking his eyes from Courfeyrac’s TV. “We’re going to get wasted.”
Courfeyrac dragged a hand through his wet hair, sending water trickling down his neck. “Right,” he nodded. “Okay.” His shocked frown transformed into a smile. Drinks with friends was exactly the remedy he was looking for. “Who else is coming?”
“Bahorel’s busy – I think he has a date?”
“Bahorel has a date? What is everyone just trying to rub it in my face?” he muttered, to which Grantaire just smirked.
“I invited Pontmercy, but who knows. Ep said she’d come if she could get someone to watch Gav. Enjolras is busy planning for tomorrow…so it might just be us.” He threw his arm over the back of the sofa and turned round, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.
“You might need to put a shirt on,”
“I just got out of the shower,”
“Oh is that what you were doing, sounded like a one man Broadway show,”
Courfeyrac gave him a playful shove as he crossed towards his bedroom.
“All that jogging’s clearly good for something though,” Grantaire smirked, turning back to the TV.
Courfeyrac stuck his head round the door of his bedroom, confused.
“You’re looking very trim.” Grantaire called back over his shoulder.
Courfeyrac glanced down at his stomach with a questioning frown. He’d always been in good shape, perhaps with slightly more of a tummy than could be considered great, but looking at his reflection now…. He twisted from side to side. He did look pretty fantastic.
“Stop admiring your reflection, I want to get drunk,” Grantaire whined from the living room.
“Give me five,”
“Five what, hours?” Grantaire chuckled.
=
Considerably more than five minutes later, they were sauntering down the stairs from Courfeyrac’s apartment and headed towards the metro. Courfeyrac was more than happy to let Grantaire pick a destination, he had an uncanny knack for picking the perfect spot. True to form, he led them into an tucked away bar which happened to be hosting a cocktail perfecting evening. Which not only meant that the bar staff were experimenting with lots of unusual concoctions, but had the added bonus of everything being half off.
They settled onto stools around the large rectangular bar which was placed in the centre of the room and got stuck into the fanciful drinks.
It didn’t take long for them to be pleasantly, mindlessly drunk. The counter before them filled up with drinks, and they were soon suggesting new drinks and names for the barstaff to try. Courfeyrac managed to invent a violently blue drink with involve blue curaco and kiwifruit juice (amongst other ingredients which he’d already forgotten) and was merrily slurping it through a straw.
“Honestly if you want Combeferre to ask you out, just wear that teeny tiny towel of yours, and he’s bound to cave.”
“Seriously?”
“Serious. I mean, I was about to jump you, and you aren’t even my type.”
“What, because I’m not Achilles 2.0?”
Grantaire laughed, turning away and taking a swig of his more modest coloured cocktail. As far as Courfeyrac could tell it was made entirely of whisky and Malibu. “That would be funny, if it weren’t true.”
“Speaking of Achilles’ 21st century doppelganger,” Courfeyrac hedged, smirking and swirling his straw round his blue concoction, “how are things with you and Enjolras?”
Grantaire groaned. “Huh, don’t,” he said. “It’s stupid.”
But there was an ‘it’, then.
“I’m the King of Stupid.” Okay, that had sounded better in Courfeyrac’s head, but the sentiment remained true. “try me,”
“You know those flyers?” Grantaire asked, plonking down his glass and leaning forward, forearms resting on the bar top.
“Yeah, they’re funny,” Courfeyrac smiled.
“Well, I made three,” Grantaire explained, his eyes briefly meeting Courfeyrac’s before taking another sweep of the establishment. “The first two were amazing; masterpieces of political pamphlets. You could have put them in an art museum. The third I made as a joke, the Serious was getting a bit too overwhelming. I showed him the silly one first, expecting him to cut me down,at which point I could shove it in his face, like ‘ha ha’, you thought I wasn’t taking this seriously, you know?” Grantaire sighed and paused to sip some drink. “But he chose the first one.”
“Wait a second,” Courfeyrac interjected. “So you’re mad, because he didn’t get mad.”
“I told you it was stupid.”
“My god,” Courfeyrac chuckled. “You two have some serious issues which you need to work on, seriously.”
“Trust me, I know,” Grantaire shook his head. “I just…don’t get it. He always criticises me for not taking things seriously – then when I do?”
“Your communication skills suck!” Courfeyrac told him bluntly, slurping through his straw, big brown eyes widened in an attempt to ease the blow. It must have work because Grantaire simply shook his head.
But it was true, if they only talked to each other, they wouldn’t have half the problems they did.
“I’m not sure I want relationship advice from the guy who couldn’t get a date before Enjolras.”
“Ha!” Courfeyrac replied, “Says the guy who’s dating Enjolras.”
“You know what,” Grantaire began, smiling, “I can’t be dealing with this conversation right now – what time is it that you’re supposed to be flyering tomorrow?”
“You know Enjolras; 8am sharp. He has no common sense.”
“You realise it’s getting on to 2am, right?”
“No way, shiiit,” Courfeyrac checked his phone and almost dropped it in shock. He stumbled from his chair, reaching for his jacket with uncoordinated movements.
“You not coming?”
“No way. I made the flyers, ergo I don’t have to distribute them,” he beamed, reaching across for the rest of Courfeyrac’s blue cocktail and drinking from it smugly. “I plan on drinking every stupid drink this place has to offer.”
Courfeyrac glanced at the bar longingly. “Remind me to make them next time then.” He shrugged on his jacket, fumbling with the collar, and hoping he had enough money for a cab home.
“But seriously, if you get sick of waiting for the end of the month, then try the towel thing!” Grantaire shouted after him.
“Why don’t you talk to Enjolras and then get back to me!” Courfeyrac yelled back with a smirk.
“Goodnight, Courfeyrac,” Grantaire sang.
|
“And again,” said Derek.
He pulled Stiles up off the floor where he’d just thrown him. They bumped their faces into each other and for a moment Stiles felt the familiar rush of want, could see it reflected in Derek but they stepped away and prepared to do the drill again.
He had been relying on his Sight too much. He was stronger than he’d ever been, faster too, but he wasn’t fast enough. Luckily his muscles seemed to remember how to do the moves when he and Derek spared but they weren’t coming fast or hard enough anymore to take him down.
It was at times like this that their relationship got weird, when Stiles was just another member of the pack. They wouldn’t avoid each other, not exactly, just not be all over each other. It was all part of Derek exerting his place as alpha of the pack and Stiles didn’t like to interfere. The two of them might think that Stiles was just as much an alpha as Derek was but to the others he was still just Stiles, their goofy friend who made sarcastic comments all the time.
Again Derek came at him, diving left this time and grabbing Stiles around the waist, flipping him up and slamming him back down into the ground.
“Jesus Derek!” Stiles shouted rubbing his back. “My organs fail when repeatedly pummelled. Remember that? The whole point of this was so that I don’t get beaten to a bloody pulp. I think I can feel my spleen rupturing. I don’t even know what a spleen is but I’m pretty sure it’s what that pain is.”
Derek growled as he hauled Stiles back up off the floor, again, and set him on his feet.
“Fine. We can take a break but then we’re getting right back on this.”
The two of them collapsed down onto the sofa. The other beta’s who had been training by themselves, trying to ignore Stiles getting repeatedly thrown to the floor, took it as a sign it was time for a break and followed.
“You’re moving too soon,” said Derek ignoring the rest of the pack. “You need to wait for me to go and react to what I do.”
“Waiting has never been my strong suit.”
“Don’t I know it. You need to get this down or you’re going to end up in the hospital on a more permanent basis.”
“Or maybe I just need to go back to solving all my problems with sarcasm rather than my fists,” Stiles grinned. It could be fun winding Derek up sometimes. “Besides, I know how I die so I’ll just, you know, not go near you and everything’ll be fine.”
“Go back to…You can’t just… Ahh!” Derek shouted, rendered inarticulate with frustration. “Stiles I love you but you are such a massive idiot! Just because you know you won’t die doesn’t mean you’ll be okay. You know what you’re like. You do something without thinking it all the way through and it goes to hell. It’s worse now because you’re used to knowing how the ending is going to go so you’ve stopped even thinking about what might happen. Just because you don’t die doesn’t mean you can’t get your head caved in and end up in a coma for thirty years, or be in traction for months because you’ve broken every bone in your body or end up getting someone else killed. You’re part of this now, you’re right in at the centre and you can’t avoid it. You have to learn how to protect yourself. Why are you laughing?”
Stiles bit down on lips, looking away from Derek as he finished his rant.
“I’m not laughing,” said Stiles, trying very hard to not sound like he was, in fact, laughing.
“You’re smirking?” said Derek.
Stiles waved his hand, like it was no big deal. “It’s nothing.”
“No. It’s not. It’s something. What is it?”
“I don’t want to say,” he said picking at his sleeve. “You’ll get pissed at me.”
“I’m already pissed at you!” Derek said.
“Fine!” said Stiles loudly. “God!”
He tried to ignore the questioning looks all the other pack members were giving him. They didn’t know that this kind of concerned, playful bickering was all part of what made them a couple. To them it looked like he and Derek were about to start going ten rounds with each other.
Stiles leaned in close, putting his arm around Derek’s shoulders.
“That's the first time you've ever said you loved me when other people could hear.”
“What are you talking about,” said Derek, angry and confused. “I tell you all the time.”
“Sure,” said Stiles. “When we're alone, not when anyone’s listening.”
“That is not true!”
“Actually Derek he’s right,” said Isaac. “None of us have ever heard you say it, not even me and I live with you. We were all starting to get a bit worried.”
“Worried?” asked Derek. “Why are you getting worried about my love life? It’s not like it affects me as an alph-”
“Not for you,” snapped Scott. “For Stiles. We know why you broke up and it didn’t look like you’d changed. You were still being all distant when Stiles obviously adores you.”
“Aww, my friends care,” said Stiles. He looked across at Derek, sat there totally confused as he wracked his memories.
“I know I've said it before. I must have.”
“Not to any of us,” said Boyd.
“Why didn't someone say something?” said Derek to his pack, then turned to Stiles. “Why didn't you?
“I thought you knew you were doing it,” Stiles laughed.
“Besides you are kind of scary Derek,” said Scott.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Stiles rubbing Derek on the arm. “I don’t mind.”
“Well, you should,” said Derek snappily.
Stiles scooted in closer and lowered his voice. All the others could still hear obviously but that wasn’t the point. “I know you’ve got all your issues up in that pretty little head of yours. You told me and I knew you meant it. That’s all I need.”
Derek took one of Stiles’ hands in his, using the other one to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair.
“Yeah but-”
“Because of 'and stuff',” Stiles cut off. It was his turn to be exasperated. “I didn't mind because of 'and stuff'.”
He didn't need to say any more. He looked into Derek’s eyes and he could feel how much he loved and was loved by this man. Stiles lifted up their entwined fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing the back of Derek’s hand. Derek pulled it back across and did the same before leaning their heads together and letting out a contented chuckle.
“Aww, you two really are adorable.” said Erica, reminding them that they were in a room filled with pack.
“Erica,” warned Derek.
“No. Really. It’s like you’re two big puppies in wuv.”
Derek sprang back up from the couch and grabbed Erica by the shoulder and shoved him back.
“Right. That’s it. Long enough break. Everyone back to work.”
“Stiles, control your husband!”
“Yeah Derek do what the little lady tells you!”
“Little lady? Screw you Scott. Make ‘em bleed honey.”
*****
Stiles sat back against Derek’s pillows, scrunching his fingers into Derek’s hair. Derek lay across his chest, fingers tracing spirals across the bare flesh, swirling around the skin that was puckered by stitches and scar tissue of the cut left by Mark. Neither of them looked like they were seeking sleep anytime soon but nor were either of them speaking. They were just lying there together, each lost in their own thoughts.
“Everything alright?” Derek asked. “You seem like you’re somewhere else tonight.”
He laid a kiss to Stiles peck as he looked up at him but Stiles was still staring off into the far distance.
“Sorry. I am, kind of.”
“Sometimes we need to go away. I could tell you weren’t really here when we were making love.”
Stiles hummed in agreement before playing the words back in his head.
“I’m sorry did you just say ‘making love’ and manage to keep a straight face?” Derek pulled a face up at him. “Why does everyone think I’m the girl in this relationship when it is so obviously you.”
“I’m not a girl, Stiles,” said Derek dragging his fingers down to Stiles abs. His claws were out a little and the delicately pressed points felt nice against Stiles’ skin. “Neither are you. It’s kind of the point of having sex with another guy. Just because I’m sleeping with a man doesn’t change my genitalia.”
“Technically you’re sleeping with a boy, you great big statutory rapist.”
Derek dragged his nail a bit deeper, not so it cut but just so that Stiles could feel it against his stomach.
“Why do you say these things to hurt me?”
“Because I love you and stuff,” said Stiles. He pressed his lips into the top of Derek’s head and kept them there. The question came out before he’d even known it was coming. “Derek, are you gay?”
Derek’s fingers stopped their tracing of his body and looked up at him.
“What?”
“Well… I mean there was Kate and I know that was a massive fuck up and now…”
“No,” said Derek, cutting off that trail of thought. “I’m not ‘gay’.”
“So you’ve been with any other girls?”
“A few. In New York. Was all just sex though. Trying to get the memory of her out.”
“Any other guys?”
Derek shook his head.
“Just you. But I think it’s different for me. I can see a guy or a girl is attractive but not feel attracted to them. When I am attracted to someone though, it’s like the rest of the world just goes away, like no one else could possibly be important or ever measure up. It’s what happened with Kate. Happened with you too. It took me a long time before I jumped you in the locker rooms though. I was afraid you’d end up being another Kate.”
Derek was looking at Stiles a little uncertain. He lowered his head and nuzzled back into Stiles, pulling closer to feel his warmth.
“So you’re like, a what, a Stiles-o-sexual?”
Derek laughed, his breath hot and wet on Stiles chest.
“Something like that. That’s not what’s really on your mind though.”
“I hate that you know me so well.”
Stiles told him everything he’d learnt the previous night. The prophesy, the queen, his powers, all of it. Derek grunted into his side to show he was still listening, his hand constantly moving over Stiles’ body.
“And you think this person’s Jackson?”
“Looking that way. Third strike,” said Stiles staring blankly.
“What are you going to do?”
Stiles shook his head.
“Something very unpleasant that I don’t want to have on my conscience, but there we go.” He sighed deeply.
“What was it you said last time you were about to kill him? ‘It was too easy’. That killing people shouldn’t be easy.”
“When has my life’s ever been eas-”
Derek jerked his head up off of Stiles, letting the cold night air swirl in and raise goose bumps on his flesh. After a second on full alert Derek shook his head and snuggled back in.
“Thought I heard something,” he said. “It was just Isaac or Peter going to the bathroom.”
“Guess I’m going to have to stick to you after all. You can protect me from all the werewolves with full bladers. I’m getting tired of constantly looking over my shoulder all the time. I need to get you to do it for me.”
“I should warn you I might spend a lot of time looking over your ass.”
Stiles shuffled down in bed and kissed Derek again.
“Shouldn’t you be getting home soon,” said Derek wrapping his body around Stiles. “Your Dad will be worried.”
Stiles turned over in bed so his back was to Derek. Ever since Mark had kidnapped him Stiles’ father was trying to keep his son under an iron yoke. It was to keep him safe, Stiles knew that. The curfews and restrictions, it was all to make sure he wasn’t going to get hurt again. But every time his father attempted to lay down some new rule Stiles broke it, flagrantly and pointedly. What was his Dad going to do, chain him up in the basement? Lock him in the freezer like Isaac’s Dad? Duct tape him to a chair?
“I don’t give a crap what my Dad thinks.”
“Stiles-”
“You saw his face Derek. Every time that you were there in the hospital room, when you held my hand you saw his face. He doesn’t want to believe, Derek. He can’t stand what his son is but he doesn’t want to hate me for it so he just pretends he doesn’t see Derek and I can’t-”
“Shh,” said Derek.
He wrapped his arms tightly around Stiles so he couldn’t move but it was more like he was keeping him together.
“It’s okay,” Derek said over and over as Stiles let himself sob great catching sobs. “Just let it out.”
“It’s not fair!” Stiles managed. “I can cope with werewolves, faeries and madmen trying to kill me at every opportunity. I can deal with getting sent to the hospital every five minutes but having to know that my Dad might love me just a little bit less because of who he fell in love with… I don’t know how you’re supposed to start dealing with that.”
“You are the strongest person I know,” said Derek. “You always have been. You’ve been through more than anyone should have to go through and you are still standing. You’re Dad loves you and yeah, maybe he could be taking this better but he will always love you and he will always be there for you. Just like me.”
Stiles knew that Derek was right. He wasn’t always but on this, Derek was right.
“Can I stay here tonight still?” Stiles asked.
“Of course,” said Derek. “Stay here for as long as you want.”
|
Dean was pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to be dismantling cars for parts if you were pregnant, but he’d basically moved in with Bobby, and he hadn’t given a reason, and he wasn’t just going to sit around on his ass all day like a freeloader. Besides, it had only been five weeks since he stopped his suppressants, and if he did have a passenger on board he was pretty sure nothing he did at this point could hurt it. At least, he hoped it couldn’t. He’d read the literature the doctor at the clinic had sent home with him, stowing it away under his mattress with his porno mags, and it had said no lifting of anything heavier than twenty-five pounds, but that seemed a ridiculous limitation given his build. It also seemed that a lot of the literature ran towards the alarmist, worst-case-scenario end of the spectrum, and it was all put out by the government anyway so he tended not to trust everything it said. He’d have to do some independent research at the library or something the next time he went into town.
He was never going to admit that he was quietly avoiding going into town. As an unmated omega, he’d always needed to be on his guard against alphas looking for a good time, but lately, just the idea of going out in public on his own left him genuinely afraid for his safety. He figured it was just hormones, but that didn’t help him to stop feeling that way. He was glad Bobby was a beta and couldn’t smell the change in his scent. Even the arrival of the mailman sent him running for his room these days. He was doubling up on scent blocker and applying it multiple times during the day in case anyone swung by Bobby’s to do some research or borrow a weapon or book, and he had several piles of tires ready to be burned out back if he really felt he needed to block his scent completely.
Bobby knew something was up, too. He may not be able to scent Dean, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed how Dean’s eating habits had changed, how different smells made him turn green, and it hadn’t escaped his attention that he was looking a little fuller through the chest. Not the kind of fuller doing push-ups got you, either; the kind of fuller from glands starting to expand and fat starting to collect. He sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up until Dean wanted to, but something told him it was only a matter of time before the two of them were going to be having a very awkward conversation that involved due dates, whelping, and diaper duty.
Well, at least now he had an idea of why Dean had been so upset all those weeks ago when he landed on his doorstep after the Laramie job, and why Sam had looked so un-Sam-like. He wondered if Sam even knew since the boy hadn’t been back or tried to contact Dean that he knew of, but it was none of his business. Whatever Dean had decided to share with or withhold from Sam he probably had a very good reason for it. Unless he was just being an idjit. That was always a possibility too.
He tried not to peek that Thursday Dean got a phone call while breaking down an old Chevy truck, but he was damn curious as to who had Dean looking at his cell and hurrying away from the yard before answering. Maybe he’d ask later. If Dean was in for a nine-month stay with him they couldn’t keep pussy-footing around each other like this anyway.
Dean caught Bobby trying not to be obviously interested in who was calling when his phone rang and he looked down to see it was Benny’s number. He knew he was going to have to come clean about what was going on with the old hunter sooner rather than later, but it was still a week from when he was supposed to buy a stick to piss on. He didn’t want Bobby picking out nursery colors when there might not even be a kid. He tried not to be obvious about noticing Bobby’s feigned disinterest and headed to the far end of the junkyard.
“Hey Benny,” he said when he was sure he was out of earshot.
“Actually it’s Lisa,” replied the female omega on the other end. “Sorry, it’s taken so long to call you back. Things here have been crazy prepping for the new baby and Ben just started first grade. Somehow he got the idea that Uncle Dean thinks a puppy is better than a baby. That’s been fun, so thanks for that. Benny said you had some ‘omega stuff’ you wanted to ask me?”
“Yeah…” He moved even farther away from Bobby and hid behind an old Dodge Charger that had fallen tragically into disrepair. “I...uh...I wanted to ask you some stuff about...heats? If that’s okay?”
“Oh.” She tried to mask the surprise in her voice but didn’t succeed. “Oh. Yeah, that’s totally fine. I thought you were staying on suppressants until - what was it - the end of time?”
She laughed, which gave him room to laughand was a nice little distraction from his suddenly sweaty palms.
“Yeah, that was the plan but uh...something came up.”
“Something came up? Like what? Did you fall madly in love with a tall, dark, and handsome alpha, and now you’re thinking of motherhood?”
It was Dean’s turn to laugh, but it came off as incredibly forced because of course, it was. He often wondered if Benny had found himself a psychic for a mate and it was because of moments like this. Once she’d gotten past the idea that Benny was pining desperately for Dean, and understood that the pair of hunters just really loved each other but it never had been and never would be that way, she had made it her mission to get to know her mate’s best friend and had succeeded surprisingly well. She knew how to scale Dean’s walls and dismantle his carefully constructed bravado and sometimes he really felt like she could just see straight into his soul. He reminded Benny all the time that he’d chosen well and was a lucky man, and never begrudged his friend getting out of the life immediately after claiming her.
“You read too many romance novels,” he told her, though he was pretty sure the tremor in his voice gave him away.
“An om’s gotta do something to keep herself occupied when she gets too big to see her feet and has to sit around most of the time with her ankles elevated.” She paused, and when she spoke again her tone was dead serious. “So if you’re not madly in love, why would you even think of going off your suppressants?”
“It wasn’t...it wasn’t a conscious decision.”
“What do you mean?”
“My script ran out and I only had about a hundred dollars to my name so I couldn’t refill it.”
“What?!” Dean wanted to point out that yelling was probably not good for the baby Lisa was due to deliver in about a month, but he didn’t dare speak. “Why didn’t you call me?! I’d have put money in your account!”
“Because it’s embarrassing, Lis! It’s embarrassing that I’m a grown-ass adult and can’t afford basic shit!”
“Dean, you can’t just stop taking those! You’ll end up pregnant if an alpha breathes on you!” The fact that he said nothing in response was apparently all he needed to say. “How far along are you?”
“I don’t know if I am yet,” he said. “The doctor at the clinic said I needed to wait six weeks to see if I went into heat. I’ve got a week left.”
“Well, most om doctors are alphas and they only know what they’re taught in school. Take it from a pregnant lady. If you were past the three-day mark you better grab a test from the pharmacy and start picking out names.” She gave him a minute to process before she started in again. “I’m assuming the alpha isn’t around. He - or she…"
“He,” Dean admitted. “Tall, dark, and handsome.”
“He’d have been able to smell the change in your scent and you wouldn’t need to call me.”
“He…” Shit. That wasn’t in any of the pamphlets. “He would?”
“He’d have been able to tell a couple of weeks ago. Any alpha should be able to scent you by now.” Well. That’s why he’d felt so paranoid about leaving Bobby’s house. “Was it at least your choice? No one…”
“No. God no. Nothing like that. He isn’t...he’s not that kind of guy.”
“I take it he’s someone from the community?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyone I’ve heard of?’
“Sam Campbell.”
“The guy you did the Laramie job with?”
“Yeah. We were hanging out drinking after the hunt and things kind of progressed...”
“And you were off your suppressants and didn’t realize…”
“Pretty much.”
“Benny hasn’t told me much about him, except he didn’t trust him to keep you from getting killed.”
“He wouldn’t. Sam was still a kid when Benny graduated. They never really knew each other.”
“Obviously he’s not a kid anymore.”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut at the unbidden memory of Sam’s hands running up his chest and neck and into his hair and the feel of his lips against the hollow of Dean’s throat. He’d been doing a really good job not thinking about Sam this last month. The only time he showed up now was in Dean’s dreams, and whenever he dreamt of Sam it always ruined his morning.
“No. No, he’s not.”
There was a long pause on her end, giving him plenty of time to wallow in his feelings of longing and utter stupidity.
“Have you told him?”
Dean swallowed. Talking about him with Lisa was turning out to be physically painful, like his inner omega was wasting away without the alpha.
“No. I don’t plan to. He’s not...he’s not interested in me like that.”
“How do you know if you haven’t told him?”
“Jesus Lis!” He could feel his throat tightening as tears sprang to his eyes. “I don’t want to be some kind of pity claim. Not everyone gets to have something like you and Benny.”
“Why on earth would you think you’d be some kind of pity claim?”
He knew he’d get into some kind of discussion like this with Lisa. When she hadn’t called right back after he talked with Benny he had secretly hoped she’d just forgotten he wanted to talk to her, and he wasn’t going to press the issue, no matter how nervous he was about his current situation. She was always soft with him in a way that he needed, even though she wouldn’t put up with any of his shit. It was one of the things that made her such a good mom to Ben and perfect for Benny. He swiped his hand across his eyes to try to clear his blurry vision.
“Cuz you take away my badass car and winning smile and I’m basically ninety percent crap.”
“Oh, honey…” Great. Now he was sobbing quietly, his free arm wrapped tightly around his ribs like he could hold it all in if he was just strong enough. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”
“Don’t tell Benny, okay?” he begged, feeling like he was sixteen again and getting kicked out of school.
“You think he’s gonna finally give up on you or something because you went and got yourself ‘with child’?”
“I don’t know, I just...I just don’t want him to know.”
“He’s gonna figure it out when you come out for Christmas wearing maternity pants.” Clearly, she’d been hoping to lighten the mood, but it only made him cry harder. “Dean. Sweetie. It’ll be okay. I promise. Get to the pharmacy and get yourself a test.”
“Okay.”
"And you need to reconsider telling Sam. It’s very hard for an omega to carry for nine months without an alpha. They aren’t just good for opening pickle jars. Just their presence in the same room is soothing.”
“Okay.”
“And call me! For anything! As long as it’s before nine o’clock because that’s when I typically fall asleep on Benny’s shoulder on the couch and you do not want to wake up a super pregnant omega.”
That finally earned her the genuine laugh she was going for, and Dean started to get himself under control.
“Okay. Thanks, Lisa.”
“We love you, Dean. All three of us.”
“I know.”
“Keep me posted.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Bye Dean.”
He heard her end of the call click off and flipped his cell phone closed as he got his crazy emotions under control. He’d really known deep down what she was going to tell him - just the fact that he turned into a blubbering mess simply thinking about telling Sam was enough of a clue - but it was still hard to accept. He’d been looking forward to one more week of denial before he had to welcome reality into his world, and he probably still could just push this whole thing to the back of his mind if he really tried, but it was all becoming very exhausting. He wiped his sleeve over his face to clear away the tear streaks and leaned down to see how he looked in the Charger’s cracked side mirror. Well, the tears were gone but he’d ended up getting dirt all over his cheeks. That wasn’t going to look suspicious at all. He rubbed at his cheeks with his palms to try to clean off the dirt and only made it worse, adding more dirt and reddening his face until it looked like he was blushing. Why couldn’t anything be easy for him?
He had just started back across the yard to where Bobby was still working on the truck when his phone rang again. He checked the display and felt his heart stop and then start again, thumping wildly. He looked for something to sit down on while he decided whether or not to answer it and had to settle for the hood of the Charger.
Sam
His omega screamed at him to answer the goddamned phone right this fucking minute, but the fact of the matter was that Dean was suddenly very lightheaded and didn’t think he could do so without passing out. This was the fifth day in a row Sam had called. His heart was racing and he was nearly hyperventilating at the mere thought of hearing Sam’s voice. This was probably hormones too, but he had been gradually learning that he couldn’t control those little fuckers at all and he didn’t trust himself to be able to carry on a coherent conversation. He waited what seemed like an eternity until the call finally went to voicemail.
Once his legs felt steady beneath him again he headed back to where Bobby was sitting patiently on the bed of the Chevy, his tools set aside and arms folded across his chest.
“We gonna talk about that thing we ain’t been talkin’ about?” he asked, causing Dean to blush a deep crimson.
“I uh…” The omega cleared his throat, running his hand across the back of his neck. “I need to pick something up from the pharmacy. Think you could come with?”
“Do I need to bring my bat to beat all the alphas away with?”
Dean could tell he was only half-joking and managed a weak smile.
“Maybe…?”
Bobby climbed down off the back of the truck with a bit of difficulty and adjusted his hat and his flannel. He wanted to tell Dean to go wash up before they headed out, but thought they might have a better shot at making it through the pharmacy without attracting too much unwanted attention if he had a good layer of grime on him. He thought about calling Sam and telling him he needed those books on demons back ASAP and he should swing by to drop them off the first chance he got, but he didn’t want to stick his nose too much into Dean’s business. The last thing he needed was Dean running off with a pup on the way and getting himself into a whole heap of trouble. Plus he suspected Sam would kill him if he lost track of the mother of his child.
Dean looked a little peaked after talking to whoever had been on the phone, so Bobby decided he’d better drive and they climbed into his old, beat up Chevelle for the trek into Beresford. It was slightly closer than the city itself and the town pharmacy would have what Dean needed. Bobby didn’t think there was any need to subject Dean to the hustle and bustle of a giant CVS when Elmer’s Drugs carried the same brand of pregnancy tests as the big chain stores. They pulled up into the dusty parking lot and Bobby was relieved to see it was mostly empty. If he wasn’t mistaken ( and he rarely was when it came to his boy ) Dean was relieved as well. He killed the engine, grabbed his ax handle out of the back seat to lay across the front, and opened his door to get out.
He noticed Dean was just sitting there, staring at the ax handle like his butt and the passenger seat had formed a deep and meaningful relationship and refused to be separated. He leaned down, feeling his back pop, and caught the young man’s eye.
“That’s just in case we have to make a run for it,” he said. “Come on, it’s gonna be fine.”
Dean nodded, though his eyes were wide and panicked. Bobby had never seen him like this before but suspected it was typical for a pregnant omega. Oms were vulnerable enough as it was. Walking around unmated with a bun in the oven was bound to attract an awful lot of unwanted attention, no matter how much scent blocker he was wearing.
There were only a handful of people in the store when the little bell over the door announced their entrance. Old man Elmer, a well known, white-haired beta was manning the pharmacy; a large alpha and his beta mate were over by the coolers arguing over beer; a teenage beta with a spray of acne across her forehead was running the cash register, looking bored; and a female alpha was roaming the first aid aisle. The two alphas looked up when Dean and Bobby walked in and sniffed the air, which had the omega ducking his head and pressing into Bobby’s side as Bobby slid an arm around his back. The alpha by the cooler got a hard smack upside the back of his head from his beta, while the female in the first aid aisle tracked them carefully over to the omega hygiene and family planning section. She didn’t move from her spot, but the way she watched them was unnerving. Close to You was playing on the radio near the front that served as the store’s sound system and gave the whole situation a very surreal quality.
Dean was now on high alert and trying to keep track of where everyone was in the store, leaving Bobby on his own to pick out the best pregnancy test among the bunch. Clear Blue Om and RAPID Response both had regular television ads, so he compared the disclaimers on the back and decided to just get them both. He shoved them into Dean’s hands, which made him jump, and grabbed a bottle of prenatal supplements as well.
“All right, let’s go,” he said quietly, sliding his arm back around Dean to lead him up to the counter. He noticed with concern that the omega had started to tremble.
Dean put the tests on the counter and shoved his hands into his pockets as Bobby plunked down the supplements and reached for his wallet. Normally Dean would never let him pay but he was too busy paying attention to where everyone was and didn’t think he could get his debit card out without shaking like a leaf. He could smell the interest of the two alphas in the store, particularly the female. She was shorter than him, only about 5’9”, but that didn’t always mean he could take her in a fight if she was really amped up; at least not in his current state with his hormones so badly in flux.
Bobby noticed how terribly his body was shaking and laid a hand on his arm while the bored teenage beta went to ring up their purchases.
“Calm down,” he said as quietly and gently as he could. “We’ll be outta here in just a minute.”
“I know,” Dean whispered back, squeezing his eyes shut in terror as the scanner malfunctioned and the bell on the door jingled. “I’ll be okay.”
But he wouldn’t be. Because two things happened at the exact same time that resulted in the omega nearly wetting himself.
First, the beta yelled all the way to the back of the store, “Elmer! Scanner’s not working! How much is a Clear Blue Om test?”
Second, Dean caught the smell of gun oil, sandalwood, tar, and dirt roads that made up his father’s scent. John had been the one jingling the bell on the door.
Time seemed to stop for everyone but the cashier, who was repeating her request to Elmer in the back because Elmer was half deaf and forgot to put his hearing aids in that morning. The female and the mated alpha stopped and looked over to the checkout aisle at the spike of distressed omega scent in the shop. The mated alpha’s beta female stared at the new alpha who had just entered and was glaring at the omega and beta by the counter. Bobby wished more than anything he’d brought that ax handle in with him, and Dean reverted to about five years old. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to move first, and John was the one to rise to the challenge.
He stormed across the store, grabbed Dean by his arms, and pulled him in close so he could take a long, deep inhale of his neck. When he’d pulled back his teeth had descended and his eyes were fully red. Bobby had only seen him like this during their fight over the boys when Dean was eight and Adam was two, and he’d had to pull a gun on John to keep from being killed. Dean’s face was a panicked mask and he whimpered as his father shook him, hard.
“Who did this?” John growled, and pulled him in to scent his neck again. “Who did this Dean?!”
“Dad…” Dean cried, his voice high and frightened.
Bobby tried to insert himself between them, throwing his arms across John’s in an attempt to push them apart.
“Let him go, John,” he ordered calmly, trying to keep the situation from escalating. The other two alphas were starting to react instinctively to John’s aggression, their hackles raised. John needed to back off, and quickly. “Let him go and let’s go outside to talk.”
“Not until he tells me who,” John snarled, and Dean let out a whine at how tightly his father was squeezing his arms.
“Dad…”
Dean was on the verge of tears and Bobby was officially out of patience. He pushed harder against John’s chest and leaned into him, shouting, “Get! Off! Him!”
It was like Dean was back at Hal’s Diner, only so much worse. He could hear Sam’s voice - “Get. Off. Him.” - but it was attached to a feeling like being underwater and trying to get to the surface but being so turned around he kept swimming to the bottom. He could smell burnt steaks mixed with old shoes and wet dogs, then a second scent, mildew, sewage, and gasoline, and someone was holding him down, someone was…
He broke free of his father, whose alpha anger had vanished the second he scented his son’s panic, and pushed his way out through the door to throw up in the parking lot. John and Bobby looked at each other just long enough to confirm neither of them knew what the hell had just happened, and then they were out the door after him. Dean had fallen to his knees before throwing up again and had managed to crawl halfway to the car in hysterics. Bobby froze just outside the store, at an utter loss of what the hell to do, and John had begun to tremble as he approached his son, terrified by the anguish and fright in Dean’s scent.
Dean was only vaguely aware of either of them. He had to get out from under the water, to get his head up before he drowned. He could taste something bitter and slick at the back of his throat and vomited a third time, though there wasn’t much left in his stomach at that point. He still felt like he was being pressed down into something soft and smooth, and the weight of someone else on top of him, inside of him. When John grabbed his shoulders to try to stop him he screamed and fell back onto the car before curling up into a fetal position and sobbing.
John had never been so scared in his entire life. He stroked his son’s hair and shoulders, trying desperately to undo whatever had been done to him. It took a long time before Dean could look up at him, and even longer before he could focus. John was crying by then, completely beside himself.
“Dean…” he choked, running a hand down Dean’s face over and over as he sent out as many soothing pheromones as he could manage. It wasn’t a lot, but he could see it helping. “Dean, what’s wrong?”
“I think…” His voice was numb, his face void of emotion as giant tears rolled down from the green pools of his eyes. “I think someone…” Everything broke from his forehead down to his chest as a sob burst from his throat. “I can smell them, Dad, I can smell them all over me…”
“It’s okay Dean,” John said, though of course,, it wasn’t. He was on the verge of collapsing into a bawling mess, and that wouldn’t help anyone. Dean was crying helplessly, and John pulled him against his neck, rubbing his back in long, smooth strokes. “Just breathe, okay?” He felt Dean nod against his shoulder and grab the front of his shirt, taking big, deep breaths of his father’s scent. Dean suddenly seemed so small, like the little boy locked in his room wearing the “I Wuv Hugz” tee-shirt and wondering where his cat was. The distress didn’t dissipate, but gradually his breathing slowed down, as did the tears. “Was it...was it the baby’s sire?”
Dean shook his head vigorously and his breathing picked up. John quickly stroked his hair and the side of his face, helping to calm him back down before he started hyperventilating and passed out or something.
“I think he stopped it…” he said thickly, but the declaration brought on a fresh bout of sobbing. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me if he did…”
John looked back to Bobby, who was now at the front of a small crowd of everyone from the store wiping at his face to try to get the tears to stop coming. Old man Elmer was holding out the pregnancy tests to Bobby, free of charge. The alphas were sufficiently cowed. The beta woman was holding the pimply teenage cashier, who was sobbing; probably thinking this all happened because she had yelled for a price check. Bobby had never needed a drink worse in his life. All of them were completely horrified.
“It’ll be okay Dean,” John said again. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay.”
He knew a parent shouldn’t lie to his kids, but in this instance, he needed the lie just as badly as his son. It certainly felt in this moment like nothing was ever going to be okay again. |
Algebra and code
Teaser: Crossroads
In PM Year 908, humans took their first major steps to extraterrestrial colonization. These were not the fumbling attempts made by the old nations to explore Luna, but the establishment of the first colonies on and above Mars, the fourth planet from Old Sol and the one most similar to Terra. Even as those colonies thrived, however, there was no large-scale movement to push beyond the boundaries of Sol System I, with efforts instead focused on terraforming rather than exploration and travel… [I]t would not be until nearly a thousand years later with the beginning of what scholars now call the Second Great Diaspora that the first of twenty ships in the first convoy, the Magda, ignited its relativistic engines and left the regions of known space behind.
– A Song in Exile: Jewish Identity and the Second Great Diaspora, by M. K. Perl of the Ariel (Ariel Archives SCO2-0914)
(As a child, Erik Lehnsherr had seen a trinary system from the observation deck of the Magda.
The system itself was not extraordinary, but it had lodged itself indelibly in a six-year-old's memory. His mother had explained it to him, that the three stars were bound to each other; the least dense of them, its gassy halo blurring at the edges, was slowly being torn apart by its larger neighbors and eventually would not exist.
He himself would be that star, tugged between two opposing forces, held in balance by them until, improbably, one day they both dissolved and he found himself adrift.)
His money and endurance ran out when he reached 289-AAS/Crossroads.
A joke ran in spacer circles: if you got stuck on Crossroads Station, you made a deal with the devil to get the hell out. The joke had worn thin, and most people had forgotten the old lore about devils and summonings anyway. Hell remained as a purely abstract concept, visualized by the more fervent either as the furnace of a ship's trans-relativistic engines or the deep dark of the gravity pools. Erik's own people had never believed in Hell; Sheol was, as it had always been, to lie in death-sleep under the earth.
Earth, though – that was almost as fantastic as eternal flames and darkness. The mind recoiled from the prospect of spending any time planet-tied, let alone forever, let alone to be beneath it and dissolved in it.
Crossroads Station was asteroid-adjacent, a disk of battered metal anchored to an ageing star. On occasion, wandering asteroids buffeted it, leaving behind dents that (depending on their severity) went unrepaired. It survived, as most AA-stations did, on mining – or, rather less on mining than on the black market that thrived in corners where the Federates couldn't reach. A few ships came by each week, raggedy long-haulers and low-rated company ships (manned by crews patched-together and paid for their loyalty, which stuck in Erik's craw), and from what he could tell by the activity dockside, most of what went into their holds wasn't refined metal or even ore, but other, less legal goods entirely.
"You looking to ship out?" asked a man in working ship's greys. He gestured to a gantry, which smoked and steamed with melting ice and swarmed with personnel. "A thousand aurii gets you back to civilization." He tried a smile; his teeth glinted slick and repulsive in the fluorescents.
The patch on the man's left arm had only the ship name, Fairway, and the company logo that indicated the Fairway was on government contract with the Federates. He wore no family crest or filial marker, or anything that said he belonged to more than a Federate-controlled company ship that had to hire on its help and gave its profits to people growing fat station-side. Erik had long since taken his own patches off, two sets now, for two ships gone and given over to the void, and easily imagined what the company man saw: a worn-out stationsider or transient, an illegal by the look of him, and down on his luck either way.
"Hey, buddy," the man tried again. Two copper chips glinted on his collar: a lieutenant, with ranking enough to make a transport offer to a stranger and not have to clear it with his captain first. "You been starin' down that hatch for an hour now. You want on or not?"
"Not," Erik said flatly.
"Then fuck off."
Erik did fuck off, only because it was either that or be arrested for punching the company lieutenant in the face, or – the idea was suddenly, viscerally appealing – blowing out the Fairway's gate in the docking bay. The ceramic plating that shielded the station from radiation was undergirded with tensor-steel, easy enough for him to push out until the ceramics fractured; the steel rings securing the pressurized tubing that led from the Fairway's main bay to the docking hatch would give way with only a flicker of effort. He could even play hell with the failsafes, keep the force fields from kicking in long enough to be sure this man and some of his crewmates were caught in the decompression.
Walking back to his hostel did little to burn off the anger: it raged as clearly, as keenly, as it had before Charles had come along with his quiet words and the memories to cool that anger into serenity. Imagining the Fairway's useless, Family-less crew sucked out into space kept the anger at a simmer, with Erik too keenly aware of how little that would solve, how helpless he was and how alone again. It had, he told himself, nothing to do with how disappointed Charles would be.
Or maybe, Erik thought as he stalked into his room, it was to do with the short walk: dockside hostels were the cheapest, close as they were to the clang and barely-controlled disorder of the ship-bays and the mooring points. Overhead, the rickety intra-station tram ferried ship captains and important guests to the glitz and comfort of Alpha-Section, or what glitz and comfort A-Sec could afford in a station like Crossroads. Down here in Delta, all was squalor and desperation, and in Erik's room a comscreen that died more often than not, and when it lived played slurred pornographic videos. Erik ignored the jiggling, neon breasts on the screen, and the garbled demand on the intercom to not slam his damn door, and collapsed into bed.
D-Section hostels never had windows; the Dawnsider's proprietor had guffawed when Erik had asked about it. ("What do you think we are, A-Sec? Aren't we fancy!") In the thin light he summoned from the wall panel, he could see the room closing in around him, sense the utter stillness that was Crossroads Station in its perpetual orbit, driven only by gravity and not the pervasive hum of sublight or trans-rel engines. Back on Magda he had had a port in his quarters – small, but his, a mark of his place in the family – and Charles's study on Solyma had had a great bank of windows that gazed out fearlessly into the darkness that enveloped them.
That study had been positioned starboard midship, sheltered by the outswept wings. It meant, of course, only seeing the startrails as they sped away, the path Solyma had carved through space, but Charles had never seemed to mind. One must see where one's been, to see the future, he said, when Erik had remarked on it, and the earnestness with which he'd said it had kept it from being the ridiculous cliché that it was.
Now, alone and in the silent cell of his room… Trapped, he thought reflexively. Telling himself that being stuck dirtside would be even worse failed to help.
He had gone six jumps before his savings ran down to a trickle, enough to make staying on anywhere a tenuous proposition. The final jumps had been on under-staffed freighters who had wanted to hire him on or exchange work for passage, no questions asked and clearly illegal as he was. Everything in him had revolted at that; he'd paid his fare and locked himself in his berth. He had no papers, no visa, not even a passport; his patches for Magda and Solyma would get him no more than pitying looks or maybe charity, and Erik wanted neither of those things.
Mostly he wanted to die, or destroy and destroy and destroy until there was nothing left of himself or anything else. How the universe might contain this much rage, Erik didn't know; how a human body might contain it – perhaps that was his power, to hold all this fury inside him instead of using it to tear the world apart. In the silence of his room, it pressed in on itself and condensed to a perfect, hard, heavy point beneath his ribs. Around him, the metal of the station resonated dully, and rang against the borders of the spaces where another mind, threaded comfortably through his own, used to live.
He could rip the entire station to pieces. Erik closed his eyes and reached for breath that stubbornly refused to come. Calm, calm, calm, serenity was the fulcrum, the still point for him to turn on until the worst of despair-anger-helplessness passed by. The old memory came, of lighting candles in the ship's temple, and that light being the only light in the room save for the stars through the viewing windows. The shipglass redoubled the candles' light, and it had glowed softly gold and illuminated his mother's face.
Damn you, Charles. Even gone, Charles had insinuated himself into every fold of Erik's brain, a ghost refusing to be exorcised. He shut his eyes tight and turned his face into the pillow, as if turning away from memory.
Charles's voice followed him.
* * *
(Do you know what Solyma means? Charles asks. His lips move against Erik's shoulder, but Erik hears the words more in his mind than not. You should. When Erik shakes his head, Charles smiles and licks teasingly across Erik's collar bone before kissing him. It's pre-Migration Greek, a translation of the Ancient Hebrew word salem. It means – )
* * *
The station had taken its name from the Roads, three interconnecting routes for interstellar travel that converged on the station's anchor-star. In the old days, they'd used the star as the fulcrum to give primitive trans-rel engines the boost they needed to kick over the faster-than-light barrier, the slingshot method that had been used by spacefarers since time immemorial. As technology developed and ships could transition from their sublights to TREs as easy as changing gears, the Roads fell into disuse, and Crossroads into obscurity.
When he'd first set foot on the station, Erik had seen the faded hints, here and there, of what Crossroads had been, the synthwood and plaster meant to mimic the materials and textures of First-Earth. In the years since he'd last been there, stationers had torn most of that out and replaced it with plastics, and moved the last traces of elegance to A-Sec, leaving the station's bones bare in some places. He hadn't paid much attention last night, but in a distant, disinterested way, noticed the changes now.
That morning, hungover from exhaustion and emptied of grief, Erik rented a SPS and found his way up to E-Sec. The Dawnsider's lump of a proprietor had taken perverse glee in overcharging Erik for the unit, knowing that the station-positioning system was the only way anyone not familiar with Crossroads could get around. Crossroads had been built before the Stationers' Guild had standardized design and regulations – before, Erik suspected, such thoughts had ever crossed the Guild's mind – and showed its age in its rambling corridors, one-way traffic streets, and five hundred code violations Erik could sense without trying. At some point, an administrator had tried half-heartedly to bring Crossroads into line with the new spec, and so Epsilon-Section, usually the section dedicated to servicing the needs of permanent or semi-permanent station residents, had been shoehorned into the old shuttle terminal that lay halfway between dockside and stationside. The employment offices occupied what had once been a bay for spare parts.
The officer behind the desk looked up at his entrance and seemed caught between staring at Erik and glancing at the clock in consternation.
"You're open at oh-eight hundred standard, right?" Erik demanded.
"Yes?" The officer's – the girl's – voice broke and spiked upward into a question. Erik gritted his teeth. "Um, can I help you with anything?"
"The Intranet was advertising a piloting position yesterday." Erik thrust his CV-chip at her; the girl took it gingerly, her arm snapping back behind the safety of the desk. "All my cred is on there," he added as the girl inserted the chip into her reader. He waited as she scanned it, hands still on the worn formica of the counter, acutely aware of the hiss of recycled air and the pressing unreality of station life. Outside, a few stationers peered curiously in before hurrying on their way.
"You'll need to talk to Hiring Foreman Rane?" the girl said after a moment and a flurry of button-pressing. "I've sent him your credentials and he'll – ah, he'll get back to you? He's out of the office right now, but he'll be back in after orientation for some new staff. So, this afternoon maybe? Is there a number he can reach you at?"
Erik needed a moment to realize that last was a true question, and gave the girl his com number scribbled on a piece of hardcopy. The girl attached it to her desk with a piece of tape and sat down, huddled behind the terminal. Erik made an impatient noise and left.
That afternoon, Hiring Foreman Rane called him in for an interview. This was not surprising: Erik had financed his pursuit of Shaw and Caspartina on the strength of the skills he'd learned as Magda's junior pilot, running in-system hauls and occasionally passenger transport. He'd come close to Caspartina once that way, carrying a member of the Wyngarde familia to a party hosted by Shaw at Caribe Station. That had been the closest he'd come until the time he'd almost died, and Charles.
Rane didn't particularly care about that. "You don't have anything listed for the past year. You been ashore?"
"No, just not piloting."
"And you thought you'd take a refresher course out here in the rocks." Rane regarded him narrowly, gimlet eyes almost vanished under folds of skin. Erik imagined what was going through the foreman's head: prison, more than likely, or that Erik had been lying about not being dirtside, or that he'd been piloting but for something sketchy enough to stay off the official records. When Erik said nothing else, Rane sighed. "You got references?"
"On the chip."
"They check out and you pass a drug test, you got the job." Rane leaned back. His chair, covered with mining dust, squeaked in protest; Rane was not a slight man. "I hope you don't do stims, the last guy I had tweaked out on them and took himself and half a million aurii in vibranium into the side of a rock."
It was clear which one Rane considered the greater, more affecting loss. "I've never had any use for them," Erik said.
"Then I might have a use for you." Rane heaved himself to his feet in a cloud of dust and a shower of rock particles. A sweaty paw enveloped Erik's hand, leaving behind a smear of gray. "You hear from me tomorrow by noon, and you're hired. You don't, you can figure it out."
He got the job in the end, accepted it with more resignation than relief, and moved himself and his duffel bag from the Dawnsider to the station company quarters. The room there was even smaller than the cage of his hotel, but at least made no pretensions to civility, with a single bunk, a table, chair, and a washroom that could barely accommodate Erik's shoulders. Pilot's prerogative, Rane said as he stood in the doorway like a damn concierge. Everyone else bunked double, triple for unskilled workers and illegals who couldn't complain too much.
The next morning, Erik stalked silently out of his room precisely on time, ate in the mess at his own table and ignored the prodding of memory, how he'd spend time in Ororo's greenhouse (the old-fashioned word for hydroponics). Crossroads had limited growing facilities; he'd already had cause to wince at the price for anything that hadn't been processed into protein extracts or powder. Pilots and ship techs ate better than the miners, but that wasn't saying much.
His shipmates left him alone as they boarded. Erik told himself he should be glad to be back at the helm, even on a fourth-rate asteroid skimmer. Compared to Solyma or to Magda, though… no. Erik disengaged the docking clamps with a growl and, barely remembering protocol, broadcasted his demand for the crew to strap in.
Two lifetimes ago he had done asteroid runs on one of Magda's deep-field jumps. They had happened across an uncharted, unclaimed cluster and scanners had turned up vibranium, and Erik had spent three weeks playing chicken with the asteroids in between runs to pick up the miners. It had not endeared him to Josef, the engineer in charge of the work shuttles, and the first time out had earned him a fearsome dressing-down from his mother. The second time out, after a grounding that still made him wince with embarrassment, he had gone out as a glorified sensor, not allowed anywhere near the controls but instead made to practice with his abilities, learning to sense the intonation of different metals from across space.
And in the last lifetime… He had taken Charles out a few times, when Charles could "stop pretending to be the captain" (as he said) and Erik had decided he'd finished terrorizing the juniors for the day.
Before Erik could stop himself, he began to play with the memory of that first time, Charles's delighted, undignified yelps as Erik had taken them twisting and diving through the Genosha Proxima field, threatening Erik with bodily harm if he crashed them but not really meaning it because he had been there, woven into Erik's cortex and seeing the field lit up with strands of iron, adamantium, and other metals, a living map through which Erik guided them.
You are marvelous, my friend, Charles had said to him, blue eyes bright and cheeks flushed with excitement, his unabashed smile suddenly softening into something that made Erik's treacherous heart skip.
Static burst over his comm line, followed by, "Hey, cap'n," are we going today or tomorrow?"
Fuck. Erik snarled something at the idiot on the other end.
After that, he concentrated on the step-by-step of piloting the skimmer out of the stationside harbor and following the mining tech's directions to their quadrant for the day. The work was mindless: drop one group of miners off at one asteroid, move onto the second and then the third… and then wait until one group commed back with a request to upload the ore they'd extracted, or with a question for the mining tech. Or, after an age of tedium, lunch and then their one afternoon break and, finally, the chime that the tech told Erik meant everyone got to go home.
Night passed in a vague solitude. The walls of his berth – bunk, he supposed, stationside – were thin plastic panels, temporary things turned permanent, so he heard the techs snoring on the other side before he could scratch his way into sleep. What he dreamed of, and what he pictured in the still, inert darkness before sleep, he refused to let himself think about, no matter how fierce the ache under his heart in the mornings.
And that was his life, pulled along by the inertia of simple movement – no rest, no peace, not for him – until nearly a month had passed stationside.
The monthly off-station shipments were, Erik rapidly discovered, a headache of monumental proportions. They were so obnoxious he almost enjoyed it, a spike of irritation breaking like lightning through the endless sameness of station life. Station regs forbade pilots from leaving their ships while waiting to direct-load their haul onto the barges, and Erik – detained by Cash the engineer's failure to diagnose a faulty thruster – had to hurry to be third last in line. It meant an hour of planning ways to make Cash suffer, remembering harassing and terrifying Cassidy in the pilot training simulations by pulling loops and turning off the g-field at the apexes – a way to convince Cassidy to control his damned ceramics-shattering voice and use it to stabilize a craft in an out-of-control roll.
By the time he signed off on his shipment and submitted to the detox scans (which were thinly-veiled excuses to make sure the employees weren't smuggling ore out; even a few grams of the stuff would have been enough to get them out of this limbo, and Erik could have managed it if he'd been tempted), he had a headache and an appetite confused by nausea into not wanting anything to eat. The thought of eating in the mess was intolerable – he saw enough of his crew on a daily basis, and the rest of the workers didn't seem inclined to make friends or conversation – but the thought of his cramped quarters made him itch under his skin.
He ended up, more from lack of direction than conscious choice, at a booth in the back of B-Sec's only bar, the Lattimore. The bar's namesake had been enshrined above the alcohol collection in a holopainting that flickered in and out of existence; the patrons had a similar insubstantiality in the cigarette smoke and hazy darkness.
B-Sec buzzed quietly with news Erik tried to ignore as he keyed in his order and station ID. A ship had come in, a real long-hauler, although no one was quite sure what its business was. It had put its wares up on the station's Intranet and a few takers had nibbled on it – nutritional seaweed from Umi-IV, mostly, and solar panels – but nothing that justified a big ship taking the roads all the way out here.
Smuggling, you dumb shits, Erik thought, and frowned at the glass of warm beer the auto-waiter spat out at him. The plate of reconstituted chicken it disgorged five minutes later made Erik regret turning down the mess.
"As I live n' breathe, quelle surprise an' all dat, it be Erik Lehnsherr."
He knew that voice and hadn't thought ever to hear it again. Erik reached for the knife and fork, felt them ready to his power, and braced himself.
"Did they finally exile you from decent society, Remy?"
Remy LeBeau grinned. "Was never a part of it, mon ami."
"Then you won't mind if I tell you to fuck off before you regret it." Erik let the knife drift a few inches from Remy's unprotected wrist, alert for the slightest movement; LeBeau was demonically swift, and his ability meant that knife could easily become a weapon against Erik. He felt over Remy's body for more metal, found a few promising pressure points where he could exert himself.
"Inn't a da-ham shame, we almost missin' each other like dis, like we be stars, frens true-blue an' all." Remy coughed and smirked in response to Erik's glare. "Sorry, I know you ain't one for shiptalk. Is this better?"
"Quite." Ship dialects were grating to everyone except the ship in question.
"I expect you're wondering what I'm doing here." Remy, wholly uninvited, folded himself into the seat across from Erik, a sharp-toothed grin for the knife the only acknowledgment he gave it.
"Not particularly." Erik ferociously tamped down the thought that Remy had a ship, a proper long-range ship, and maybe a need for competent crew.
"Oh, you know, I've been here and there," Remy said blithely. In the dim light of the bar, his eyes glowed red and wicked. "Found it a good idea to lay low for a while."
"Piss off that wife of yours again?" Erik asked, not really caring.
Remy's smirk dissolved into a thoughtful expression and the curl of his lips around his cigarette. "I figure LeBeau and Boudreaux have been feudin' since there was space to feud in – since before, if you take the archives at their word – so what the hell's one more generation? Though, mind you, she almost did it this time, IED right under our thruster an' all." He ashed the cigarette into the tray and stubbed it out. "And I'd ask what you were doin' out here in the rocks, but… well, I heard."
"Don't even bother saying you're sorry." It hurt like a fresh wound, thinking of coming to on the med-ship and asking, and the doctor saying there was nothing left but the debris field, then the bright-burning fury and hope she was lying quenched by seeing it for himself, and the commandant-doctor's quiet words.
Solyma, all hands lost. That he had added the Caspartina to the fatalities list had almost gone unheard.
"You know I am," Remy said, completely undeterred by the dangerous vibration in the table under his elbows. "Solyma could be an arrogant-ass bastard – they all could be – but he knew his Family." You were his Family, Remy had the intelligence to not say. "And there ain't a handful of ships, Family or otherwise, that would take up for any of us. That'd take any of us in, for that matter."
Mutants, Remy meant. It wasn't unusual for Family ships to adopt in children either from stationside or ships in difficult circumstances, or accept children with Family ties as fosterlings who would either stay on to crew with their relations or return to their mother's-ship. But ever since Charles had taken over the captaincy – twenty-six years old, and that had raised eyebrows – Solyma had made it its business to adopt in almost all its children, and all those children were mutants.
Erik had been thirty-one when he'd received his ship patch and his rank, and formal recognition as Charles's co-captain, and that night with Charles breathing deep in his arms, Erik had suggested that maybe the adopting-in ceremony would have been more appropriate. Charles had laughed and said he could arrange that if Erik really wanted to be exposed to Raven and the others for the entire night.
I'll pass, Erik had said, and rolled the two of them over, trapping Charles beneath him so Erik could kiss him as long as he wanted.
"If you're not running away from your wife, what are you doing out here? Smuggling is that bad in the inner territories?"
Instead of replying with something sarcastic, Remy sat back and looked. The sudden seriousness nearly threw Erik off his stride – LeBeau was never serious if he could possibly help it – but he kept himself steady, prepared to wait Remy out and keep him there if he had to.
"We heard through some little birds you were out here," Remy said at last. "No one forgets Solyma. No one will."
That Erik had been trying to forget struck him, abruptly, as shameful. He swallowed it back and kept waiting.
"Lehnsherr, this ain't easy to say." For a wonder, the loquacious Remy seemed lost for words. "But… oh, fuck, a couple weeks back we got news through the feeds, a coded message that registered as coming from Solyma."
Space stations were made habitable by minutely-calibrated gravity fields generated in the deep wells in the stations' centers. There was no reason, then, to think the deck had shifted out from underneath him, but it had.
"Their transponder," Erik said hoarsely. "SOS."
"Not three jumps out from the debris field," Remy told him. "Ain't no way. If it were someone lookin' for a trophy, they'd have turned it off."
A call from the grave, a last message. It could have gotten picked up by a hulk trawler, its computerized brain ignoring whatever message it was that Solyma's transponder sang out into the emptiness.
"No trawlers in the vicinity or on any of the roads," LeBeau said with a quick shake of his auburn head. "And no way a live ship sucks a transponder in and someone doesn't notice it for three jumps."
"Where is it now?"
"Had to bring Marrow in." LeBeau winced, and Erik almost did too; there was very little love lost between the captains of the Gambit and the Morlock. "She might take it outta my hide, but she's tagging it. Queenie's got top-of-the-line comm sensors – don't ask how – and we'll find 'em, no matter where they've gotten to, one way or another."
His ship was gone, Erik reminded himself. He could still remember the destruction of the Magda, six hundred years of Family history gone because Shaw wanted the only mutant child aboard. Solyma's death he couldn't remember: he had been in the life-pod, dragged helplessly into the Caspartina's own death throes, and then a great blast of energy had erupted from the Caspartina's port side and there had been a light…
Charles was gone. The thought still shook him; Erik was fairly certain it always would. Charles is gone.
"What we could pick up was encrypted," Remy said after a pause to key in an order for beer, "and we're clever and all, but the signal's keyed to a particular biosignature." He paused, long enough to let Erik know whose that signature is.
It could be a trap. LeBeau was far from innocent, for all mutants found themselves chased across open space by Stryker and the Purifiers; no mutant worth anything would sell out his own people to the humans, but money was money and the LeBeaus were… the LeBeaus.
"LeBeau, I will tear your ship apart if this is a lie." He could tear this station apart, ceramics be damned, his anger
"Then you know I'm tellin' you the truth," Remy said. His red-on-black eyes met Erik's squarely. "It ain't for our health we ran out here… I still owe Charles favors, the kind that don't have expiration dates."
The LeBeaus had their honor too, Erik reminded himself. They all did: it and blood were the only things that kept a few hundred people together in the sheltering, unchangeable skin of a deep-field ship. Magda had fought to the bitter end to save one of its children from falling into the clutches of a madman; compared with that, LeBeau hauling himself and the Gambit out to the dregs of space wasn't much – but he'd come out here to keep a promise to a dead man and his dead ship, all the same.
"Maybe Solyma will surprise us," Remy said, once Erik had nodded grudgingly. "He was always good at that, you know."
"Yeah," Erik muttered, thinking of Charles's messy, unregulation hair and the first morning in his life he had thought to ignore his alarm clock and spend his day in bed, licking Charles's laughter off his lips. "He was."
"Well then," Remy said briskly, "unless you want to reminisce, we've got anchors-up in six hours, and you need to get your shit."
Almost Erik said he didn't need it – the gray company uniform and white singlets, the station-issue toiletries that smelled like something gone very wrong – but then he thought of his own duffel, his passport, his ship's patches and insignia.
"It'll be good to get in the air again," Remy said. He paused at the junction where the chaos of dockside gave way to the more sedate life of the station. "We're in Blue, Dock 1. Think you can make it?"
"I think I can," Erik said with a dryness he didn't feel, and as Remy departed for his ship in a flurry of brown coat, thought Charles, please surprise me, one more time. |
Brienne stands before the hotel room door, and takes another deep breath—her third, already, since she got there. She smoothes Jeyne’s dress down with her left hand, and grips the keycard in her right, so tightly she can feel its hard edges dig into the flesh of her fingers.
She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous about this. It’s for the Cause. She’s given so much to the Cause already. And it’s Jaime behind this door, no matter what. She’s seen him in disguise more times than she can count; run missions with him in disguise too. And he can say the same about her.
But she just can’t seem to push the keycard into the slot. She feels the weight of it in her palm; looks down to see it held between Jeyne’s freshly painted fingernails. She feels the thickness of Jeyne’s makeup on her skin. The tightness of Jeyne’s wig around her skull.
Suddenly, the door swings open.
And then Brienne can’t help but laugh.
Jaime pulls her into the room with a shush and shuts the door. At least, she thinks it’s her husband who has just pulled her into the room. “Rule number one, Jeyne. Under no circumstances should you laugh at your mark,” he scolds. That voice definitely sounds like him, but—
“What kind of a disguise is that, Jaime?”
“Hyle,” he corrects her.
“Hyle,” she repeats, trying her hardest not to snigger. “Are you—are you wearing a prosthetic nose?”
Jaime actually looks a bit hurt, the poor man. “I just I thought I’d modify some things,” he says, with what might be a slight pout. “Make me look less like myself.”
“Didn’t I show you Hyle’s photo?” Brienne reaches out a finger to poke at his nose. “You thought this made you look more like him?”
She doesn’t mean to be so critical. The brown hair is all well and good, and the fake scar by his ear is a nice, subtle nod to Hyle’s own. And she’s not opposed to the formality of the tailored white shirt, black dress pants, and chic leather Oxfords. It’s so different from the casual clothes he wears most often when he’s just Jaime, but she’s definitely not opposed. In fact, it looks much better on him than it does on Hyle.
But the nose. She knows Jaime sometimes likes to indulge his more dramatic tendencies with his disguises, but this—it just—it has so much presence. Too much.
“I had to improvise, okay?” Jaime shrinks back and shields the thing with his fingers. “You didn’t exactly give me a lot of time to work out a new disguise.”
“I’m sorry, but it looks ridiculous, Jai—Hyle.” She’s stumbling over the name, tonight, though she’s called Jaime by so many other names before. “Will you take it off? Please?”
“Do I have to?” Jaime groans. “This took me ages to blend into my skin.”
“Please, Jaime.” She gives him a pointed look as she says his name. “Or I’ll end up laughing to myself thinking about it when I’m with him.”
“Alright, fine,” Jaime sighs, and walks into the bathroom, with Brienne following close behind. She watches him in the bathroom mirror as he peels the thing off, sets it beside the sink. She watches him remove all the residue on and around his nose, as if she is just watching him in their own bathroom mirror back home, when he shaves or brushes his teeth.
Jaime meets her eyes in their reflection. “I hope you appreciate that I’ve had to sleep with a handful of people over the years who looked more ridiculous than I just did. And their ridiculous parts were not removable, for the most part, even if I had the privilege of asking.”
Brienne laughs, sincerely. Espionage humour, she supposes. No one else would understand but them, and there is an incongruous intimacy about it all. She tries not to think about all the parts of her body she still intermittently wishes she could remove, or even replace. She tries not to think about the removable parts too, now that she’s Jeyne.
When he’s done fixing his face, Jaime turns to her. “Happy now?”
Brienne just nods in response, biting her lip to keep from laughing again.
“Before we step back out there,” Jaime says, as he washes his hands. “Shall we go over our ground rules?”
“About the names, you mean? You call me Jeyne, and I call you Hyle, like we agreed. Unless—something goes wrong.”
“Nothing is going to go wrong, I promise you.” He wipes his hands on a towel. “But there may be things that feel wrong. It’s probably best we deal with them in the moment.”
Brienne prods absently at the prosthetic nose on the counter. “Is that… how you were trained? How the Centre does it?”
“No,” Jaime says, shortly. He looks like he wants to elaborate, but seems to think better of it. “It’s what I think will work best for us,” he pronounces instead.
Brienne files Jaime’s deflection in the part of her brain where she keeps all of the secrets he has never fully articulated. She gestures towards his prosthetic. “On or off?”
“On,” Jaime shrugs. “I keep it on when I’m on the job. Off only when I’m with you. With Brienne, I mean, not—Jeyne.”
“Even with…” Brienne starts to ask, but decides against it. Peck can’t possibly have his prosthetic on all of the time, with his own wife.
Jaime, too, seems to file her half-question away in his own brain. “Anything else?”
She shakes her head. “I suppose—I suppose we might have to work it out as things… unfold,” she says, tentatively.
“Yes. I suppose.” Jaime lifts his hand to her wig, rearranges some of its wisps. “Look—Brienne—I’ve been doing this a long time. But I’ve never really had to train anyone before. To share my… experience. Not this way. So this is a first for me too.”
“Oh.” It occurs to Brienne that she had never really asked for his consent, not directly. “Are you—are you okay to do this?”
Jaime just looks at her, like he didn’t realise till now that he ever had a choice. “I think this is our best option, given the circumstances.”
That doesn’t answer the question, but Brienne knows better than to ask again. She just puts her hand on his cheek, gives him a resigned smile. Jaime puts his hand over hers, and returns her smile with one of his own.
Then, he takes her hand, and holds it between them. He rearranges his features into something bordering on confidence. “Alright then, Jeyne. Let’s get started.”
Brienne lets Jaime lead her to the foot of the bed, and they stand facing each other. They had agreed to keep it loose—Brienne might panic, or freeze, if she makes any mistakes while playing her role, which would get them nowhere. And Jaime has never met Hyle, anyway, so he wouldn’t be able to approximate his mannerisms. Better to walk through it rather than insist on remaining in character.
“I know you’re going to overthink everything,” Jaime begins, “and what I’m about to say is going to make it much worse, but try to keep your cool, okay?”
“Gods, don’t start off with that. Now I’m definitely going to overthink everything.” On instinct, she pushes her fingers into his chest, playfully, like she’s done a million times before.
Jaime grabs her fingers and holds them firmly away from him. “None of this, unless you think it’s how Jeyne would flirt with Hyle.”
Brienne tries to swallow the slight sting she feels at his dismissal.
“What I mean is,” and Jaime twirls his fingers around hers, all sensuous intent, “every little movement matters. Every little movement makes the story more believable. But don’t think about it as a series of movements, because you’re bound to get caught up in the details.” She realises his prosthetic has found its way to her waist, is stroking its way up her ribs. “All you need to do, is inhabit your cover. Inhabit Jeyne. You’ve constructed her, you’ve already been her—all you’re doing is following that line of logic. The circumstances are different, but she’s still the same woman.”
Jaime has never touched her like this with his right hand before—with his stump, yes, but not with his prosthetic—and it’s throwing her off balance. The way he’s touching her with it, even over her dress, it’s—it’s almost flesh-like. He’s figured out a way to use it as a tool. A—a toy, she thinks.
Brienne is blushing already, at these revelations, before she can even stop herself. “This is fine,” Jaime says, lifting his left hand to brush her cheek. “You just need to learn how to use it to your advantage. Hyle has an ego, yes?”
“Yes,” Brienne replies, deepening—honeying her voice the way she does when she’s Jeyne, and she sees the corners of Jaime’s lips turn up slightly upon hearing just that one syllable.
“You’re strong, Jeyne. Capable. You’ve built a career for yourself. You’re raising a son on your own. But maybe Hyle—maybe I can make you blush, a strong woman like you.” Jaime drags his finger softly down her cheek, and it feels startlingly foreign. “Maybe I’ll like that.”
Brienne suspects Hyle probably would like it—it’d make him feel some misplaced sense of pride—but she also thinks he will need to be reminded of Jeyne’s boldness, for it all to work. So she reaches her hands straight up to Jaime’s collar and—he stops her with his left hand once again.
“Jeyne,” he murmurs, “you’d go straight for what you want, wouldn’t you?” He guides her hands down to his belt. “But don’t be too anxious. You’re determined, but you’re not in a hurry. Leave me to deal with my buttons. You have better things to do with your hands.”
She doesn’t think Jaime really means to suggest anything beyond how she should deal with Hyle’s belt. But as she makes quick work of the buckle, and strap, and zip, and as Jaime is preoccupied with his buttons, she thinks, maybe Jeyne would go ahead and—
So she reaches into his briefs and grabs a hold of his cock.
Jaime sucks in a breath. It’s not that she’s never pulled this particular move on him before; she’s found that she can be assertive, when she’s in the mood, especially after they spar. But Brienne’s assertiveness isn’t quite the same as Jeyne’s determination. She strokes his cock, slowly, patiently, makes no move to remove his pants or briefs, or to rush him through his shirt buttons.
“You sure you haven’t done this before?” Jaime teases, as he gets to the last button. Brienne just smiles at him in response, in a way she hopes looks mysterious. She pushes his shirt off his shoulders with her free hand, tries to find some unfamiliarity in the ridges of his chest.
“How would Hyle undress Jeyne?” he says, once his shirt is on the floor. “Or, you could even ask, how would Jeyne want him to undress her?”
Oh. When it’s about what pleasure Jeyne could give to Hyle—frankly, that’s easy. A body is a body is a body, surely. But now Jaime is asking her to think of what pleasure Jeyne can receive from Hyle. And her mind is a blank.
“You’re tensing up.” Jaime notices. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out what Jeyne might want from him. Besides… you know.” She looks down to her hand still grasping his cock.
“Hmm. It’s possible that Hyle isn’t one to really care. He might be eager, and take off your dress for you. Or you could do it yourself, show that you’re eager for him.”
“The latter, I think.” It would give her more agency. Honestly, she doesn’t much want Hyle’s fingers on her body, not in that way. Undressing her—that’s a privilege she would prefer to afford only to Jaime.
She releases Jaime, and turns around so he can unzip her dress. “Do it—differently,” she says, as if he’s the one that needs teaching, here. “Don’t be soft about it.” Not that she wears dresses often in her daily life, but Jaime is always so gentle on those rare occasions he has to unzip her.
“Huh. Bold choice,” Jaime comments, as she eases her way out of her dress. She’s skipped all of her underwear, tonight. Or rather, she removed her panties in the bathroom in the hotel lobby. She wouldn’t have had the guts to make the entire trip to the hotel without them.
“I wasn’t sure,” Brienne admits, as she turns back around. “About going without, I mean. Hyle might be a lingerie guy.”
“I can see it working.” He runs his eyes down her body, and pauses at the juncture of her thighs. She’s shaved, for once—she hopes she won’t have to do it regularly—but he doesn’t comment on it. His gaze isn’t filled with his customary hunger, nor what she expects will be Hyle’s lasciviousness, never mind that her body probably isn’t Hyle’s usual type. Jaime is looking at her with something like—a cold appraisal. “You don’t like wearing all that lace, anyway, so it’s probably best to reduce the chances of him seeing any hint of discomfort.”
Brienne remembers how they had walked into the lingerie section at the department store once, on a whim. She had bought the set she thought would be the least offensive to her, all things considered. But when she tried it on again back home, it had ended with Jaime laughing—not at how it made her look, but at how uncomfortable it made her feel. It’s just not me, she had groaned. I know, wife. Even though I think it’s very sexy—she had shuddered at that—if it’s not you, it’s not you. Don’t force it. She still has the set in their closet, though, if she might ever need to use it with Hyle. Or anyone else.
“Well,” she says, and gestures towards his pants. “Think you might want to catch up, Hyle?”
“Hmm. Push me on the bed first, maybe? This feels too… vulnerable. For both of us. Might want to introduce some—”
She doesn’t let him finish his sentence. He was probably going to say ‘urgency’, or ‘speed’, or something along those lines, so she is following his advice, even if he didn’t get a chance to say it. He’s already hard, in any case, and by the time she’s straddling him on the bed, his pants and underwear pushed down around his ankles, she’s ready to let him enter her.
“Hold on. You can start off like this, sure. Kiss me like this. But what position would be best, later? You on top?”
Brienne considers this, as she caresses Jaime’s ribs. “You should be on top, later. He’d like feeling like he got the upper hand, in the end.”
First, however—Brienne seizes Jaime’s lips with hers. He shifts himself up, as they kiss, tongues wrestling for dominance. She’d never want dominance over Jaime, generally, nor would he want dominance over her. It has always been a kind of tender negotiation, between their bodies. But that—that’s for all the times other than this one. She moves her lips down his jaw, his neck, his chest, his stomach, until she captures his cock with her mouth.
“That’s good,” Jaime breathes. She’s not sure what his comment is referring to, exactly, but she’s not going to clarify now. Brienne is realising it’s best to focus on skill, though she’s not quite sure what part of this is skill, and what part of this is simply how familiar she is with what Jaime likes. She’s having to almost—dislocate this part of him from the rest of his body.
“Stop,” he groans, eventually. “Don’t—don’t let me finish.” She lifts her head from his cock, and waits for him to catch his breath. “You… you won’t be sure if he’ll be able to go again,” Jaime remarks, as his gasps slow, and he kicks his pants off his feet and onto the floor. “Better to avoid any embarrassing situations.”
“Good point,” Brienne replies. Before she knows it, Jaime has flipped her onto her back.
“Hyle’s not as strong as you, Jaime,” she finds herself laughing.
“Might want to help him along then.” Jaime grabs the condom packet that he left on the bedside table, and tears it open. “You’ve let me overpower you before, when we spar, so you can manage.”
“I didn’t think you noticed that.” She watches him expertly slip the condom on, and thinks about how peculiar it is that she’s never seen him do that before, as his wife.
“Oh, I knew,” he smiles. “I let you keep doing it.”
She can feel their banter coming on, so she stops herself before she can respond. She can’t fall back into Brienne again.
“Are you wet?” he asks, matter-of-factly rather than seductively, as he leans over her. It’s a practical concern, she knows.
“Wet enough, now.” For Jaime, not for Hyle. “But I’m not sure how it’ll be, with him.”
“Do you think Hyle will be the type to care?” Jaime is reaching his fingers down to her clit, now, and circles them there. “About Jeyne’s pleasure. Or your comfort, at least.”
“Maybe not. I could make him care, I suppose.” She pauses to let out a moan at his attentions. “But—he, he might not want to use his mouth,” she pants. She doesn’t expect Jaime to do that, not tonight.
“Perhaps not.” He slips a finger into her entrance. “Might want to go into it prepared, if possible. Good to let him think he made you wet, all on his own.”
Brienne lets out another moan. She takes the opportunity to try exaggerating it, and immediately recoils at the sound that comes out of her mouth. “Fuck. Do I have to fake that?” She claps a hand over her eyes in embarrassment.
“You might have to, unfortunately,” Jaime chuckles. “I know you don’t like being particularly vocal, but he might appreciate the encouragement.”
“I don’t think I can do it in front of you,” she says, peeking at him between her fingers. She hates it, more than anything that has happened so far, that she might give something so false to Jaime.
“That’s fine for now.” He leans down again, taking his hand away from her cunt, and rests his weight on his right elbow. “Jeyne—no. Brienne.” He brings his face right over hers. “What you want out of this is never your pleasure. You can take it if you wish—” Brienne instinctively wants to deny this, but Jaime silences her with a look— “What you want, might not even be his pleasure. What you want, is to make him talk. To give you the information that you want. That’s all it is. That’s all you should be focusing on.” He lowers his head to her ear. “Just getting him to orgasm isn’t enough,” he whispers. “It’s how you manipulate it, and everything around it.”
She wasn’t going to ask. She really wasn’t. But the next thing out of her mouth is: “You want to make me come, don’t you, Hyle?” And then Jaime lifts his head, and he’s just staring at her oddly. She doesn’t want to have to look at the oddness of his stare, or think about what it means, so she puts her hand around his neck, guides him down her body. Brienne truly doesn’t think Hyle would bother pleasuring her with his mouth, but—Jeyne would go straight for what she wants, wouldn’t she? And what she wants right now, before she has to imagine Hyle inside her, is Jaime’s tongue around her clit, along her seam, in her cunt. He seems to know this is what she wants, too; as he licks and sucks her to her peak, she knows it’s all Jaime. It’s no one else but him.
Before her breath can even out again, Jaime pushes himself inside her. What else is there to say, now? She tries to hold his body against her as if it isn’t Jaime, tries to imagine another man in his place, but everything is him. Even with the wig, and the scar, and the condom, gods, even if he had been wearing that fucking ridiculous nose—it’s Jaime’s body, Jaime’s skin, Jaime’s smell, Jaime’s cock inside her, no one else’s. She finds she can get over her stupid hang-up about being vocal, but she’s only being vocal, being encouraging, the way she would with Jaime, if she ever felt so inclined. She knows this deep within her, and she knows this when she’s close again, and she knows this when what comes out of her mouth is this:
“Ah, Jaime—fuck! Hyle!”
And then Jaime rolls off of her.
“Fuck. I’m almost there, Hyle, don’t—don’t stop.”
“So am I, Brienne,” he retorts, and looks at her judgmentally. How does he have so much control, right now? Is this really how he can be, with all his marks? Having all this presence of mind?
“Seven hells, I know, okay, Jaime? But could we at least finish before we talk?”
Jaime isn’t moving, damn it. She almost caves, almost lets him just lie there and give her another lecture, but she’s so close, she can already feel it slipping away, and she’s so mad at herself for saying his name, so before he can open his mouth again she’s on top of him, using her weight to pin him down to the bed.
“Please,” she asks. She will never want to take from him without asking, ever.
“Fine,” Jaime sighs dramatically. “But only because I’m close too.”
Once he’s back inside her, she leans down and kisses him through it, drowns her moans in his throat, in time with the movement of her hips and his. It doesn’t take either of them much longer at all. Then, she’s on her back again. Jaime gets up from the bed and walks to the bathroom. When he returns, it’s without the condom, but he hasn’t removed his prosthetic yet. He lies down on the bed, on his side, next to her.
“I know it was me,” he begins, “but—you think you’ll have to imagine it was me?”
“I… I can’t not. I don’t know how else to do it.” She turns her head to look at him. “What do you do? To make it real for yourself?”
“Hmm. Don’t take this the wrong way, but none of the women—or men, on occasion—” Jaime darts his eyes at her when he says this; Brienne knows it’s happened before, but they’ve never really talked about that. “None of the people I’ve slept with have been built like you.”
“Well, how about before? Before… me?”
“No,” he mumbles, quietly. He doesn’t acknowledge his cousin. “Not even then. The point is, Brienne—I don’t want you there, in my head, when I’m doing any of this. It’s not even—it’s not even in my head at all. I’m not me, if that makes sense.” He traces a finger along the centre of her torso. “That’s just for us.”
I’m not me. Brienne files that one away too; there’s something there she thinks they should discuss, but maybe not right this moment.
“So it feels different? With me?” she asks instead. She had never thought to ask. Or maybe she did, but she didn’t want to know the answer, before tonight.
“Of course it does,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“So you know then,” Brienne muses, and turns her head back to the ceiling. “A little of what it must feel like for me.”
“Hmm. I guess I do.”
They both lie there, quietly, listening to each other breathe. Brienne tries to find patterns in the texture of the ceiling.
Then Jaime says the one thing she never, ever wants him to say to her.
“You’re beautiful.”
She swings her head back to him. “Jaime,” she hisses.
“Hyle,” he replies, calmly, and lifts his prosthetic. “I’m still Hyle.”
“Don’t do that,” Brienne shoots back. She doesn’t care who he is, he’s supposed to know. “You know I hate that word.”
“Yes, I know,” he says, still calm. “Jaime can call Brienne anything but that. ‘Magnificent’, you like that one. ‘Strong’ is fine. Hells, I could even call you a goddess, and you’d accept it. But I’m never to use the word ‘beautiful’. I’m never to lie to you.” There was something about the way he said that—lie—like he didn’t think using that word on her was a lie at all. His eyes don’t waver from hers. “But I’m not Jaime, right now. I’m Hyle. Hyle might say that to you. To Jeyne.”
“I highly doubt it,” she scoffs.
“Oh, I’m not saying he’ll mean it.” There’s a callousness to Jaime’s tone that unsettles Brienne. It always unsettles her, when he lets that cruel streak leak out of him, even though she knows it’s part of who he is. “But he might say it. He might think it’s something a woman like you would want to hear. Jeyne, who wears all this makeup to enhance her plain features. To look powerful. To have presence. To impress, in a man’s world. He doesn’t know Brienne, does he? He doesn’t have a clue about your likes and dislikes.”
Jaime stretches his hand across her abdomen, and curls his fingers around her waist. “So, what happens when he calls you ‘beautiful’? When a mark says things to you that you don’t want to hear?”
She sees his logic now, and worries at her lip as she considers his words. “I accept it?” she ventures, nervously.
“Again, it depends on the mark.” Jaime retracts his arm and turns over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. “It depends on what will make the mark talk. Who knows—maybe Hyle will feel like you trust him if you share your insecurities. It might make him more likely to open up. Based on what you’ve told me, though, it’s more likely that’ll scare him off. Hyle might want to think that his little compliment worked. Or perhaps, if you play coy, you can make him think he’ll get more out of you, down the road. You might get more out of him, that way.”
Jaime doesn’t speak for a while after that, and Brienne knows he’s giving her time to contemplate his words. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Let’s try again. I say, ‘You’re beautiful, Jeyne’.”
She responds before she can even think it through. “You’re just saying that so you get to fuck me again.”
Jaime bursts out laughing. “Seven hells, Brienne, that’s harsh!”
“He’s a straightforward guy! I think he might appreciate it!”
“Alright, wife, if you think so. As long as you get him to talk. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been much of a point to all of this.”
Brienne doesn’t want to contemplate the possibility of sleeping with Hyle for nothing. It happens, of course it happens. She’s done so many things that turned out to be futile, in the end. But she doesn’t want to think about it.
Jaime is unstrapping his prosthetic now. “Do you think you’ll be able to go through with it?”
“I’m not sure,” she answers. It’s the truth. She brings a finger to his face, starts peeling off the scar there.
“Do you think,” he starts, as he puts his prosthetic on the bedside table, “do you think it might work better for you if you built a connection with him? A deeper one, I mean. Like with me. Or with—with Renly.” His voice trails into a whisper.
“I think—that would be even harder.” Brienne sits up, and begins pulling out the pins that are securing her wig to her scalp.
Jaime sits up too, and stops her hand. “Let me.” He won’t really be much help—it’ll take him longer to find the pins than her, they both know this—but she lets him feel around her scalp for them, remove them one by one.
“Hyle—he betrayed our country,” she continues. “Who knows what he’s telling this government. You should hear the things he says, about home, Jaime,” she sighs. “It’s hard enough for me to sit there and listen to them. Agree with them.”
“You manage with me,” Jaime murmurs.
“What?”
“You know what I think about the Cause,” he says, quietly, setting the pins in his hand beside them on the bed. “You still manage with me.”
“You have other redeeming qualities,” she quips, as she takes off her wig. Brienne doesn’t want to talk about their differences, not right now. So she reaches her hands up to Jaime’s scalp, to help him with his wig, and shifts the conversation back to Hyle. “Gods, you should see his daughter’s face when he makes those comments,” she utters. “I don’t think she’s very happy with her father.”
“Interesting.” Jaime seems to turn her words over in his head. “I wonder if Hyle talks to his daughter about his work. Has she said anything to Pod?”
“Not much, not that Pod has told me. She’s still pretty closed off.” To be frank, Brienne had been so focused on Hyle, and Hyle’s flirtations, that she hadn’t really thought about his daughter at all. “I suppose I could get him to ask.”
Brienne removes the last pin from his wig, and Jaime pulls it from his head with a sigh of relief. “Worth a shot,” he shrugs. “There are other ways to get information, as you well know. Sex—it only works, if it really fits. It’s just one of our methods. There are always other ways, Brienne.”
“Yeah. That’s true,” Brienne ponders, as she massages her fingers across Jaime’s scalp. “There are always other ways.” |
When You’re EvilRequest for Jessica
You were one of the most feared lady villains ever known. Your powers of electricity made it much easier to sneak into buildings and do your business, killing the lights and security cameras and leaving the good guys without a scrap of proof. Everyone assumed it was you after hearing of your gifts, but no one could catch you red-handed. So how the hell did you get caught?
You currently sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of your glass prison. SHIELD was much smarter than you’d ever given them credit for. Not only had they managed to track you down and take you into custody, but they’d designed this particular prison to withstand your bursts of power. All of your lightning bolts bounced off the walls and dissipated, and the entire cage was sealed to keep you from reaching the electricity outside. A sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes. You were losing your touch. This would be a long interrogation.
They’d already sent in nearly every agent and Avenger they had. They hadn’t been aware of just how gorgeous you were when they were planning to take you in, but the men on the team certainly noticed as they came in to question you. Tony had spent his entire time flirting and trying to make a date rather than question your motives. Steve had blushed and stuttered under your gaze, still nervous around pretty women. Thor offered to take you home to Asgard as his princess. Clint had smirked and grinned and attempted to flirt. Even Bruce was distracted by your sparkling eyes. You’d shot them all down, having no interest in any of them. This began a testosterone battle amongst the men, teasing and jesting about why you rejected each of them. “I bet you intimidated her,” Tony would say to Thor. “And you disgusted her,” Clint would counter to Tony. “She’s probably not into birds,” Tony shot back. You could hear them arguing down the hall and laughed to yourself. Morons. It had nothing to do with their personalities or their looks. It was the simple fact that they were men.
You were humming to yourself when the door opened and booted feet thudded gently on the floor. “I hear you rejected all of their advances,” a feminine voice praised. “Kudos to you. They needed an ego bruise.” You smirked softly. “Men always do. They think they’re so wonderful.” “That’s why I swing the other way,” she replied, pulling up a chair and sitting down. You cracked an eye open and raised a brow. “That so?” She nodded. You ignored the flutter in your chest. You were a nation-wide wanted criminal, not a thirteen-year-old girl. “You’re very powerful, from what I hear,” she stated, smiling at you. “From what you hear?” you replied. She shrugged. “I haven’t seen your powers in person. I’ve just heard witness statements.” “Open the cage and I could show you,” you smirked. She chuckled and you refused to admit to yourself that her laugh was beautiful. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”
It took a few weeks of her consistently interrogating you for her to gain any useful information. The villain inside you swore off telling her anything they could use against you, but the woman in you wanted to tell her everything and let her make it better. The woman in you trusted her and wanted to be with her, and her admitting that she was batting for your team gave you hope. But then the villain in you told you that she could have been lying to appeal to your better nature, and that you had no chance at all. But why would she choose sexuality to get you to open up? How could she know? Perhaps one of the “witness statements” she mentioned came from an ex of yours. A lot of personal friends had seen your gifts when you first discovered them – one of your past lovers could have easily been SHIELD’s witness.
“I’m just trying to make a name for myself,” you told her one afternoon, feeling weak from so many weeks in the glass prison. “By being a criminal?” Natasha replied, raising a brow. “My family believed in success,” you sighed softly. “It didn’t matter what kind. My mother was a good-doing charity worker and my father was a high end criminal in England. They decided that they’d be proud of me no matter which side I was on. All that mattered was that I succeeded.” “Why did you choose to be a villain?” she asked, honestly interested. “When I would get angry,” you began, “the lights would flicker, and if I was upset enough, the power would go out. I realized that it only happened to me and tried to learn to control it. My father can control water so he guided me in commanding my gift. I didn’t see how making the lights go out could be a good thing and the more emotional I got, the harder it was to control it. Being a criminal seemed like my best option.” “What about now?” Natasha asked. “Your parents are dead and you’re in custody. What are you going to do now?” You looked at the ground. You’d had plenty of time to think on that particular subject, and part of you desperately wanted to switch over and be good – for her. “I’ve thought about it…” you admitted with a soft sigh. “I suppose I have nothing left, good or bad. It’s just me.” “You could stay with me,” Natasha offered suddenly. You looked up at her, eyes wide. “I like you,” she admitted. “I want you to stay.” A small smile grazed your lips. “Maybe I will.”
A few months later, you were settling into Natasha’s apartment, unpacking your things. She pecked your cheek as you set a box down on the floor of your now shared bedroom. You turned your head to catch her lips with yours before she sauntered away. She returned moments later with a mug of coffee in each hand, offering one to you. You took it with a nod of thanks as she wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. You looked around her bedroom, the objects doubled in quantity now that your own clothes and knick-knacks had been added. “Feels like home,” she smiled, kissing your ear. You smiled and leaned back against her. “Yeah, it does.” |
The swarming feeling of regret began to plastered itself against your shoulder, whispering amongst your ear. The sweat and color draining from your skin—did you know exactly what either of them wanted? It was possibly a lot more then just a kiss, it had to be. That look that rested upon the way their shoulder or how their legs shifted. Did…they want more then you expected? Yet—you told them that you would give them what they nodded wanted. You coolant possibly think of all the scenarios, the dancing feeling on your spine as the both of you stared at each other, waiting for the words.
“Anything…?” The Moon mumbled out softly, it was almost hard to hear him. You stretched your fingers for a moment, biting your lip as you nodded your head slowly, their body tensed, them looking directly at you as they took that step forward, you wanting to take one back. It wasn’t that you felt threatened but more along the lines of being…embarrassed. You could almost see them twitching, it was almost so hard to not take a step forward, towards them. The way their fingers just wanted to reach out and touch you had you withering away like a rose, the falling petals, that pride you have kept for so long.
”Even if what we wanted…was you.” The Moon finally choked out—you wanted to be surprised—nonononono, you needed to surprised. You needed to be shocked for them but playing the part as a fake wasn’t working, the look on your face was telling them something different, something so much..,soso…so different. That The Moon almost took you right there, it took all the wiring in his body to keep himself planted against the play mat. Why you? You always wondered what was so special about you from the start, they were so weirdly obsessed it…kind of horrifying.
Lifting your gaze softly, you’ve never felt so much…emotion through one look, even one glance. Maybe….deep down within the depths of your heart, you wanted them too. But that ever-lasting pride, you couldn’t admit to the world, to….yourself that you found yourself attracted to animatronics. You bit your lip, looking away shyly as you felt your face burning…with embarrassment or was that desire? You couldn’t tell.
“Yes…even if what you wanted was me.” Those words coming out of your mouth was—confusing. You would have never send that to anyone, it felt, off. It wasn’t words you would say…to robots or even people. But looking at him, did they truly love you? You wish…deep down that you knew. But—they’re just Ai’s yet they want you? It was odd but you’ll life with it. The Moon took a step forward, you didn’t even realize how close they were till his hand rested on your face, parting your lips softly. This—this was new—he hated touching you but he admitted what they both wanted…but it was…frightening. Leaning down just a tad bit as you shook your head, placing your hands on his shoulders. You hoped your next blink was your last after saying this—god, you hoped so.
”Not…yet.” You mumbled, clenching your fingers against his shoulders as he blinked just for a moment, staying there a little bit longer before disappearing back into the daycare. You inhaled, taking a rugged step back on the mat. Was he going to?!? No—no way, you bit your lip but you needed to look into what was going on with them, that was the next priority but…the more you looked over, the more the desire began to eat at you, a taste wouldn’t hurt anyone right? Right? Fuck it before he completely disappeared, you followed after him, watching as his body turned in confusion.
God, you live once right?
A taste never hurts.
Or does it?
You don’t know because if you didn’t get a taste now, you’d probably give in later then you wanted.
You pressed yourself against him, the shock dancing on his face as you finally grew some courage and took a small dip into your unwanted desire.
You kissed him.
(oh my fuxking god)
Those words were running around in your head, you were bold but not this bold! The feeling of his hand brushing up your back—did they add this to the Ai’s because the fucker was kissing back? Fuck (thank) the guy who did this, he pressed harder.
The Moon was in complete shock as you came running back, but soon enough what he didn’t expect…was for this? You gave yourself up quite quickly but…not that they weren’t enjoying it, he could almost hear the laps The Sun was making, how happy he was, even if it wasn’t him who was kissing you. After all, they were the same animatronic. The Moon pressed harder against you, letting his hands trail up your body but…this was not how he wanted it to go, he wanted more, he wanted to taste you, he wanted everything you could give him.
As you kissed him, you took in the exploding taste against your lips…he tasted quite good, not what you’re expecting, you more along the expected him to taste like glitter glue or crayons but he tasted like….his candy. It was weird—no shame since their candies were so good. No doubt about it, but something lapped your mouth for just a moment….was that a tongue? Are you serious? What kind of person makes this into an robot? (Not that you were complaining.)
You finally needed to draw the line, you wanted more but you needed them to be better. You dying as they ravish you was not on that bucket list of yours…or kissing an animatronic. God, you were going to need to update it, bad.
He tried to lean down again but you curved him, giving him a slight grin.
“Just a taste.” You removed yourself from him before walking away, giving him a smile before disappearing yourself.
Just
a
taste.
Fucking blue balled him! He glared, a little upset but…at least he got to taste you as much as you tasted him. So maybe it was a win-win scenario. Letting his eyes roll for just a moment, he couldn’t believe that you kissed him—but didn’t go far enough to get more of a taste that he knew, that you both wanted it. There was no denial on your face when they both spoke about wanting you, it was all the truth. You may deny it…or even try to avoid the fact on how you feel—but in the end, The Sun and The Moon will be victorious…in the end, of course, He grinned, this was going to be fun! He hoped you soon figure out what was wrong with them, the sooner they both get a taste.
In the end,
Tasting you again wouldn’t be so bad.
You slammed the daycare door behind you, pressing to hand to your mouth. That was something you never want to speak of again, moving away from the door. You shook your head, you needed to find Vanessa. That’s who you were looking for, you searched the plaza aimlessly, like a headless chicken…of course, with your shitty luck, you couldn’t find her but you saw something else…it was the same skipping figure..it was the rabbit again, lifting a brow.
That…was one creepy looking fucker and she is skipping right towards you, on a scale of 1 out of 10. You were on fuck no, you bolted the other way. Why the fuck was it skipping after you? At least it wasn’t running, you probably would have gave out running a mile and let the rabbit kill you. You turned to look, it was gone. Were you actually seeing things? You swore on your life the thing was just skipping after you. But you gotta a better look, it was a girl and a rabbit. But the rabbit or well bunny that used to be here…was never a female in the first place. So then, who was that? With that, you took off waking, looking over your shoulder before slamming right into Vanessa, your eyes looking up towards her.
”The fuck? Are you okay? You look like you show a ghost.” Maybe it was a ghost, right? Did the medication you take cause hallucinations? You don’t recall, but you stood up, giving the way you were dressed before looking at Vanessa. But how could it be a ghost—-it looked so real. Did you really look like you saw a ghost? You were looking over your shoulder quite a bit, maybe you did look scared shitless. A fucking rabbit was skipping towards you, a human looking one. Anyone in your place probably would have pissed themselves. But you found Vanessa, that’s all that matters to you.
”I have a um…question?” she cocked a brow, but the question you asked her made the color drain from her face, her expression showing something off-putting.
”Have you seen the rabbit in the pizzaplex?”
You didn’t know what made you more uncomfortable was the shock or the cooler draining from her face. Was she the one who saw a ghost? The shock that danced on her was terrifying. Vanessa was wide eyed—a rabbit in the Pizzaplex? As in the suit? The last one that was here was…Glamrock Bonnie. But he was decommissioned a while ago—then who was she talking about it? But it made a shiver run down her spine, trying to play it off.
”Like a wild rabbit?” She giggled awkwardly, you cocked a brow. She knew that wasn’t what you were saying at all.
“It wasn’t Glamrock Bonnie but it was more of a raggy female rabbit, with some like crazed eyes.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment, she’s heard people talk about and even some kids. But she had never seen the Rabbit, it was weird. We’re people seeing things she wasn’t or was it all a fake? It doesn’t make sense, none of it does, it hurts her brain even thinking about it.
”No…I haven’t seen that at all.” You blinked, softly, almost annoyed by that answer but you needed to let something else out of the box.
”Sunrise almost killed me.” You said, watching her face go from shock before becoming angry.
“What?”
|
NOTE: This story features characters that appear in my other stories. They do not take place in the same continuity. Each series can be considered its own universe of sorts, with different events, relationships, and couplings.
THE OTHER SISTER CHAPTER 2
"Can I get your advice on something?"
Tiffany lowered her phone and turned to face her sister. For the past hour or so, the two had been mindlessly staring at their screens. Or rather Tiffany had been. Maddie, on the other hand, as Tiffany had noticed whenever she glanced her older sibling's way, had spent most of the time staring off into the distance, something clearly on her mind. Apparently, she had finally decided to get whatever was on there off of it.
"Of course," she said. "Dress sexier. Always good advice."
"Ha. Ha," Maddie deadpanned with a roll of her honey eyes. "It's about a guy."
Tiffany had assumed as much. Over the past few months, she had become Maddie's confidant whenever it came to the subject, and advice had basically turned into code between them for guy talk. However, it had been some time since her older sister had come to her for "advice," and the prospect of Maddie at long last needing some got Tiffany extremely excited — in more ways than one.
Her sister hadn't gone on a date in several weeks, which for Maddie was an unusually long time. Guys tended to ask her out on a near weekly basis but ever since her breakup with Emmet — a bear of a guy with a disappointingly small dick — no one else had apparently made a move. Which meant, in that time, Tiffany had been just as untouched as her pure, virginal sister. Figuratively speaking. Tiffany had touched herself many times in the intervening period, but instead of fingering herself to all-new twistedly perverted encounters between her and Maddie's boyfriends, it was to the memory of previous ones.
Sure, she enjoyed every moment of lustfully pumping her wet hole while reminiscing about stroking Maddie's boyfriends' cocks until they exploded rivers of hot, sticky cum all over her sister's stuff, but a girl could only hit replay so many times before the song got old. If Maddie was coming to her for advice, it meant that it could be time to queue up something new and Tiffany's panties grew damp at the thought.
"If it's about a guy," Tiffany said and pretended to turn back to her phone, "dress sluttier then, not sexier."
"I'm serious!"
"Okay, okay," Tiffany relented. In truth, she was also serious about wanting her sister to dress sluttier, secretly finding the idea of the sweet, innocent Maddie showing off her body in an attempt to do the type of dirty and debaucherous things that she did immensely appealing. However, for the sake of the matter at hand — and to avoid delving too deeply into her own psyche on why exactly she felt that way — she played the comment off like a joke. "What's up?"
"Jamal Bryson asked me out."
Tiffany's jaw dropped. Of all the things Maddie could have needed advice on, that was one she did not expect.
A member of the school's track and field team, Jamal Bryson was well known on campus. He wasn't a college celebrity by any means, but when you said the name, most people knew who you were talking about. He was tall, fit, and carried himself in a way that parted seas of people. Above all though, he was fucking hot. The possibility of her sister dating the attractive athlete, and of she herself getting a crack at him, nearly made Tiffany slip her hand into her pants right then and there to relieve her suddenly pulsing pussy. Instead, she simply said, "Holy shit. When are you guys going out?"
"Well, I haven't accepted yet," Maddie admitted, darting her eyes away and missing her younger sister's furious glare. "That's what I wanted your advice on. I'm not sure."
"Why the hell not?" Tiffany couldn't believe Maddie would pass up the chance at someone of Jamal's status. She would kill for someone like him to notice someone like her, and here was her sister, wondering what to do instead of immediately throwing herself at the handsome runner. Not to mention that Maddie's hesitation might end up costing Tiffany the only shot she'd ever get with him as well. "Is it cause he's black?"
"God, no!" Maddie exclaimed. "Nothing like that."
Tiffany was relieved by her sister's obvious and immediate horror over the suggestion of her being prejudice. Not that Maddie ever exhibited those types of thoughts and feelings. But they did grow up in a rather small, conservative town, and while she and Maddie might not have taken issue with dating someone like Jamal, the rest of their town would have and absolutely judged them for it. However, loathe as she was to admit it, Tiffany had to acknowledge that the level of her attraction to Jamal stemmed from its own type of prejudice. The taboo nature of hooking up with a black guy made her even more interested in him and made the thought of his thick, dark cock in her pale, white hand even more arousing. But philosophical debates about prejudice aside, she'd be damned if she let her sister ruin an opportunity like this.
"It's just that..." Maddie continued, drawing Tiffany's attention back to her sister and away from the fantasy of her on her knees stroking Jamal's dick. "He's an athlete and clearly experienced and confident and... I'm just worried he might have expectations for a date that I, um, can't deliver on."
"Good. Don't. Instead, you should wear your skimpiest outfit. Something that really shows off those tits. And when you walk in front of him, sway those wide sexy hips. Maybe even give him a flash of your panties, the green ones for sure. Get him all worked up thinking about you parting those fat lips for him, or even better, spreading those thick thighs. Get him hard and horny. And then bring him back here for me to take care of, since you refuse to just let him pop your cherry with his big dick. This is why your boyfriends like me more, Maddie. Because you 'can't deliver' with that body."
That was what Tiffany's lust-addled brain wanted to say. Her mind filled with a flurry of images, dirty thoughts her dripping snatch wanted and needed to become reality. Part of her even considered telling her sister to just do it, the idea of Maddie giving up her virginity on a first date making her burn with scorching hot desire. However, again Tiffany managed to restrain herself, this time her sisterly instincts kicking in and shoving her dark cravings to the back of her mind.
"Maddie, you don't ever have to do anything you don't want to. If you're interested in him, go on the date, but don't ever 'deliver' because you feel pressured to."
"Thanks, sis." Leaning over, Maddie yanked Tiffany into a hug. It was a surprising moment and it took Tiffany a second to return the gesture. She always thought she and Maddie were close, but it occurred to her that they never really hugged. It was nice. She squeezed her sister back. "I think I will go out with him. He is pretty hot."
"Right?" Tiffany said, her excitement on the rise again. "And remember, you don't have to go down on him unless you want to, no matter how big his dick is."
"Oh my god!"
Maddie shoved her away and they both burst out laughing.
Tiffany stifled her moans as best she could, her breaths coming out in heavy gasps. Her extra horny imagination had gone into overdrive the moment she was alone. As Maddie slept soundly next door, Tiffany's fingers played at her clit and occasionally dipped themselves lower to plunge into her wet hole. She meant what she told her sister earlier, but the fact that her advice also worked in her favor was certainly an added benefit. Her sister had decided to go out with Jamal, and in response, the second she had gotten into bed, she had let her submerged thoughts resurface and her mind went wild with lusty fantasies.
Eyes closed, Tiffany pictured her and Jamal in Maddie's bedroom, so familiar to her at this point that she had no problem envisioning the exact layout, the precise spot they'd be in as she gripped his thick cock in her hands. She imagined she'd need both to hold him, to adequately cover the length of his shaft if the rumors were true. She jerked him vigorously, her fingers in real life matching the pace of her pumps. She wanted to make him cum so bad. He'd asked out her sister, but it was her that was going to get Jamal Bryson to cum.
What if she wore the same outfit Maddie had on the date? A small "ah!" of pleasure escaped her lips at the thought. Still on her knees in front of Jamal, still jacking his dick with both hands, but now Maddie's dress hanging off her smaller build. Where the low neckline would have emphasized her sister's cleavage, it left Tiffany's smaller boobs almost fully exposed. She groaned. Her frantic jerks would cause the dress to slip, shift over to completely bare one of her tits for him. Outside the fantasy, Tiffany's hips rocked and bounced, her ministrations taking her closer to completion. He'd stare down at her, eyes locked on her stiff pink nipple, and say, "Fuck, you look so much sexier like this than your sister." Then... "unngghhh"... he'd cum, pulsing his thick load all over the dress and her tits.
Tiffany bit down onto her hand as she climaxed, nearly breaking skin from the sheer intensity of her walls spasming around her fingers. Waves of pleasure crashed her against the rocks until she lay there, broken and exhausted, falling asleep with her legs sprawled, sheets disheveled, and hand laying on top of her trimmed mound.
The day of Jamal and Maddie's date, Tiffany did her best to dress provocatively without making it obvious. She searched her closet for something casual yet enticing, an outfit that would catch Jamal's attention when he came by to pick Maddie up. She ended up going with a pair of shorts that barely came down past her crotch, putting all of her long legs on display, and an oversized top made of sheer but darkly colored fabric. At the last minute, she also decided to forgo a bra, causing her nipples to push out at the top in a not-immediately-noticeable-but-naughty way.
Pleased with her choice in wardrobe, she sat on the couch with a small smile on her lips, but when Maddie emerged from her bedroom, it became clear that if she actually wanted to stand at chance at getting noticed she might have to go topless.
Maddie did end up wearing the stylish dress Tiffany had convinced her to purchase so long ago and it elevated her attractiveness from pretty to sinfully seductive. The dress clung to her chest, giving her sister's moderate bust a more pronounced appearance. It followed the curve of her waist but not so close that it over-emphasized anything, at least not until her hips, where it flared out before flowing down her thighs. Tiffany had half a mind to ask her sister to turn around so she could check out her ass, which probably looked equally incredible in this magical outfit despite its usual lack of pertness.
"What?" Maddie giggled when she caught her sister's stunned expression. "Is it too much?"
"Maddie, you look great." Tiffany scanned her sister again, thinking to herself that if she were a guy, her erection might have burst out of her shorts from how hot Maddie looked. "Like, really great."
"Thanks. You're the one always telling me I should wear this. I guess I should listen to your advice more often."
That old sting of jealousy came rocketing back and for the first time in a while, Tiffany felt like there was no way she'd be able to compete with her sister. Jamal wasn't going to even glance her way with Maddie around. Yet, at the same time, a sense of pride and elation filled her. Maddie had taken her advice and was thanking her for it. She was actually helping her sister, in the one area that Maddie, despite her superior looks, was lacking compared to her.
"You should. Maybe then you might finally get laid. Or at the very least see your first dick."
"Tiffany!" Maddie exclaimed, seemingly appalled.
She was about to apologize for the comment, feeling bad about embarrassing her sister like that during a shared moment. But then she noticed the flushed color to the older girl's cheeks, and instead of saying anything, she let the silence hang in the air. A professor once told her that if you wanted someone to continue talking, say nothing and eventually, they'd break. Sure enough, after a beat, Maddie continued, her words flying out in a rush.
"Can I get your advice on something? How do you—"
A sharp knock cut Maddie off, startling them both. Jamal was here. With one last glance at Tiffany, Maddie ran off to let him in.
While her sister unlocked the front door, Tiffany considered escaping to her room, hoping to avoid the now less common but still all-too-familiar experience of Maddie's dates treating her like a living ghost. However, she decided to stay, figuring she could at least get to see and ogle Jamal up close, and make some deposits into her spank bank for a later withdrawal.
"Damn, girl," Jamal said as Maddie greeted him, the rumble of his deep voice making Tiffany quiver. "You look fine as hell."
"Thank you," Maddie gushed, leading the tall runner into the living room. Just seeing Jamal made Tiffany's decision to stay worth it, his toned physique apparent even under a pair of dark jeans and a tight purple polo. Her imagination was already conjuring up some ammunition for later that night. She fully expected them to mostly ignore her, as had happened so many times before, but Maddie surprised her by gesturing over and saying, "This is my sister, Tiffany."
Jamal's dark eyes turned toward her, and Tiffany's heart pounded in her chest as his gaze roamed across her body, tracing the length of her exposed legs and briefly pausing when he reached her breasts. "Apparently hotness runs in the family."
If the peaks of her nipples weren't visible before, they certainly were now.
"Thanks, Jamal," Tiffany said, as it abruptly occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, she still might have a chance. "You're bringing some heat yourself."
Jamal responded with a half-smile that nearly made her melt into the cushions.
"I still need a few more minutes to finish up my make up," Maddie said, apparently oblivious to the sudden electric tension between her sister and her date. "I'll try and be quick. Okay waiting?"
"Yeah, not a problem," Jamal said, eyeing Maddie's ass like a panther tracking its prey as she left the room. Tiffany couldn't blame him. Glancing over as well, she saw the obvious outline of her sister's bountiful butt beneath the slinky fabric, confirming her earlier suspicions about the dress's impressive effects. She was in the middle of telling herself that maybe Jamal really was out of her reach when Maddie's door clicked closed and he returned his attention back to her.
"So," he said, dragging out the syllable and sauntering closer until he stood towering over her. Tiffany could smell the musky hint of his cologne, see the cords of muscle in his arms. With their height difference, and with her on the couch, she was in the perfect position to turn her head and stare at the bulge in his pants. But she resisted, despite the heat within her threatening to fog up her glasses, and once again kept silent, still, until Jamal continued his thought. "I heard a rumor about you and the guys your sister dates."
"Oh," Tiffany said, both her eyelids and voice dropping seductively lower. The implication in that statement sent her into a lust-filled frenzy, and she was already planning on tearing off her shorts and masturbating herself to a furious orgasm the moment Maddie and Jamal walked out the door. The idea that Jamal asked her sister out knowing, and maybe hoping, that Tiffany might make a move on him... "I heard a rumor about you as well."
At this point, Tiffany did turn her sight toward the sizeable swell in Jamal's jeans. She was tempted to unbuckle his pants and beat him off right then and there, and the thought summoned a twistedly perverted fantasy into her head. Tiffany sitting up on the couch and Jamal stepping between her parted legs. His black cock out of his pants and in her hands, the tip inches from her face as she jerked her fists rapidly back and forth. Maddie coming out of her room, fiddling with her purse, before looking up at them and nonchalantly asking, "Ready?" not even the slightest bit phased by her sister jerking her boyfriend off. Jamal grunting "Almost," Maddie watching his cock proceeded to hose Tiffany down with sticky bursts of cum, leaving her face and top a gooey mess. Tiffany lying back on the couch covered in Jamal's spunk, him shaking the last bit of it onto her panting body. Maddie coming over and taking his arm, the two of them heading out on their date, her sister adding as they left the apartment, "I wish I looked that hot wearing your cum."
Back in the real world, Tiffany reached a slender arm toward Jamal, a moan escaping her lips when her palm pressed against the absurdly thick snake hidden in his jeans. Her brown eyes burned with a horny hunger behind her glasses and she stared up at him with a savage lust. "Come by tomorrow and we'll see how true both rumors are."
Maddie's door reopened and Jamal stepped back to put some distance between them, reluctantly forcing her hand away from his denim-covered dick.
"Ready?" Maddie asked, making Tiffany shiver from the fantasy still at the top of her mind. Jamal nodded and the two walked hand in hand out the door, the athlete giving one last thirsty look Tiffany's way. Within ten minutes of their departure, she had already made herself cum twice.
Tiffany had difficulty concentrating the next day during her classes. The anticipation of meeting up with Jamal caused her mind to continuously wander and had her squeezing her thighs together in her seat. She ended up leaving her last class early just to get home and get herself off one more time before he came over, slowly rubbing herself on the couch while thinking about what last night must have been like for him with Maddie, how much her sister's revealing outfit must have worked him up.
One hand squeezing her breast and the other tracing circles on her clit, she pictured Jamal checking out Maddie's on display tits. She licked her lips remembering the cheeks of Maddie's ass and the way he focused hungrily on them. With two fingers inside of her, she edged herself while thinking about Jamal on his way over, equally excited for his hook up with Tiffany after Maddie failed to put out... or even more, only going out with Maddie in the first place just to get to her. By the time he knocked at their front door, Tiffany was so worked up and close to cumming that she answered dressed only in a pair of skimpy pink panties, the garment askew on her hips to the point that her sparse dark pubic hair stuck out the top.
"God damn," Jamal said upon seeing Tiffany's near nude form. She grabbed him by the hand and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Telling him to come on, she quickly led them to Maddie's room, the pale cheeks of her small butt half hanging out from her underwear. With her long legs, flat stomach, partially exposed ass, and perfectly perky tits all bared for his roaming eyes, Jamal's cotton joggers were already tenting out obscenely by the time Tiffany dropped to her knees in front of him. "Shit girl. And I thought your sister was fine."
Tiffany let out a passionate whine at the pussy-gushing compliment and at the sight that greeted her down on her knees. A small animal could fit inside the tent Jamal had erected directly in front of her face. She could see its thickness molding the fabric of his pants and extending down, down, down. His dick had to be huge.
"I need to see your cock," she growled. Taking ahold of the elastic waist of his sweats, she tugged them down in one swift motion and freed the massive slab of cockmeat. It sprung up like a cobra ready to strike, long, fat, and black as coal with a flared head dripping slimy venom. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her lips parted on instinct. His ungodly cock jutted out from his muscular body, long and hard, all because of her. She was already so close to cumming and the knowledge that her body gave Jamal Bryson an erection like this almost made her explode. She reached up with both hands, stacking them on top each other and wrapping her fingers as best she could around his impressive girth. She let out a blissful moan from the heaviness of it in her hands, the contrast of his black tone against her white skin, and the extra four inches still extending out past her grasp. "It's even bigger than I imagined."
She began frantically jerking him off, hands sliding across his length, working his shaft with her grip. The slaps of her hands against his flesh echoed across Maddie's bedroom and her small breasts bounced to the beat of her fists. Jamal groaned from the sensation of Tiffany's pumping, the lanky girl's body gyrating from the sheer pleasure of touching his hard dick. God, his cock was so big and thick, she thought, mesmerized by the sight of it in her hands. The thrill of jerking Jamal off in her sister's room, of her stroking a big black cock for the first time, sent her into a spiral of arousal. Her panties were nearly drenched from how turned on it all made her.
"I love how hard you are for me," she hissed, licking her lips and turning her eyes up toward his grinning face. "Your big fucking cock makes me so wet. Do you like me jerking your fat dick?"
"Fuck, girl," Jamal said, rocking his hips a bit to meet her pumping fists. "You're much better at this than your sister."
Tiffany groaned, pleasure rocketing through her from once again getting compared favorably against her sister. But then Jamal's words sank in, and she froze, gaping up at him incredulously. "What?"
"Your sister. You're definitely more skilled than her at this. She still got me to cum but you're getting me there much faster. Helps seeing your fine ass body almost naked, and those lily-white hands all over my big black dick."
"Maddie... made you cum?"
"Huh? Yeah. Last night, after our date. She jerked me off in my car."
Tiffany came. Hunched over with Jamal's cock still in her hand, she rocked and bucked, her pussy spasming without her even touching herself. Maddie had jerked him off. Maddie had made him cum. Head bowed, eyes clenched shut, tongue hanging out of her mouth, Tiffany let out little ahs of pleasure while repeating it over and over again in her head. Her sister had jerked her first dick... and was bad at it.
"Yo, why'd you stop?"
Coming off her orgasmic high, Tiffany looked at Jamal's dick through lust-crazed eyes. Without another thought beyond her sister having already beaten him off, she lunged forward, parted her lips wide, and took him into her mouth.
"Ooohhh, shit!" Jamal said, taking a step back from the surprise of Tiffany's mouth engulfing the head of his dick. Keeping herself latched onto his tip, Tiffany followed his momentum until Jamal caught his balance. The sudden stop caused three more inches to sink past her lips until she kissed the finger and thumb encircling his shaft. They both moaned in unison, savoring the sensation of her mouth stuffed with cock. Jaw stretched wide, Tiffany slobbered and sucked her way back to his tip and down again, bobbing her head onto Jamal's meaty fuckstick. "Goddamn, fuck! Work that black dick with your pretty white face!"
"Tell me everything," Tiffany gasped as she came up for air. Spit dripped from her lips, a slimy strand of it connecting her pouty bottom lip with Jamal's dark mushroom tip. "I want to know how it happened."
"How'd what happen?"
Jamal dug his dark hand into her wavy brown locks and held the back of her head. He guided her face forward and back onto his pole. He grunted in pleasure when she readily accepted him back into her mouth, her warmth and wetness enveloping the first few inches of his shaft. She slavered his cock with her spit for a handful of sucks before pulling off again with a pop, chest heaving.
"Maddie. Tell me..." she swirled her mouth around his head, "how she..." she licked the underside of his shaft, "jerked your cock..." she traced her lips with his tip and then sucked him back in, "and made you cum."
"Unnggghh, shit, you are one hot twisted bitch," Jamal said, muscles tensing from the intense vibrations of Tiffany's sloppy blowjob. "After dinner, we went for walk around campus. Mmm... she looked real fuckable in that dress. I told her how sexy she looked but I had heard she didn't put out, that you were where the action was. Shit fuck!"
Tiffany let one hand drop off Jamal's cock and dive into her panties, allowing her to shove even more of his coal black pole into her face. She filled her mouth completely, gagging lightly from the obscene size of it stretching her lips wide and pressing against the back of her throat. She sucked hard, drooling all over his shaft, her lips moving up and down his thick, fat cock faster and faster, splatters of spit landing on Maddie's carpet.
"Keep going."
"By the time we got back to my car, ungh, damn your mouth feels good, I didn't expect anything but next thing I know, shit, she's unbuckling my jeans and my big dick was out in the air. Her eyes were so big. She couldn't believe the size of my dick. Girl getting a good look at big black cock and clearly liking what she saw." Tiffany hummed in pleasure around his cock, her fingers frantically manipulating her swollen lips and wet cunt. "She started stroking me, her hand mmm yeah gently pumping up and down and those wide eyes of hers concentrating right on my cock. She wasn't that good but a sweet girl like her with my fat black dick in her hand? I savored that sight. Hnnggh! You able to throat me?"
Tiffany answered with slurps and sucks, and by slamming her face forward, a full two inches of Jamal's monster cock popping into her gullet before she gagged and pulled him back out.
"Fuck that's good!"
"But she wasn't? Tell me she was bad at it."
"She was pretty bad at it. She's lucky she's got a nice body."
The slick sounds of Tiffany playing with her pussy mixed with the loud glks and wet gags of her mouth flying back and forth on Jamal's cock. Frantic, short, needful moans steadily ran up her throat as she fingered herself and choked on his dick. The pleasure she derived from sucking Jamal off was secondary only to the images behind her eyes of Maddie in Jamal's car, the very same large black cock straining her jaw and filling up her mouth gripped in her sister's delicate hand.
She pictured Maddie gingerly wrapping her fingers around the shaft, her slightly tanner skin still an erotic contrast to his ebony rod. Twisting in her seat, she'd beat him off, her inexperience showing. She couldn't hold the rhythm, her grip was a little too loose, but she was determined. It took a while but eventually she got him to cum. Her pretty sister, always so good at things, always the better one, having a difficult time doing something as simple as jerking off a cock. Not like Tiffany, who made so many of Maddie's boyfriends easily blow their loads by stroking their dicks, and now, by fucking her mouth onto them. Maddie's mediocre handjobs would never hold a candle to her.
Tiffany's scream of joy erupted around Jamal's dick as she orgasmed once again, her walls clamping down on her fingers, her hips grinding her clit against the heel of her hand. At the same time she imagined Maddie watching in awe as Jamal's cockslit opened up and spurted a fountain of thick spunk into the air and all over her hand, the vibrations of her bliss around his shaft had him firing off into her mouth. His cock expanded in pulses that matched his grunting, each one depositing a heavy dose of jizz across her tongue and palette. By the time he was finished, Tiffany's mouth was nearly overflowing.
She pulled away, lips pressed tightly together and eyes frantically darting around Maddie's room. There was no way she was going to swallow and needed somewhere to spit his load. She was about to head toward Maddie's panty drawer when her sister's lotion bottle caught her eye. Stumbling over, cum threatening to ooze down her throat, she quickly unscrewed the cap, leaned over, pressed her lip against the rim, and emptied the mouthful of cum inside. She gave one last spit, gathering any remnants from her mouth and adding it to the bottle. With a satisfied smile, she returned the cap and gave her sister's lotion a shake, mixing the contents of cream and cum together.
"Jesus," Jamal said, pulling his sweats back up over his deflating but still impressively large dick. "That was..."
"Way better than Maddie?" she said, returning the bottle of lotion to her sister's dresser and turning to face Jamal.
"For sure. Your sister don't seem that experienced."
"She's not. Which is a shame with those looks but better for me." They were back in the living room, Tiffany retrieving her clothes from where she'd thrown them earlier and slipping back on her blue tights. "The moment she's good at sucking cock I'll have to start spreading my legs if I want to measure up."
"You know, I've been with a lot of girls but that was one of the best blowjobs I've ever gotten. Even if your sister started sucking cock, I don't think she'd be that good."
"Mmm," Tiffany grinned. She paused while dressing, arms already in the holes of her t-shirt but not yet lifting the garment overhead. "Looking to get another one?"
"Always," Jamal laughed. "Just not right now. I got class."
After he left, Tiffany shut the door behind him and shivered with an electric buzz over everything that happened and everything she learned. She couldn't believe her not-quite-so-prude-anymore sister actually jerked him off. On a first date at that. Then again, Tiffany herself had just sucked his cock and she just met him yesterday. More than that though, what had really gotten Tiffany going, was the knowledge that her sister struggled at giving a decent handjob. It actively made her wet and drove her to orgasm knowing that for once, she seemed to be a natural at something and her perfect sister was not. From the sounds of it, she probably didn't even need to suck Jamal off to impress him over her sister, but the prospect of debasing her sister further by literally blowing her away was so damn hot.
Tiffany licked her lips. No, her first cock wasn't going to be her last one, that was for sure. While Maddie worked on her handjobs, Tiffany would work her sister's boyfriends with her mouth. She couldn't wait for her sister to go out with Jamal again.
"What do you mean you're not going to go out with him again?" Tiffany said in total exasperation later that night. By the time Maddie had finished with classes for the day, Tiffany eagerness to talk to her sister about her date was at a near bursting point. She even decided to make dinner by herself to butter Maddie up for the big talk, squirming in anticipation whenever she thought about her sister describing her first-ever sexual experience and telling her how much she looked forward to seeing Jamal again. However, Maddie dashed those fantasies to pieces when she said that although she enjoyed the date a lot, she didn't think she was going go on another one. Tiffany had bolted up in her seat when she heard that, her veneer of cool tossed aside like the pillow on her lap. "Jamal Bryson, Maddie! What the hell?"
"I know, I know," Maddie said, her shoulders dropping. "I really did have a great time with him but after the date, um, I, uh..."
Maddie tried to avoid her penetrating stare like an apologetic pet, and Tiffany softened before a horrifying thought crossed her mind. She only heard Jamal's side of the story. What if his version of events wasn't the real one? He said that Maddie just decided to take out his dick all on her own but what if it happened another way? The idea that she sucked him off, took his cock into her throat after he might have taken advantage of her sister, that she came from thinking about it... her stomach flipped.
"Maddie," Tiffany said, grabbing her sister's hand in her own, "did he do anything to you? Did he force you—"
"What?" Maddie's head bolted up to meet Tiffany's questioning gaze. "No! No, nothing like that. He was great."
Tiffany let out a sigh and collapsed back into the couch cushions, feeling a little embarrassed for her outburst. "Sorry. I didn't mean to freak out. You just seemed really... it's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I get it. We've never been—"
"It's okay. I'm glad you cared and were willing to ask." Maddie hesitated, pausing momentarily before saying, "I may have given him a handjob but it was entirely my choice."
Tiffany's eyes popped open. Her embarrassment and concern fell away, sinking down below the floor and disappearing somewhere into the Earth, leaving behind an arousal that filled the void left behind. Maddie had admitted it to her. Her sister just revealed to her that she jerked him off. Hearing it from Jamal was one thing but hearing it from Maddie was something else entirely and she needed, desperately desired, to hear more. She bounced back up and turned in the couch to face her sister.
"Holy shit. You have to tell me more."
"No way," Maddie said with a blush. But again, Maddie wavered. She could have gotten up, she could have changed the subject, but she didn't, and Tiffany kept her intense gaze trained on her sister, waiting, hoping, wanting. With a bite of her thick bottom lip, Maddie adjusted so they were face to face. "Okay. I could probably use your advice."
Yes! Fucking Yes! Tiffany screamed internally, a flood of pleasure racing down her core. In an insane world, she imagined lying back on the couch, spreading her legs, and slipping her hand down her tights while Maddie told her what happened, but sanity dictated that she appear as unaroused as possible.
"Was he your first?" she asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear her sister say it. "How big was he?"
"Yeah, my first. I've never even seen one before outside of an anatomy textbook, and, um, well," Maddie made an open fist with her hand, placing it an inch or so above her thigh and then held her other hand a little over half a foot above the end of it. "He was, like, this big. Are they normally this big?"
"It's cause he's black," Tiffany said, eyes focused on her sister's fist. She was superimposing the memory she had of Jamal's big fat dick into her sister's grip. Maddie's hand was slightly smaller than her own, so her sister's fingers were even further apart when measuring Jamal's girth. The length though, seemed spot on. She could see it, a thick dark flagpole filling Maddie's fist and extending up, up to her braless tits. Tiffany's pussy leaked at the visual of her sister with a big dick in her hand. "Most guys aren't going to be that big."
"So, you've, um," Maddie dropped her hands and the erotic image in Tiffany's mind dissipated, for now. She planned on conjuring it back up later and turning the still into a moving picture, a pistoning hand racing up and down the black baton. "Done it before?"
"Yeah," Tiffany said, leaving out that she did it before to every one of Maddie's boyfriends. "A few times."
"Oh..."
"Did you not enjoy it?"
"I did. It was... interesting. I don't know if I was doing it right though. It took a while. He seemed to enjoy it, but I was so nervous."
Every word out of Maddie's mouth was working Tiffany up and she struggled to stay focused, torn between wanting to hear more and excusing herself to go to the bathroom, tear a hole in her tights and jam four fingers into her sopping cunt until she screamed and came over the thought of Maddie awkwardly bringing Jamal to completion.
"Well, someone his size, you'd want to use both hands," Tiffany said, inspiration striking her. She leaned over and stacked her hands on-top of one another near, but reasonably far enough away from, her sister's crotch. She moved her hands up and down, twisting on the strokes, picking up a little speed. Maddie leaned back and stared down at Tiffany's hands manipulating the imaginary cock. "Start slow and then go faster. Don't only go up and down." Tiffany worked the nonexistent prick a little harder. "And eventually..." Tiffany stopped suddenly, and Maddie let out an involuntary gasp. "You'll get him there."
"Wow," Maddie said, clearly flustered as Tiffany moved her hands away. "You seem really good at that. I can't imagine myself ever being that good."
"Practice makes perfect you know. Which doesn't explain why you're not going out with Jamal again cause that seems like some great... big... practice."
"Ha, ha, very funny." Maddie let out a deep sigh and fiddled with her ponytail, twirling her thick locks in her hand. "I'm just... too attracted to him. I gave my first handjob on a first date! That's not like me. I'm worried that if I keep going out with him, I'll end up moving too fast and maybe later regret it. I know you might not understand but—"
"Hey, I get it," Tiffany said, the vote of confidence and reassurance making her sister smile. "You don't want to swallow too fast and then choke... if you know what I mean."
"Oh my god!" Maddie said in feigned horror. "I'm going to bed. I can't believe we're even talking about this!" Maddie got up from the couch but glanced over at her sister before heading to her bedroom. "I'm glad we did though. Thanks for the advice."
"Any time. I'm always happy to teach my big sister how to work a—"
"Good night!" Maddie sang, disappearing around the corner and shutting her door.
Her sister gone, Tiffany finally gave into her desires. Bracing her back onto the armrest, she pushed her tights and panties down her thighs, exposing her wet lower lips and fuck button. She closed her eyes and hissed as her fingers slowly circled her clit, bringing the image of Maddie jerking Jamal off back into her mind. It was too bad Maddie wouldn't go out with him. She was curious if her sister was as bad at blowjobs as she was at handjobs. She hitched a sharp intake of breath. It was okay though, she thought, panting while sinking two fingers into herself. She'd find out soon enough. There'd be new guys for her sister, there always was. And having broken the barrier, and with Tiffany's words of advice, Maddie would get her practice in and eventually move from using her hands to using her mouth. By that time, Tiffany would be an expect and have even more advice for her straggling sis.
She couldn't wait to suck the cock of her sister's next boyfriend. She moaned and fingered herself harder.
|
Tim felt footsteps outside his door and knew it was time to open his eyes. The bed was cold and the room empty, Damian had woken up earlier.
Tim wondered if these were nightmares, or the anticipation of his first reaping was keeping him from falling asleep, the truth being Tim had heard him tossing and turning in his bed all night, and it hadn't been until the wee hours of the morning that he had been quiet and Tim had finally been able to sleep.
He propped himself up on one elbow and sat up a little, sitting on Damian's bed is the most annoying cat in the world. Damian named him Alfred because he reminded him of the old butler who was like his grandfather, but Tim could only consider him an annoying cat who scratched him every time he came near him, so he wasn't going to compare that demon with Alfred.
He got out of bed and put on his old leather shoes, they had been Dick's for a while, but they had outgrown them and Tim had inherited them. Even though his family didn't have to think about how to survive every day and could afford certain luxuries, it was hard to find decent shoes. Bruce had had to order them exclusively from the Capitol, so Tim would keep wearing them until they broke or until it was Damian's turn to inherit them.
In the hallway he meets Cassandra, she was already dressed up and wearing a nice sky blue dress. Cass would normally dress in darker colored clothing, but wearing them during the reaping could be construed as an act of provocation and she could be punished for it, it didn't matter if Cass was one of the people who had to be on stage because she was one of the winners of the games.
Well, almost everyone in his family was.
Bruce had started the tradition by being chosen at age thirteen, had won his games without killing anyone and had become the youngest tribute to win. Ten years later he had adopted Dick and only a few years after that Dick became a tribute at his third games. Thanks to all the training he had received from Bruce for so many years, Dick had won the games and like Bruce had not had to kill anyone. When Dick turned eighteen, Bruce had found a little orphan boy who lived in the Hob, the black market in the 12th district, and couldn't help but take him home. Jason had only lived with them for a year when he was called to the games. Jason had won his games when he was 15, but unlike Bruce and Dick he had been forced to kill, his last fight had left him on the verge of death.
A few years later, when Tim's parents had died, he was adopted by Bruce, an old family friend. Tim had become a member of the Wayne family at the age of 13, a year later, Bruce adopted Cassandra, just a few months before the reaping, when the day came she was chosen as a tribute.
Tim had hated himself for how relieved he had been not to be the chosen one, by that point he had realized that the Capitol had something against his family and liked to force them to participate in that slaughter.
Cassandra survived the games and only killed one person, but that had left her practically catatonic for a while. It had taken her months to regain her speech, and even now she was more comfortable speaking in sign language.
In the kitchen he met up with the rest of his siblings, and just like Cassandra, they were all ready. So Tim quickly ate breakfast and went to the bathroom, where Alfred had already prepared a tub of hot water for him. He took a quick bath, because he had bathed the day before anyway, and dressed in the clothes Alfred had prepared for him. They were new clothes, clean and expensive, they must have cost at least a year's wages for one of the miners in the Seam, one of the sectors of his district.
Tim was the son of merchants who served the district's officials and peace officers, so he had never gone hungry, going to live with Bruce hadn't changed his lifestyle at all, but that didn't make him oblivious to the needs of the rest of the district's inhabitants. His best example was Jason, who hadn't known what it was like to go to bed with a full stomach until Bruce had adopted him.
That led him to wonder how many tesserae he would have that year to his name, after all it was his second to last year. You become eligible for the harvest when you turn twelve; that year, your name goes into the lottery once. At thirteen, twice; and so on until you reach eighteen, the last year of eligibility, and your name enters the box seven times. The system includes all citizens of Panem's twelve districts.
However, there is a catch. Let's say you are poor and you are starving. You have the possibility of adding your name more times in exchange for tesserae; each tesserae is worth a meager annual supply of cereal and oil for one person. You can also make that exchange for each member of your family.
Tim went back down to the kitchen. Alfred was taking care of getting the dinner preparations ready, because after the reaping everyone is supposed to celebrate, and many people do, relieved to know that their children have been spared for another year. However, at least two families will close shutters and doors, and try to figure out how to survive the painful weeks ahead.
He sees Dick talking to Damian in the living room, and Jason and Cassandra are trying to steal some of the cupcakes Alfred had prepared for later, but they don't get to grab one before Alfred's hawk-eye spots them and whacks their hands with his wooden spoon.
The kitchen door opens, and Bruce and Jean-Paul Valley walk in. Bruce greets his kids and goes to drop off his briefcase to his office, while Jean sits next to Tim and tries to strike up a conversation with Cassandra, although his sign language isn't the best and Cass doesn't make things easy for him.
Jean-Paul had been Bruce's ward for a year, during which time his father had fallen ill and Bruce as the only healer in the district had been tending to him. Jean's father had not survived, and Bruce could not leave the poor boy alone, but Dicl had not made things easy for him and that had caused Bruce to never dare ask Jean if he wanted to be part of his family. A few months later Jean had been selected as a tribute, and when he had won, following Bruce's example without killing anyone, he had been given a house in the victors' village and Jean had not hesitated to move in. Even so he had never completely distanced himself from the family, he used to visit them recurrently and Bruce almost considered him as another son.
Tim liked him, and even though he couldn't see him as an older brother, he could consider him a good friend, despite the years between them.
At one o'clock Tim says goodbye to his family and reluctantly grabs Damian's hand to take him to the square. His family is allowed to arrive a little later, but he and Damian have to be there on time.
Like every year the square is packed, after all attendance is mandatory unless you are at death's door. Tonight the officials will be going round the houses to check. If anyone has lied, they will put them in jail.
Tim thinks it's a real shame that the reaping ceremony is being held in the square, one of the few nice places in District 12. The square is surrounded by stores and, on market days, especially if the weather is nice, it feels like a party. Today, however, despite the colorful banners hanging from the buildings, there is an atmosphere of sadness. The television cameras, perched like buzzards on the rooftops, only serve to accentuate the feeling.
People enter quietly and file in; the reaping is also the perfect opportunity for the Capitol to keep track of the population. They lead the boys between the ages of twelve and eighteen into the roped-off areas divided by age, with the older ones in front and the young ones, like Damian, in the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, all holding hands tightly. There are others, too, those who have no one to lose or no longer care, who slip into the crowd to bet on who the two chosen ones will be. They bet on how old they will be, whether they will be from the Hob or Merchants, or whether they will collapse and burst into tears. Most refuse to deal with bettors, except very cautiously; those same people are often informants.
Tim leaves Damian with the twelve-year-olds and heads up to his group's sector. On the way he runs into his friend Stephanie, his sister Cass's best friend and one of the few people outside his family that Tim trusts. The two give each other a tense nod. Stephanie is a year older than Tim, but she's also a Hob girl, so her name will be entered 14 times in the drawing that year.
Tim turns his attention to the temporary stage they have built in front of the Justice Building. There are seven chairs, a podium and two large round glass urns, one for the boys and one for the girls. Two of the seven chairs are occupied by Mayor Theodore Galavan and Effie Trinket, the District 12 escort, fresh from the Capitol, with her terrifying white smile, pinkish hair and spring green suit. The two mutter to each other and look worriedly at the empty seats.
Tim knows his family needs some time before each game, they will be a little late, but they will make it.
Just as the clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same story as every year, telling of the creation of Panem, the country that rose from the ashes of a place once called North America. He lists the list of disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the seas that rose and swallowed up much of the land, and the brutal war to take what few resources were left. The result was Panem, a gleaming Capitol surrounded by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the rebellion of the districts against the Capitol. They defeated twelve of them and destroyed the thirteenth. The Treaty of Treason gave us new laws to ensure peace and, as an annual reminder that the Dark Days must never happen again, it also gave us the Hunger Games.
The rules of the Hunger Games are simple: in punishment for rebellion, each of the twelve districts must give up one boy and one girl, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes are locked in a huge outdoor arena that can be anything from a scorching desert to a frozen wasteland. Once inside, the competitors have to fight to the death over a period of several weeks; whoever is left alive wins.
Tim grimaces at the thought that this is the way the Capitol has them at their mercy. The lives of two children every year so that the rest can live.
To make it humiliating as well as torture, the Capitol demands that the Hunger Games be treated as a holiday, a sporting event in which the districts compete against each other. The last tribute alive is rewarded with an easy life, and their district receives prizes, mostly food. The Capitol gives cereal and oil to the winning district throughout the year, and even some delicacies like sugar, while the rest of us struggle not to starve.
Thanks to that very thing, his family could live a quiet life. Each of his brothers had a house in the victors' village and had a monthly stipend enough to support ten families, but they still chose to live in the house that Bruce had won in his first games and live on the proceeds from the apothecary shop that had been owned by Bruce's family. He was now the provider and served as the district's healer.
"It is time to repent, and also to give thanks" recites the mayor.
He then reads the list of the inhabitants of District 12 who have won in previous editions. In seventy-four years we have had exactly seven, and just then his family makes their grand entrance. Bruce and Dick smile, trying to calm things down, while Jean-Paul and Cass take it upon themselves to help Jason to his seat. You can tell from his face that he had a panic attack before he came, which is not something abnormal in his family, they were everyday situations, and at game time it was much worse. The crowd responds with their protocol applause, Bruce took the opportunity to give Effie a hug, who responds without hesitation. In the Capitol Bruce and the rest of his family were considered big celebrities, every year reporters were sent to interview them and record how is the life of the most famous family in Panem.
Effie, as cheerful and vivacious as ever, trots up to the podium and greets with her usual greets with her usual greeting:
"Happy Hunger Games! And may luck be always, always on your side!"
The time has come for the drawing of lots. Effie Trinket says her usual, "Ladies first!" and walks over to the glass urn with the girls' names. She reaches all the way in and pulls out a piece of paper. Tim's heart stops for a second, the person chosen is one of his classmates. Tim had rarely spoken to Darla, but still the familiarity was there enough to make it hurt that she was chosen.
Darla walks up to the stage and stands to the side of Effie, then it's the boys' turn. The crowd holds its breath, you could hear a pin drop, and Tim begins to feel nauseous and desperately wish it wasn't him, not him, not him.
Effie Trinket returns to the podium, smoothes out the piece of paper and reads the name in a clear voice; and it's not him.
It is Damian Wayne. |
Mycroft makes sure Sherlock's coat is buttoned and that he has his books for school. "Have you got your scarf?" he asks. Mummy has a cup of coffee, and she is standing at the window looking out at the yard.
"I'm afraid I must have left it at school," Sherlock says blithely. His adult teeth are late in coming, and he lisps through the gap where his incisors had been. Mycroft pauses and looks down at him. Sherlock has been smiling nearly non-stop for three days. He natters on about school, about his homework, and cartoons; all the things he usually despises. Mycroft recognises the cadence of his speech from one of the television programs he has taken to watching religiously lately.
"What are you playing at?" Mycroft finally asks. Sherlock smiles, his eyes wide and uncannily innocent.
"Whatever do you mean?"
Mycroft presses his lips together and pulls open the front door. Let him have his little game.
Two days later Sherlock is still smiling, but his eyes have gone hard and fierce, like a little animal backed against a wall.
Catherine Bradshaw sits one seat diagonally in front of Mycroft, and he can just make out the line of her undergarment beneath her pressed white shirt. She didn't used to wear one but Mycroft finds he likes it, and he watches her tuck a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, unconsciously delicate. Catherine isn't very clever, but she's sweet and kind. Her canines have grown in slightly crooked, which gives her shy but frequent smile a pleasing sort of asymmetry. That summer Mycroft had seen her with her older sister at the shops on Hammond street. She had been wearing a powder blue dress, and in the afternoon sun just after the rain, she had been so pretty that Mycroft had found it physically painful. It doesn't matter that she isn't clever.
A black ladybug creeps over the heel of Catherine's shoe. Mycroft watches it circumnavigate her stockinged ankle until she jumps with a small, startled noise and brushes it away. It flies some distance to land on the windowsill, and Mycroft ducks his head, smiling. Catherine likes to draw ordinary things like flowers and trees. She has one dog and one cat, and Mycroft suspects a goldfish as well. Her older sister has just gone on to University this year; Catherine has been sorting through the clothes she'd left behind, and cautiously experimenting with her makeup. She smells like gentle, unscented soap.
Mycroft bends over his exam, carefully marking three answers wrong and illustrating precisely how he arrives at his erroneous conclusion. He is consistently third in his class: it's better not to be too clever.
Dear God, we ask you to heal the broken in heart and bind up their wounds.
One month after Sherlock's seventh birthday, he and Mycroft had stood amidst a small, sombre gathering as the sun edged up to its zenith on the longest day of the year. Mycroft had glanced at the sky, free of rain, but hung with fluffy white clouds along the horizon. Six swallows in sets of three had darted over the parish. Sherlock had slipped one small, cool hand into Mycroft's and ducked his head against his hip, wiping the trickling sweat from his brow onto the hem of Mycroft's jacket. He was flushed from the sun and exhausted. Mummy stood to Mycroft's right, her arms folded tightly around her waist. Her blue eyes stared down at the earth, unseeing.
May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.
"Do you think you did well?" Catherine asks at the end of class. "What am I saying, I'm sure you did." She looks away, blushing. She speaks almost too softly to hear, but Mycroft catches every word, always. He fumbles for a reply, but his voice has lodged in his throat, and they face each other for one silent and excruciating moment. What does one say under such circumstances? Unbidden, all that come to mind are snatches from Sherlock's television programs. Phrases like Jolly good! and Miss McClackerty, what are we going to do? Mycroft feels the heat rise to his face. He is usually quite good at conversing with his classmates on their level. He has made a study of it, imitating the socially savvy with pronounced success.
Catherine stammers an awkward farewell and escapes to her desk, quickly gathering up her books. She has a bit of jam on the cuff of her sleeve.
Mycroft scolds himself. An abominable performance. He ought to be better than that. Before he can berate himself further, the intercom blips and the secretary pages him to the Headteacher's office. Mycroft's heart drops so quickly he feels nauseous.
He gathers his books, Catherine Bradshaw forgotten. He knows without doubt something's happened to Mummy and he is dizzy when he stands. He numbly makes his way to the front of the room, though he keeps his chin up, eyes forward; a clever boy but ordinary. Presentation is everything in society. Mycroft feels his classmates eyes upon him as he opens the door and steps out into the hall. They respect him but they aren't his friends.
If something's happened to Mummy he and Sherlock will likely be made wards of the state. Mycroft won't reach his majority for another four years and even then he isn't likely to be let to have Sherlock back. What if they take the house?
What if Mummy has left? When Mycroft was nine Mummy had left for a full year, "to have a rest," Daddy had said, but Mycroft knew she had been in the sanatorium. What if she has to go back there? What if she doesn't want him and Sherlock anymore, what if Sherlock is too much trouble? Mycroft steadies himself with a hand on the wall. He has reached the office already and his knees feel as though they may give at any moment. He swallows tightly and composes himself. Presentation is everything. If Mummy has left then Mycroft will simply have to find a way to make do.
Mrs. Lambeth has the telephone tucked against her ear, and she looks up as Mycroft enters.
"Here he is," she says, and then covers the receiver with one hand. "You're Mycroft, aren't you?"
"Yes," he says clearly.
"We can't get a hold of your mother, sweetheart."
Mycroft's heart pounds sharply and he nearly misses what she says next.
"There's been some sort of incident at the primary school, and we need to speak with her urgently. Do you know where she might be?"
"What's happened?" Mycroft's chest releases, but a new trepidation settles over him. Sherlock was constantly causing "incidents" and it's likely Mummy is just ignoring the phone.
"Just a bit of a fuss, dear, but they do need to speak with your mum. Did she happen to mention where she might be this afternoon?"
"No." Of course she hadn't. Mummy barely speaks at all these days.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Lambeth sighs.
Fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Lambeth escorts Mycroft to the primary school, and he hears Sherlock pounding on a closed office door. He seems to be making some sort of hoarse, croaking noise that makes Mycroft's stomach seize and his hands go cold. The office staff are all milling about, fretting uselessly.
"He attacked a student," someone explains. "With a pen." The pounding has stopped, but it is succeeded with a loud crash as Sherlock knocks something over, a book case. He will not be allowed back to this school.
Mycroft's heart is in his throat. Mummy can't find out about this, but she most assuredly will. The school will talk to her eventually, and Mycroft has to clean this up right now before it gets even further out of hand.
The only person he can think to call is their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Dougherty. She's widowed and is constantly bombarding their mother with offers to "help with the boys" since Daddy died.
He gives the secretary her phone number and she places the call. If Mrs. Dougherty can't come get them, Mycroft doesn't know what he'll do. He steps into the closed office and Sherlock punches him in the kneecap. He staggers, but manages to shut the door before making a grab for his brother.
"Sherlock!" he hisses. Sherlock is an absolute wreck; bloody about the nose and chin, his curls in some places matted and in others frayed. His face is mottled and tear stained, and he screamed himself hoarse a long time ago, leaving only the ragged wet rasp Mycroft had heard from the other side of the door. Mycroft feels his composure slipping once again; anxiety, embarrassment, and fear curdling in the pit of his stomach. Sherlock has never thrown a tantrum of this magnitude. Mycroft doesn't know what to do. Mummy is going to be so upset.
The Headteacher's desk has been swept clean, its contents littering the floor. The bookcase indeed has been overturned, as well as the desk chair, a filing cabinet, and a plastic potted plant. Sherlock stands in the center of the room, his small shoulders heaving, his face twisted in a mask of fury. The buttons have been torn from his collar, which is stained pink with tears and blood. His hands curl into claws and he lunges for Mycroft again.
"Aristotle argued that sensory information - that's your five senses -" said daddy, "- that sensory information traveled straight to the heart, because he thought the heart, not the brain, was the seat of reason. He said 'educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.'"
Mycroft seizes Sherlock by the wrist and twists him around, clapping a hand over his mouth to stop him making that awful noise. He sinks against the door, holding Sherlock to him closely. He measures the time by his own jagged breaths as Sherlock struggles and claws at his hand. If Daddy were here he would simply lift Sherlock up and carry him out to the car. "Let's not worry your mum," he would say.
Sherlock abruptly goes slack in his arms, and Mycroft pulls his hand away. Oh God, what has he done? He has blood on his hand, and he hadn't been thinking, he just wanted Sherlock to be quiet, but he hadn't been able to breath with his nose bloodied the way it is. Mycroft draws up his knees, cradling his brother against him. Sherlock is breathing through his mouth, but he's unconscious. He'll be all right. The little beast! Why did he always do this? Mycroft's hands are shaking and he begins to cry.
He presses his face to his brother's hair, willing himself steady. Sherlock's knuckles are red on both hands - the right from having hit someone, the left from having been hit; the marks are different; a ruler most likely. Corporal punishment is on the brink of banishment nationwide, and Mycroft has never known the teachers here to have used it. They would have done it as a last resort, it would have only made things worse. There are no means to discern what set Sherlock off initially.
Sherlock shifts, then snorts as he tries to breath through his blocked up nose. He blinks groggily and makes a quiet keening noise from the back of his ravaged throat. He turns his face into Mycroft's shirt. Mycroft strokes the back of his head and desperately wishes things were different.
It begins to rain on the drive home, that endless November drizzle. Mycroft looks out from the passenger window as Mrs. Dougherty drones on about her sons who had been killed in the war.
"They were bright boys. Like you, Mycroft."
Mycroft turns his shoulder to Mrs. Dougherty and leans against the door, depleted. Sherlock is curled up in the back seat, under the old woman's coat.
"Sherlock," she'd admonished when she'd arrived at school. She'd cleaned his face with a kerchief wetted on her tongue and he hadn't even squirmed. "Such a herman," she'd said, and the phrase was unfamiliar. Mycroft knows she'd placated the Headteacher when she'd arrived. He doesn't know what she said but he can imagine. He doesn't like that she may have spoken of Daddy.
"...and he built a bicycle just with scraps from the yard! Oh, he could do anything he put his mind to, my Richard. Always one for building things. Do you like to build, Sherlock?"
They narrowly avoid manslaughter at the crosswalk, easing to a halt well past the stop line. Mrs. Dougherty likely shouldn't even be allowed to drive at her age.
"I've got plenty of space for building, and experiments of all sorts - you two come round one of these days." She pauses and peers into the rear-view mirror. "I'll show you the trick with battery acid," she adds coyly. Mycroft doesn't need to look to know Sherlock's tousled head has pricked up at that: he's always getting into the chemicals at home. He drives Mycroft to distraction, mixing bleach and ammonia based solvents in the toilet, along with various other things, like grass. Mummy doesn't know about that and never will.
"If my Peter were alive he'd be able to show you a thing or two. Such a deft hand, he was, so clever."
Sherlock is never sorry for any of the things he does. He's a selfish little heathen, and Mycroft truly hates him sometimes. Mycroft presses his forehead to the window tries to focus instead on the effect of their velocity on the raindrops on the window. They rarely drive fast enough to move them off gravity's course.
Mrs. Dougherty lets them off at home, and holds her coat out above Sherlock like an awning against the rain.
"Ooh!" she shrieks. "Better run quick, young man!" Sherlock hurries up the steps with barely the ghost of a smile. Mycroft digs into his pocket for the key and when he pushes the door open he turns to find Mrs. Dougherty has kneeled on the step and pulled Sherlock in against her. His bony hand is fisted in the fabric of her coat and Mycroft resists the urge to leave them there and slam the door behind him. Mrs. Dougherty pets his brother's head - his brother - and whispers something in his ear that Mycroft can't hear. Sherlock glances at him and then nods. He lets Mrs. Dougherty kiss his forehead, and then follows Mycroft inside.
Janitsch is playing at maximum volume inside. Mycroft recognises the Il Gardallino ensemble, one of the few recordings Mummy owns on cassette. It switches off abruptly as Sherlock disappears into the parlour, and Mycroft hears a murmured exchange.
"Mycroft?" Mummy calls. Mycroft numbly hangs his coat and then follows Sherlock's path. He has curled up on the sofa, shoes and all, and Mummy gives Mycroft a searching and vaguely worried glance.
"It's fine," Mycroft lies. She hesitates, then nods. She dials down the volume, and switches the music back on. It's the symphony she'd been rehearsing when Daddy had had his diagnosis. Mycroft watches her from the doorway as she stands before the stereo. He wills her to turn around, to talk to him, but she doesn't. Her honey-blonde hair is drawn neatly behind her in a tortoise-shell barrette, but her dress seems ill-fitted and hangs from her shoulders. She is far too thin.
Mycroft goes into Daddy's office and shuts the door. He sits, picks up the phone, and dials Sherlock's school. Mycroft's voice hasn't quite broken yet, and it's easy to make them think he's Mummy.
It's night and Mycroft stands at the edge of his desk, his fingers hovering over the drawer handle. He can hear the sombre sound of Mummy's cello drifting up the stairs. Sherlock likes to watch when she plays, so Mycroft knows he is alone. He pulls open the drawer and reaches for the photograph tucked in the back beneath his spare notebooks and the old birthday cards he feels too sentimental or guilty to discard. He sits on the floor beside his bed and pulls up his knees.
It's a black and white photograph in a heavy pewter frame: a portrait of Daddy when he had been at University. His hair was dark and had been thinning even then, and he had the same long nose as Mycroft. He is only just smiling, one side of his mouth crooked up over his teeth, and he's looking at something to the left of the frame, up and out, as though thinking of all the things he will do one day. Mycroft curls around the picture and Mummy draws a long tremulous note from her cello. She had played with the London Symphony Orchestra before Daddy had died, but she can't anymore because of him and Sherlock.
Mycroft presses his forehead to his knees, the photograph tucked against him. His throat is swelling painfully and he doesn't want to cry. His shoulders shake as he breathes through his teeth. Crying is juvenile. It won't solve anything. And Mycroft doesn't care at all what Catherine Bradshaw thinks. That's juvenile too. Mycroft has more important things to attend to: he can't afford to be irrational.
Mycroft grips the picture frame so tightly it digs into his fingers. His father would have never been so frightened that he suffocated Sherlock or hurt him. His father had been thoughtful and calm. He had said the heart is the seat of reason, but he had never explained what that meant, and Mycroft can't figure it out. It seems his heart wants only useless or impossible things. Mycroft sucks in a breath and finally the tears escape. Once he begins to cry he finds he can't stop, and then he's crying so hard that he feels he'll be sick.
The door clicks and slowly opens. Mycroft can still hear Mummy playing downstairs, so he knows it's Sherlock. There's no way to disguise what he's doing, so Mycroft keeps very still with his face turned away and hopes Sherlock will leave him alone. His shoulders shake with the effort. He hears the door close, hears Sherlock padding over the carpet.
"You're crying," Sherlock says. His voice is soft and still scratchy from his fit this afternoon. "Are you crying because of me?"
Mycroft swallows thickly. "Not everything is about you, Sherlock."
Sherlock sits beside him. Their shoulders brush and Mycroft knows Sherlock is trying to peer into his face from below, through the small gap between his chest and his knees. Sherlock won't see the picture, but he'll recognise the frame. Mycroft knows Sherlock sorts through his things.
"You're crying because you miss Father."
Mycroft doesn't answer. Sherlock shifts and Mycroft can tell he's drawn up his knees as well and begun to pick at the carpet.
"I don't," Sherlock says. "I don't remember him."
"Yes you do."
Sherlock leans his head against Mycroft's shoulder. It's only been five months since Daddy passed, and Sherlock remembers everything. In this capacity only his ability exceeds Mycroft's. Sherlock begins to stroke Mycroft's arm.
"Don't cry," he says.
Mycroft breathes deeply, then turns and presses his eyes against his knees. He looks at his brother. "I'm not crying."
Sherlock continues to pet his arm. "Do you want to hear a story?" he asks.
The offer catches Mycroft by surprise. He wants Sherlock to leave him alone, but he finds himself saying, "Okay."
Sherlock's gaze slips away and he picks at a bit of lint on Mycroft's pyjama sleeve. "Mycroft, Mycroft," he says. "Mycroft went down to the ocean and he saw a crab. It had eight legs and two claws, and one claw was bigger than the other, and it had little black eyes. It buried itself in the sand and let the waves come up over it. Then a dog came and it pinched the dog. The end."
They are silent for a time. The story is curious and unexpectedly soothing. Last summer the four of them had been to the seashore but Mycroft doesn't know how much of Sherlock's story is inspired by truth.
"Do you want to hear another?"
"Okay."
Sherlock takes a moment to compose his next story. "Mycroft went down to the ocean and he saw a big wave. He wanted to go in the wave but it was raining so he didn't. Then the wave broke into tiny pieces on the shore." Sherlock pauses. "The end." He turns and scrubs his face against Mycroft's shoulder. He shifts in closer. "Mycroft?" he whispers.
"What?"
"Do you want to hear a poem?"
"Okay."
Sherlock is silent again for awhile, and when he speaks his voice is even softer than before.
"An ant has antennaeAnd so does a beetle.Their bones are on the outside.It's called an exoskeleton.Inside is sort of yellowy white."
He stops. His picking at Mycroft's sleeve has stilled. Cautiously, Mycroft asks, "Is that all?" Sherlock doesn't answer.
"That's a nice poem, Sherlock. Thank you."
Sherlock pulls his arms in close to him. He says "Mycroft?" and his voice trembles.
"What?"
He says almost inaudibly; "I rolled up six pillbugs and squished them."
Mycroft takes this in, uncertain. Sherlock so rarely says what he means. "Today?" he asks, and Sherlock nods. "Because you were angry?"
Sherlock nods again and his tears spill over. His lips pull back over his teeth, and his breaths are thick and wet. Mycroft sets the photograph aside and a knot rises in his throat.
"No one likes me," Sherlock cries, and Mycroft feels something twist inside him. He pulls his brother into his lap. Sherlock has had a bath and his cool, damp ringlets smell like shampoo. He coughs through his ragged gasps and lets out that tight quiet keen. When did he learn to cry so quietly?
Mycroft knows he should have seen it from the beginning; the cartoons, the pleasant inanities. It's the same as Mycroft does every day, and he knows exactly how it feels. Sherlock could never pretend to be ordinary. It hurts just knowing he had tried.
In a hoarse whisper, Mycroft says "I like you a lot, Sherlock." Crying, he says, "Don't cry."
Later, Mycroft lifts a half-sleeping Sherlock into the bed and crawls in beside him, pulling him close. He can still hear Mummy playing downstairs, sad and low. It is cold in his room and Mycroft pulls the blanket up over their heads and tucks it in around them. Safe in this cocoon, he cradles his brother against his heart, as though they are the only two people on Earth. |
Mid-morning the next day, Bilbo and Sig began the trek to Khazad-dûm once more. Bilbo found it hard to believe that it had only been two days ago they had gone for the first time; he felt a hundred years older. He found he could not admire the construction of the incredible city this time around.
“You realise we will have to stay another day,” he told Sig.
“I know,” Sig said. “But the Shire will still be there.”
“Perhaps we might go to Rivendell after all,” Bilbo suggested.
Sig smiled. “There’s the Bilbo Baggins I know,” he said.
Their directions led them through the city and down to the Dwarven training grounds. As they passed the grounds, Bilbo noted that the king sparred at swords with a large Dwarf covered in tattoos. He elbowed Sig.
“Look,” he said, “but for Valar’s sake don’t stare. There’s the king.”
“Are you sure?” Sig asked.
“Hard to forget someone who almost stomps you flat,” Bilbo replied. He met the eyes of the tattooed Dwarf and quickly looked away. That was a scary fellow.
As they circled round about the back of the open training space, however, Bilbo could feel eyes on him; and sure enough, when he risked a glimpse the Dwarf was watching. He turned back to the king only when the king gently rapped him on the side of the head with the pommel of his sword.
As Bilbo and Sig reached what appeared to be the living quarters of the guard, he felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned, it was the big tattooed Dwarf.
“I think you’ve probably lost your way,” he said.
Sig looked at their directions. “I don’t think so,” he said. “It should be that one there with the crossed hammer and war axe on the door.”
The Dwarf narrowed his eyes. “And why would you be going there?” he asked.
Bilbo tilted his head. “I don’t see why it’s your business,” he answered. So far the manners of the mountain continued to disappoint him.
He wished he had not been so flippant when the big Dwarf took a step forward and loomed over him. “If you visit my family,” he said, “it’s my business.”
His family—Bilbo looked at him then, and opened his mouth, and Sig put his hand over it.
“We met Amy yesterday,” he said, “and she invited us to elevenses today.”
The Dwarf—this Dwarf—didn’t seem to find that enough of an answer. “She said nothing to me,” he said, and now there was some growl to his voice.
But then the door to the—what was it? Not a smial—opened, and Amy stepped out, and paled to see Bilbo and Sig speaking with the Dwarf who must be her father.
“Adad!” she said, looking nervously to Bilbo, “What a surprise! You never come to elevenses!”
He turned to her. “Amethyst,” he said. “What made you think that you might invite two strange hobbits into our home without my knowledge? Without my permission? And at a time when you know that I am not there.”
She rolled her eyes. “They are perfectly safe, Adad,” she said. “And Fili and Kili are here to chaperone; so even if they were a threat, I should be safe.”
“Yet they are strangers, and you deliberately deceived me,” the big dwarf said. “I cannot like it.”
Amy bit her lip, but said nothing.
“Well, daughter?” he asked. “Will you not introduce me?”
Amy wrung her hands and looked pleadingly at Bilbo and Sig.
“Sigismond Took,” Sig said. His voice shook nervously. “At your service.”
Bilbo pulled Sig’s hand off his mouth.
“Bilbo Baggins,” he said. “At your service.” He paused. “I need not ask whose service—“ and Sig’s hand was on his mouth again, but Amy’s father’s reaction was all Bilbo had wanted: he turned pale, and he looked shamed, and when he bowed and spoke, this big Dwarf’s voice shook.
“Dwalin,” he said. “At—at your service.”
Bilbo pulled Sig’s hand away again. “No thank you,” he said, and turned his back on Dwalin to face Amy. Better her than this adulterer.
“Amy?” Dwalin asked bemusedly.
“I’ll speak to you later, Adad,” she said. “Right now I’m having my brother for elevenses.”
Bilbo shook as he followed her into her home, but it was from fury, not fear.
After they were inside, Amy shut the door quickly and leaned against it.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “He’s usually gone by now.”
“What happened?” Kili asked from over in the next room. Bilbo could see him through a wide archway, playing with a toddling little Dwobbit. It must be Fili then, who sat on a nearby sofa, as did a young Dwobbit. Bilbo did not know enough to guess at his age.
“Adad happened,” Amy replied.
“Mahal!” Kili exclaimed. He looked Bilbo and Sig over. “Yet you survive, with no visible wounds...”
Amy made a face at Kili. “What would he do?” she asked.
“What does he usually do to any he thinks a suitor?” Fili asked her in return.
“I’m not exactly that, am I?” Bilbo said.
Kili’s eyes widened. “You told him?” he sputtered.
“He was the one who wanted to be introduced,” Bilbo replied. He still floated on a wave of anger, but he was all that was polite when he turned to Amy and bowed. He was a guest in her home, and he would be a Baggins. “What a delightful home!” he said. “Where shall we sit?”
Amy gaped a little at his abrupt change in manner, but gestured him into the sitting room where the others waited.
“Fili,” she said, “will you do the introductions, while I fetch the trays from the kitchen? Kili, I could use your help.” So she and Kili departed, and Sig and Bilbo were left with a Dwarf they had met yesterday under the worst circumstances and two children.
Fili, it seemed, was entirely up to the challenge. He lifted the little one off the floor.
“Bilbo Baggins,” he said, “may I present Calin son of Dwalin,” and he gestured to the young boy, “and Esmeralda Took,” and here he gestured to the toddler in his lap. “Usually known as Esmie.”
“Hello,” Bilbo said.
“Calin, Esmie,” he continued, “your older brother, Bilbo.” Esmie seemed preoccupied with trying to wriggle out of Fili’s arms, but Calin’s eyes narrowed a little. Bilbo was forcibly reminded of his father.
“Why don’t we know you?” he demanded.
Kili and Amy returned from the kitchen then, each laden with a tray piled with food. It seemed Amy intended a complete Hobbit elevenses. Amy’s eyes pleaded with Bilbo. She has Hobbit eyes, anyway, he thought.
“I’ve been living in the Shire,” Bilbo replied. “This is my first visit to the mountain.” That seemed to satisfy Calin, who turned to Amy and Kili.
“Scones and fairy cakes!” he exclaimed. “You made a proper tea today, Amy!” Amy blushed, but hurried forward to the table with the trays.
Elevenses was both like and unlike what Bilbo had expected. Some of the foods were the same: scones with butter and jam, and a sharply cheddared cheese, and tea; but some were different: fairy cakes, which Bilbo usually thought of for tea, and a spread Bilbo had never had before that Amy said was sausage, and a cheese that was new to him too. Conversation was very polite and very stilted.
Eventually Calin said something. “Why are you all so dull today?” he complained. “No one is talking of anything interesting at all.”
Amy shushed him. “We have guests, Calin,” she scolded. “Be polite!”
“They’re boring guests, then,” Calin whined. “All we’ve talked about is how lovely the city is and whether it will rain later or not!”
Amy pleaded with him. “Please stop it, Calin,” she said. “Please behave.”
“I don’t see why I should,” he pouted, “when you are all so dull.”
Amy seemed near tears, and Bilbo had cried enough yesterday.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked. “What do you usually discuss, then?”
“I don’t know,” Calin said sulkily. “Interesting things.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t been here long enough for anything interesting to happen to me yet,” Bilbo said. “You will have to tell me something interesting about you.”
Calin looked at him curiously. “Adad is teaching me how to use an axe,” he said.
Bilbo winced a little, but he said, “I met your Adad earlier, and he seemed quite formidable. You must be learning quite a lot.” And then Calin was off, and he talked about everything from that point on from his lessons on the axe to the snails he found in the garden last week to his friend Millin’s new conkers. The rest of them had only to listen.
After the meal, when Calin ran to get his conkers to show Bilbo (who had admitted to some expertise), Amy thanked him.
“You were very kind to him,” she said.
Bilbo looked at her, and smiled, a little. “It’s not his fault,” he said. “And he’s just a child.” He put aside his pride enough to say, “And I apologise for how I spoke to you yesterday. It’s not your fault either.”
Amy looked down. “I was very unkind to you,” she said. “Adad—“ she stopped a moment, then continued, “Adad says I have a temper.”
Kili snorted. “He’s not the only one who says it.” And indeed, Amy’s eyes flashed up at him, but she bit back whatever retort she had. Kili, however, saw. “Oh ho!” he cried. “On your best behaviour for big brother? After yesterday at market I think you will not fool him!”
Fili reached across the table to slap Kili’s head. “You are a guest,” he said. “Do not insult your hostess.”
Kili turned to him in disbelief. “My hostess?” he exclaimed. “It’s Amy!”
“And today she is your hostess,” Fili returned. “Behave yourself.”
Sig turned to Bilbo. “It’s like sibling row, redux,” he said. “A bit different from us.”
“Yes,” Bilbo said, and Sig seemed to realise what he had said.
“I’m sorry, Bilbo,” he said, “I didn’t think for a moment.”
“That’s all right,” Bilbo replied. “It was very different for me, growing up.”
The table grew very quiet then, until Bilbo said, “But I won’t talk about the weather anymore; I can’t stand it either.”
Fili tilted his head and smiled at Bilbo. “You know, yesterday, I thought you were the biggest prick I had ever met. But you’re not bad, are you, Bilbo Baggins.”
So elevenses turned out to be not so bad after all. And they would not leave the mountain the next day, either, for Fili had convinced them to speak to him and Kili about the Shire tomorrow.
“I have known that things were done differently there,” he said. “I begin to see that it is not enough to say ‘our ways are not the same.’ I should like to know the way things are done in the Shire.”
But when Bilbo and Sig said their goodbyes, his mother was waiting on the bench by the door, Dwalin’s arms around her shoulders. Bilbo could see that she had been crying.
Bilbo grabbed Sig’s arm and pulled him past his mother. Fili and Kili, who had been following them out the door, stopped short.
“Please, Bilbo,” his mother cried. “Please, won’t you speak to me?”
He shook his head but would not look at her.
“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t know what I can say to you. I don’t know what you could say.”
“Please, Bilbo,” she pleaded. “It’s—“
“Don’t say it’s different at the mountain,” Bilbo warned her.
“He means it,” Kili added from the doorway. “I really wouldn’t.” Fili groaned and twisted Kili’s ear.
“Our apologies,” he said to the training grounds at large. “I think Uncle is expecting us.” With a quick nod to Bilbo and Sig, he pulled Kili past them and hurried away.
Bilbo heard Calin ask, “But why shouldn’t he talk to Mother?” before Amy pushed him back and shut the door.
Dwalin sighed heavily. “I don’t know what your father has been telling you, lad—“
Bilbo rounded on him. “He has said nothing to me! He has said nothing against her for twenty-eight years!”
“Didn’t he know you came?” his mother asked. Bilbo nodded.
“I could see he did not want me to, though he would not stop me.” He wiped at his eyes. Why was he not done with crying? “I thought he worried for my safety on the road.” He exhaled noisily.
“Lad, won’t you come back inside?” Dwalin asked. “If nothing else, you may go back to the Shire with all your questions answered.”
Bilbo only looked at the ground and tried to leave, but Sig pulled back on him.
“Bilbo,” he said. “I think you’ll be better for it.”
He looked at Sig. “What can she possibly say?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Sig said. “But you won’t know unless you stay.”
Bilbo clutched tight to Sig’s hand. “You too,” he said.
“Me too,” Sig agreed.
They turned, and Bilbo nodded shortly at his mother. She seemed to sigh in relief, and reached for him; but Bilbo stepped back.
“I’ll follow,” he said, and he did, following behind as first his mother, then Dwalin, entered the rooms.
Amy saw them come in, her eyes wide, and ushered the younger Dwobbits out through the doorway to the kitchen.
They went into the same sitting room where they had had elevenses. Bilbo sat stiffly on the edge of his chair. He wouldn’t start this.
After several uncomfortable minutes, Dwalin stood. “Sigismond, was it?” he asked. “Would you like a tour—”?
“No,” Bilbo said. “He stays. You may go if you like.”
Dwalin looked to Bilbo’s mother, who reached out her hand to him. He sank back onto the coach next to her, and they sat there, holding hands.
His mother took a deep breath. “I do not have the words to tell you what I felt when I saw you in my smial,” she said. “I have never felt so—to see you grown, and such a handsome Hobbit.” She began to cry. “I have missed you so, all these years; my firstborn child—the shock, the happiness to have you there—“ She sobbed. “I have always thought of how I wanted you with me. I thought of how Bungo had wronged me,” she cried. “I did not realise until the moment you stepped away from me how badly I had wronged you.”
Bilbo shook his head in disbelief. “You did not realise,” he said.
She shook her head. “I suppose I did not want to realise.”
“It did not occur to you as you waved goodbye to your husband and a five year old fauntling, a cuckolding Dwarf’s Dwobbit in your belly?” he accused.
His mother sobbed out loud, and Dwalin glared at him.
“Is any of that not the truth?” Bilbo asked.
“I do not say it to be trite, Master Baggins,” Dwalin said. “But things are different in the mountain.”
“I believe my parents were married in the Shire,” Bilbo replied.
They sat in uncomfortable silence once more, until Dwalin broke it.
“When we asked, after Azanulbizar, and the first Hobbits came to the mountain,” Dwalin said, “we thought they would live with us under the mountain as Dwarves do, in Khazad-dûm. But we soon learned that only worked for a few. Hobbits need breezes and sunlight and green and growing things. And of those Dwarves who tried the other way, many found they needed the stone walls and ceilings of our city.” He paused. “So many of our families became thus: two homes, one in Khazad-dûm, one in Hollin.”
“That doesn’t really explain adultery,” Bilbo said.
Dwalin visibly restrained himself. “I am not done,” he growled.
Bilbo raised his eyebrows.
“We found that our families grew more...fluid,” Dwalin said. “And it was good for the lines, to mix so...it is not necessarily encouraged, but it is not looked down on, here in the mountain. Some families have more than one father or mother, or some fathers and mothers have several families.”
Bilbo looked from Dwalin to his mother but did not speak.
“When we first came here, I thought as you do,” his mother said. Her hands twisted in her lap. “But I found the Dwarves and their culture fascinating in a way your father did not, so I spent much time here while he was in Hollin. And I helped an old friend from the Shire, Gandalf the Grey, with...well, with several different things. I met Dwalin on one of those adventures.” She began to cry again. “When your father learned I was with child, he would not stay.”
“To be your Hollin family,” Bilbo added. “I think I see,” he said.
Dwalin roared. “You’ll not speak to your mother so!”
“You haven’t seen anything,” Sig muttered.
Bilbo felt cool rather than furious for the first time since he had stepped inside that green door.
“You raped her?” he asked Dwalin. His mother gasped.
“I would not!” Dwalin growled back.
“Then she is equally responsible,” Bilbo replied, calm as the wide Brandywine, and he stood.
His mother looked at him, tears streaming down her face. “Can you not forgive me?” she begged.
Bilbo moved to go, but Sig intervened.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said, “but knowing Bilbo and having met your daughter, and being a Took myself; I think you might do well to let his temper cool. Maybe come by your brother’s in a day or two.”
Bilbo looked at him. “Tomorrow I’m leaving for Rivendell,” he said.
Sig shrugged. “Well, maybe,” he said. “We still haven’t finished buying provisions. And we did promise Fili and Kili we would tell them of the Shire.”
As they walked away from the training grounds, Bilbo shook in reaction. “I hate them both,” he told Sig.
“It’s hard,” Sig said. “From the Shire’s perspective, what she and Dwalin did is pretty bad, no matter how it’s seen in the mountain.”
“Not Dwalin,” Bilbo said. “No mistake, I don’t like him. But no. I meant her and Da.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sig said. “I’m sorry.” They walked the rest of the way to the gate in silence.
“I’m glad you came with me instead of Flambard,” Bilbo said. |
Jessica is absorbed in her calculus homework, frowning over a particularly hard function to derive, when she hears something like her name called in a muffled voice. She pauses her music and waits, but she doesn’t hear the sound again, so she dismisses it and returns to her worksheet.
“JESSICA!”
Okay, that was definitely something. She sighs, spins around in her chair, and calls back in a raised voice, “What?”
“PHONE FOR YOU!”
Her sister is usually pretty quiet, so it’s not good news that she’s reaching a Tiffany-esque volume. It must be an urgent call.
Jessica looks at the door, sighs again over how far it is, and slowly gets out of her chair and paddles to the door. Just as she reaches to open it, it’s flung open and she’s met with the full force of Krystal’s glare.
“Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”
“Yeah. Don’t you see me coming to get the phone?”
Krystal rolls her eyes and thrusts the phone at Jessica like she wants to stab her with it. Man, she remembers when her little sister was a sweet kid who tagged after her everywhere and thought she was the coolest person on earth. How the times have changed.
“It’s your girlfriend,” Krystal says shortly. “She sounds pretty drunk.”
“What, like, in a giggly way or a stumbling around wasted way?”
“Find out for yourself,” Krystal says, although her tone is no longer so frosty.
“Tiff?” Jessica says into the phone. “What’s up?”
“Jes-si-ca!” Tiffany enunciates each syllable of her name like they’re individual words. “Hi!”
Jessica smiles involuntarily. “Hi yourself.”
“I just had the most amazing fried chicken in the universe.”
Her smile widens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah! It’s a-ma-zing. I think chicken was put on this earth to bless our taste buds.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Jessica sees Krystal walking toward the door, a small smile on her face, like she finds Jessica and Tiffany amusing. Before she leaves the room, she mouths whipped and then high-tails it out of there, closing the door behind her.
Jessica misses her sweet little sister.
“Jessi?”
“Hmm?” She presses the phone against her ear and regrets it when Tiffany repeats the question with triple the volume. “I’m here.”
“Why didn’t you come with me?” Tiffany whines, referring to the field trip she’s on with her Spanish class.
“Because I’m not taking Spanish.”
“Oh, right.”
Jessica smiles again. “Why are you drinking on your field trip?”
“I’m not drinking,” Tiffany says indignantly. “I’m eating fried chicken.”
“With beer?”
“No! Why do you think I’m drinking?”
“Because you sound drunk.”
“I am,” Tiffany says brightly. “On chicken.”
That elicits a sound from Jessica that’s half a snort, half a laugh, half something else. Wait, that doesn’t even add up to one. Oh, whatever, she’s never been a math whiz, that’s probably why she ended up writing f’(x) = f(x) with plastic surgery instead of finishing the calculations for the problem she was stuck on.
“Jes-si-ca!”
“Huh? Oh, sorry.”
“You zone out all the time and I don’t ask you if you’re stoned.”
“You see me, like, every minute of every day. When do I have time to get stoned?”
“I’m not seeing you now.” She can hear the pout in Tiffany’s voice, can almost see it on her face. She wishes she could. Tiffany’s only been gone for a day, and Jessica misses her already. “You could be stoning right now.”
“You mean smoking? Stoning sounds like I’m inflicting that barbaric form of punishment on somebody.”
“Barbaric punishment,” Tiffany hiccups. “I love it when you use big words.”
Jessica laughs. “Are you sure you’re not drunk? What was in that chicken batter?”
“I don’t know, but it’s delicious,” Tiffany says solemnly. “Was delicious? Was? Is? I don’t want to use past tense. I mean, I know I ate it already, but that doesn’t mean it stopped tasting good just because it’s in my stomach.”
“I think given that you ate it in the past, we should be talking about it in the past tense.”
“You’re so smart, Jessi. Why didn’t you take Spanish?”
“I’m taking French, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.” Tiffany hiccups again. “But I want you to take Spanish. With me. Then you could be here. With me.”
Jessica’s fingers tighten around the phone. “You’re coming back tomorrow. You’ll be with me in no time. And – you’re having fun there, right? You were looking forward to going for so long.”
“I’m having a lot of fun!” Tiffany says brightly, and then she’s chattering about all the places she went and the people she met and the things she learned, and Jessica just listens to her and smiles even though she can’t make out everything Tiffany’s saying because of how she’s talking a mile a minute. “—and they have this fried chicken event going on here and we’ve been going around trying all the best places!”
“Is that why you’re so—drunk on chicken?”
“Yeah! I didn’t know that fried chicken could be made so many ways. It’s amazing. The world is an amazing place.”
“It sure is,” Jessica says, her voice torn between fondness and amusement. That’s a reaction she has a lot around Tiffany.
“Jessi?”
“Yeah?”
“Te extraño.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re smart. You can figure it out.” Tiffany sounds like she’s smiling. Jessica wishes that she could see it. Tiffany’s smiles are—she has no words for them, not in any language. “I have to go now. My teacher is looking for us. I think he fell asleep.”
“Make sure you don’t,” Jessica cautions. “I know you’re probably entering a food coma, but it’s not safe to fall asleep in the middle of a strange city, okay?”
“I don’t think it’d be safe to fall asleep in the middle of our city either.”
“Of course it’d be safe. I’d be with you; I’d protect you.”
“Jessica.” Tiffany’s voice has gone all soft and liquid the way it does sometimes. It makes Jessica feel soft and liquid too, as sappy as that sounds. Tiffany does that to her. “If your French class has a trip, don’t go, okay?”
“That’s pretty selfish of you, Tiff,” Jessica laughs. “You get to have your getaway and I don’t get to go anywhere?”
“I don’t want you to go anywhere. Not unless I can come with you.”
“What if I moved to…Australia?” She names the first distant country that jumps into her mind.
“Then I’d move there too.” Tiffany says it so assuredly that it’s like she never even considered another answer.
Jessica smiles. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Tiff.”
“Yeah?
“Je t’aime.”
Tiffany doesn’t ask what that means. Jessica thinks she knows enough French for that.
“I really have to go now,” Tiffany says regretfully. “I wouldn’t want to get left behind by the bus. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
“Okay. Have fun and be safe.”
“We’re going to another fried chicken place for dinner,” Tiffany says excitedly.
Jessica laughs. “Don’t get too drunk.”
“I make no promises. Bye, Jessi.”
“See you tomorrow.” The bus for Tiffany’s class wouldn’t be returning to the school until two hours after school ends. Jessica wonders what she should do for those two hours.
“See you tomorrow,” Tiffany echoes, a smile in her voice. “Oh, and—Jessi?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you too.”
Krystal comes in a few minutes later to tell Jessica dinner is ready, and is slightly creeped out by the way Jessica’s just holding the phone and smiling.
She misses her cool older sister. |
Arthur's fuming. He's been standing in that bloody queue for at least five minutes now and there are still three people before him, and of-fucking-course they are ordering some fancy, diabetes-inducing, basic-bitch drinks that can barely be considered coffee. There is only one man behind the counter, manning both the till and the coffee machine. And to Arthur's irritation, he doesn't even stress about the two lines of people, one that is waiting to place their order and the other waiting for their drink to be called out. And he's not even counting the people who went to take a seat to have their beverages for drinking in.
On the contrary, the barista indulges the customers with some corny small talk and judging by how they engage in the conversation, even sharing more personal details, Arthur assumes they must be regulars.
Fucking great. Why don't you just tell each other your whole life-stories, will you? Arthur thinks bitterly, teeth grinding together. He's trying to recall all the stupid meditations he's succumbed to in his attempts to manage his anxiety and stress. It might finally come in handy now and prevent him from flipping his shit in a public place full of people. God, his father would kill him if he lost it.
Well, his father is gonna kill him anyway. He's already late, no matter how much he speeds up for those last six miles. He snoozed his alarm one time too many and left for work later than usual. He's not even supposed to be here. He never takes this road, it's been ages since he actually wandered in this area. He always gets his coffee from the Steamboat espresso on Albert Street. It's nothing too spectacular but it's good enough and whatsmore, they have a drive-thru which suits Arthur perfectly. The only reason he's gone for a coffee here, in... ugh, Tales of Magic, seriously?? is that there was a detour due to the road work - which is tooootally fine, it's not like he's in a rush or something - and he wasn't sure there was any other cafe with an available parking space that wasn't a bloody Starbucks, or a friggin' Costa, which just... no! Arthur may not be a coffee expert, he just likes his coffee fresh and hot and quick, but even he is not such a heathen that he would go to one of those chains.
And of course, he could just forgo the coffee, or get his assistant to fetch him one, but the idea of facing the day (and his father), the idea of just stepping into the elevator that would take him to his office without being thoroughly caffeinated beforehand... that's even scarier than his father.
And so, he finds himself here, in a cafe with a ridiculous name, a terrible, sloth-speed service and a completely oblivious employee, a cafe he's never been to before and will never come back to again. He just wants his stupid coffee to get him through his day and he'll never show his face here again.
Arthur's so consumed by his inner bitch-fit that he doesn't even notice it's almost his turn, the woman in front of him taping her card to the terminal to pay- only one medium latte, thank God - the barista stepping away from the till and grabbing a new takeaway cup and a pen and... The fuck?
Arthur fucking bristles. He assumed the barista would write the type of the coffee on the cup to remember but he's sure that the short order the woman placed shouldn't take up the whole circumference of the cup. Did he just write his number on there?
"Are you fucking kidding?" Arthur hears himself speak, an edge to his voice that suggests that despite the curse word, he's still holding himself back. Both the woman and the barista snap their heads up from where they are standing.
"Sorry?" replies the barista, genuinely shocked by Arthur's outburst. From up-close, Arthur can tell they are pretty much the same height, which kinda irritates him further, for no reason, really. The man blinks at him in confusion, brows scrunching up. Arthur takes a deep breath, hoping to collect himself and not cause a scene.
"There's a line of people waiting to order and you, the only member of staff in the whole cafe it would seem, find the time to flirt with a customer and write your number on the cup. Good to know that you have your priorities straight. I'm sure your boss would love to hear it," he spits out, not feeling any better and watching the man open his mouth to retort back to him. Before he can, a young girl, no older than twenty, bursts through the door and comes around behind the counter.
"Merlin! I'm so sorry, I spent ages trying to find a place to park," she explains in panic, hair all over the place and a flush to her cheeks.
The barista tears his gaze away from Arthur and smiles warmly at the girl. "It's alright, Freya. I've managed just fine. Don't worry about it." And Arthur wants to oppose that statement, tell him that he most definitely has not been managing it, but he doesn't get a chance.
"Still sorry. Just give me a minute. I'm gonna put my junk in the staff room and I'll be right here to take over." Freya disappears in what is most likely the staff room and the barista, Merlin, turns back to Arthur. The warmth is gone from his face, a polite mask taking its place and Arthur couldn't care less whether the guy likes him or not.
"I'm sorry to have made you wait. What would you like?" he asks calmly, voice level and not giving anything away. Arthur exhales with a whoosh, pulling himself back together with hopes that he's gonna leave this place within the next few minutes.
"Americano, the largest size you have, two extra shots," he parrots his usual order and watches as the man, Merlin, reaches for the large cup halfway through Arthur's order and then stops, eyebrows raised.
"You want... five shots?"
"I dunno. Can you count?"
Merlin bites his lip, obviously trying to keep his composure. "Our large has three shots."
"So you can count. Good on you," Arthur replies mockingly, beyond caring and too aggravated to feel guilty. On the other hand, Merlin is positively shaking with anger and Arthur's just waiting for him to lash out, but it never happens.
"Sugar or milk?"
"No, I take mine black."
Freya chooses that moment to stumble back behind the counter and takes her place beside Merlin. "Want me on the till or the machine?"
Merlin spares her a brief glance before facing Arthur again. He's stopped shaking but his posture is rigid, mirroring Arthur's almost identically. "Stay. I'll make the drinks." And he grabs the cup with Arthur's order, together with holy shit! eight other cups that obviously came before Arthur's and starts pouring shots. Arthur closes his eyes briefly, calculating how much over the speed limit he must go if he wants to make it to work no longer than fifteen minutes after he's supposed to be there, when Freya's voice snaps him out of his thoughts, telling him the price and setting the card terminal up for him. He pays wordlessly and goes to stand at the end of the other line without saying thank you. He slumps slightly against the counter, suddenly tired when the anger leaves him. He feels more stressed than when he came here, which... not fair! The coffee was supposed to make him less stressed and wake him up.
He's just thinking about what he's gonna say to his father when Merlin comes over to where he's waiting. "Americano, black, two extra shots." He places the cup in front of Arthur, nudging it his way. Arthur is a little shocked at the speed, he expected to be waiting for quite some time before his coffee was ready but it seems that his rampage chastised Merlin enough to prompt him to work faster and, apparently, make his drink first. Except, when he looks up and their eyes meet, Merlin is not looking chastised, he's not even looking angry. Instead he's watching Arthur with this calculating look, which is not completely unpleasant if Arthur is honest. His gaze is soft and Arthur thinks he might be attempting a smile too.
"Apologies for taking so long," he offers and to Arthur's surprise, it sounds genuine.
"Thanks," he mumbles under his breath and goes to grab the cup, body halfway turned away. He doesn't get far, since Merlin's hand is still wrapped around the cup too, hair's breadth away from Arthur's, and for one, fleeting moment, their fingers brush, sending a jolt of... something through Arthur and he looks at Merlin questioningly.
"I don't write my number on cups," he brushes his fingers against Arthur's one more time, the effect remaining, and lets go. "Just so you know." And he's off to make another drink.
Arthur shakes himself from his stupor, wondering what just happened, and lifts the cup to his lips to take a sip. The moment the hot liquid touches his tongue, a quiet moan escapes his throat.
Oh God, black coffee has no right to taste this good, he thinks and to his utter bewilderment, he can feel his mood picking up. A coffee has never had such an effect on him before. He lifts the cup to his eye level, scanning over it imploringly and finally notices the black scribble just below the rim where the lid ends.
You deserve all the good coming your way
He doesn't know how such a simple, stupid message can make something inside of him break but he doesn't dwell on it as he storms out of the cafe into his car before he can embarrass himself in a different way.
"Are you upset with me?" Freya asks after she takes the order from the last customer in the line.
"What?" Merlin startles, deep in thought. He's been making coffee on autopilot for the past twenty minutes, ever since he served the blond prat.
"I'm really sorry, Merlin. I usually leave for work plenty of time in advance, but I had a late night, studying for my exams, and I overslept. Figures you would get slammed first thing in the morning when I'm not here. Murphy's law, really," Freya grumbles, guilt coming from her in waves and Merlin can feel it squeezing inside his own chest.
"Freya, I meant it. It's fine. I handled it. Can happen to anyone."
"You had a line of people from here to the door," she points out and Merlin chuckles.
"True, but they were all regulars. I had a bit of a chat with all of them and I'm sure they didn't mind waiting a bit." He is, in fact, very sure. He didn't feel any negativity from any of them. Most of his regulars are lovely people and even the few that weren't all that cheery the first time they visited Tales of Magic eventually came around, Merlin being the main reason.
"Not the blond one, with the holier-than-thou attitude, he wasn't."
Merlin grimaces. "Yeah, no. A first-timer, actually."
"Thought so. Never seen him before. I don't think he'll be coming back. Hope he won't."
Merlin thinks back on the encounter with the man. True, the line was pretty long and he was chatting customers up, as he always does, but no one ever minds. The customers know him, most of them have shared a great deal of personal details with him. He makes people comfortable, he makes them feel good enough around him to trust him. He's always been like that. He used to think it was just his personality, that it was because he's always so positive and supportive and actually listens to people. And people do want to be listened to. They want someone to see them, to feel into them. To understand them.
It's no hardship for Merlin. He can look someone in the eye and read them like a book. And whatsmore, he can feel what they feel. Can feel it in his own body, their emotions mixing up with his so much he doesn't know which belong to him and which ones are just a reflection of others.
He used to believe it was a curse. Sometimes, he still does. Very rarely, when other people's emotions are too strong and too overwhelming for him to bear. But then, from pure desperation, he started looking at the brighter side. He realized the power he had to make someone feel good, to comfort them. It took time but eventually, he came to terms with his... dare he say superpowers? and decided to put it to work. To use it for good. He's learnt how to work with it but... on occasion, he gets lost in the whirlwind. Like this morning.
Merlin was happily chatting up Mithian, writing down a message for her. Well, sometimes it could be just a quote. Other times it might be a message that just pops in his head when talking to someone. And then, the man called him out, scolding him in front of his customers for something that was not even true. As he listened to the man speak, a strong wave of irritation and frustration came over him. It was so intense he almost choked on it and unable to properly respond to the accusation, he decided to humor the man instead and took his order. Unfortunately, the man's outrage was still going on strong and Merlin could feel the echo of it. It made his hands shake.
At one point, he almost lost his composure and told the man where he could shove his condescending, supercilious attitude but thanks to the higher power, Freya chose that moment to appear and save him. As he hid himself behind the coffee machine and started pouring shots, he was able to pull himself together and think about what had happened with a clearer head. Now that he wasn't in the impact zone, he could safely recall what he'd felt when talking to the man.
Merlin was a pretty easy-going guy and it took quite a bit to make him give in under pressure. And ok, maybe he had a bit of a temper but he never had a bad word for anyone. It was hard to hate on someone when you could feel what they feel. He was also no wilting flower, perfectly able to stand his ground without being vile. That's why he was so shocked he'd almost unleashed his wrath on the man who had been taunting him and insulting him. He didn't know what would have happened if Freya hadn't interrupted. It suddenly occurred to him that the rage and irritation he had felt wasn't a response to the man's own behavior. No, it had been the man's barely contained emotions he had felt resonate within his own body and God, that was some intense shit. He rarely had such a strong reaction to anyone anymore, too practiced to get carried away. But there was something about the man...
Merlin suddenly felt for him. He was wearing a suit, probably a corporate then or something of sorts. And by the looks of it, wasn't at all happy to go to work, whatever the reason. And waiting in a long line of people that was moving very slowly probably didn't add to his high spirits.
As the realization sank in, Merlin felt his fire dissipate and something else settled in his chest. He put away the jug of milk he was about to steam for the first drink in the line and poured some more shots instead. There was only one way to deal with a prat like that.
He grabbed the cup at the end of the line and filled it up with hot water, then poured five shots in, putting the lid on top. He held the drink between his hands and closed his eyes briefly, calling out for that simmering energy under his skin, directing it to flow out through his fingertips and into the cup. Out of nowhere, words flashed in his mind, glowing bold and gold. He opened his eyes and reached for another empty cup from on top of the machine, printing the words on in black ink. He used the second cup as protection from the heat and went over to where the customers were waiting until he reached the man, placing the coffee in front of him.
He sent another blast of energy out when their fingertips brushed, and then one more. He left the man in order to pump out the rest of the drinks but didn't miss the surprised sound, a fucking moan, the man let out when he took his first sip. And he would never forget the man's reaction upon reading the message on his cup.
Merlin felt something in himself break and let loose at the same moment and he knew it was just an echo of the real thing.
"I don't know," he says to Freya. "I have a feeling it's not the last we see of him." |
Dani’s ears were ringing. Everything sounded muffled and she couldn’t gather her thoughts. Where was she? What happened? She was aware of a weight moving on top of her. Jamie! She remembered Jamie knocking her to the ground right before. Right before what? She heard popping sounds all around her. But they sounded distant. Or was that just because something was wrong with her ears? She opened her eyes. Bodies. There were bodies around her. The room was dark, lit only by fires scattered throughout. She was in the auditorium. There were bodies. It was on fire. What happened?!
Dani was being rolled over. She was now laying on her back. She touched her hand to her head. It felt sticky. She brought her hand in front of her face. Blood. She was bleeding. Jamie’s face was in front of her’s. At first she was blurry, but then her face came into focus as she got closer. Jamie was bleeding, too. Why was Jamie bleeding? What was she saying? Dani felt like she had cotton in her ears. It looked like Jamie was yelling, but Dani couldn’t hear her.
“DANI! GET UP! WE HAVE TO GO NOW!”
Jamie was pulling Dani to her feet. She felt like everything was happening in slow motion. She blinked a few more times, the scene starting to come into view. Everywhere she looked, she saw carnage. She suddenly understood. There had been an explosion. A bomb. Most of the people closer to the stage were gone, either incinerated or barely recognizable as people anymore. The stage itself was gone, leaving only a crater in its place. The row where she had been sitting only moments before? Also gone. She vaguely remembered the doors being locked. She now knew why. Men with guns were now coming through those same doors, shooting the survivors. They had shut them in and now they were picking them off. The popping sounds she heard? That was gunfire.
Jamie was in her face again, grabbing her by the shoulders, yelling at her to move. Dani felt so disorientated. When her hearing started to come back, she wished that it hadn’t. The screams of the injured and dying were all around her. It was overwhelming. So much pain everywhere.
“Jamie!” She finally managed to get out, her eyes wide as the reality of their situation sunk in.
“Dani! We have to get out of here!”
Jamie threw an arm around Dani’s waist and guided her to the nearest door, drawing her gun as they approached.
“Get behind me!” Jamie yelled, and Dani automatically complied.
The remaining people who could move were rushing the doors trying to exit, the fire and their own desperation pushing them towards the waiting gunmen. Jamie and Dani were caught up in the crowd, Dani gripping Jamie’s waist from behind so she wouldn’t get separated from her. People were falling to the left and right of them as the gunmen indiscriminately shot into the crowd. Jamie aimed her gun and took out the gunmen closest to them with a single headshot. Seeing her, two of the other gunmen rushed towards her, spraying gunfire in their general direction.
Jamie hoisted up the body of the fallen gunmen and used it as shield, further advancing towards the door. Dani heard her scream and realized in horror that Jamie had been shot. But still, Jamie advanced, Dani following behind her. When she got closer to the two attackers, she shoved the body of their fallen comrade towards them, causing them to stumble and forcing them to cease fire while they regained their balance. In that time, Jamie used the gun she took off the other man’s body to shoot them. She slung the gun over her shoulder, grabbed Dani’s hand, and pulled her through the doors. They had escaped the auditorium, but the scene in the lobby was almost as chaotic as the one inside the burning auditorium. Other victims who had managed to make it this far were stumbling around, many being killed by the gunman stationed in this part of the building. Viola must have brought an entire army. And there was Peter Quint. Peter Fucking Quint. Jamie threw Dani behind her again and raised the assault rifle. He locked eyes on her, yelling at her from across the room.
“Taylor! How the fuck did you survive that?! You really must be too stubborn to die,” he scoffed.
“Fuck you, Quint!” Jamie yelled with conviction. Dani found herself impressed that Jamie could muster such confidence given the situation.
Peter turned to his soldiers. “Kill her. Bring the blonde to me.”
Five gunmen advanced on her. Jamie grabbed Dani and pulled her behind a large column, narrowly dodging the gunfire that trailed them.
“I want the American alive, you idiots!” She heard Peter yelling. That was good at least. She could use that to their advantage.
Jamie pinned Dani to the column, facing her. “We’re going to get out of this, Dani. I know it looks bad, but we’re getting out of here. Just do everything I say.”
Dani nodded frantically. Jamie brought the rifle up to her shoulder and leaned around the corner. She fired and her target went down. The others returned fire, hitting the other side of their column and sending plaster spraying in every direction. Dani was trembling. She noticed Jamie’s arm was bleeding through her jacket. That must have been where she was shot. Not good!
Jamie took out another gunman in the same manner as the first, but she realized the rifle was out of ammo.
“Shit!” She exclaimed, throwing it to the ground and pulling out two handguns. She looked around frantically for an exit. Quint’s men had all the doors covered. The hallway towards the restrooms was about 50 feet to Jamie’s right. It looked relatively untouched by the explosion, and more importantly, it was unguarded because it was a dead end. But, Jamie knew it wasn’t a dead end. She had noticed a frosted window in the women’s restroom when she was there earlier. That would be their exit strategy.
“Dani! Look at me!” Dani’s eyes snapped up to meet her’s. “Can you make a run for that hallway?” Dani nodded. “If something happens to me, you keep running. There is a window in the women’s restroom. You can climb out through it. Get back to the hotel and find Owen. Ok?!”
“Jamie…” Dani said, pleading.
“We go NOW!” Jamie said, making a run for it.
Dani followed her, watching as Jamie fired both of her guns to the side as they ran straight towards the hallway. She was vaguely aware of Peter telling them to stop shooting. That’s right, they weren’t supposed to hit her. They made it to the hallway and she could hear heavy footfall pursing them, the clunking sound of combat boots baring down on them. Jamie holstered one gun and pulled Dani into the restroom, locking the door behind them. Using the gun still in her hand, she shot out the window above the sink. She took her jacket off and threw it over the bottom of the window so they wouldn’t cut themselves climbing out. Dani noticed her wince when her jacket came off her injured arm and she saw with horror the blood trickling down Jamie’s arm.
“We’re going to have to climb out!” She instructed Dani. “Give me your foot!”
Jamie knelt down and laced her hands together, creating a step for Dani. Dani put her foot in Jamie’s hands without question and let Jamie hoist her up. She grabbed the window frame and her other leg pushed off the sink. She could feel Jamie pushing her the rest of the way out. Dani stumbled into an alley. It was relatively quiet, save for the sirens in the distance. Coming their way, no doubt. She scrambled back to the window and offered her hand to Jamie, who was starting to climb up, her injured arm making it difficult. Dani grabbed her and pulled as hard as she could. Jamie stumbled out into the alley on top of Dani right as the gunmen broke through into the bathroom, bullets landing where Jamie had just stood.
“Thanks Dani,” Jamie managed to say, getting to her feet. “Let’s go!”
They ran down the alley and emerged onto the busy street. The gunmen were climbing out of the bathroom window in pursuit. Jamie knew they needed to make their getaway fast. She saw a man walking towards his motorcycle that was parked on the street and she narrowed her eyes at him. That will do. She grabbed Dani’s hand and ran towards him.
“MI5! I need your bike NOW!” She yelled.
The man was appalled. “Crazy bitch!”
SMACK. The man fell to the ground, downed by one Dani Clayton, who delivered an elbow jab to the face. She leaned down over his unconscious body and took his keys out of his hands. She handed them to Jamie, who was staring at her in disbelief, mouth open.
“What?!” Dani said, “I didn’t like his language.”
“Blimey,” Jamie said, impressed. “Remind me to stay on your good side. Now get on.”
Jamie straddled the motorcycle, turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life underneath her as Dani climbed on behind her. They were being shot at again! Shit! These guys just will not let up.
“Hold on tight!” Jamie yelled back to Dani.
Dani wrapped her arms tightly around Jamie’s waist and buried her head in Jamie’s back. Jamie turned the bike around, using her foot to make a 180 and sped in the opposite direction of their pursuers. They had to get back to the hotel. Jamie had to know if Owen was okay. She weaved through traffic at a breakneck speed, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the convention center. Jamie obeyed none of the laws of traffic as she made the trip back to the hotel. She could feel Dani clingy to her tightly from behind. She was just so relieved she got Dani out alive.
As soon as they pulled into the semi-circle in front of the hotel, they were met with a barrage of bullets.
“Shit!” Jamie yelled. She could hear Dani scream behind her.
Viola had people here, too, waiting for them to return. This was a well-coordinated attack. It wasn’t safe anywhere.
Jamie took a bullet to the shoulder as she drove away, almost knocking her (and Dani) off the bike. But, she held on to the handlebars and pulled herself upright. Not good, not good, not good. She was losing blood from two wounds now. Her only hope was that both bullets would stay lodged where they were, slowing down the blood loss. She heard Dani whimper behind her.
“Dani?! Where are you hit?” Jamie just knew she had been hurt.
“My leg.”
“How bad?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Ok, just hold on!”
“Jamie, your shoulder is bleeding! And your arm!” Dani was yelling in her ear.
“Yeah, I know, Dani! It’s going to be okay though. Nothing major got hit! I got lucky!”
Dani didn’t think that was very lucky. She knew Jamie had to be in pain. She knew she was. Jamie looked in her side mirror.
“Shit! These guys just keep coming!”
They had two pursuers, also on motorcycles, baring down on them.
“Hold on, Dani! I’m going to lose them!” Jamie yelled, with more confidence than she felt.
In her mind, Jamie was calculating their route. She was suddenly very thankful she had spent so much time studying maps of Cairo. MI5 had a safe house a few miles away from their current location. Since the hotel was compromised, that was their new destination. But she had to lose these guys first. Jamie sped up, pushing the bike to its limit. Their pursuers also increased their speed. There was a traffic jam up ahead. Jamie drove between the cars, incredibly thankful she had been able to steal a motorcycle instead of a car. Dani continued to hold on silently behind her, allowing her body to move with Jamie’s like it had on their camel ride. Jamie sped up when the traffic cleared. She allowed the first of their pursuers to gain on her. She had an idea. Up ahead was a narrow alley. Without slowing down, Jamie turned at the last second, her foot making contact with the pavement as they made a sharp 90 degree turn. Her pursuer did not have her finesse with a bike. He didn’t cut the corner fast enough and slammed into the side of the building; his bike erupted in flames.
Dani cheered behind her. “One down!” She yelled in Jamie’s ear. Jamie allowed herself a smile. She didn’t usually have an audience for her exploits. And she found that she really liked impressing Dani.
At the end of the alley, Jamie turned in the opposite direction of the safe house. She wanted to lead the last attacker as far away as possible from it. She got on the freeway next. He was still behind her, but not within shooting range. On the freeway though, he gained on her, his bike having the better acceleration. Dani’s grip on Jamie tightened, her hair whipping around in the high speeds. Jamie wished she had a helmet or protective eye wear. The wind was making her eyes hurt. Dani must have felt the same because she could feel her burying her head behind her, Jamie’s body shielding her from the worst of it. Just keep holding on, Dani. I’ve got you.
As their pursuer gained on them, he opened fire. The other cars on the freeway started pulling off the road, desperately trying to get away from the gunfire. Jamie was very aware of the fact the Dani was currently in the most vulnerable position behind her, and that was simply unacceptable. Jamie braked and yanked the bike to the left, sending them sideways as she drew her gun and fired at the oncoming bike. She aimed and sent two shots in the direction of the gas tank. The bike exploded in a ball of fire. Jamie revved their bike, crossed the median, and sped off in the opposite direction. Having dispatched with both of their attackers, she was free to head to the safe house. She reached into her pocket and tossed her cell phone away. She couldn’t afford to have anyone trace them. Sensing she should do that same, Dani also threw her phone. The cars behind them on the freeway ran over both phones, rendering them untraceable.
Once Jamie exited the freeway, she and Dani were able to hear each other again.
“Jamie, where are we going? The hospital?”
“No, we’re not going to the hospital. That’s the first place they’ll look for us. We’re going to an MI5 safe house. It will be fully stocked. I’ll patch us up there.”
“Ok,” Dani said, silently worrying the rest of the ride there.
Ten minutes later, Jamie stopped in front of a row of townhouse-style dwellings in a run-down part of town. Nothing about this looked like a safe house to Dani, but she trusted Jamie. Jamie parked the bike in the back alley behind a dumpster. Jamie got off the bike and helped Dani, not sure how badly her leg was injured.
“Can you put weight on it?” Jamie asked, holding her by the elbows.
Dani tested it. “Yeah, I think so.”
She limped behind Jamie as Jamie as she headed for the back door. There was a small mailbox to the right of the door, which Jamie removed, exposing a screen. Jamie placed her hand on the screen and it scanned her prints. The door clicked open.
“Cool,” Dani whispered, following her inside.
Jamie began turning the lights on and conducting a sweep of the two story house. It was clear. She went to the kitchen and pulled out an impressive stash of medical supplies, which she brought into the living room where Dani was sitting on the couch. Dani could tell that Jamie was going to offer to fix her first. One look at Jamie in the light though and Dani could see how pale and clammy she was. She had lost a lot of blood during their escape.
“I think mine was just a graze. We take care of you first,” Dani said. Dani knew Jamie was in bad shape when she didn’t argue.
Jamie opened the med kit and started pulling out the supplies she would need— towels, alcohol, sutures, bandages, everything. Dani realized that Jamie intended to patch herself up, and she wasn’t sure how that would even be possible in her current state. She looked like she might pass out at any minute. Dani reached over and stilled Jamie’s hands.
“Let me do it. You just walk me through it, ok?”
“You sure, Poppins? This is gonna get nasty.”
“I can handle it. Which one is worse? Where do we start?”
“My shoulder. Dani, you’re going to have to take the bullet out. It’s still in there. If it weren’t, you’d have been hit, too.”
Dani shuddered thinking about Jamie stopping a literal bullet for her. She grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the kit. She knew she would have to clean the area after she removed the bullet.
“Take your shirt off,” Dani instructed her.
“Blimey,” Jamie joked. “Didn’t take you for the bossy type.”
“I can’t believe you’re making a joke right now,” Dani said, as she helped Jamie pull her shirt over her head.
“Well, this is not how I saw this going the first time,” Jamie admitted.
“Oh? So, you have thought about this?” Dani said, quirking her eyebrow.
Dani was cleaning the area around the bullet the best she could so she could see what she was doing, but as soon as she wiped the blood away, more would seep out.
“Dani, make sure you have some towels handy. It’s going to be worse when you pull the bullet out.”
Dani moved the towels from the table and into her lap.
“Ok, here goes,” she said, using her thumb and index figure to dig into Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie screamed in agony, but Dani knew she had to keep going. “Just so you know, this is not how I pictured me putting my fingers in you for the first time, Jamie!”
“What?!”
Dani’s fingers closed around the bullet and used that moment of distraction to pull it out, quickly pressing the towels into Jamie’s shoulder.
“That was cheeky, Poppins, and you know it,” Jamie said weakly, a sheen of sweat and tears on her face.
“It worked though, didn’t it?” Dani said, pleased with herself.
Dani removed the towels to pour alcohol on the open wound, eliciting another scream from Jamie before she passed out. Dani was almost relieved she passed out. Hurting Jamie was killing her, even though she knew she was helping. With Jamie out, Dani stitched up the wound and bandaged it. She repeatedly the process with the bullet wound in Jamie’s upper arm. Jamie woke up screaming when Dani pulled that bullet out and then promptly passed out again. Dani’s heart ached. This was all so fucked up. She stitched up that wound, as well, and bandaged it. She ran her hand gingerly down Jamie’s arm. These same arms held me last night as we danced. That seems like a lifetime ago. Now look at us. Don’t think about it. Just fix Jamie. You can freak out later. Just fix Jamie. She needs you. Dani quickly wrapped the wound on her own leg, not doing anything with it other than trying to stop the bleeding. She would come back to it once she had thoroughly tended to Jamie. She went to the kitchen and gathered some wet towels. She needed to clean the blood off Jamie. She couldn’t stand to see her like this. She sat back down next to her and sighed. My sweet, brave Jamie. She gently wiped the blood off her arm, shoulder, and chest. She then took a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over Jamie. She didn’t want her to be cold, and she also wanted to preserve her modesty as much as possible. Then she started on Jamie’s face. The cool towel on her face caused Jamie to wake up.
“Hey you,” Dani said softly.
“Did I pass out?”
“Yeah, twice, actually.”
“Fuck. I’m so sorry I left you like that, Dani.”
“Did you just seriously apologize to me for passing out while I was removing a bullet from you?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Jamie said sheepishly. “Just want you to think I’m tough is all.”
“I think you’re plenty tough,” Dani replied, continuing to gently clean Jamie’s face while they talked.
Jamie glanced down and noticed that Dani had put a blanket over her. She smiled at the kind gesture. Jamie lifted it up to inspect Dani’s work.
“You did good, Dani. I’m so sorry. I was supposed to talk you through it. How did you do this?”
“I’ve watched a lot of Grey’s Anatomy.”
“Must have been very educational,” Jamie replied dryly.
“Here, take these,” Dani instructed. She had some pills and a glass of water waiting for Jamie. “Antibiotics and painkillers,” she explained.
Jamie nodded and took them. “Thanks. And uh, I can clean myself up the rest of the way. You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” Dani said. “You saved my life… again. Let me take care of you.”
“Only if you let me return the favor.”
Dani just smiled and continued cleaning Jamie’s face and neck. Both of their faces were covered in cuts from the explosion. Jamie didn’t think anyone had ever been so gentle with her. Dani touched her like she was something precious, like she was something to be treasured. She wanted to savor the feeling of Dani’s cool fingers on her face forever; they were also a soothing balm to her heart.
“All done,” Dani said, “although, I think your shirt may be a lost cause.” She held it up to show Jamie.
“Yeah, no, I’m not putting that back on. There should be clothes in all different sizes in the bedroom. They keep these houses stocked with anything agents may need.”
“I’ll go grab you something,” Dani said.
Jamie noticed her limping as she walked away, and she wanted to cry at the sight. Dani was hurt. Someone hurt Dani. They will pay for it. They will all pay. Dani came back a few minutes later with a clean t-shirt for Jamie, which she quickly put on with a little help from Dani. Jamie was at least thankful that both of her wounds were on the left side, leaving her right arm— her dominate shooting hand— untouched.
“Dani, let me have a look at your leg,” Jamie said, patting her own leg to show Dani that she wanted her to swing her leg up on her lap. “I’m going to have to cut your jeans to take a look. Ok?”
Dani nodded and Jamie got to work. She sucked in a breath when she saw the wound. It was a graze, but it had also torn through Dani’s calf. “This is a nasty gash, Dani. I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”
“Just do what you need to do,” Dani said bravely.
When Jamie poured alcohol in the wound, Dani screamed and fought back tears.
“I’m so sorry, Dani,” Jamie said. It was the most desperate Dani had ever heard her.
After that part, the stitching that Jamie was currently doing wasn’t as bad. Jamie’s hands were quick and skilled. Dani could tell that Jamie had done this many times.
“Jamie? What the hell happened today?”
Jamie’s eyes came up briefly to meet Dani’s before she turned back to her work on Dani’s leg.
“I’m still trying to sort that out myself.”
“What happened after you went backstage? When I heard shots, I was so scared you were hurt.”
“Well, turns out I was actually the one doing the shooting. Sorry to have worried you,” Jamie said, stealing a glance a Dani, her face etched in worry.
“Maybe you should start at the beginning,” Dani suggested.
Jamie filled Dani in on everything that that happened in those few moments they were apart. She had finished bandaging Dani’s leg and had moved on her her face. Dani found it easier to hear about how Jamie was face to face with a bomb when Jamie was currently inches away from her own face, her gentle fingers soothing her as she spoke.
“I was so scared when I couldn’t find you,” Jamie said, wrapping up her story.
“I was scared, too. Terrified, actually.”
“I know. I could see it on your face. I did everything I could to get back to you as quickly as I could,” Jamie told her.
“And you did,” Dani said, bringing her hand to Jamie’s face. “Jamie, if you hadn’t had a feeling something was wrong and found that bomb, we’d both be dead. Or if you hadn’t knocked me to the ground when you did, we’d be dead. You knew we only had a chance if we got on the ground as far away as possible.” Jamie nodded. “You saved my life. Again.”
Jamie gave a small smile. “I couldn’t save everyone though, could I?”
“No,” Dani said quietly, looking down, beginning to cry. “Jamie… all those people…”
“I know, Dani, I know. Come here.” Jamie put her good arm around Dani and pulled her close, knowing Dani needed the comfort. Dani reflexively curled into Jamie, clutching at the front of her shirt.
“They’re all dead, aren’t they?” Dani asked through her tears.
“A lot of them, probably,” Jamie answered honestly. “Some would have gotten away though.”
“Why? Why did they do this? I thought they were just after Henry. I don’t understand any of this!” Dani said, the words tumbling out. Jamie held her tighter.
“I don’t know, Dani. Terrorists create chaos. It’s what they do. They instill fear. It’s a deterrent to others who might think about challenging them, a warning if you will. But a bomb? Nothing in our intel suggested a bomb. And we weren’t the only agency that missed it. The CIA was there. Interpol. Mossad. We were all there today, Dani. I guess we underestimated what Viola is capable of. Her rage seems to know no bounds.”
“Do you know if Henry made it? Or Owen? Oh God, Jamie, Owen!”
Owen had been on Jamie’s mind the whole time. “I don’t know. I’m going to check in with MI5 though. See what I can find out.”
“And the children! Jamie! Thank God we sent them back to the hotel!” Dani said, realization dawning on how much worse things could have been.
“Aye, I’ve been thinking the same. What I don’t know though is what happened at the hotel. Dani, I don’t know if they’re still okay,” Jamie said, knowing she had to be transparent with Dani.
Dani’s tears turned to sobs and she curled further into Jamie’s chest. Jamie’s rubbed Dani’s arm, trying to calm her.
“Dani, we can’t stay here long,” Jamie said gently. “I need to get in touch with my agency. All the equipment is here for me to contact them. And then we have to go.”
“I thought this was a safe house?”
“It is. But, if I know about it, so does Rebecca.”
“And you never found her today?”
“No. She’s unaccounted for. And that makes me uneasy. I don’t know what she’s capable of, Dani, and that scares me.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two? Because now seems like a pretty good time.”
Jamie reluctantly removed her arm from around Dani and stood up. “I’ll tell you while I’m getting the computer set up.”
Dani watched Jamie as she removed a picture from the wall, exposing a safe behind it with an ocular scan. Jamie looked into it while it scanned her eye. The safe opened, revealing an array of computer equipment. Jamie grabbed a laptop and returned to the couch with Dani, booting up the computer.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I mean, it’s all gone to shite anyway. Peter Quint was a member of our team.”
“Oh my god, Jamie, are you serious?” Dani gasped.
“Yeah, Peter Fucking Quint. We trained together. Went on missions together. Saved each other’s lives a few times. He’s always been an asshole, mind you, and we never much cared for each other on account of his assholery, but still, we were teammates. And none of us saw the betrayal coming. Being betrayed like that, it does something to you.”
Dani’s heart went out to Jamie. With every new piece of information she learned about Jamie, she understood her a little bit better. Understood why she was hesitant to open herself up to anyone.
“But that wasn’t the worst of it,” Jamie continued. “The worst of it was for Rebecca. She won’t admit it, but she and Peter were in love. This is exactly why this sort of thing is forbidden.”
And another piece of the puzzle fell into place for Dani. No wonder she is so closed off. She saw what happened to Rebecca. She doesn’t want to get hurt in the same way. I get it now. But I’m not Peter. I would never hurt her. I hope she knows that.
Jamie continued, “I called Rebecca out on it. As you can imagine, she didn’t too much appreciate that. Things haven’t been the same since. So, you see, when she became suspicious of you and me, it made me a hypocrite in her eyes.”
“And she’s still in love with Peter,” Dani concluded.
“That would be my theory, yes,” Jamie agreed.
“And that’s why you think she’s the mole.”
“And that’s why I think she’s the mole,” Jamie confirmed. “It all points to her.”
“So, you were betrayed again,” Dani said sympathetically. “Jamie, I’m so sorry.”
“It is what it is,” Jamie said, trying to brush it off. “Occupational hazard, I suppose.”
Dani wanted to respond, but the computer had long since booted up and Jamie had just finished entering her credentials. She was opening a secure video channel to Hannah, who immediately answered.
“Jamie!” She said, clearly pleased and surprised to see the young agent. “Where are you? Are you okay? We thought you were dead. We are getting reports in about what happened, but the details are shaky.”
“I was nearly dead, yes, but seems I’m not just yet. Just got blown up and shot a few times is all. I’m at our safe house in Cairo. Dani Clayton’s here with me.”
Dani leaned into the frame next to Jamie and waved at Hannah.
“Hello, Ms. Clayton,” Hannah said, “I’m very relieved to see you both.”
“What’s the word from Owen? We don’t know anything, Hannah. We lost track of everyone in the explosion,” Jamie said.
“Owen and Henry made it out just in time. They checked in not ten minutes ago. Seems they’ve had a bit of a rough evening, as well.”
Jamie exhaled, visibility relieved that her friend was safe. Dani placed a reassuring hand on her lower back, out of frame so Hannah wouldn’t see. She needed Jamie to feel her support.
“And the kids? The hotel was compromised,” Jamie stated.
“Agent Todd and his team got them out. They apparently had to rappel off the balcony when their room was attacked. Miles Wingrave thinks it’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened, apparently.”
Dani looked stricken but Jamie just snickered.
“‘Course he does. You best put Todd up for a promotion,” Jamie said. “Poor fella.”
“He might not be the only one earning a promotion from this mission,” Hannah said knowingly, making Jamie uncomfortable. Would you say that if you knew I fell for my assignment and broke every rule in the book?
“And Jessel?”
“MIA. She was spotted on security cameras leaving the convention center fifteen minutes before the bomb went off. I’m afraid your suspicions about her were accurate.”
“I wanted to be wrong, you know,” Jamie said quietly. “And the casualties?”
“Catastrophic. It may be weeks before we know the full extent. I don’t know how you two made it out alive, honestly.”
Jamie felt Dani move her hand from her back to her thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. It was amazing to Jamie how Dani could convey so much in a touch, how she instinctively knew what Jamie needed. She covered Dani’s hand with her own and squeezed back.
“What’s our extraction plan, Hannah?” Jamie asked. “We have to get out of Egypt. Tonight.”
“We already have a plane on the way. It should be there in two hours. Rendezvous at the airport.”
There was one more thing Jamie needed to bring up with Hannah. She didn’t want to say it in front of Dani, but she also didn’t have a choice.
“Director? There’s one more thing. Any idea why Quint is still after Dani?” This had been bothering Jamie.
“How do you mean?”
“When we were escaping, he still wanted to capture her. If he finds out that Henry is alive, it means there is still a target on her back.”
Dani squeezed Jamie’s thigh. She was afraid.
“You may be right, Taylor,” Hannah said. “If they are desperate enough, they may still try to take her, use her as leverage with Wingrave.”
“I’m just the au pair,” Dani interjected. “I mean, Mr. Wingrave thinks I’m a good employee, but I’m hardly worth an international incident! I have no value to him, really.”
“That may be,” Hannah conceded, “But they don’t know that, and desperate people do desperate things. MI5 embarrassed Viola’s organization this week. They may look for a win anywhere they can get one. You aren’t safe until you are back here. Agent Taylor, stay vigilant and come home.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jamie said seriously.
Jamie ended the video call and looked over at Dani, reading the panic in her eyes.
“Hey, it’s gonna be ok,” Jamie said, pulling her into a hug, placing one hand gently on the back of her head and pulling her into her good shoulder. “I’ve got you. The worst is behind us, yeah?” She could feel Dani nod her head.
They pulled away and looked at each other, Dani wiping a few tears from her eyes. Jamie said, “I know, it’s a lot. And there will be time for us to process it all. But, right now, let’s get ready to leave. I want to pack a few things and we should both probably change. We look a bit conspicuous with blood all over our clothes.”
They both went in the bedroom and rifled through their clothing options. Jamie selected a pair of black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black zip-up hoodie. She found a pair of black combat boots in her size and added those to her ensemble.
“Let me guess… pink is your favorite color?” Dani said, teasing her.
“Shut up, Poppins. I’m trying to be all cool and stealth.”
“Well, that look definitely works for you,” Dani replied. She selected a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, and a purple T-shirt. Jamie suggested she add a layer since the Egyptian nights could be cold, so she threw a gray hoodie on over her shirt. She put her hair in a ponytail.
Neither even particularly noticed that they had changed in the room together. It felt like the most natural thing in the world and neither wanted to be apart from the other for even one second. Jamie packed a few medical supplies in a backpack— pain killers, antibiotics, and bandages for both of them. She figured they would need all of it, even if they were flying straight home. She always like to be prepared. They went back out to the living room, preparing to leave.
Jamie gently took Dani by the wrist and stopped her. Dani had a questioning look in her eyes.
“Hey, Dani,” Jamie started, clearly nervous. “Before we go, and uh, rejoin the group, and uh, don’t get to be alone again much, there’s just something I want to say.”
Dani’s eyes widened in anticipation.
“You see, almost losing you today. It made me realize something. I’ve got a problem, Poppins.”
“Oh no,” Dani said, afraid of what Jamie would say next, afraid that she would pull away because things had gotten dangerous just like she feared they would.
“You see, Dani, I thought I couldn’t live with you. That it would be selfish to even want to. But now, I’m thinking that maybe I can’t live without you. I guess what I’m trying to say, and not saying very eloquently, is I’m actually pretty in love with you, it turns out. And, when I thought we were going to die today, my one regret was not kissing you when I had the chance.”
Dani looked into Jamie’s eyes. She looked so vulnerable, afraid that Dani would reject her, even though Dani had given every indication that she wanted a life with Jamie. Dani broke out into the biggest grin and took a step towards Jamie.
“I love you, too,” she said, without hesitation. And she truly meant it. She was deeply in love with this woman.
Jamie smiled the biggest and brightest smile of her life. She loves me, too. So this is what joy feels like. She closed the gap between them, taking Dani’s face in her hands. Dani closed her eyes in anticipation.
And then the window behind them shattered. They were both struck by something at the same time and stumbled back onto the couch, Dani’s body slumping against Jamie’s. Jamie brought her hand to her neck. There was something there… a dart? What the hell? And the next thing Jamie saw was Peter Quint looming over her, Rebecca Jessel standing behind him. And then she blacked out.
|
10: forced explanations
When Fukuzawa Yukichi entered the premises of the Armed Detective Agency, after hearing a brief summary of their findings courtesy of a tearful Naomi, his face was set in a grim look and his eyes bespoke of a want for blood not unlike that of a wolf’s.
The man has never responded well to having one of his own be harmed in any way, even in the past, but the war against Dostoyevsky has placed him well over the edge repeatedly. And so, when he heard of Dazai’s life having been endangered again – and in the hospital no less – Fukuzawa spared no effort into ensuring the safety of his men.
Latest security systems, increased number of safe houses throughout the region and far off into the countryside if need be, even fake identification and passports just in case the government decided to hunt them down for a false crime.
“President,”
Dazai comes enters the office dressed in his usual clothes and seated on the wheelchair Yosano most likely forced him into using. Behind him is Atsushi who is dutifully pushing it forward with a worried expression.
“Dazai. I trust you’ve been behaving?”
“Our Yosano-sensei is the best doctor there is. Barring allowing her to tend to my bedside, I’ve been placed in capable hands so I’ve been healing well.”
Fukuzawa eyes the man intently. While his pallor would never be in a healthy shade, partly from staying inside for too long and partly for his suicidal tendencies, the President can see that Dazai is not lying this time. His speech is articulate, his actions appropriately energetic and while he may be favouring some parts of his body more than others, there is nothing that indicates Dazai has overextended himself once more.
So he nods and gives credit where it is due.
“Good work, Yosano.”
“You flatter me, President. Dazai was surprisingly well-behaved this time.” She gives the suicide enthusiast a once-over. “Could it be that you’ve finally grown up?”
“Surely you jest, sensei! I’ve always been a grown-up dedicated to his beliefs~”
Atsushi mutters something as Kunikida awkwardly scoffs from the side.
“You? A grown-up? All I see is a huge man-child dressed in bandages.”
“Why thank you, Kunikida-kun~ They’re the new trend these days, you see?”
“In what world are bandages considered a fashion trend?!”
The familiar banter fills the air quickly as though it never left in the first place. Fukuzawa looks at where his employees are all joining in on the bickering per usual, the sight making his chest feel at ease.
They will be alright. They’ll get through this.
A tug on his sleeve pulls him away from his reverie. He looks to the side where Ranpo has taken refuge on a nearby chair, frowning with a melancholic air to him.
“What is it, Ranpo?”
Fukuzawa has known Ranpo for a long time, long enough to know when something bothers him underneath his mask of confidence and arrogance, but it is with pride and sadness that he watches that same boy look at him with the expression of an adult and not a child.
“President…”
We need to know.
The great detective gestures to the files on the table, now neatly arranged thanks to Kyouka’s efforts, and Fukuzawa understands.
He understands and that’s why…
“Dazai.”
The chatter stops as everyone turns to him.
All it takes is a single glance to know exactly what the President has been thinking.
Dazai smiles. It’s the emptiest smile Fukuzawa has ever seen.
“Of course, President.”
.
.
.
—From the Viewpoint of Dazai Osamu—
.
.
.
I suppose the easiest thing to do would be start from the beginning. That’s the normal way to do it.
The problem is that along the way, I’ve forgotten what the beginning even is.
Oh, don’t worry. Everything inside those documents is true. I was known as Subject AG071 of Project Anomaly, the seventy-first of seventy-two test subjects and the last to unlock his Ability.
…Perhaps I should start with that.
I was chosen at a young age. There were hundreds of us there, I believe you all read that in the files? The government had a way of measuring those with latent Abilities and used that to determine who would get chosen.
It’s called a “Laplace Count”; after the mathematical Laplace transform.
Kunikida-kun picks up fast. As expected of a former Math teacher.
It’s not used anymore. The Laplace count, I mean. Not since the facility was destroyed, I’d estimate. The measuring would be too inaccurate with regards to versatile Abilities like Rashomon and Atsushi-kun’s tiger form. No stable foundation to base it off from.
I can recall listening to them discuss about my odds. One of them said that the favour went to me and so, I was chosen as the seventy-first.
All test subjects received a brand on them. It’s the same as branding livestock to keep count of how many you have and to ensure you don’t lose them. Disgusting? It was simply logical. To those scientists, those children were the same as products – things to use in order to test something that requires a viable result.
Ah. When I say brands, I meant it literally. They had an iron brand, heated, and had it burned unto the backs of the children.
I think that day was also my eighth(?) birthday.
My parents, you ask?
…Mother was dead and Father…
I never bothered to ask so as you can see, I was on my own.
I suppose you’ve all read my file so I can skip the bothersome parts. It was all so monotonous anyways, nothing there was productive to the mind! The same thing over and over again with the same scenery every time you opened your eyes.
Where did you stop reading?
…Oh.
………
……
…
It was my eleventh birthday.
I remember that because I recall having counted off from the last time the scientists told us the date. They loved to do that sometimes. It was their way of breaking the more stubborn test subjects when they discover how long it’s been since their branding.
(I may or may not have done something similar, once)
It was nearly a month after I lost my eye from 69’s Meltdown – ah, a Meltdown is when a Gifted loses control of their Ability and it makes a rampage. My new eye is a prosthetic, Yosano-sensei. I can see clearly with it; perhaps even better than my natural one.
The Liquid Anomaly…it looked like stars when I gazed at it, a thing of dreadful beauty.
It burned.
They used everything on me, did you know that? They wasted no expense. It was part of their hypothesis that if Liquid Anomaly was an Ability and it proved to be a threat, No Longer Human could just neutralize it before it could start causing problems.
That’s not how it works, unfortunately.
(Randou-san had called me a heretical existence before.
He was right.)
Liquid Anomaly is a part of the Book. The Book’s purpose is to rewrite reality. In essence it’s the Alpha and Omega to the rules of Creation. There is no beginning and end with that thing, only the continuous branches of possibility.
—A parallel world. As expected of Ranpo-san.
The Book works in the laws of Karma. When you write something on its page, the Book will automatically draw out the parallel reality that fits the writings and rewrites a part of the present reality to make it fit better into ours. Kind of like patching a new cloth into an old one without changing the design so that it still looks the same.
No Longer Human nullified the Book’s Ability of rewriting reality. What do you think happened next?
……
…
My Ability nullifies everything it touches. The Book, though only a mere fraction of it, entered my bloodstream and thus resides in me forever.
The Book and I share a symbiosis with each other.
In a way, I suppose you could say I am the Book.
That’s why I was targeted.
Ranpo-san already figured it out earlier.
The culprit for stealing those files, the one who was responsible for putting me in the hospital and under such condition…was a former test subject like me.
AG023. Ability Name: Flight of Erebus
President, there’s no need to prepare for another attack.
The enemy’s Ability isn’t the threat, it’s what they intend to do with the Book when they get to me.
I have a plan. And for that, we will need all hands on deck.
The fate of not only Yokohama but the entire world rests on it.
.
.
.
—From the Viewpoint of Dazai Osamu, End—
.
.
. |
A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Good Omens.
I have no beta.
ENJOY!
CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON.
536 A.D. was one of the worst years in all of history and Crowley was not exaggerating a single bit when he made that point. Not even a mite. While looking back on it, it wasn't the absolute worst time in history - that had yet to come, unfortunately - but for Eurasia is was absolute shite in so many ways. Unlike anything they'd really experienced before.
A bloody volcano erupted and forced the entire joint continent into frigid temperatures unlike any ever experienced outside the North or South Poles. Ash blocked out the sun for months and covered everything, the air was stifling and impossible to breathe in, and the crops would not grow all year 'round.
And Crowley had survived it. For the most part. He'd made it nearly an entire year through it all too.
But then…
As Healing had always been a talent of his, and he disliked children dying, he'd been faced with the heart-breaking, self-imposed duty of stealthily curing as many sick children as he could and then hiding it from Hell with a grand temptation of some clergyman on the side.
He'd lost count of just how many children ended up under his palm at some point. And his miracles had begun to wear thin. While Aziraphael was out trying to fix the crops issue, Crowley had been out and about using his power to help the children, the very future of the world. And he'd wrung himself dry of energy. He hadn't been able to summon enough energy to move. Eventually, he discorporated by freezing to death in an ash-covered field.
The first time for him. Aziraphael had been discorporated three times already and had nothing good to say about the experience. He'd finally learned of why. It was a lonely thing. Terrifying in a way. Falling had been the worst thing he'd ever experienced until he'd felt the chill coming upon him and taking him over bit by bit. Starting at the fingers and toes and moving inward. As a serpent, the cold was never something he fancied.
Crowley had made it almost to the end, he later found out. Almost there. Sure, saving thousands of lives in his own way was a success at least in his own mind, but he'd failed to make it through himself and therefore that left Aziraphael as the only immortal being on Earth who could help anyone which put more strain on him as well.
It was late 537 A.D. that he finally got a new body so he could go back to pretending to tempt mortals to darker paths.
He didn't consider his usual work to be temptation because the results were usually hilarious! To him at least. They were more like pranks. He didn't want to blow things up and burn things down and kill people. Earth was much better than Heaven or Hell combined and a great way to avoid the worst things in their existence. And his angel loved Earth so much. Why would he want to destroy something so important to the both of them?
September of 537 A.D. had him meeting up with Aziraphael once again, on an abnormally frigid farm. His angel looking the most unhappy he'd ever been since they'd both come to Earth. Aziraphael loved food. It was probably his greatest weakness. But even he wouldn't hoard a precious resource that he didn't even need, from those who were starving and suffering.
And Crowley had no doubt at all, that his other half was absolutely heartbroken over not being able to help more.
There wasn't even the little flinch of surprise when he saw Crowley stood beside him. He simply continued to stare out at the dead lands, now covered in an early snowfall once more, and frowned to himself over whatever was ailing him.
"You can't save everyone, angel," he said, deciding to be blunt.
Aziraphael's bottom lip quivered in response.
"May I once again remind you that you are the only angel down here doing anything to help these mortals on a constant basis. You are one being. You are not the Almighty. You did more than expected of you by even your own colleagues. None of this was your fault."
It wasn't even Hell's fault. There had simply been an earthquake or something that caused the volcano to erupt. The kind of control necessary to cause a volcanic eruption would require dozens of demons that would be discorporated upon finishing because their power would be gone. And then they'd float around aimlessly in hell for a few years as their natural energy restored itself. It was too much work in the long run for either side to do.
Aziraphael's shoulders shook. Crowley had to remind himself that while they had once been the same person, they were two halves of a whole. Each getting different parts for themselves. Crowley was a bit caustic and sarcastic, and definitely a pessimist. He took tragedy with a kind of stony resignation by now and tried not to linger too much on his emotions.
His angel wasn't like that. Aziraphael wore his heart on his sleeve. He was upbeat, honest, and optimistic. And to have something completely trample upon those facets of his personality, had to be weighing him down so much.
Crowley had never initiated contact with Aziraphael before. He'd wanted to many a time, for many reasons. Some not very pure is truth be told. He'd refrained out of respect for Aziraphael's personal space.
But this wasn't the same situation as all the other times he'd seen his other half sad. This had been a truly tragic event that had tested Aziraphael to his limits and left him feeling cold and empty in more ways than one.
With only minor hesitation, he wrapped an arm around the angel, and pulled him in. And the saddest part was that Aziraphael came willingly. It was sad because it took some tragic event for them both to get to this point that Crowley had been longing for for several millennia!
There were no tears or hitched breaths, but there didn't need to be. The pure sorrow pouring off of his other half made Crowley feel equally sad.
"I should like to leave mainland Europe, my dear."
That was new! Aziraphael had never called him such before. Crowley didn't even care if he referred to everyone as such, he would take this change with him everywhere he went. He'd dream about it whenever he decided he wanted to sleep.
"Where would you like to go, angel?"
"England seems to be doing well enough. There is a kingdom I've heard some interesting things about. I had planned to seeing it for myself, but I got sidetracked here."
"The Kingdom of Wessex?" Crowley asked, remembering hearing about it as well.
Aziraphael pulled back to give him a nod. "I'm tired of being a saint or a priest for now. Maybe I'll take up baking next. Something not related to droning men who think they're wise as they watch others suffer in the name of God."
That had to be the most blasphemous thing he'd ever heard his angel say. And it was beautiful.
"I suppose I'll come too. It's been a while since I've never been near the land now known as England. I'm curious to see what has changed by now and who this Arthur bloke is. Seems a bit too happy for my liking. Could use some... minor misfortune."
And to England they went.
And ended up on opposite sides of Arthur's plans and actions. For a little while at least. The man died less than a year later and both angel and demon moved on from England to less depressing places.
It had been… a bit of a change in their relationship. In which Aziraphael smiled upon seeing him and no longer looked like a skittish lamb, and Crowley felt even more at peace than before.
A/N: Finished!
How was it? Let me know!
See ya! :D
|
The cool metal of the bridge feels roots him in place as a ripple pulsates from behind him. There’s no mistaking this presence. It feels so surreal that Dean can hardly bring himself to turn around and face him.
It stands to reason that he’s here. Though Dean hadn’t prayed yet, he knows his longing trailed behind him, like a trail of breadcrumbs.
Dean grins. He can’t help himself. Because he feels the happiness welling up in his chest. Because he knows
exactly
who is hovering over his shoulder… like a little angel.
“Hello Dean.” That gruff voice says.
Instinctively he
knows
who was lurking behind him. Watching him since he entered Heaven and biding his time. Dean knew. He kind of felt comforted by the presence. But
seeing
him…
Seeing him after all that they’ve been through makes Dean weak at the knees. One hand remains firmly latched onto the railing and he thinks it’s really fulfilling its purpose of not letting someone fall off the edge. Or maybe not.
Seeing
Cass
here in the flesh… it makes him realise that he’s been free falling for a while. And that he doesn’t want to stop.
Breaking himself out of his shock, he propels himself into Cass, smashing into him and actually making him stumble a few steps back as Dean crashes into him. With a hitched breath Dean clings to him.
Cass is here.
Cass is real.
His fingers bunch the ever present trench coat as Dean lets himself sag into the angel.
The one who died for him. Who gave it all for him. The one who thought so highly of him.
And there’s so much he wants to say, but the only word that makes it out his mouth is: “Cass.”
Over and over.
A mantra.
A prayer.
Because Dean still remembers the black sludge taking over his body, dragging him away. He remembers the hollowness that followed and the space that suddenly disappeared upon hearing Cass’ voice.
Dean can hardly believe he’s real.
But this is Heaven.
His Heaven.
Of course
Cass is here.
Dean feels like an idiot - a blubbering mess - for clinging to Cass like this. But when he tries to pull back, he finds that the angel’s arms are around him, trapping him in a deadlock. Not that he wants to move anyway.
“I’ve got you.” Cass whispers, his breath tickling Dean’s ear.
And ain’t that the truth. When there was no one else in their corner… Cass had their backs. After everything he stuck with them. His loyalty had gotten him killed so many times, yet he kept coming back.
He always comes back.
“I missed you.” Dean says after a long, but poignant, silence.
“I did too.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Dean untangles himself from Cass’ embrace. “I never said thank you. For what you did. You saved me.”
You made me think I deserved to be saved.
With a gentle smile, Cass places a hand on his chest, right over his heart.
“So thank you.” Dean says, staring directly at his friend.
Licking his lips, he tries to find the right words for what he’s about to say.
“Cass - I - what you said -”
The angel looks a bit crestfallen but he doesn’t withdraw.
“It’s okay.” He says softly. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
With what?
“What’re you talking about?”
Cass cocks his head. “With you. With our relationship. I don’t expect you to - you’re not obligated to - to change things between us because of what I said.”
Dean freezes.
“I do love you, Dean.” Cass says firmly, “But I was more than happy with what we had.”
When Cass stares at him with those big blue eyes Dean mentally wills himself to
say something.
Because he sure as hell isn’t letting this moment pass him by a second time.
They may have all the time in the world, but Dean feels he’s been wasteful enough.
“I wasn’t.” he blurts, drawing a shocked, slightly hurt look from Cass.
He rushes to clarify. “I mean I wasn’t happy with what we had.”
Gee, Dean, that sounds a lot better.
He mentally kicks himself.
“What - what do you mean?” Cass sounds so meek and hesitant and all because Dean is dancing around something he
still
can’t accept.
He’s dead and he still can’t say it.
“I want…”
You. Us.
“...more.”
He searches Cass face as he absorbs his revelation.
“More.” he repeats, staring at Dean blankly.
“Yeah, Cass.” He breathes. “I want more and I’m tired of pretending otherwise.”
Now Cass just gapes mutely at him so Dean rambles on. “I mean we’re dead man. We died. Well you’re kinda alive I guess, but we’re here. Together. And I want more with you. I want to try. We - we can figure it out. Right?”
Dean breaks off when he realises that Cass has gone glassy eyed.
So Dean rests a hand on his shoulder, gently drawing the angel back to the present.
Cass deserves the world after everything that he’s done. Dean might not be able to give him that, but he can give him something he
knows
will make him happy. Because Cass deserves to be undeniably, unabashedly happy. He deserves to laugh and smile and make all the bad jokes he wants. He deserves to feel free. He deserves to be himself - no more hiding, no more doubt. Just Cass.
Dean’s heart swells at the thought and he steadies himself because he knows what he wants. And he’s finally ready to let himself have it.
At last.
He feels free enough to let himself have it.
Cass’ words resonated within him and he finally feels
worthy
enough to have it.
“You deserve to be loved.” He says, in a way that can’t be misinterpreted. “Let me love you.”
And then Dean does the unthinkable. He leans in, staring at Cass’ lips. Those pink lips that suddenly look so intimidating. Lips that barely have a chance to form the word ‘yes’ before they’re being attacked by Dean’s lips.
|
“Earth to Rey! Rey, come in. Do you copy?” Finn waves his hand in front of Rey’s face.
“Uh.. what? Sorry.” Rey replies, coming out of her stupor, her head resting against her closed fist as she props herself up on the bar with an elbow.
“You were doing it again,” Rose says with a hint of motherly concern as she gingerly stacks cocktail napkins in a spiral design. “It’s like you’re asleep with your eyes open. Another late night?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just another wonderful day in the life of an insomniac.” Rey rubs some life into her face in an attempt to wake herself up. “Got any Red Bull back there, Finn? I could use a boost.”
Finn quickly reaches for a can and opens it, handing it to her. Rey starts to gulp down the cold, syrupy nectar of the gods. Only a couple more hours and she’d be home free for the night. She might even be able to squeeze in some sleep before heading to her shift tomorrow at the cafe. However, knowing her, she’d get a solid two hours of sweet, sweet rest, then wake up at some ungodly hour to toss and turn, eventually surrendering and picking up whatever reading material she’d left herself on her nightstand. Since it was the weekend, she thought of possibly treating herself to some pleasure reading, instead of her Scientific Inquiry into Social Issues textbook. An old, worn-in classic sounded more appealing at this point of exhaustion.
“Alright, it’s warm out here. These rich ass people need some refreshment. Let’s get going on round two, ladies,” Finn says, pushing two refilled trays of champagne flutes toward the girls. The golden bubbles climbing up the sides of the glasses practically reeked of luxury. The bottles opened tonight cost more than Rey would probably make in a week. She tightens the top bun of her signature hairstyle, carefully lifts the tray, and begins her route around the party.
Between trying to pay rent in Brooklyn and attempting to make a small dent in her student loans, Rey took whatever part-time gig she could get. And this gig in particular wasn’t proving too difficult. Serve bubbly to the high-born and well-to-do socialites of the New York scene, take a drink order every now and again, then retreat to the back corner of the rooftop to shove whatever tiny hors d'oeuvres are left down her throat before anyone notices. Saves her from buying a slice (or two) of pizza on the way home. A girl’s gotta pinch a penny whenever she can.
After distributing some booze around the multitude of party guests, Rey heads toward the back of the group as an older woman takes the small stage toward the front. As the hostess begins her introductory statements, Rey takes a moment to really look through the crowd.
Dripping in diamonds and opulence, this gathering seems full of people who are out-of-touch. Rey doubts most of them remember what charity is throwing this event, let alone its mission or purpose. Sure, they can toss their money left and right, but how many of these people would look twice at someone who actually needed help? What would they do if they saw a man begging for change on the side of the street? Or a woman looking for a place to stay after leaving her abusive partner? Or a girl chucked out of her foster father’s house at the first opportunity, living on packages of crackers from the local diner?
Rey shakes her head to wake herself from the pensive reverie. It was unusually balmy for an early spring night, but she didn’t care. At least the wait staff uniforms were forgiving considering the summery weather. Her white, sleeveless shirt and burgundy shorts allowed her skin to feel every inch of the evening warmth. Rey didn’t think she could’ve handled the customary full penguin suit for this outdoor event.
She takes a deep breath and continues to scan the crowd, paying little attention to the mistress of ceremonies still at work. Rey can only imagine the price tags on some of these dresses. She spots a silver, floor-length gown embroidered with crystals that looks like it could cost more than one semester for her degree at NYU. As she examines the glimmering beads that look like they could be real Swarovski, she suddenly feels eyes on her from across the rooftop. A warm tingle crawls up the side of her face and she turns to her left.
A redwood of a man stands parallel to her on the other side of the wealthy throng. One hand casually in his pocket, the other clutching a whiskey neat, he surveys her. Broad shoulders, aquiline features, and a head covered in glossy, raven waves stopping right at a jawline so sharp that it could cut a diamond. Rey feels her heart momentarily stop as their eyes continue to connect. A quiet gasp escapes her lips and she shyly averts her eyes, though she can still feel his intense gaze on her face. Surely he wasn’t staring at her, was he? Maybe she looked familiar? Could he be trying to place her face?
In that moment, the hunched man standing directly in front of Rey abruptly backs into her. Losing her balance, her tray breaks free of her grip, and she stumbles backward. She can almost feel the impact to the hard concrete of the rooftop floor before it happens. Her back hits first as her arms move to try and break her fall. She hears the crash of the few remaining champagne flutes as they shatter behind her.
She feels her body freeze in shock. The looming, wrinkled man turns to face her, features contorted in disgust. He merely scoffs at her, then stalks toward the exit. Embarrassment floods Rey as she feels everyone’s eyes move toward her. Her hand moves back to prop herself up, but a searing sting strikes her palm, and she recoils and winces in pain. A small shard of glass has lodged itself into her hand. As she reaches with her other hand in an attempt to pick out the sharp fragment, she feels a large presence come down to her level.
“Ah, ah, ah. Let me see.” A massive, warm hand comes to support her injured one as he kneels next to her. Her head stops spinning long enough to see the crowd returning to its previous frivolity, and a pair of intense, liquid amber eyes examining her palm. Rey flinches slightly as he carefully extracts the glass from her wound. “Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches, but we need to get you cleaned up. Come on, up we go.”
As she feels his solid arm envelop her, Rey wraps her intact limb around his shoulder to support herself as he lifts her off the ground. She hears Rose rush over, but the towering stranger stops to calm her friend’s panic. “She’ll be fine in a little bit, I’m sure. Do you all have a first aid kit behind that bar of yours?”
“On it!” Finn replies as Rey feels herself coming back to reality. She’s placed on the bar stool as her savior takes the seat next to her at the edge of the bar. Rose sets herself to cleaning up the remaining shards of glass from the floor as the event continues around them.
“Thank you,” Rey says, still not able to fully meet his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m a bit clumsy sometimes.”
“No problem at all,” he replies in a silky, low tone. “And, for whatever it’s worth, I don’t think ‘clumsy’ is exactly what happened. I’d bet that your unfortunate party guest had one-too-many beverages before he stumbled out. Believe me, I used to intern for him when I was younger. Snoke’s known to have a flask for every occasion.”
Rey laughs quietly to herself as Finn returns with a first aid kit. He gives Rey a knowing look with a bit of a cheeky eyebrow raise, then returns to polishing some glassware.
“So, a Brit, huh?” her mysterious hero asks as he pours a tiny bit of antiseptic on her wound. She hisses momentarily in pain, but his continued inquiries bring her back to focus. “What brings you to the States, Miss…?”
“Rey. I’ve lived here most of my life, but I’m in the city for uni.” He continues carefully holding her injured hand while he wipes it dry, his fingers leaving a divine trail of warmth wherever they’ve touched. “You know, ‘The Center of the Universe’, as they call it. Figured it’d be a good place to get a headstart.”
“Well, Rey,” he responds, placing a soft, sterile pad against her cut, then wrapping gauze around her palm delicately. “As they say, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. And something tells me you have a very bright future ahead of you.” The corner of his mouth curves upward and she blushes, looking up at him through her eyelashes. A constellation of moles are scattered across his handsome face, almost like a small galaxy.
He closes up the first aid kit and looks back at her. “Well, you’re all patched up. Feeling okay?”
“I’m fine now, thank you,” she answers as they both stand from their chairs. Rose and Finn peer over at them from across the bar, whispering like gossiping schoolgirls. Rey gives them a look, as if to tell them to knock it off. Her Greek god of a caretaker continues to look at her in earnest, his eyes following every movement of her fingers as she straightens a suspender that had fallen down her tanned shoulder. She feels her mouth go dry. Biting her lip, she continues, “I’m just a bit flustered. I just made an ass out of myself in front of all these people.”
“These people are nothing to worry about, Rey.” A spark ignites in her chest as her name finds its way once again from his plush lips. “Most of them won’t remember each others’ names by morning. It’s all about keeping up appearances. Who you see and what you know.” His face seems stern, though his expressive eyes meet hers once again. “Alright, let’s get you home.”
“Home?” she exclaims, breaking the bond between their gazes. “I can’t go home. I still have at least two hours to my shift. I don’t get paid unless I stay for the entirety of the event.”
“You have an injured hand,” he retorts with a smirk as he begins to guide her out of the party. “I don’t think trying to hold a tray or serve drinks is going to work out for you, sweetheart.”
Her heart flutters at the endearment, but panic strikes again. “I can find something to do! Listen, I really appreciate your help, sir, but I need that paycheck.”
Something about her statement makes his eyes darken, though at what she did not know. He smiles slightly and simply replies with, “Ben.”
“What?” she asks.
“Ben. My name is Ben,” he repeats, moving closer to her.
“Well, Ben,” she responds, her breathing suddenly a bit shallow, “I’m sorry, but I unfortunately have bills that aren’t going to pay themselves. I need the work.”
Ben casually reaches into his suit to grab his wallet. He pulls out some folded bills from the fine folded leather and hands them to her. “Will this cover it?”
Rey looks down at the money he’s placed in her hand. She sees the number ‘100’ printed on the corner of the first bill. And the second. And the third. She quickly fumbles through the rest of the payment in surprise. Ten bills in total.
“What?! You can’t be serious?” she exclaims breathlessly. “I’m sorry, sir - Ben. I can’t accept this. This is too much.”
“You can, and you will,” Ben replies firmly. The tone of his voice doesn’t match the soft demeanor of his face. However, Rey can tell there will be no budging on the matter. “Consider it a large tip from a happy customer. Now if you’ll collect your things, I’ll get you out of here. Something tells me you won’t leave unless I personally escort you to the exit,” he says with that intoxicating smirk of his.
“Uh - Sure,” Rey answers. “Just a sec.” As he moves toward the elevator, Rey rushes and crouches behind the bar to grab her purse, phone, and keys, her hands still shaking in shock at his generous tip. Finn and Rose appear immediately by her side.
“‘Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car?!’” Finn sings in a high-pitched voice as she stands back up. He rests his head on both hands as if he’s a sixteen year-old girl at a slumber party.
“Shut it,” Rey retaliates as she starts to leave. “I’ll tell you about it when you get home tonight. I’ve got my phone on me, in case this guy tries anything.”
“You better hope he tries something,” Rose comes back. “The man is a drool-worthy mountain. Make sure you invite us to the wedding!” She giggles and Finn whistles as Rey walks briskly toward the elevator doors Ben is holding for her. There’s a brightness in his eyes telling her that he probably heard the entire interaction. She blushes as the doors shut in front of them and they begin their descent.
“Do your coworkers usually take such an interest in your personal life?” Ben asks, a slight chuckle behind his voice.
Rey looks down at her feet awkwardly. “They’re my roommates, too. I’m afraid I might be interrogated later.”
“I bet you can handle it,” he replies. Rey feels a heat creeping up inside her at the thought of what else she might be able to handle at the hands of the man standing next to her. The tension between them vibrates in the small space as they both stare up at the dimly-lit numbers of each floor as they descend.
Finally, the doors open to the main lobby. Rey gasps as she suddenly feels the gentle presence of his sizeable hand at her lower back, guiding her to the exit. He nods toward the doorman, who opens the front door for them as they walk toward the avenue. She studies Ben as he raises his hand to hail a cab. For such a colossal man, he seems to move with an air of grace that fascinates her. She feels like she hasn’t been able to catch her breath since he first looked at her. A taxi quickly stops at the street’s edge and Ben looks toward her with his hand outstretched. She takes it as she lowers herself into the cab. When she touches him, the space between their hands feels so hot it could ignite a flame.
“Here,” Ben says, handing the cabbie another crisp hundred dollar bill from inside his suit jacket. “Get her home safely, please. I’d like her in one piece.”
He turns back to look at her with an uncommonly sweet expression. “Take care, Rey.”
“Thank you, Ben,” she smiles at him, hoping the moment could somehow freeze. His charming grin and honeyed eyes are burned into her mind as he shuts the door and touches the top of the cab. And suddenly, she’s off. Rey sits back in her seat, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, as the city passes by. Her whole body feels like it has been set ablaze.
What had he done to her? |
—Iwaizumi’s POV—
“W-What?” Was the first word to leave Iwaizumi’s trembling lips.
His mind was flooded with a dizzying barrage of questions. Before one could climb its way to the tip of his tongue, a furious storm of other questions tumbled after it stomping it down and crushing it where it stood in an all-out assault on Iwaizumi’s heart. It felt like everything and nothing was bearing down on him all at once. The pain he felt was a searing hot whiteness that blanketed him entirely and lit every nerve in his body aflame.
The room was quiet—silent in fact. Iwaizumi could vaguely hear the dull rhythmic thumping of his heart, though the beats felt far away as if he was hearing the sounds from deep underwater.
Iwaizumi tried to turn his body to face his parents but felt his body resist in place. His limbs felt heavy and numb at his side as if they were foreign parasites determined to drain him of what little he had left. It felt as though, somewhere deep down, a circuit had blown open overwhelmed by the surge of emotion that was ravaging his body.
“I’m so sorry Hajime!” His mother cried from just outside his field of vision.
He felt a tight warmth wrap around him with the crushing strength of a python squeezing against his ribs. His mother’s perfume wafted into his nose and he began to feel the soft touch of her hand on his back rubbing soothing strokes against his shoulder blade. She buried her face into his chest and Iwaizumi felt his fingers twitch.
“W-What?” He managed to stutter out again feeling suddenly detached from his own body as if he were watching himself in slow motion from afar.
Iwaizumi’s father’s usually neutral and solid demeanor softened.
“You heard him, son.”
Iwaizumi felt his head shaking before he even had time to comprehend what was happening.
“No...but…I…wait…no…” His voice sounded small and quiet trailing off into total silence as he spoke.
The room began to spin. This didn’t make any sense.
Something was wrong. Someone somewhere must have made some horrible mistake. That must be it. It couldn’t be…no.
Before another thought could even begin to take form in Iwaizumi’s churning frothing mind, a new emotion emerged stronger and faster than anything else he had to offer. His face went red and automatically his fists clenched shut.
“No! Fuck that!” He screamed breaking out of his mother’s hug and lurching towards the police officer standing in the corner of the living room. “Repeat what you just said. Say it again, so I know you meant it!”
The officer looked startled at Iwaizumi’s sudden outburst, but quickly regained composure and came to view Iwaizumi with the worst possible expression—pity.
“The remains found at Washijo’s safe house were positively identified as your friend son, I’m sorry.” The man told him with an artificial sympathy that made Iwaizumi’s blood boil.
He felt as if he had been slapped across the face. The officers that had first given up on Oikawa ten years ago had looked at Iwaizumi with that same insufferable phony compassion. Nothing had changed.
Remains. That cold cruel word hung in the air stinging and unfeeling. It echoed inside Iwaizumi’s mind stabbing him deeper and deeper with each excruciating repetition.
Remains.
Remains.
Remains.
Remains.
It was so painfully, unbelievably dehumanizing. Iwaizumi winced violently turning away from the officer and biting into the knuckle of his clamped fist.
“Don’t call him that.” Iwaizumi hissed fiercely under his breath. “His name is Oikawa Tooru.”
He stared daggers into the officer’s chest whose eyes widened and then narrowed in placative silence. Across from Iwaizumi, his father glared at him displeased at his outburst but Iwaizumi felt so much righteous anger within him that he was ready to go a hundred more rounds and never back down.
He had failed ten years ago to protect Oikawa from harm but today he would fight tooth and nail to preserve his name.
“H-How do you know?” Iwaizumi’s mother’s soft voice asked hesitantly from beside him.
“Excuse me?” The officer asked indignantly.
“I-I just mean, how do you know for sure it’s him?” She glanced firmly but affectionately at Iwaizumi with soft eyes as if reminding him that she was on his side.
Iwaizumi felt his own body start to relax and his fury begin to die down under his mother’s warm loving eyes. He had to remind himself again that he was not the only one in this room who was destroyed by this revelation. His mother had baked Oikawa cookies, checked his homework, driven him to countless volleyball practices and doctor's appointments when his own parents were too busy. His father had tossed them their first volleyball sets and driven them to see their first real game. Iwaizumi’s parents had given Oikawa all the love and attention that a mother and father would have given to their very own son. This loss was devastating to them all.
“Fingerprint and dental records confirmed it according to the forensic report.” The officer said flatly, clearly annoyed at having his authority questioned.
“I see,” his mother said nodding sadly.
“What else did they say?” Iwaizumi’s father asked still watching Iwaizumi closely but inching closer to his mother and him for support.
The officer sighed and reopened his little back booklet flipping back to check his notes.
“Sparing you the gory details; cadaver dogs were brought onto the scene and located a gravesite in the back yard. That site yielded one adult male body positively identified through the standard procedure as Oikawa Tooru of Miyagi, Japan.” He read robotically reciting each word as blandly and flatly as it must have been written.
“W-what about the cause of death?” His father asked nervously clearly unsure of whether or not he really wanted that kind of information.
“The rema-“ the officer stopped himself and laid his eyes on Iwaizumi irritated before restarting and rephrasing himself. “They are taking him into official facilities for more advanced testing that should yield cause and manner of death.”
Iwaizumi couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He was still trembling in his denial of what he was hearing, to begin with, but there was more than that now. An extra layer had slammed down onto him and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed something crucial. He tried to retrace every word he had spoken and even forced himself to sift through what the officer had said until a cold haunting shiver tore through his body and the blood drained from his face.
“‘One adult male body’ is that what you said?” Iwaizumi asked the officer shakily, crafting each word carefully as if they were weapons that at any moment would turn against him and stake him through.
The man checked his notes and nodded.
Iwaizumi’s knees turned to water. He grabbed on tightly to his mother next to him for support as he suddenly stumbled blindly and nearly collapsed. Noticing Iwaizumi’s sudden turn for the worse, Ushijima—who until now had stood silently with his back to the rest of the room and his face to the windows—spun around unexpectedly and leaped across the coffee table to grab Iwaizumi’s arm as reinforcement.
“What is it Hajime?” His mother’s concerned voice asked him while Ushijima helped her to shift Iwaizumi’s weight entirely onto his own shoulder.
He couldn’t seem to speak. He had on some level been prepared to hear terrible things that might have happened, and yet this had completely blindsided him. This was his worst nightmare. The one thought that had gotten him through his darkest nights and gave him what little comfort it could, was all a lie.
He looked up at his mom feeling his face start to fall and his eyes widen sadly.
“Adult.”
For a moment his mother looked confused and then her own eyes widened in horror and she clasped a hand over her mouth stumbling back towards Iwaizumi’s father and falling into his embrace. His two parents met each other’s eyes and then hugged tightly stifling the sound of their painful cries.
“What is wrong?” Ushijima asked in a low voice, watching Iwaizumi’s parents with genuine concern.
Iwaizumi felt his own lip quivering as his heart shot his blood pounding into his ears.
“O-Oikawa w-was-“ Iwaizumi tried to explain before hearing his own voice crack and fall apart.
Ushijima’s eyes opened worriedly and quickly rushed Iwaizumi over to the corner chair as the tears started to fall.
“H-He was 14 w-when he…he was taken.” Iwaizumi managed to breathe out, fighting his sobs but feeling his breathing becoming heavy and uneven as he went on.
Iwaizumi slumped forward in the chair holding his spinning head in his hands. Before he covered his eyes and raked his hands down his face, he caught enough of a glimpse of Ushijima to witness as the horrible truth occurred to him too.
“How old was he?” Ushijima’s deep voice asked the officer in a strained whisper.
Iwaizumi pressed his palms deep into his eyes blacking out the light as blood pounded through his skull drowning out any other noise outside of the room. He felt the pressure building behind his eyes as a gruesome ache grew inside his bones penetrating from the inside out. He could barely register Ushijima’s question or the sound of paper flipping in the officer's notebook yet again. Slowly, the pain in his bones was falling away into a dull throbbing but a pain in his chest was just beginning to tighten.
“On scene estimates place age of decease at approximately 22 years.” The officer said causing Iwaizumi’s blood to run cold.
Iwaizumi’s head moved up mechanically as his shaking red eyes focused in on the man. He could feel the heat vaporizing off of his skin as a shudder tore through him like a bolt of lightning.
Iwaizumi was born on June 10th. Iwaizumi was now 24 years old.
Oikawa was born on July 20th. They were one month apart…
Ten years ago, when they were both 14 years old, Oikawa was taken. The pain of knowing the statistics, of knowing the facts, of knowing the kinds of horrible, unspeakable, revolting things that victims of kidnappings experience had forced Iwaizumi to convince himself that if Oikawa was dead, then at least Oikawa must have died long ago. His suffering must have at least been short, and he had been at rest ever since.
“Victims rarely survive past the first 48 hours…” Iwaizumi whispered to himself reciting the words that every specialist and detective and task force that had come to Miyagi ten years ago had told him.
If this had been true. If Oikawa had been spared the pain and the torture that Iwaizumi had always feared for him, then his body should have been 14 years old.
“Y-you mean…” Iwaizumi breathed harshly, feeling his mind start to lose control and give way to his swelling fury. “He was kept alive FOR EIGHT YEARS!?”
He threw his body out of his chair and jumped to his feet. His fingers latched around the back of the couch in front of him as he did everything in his power to hold himself back from clearing the obstacle and attacking the officer before him with his bare hands.
Iwaizumi could feel that he was becoming mad with rage. His breathing was already ragged and deep like a vicious animal preparing to pounce. There was no reason anymore, no logic, his mind was devastated and everything he saw was red.
“You are telling me… he only died TWO YEARS AGO?!” Iwaizumi was spitting through clenched teeth in a deep growl.
Nothing had prepared him for this. Even in his worst most terrifying nightmares, he had never imagined this. Oikawa had been alive somewhere this entire time without anyone ever knowing. He had been alone and afraid and Iwaizumi, the police, everyone, had done absolutely nothing to help him.
All this time, while Iwaizumi had been coping with his loss, taking his entrance exams, and just living his life as if the worst was long since over, Oikawa had been alive waiting for someone to find him and save him and everyone had left him to rot. Iwaizumi felt his stomach lurch as a wave of nausea swirled inside him. Nightmarish images of what horrors Oikawa might have endured that Iwaizumi had thought he had left behind years ago, came roaring back. He felt his shoulders convulse and his whole body choked back a dry heave feeling the acidic bile shoot up his throat.
Ushijima tensed and quickly leaped to the side grabbing a small waste bin from beside the end table and pushed it forcefully into Iwaizumi’s lap. As soon as the smooth curved surface touched Iwaizumi’s fingers, the gates inside him opened and he vomited spilling the contents of his empty stomach into the metal pale. He kept his head hovered over the bin coughing and wheezing until finally, his stomach began to settle.
“Thanks.” Iwaizumi managed weakly without looking up.
Ushijima grunted in acknowledgment but was clearly still troubled himself.
“I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad news,” the officer said, “but that is the most recent update that I can provide. We will need someone to come down to the station with me to sign some papers acknowledging that you’ve received this information and pledging not to disclose it to the media until the investigation is complete.”
Neither Iwaizumi nor Ushijima moved. The rustling of clothes across the room caught both of their attention as Iwaizumi’s parents seemed to nod and gather themselves as best they could.
“We’ll go.” His father announced taking his mother's hand.
Iwaizumi felt their gaze fall onto his shoulders as they prepared to leave behind the officer.
A warm hand landed on his back as they began to leave as a small but meaningful gesture of support.
“We’ll take care of everything Hajime, don’t worry.” His mother tried to promise.
“Where are the Oikawa’s in all of this?” His father asked the officer outside of Iwaizumi’s field of vision.
“They are already at the precinct. They were the first to receive the news and chose to stay at the station until the interrogations are complete and the… evidence arrives back from the scene.”
At this, Iwaizumi could hear the pointed tone in the officer’s voice as he exacted his language in an attempt at appeasement. It was clear that ‘evidence’ meant ‘body’ and that finally, Oikawa Tooru was coming home to rest.
“Good,” his father said nodding, “those poor poor people.”
“God knows what they must be going through.” His mother agreed.
The officer opened the front door and led them outside to take them to the station.
“This might take some time Iwaizumi, we’ll probably be home late. We should pay our respects to the Oikawa’s while we’re there. Get some rest, it’s a big day tomorrow.” His father told him firmly but holding back tears of his own.
Iwaizumi felt his body go rigid. The memorial. In the midst of every terrible new truth he now had to accept, he also had the memorial to contend with. He could not even begin to imagine how he would feel in the morning and how he would cope at the service given everything they had learned.
The door closed behind his parents and he was left alone in his house with only Ushijima Wakatoshi of all people at his side. They sat in silence for a while as Iwaizumi hugged the bin on his lap until, uncharacteristically, Ushijima spoke.
“I am truly sorry for everything that happened. Whether you can find your way to believe me, or whether that is not possible, I knew nothing. Despite that, I still feel responsible for what happened. I should have known something was wrong. I never wanted anything like this to happen. Not ever.” He said emphatically looking down at the floor and scowling.
He was truly enraged about this and in some weird way that made Iwaizumi feel just a little less alone.
“I do know that it wasn’t your fault.” Iwaizumi offered, “but I’m sorry, I am still angry and while you don’t deserve it, I am angry at you and I don’t know why.”
At this, Ushijima just nodded.
“It does not need to make sense right now.”
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow but turned away towards his lap moving the can back to the floor.
“For what it’s worth, I was sorry to hear about the hard time the media was giving you and your fiancé.” Iwaizumi attempted.
Ushijima seemed surprised by this but managed to recompose himself quickly and return to his default expression.
“You cannot please everyone Iwaizumi.” He said shaking his head, “There will always be those who feel you’ve let them down and others that you yourself believe you have let down. However, being weighed down by the thoughts and concerns of others is just living in fear. Neither Tendou nor myself believe much in letting that fear control us.”
“Wise words.” Iwaizumi said jabbing lightly at the formal and philosophical way Ushijima spoke.
If he noticed the teasing in Iwaizumi’s voice, however, he said nothing.
“Will he be with you at the memorial tomorrow?” Iwaizumi asked.
“He will. Our tour schedule got disrupted by the investigation and as soon as it was announced that there was a connection to me and to Shiratorizawa, Tendou got on a plane and flew back for support.”
“Must be difficult living so far apart.” Iwaizumi guessed, remembering that Tendou had been living in Paris.
“My work with the Japanese National Team requires that I travel frequently and practice at strange hours. A traditional rigid sort of arrangement would never have worked and I was lucky that the man I love was not a traditional rigid sort of person.” Ushijima said with a proud little sparkle in his eye. “We never thought it would be easy, we never expected that everyone would approve or even that everyone would understand, but it was still worth it to us since now we can be together out in the open with nothing else to fear.”
“Sounds nice.” Iwaizumi said softly tucking his head back into his chest.
Part of him couldn’t help but think about his last day with Oikawa. How he had run away from his chance to be honest, how he had let his fear hold him back. He had learned from that mistake and been bolder, and stronger with Rei, and yet deep down he still worried that Oikawa had died not knowing how much he was loved.
Ushiwaka nodded and seeing how low Iwaizumi’s mood was sinking, he began to move towards the door.
“I’ll give you some space to rest as your parents suggested.” He offered, backing away. “I’ll see you tomorrow but, before I go, I just wanted to say again that I am sorry for what happened and that if there is ever anything I can do to help, you only need to ask.”
“Thanks.”
The door closed behind him and Iwaizumi sat alone in his childhood home now knowing a terrible truth that was beginning to feel like death itself.
—Rei’s POV—
Iwaizumi had been gone for almost an hour and Rei was starting to feel the damp cold seeping into his bones. His seat from beside the garden shed obscured his view of inside the house but at one point he heard voices talking and what sounded like Iwaizumi yelling in incredible pain.
At this, his heart felt like it would burst open.
Still, Rei knew better than to barge in during a meeting like this. If nothing else, he could imagine that his appearance might shock more than one member of the Iwaizumi family after receiving whatever update they were getting inside. From the voices and the screaming, it was not difficult to understand that the update was not good news.
Sometime after he had first heard the shouting from inside, the front door opened on the other side of the house and Rei could make out three figures walking away and getting into a police car. One was dressed in a dark officer’s uniform and the other two were an older man and woman that Rei figured must have been Iwaizumi’s parents.
Rei caught a glimpse of them from behind the shed wall and found himself laughing at the idea of an older grownup Iwaizumi that looked like his parents.
“On the plus side, you’re going to probably age well.” Rei snickered under his voice, before remembering the yelling.
His heart sank back down.
The car pulled out of the driveway.
Concerned for Iwaizumi, Rei wanted immediately to run inside and talk to him, comfort him, give him whatever he needed in this moment but his more cautious side told him to wait. His parents may come back, someone could walk by, anything could happen that might draw more attention and complicate an already delicate situation.
So Rei sat and waiting watching the leaves blow through the back yard until finally he was satisfied that no one was coming back to the house. The sun was beginning to set and dusk was settling in across the village houses painting everything in a surreal pink and orange mist.
Standing up, he slowly snuck up to the driveway and around to the front of the house. As he slipped past the garage door his eyes caught a glimpse at a bright red sports car still parked out in front of the house.
Was someone still in there? Maybe it was Iwaizumi’s car from before he moved away? Did he have siblings? Rei wasn’t sure what to make of it and hesitated.
Eventually, he decided that it had to be worth the risk just to see Iwaizumi again after whatever he had just learned and he pushed ahead. Part of him too was just as curious about whatever this news had been since admittedly he had become personally invested in it. After everything Iwaizumi had said—even though Rei knew deep down Iwaizumi had probably just been projecting—his apparent resemblance to Oikawa as a definite point of interest to him and he was dying to know more.
Just as he was about to curl his fingers around the door handle and enter the house, he heard a deep low voice from through the door and he stopped. He backed up a few feet and almost immediately the door swung open and a giant of a man walked through the frame. His back was turned as he left the house but as he went to leave, he spun around to face Rei as he closed the door.
The man was a wall of intimidating muscle and dark features. His brown hair was short and neatly cropped around his ears. His eyes were harsh and deep set against his olive skin.
They both froze face-to-face.
The man's eyes were wide and his face turned as white as a sheet. If Rei didn’t know better he would say that the man looked as though he had seen a ghost.
Something about this man immediately sent a shiver up Rei’s spine. It wasn’t just that he was intimidating though, Rei wasn’t sure why but his face went hot and he felt his blood begin to simmer. He was mad. Something about this man, just his face, his presence, was enough to make Rei angry and for the life of him, he didn’t understand why.
“Excuse me.” He said pushing past the giant more rudely than he meant but as forcefully as he needed to to get back to the door.
The man made a squeaking sort of noise as if he was trying to say something but Rei opened the front door and barged in slamming it behind him before he could hear what the brunet had to say.
Once inside, Rei scanned the room and felt his face fall as he saw Iwaizumi sat on his couch woozily beside a trash bin. His face was green with nausea and his eyes seemed hollow and haunted. This was the final confirmation that Rei needed to know that the news was bad.
“Iwa-chan!” He almost yelped running immediately down to the couch and grabbing Iwaizumi’s cold clammy hands.
Iwaizumi looked back up at him slowly, seeming a bit dazed and confused but also incredibly wordlessly sad.
“W-What happened? What did they say?” Rei asked him urgently.
Iwaizumi just looked away and shook his head as if in shame.
“I-It’s… bad news.” He said brokenly.
Now Rei could feel the color in his own face draining out.
He had always known that bad news was probably more likely than good after all these years and yet, just like Iwaizumi, Rei had allowed himself to believe that just maybe the worst had been avoided after all. He felt like an idiot.
Even more confusing and frustrating though, Rei wasn’t sure if he was relieved or hurt to learn this. He cursed himself. That was such a terrible thing to feel and yet he had been so afraid of what it might mean for Iwaizumi and him if Oikawa had been found alive and well. In some way, this just confirmed what Iwaizumi surely already knew and nothing really changed. Right?
However, the pain in Iwaizumi’s face and the disordered shaking in his hands made Rei wilt back. He was being selfish. Iwaizumi had always held greater stakes in this than he had, and so of course even a confirmation of what he knew would hurt all the more after a small glimpse at hope all these years later. The feeling of having the last shreds of hope pulled out from under you was not altogether foreign to Rei. He knew all too well how that felt.
“I’m so sorry Iwa-chan,” Rei said.
Iwaizumi just nodded. There was a conflict in his eyes as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk all about it and spill every detail of what he had heard so that at least he would not be burdened with it alone, or if he was too hurt by it all and wanted to bury it and forget all about it without another word.
“H-He’s dead.” Iwaizumi’s voice cracked as his eyes stared opened and unblinking straight ahead.
Rei realized that this must have been his first time really saying those words out loud to another person.
There was nothing that Rei could think of that would make things better at this moment. He just reached his arms around and pulled Iwaizumi tight into his embrace. As soon as their skin touched, Iwaizumi broke. He grabbed on to Rei’s shoulders and bent his down into the crook of his neck and cried. Softly and silently at first, but quickly becoming wailing sobs of uncontrollable pain that broke Rei’s heart in two.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s over now.” Rei tried to say placing his hand at the back of Iwaizumi’s head.
Iwaizumi just cried louder.
Rei could feel the hot tears melting in through his shirt and Iwaizumi’s hot ragged breath against his chest. His grip on Rei’s shoulder was becoming tighter as if he was terrified of having him ripped away.
“I’m here,” Rei promised him in a whisper. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re both safe here.”
He felt Iwaizumi nod but his body had clearly locked into place crying and he was drowning in his grief.
“H-He was alive,” Iwaizumi choked out. “I failed him again.”
Alive?
“You didn’t fail anyone,” Rei promised, not fully understanding what Iwaizumi was trying to say.
“He was alive! H-He lived that way for 8 years! I c-can’t even imagine what he… what he went through.” Iwaizumi screamed into Rei’s shirt.
Rei swallowed hard. He was starting to piece things together now.
“W-What?” His own hands were shaking now.
Iwaizumi just nodded weakly.
“Iwa…” Rei breathed.
Iwaizumi broke away from the hug and they met each other's eyes.
His face was red from crying and his cheeks were wet from tears. Rei must have looked as shocked as Iwaizumi felt because he stopped and seemed to have a moment that pulled him back into reality. He brought his shirtsleeve up to his face wiping away the traces of his teas and sniffling extra hard just to try and steady his nerves for Rei’s sake.
“Will you stay the night with me?” Iwaizumi pleaded to Rei desperately. “The memorial is in the morning, and after all of…this…I just need someone close. I’m sorry to ask but…”
Rei just leaned back in and wrapped him in a tight hug.
“Of course I will.”
After everything Iwaizumi had done for him, Rei felt that this was the least he could do when Iwaizumi needed him the most.
“I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi said, frowning and pulling his hands down his face stopping the last of his tears.
“Don’t be,” Rei said softly stopping Iwaizumi’s hands.
There was no reason to hide his tears. He was in pain and if crying was his way to let it out, then that was exactly what he needed to do.
“Thank you for everything Rei.” Iwaizumi said, still spaced out and a little unfocused but clearly genuine nonetheless.
“You don’t even need to ask,” Rei promised him back.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.” Iwaizumi admitted.
“Whatever you need to.”
Iwaizumi thought for a second and then glanced outside through his living room window. The dusky light was turning into hazy darkness as night began to settle in between the houses.
“I know it’s still early, but… I think I need to try and sleep.”
Rei nodded.
The first night after a trauma could be one of the hardest. Sleeping on a mental wound was a lot like sleeping on a physical one. It would ache and sting and rolling on it wrong might just wake you in the night; it would likely not be an easy night. Looking at Iwaizumi right now though, seeing how open and vulnerable he was and how much love he needed in the wake of his world turning to ashes, Rei was not afraid of the challenge.
Rei took Iwaizumi’s hand and led him back down a hallway. Rounding a corner, Rei opened the third door on the right into Iwaizumi’s bedroom.
“Lie down, I’ll make some tea.” He said bringing Iwaizumi through the doorway into his old childhood bedroom.
Iwaizumi took a seat on the small twin bed and his true exhaustion began to show. His limbs went limp and his face looked weak and beaten.
“How did you know this one was my room?” Iwaizumi laughed a little beginning to lie back onto the mattress.
Rei stopped. How had he?
“Just a guess.” He answered uneasily.
It was a simple question and yet Rei had known exactly where he was going. He was sure of it. It was almost like a sort of muscle memory as if he had done it time and time again. What was that? How was that possible? A tense unsettled feeling began to harden into Rei’s stomach. He was missing something again and it made him more nervous than he had felt in a while.
Iwaizumi had already begun to close his eyes and just grunted in agreement without really hearing his answer.
Rei tried to smile and began to slip back out of the room towards the kitchen.
“Rei? Iwaizumi’s voice called, stopping him in his tracks.
“Yeah?”
“Just, stay please.” Iwaizumi said softly.
Iwaizumi wanted him here with him. Rei let himself smile and for just a moment every other concern seemed to float away.
Nodding, he turned the light off and closed the door behind him. Slipping into the bed next to Iwaizumi, Rei touched his forehead against Iwaizumi’s and felt his breathing slow until finally, he fell into sleep. |
"Please make yourself at home, but refrain yourself from entering rooms that won't open." You told the girls as the marveled at the living room, it had a vintage vibe that seems to catch everyone's eye.
"Y/N why don't you have any family pictures?" Rose asked.
"My mother is superstitious, she believes that it traps souls. We don't have any pictures, what we do have are paintings and of that like..."
"It looks like a museum..." Marinette's comment made you nod.
"It's an inherited mansion, so we didn't change anything everything is as my great-uncle left it. Now then I'll show you my room, we can order food from there."
"D-do you have a bathroom?" Marinette asked.
"The last door in the left hall." You pointed the way, after seeing Marinette head to the bathroom you escorted the girls to your room. "I'll order some food, I'll be back." You pulled your phone and walked towards your balcony.
Checking your phone, you still couldn't shake Luka's words and his fixation on you. You're just another teen who plays the piano, maybe it was how different the culture was or the way your classmates seemed to always hang out with one and another. You just really missed your solitude, having this many people invested in you struck a chord. A quiet sob emerged from your body, great your stressed caused you to cry.
"That's it!" you muttered to yourself, you called Adrien it was about time he did you a solid.
"Y/N! It's nice of you to call me." Adrien's voice made you smile if you were going to be his confidant he also had to be yours.
"Adrien I need a favor from you, please..." Your voice broke into quiet sobs, all you wanted is to rest.
"Anything for you, tell me what you need!"---------------------------------------------------------------------- "Tikki can you unlock the door?" Marinette asked as she encountered the 6th locked door, this whole mansion was full of rooms that had no access from the outside.
"Marinette you shouldn't do that, what if Y/N finds out? It can jeopardize our mission." Tikki chided her, she was right it was rude of her to ask Tikki to do so.
The 9th door Marinette tried was jammed but still open, she entered an old study that consisted of two levels. She looked over the shelves, there were books she could make the words they were in a different language.
"This place looks lovely, it's like those old romance movies..." Marinette spoke, her voice echoing in the room.
"Even in old romance movies, you need to ask permission to enter rooms that you're not invited to..." A female voice startled Marinette, making her into a vase, causing it to fall and break spilling some ashy substance along the carpet.
The figure walked down the stair, elegance evident in the way she held herself. She looked over Marinette, it held the same gaze Y/N did when she was in the company of others.
"Quite splendid, now great-aunt Catalina is on the floor once more. Did my daughter tell you not to snoop around?" Mrs. L/N spoke as she looked for another container to put the ashes in.
"I'm sorry I didn-"
"Leave now, don't come here again." Your mother's voice was raised.
"Mother, what's wrong?" You asked as you looked at the image before you, ashes on the ground and your mother's annoyed look caused shivers down your back.
"Y/N we have spoken about bringing guests, please refrain from bringing the skittish girl to our home. If your guests continue to behave like this I will need to ground you for the messes they have created."
"I'm sorry for my friend Mrs. L/N, Marinette is really clumsy." Alya tried to pacify your mother, which only caused her to furrow her brows.
"Y/N escort your guests, we need to speak about some personal matters..."
"Yes, mother." You motioned the group to follow down to the entrance gates, you didn't fault your mother for being angry she had the right to be upset.
"Y/N we're really sorry..." Mylene spoke to relieve the awkward air.
"Girls I'm sorry but please don't come to my house anymore, having a big group has caused me trouble and a broken antique. Alix, you're still welcomed but Marinette doesn't set a foot on this house, I asked all of you to follow a simple rule: not to enter locked doors, you broke that rule, therefore, I will not vouch for your actions. Good-bye..."
Returning to the study you looked at your mother as she swept the remaining ashes out of the floor.
"That girl is noisy, don't associate yourself with her." Your mother commanded. "Was that a good act or no?" Her usual persona resurfaced as she threw away the ashes.
"It was a good plan what can I say, I knew she'd look for the nearest door that was unlocked. I still can't trust her..."
"Good, you're finally maturing. Well then, go to Adrien's house to catch a break. Be home by 8 pm for dinner."------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Y/N sounded really sad, I wonder what caused that..." Adrien spoke to Plagg as he set down some snacks the maid brought in.
"If she wanted to come over maybe she has something to tell you..." Plagg teased causing Adrien to blush on what would be the reason for you to call him on the verge of tears.
"Adrien, can I come in?" Your voice was heard from the other side of the door, it resonated with sadness.
"Y/N what's wrong?" Adrien opened the door to find your puffy eyes meeting his emerald ones.
"I got overwhelmed by the girls who wanted to come over, lately I wanted to be by myself. Then Marinette broke an urn of my great-aunt causing my mother to ban having that many friends over..."
Adrien sat you on his sofa and you grabbed a pillow hiding your face from him. A few sobs escaping here and there, he couldn't help but feel his heart shrink at your misfortunes.
The sobs were genuine, they were from stress rather than sadness. The stress of having others near you and wanting to be left alone. It was the first time you had this much contact with people, it felt as if you were walking on eggshells.
Your sobs were interrupted as you felt Adrien pull the pillow away from your face before you could create space his arms enveloped your form, causing your cheek to meet his shoulder.
"Adrien you shouldn't do this..." This was one action you didn't foresee.
"Y/N you've become a dear friend to me, so much so that you help me get out of my house to hang out with other people. It was selfish on my part to see how much anxiety this has caused you, still you pulled through just for me." You felt his hand soften some of the hairs that fell on your face, the softness of his features caused your heart to skip a beat. Your hands meet his, pulling them away from your face and into your lap. There was a pregnant pause before you found the right words.
"You're too nice Adrien, thanks for being my lifeline..." Someone like Adrien was bound to get used, he was so easy to befriend it gave you another reason for him not to get involved in your antics.
"Speaking of lifelines, I got asked to be a model in a music video for Clara Nightingale. And I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."
"Won't it bother your father if we started to hang-out outside of tutoring?"
"Father seems to like you very much, he's been praising me, all thanks to you so it shouldn't be a problem."
You fidgeted with your fingers, being seen with Adrien was bad enough with the amount of press attention he gets regularly.
Adrien saw your hesitation and mentally cursed himself for asking, you were just crying a minute ago of how overwhelmed you were.
"I'll go if it makes you happy its alright." Your thumbs traced circles on his hand as you held them.
"Alright, I still don't know the date for the event. It should be after the music festival."
"Are you going to attend the music festival? If I remember correctly Jagged Stone will be there and you're his fan."
"I don't have permission to go..."
"Well I guess I won't go either, I'm not good with loud noises."
You spent the afternoon with Adrien, talking about many topics. At times the two would play melodies that caused the workers of the house to listen in. At one point Mr. Agreste also peaked in to see what caused his son to play different tunes, only to find the two of you playing silly tunes.
"Ms. L/N it seems like your presence has motivated Adrien to become a better pianist." His tone was a happy one, you gave him a warm smile at his high praise.
"Thank you very much, Adrien is a good student and I'm happy he's finding pleasure in playing the piano."
"It seems that my son benefits from the relationship between you and him, therefore I'd like for you to be his friend. Someone level-headed as you will make sure he doesn't become acquaintances with the wrong crowd."
"I won't disappoint you, sir."
Gabriel left Adrien's room, that man sure did have a presence as he seemed to suck the air of the room as he entered and left. You exhaled your breath that you didn't even know you had.
"Want to shoot some hoops?" Adrien asked.
"Best 4 out of 6 buys the loser dessert!"
This was a nice way to end the most stressful day of your life. |
That day Taehyung had gone to Min&Ko to talk with Yoongi about the job offer for a social worker. Jimin had commented to the omega about them needing someone with social knowledge and Taehyung was happy to have a chance at a new job that wasn't modeling. Yoongi did an interview for him and of course tried to persuade Taehyung into working right then and there, because the older omega was desperate, especially because of those other annoying omegas that wanted counseling aside from a lawyer.
"Thanks again, hyung," Taehyung said with a small bow to the other omega who nodded smiling gummily at him.
"Yeah yeah. I need you to be here tomorrow at 9 please" Yoongi replied getting back to his laptop. "Those frustrating women are coming back with more whining and I swear I'm this close to committing murder," he said showing his index and thumb with nothing left of space really, earning a snicker from Taehyung.
"Don't worry hyung" Taehyung said, the smile still adorning his face. Leaving Yoongi's office and walking to the center where Jimin was.
"Are you on board, Tae?" Jimin asked and Taehyung nodded giving Jimin his thumbs up. The alpha smiled widely at that.
"I will be going then. I need to look for apartments for rent now" Taehyung explained putting away his things into his bag.
Jimin blinked tilting his head, a bit confused. "You don't want to live with Jin hyung anymore? Did you two fight again?"
"No, it's nothing like that" the omega replied while he put on his black coat upon his grey knitted turtleneck sweater, fixing his hair. "I need my own place"
"If you are okay with having a roommate you can come to live with me" Jimin offered sincerely, Taehyung cocked an eyebrow looking at his friend. "I'm serious, it'll be more affordable for me to share the rent with someone"
"What about you and Yoongi?"
Jimin looked uncomfortable for a moment but he was fast to smile again. "Hyung is dating Lalisa so it was a bit uncomfortable for me staying there..." he explained with a low tone of voice, hoping that Yoongi wouldn't hear.
Taehyung looked shocked. "He's dating Lalisa? That alpha girl of our biology class?" he asked lowering his voice ten octaves below and Jimin nodded. "The girl who is friends with Jeongguk?" he asked again and Jimin rolled his eyes nodding. "The girl..."
"Yes, Tae! That girl! Stop it" Jimin whispered-shout, earning a wide smirk from Taehyung. "Don't look at me like that..." the alpha muttered blushing lightly.
"You're jealous" The teasing smirk on Taehyung's face was still there.
"Shh! Yoongi's right there!" Jimin whispered a shout again, his face redden than before and doing frantic signs with his arms. Taehyung giggled at his flustered friend.
"Fine, I'll text you later," the blonde said walking towards the door. "I'm a very good roommate by the way"
"I bet you are," the small alpha said rolling his eyes again, watching the blonde leaving waving his hand. "Ugh, male omegas will be the death of me"
----------------------------
Taehyung felt like things were coming to place slowly. He was considering being roommates with Jimin, as long as the alpha didn't cross the friend zone line they would work just fine. And as for work, he was excitedly expecting to start working on Min&Ko. At least in there, Yoongi was the boss and also a male omega so Taehyung wouldn't worry about sexual harassment, genotype payment gap, and work-life balance. Because Taehyung suffered from all of those when he was doing his practice work back in Japan and it was humiliating and at the same time, terrifying. The payment was good, at least to rent something affordable and to take care of his fees.
With all those thoughts in his head, the omega exited the elevator walking towards the entrance in the hall of the building, wishing to share his good news with someone special and he couldn't help but to feel the longing. Taehyung even thought he was imagining scents for that longing when he caught the smell of musk wood and bergamot, so citric and sweet and masculine at the same time. But it was too real, and it had been too long since he smelt that scent, sniffing the air he froze when he looked at that entrance of the hall, all the warmness of his body leaving it cold and aching.
Jeon Jeongguk was walking inside the building with a dominant stance and an intimidating stare. And among all the people going in and going out, Jeongguk still managed to stand out. And it was obvious how people stole stares at the pure-blood alpha, and he didn't even notice. Taehyung freaked out, he completely panicked by seeing Jeongguk walking towards the elevator he just came out from, and before he could think things over properly the omega was crouched down escaping from the alpha.
Taehyung didn't care about the weird stares people around were giving him. If he needed to crawl on all fours towards the big pillar to hide from Jeongguk he was going to do it. Yeah, Taehyung may be more mature now, but his anti-conflict instinct still kicks in every time he found himself in a difficult situation.
And when he managed to hide properly, letting out heavy breaths of relief, a hand clutching his chest feeling how fast his heart was beating. It felt strange, to feel his heart beating again like this. He felt his heart fill with love beats again, trying to knit the strings between him and Jeongguk all over again. But that feeling was becoming overwhelming for Taehyung. He was having trouble breathing with every hard pound in his chest. And when the omega saw a blind spot, he took the opportunity to escape from the situation when a bunch of people exited one of the elevators once again. He sneaked among them, trying to crouch down again, hating being tall and blonde at that moment, but he knew the suppressants minimized his scent, so Jeongguk probably wouldn't be able to pick his fragrance so well.
Once Taehyung found himself outside, he was able to take steady breaths again, his heartbeat slowing down. He felt like a coward all over again but he just wasn't ready to face Jeongguk. Not yet. So he walked away from that building, thinking the alpha was probably at Min&Ko already. He walked until he felt safe again, inhaling heavily and feeling his pounding heart easing down. That was until the scent of musk wood and bergamot invaded his senses again, like striking lighting. And this time it was so close it was making him dazed.
The omega closed his eyes for a brief moment, turning around to follow the alluring aroma. That scent used to drive him crazy and make him safe at the same time. When he opened his grey eyes the sight of Jeongguk standing not so far from him felt like a knock on his stomach taking his breath away. And his heart did a funny thing inside. Taehyung was positive his heart was doing the tango while the butterflies in his stomach were dancing to the tune. A funny feeling after so long of being unemotional.
"Taehyung..." Jeongguk said with a husky tone, almost to himself. But Taehyung was able to hear him loud and clear.
Taehyung waited for Jeongguk to lunge forwards, to scream at him and get furious at him. But the alpha wasn't moving. He looked paralyzed like time had stopped working for him. The omega took a deep breath, he had to do it, he had to face him. So he walked closer to Jeongguk, furrowing his eyebrows when he saw the alpha backing off like he was scared of him.
"Jeongguk," the omega said with a soft voice, but that voice seemed to hurt Jeongguk to the core. The alpha flinched at hearing him, and that made Taehyung feel another pang in his heart. But he couldn't blame him. After all, he was heartbroken. "Hi..."
Taehyung was positive he saw one of Jeongguk's eyes twitching after hearing a 'hi' from him. But the alpha was fast to recover himself, now a deep frown displayed on his face. And after a while of tense silence, the alpha spoke. "Why are you back?"
Taehyung pouted lightly, his eyes searching the sparks that used to live in Jeongguk's eyes. They were gone, along with the bunny smile. And Taehyung wonder if his own eyes looked as dull and void as his. "I miss... I miss my home" the omega said and saw how Jeongguk flinched again at hearing his voice. "It was time for me to come back..."
"Why? You should have stayed there" Jeongguk spat back, a hint of pain in his voice. Pain and anger, are a dangerous combination.
Another pang in Taehyung's heart but he thought he deserved it. He deserved Jeongguk's hate, after all, he was the one responsible for taking away the sparks and the smiles from him. He sighed offering a weak grin at the alpha. "I guess it'd be easier if I did that, huh?" the blonde said softly, and before Jeongguk could answer he spoke again. "Do you want to have a hot chocolate with me?" the blonde asked but Jeongguk was frowning even deeper, not answering. "Please? It's cold in here..."
-------------------------
Taehyung and Jeongguk were sitting inside a small coffee shop after that. Taehyung tried to ease the tension between them while Jeongguk looked constipated. The alpha was strained and anxious, avoiding at all costs looking at Taehyung directly into his eyes. Taehyung internally laugh at himself, he thought he was the one panicking the most, hiding and acting like a freak earlier, but in the end, Jeongguk was the same or even worst than him.
"So how you've been?" Taehyung asked, breaking the silence.
Jeongguk scoffed, ignoring his black and sugarless coffee on the table. "Do you even care?"
"I do care..." the omega replied hating how difficult it was to talk with his ex-boyfriend now. "I know you are doing good... Namjoon kept me updated from time to time"
Jeongguk frowned again, at this point the alpha was going to get wrinkles. "Do you ask about me?" he wonder, and Taehyung nodded startled. "Why? Why do you care?"
"Jeongguk..." the blonde began to say, leaving his mug of hot chocolate on the table. "I'm sorry"
"You always said that, huh?" the alpha scoffed again with a mocking grin. A grin that disappeared as fast as it came. "You're always sorry" he spat with anger in his words, standing up abruptly, making Taehyung flinch. "You broke my heart. I don't want to see you ever again" the alpha said, pain written on his handsome features as he left the coffee shop with firm and quick steps, leaving Taehyung all alone.
"I definitely deserved that" the omega muttered to himself, looking at the empty seat where his ex-boyfriend was previously sitting. His enchanting musky scent still lingers around. Having your soulmate rejected you felt cold again, but after the pain, Taehyung felt three years ago this was nothing. But a heart can heal. And he was prepared to heal Jeongguk's heart.
--------------------
Jeongguk was angry. He was so angry and so frustrated he didn't know why tears kept running down his cheeks while he kept driving toward his apartment. His reunion with Min&Ko was forgotten, as well as his boxing practice. All he wanted to do was to crawl into his bed and sleep. The alpha kept cleaning those tears, he didn't even feel emotions anymore then why tears appeared? Jeongguk didn't understand. He felt weak, Taehyung made him weak. Why? Why Taehyung had to come back at that very moment?
Taehyung...
"Fuck" Jeongguk muttered to himself, roughly ruffling his hair.
For the past three years, Jeongguk tried his best to avoid mentioning Taehyung's name, as well as thinking about the omega. He erased all their pictures together to try and forget about his face. He wanted to forget about the lines and curves that made that beautiful face. He tried to forget that voice too, that deep and sweet like honey voice. He wished of meeting Taehyung again, but this time finding him smelly and ugly. But that was delusional of him because the male omega was so fucking beautiful, and he smelt like heaven for him.
The alpha smacked his face against the steering wheel a few times before exiting the car with a stoic look. Growling at anyone who dared to look at him, keeping the 'mask' on. Once in his apartment, Jeongguk typed his code on the electronic door and was welcomed by the familiar sight of his black cat, Nochu. The cat looked at him briefly, ignored him, and went back to sleep. Jeongguk rolled his eyes, yeah Nochu didn't give a damn and he was very lazy.
Usually, Jeongguk would pet his cat for a while, re-fill the cat feeder dispenser and put his coffee machine on, but at that moment he went straight to his room throwing himself upon the bed. He turned his phone off and started flipping on the bed in a rather childish tantrum. Nochu followed him looking at his owner with a serious expression. Jeongguk looked at the feline grumpily.
"What? Don't judge me. I'm older than you" He said going back to toss around the bed frustrated.
Once Jeongguk calmed down, Nochu lay down next to him while the alpha was looking at the ceiling, limbs sprayed on the bed, brain not working properly. Thoughts of Taehyung kept invading his mind. So Jeongguk did what he does when he feels miserable. From the night tablet at the side of the bed, he picked up a box, opening and revealing a colorful scarf with pompons at the edges. Taehyung's scarf. The alpha took it wrapping it around himself, it still had the fading lingering scent of the omega. And Jeongguk used it every time he feels like dying.
He cuddled with the scarf and Nochu like a kid, he was in the safety of his apartment after all. No one could see him in there, no one would know. He could be himself for once, emotions on or off, it didn't matter anymore.
---------------------------------
"Happy birthday Jin!" they chanted in unison when the older omega appeared in the house, with a loud yelp and big eyes by the surprise.
Namjoon was holding a homemade cake, Haerim was with three pretty birthday balloons, and Taehyung placed a big hat that looked like a cake on Jin's head. And Jimin, Hoseok, Yoongi, and Lalisa were wearing flamboyant birthday cone hats. The living room and open kitchen were decorated with pink balloons and sparkling serpentines.
"Oh my god, you almost gave me a heart attack" Jin complained placing a hand on his beating heart but he smiled fondly at his family and friends. "Thank you... I didn't know you guys were coming" the omega said looking at Yoongi with his girlfriend and at Hoseok.
"Taehyung promised us free food," Lalisa said cheerfully, not noticing the look Jimin was giving her.
"Hyung you're the birthday boy today so we'll serve the food," Jimin said pulling Jin towards the table to make him sit on a chair. "Haerim and I prepared delicious food"
"We stole the pastries from the coffee shop though," Taehyung said smiling widely at Jin.
"Thank you, guys. I feel so loved" Jin said grinning at his surroundings, a happy and warm feeling in his heart.
"Let's sing happy birthday so we can eat," Namjoon said placing the cake on the table. Jimin was the one in charge of the candles and decoration and once he was all set, they started singing to Jin with cheeky moves and high-pitched voices.
A couple of hours later and the house was a mess. It was incredible how grown men were behaving like kids. Screams and cheers were filling the room while most of them were having a heated round of Mario kart on Jin's Nintendo Switch. Mostly Jin, Jimin, Hoseok, and Lalisa while Haerim was watching them begging for them to let her play (they didn't). In the meantime, Yoongi was almost sleeping on a couch complaining because he ate too much food. Taehyung and Namjoon were chatting sitting on the stools on the kitchen counter.
"Ha! I'm unbeatable, bitches" Seokjin yelled standing up with a wide grin from the sofa, looking at the flat screen where his character rose gold Peach was celebrating.
"Dad! Language!" his daughter accused looking rather scared of seeing her dad so hyperventilated.
"Sorry sweetie" Jin replied patting the girl's head and sitting again.
"Not fair, another round! Jin hyung threw me a red shell at the last minute!" Hoseok whined stomping his feet on the floor like a child.
"I was waiting for the right time to do it" Jin smirked at Hoseok, who kept pouting and sulking in his seat.
"At least I beat Lisa" Jimin snickered putting his hands on the back of his head with a triumphant smile. But the alpha girl glared at him crossing her arms against her chest, unamused.
"You just got lucky. Hobi's Toad ran me over" the alpha female said with a challenging look on her face.
"I still beat you" Jimin replied glaring back at her.
"I bet you can't beat me on a dance battle," the chestnut-haired girl said smirking, blinking her big eyes and cocking her eyebrows.
Jimin frowned standing near the girl. "Are you challenging me little girl?" the alpha asked crossing his arms against his chest.
"You're like five centimeters taller than me" Lalisa replied rolling her eyes.
"Oooooh" Hobi teased in an overdramatic way.
"Let's bet on them," Jin said chuckling at them.
"Good idea" Hoseok responded sitting next to Jin, watching the duo bickering.
"I'm on Jimin's side" Jin declared handing them his 'Just Dance' game.
"Then I'm Lalisa's side" Hoseok beamed, excited to see them dancing. "But what about Yoongi?" the beta asked innocently, knowing Yoongi would probably want to bury himself deeper in the couch and just let it swallow him.
"Baby you're betting for me, right?" Lalisa asked, smiling cutely at her boyfriend.
"No way in hell" Jimin intervened before Yoongi could reply. "Yoongi will bet for me, he knows my charms," the alpha said with a firm voice, confident and staring at the male omega with his cute eye smile.
"Well, he knows my charms too" Lalisa spat winking at the male omega who was staring at both of them with an indecipherable look, his ears red and a very light blush on his pale cheeks.
"I'm a better dancer" Jimin declared already stretching his limbs after taking off his jacket, staying in his tight-fit long sleeve black shirt, complementing his figure.
"Says who? Have you seen me dancing?" Lalisa snapped again, also taking off her bomber jacket, showing her lean body on a cargo long-sleeve bodysuit, accentuating her waist against her baggy jeans. The girl grinned at the alpha eyeing her while she stretched her long legs.
Jimin rolled his eyes, confident in his own body and dancing skills. "Yoongi will be the judge then," he said throwing daggers with his eyes at the female alpha.
"I agree" Lalisa replied, also throwing deadly daggers with her eyes at the male alpha.
"Oh my god... somebody, kill me please," Yoongi said huskily, covering his face with one of Jin's cushions, wishing to be on his comfy bed, alone.
Taehyung just watched them, snickering at their silliness, his grey eyes showing a bit of excitement. Namjoon looked at him taking a sip of his cup of tea. "Why don't you go and play with them?" he asked, voice gentle and calm.
"I don't feel like it..." Taehyung replied with a weak smile. "You should go and have fun with them"
"I'm tired" Namjoon replied shaking his head. "It's been crazy on the Labs... with the massive suicide thing the media keep harassing the company"
Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows. "They won't stop until Jeongguk speaks with the media probably," the omega said lowering his tone of voice, making the sound of Jeongguk's name forbidden.
"He was supposed to do it today, but he didn't come to work... and his phone is off" the alpha answered shaking his head and looking at Taehyung who gulped blinking his big eyes. "What?"
Taehyung sighed fidgeting with his sweater paws. "I kind of... saw him yesterday," the omega said looking down at his hands. "Maybe seeing me troubled him. It's all my fault..." he lifted his gaze to look at Namjoon expecting a scold from the alpha or something similar, but he was just looking back at Taehyung with nothing but kindness.
Namjoon smiled. "It was unavoidable for you two to meet again, Tae," he said reaching Taehyung and patting his head, messing his blonde hair. "It's not your fault. I hope you two can resolve your problems" he genuinely said earning a soft smile from Taehyung.
"Do you think he'll forgive me?" the omega asked softly.
"The question is... are you prepared to fight for him?" Namjoon said sounding dead serious, taking Taehyung by surprise with the question. "You have to face your feelings and make a decision Taehyung"
The omega stayed silent, thinking about Jeongguk. Remembering the last moments together, the things they said to each other. It was all painful and heartbreaking.
"I love you...Please tell me you love me too..." Jeongguk begged to breathe heavily against Taehyung's skin, cleaning the tears of the omega with his thumbs trying to reach his lips...
"Stop..."
"But you're mine"
"Go away Jeongguk... This was never meant to be..."
Remembering those words left Taehyung with a shattered feeling inside. For the universe, they were meant to be, but the world surrounding them was really against them. Could it be different this time? There was only one thing Taehyung was sure of this time. He wasn't scared anymore. He wanted to retract the things he did and said to Jeongguk somehow. Even if that meant to keep fighting his inner demons. And that horrible woman.
"Hey hey" Namjoon interrupted his thoughts. "Don't blame yourself, you did what you thought was the best at the moment" the alpha said knowing perfectly what the omega was thinking, and his tone of voice held so much gentleness that Taehyung wanted to throw himself at him and bear hug him. "You have to know that I got your back, kiddo"
"Thanks hyung... it means a lot" the omega replied, a timid blush adorning his cheeks, feeling much better than before.
"Dad!" Haerim interrupted them with a concerned look. "They won't stop bickering," she said and both males turned around to see the scene happening in the living room.
Jin was laughing loudly, Yoongi looked like he wanted to die, Hoseok was trying to get involved in the dance battle, and Lalisa was having fun while Jimin was angry. And an angry Jimin was a scary Jimin.
"Oh Jimin is pissed off" Taehyung muttered to himself standing up.
Jimin wasn't angry because of his silly jealousy over Yoongi's girlfriend. He was mad because Lalisa was a pretty good dancer and she was giving him a quite good dance battle, and that hit Jimin right in his ego. He was supposed to be the best! Why the girl won't let him win something for once? Jimin growled, he growled.
"Jiminie" Taehyung disrupted them smoothly, eyeing briefly at Yoongi who looked thankful for helping him out of such an uncomfortable situation. "I need to talk to you, bun," he said with his deep mellow voice that he knew Jimin liked so much, releasing some omega-calming pheromones.
It took only that for Jimin to forget his previous anger or his silly jealousy. Yeah, he did have a soft spot for Taehyung. Maybe more than, he used to be in love with him after all. Feelings as strong as those don't go away that easily. And they were soulmates with a 95% matching DNA on the lovegen app. So if Jimin could marry Taehyung he would do it, in a world where Jeongguk wasn't Taehyung's fated soulmate of course...
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Jimin asked once the two of them were away from the living room. The dance battle continues with Lisa, Hoseok, and an overexcited Seokjin.
Taehyung smiled shaking his head. "I wanted to know if your offer of being roommates is still available," the omega asked biting his lower lip.
Jimin instantly beamed at that. Hazel's eyes opened big and his mouth agape just to curl his lips into a huge smile. "Oh yes! I'm so happy Tae!" the alpha said taking Taehyung by his hands and jumping like an excited kid, the scary alpha for a while ago was long gone. "We're going to have so much fun together!" the blonde alpha said, his eye smiling making Taehyung giggle because of his lovely friend.
"Yeah," Taehyung replied returning that pretty smile. "And your first duty as my roommate is to give me your moral support when I tell Jin I'm moving out"
"YOU ARE WHAT?"
Taehyung opened his eyes widely turning around to see his brother looking at him with a shocked expression written on his handsome face. The younger omega gulped awkwardly smiling. "Yeah hi... I'm moving out hyung... I kinda need my independency" he said but Jin didn't reply, he kept on staring at the younger with an unreadable gaze. "I'm going to be twenty-five by the end of the month hyung... I need this"
"I understand" Jin nodded, smiling. A tight smile but he tried at least. "You're all grown up now... you don't need hyungie anymore" he said, and his voice cracked at the last moment. "I need to check some things... so yeah... happy birthday to me..." he laughed awkwardly turning around and going upstairs rather quickly.
"I don't think he's okay" Jimin muttered and Taehyung sighed.
"I'll go talk to him," Taehyung said quickly following his brother to the second floor.
There are many types of siblings. Jin was the over-protective elder brother. He absolutely adores and spoils Taehyung but would not stand anybody who hurts his baby brother. So leaving the nest Jin lovingly built for his brother made him feel unhappy. Perhaps it was the fact that Jin always had to take care of Taehyung since they were kids, and also had to take custody of his brother when their whole family fiasco happened. And Jin knew he was being dramatic, but Taehyung just came back from Japan and now he was leaving their home, to go and live by himself... what if he need food? Or someone to confide in? Or someone to light his little Boo lamp at night?
"It's not like you won't see me ever again," Taehyung said standing by the door of the marital room of Jin and Namjoon. A fond expression on his face.
Seokjin looked at him. Taehyung seemed mature now, a whole man. The little boy afraid of the dark, asking his hyung to turn on the lamp was long gone by now. "I know," Jin said with a sigh, still giving Taehyung his best smile.
"I will probably come to eat your food every day with Jimin," the blonde omega said walking inside the room, closer to Jin. "Jimin lives like three blocks from here," he said with an amused smirk.
Jin smiled back at that. "I know that too"
"You can even make my room your home cinema" the blonde omega offered, already sitting next to Seokjin who rolled his eyes at him.
"Tae your room is the size of a Matchbox" the elder omega replied, chuckling.
Taehyung gasped playfully. "See? I need my own place"
"I know, I just feel nostalgic," Seokjin said, raising his hand to pinch Taehyung's cheek. "I remember when you were a teen... you used to have those horrible nightmares and always came crying to my room and I had to cuddle you while telling you histories until you fell asleep"
"Yeah I missed those times... even when poor Haerim has to sleep in her crib and Namjoon hyung in my room because of me" the omega laughed, remembering he used to have those panic attacks after the nightmares and Jin was the only one who made him feel fine again. "You gave me that lamp of the ghost from Super Mario" he snickered again.
Jin scoffed. "That's Boo for you," he said opening his arms to hug his younger brother. "Come here you annoying little brat"
"I love you hyungie" Taehyung replied, letting his brother shower him with love and overly tight hugs.
"I love you too," the elder omega said with a warm smile on his handsome face, a soft look on his that quickly turned into a scolding one. "And I want dinner here every Friday, is that clear? I want those bread cheeks back"
"Fine" Taehyung smiled nudging his brother on the cheek. "By the way hyungie... I wanted to ask you something. An omega thing" the blonde muttered the last words, his eyes looking at his hands in a shy manner.
"What? Are you going to have a heat? Aren't you on suppressants?!" Jin asked alarmed, hand instantly reaching to Taehyung's forehead, sensing the temperature. "You're burning!"
"What? No! That's not it... I'm on suppressants..." Taehyung whined slapping Jin's hand away from his forehead, pouting. "It's about those meds actually..." he began to say looking at Jin who was staring back at him expecting to continue. "I've been feeling weird lately. I get dizzy when I move too fast and I get headaches often...also I have these flash heats on my face..."
Jin frowned checking on his brother's temperature one more time. "It's not fever... it must be something hormonal... I'm going to call my omegacologist and ask for an appointment for you tomorrow, okay?"
"Thanks" Taehyung smiled letting Jin pat his head and play a bit with his soft blonde locks of hair. He didn't like people touching his hair, but this time he could make an exception for his brother, enjoying the whole-hearted affection. It was good to be back.
|
It was a company party. It was quite lavish. They had hired a dance band, caterer, and a full bar. It was mandatory that all employees attend. My wife and I had arrived early planning to be seen and then disappear early.
We enjoyed some food and had a couple of drinks. We danced a few times and I danced with my boss's wife while he danced with mine. After that I figured we had made our attendance known and could safely leave.
We were both feeling a little romantic. It was the right time of the month for her to get pregnant and we had planned to rush home and enjoy making a baby.
The drinks had made me even hornier and I decided we didn't need to wait until we got home. I pulled my wife down a darkened hallway into a small alcove near the CEO's office. I hugged her and we kissed. The music came to us softly from a distance. We moved slowly to the music, more swaying rather than dancing.
We both knew no one could see us. It was so dark we could just barely make out each other. I could see the glow in her eyes as she realized we could make love right here and no one would know. I could feel her heartbeat accelerate even as my own did.
I moved my hands down over her ass, cupping her cheeks and pulling her tight to me. She slowly ground her pussy against my growing cock. I was watching the passion surging in her eyes as we kissed, when I suddenly felt another body press against her ass. At the same time a pair of hands slid between us molding themselves over her breasts.
Her eyes flew wide in alarm. I was surprised but, strangely, not overly worried. Then I looked into her eyes.
The shock and fear in her eyes stirred a hidden, animal desire in me.
It felt like I had the wind knocked out of me. I was having a hard time breathing.
But for some reason my cock became harder than ever before. She stood still, afraid to move.
I softly bit her lips and then licked them. I opened my mouth and enclosed her lips in mine. I sucked on her lips as I continued to lick them. Her eyes still stared at me in fear, but I could also see the passion returning.
I don't know what came over me, but the fear in her eyes just made me hotter. I lusted for her fear. It was almost like I was raping her.
I could feel his erection pressing against my hands and her ass at the same time as I felt his hands between us squeezing her breasts. As I moved my hands from her ass I could feel him press his cock tighter to her.
His dark face came into my view as he leaned down and bit her shoulder and neck.
She moaned softly into my hungry mouth as he manhandled her breasts. The combination of her fear and passion were driving me wild. I was becoming a lust crazed animal.
I ran my hands up her arms to her shoulders and then lowered the thin straps holding her top up. As her top fell over the stranger's hands he grabbed it and pulled it down to her waist, exposing her white breasts. Her hard nipples stood out proudly, defying her attacker.
My knees got weak as I saw his black hands cover her white tits and squeeze them, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. She whimpered softly as he cruelly pinched her hard nipples.
I rubbed my hands down her arms and then onto her hips and down her legs as far as I could reach. I took her skirt between my fingers and started slowly raising it.
I covered her mouth again with mine. Her sweet breath was blowing hotly in my mouth as I raised her skirt to her waist.
I put my hands over our unknown black lover's hands and pushed them down to her hips. As he held her hips in place I pulled her head down with me as I knelt in front of her. I was on my knees with my lovely wife bent over at the waist, our mouths locked together.
I reached out and ripped her panties down her legs. With the strength of a wild animal I tore her panties apart like they were paper. Hot tears of fear and passion were flowing from her eyes and burning a trail across my face.
Driven by lust I reached between their bodies and unfastened his pants. I pulled them open and lowered them enough for his manhood to be freed.
We were all frozen in place, waiting for something to happen. Then, I couldn't wait any longer. It was time for me to rape her. For the first time in my life I grasped another man's cock. I guided him into my wife's pussy. A moan escaped from her as the head of his cock found the entrance to her being.
He thrust all the way into her. Our lips were bruised as he drove us together.
I could feel her thrusting back to meet her rapist's thrusts.
I could hear his black thighs slapping against her white flesh as they drove together in their frantic fucking.
In just a few moments she screamed into my mouth as she experienced a violent orgasm.
Neither of them slowed their heated fucking.
I continued to hold her mouth in mine, feeling the breath being driven out of her body by the violence of their fucking. Her eyes held mine with their fear and passion.
A second scream filled my mouth as another orgasm crashed through her body.
Still, their bodies slammed together.
Suddenly, a low growl came from the black stranger as he buried his cock in my wife for the last time and exploded his cum deep in her womb. Her body trembled as he held her tightly to him and his balls pumped more and more of his fertile sperm in her.
The black rapist vanished.
I pulled her down to the floor and released my own cock.
I quickly drove into her. She whimpered as I fucked her ravaged pussy as hard as I could. She was so hot and wet that I only lasted a couple of minutes before I pumped my load of cum into her already drenched pussy.
I lay on top of her as my cock slowly softened. We lay together with my cock buried in the warmth of her being.
Feeling a cool breeze on my ass it suddenly dawned on me where we were and what had happened.
I helped her up and then helped to straighten her clothes.
I broke out in a cold sweat as we walked out of the party, realizing that in nine months my wife might give birth to a black child.
|
By the time the day of Eala's "surprise" rolls around, you've already completely forgotten about it. You are too busy following the routine you've set up for yourself:
Wake up from a weird dream, usually involving Loki holding you in his arms and begging for forgiveness, get up, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, try not to throw up that breakfast, do your chores, eat lunch, take a nap, eat dinner, and sleep.
If anyone disrupts your routine, you are usually put into a foul mood, or you just become so frustrated, you start crying. The nap and the few self-induced orgasms are your favorite parts of the day. Your least favorite, are Loki.
"Put the wine down, then change my sheets."
"Yes, my king!"
He doesn't even glance up at Eala when she puts the tray on the end of his desk.
You're sitting in front of his wardrobe, polishing the brass pieces of his armor. Loki is at his desk, brow furrowed, his quill traveling quickly across a page. Eala is walking over to his bed, giving you a wink, before she begins to strip the sheets off. You don't want to think about what he did on that bed to require it being changed at this hour of the night. It's late. The only light in the room comes from a candle flame on his desk and the light of the moon.
You should be sleeping right now. Of course, Loki doesn't care one bit about your comfort, as was evident when he called you and another servant in to bring him a drink and clean some things up. Eala had immediately volunteered, sparing Rika the trouble of going with you. Now you're stuck scrubbing blood off his armor while Eala changes his sheets.
You are tired. Your eyes glaze over, and the brush you're using to clean away the blood has been scrubbing at the same spot for over a minute now. You're just too exhausted to move it.
You glance over at Eala, and see that she's watching Loki. Loki is still writing furiously, occasionally dipping the quill into the ink pot or leaning back to wipe at his brow and stretch his fingers. He still hasn't even touched his wine. It must be important work.
You turn back to the piece of armor you're supposed to be cleaning. Okay, just power through. The quicker you get done, the sooner you can go to bed. If Loki lets you, that is.
The minutes pass, and you make slow, but steady progress. It's hard to stay awake, and soon you are close to nodding off, when a loud snap startles you awake.
You look to Loki and hear him cursing, holding up his broken quill. He must have pressed too hard and broken the nib. Maybe he is getting tired, too.
In his anger, he throws the broken quill against the wall, causing ink to splatter everywhere. You hope you don't have to clean that up. Then he begins rummaging through his drawers, cursing again when he comes back empty handed. He leans back in his chair, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. In the dual light of the warm candle and the cold moon, you make out ink stains on his right hand. He really must be tired.
He sighs, and finally takes the goblet, pouring it full. You glance back to Eala, and notice with confusion that she still hasn't fully stripped the bed. She should be halfway done putting on new sheets by now. Why is she staring at Loki with such a deranged smile on her face?
You glance back over to him, wondering in your tired mind what's so interesting that it would distract Eala from her work.
Loki's just swirling around his wine, staring out the window. Nothing unusual.
And then, in a hot flash of panic, everything clicks into place. The promise Eala had made, back when everything was still good between you and Loki. The surprise she spoke of a few days ago. The crazy smile she's wearing.
"Stop!" you scream, causing both Loki and Eala to flinch. "Don't drink that! It's poisoned!"
Loki is staring at you in shock, still not reacting yet, and so you just rush over and knock the goblet from his hand, causing it to spill onto the floor.
You're gasping from the pure adrenaline rushing through your system, still clutching a piece of armor in one hand.
Loki looks down at the goblet, then back at you, and only then does he manage to speak.
"Poisoned?" he asks, his voice soft.
"Yes," you breathe, nodding hard. You wouldn't even be able to explain why you just did that, you just knew in the moment it was the only thing you could do. You glance over at Eala, who is clutching Loki's bed sheet very tightly, an expression of shock, anger, and fear on her face. That same expression is on Loki's face when you look back to him.
"Poisoned," he repeats, slowly rising from his chair to tower over you. His eyes narrow in pure suspicion. "And how would you know that, pet, hm? Were you the one who put it there?"
You take a step back, hastily shaking your head. Your heart is pounding very hard. "No, I... I didn't."
"Then who, pray tell, did?" Loki asks, sounding and looking very menacing as he takes a step toward you.
"I... I don't know," you stammer while backing further away. You don't want Eala to die for this.
"Do you have any proof, then, that there is poison in my drink?" Loki continues interrogating you, sneering now. "Because I don't take kindly to servants spilling my wine onto the floor."
"I... I don't," you admit. "But better safe than sorry, right?"
Loki scoffs and turns back to his desk. He picks the goblet off the floor and pours more wine into it.
"No, don't!" you exclaim, moving forward again.
Loki holds up a single finger to stop you.
"There is a way you could prove your claim," he says. His gaze is compassionless. "Drink it."
You feel a shock of dizziness. "Ah- I..."
Loki's eyes narrow. "Do you want to be punished?" he threatens, holding the goblet out to you.
"N-no," you squeak. You know you can't technically disobey.
"Then drink," he snaps, pushing the cold metal of the goblet to your lips. "If you ever loved me, you will drink this."
You stare into his cruel, green eyes, the eyes you loved so much. The collar is already warning you to obey. Slowly, you nod, reaching up with shaking hands to take the goblet from him.
He pulls away, watching with bitter satisfaction as you hold it to your lips. It feels heavy and cold. The smell of wine fills your nose. Slowly, you begin to tilt it back, until you feel the liquid touch your lips.
"No!" Eala suddenly shrieks, running over at full sprint and knocking both you and the goblet to the floor. Wine splashes onto your face and you cough from the impact.
"I did it!" she confesses, scrambling to her feet. She grabs the pitcher and hurls it at the wall, causing it to shatter in a loud crash, wine running down the wall. "I poisoned it!"
You continue coughing, wiping the lethal drink off your face and getting to your feet. Loki looks surprisingly not surprised.
"Interesting," he says. "What sort of a poison did you use?"
Eala is visibly trembling in fear. "H-Hemlock, my king."
"Hemlock," he repeats. "Interesting."
He walks over to the broken pitcher and slowly, the shards rise off the floor and knit themselves back together. The wine spill disappears, both from the wall and the carpet. You stand next to the terrified Eala, wondering what will happen next.
Finally, Loki turns back to the two of you.
"Were you hoping I die a slow death?" he asks, still perfectly calm. "I must have truly wronged you. Or perhaps you gave me a high dosage to make it quicker? Do you even know what hemlock does, my dear?"
He walks up to Eala and places a hand to her shoulder, talking to her like a teacher talks to his prize pupil. She gulps and squeezes her eyes shut, still shaking.
"I- I read that only a few leaves could kill someone," she stammers. "Of course, I'm not part of the kitchen staff, so I couldn't have ground them into your food, my king. All I could hope for is that I would be able to bring you a drink. I spent months gathering enough of these pesky plants, squeezing out their roots for the most potent poison. I dumped all of it into that pitcher. Surely only a few sips would have been lethal!"
"Indeed," Loki agrees, still sounding strangely friendly. "It would have been. Do you want to know what would have happened to me, had I drunk it?"
Eala forces her eyes open. "I- I'm so sorry, I-"
Loki interrupts her, pulling his arm away.
"My body would have attempted to expel the poison by causing me to vomit under intense pain," he begins, looking at both you and Eala now, as if you both were his students. "At the dosage I assume you put in that wine, that wouldn't have been enough, of course, and the poison would already be taking effect. I would, however, have noticed I was most likely poisoned and called the healers. Not knowing the exact poison, they would then begin to go through the standard procedures of emptying my stomach, but since it can take several hours for someone to die of this, they would have easily saved me once they figured out what it was. Of course, it would have caused me a lot of agony, which I hope would have been enough to sate your lust for vengeance.
"Now, let's pretend I wouldn't have called the healers. Do you know what would have happened then? Namely, how I would have died?"
He pauses, but neither of you say anything. The way he's talking so casually about his murder attempt is extremely unnerving.
"No?" He smiles. "Then let me tell you. Poison hemlock contains a neurotoxin that paralyzes the muscles of the victim. What's fascinating, is that it begins at the very tips of your toes, slowly making its way up your body over the course of several hours, finally reaching your lungs and suffocating you while you lie helpless and paralyzed on the floor. Imagine being all alone somewhere with no one to call for help. A truly terrifying and agonizing death, don't you think?
"The amusing part is that all one must do to survive this, is to find a way to keep breathing until the toxin passes. Artificial respiration is a simple matter for any healer, just as flushing out the digestive tract is.
"Nonetheless, had this worked, I would have lain immobile in bed, increasingly becoming aware of my own demise until I would have eventually drowned, surrounded by the very air that would keep me alive, yet unable to breathe it."
You stare at him, astounded by the fascination he holds for the very poison that could have endangered him. Eala looks guiltier than you could imagine someone looking.
He smiles at her, then, putting his hand back on her shoulder. "If you would like, I could have someone teach you about the chemical in the hemlock plant responsible for paralysis, and how it affects the neural receptors in the muscles. Are you interested in other such poisons? I certainly was, as a child. Chemistry and biology were some of the most interesting subjects I studied. Perhaps you would enjoy them, too?"
Eala still looks terrified, not trusting this kindness. "P-please don't kill me," she begs.
Loki looks taken aback for a moment, then grins like a shark. "Oh, right. You did try to kill me, didn't you?"
Eala squeaks and closes her eyes again. "I'm s-sorry!"
"Hush, now. I know you are. And you will be punished. But not with death. You will empty bed pans, muck out stables, tend to the compost, and then you will be given a private tutor to teach you what you wish to know about chemistry and other poisons. Who knows; perhaps you have potential. What do you think?"
"Th- Thank you, your majesty!" Eala gasps, grabbing his hand and kissing it.
Loki smiles at her. "Off you go now, devious girl. I wish to talk to my heroic savior in private."
Eala nods and hurries from the room.
"You really won't kill her?" you ask, hoping this isn't a trick.
"No," Loki confirms, still smiling. "No harm was done, she regrets it, and I was in desperate need of some entertainment. Besides, I have learned that guilt makes for loyal servants. If she indeed has talent in poison making, perhaps it will pay back to me in the future."
"So that's what you do, huh?" you ask, slightly impressed. "I try to assassinate you, you train me to be your personal assassin. She tries to poison you, you train her to make you poisons. Clever."
"I do seem to attract murderous women," Loki notes with a smile. "Why not make use of them?"
You smile back at him, momentarily forgetting that nothing is right between the two of you, and that he almost made you drink the poisoned wine.
"You saved my life," he says. "I'm not surprised, seeing as you still wear my collar. Regardless, I should thank you. What do you wish for?"
Everything comes crashing back down around you.
"I don't want anything, Loki!" you snap. "Maybe a little break would be great! You almost made me drink that poison! I can't believe it! No, actually, I can. I'm not surprised in the slightest that's how you thank me. You know what? Just leave me alone! You're a horrible, horrible person! That's all I have to say."
You finally drop the piece of armor you've been holding this entire time, and march out of the room.
When you get back to the servants' quarters, where everyone is already sleeping, you just throw yourself on your bed and sob silently into your pillow.
***
The next morning, while trying to put on your uniform, you finally snap.
"I've had it!" you yell, startling a few of the girls. They quickly give you space, whereas Rika comes over to comfort you.
You're tangled in your dress, trying in vain to put it on the rest of the way.
"Look at me!" you wail. "All this stress has made me gain weight! I hate this dress! Absolutely hate it! It's so uncomfortable and now I can't even get it on!"
Rika's eyes move over your body. "Where... Where exactly do you notice the dress being uncomfortable?" she asks.
"I don't know!" you exclaim, throwing your hands up. "Here, I guess." You gesture vaguely over your breasts. They've been awfully sensitive recently. "And here!" The dress has been uncomfortably tight around your hips and abdomen in the recent weeks. Nothing a size up wouldn't fix, but right now, you'll take any opportunity to complain.
"Leave the dress off," Rika says, speaking a little too quickly. "Get back in bed. I'll tell Sigrid you're sick."
You frown. "Why? I'm not sick. Okay, fine, I was overreacting. I'm not actually having a breakdown over my dress. Don't girls normally complain about gaining a little weight?"
Rika's eyes dip down your body again, then back to your face. "Just... sit down. I'll be right back." Before you can say anything, she hurries off.
Alright, then. Whatever.
Sighing, you sit down on your bed, leaving the dress in its half-on half-off state.
You watch the servants one by one leaving the room to eat breakfast, some giving you passing glances, but all too involved in their chatter to linger. You see Rika talking to Sigrid, until the head servant nods and leaves as well. The two of you are alone now.
Your best friend comes over, takes your hand, and sits down next to you.
"Have you... Have you been feeling nauseated lately? Throwing up, even?" she asks carefully.
"Well, yeah," you say with a shrug. "For a while now. I think it's getting better, though. It's just the stress, really."
"How... How long?" Rika asks.
"I don't know." You shrug again. "A month? Maybe longer? Really, I haven't thrown up in quite a while. I'm not sick."
Rika grimaces as if she has a pebble in her shoe. She takes your other hand in hers, too.
"No, you're not sick," she begins, breaking off to grimace again. "Sweetie, I don't know how to tell you this... but-"
You see her lips moving, but the blood rushes so loudly in your ears you can't hear what she's saying. A part of you already seems to know. Already knew the entire time. A part you've done your very best to keep locked away behind thick, thick walls of denial. Because truly, the two words she says to you in that moment, are the worst ones you could have heard right now. |
Senior Year, Graduation
Lance’s POV
“Once again, let’s congratulate our fighter pilots!” Allura’s voice echoed through the stadium, a huge grin on her face.
Lance straightened his back, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face and he leaned back slightly to peer at Keith who was a couple of students down. Keith met his eyes briefly, a small smile on his face.
Lance looked into the never-ending crowd, trying to find his family but he eventually gave up, his attention going back to Allura as she finished her remarks.
“Now, pilots, some of you are graduating with a commander status, some of you have other certifications, and some of you are graduating with only the fighter status but please, be proud of what you have become. Be proud of where you started and where you are now. You are all brilliant minds with unique talents, and every branch of the Garrison welcomes you.”
The crowd erupted into cheers.
“Lance!! Lance!!!!!!” Veronica waved at him, trying to make her way through the dense crowd.
Lance waved his hand back, moving towards her as quickly as he could. “V!” She nearly tackled him once she could, screaming about how proud she was. “Okay, okay I get it.” He pulled away from his sister. “I see you all the time, where are my girls?”
“Here! Here!!” His three youngest sisters emerged from the crowd.
Lance fought down his own tears. He had been able to start talking to them more his junior year but he still hadn't seen them since freshman year. He hugged them tightly. Picking Taylor up and he gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Look how big you all have gotten!”
“They’re growing like bean sprouts.”
Lance looked at the sound of the gruff voice, “hey papa.”
He smiled at him, “hello Commander McClain.”
“Don’t forget he’s a certified translator!” Elena chimed in and Lance ran his hand through her hair.
“You have a lot of titles Lance,” Taylor said as she touched his pins, all three of them shining under the sun.
“I do! I worked very hard for them.”
They talked for a bit longer before Taylor started looking around frantically. “What’s wrong Tay?” Veronica touched her back gently.
“Lance.”
“Yeah, Tay?”
“Where is your boyfriend? Papa said you had a boyfriend.”
Lance felt his face grow hot, he would always get flustered over hearing Keith being called his boyfriend. “He’s around. Probably with his family.”
“I want to meet him!!!” Ana spoke up. “Veronica says he’s pretty.”
Lance glared at his eldest sister “you think my boyfriend is pretty?”
Veronica looked like a deer in headlights, “it’s his eyes okay?”
Lance shrugged his shoulders, he couldn’t argue with that. “Let’s go find them.” He moved Tay so she was sitting on his shoulder. “Look for a grumpy man with black hair and purple eyes!”
It took almost ten minutes for them to locate Keith and his family. They were standing on the outside of the crowd, talking amongst themselves. Keith’s back was to them. Lance slid his sister off his shoulders, rushing the last couple of steps to his lover. He held his pointer finger to his lips as Shiro and Mrs. Shirogane saw him sneaking up behind him; they kept their mouths shut.
“There’s my favorite commander.” He purred into his boyfriend's ear, wrapping his arms around him.
Keith twisted around so they were face to face, “I can say the same thing.” He pressed his lips to his and they pulled apart quickly; remembering how many eyes were on them.
“Oh look at you,” Mrs. Shirogane pulled Lance into a tight hug, her eyes filled with tears. She pulled away, keeping her hands on his arms, “Commander, translator, and fighter pilot, that is a lot of titles.”
“Congratulations Lance,” Mr. Shirogane patted his shoulder, sending him a warm smile.
He grinned at both of them, they had become huge figures in his life since he started dating Keith. He was on better terms with his biological dad but Lance found the parental comfort he was always searching for with the Shiroganes. The first time he messed up and called Mrs. Shirogane ‘Mama’ she cried for almost an hour. She was happy he finally felt comfortable around him.
Someone cleared their throat behind him and Lance glanced at his family. “Oh yeah. These are my younger sisters. Ana, Elena, and Taylor,” he pointed to each one. “Girls, these are Keith’s parents, Misses and Mister Shirogane, and Keith’s older brother Takashi, and of course Keith,” he yanked his boyfriend closer by his hand.
Taylor marched up to Keith, immediately demanding to be picked up; which he cautiously did. “I’m Taylor but you can call me Tay. Lance was right, you are pretty!”
“I uhh….thank you?” Keith said a bit awkwardly.
Pictures were the next order of business, some of just Lance or Keith. Then Lance and Keith, then Shiro and Veronica, and then the parents. The whole ordeal. It was a bit exhausting after a while. But soon Lance and Keith found themselves in a nice restaurant, with all of their family.
Hunk and Pidge joined with their family, taking the entire patio of the restaurant they were in. Lance squeezed Keith’s hand under the table three times; smiling softly when Keith squeezed his hand back.
“So what’s the plan for the future boys?” Mrs. McClain asked as she cut into her meal.
Lance glanced at his boyfriend. Only Shiro and Veronica knew that they had both gotten interviews at this Garrison here. Allura has been promoted all the way up to Admiral after Admiral Sanda was found guilty in the sabotage of the ships that hurt and permanently injured both Commander Jackson and Shirogane.
Her motive was never released to the cadets and was only revealed to a couple of Commanders so no one really knew why. There was some speculation regarding clashing political views or maybe Jackson and Shirogane said the wrong thing but no one really knew.
Allura was able to climb up quickly, being the main pressure for the investigation and she was focusing on expanding this branch of the Garrison. Thus; she needed more commanders and pilots to help teach and run everything.
She personally asked Lance and Keith if they would be interested in a job at her branch.
Keith also got an interview in the Europe branch and a branch in the northern states. Lance got the same but also down in the Southern American branch and a new branch that was being built in Spain. It was absorbing the existing branch there, becoming a bigger base for the entirety of all the branches.
They had talked a bit about where they wanted to be while dodging the topic sitting heavy in the back of their minds. If they ended up at different branches.
“Lance proposed to me junior year so maybe get a job and make it official?” Keith said as he twisted his fork around his noodles.
Lance choked on his drink, “it wasn’t a proper proposal!”
“You did what Lance?!” Veronica borderline screeched, Hunk mirroring the same open jaw, wide eye expression.
Keith looked at him, a playful smirk on his face, “you told me you wanted to build and spend your life with me. That’s a proposal.”
Lance rolled his eyes, “shush it mullet.”
“I don’t have a mullet anymore!” Which wasn’t a lie, his hair was longer and always tied up in a messy bun or low ponytail now.
Lance smirked, “so you admit you had one.”
“Jesus Lance.”
“Stop fighting you two, you’re getting married?!”
They both looked at Keith’s mom who looked like she was about to burst into tears again. Keith squeezed Lance’s hand tighter and Lance laughed. “One day.”
---
“Does it feel real?” Keith mumbled as Lance sat up in their bed. Everyone, excluding Pidge and their family, ended up crashing at a hotel after a bit too many drinks.
“Hm what feels real?” Lance ran his hand through his boyfriend's hair, earning a hum in response.
“Us being graduated?”
“Not yet, but once we do these interviews next week it will.”
“Stay a bit longer?” Keith’s voice was laced with sleep.
“Okay,” Lance began to lay back down but his phone began to vibrate on the desk beside them. He grabbed it, and an unrecognizable number was displayed on the screen. “Hello?”
“Lance.”
He felt his blood go cold and he nearly fell off his bed as he tried to scramble into a standing position.
“Who is it?” Keith asked, a bit more alert now.
Lance didn’t hear him as he stumbled out onto the porch, trying to take deep breaths. Trying to use the mechanisms Coran and Haggar taught him. “Mama.” He said after he shut the glass door behind him. It was a chilly morning but he didn’t register the cold on his skin.
“How was graduation?”
“...it was fine.”
“I would have gone but your father said you wouldn’t want me there.”
Lance didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.
His mother kept going, “your father told me you graduated with three pins, you got more than Veronica! She didn’t graduate as a commander or as a certified translator. I always knew you would do great things and make our family proud.”
“Stop.”
“What?”
Lance shook his head, more to help relieve the adrenaline that was building in his veins. He had wanted to tell her off for years and she opened the door for him too. “You never believed in me. And you certainly don’t get to take credit for my accomplishments. I did this without your help.”
“Is that anyways to talk to your mother?”
He took a shaky breath, “no it’s not. But if you can say I’m no longer your son then I can say you’re no longer my mom.”
“What, so you're just not going to have a mom?! You don’t think you’ll ever need my support? Support only a mother can give?!” Her voice began to rise and he held the phone away from his ear slightly.
“I have someone who fills that role for me, and she loves me unconditionally. When I need to talk to a mom I call her. You don’t even cross my mind anymore.”
“Lance McClain.”
“It’s commander.” He ended the call, squeezing his phone tightly in his hand; borderline shaking.
“You okay?” Keith hesitantly called out from where he stood in the doorway; Lance didn't even hear the door open.
“Yeah.”
“Who was that?” Keith stepped out onto the porch, a blanket wrapped around him.
“Take a guess.”
Keith nodded, staring out into the city. “What did you say to her before you hung up?”
“You need to study your Spanish babe.”
“I’m working on it,” Keith pouted.
Lance pressed a kiss into the side of his head. “She called me ‘Lance McClain’ so I told her ‘It’s Commander,’ and hung up.”
Keith chuckled some before turning to look at him. “You know you’re hot when you stand up for yourself.”
Lance grinned at him, pressing a long kiss to his lips, “saying I should do it more often?”
“Yeah.”
---
A Year Later
Keith’s POV
He chewed on his inner cheek as he made his way back to his office. He was officially annoyed for the week, but thankfully it was Thursday, and tomorrow was filled with advising appointments.
He liked his job, he really did but he had some cadets that tried to make his life difficult every chance they got. He was going to grill Shiro during dinner about how to handle them.
He checked his phone as he walked. Still no text from Lance. He tried to ignore the disappointment that pang in his chest but he knew Lance was busy at his own branch.
Lance was offered a job at every branch he was interviewed for but he picked the Spain branch. It was becoming a massive base and required more translation work, something Lance became fond of over his last two years as a cadet.
This decision was hard on both of them, they didn’t want to leave each other but they both knew Lance would be happier there. They vowed and promised each other to figure out a way to be physically together as soon as they could. But even after a year, they didn't feel any closer to accomplishing that.
“Are you coming to dinner with us Keith?” Ethan’s voice appeared behind him, forcing him to stop walking and turn around.
“Oh, Commander Wright and Commander Jackson.” He fought the urge to salute them.
“Keith, I know you knew us as a cadet but it’s been a year.” Commander Jackson said in a monotone voice, no malicious intent behind it.
“Sorry, force of habit.”
Ethan grinned, “but are you coming with us? Shiro and Matt will be there. Oh! And Allura. And maybe others will join who knows.” Jackson elbowed her colleague and Keith sent her a confused look.
“Yeah…I got to do some things first. Just text me the time and place I’ll be there.”
“Sounds good, see you later Keith!” Ethan grabbed Jackson's hand and yanked them back down the hallway leaving Keith alone.
He continued his way to his office, taking a couple of deep breaths as he dug for his key. He just needed a moment to himself before he attended a rowdy dinner. He loved his colleagues but he still wasn’t great around a bunch of loud people.
He unlocked his door, keeping his eyes on the ground as he shut the door. Resting his head on the wooden material.
“Bad day?”
Keith nearly jumped out of his skin, turning around quickly, nearly making himself dizzy in the motion. “Lance,” he said breathlessly.
His boyfriend smiled back at him, he was sitting on top of his desk, his legs crossed under him. “Hey, baby.”
Keith felt as if he was glued to the floor, “what are you doing here?” His eyes scanned every inch of Lance, he hadn’t seen him in person in almost a year.
“I had the weekend off,” he uncrossed his legs, letting them fall over the desk so he was sitting upright more. “Thought I could give a cute boy a visit.”
“Okay,” Keith was still a bit breathless, and a brief thought crossed his mind that he was hallucinating. He was a bit stressed and hadn’t been sleeping the best. Also, the time zone difference was resulting in him staying up later than he should.
“Just kiss me like you missed me red.”
Keith bolted forward, capturing Lance’s lips in his. They melted together easily, they were a perfect fit for each other. Two souls that were separated in another life that finally reconnected. Keith pulled back some, placing his hands on the other boy's upper thighs, his thumbs moving in a circle over the fabric.
“I have this dinner with my co-workers. I can can-”
“7 pm, the steakhouse on Castle Ave.” Lance gave him another soft kiss. “I made the reservation.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
---
Another Year Later
Lance’s POV
“God I’m going to puke, are you going to puke? I’m going to puke.”
“Just take a deep breath, you’re acting like you’re the one getting married jeez.” Keith rubbed his back softly.
“I basically am! Hunk is my best friend and now he’s marrying Shay and I’m going to throw up. I can't do this!”
“Lance, look at me,” Keith gently placed his hands on his boyfriend's face, tilting his head so they were face to face. “You’re just standing next to Hunk okay? He’s doing all the work.”
“I’m his best man Keith.”
“So be the best man? Sorry I still don’t know what that all intel's.” Keith mumbled out.
“Because you didn’t listen to me on the phone.”
“It was 3 am for me I was tired.”
“Are you guys ready?” Hunk peaked his head into the room, wearing a perfectly fitted white suit with a yellow flower in his vest pocket.
“Ohmygod look at you!” Lance squealed, rushing over to his best friend to fuss over him. “You’re getting married holy shit!”
“Easy Lance,” for once Hunk seemed more put together than everyone else. He never did well under stress. He looked to Keith, “are we going to have to postpone?”
Lance shot up, taking a few deep breaths, “no. Let’s go tie the knot, big man!”
“You’re talking like we’re getting married,” Hunk let Lance pull him out of the room, while Keith followed.
“Well, we did say if we were single by 30 we would get married.”
Hunk laughed, “I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore.”
The wedding was simple, it was at a small venue overlooking a valley. The trees were all in their fall colors and the wedding colors were red, orange, and yellow. The ceremony itself was short, maybe thirty minutes and it was a small wedding; something both Hunk and Shay wanted.
The reception was held in an outdoor venue attached to a cottage. Lance stood in front of a microphone, a glass of red wine in his hand. “It’s crazy that Hunk and I became friends through a pen pal program. Something I almost didn’t do. Buddy, you helped me through highs and lows, you have always been my main man and my biggest supporter.” He held up his glass towards his friend, glancing down at the creased paper in his hand.
He talked about their first phone call, how nervous he was, and the first time they video-chatted. Finding out they were going to attend the Garrison together. How everyone could see how perfectly he and Shay fit together. He spoke from the heart, swallowing down the emotions that crept up as he realized if Keith didn’t find him all those years ago he wouldn’t be here.
Guests slowly left as the night went on until it was the newlyweds, Pidge, Nyma and Rolo, and Keith and Lance. Keith’s head rested on Lance’s chest as they swayed back and forth, soft music playing in the background.
“Are you ready to go home?” Lance whispered between them.
“One more song," Keith mumbled.
Lance nodded, resting the side of his face on his boyfriend's head; holding him tightly as they lazily moved back and forth.
---
Six Months Later
Keith’s POV
“White or cream?”
Keith looked up at his brother, his eyes shifting between the two suits he was holding. “They look the same.”
Shiro frowned, “no they don’t.”
“Yes they do.”
“You’re impossible,” Shiro put the suits back on the hanger, staring at them himself.
“I told you mom should have gone with you today.”
Shiro hummed, his eyes staring at the white suit, “she’s with Lance today.”
“Yeah, they kicked me out.” Keith flopped back on the leather bench he was sitting on. He hated shopping for his own clothes, why did he have to help Shiro? ‘
“You know mom likes spending time with him.”
“Yeah.” Keith tried to shake the pain that formed in his chest. He didn’t have many chances to see Lance, and he was only here for the weekend. He didn’t want to spend the majority of the day without him.
“You seriously don’t have an opinion?”
Keith groaned, “white. You wear white at weddings don’t you? Why couldn’t you make Allura do this with you.”
“Matt asked her first.” Shiro sounded indifferent, his focus still on the material he was holding.
Once the measurements were done, which was another forty-five minutes Keith found himself with a boba tea and Greek food in front of him. “I can’t believe you’re getting married.” He picked at his food with his fork.
“Me either,” Shiro's eyes shine a bit with happiness.
Keith was happy for his brother, and he was happy for Hunk, but he was also jealous. He knew Lance would marry him in a heartbeat but even after two years of trying to transfer closer to each other; it still seemed impossible. Lance was a valued employee at the Spain branch and he received yet another promotion for the work he had been doing.
Keith liked where he was. He was close to home, close to his brother, he finally felt comfortable around the other commanders. He just didn’t have Lance; the one person he needed.
“So are you waiting for Lance to pop the question again or?”
Keith stared at his drink, “we want to be close again.”
“You two have been trying since you graduated though,” Shiro said with a slight frown.
“No need to remind me.”
“Has the distance been hard?” Shiro began to cut into his food.
“It could be worse. We do what we can you know?”
Shiro nodded, “I know you two will be closer again one day.”
Keith nodded, trying to force his mind to believe him.
---
Six Months Later
Lance’s POV
Keith flopped down in the seat next to him, loosening his tie as he did. “I finally see why you were so tense about being Hunk’s best man.”
Lance placed his drink back on the table, wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “But you did so good today.”
Keith nodded, his eyes watching his brother and Matt move across the dance floor. “It was a good wedding.”
“Ours will be better,” Lance pulled him in closer, letting him rest his head on his shoulder.
“So when you and Lance get married will I be indirectly related to him as well?” Pidge appeared behind the two of them.
Lance glanced back at them, his eyes following them as they sat down next to him. “Why, do you not want to be related to me?” He wiggled their eyebrows at them.
“Not really no.”
Lance laughed, “oh Pidge I’m wounded.”
They smirked to themselves, their eyes on their brother. “Well, I’m not worried since neither of you have a ring yet.”
Lance pressed his lips against Keith’s head, his boyfriend borderline dozing off on his shoulder. “One day Pidge, when things fall into place.
It took another year for things to finally fall into place. They had spent three years apart. Three years of phone calls, losing sleep to talk to each other, weekend visits whenever schedules allowed, flying back and forth. Three years of miles and miles between them.
“Commander McClain, did I catch you at a bad time?” Allura's voice joyfully rang through the other end of his phone.
“No, I was just getting ready to head back to my quarters. Butttt,” he leaned back in his chair, “how can I help my favorite admiral?”
Allura chuckled, “well I was actually calling with a job opening.”
Lance fought back a sigh, how many times had he had this conversation with her? “Allura, I’m flattered but you know-”
“Yes you love the work you do there but let me explain. I was given a grant to expand my branch of the Garrison. I want to expand on our language, our ships, where we travel in space, the whole nine yards. And I will need someone in charge of the translator division.”
“Wait a second,” Lance fell forward so the feet of his chairs were on all four again. “That’s a captain's job. I'm just a commander with fancy certifications.”
“Lance, I would make you a captain. Your salary would increase, you would oversee the entire division, and you’d still work with your colleagues in Spain, just from a distance. I have big plans for this branch and I really want your skills.”
I can be with Keith again.
“Oh wow, that’s…that’s exciting.”
“Sleep on it okay? And I haven’t told anyone else so if you decline nobody will know.”
He knew she was silently implying Keith. “Okay.” There was a knock on his door, “Hey I have to go. I’ll get back to you by the end of the week if that’s okay.”
“Sure thing Lance, have a good night.”
He ended the call, “come in.”
Samantha entered his office, a stack of paperwork in her hands, “Commander McClain do you have a second?”
“Yeah come on in,” he gestured to the two chairs that were placed in front of his desk; that was only organized because Keith had visited over the weekend.
She sat down, sitting on the edge of the seat, her legs rapidly moving up and down. Lance watched her for a couple of moments, she never seemed this nervous around him. “You can put your papers down.”
“Oh yeah sorry,” she placed them at the edge of his desk, clasping her hands together on her lap.
“Is everything okay?” Samantha was still his friend, even after he became her “commander” they still hung out, got drinks with other colleagues, had dinner at each other's place, things like that. Despite his slightly higher status, they still worked closely together, translating papers or scripts or blueprints.
“Yes…well no. I wanted to ask you for some advice.”
“Okay…fire away.” He gave her an easy smile, hoping to ease her anxiety.
“I want a promotion!”
Lance flinched a bit at the sudden loudness, “...okay.”
She cleared her throat, sitting up straighter, “I think I would be beneficial to add on as a commander. I have gone above and beyond for every task and I know I didn’t make commander the first time around but I can do it now. I know I can.”
“I think you would be a good fit for a commander. But, even if we promote you, we don’t have any openings at this branch. You would have to be relocated.”
Her gaze lowered, “I know. I don’t want to, my husband and kid are here but, this is something I need.”
“Okay.” Lance scrolled on his laptop, pulling up a request form for a commander test. “Let me print this off, once you fill it out, hand it back to me. I’ll get it taken care of. Then you’ll be contacted for a time and location for your test.” He grabbed the papers from his printer under his desk.
She stood, grabbing the papers excitedly from his hands, “thank you so much!”
“It’s no problem.”
Lance didn’t sleep that night. Keith ended up calling around 8 pm his time, so it was 2 am for Lance. “Hey, handsome.”
“Hey…were you already awake? You usually sound groggier.”
“Yeah, I have a lot of work I’m trying to get done. I was a bit distracted this weekend by this guy I may or may not have a crush on.”
Keith chuckled, “maybe this guy told you to do your work despite his visit.”
“And ignore him? Never.” Lance lay down in his bed, trying to imagine Keith laying next to him. He encouraged Keith to ramble about his day, how midterms went, any promising cadets, boring work stuff mainly.
“How was your day?”
“Oh, same old same old.” Lance looked at the clock, it was just past 3 am, but he knew he couldn’t sleep if he tried. It should be an easy answer, he had been trying to find every reason to come back to his original branch.
So why was he freezing on this decision?
“You sound lost in thought? Is everything okay?”
Lance glanced down at his arm when pain pricked up his wrist, he didn’t even realize he was scratching. He stopped his hand, holding his hand into a fist. “I’m okay.”
“Lance. I know when something is bothering you.” Keith sounded a bit desperate, the distance was starting to run him down. Lance knew he was concerned that he would “find someone better” over in Spain. Lance did his best to assure him because realistically he wouldn’t find anyone better. Keith was the only one he wanted.
“I’m okay, I promise.”
“...Okay. Are you thinking about…?”
“No. I’ve been clean too long to throw it away now.” He could feel his boyfriend relax under his words.
“Okay…you know I’m here if you ever need to talk.”
“I know, baby. Same to you. But I think I’m going to head to bed. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too. Goodnight.” He ended the call after Keith mumbled his own goodnight. He pulled the phone away from his ear just enough to dial another number.
“Lance isn’t it early for you?”
“Sorry for calling so late. I just…need a mom right now.” He twisted the blankets around his fingers, suddenly feeling like a guilty child.
“What’s going on hun?” Mrs. Shiroganes voice was soft, giving him the exact comfort he needed right now.
He took a shaky breath, feeling an overwhelming urge to cry. “I’m confused.”
“Let me help you.”
“Allura called me earlier, she got a grant to expand her branch. She wants to promote me to captain and let me take charge of the entire translator branch. Basically oversee everything.”
“Okay.”
“And it means I can be with Keith again. I can be closer to all of you. But I couldn’t bring myself to say yes when she asked me…I don’t even know why. We’ve been trying to get back to each other for years and a perfect opportunity fell in my lap and I’m scared to do it.”
Mrs. Shirogane was quiet for a bit, clearly processing everything he said. It was something he grew to like about her. She took time to respond, unlike his biological mom, she hardly acted on initial emotion; unless it was positive. She released a breath, “well I think you might be more scared of the additional responsibility. Being a captain comes with a lot more responisbilty and running an entire branch at age 25, that is…well it’s a lot.”
He nodded, it did make sense. He had a lot on his plate now but it was manageable. And if something ever went wrong he went to his own captain who would take the issue from there. Now he would be the one to have to handle the issues his team couldn’t figure out.
“Do you think you’re scared to take your relationship to the next step?”
“No. I want to be with Keith. I have no doubt about that.”
“I know baby, but remember the last time we hung out? Just the two of us?”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t forget that day even if he wanted to. Keith and Shiro were tuxedo shopping, their dad was on a business trip so it was just the two of them. They went shopping, had a fantastic lunch, and just relaxed with each other.
“Well, you said some things that made me wonder if you’re concerned about your place in Keith’s life.”
Lance released an uncomfortable laugh, “I know Keith doesn’t want to leave me.”
“I don’t think he does either but you’re still carrying the weight of your past struggles with you. I know you’re better and your mental health is better but you seem worried that Keith won’t always want to ‘carry you baggage’ as you said all those months ago.”
Lance felt his mouth go dry. She hit the nail on the head; identifying the anxiety he had been dealing with for years but didn’t know how to explain. “You’re right.”
“Don’t tell my son I said this but you two don’t have to get married. It is the traditional next step but it’s not for every relationship. But Lance?”
“Yeah?”
“Keith would do anything for you. If you wanted him to carry the world he would find a way to one-handed to make sure he could still hold your hand.”
A smile formed on Lance’s face as he tried to imagine that image. “You’re right.”
“Can I offer some more motherly advice?”
“Yes.”
“Call Allura tomorrow, and express your concerns about the added responsibilities. If it seems manageable, take the job.”
“Okay I will…thank you.”
“You’re welcome, baby.”
“Oh, no one but you knows about this job offer…I want to keep it that way.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Lance spent the following morning talking to his own admiral about the job offer. He would be sad to see him go but he encouraged Lance to take the position since it would be a long time before another captain position to open up.
Lance told him he would, under one condition, that Samantha get his empty place as commander. He told Lance “consider it done.”
He called Allura toward the afternoon, having told hold his phone away from his ear as she squealed with happiness. They agreed to keep the transfer under wraps and Lance left work early to go look at rings.
He found a set of black bands. One with a ruby band in the middle and another with a sapphire band. After some quick sizing, he put the two boxes in his bag.
After two weeks he was on another flight back home. Home being wherever Keith was. He ended up telling his papa about his new position; who started crying a bit due to how proud he was. It was an emotional phone call for his promotion but also it was revealed that his papa and mama were legally separating.
Apparently, after Lance’s graduation, she had gotten worse toward the younger ones and after three years he finally snapped. He wanted to work it out with her but everything he suggested she shot down. The youngest was staying with him and she kept the house; but through the law's eyes, he had a good chance of getting full custody of them.
Lance was in disbelief for the next day or two. He never would have thought that they would have split but everyone has a breaking point. He was proud of his papa.
“Here you go Captain McClain.” His driver pulled into a driveway, immediately stepping out of the vehicle to get his suitcases out of the trunk. Lance was flabbergasted and he stepped out of the car in awe.
“This is where I’m staying?!”
The driver looked at him, closing the trunk in the process. “Yeah, Admiral Altea did tell you it was a slight upgrade right?”
“Slight?!” It was a whole house. He quickly unlocked the front door still trying to process everything.
The driver put his bags down by him. “Your furniture will be here in a couple of hours. Try to figure out where you want everything.” He handed Lance a blueprint of the house so he could label where everything could go.
“Uhh okay,” Lance stepped into the living room, which connected to a dining space. The kitchen was huge, with stainless steel appliances, and an island with a bar. There was an office space and a full bathroom and upstairs had a master bedroom with a bathroom and two smaller rooms with another full bathroom.
Lance found himself sitting on the stairs, trying to grasp everything. He knew his housing would be better but he wasn’t expecting this.
Allura had sent him a catalog of furniture after he accepted the job; he now understood why she kept telling him to pick more. The movers showed up two hours later, immediately getting to work setting everything up where he marked it. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey, how’s work?”
Lance stared into his living room, watching the two movers take the plastic off his couch. “Interesting.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“Ummm, I got new furniture.”
“Oh send me a picture when you can. Your office looked bland last time I saw it.”
“Well…I didn’t intend to stay there that long.”
“Captain McClain, which desk did you want in your office?” A mover asked him in a slight whisper; clearly not trying to disrupt his phone call.
“Oh the oak one…please.”
“What?” Keith questioned.
“Sorry, the mover was asking me about my desk. Can I call you back when it’s not so crazy here?”
“Yeah…not too late. You need some sleep.”
Lance smiled to himself; Keith was still unaware that they were in the same time zone now. “Yeah don’t worry I won’t.”
---
“The place looks lovely!” Allura walked through each room as Lance opened the bottle of wine she brought as a welcome present.
“Thank you. I mean you bought it.”
She giggled, taking the glass from him. “Are you all settled in?”
“Yeah.”
“Soooooo are you ready for me to announce everything? Tell people who my new captain is!”
“I still haven’t told Keith,” Lance said with a breathy laugh.
“I know,” she groaned. “It has been killing me not to say anything.”
“Well, I appreciate the quietness you’ve been showing. But…could you wait? Till after tonight at least?”
“Sure…what’s special about tonight?”
“Well,” Lance left the kitchen, returning with a small black box. Allura gasped as soon as she saw it.
“No…are you serious?”
Lance nodded, opening the box to show her the ring.
“Lance…this is gorgeous. You’re finally going to ask him properly?!”
“Yeah…but I have something special in mind. If I could get access to it.”
“Say the word and I’ll make it happen!” Allura cheered.
Lance grinned, and began to tell her his plan.
---
Later That Night
Keith’s POV
“You’re still here?” Shiro poked his head into his brother's office.
“Yeah, I have to finish a couple of things before I go back to my place.”
Shiro frowned slightly, “you’ve been burying yourself in work.”
“I like the distraction.”
“...Matt and I are cooking tonight, you’re free to come over if you want some company?”
“Okay,” he didn’t look up from his work.
“Keith.”
“Hm?”
“Can you look at me?”
He reluctantly lifted his eyes. His brother gave him a sad frown, “missing your lover?”
“Yeah,” he glanced back down at his work, “he’s just been…distant. Like we still talk and stuff but he’s so busy with this new project that when we talk he’s focused on that.”
“I’m sorry.”
Keith waved his hand in a ‘whatever’ motion. “I’m going to see if he can come visit soon.”
“Okay.” Shiro turned towards his door, “come over for dinner okay? It’d be good to have you.”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
Shiro left the room, leaving a still quiet behind him. Keith didn’t want to keep working, he wanted to relax, maybe go sit through a dinner with his brother and his husband but the idea of seeing them be cute and happy together made him feel sad.
He hated this part of him but he couldn’t stop the feeling no matter how hard he tried. He was happy for his brother and he liked Matt but he wanted that with Lance. He just wished he was at the point in his life where he could have it.
His phone buzzed beside him and he answered it quickly, “hey babe.”
“Hey, mullet.”
“How was your day?” Keith closed his eyes, preparing to let Lance’s voice soothe him as he rambled about everything and anything.
“Good, really good actually. How was yours?” A low whistle sound made its way through the phone and Keith frowned slightly.
“Are you outside?”
“Oh yeah, kind of windy up here.”
“Why are you outside?”
Lance chuckled slightly, “I wanted to see the stars. Do you remember the night you dragged me out to see the stars?”
Keith smiled to himself, “yeah. You wanted to be rebellious.”
“I am so glad I did. Oh! Is it cloudy there?”
Keith twisted his chair around, looking up at the night sky, “I can’t really tell.”
“Maybe you should go out and check. We can look at the stars together.”
“You want me to go all the way up to the roof to look at the stars?”
“Mhmmmm, it would be romantic.”
Keith laughed softly, “miles and miles away?”
“Just go look!”
Keith pushed himself away from his desk, grabbing his black and gray jacket as he stood. “Okay, I’m heading up now.”
They chatted the entire walk up, Keith rolling his eyes at the password that still hadn’t been changed. He took the stars slowly, letting Lance ramble about how busy he had been for the past couple of days. Insisting that he would have some free time after finals.
“So are you saying you want to come see me over winter break?” Keith asked as he typed in the last passcode, the door clicking open. He pushed the door open.
“Oh baby, I want to see you more than winter break.”
Keith locked eyes with his favorite color in the world. The color he grew to love over time. The color that he wanted to greet him every morning and the last color he wanted to see before he closed his eyes to sleep. The ocean-blue eyes that brought him comfort and safety. Lance’s eyes.
“Hey red.” He grinned, still speaking into the phone.
Keith nearly dropped his phone, somehow he managed to shove it into his pocket as Lance ended the call; freeing his hand just in time to embrace Keith. He ended up lifting Keith off the ground slightly, spinning them for a moment before placing him back down. “I miss you so much.”
Keith grabbed him tighter, only pulling away to snatch a kiss from him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”
Lance smiled softly at him, “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
Lance pressed his lips against his once more, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” Keith looked up to the sky, it wasn’t cloudy. “The sky is clear, just do you know.”
Lance looked up as well, “well would you look at that? I’m glad you were here to tell me.”
Keith pressed the side of his face into his boyfriend's chest, focusing on his heartbeat. “How long are you staying?” He hated asking that question, he hated knowing their time together was limited.
“Well…it kind of depends on one thing.”
“What thing?” Keith pulled himself away to meet his eyes.
Lance swallowed a bit nervously and he shifted his weight between his feet from side to side. “You know I love you right? Like you’re my whole world.”
Keith nodded, trying to stop his heart rate from speeding out of control.
“And I’ve loved you for years. I loved you before I even knew I loved you.”
“Lance-”
“Shh let me finish before I lose my mental place. But when I’m not with you I feel incomplete, like a part of my soul is here with you. When we’re together I feel complete, everything just feels better. And these past three years of being apart, seeing each other for brief visits have been hell.”
Lance swallowed, “and I don’t want to keep being away from you. I want to fall asleep next to you, wake up next to you, and deal with your mood when you come home from a bad day of work. Listen to your good days, let you vent out your bad days, and be there when your dysphoria flares, I want all of them, Keith.”
Lance reached into his jacket pocket, holding out a small box before sinking down onto one knee. Keith swore his heart stopped, he was holding his breath, and the world was still.
“So properly this time, and with the ring you asked for all those years ago,” he opened the box, revealing the ring that shimmered under the stars. “So Keith Kogane, will you do me the honors of marrying me?”
It took Keith a moment for his brain to register that he needed to respond. He shook his head up and down, “yes, yes I’ll marry you.”
Lance beamed at him, taking the ring out of the box to slide it on his left ring finger. It fit perfectly, of course, Lance would remember his ring size. Lance rose from the ground, pulling him in for a fiery kiss.
Keith kissed him back just as hard, his fingers wrapping around Lance’s green jacket that he reluctantly gave back after it stopped smelling like him.
Keith could hear the faint sound of a camera clicking and he tried to quickly turn back; his face flushed with embarrassment.
“It’s just Allura,” Lance whispered, holding him gently, bringing their lips together. “Sorry, I wanted some pictures of this,” Lance mumbled between kisses.
All the embarrassment Keith felt melted away with each kiss and he placed his head on his fiancé's chest. They were officially fiancés. “When are you leaving?” Keith asked again.
“Oh baby, I’m sure you heard Allura hired a new captain by now.”
Keith’s eyes widen, “what?!”
Lance laughed, the sound moving through Keith. “I’m Captain McClain, head of the translator branch for the southern branch.”
Keith pulled his head away again, tears immediately forming in his eyes. Before any tears could fall he yanked him down for a kiss. They were finally together.
---
Three Months Later
He woke up in a dark room, only a little bit of light making its way through the blackout curtains. He rolled onto his back, his hand blindly reaching for Lance. The bed was cold.
He forced his tired limbs to press a switch on his bedside desk, causing the curtains to be pulled to the side and the blinds to be rolled up. He squinted into the bright light that engulfed the room, pushing himself up into a sitting formation.
He was a morning person but he had a mini bachelor party last night consisting of Shiro, Matt, Ethan, Tyler, and Jackson. He didn’t drink enough to feel hungover but enough that he was a bit drunk. Which meant he was out longer than he intended and slept longer than he wanted.
He reached for his phone, grabbing for the piece of paper that was folded up on it. He unfolded it gently, rubbing his eyes a bit before he scanned the paper.
Good Morning!
It’s bad luck to see your fiancé on your wedding day so by the time you read this I’ll already be with Veronica and Allura. Shiro and Matt are already here and they’re supposed to wake you up by 11 so you can get ready in time (aren’t you glad we decided on an evening ceremony??)
Anyways, I hope your party was fun, you stumbled in a bit drunk and it was honestly adorable. But, please tell your drunk self that we are in fact TOGETHER! You wouldn’t let me give you a goodnight kiss because you were “in a relationship,” you almost slept on the floor.
Don’t forget to eat something today, I love you!!!!
See you at the altar,
With love,
Lance (your fiancé <3)
Keith smiled at the letter, re reading it a couple of times before placing it back on his desk. He allowed himself a couple of moments for silence and to stretch before making his way downstairs. He had moved in with Lance almost immediately after their engagement. Allura approved the move almost the moment they stepped into her office with the correct paperwork.
Lance was busy as a captain, some of his days started before the sun came up and he didn’t come home till hours after it set. He had to sit through more meetings and conferences, already had to take two mini business trips with Allura and the other captains. Plus, he was trying to hire people for his division, he didn’t have much free time but he seemed happier.
Keith knew them being physically together was helping his mood.
Their wedding was definitely rushed but it was going to be small and simple. The guest list consisted of Lance’s family (minus his mama obviously), Allura, Hunk, and Shay and their kid, Pidge, Matt and Shiro, and of course Keith’s mom and dad. Coran was going to officiate.
It was being held by a local lake roughly an hour away from the Garrison. The weather was still warm, the plants were vibrant green, and the ceremony was starting in the evening to catch the sunset.
Keith insisted they could postpone the wedding to have Lance’s dream wedding on Varadero beach but Lance insisted back that if they weren't married by the end of the year he would cry. Plus, he knew that Keith didn’t want anything fancy.
They compromised, and after summer break starts and they were free of their obligation they had a reservation for a honeymoon in Cuba.
“There’s the groom!” Shiro grinned at him, sliding him a cup of coffee and a painkiller.
Keith sat on the barstool by the island, “morning.”
“How are you feeling?” Matt questioned as he slide a plate of various breakfast foods on it.
“Ask me when I have to put my tux on,” Keith cut into the pancakes on his plate.
Shiro checked his watch, “okay, like three hours.”
“He looks better than Lance though. Thought he was going to puke as soon as he sat in Allura’s car.” Matt said nonchalantly.
“He can’t be that nervous right?” Keith looked at the two other men, “right?”
They didn’t respond.
---
“Oh baby,” his mom opened the door, tears immediately down her face. “Look at you, hunny look at him.” Her husband walked into the door, clearing his throat a bit.
“You look wonderful son.”
Keith fidgeted a bit, “do I look okay?”
“Yes,” his mother pulled on his jacket some, making sure everything was sitting in the correct place. “I am so happy for you.”
“Mom, the more you cry the more I want to cry.” It wasn’t a lie, the tears were prickling in his eyes.
“Oh please, Lance sobbed when I saw him,” she wiped her eyes again, her husband handing her a fresh tissue.
“Hey, dad?”
“Hm?”
Keith held up his untied bowtie, “could you help me?”
His dad smiled, “of course,” he stepped forward and quickly began to tie the fabric how it needed to be. “So you’re in a black suit with a white shirt and Lance is in a white suit with a black shirt.”
“Yeah.”
“There,” he stepped back, “I think you’re ready.”
Keith looked at himself in the full-length mirror, “ready to puke maybe.”
His parents laughed, “Lance would still marry you even if you did.”
Pictures were next, which was something Keith didn’t mind for once. It was mainly pictures with his family, some with Lance’s sisters, they had gotten a bit closer over the years. Allura wanted some together, along with Hunk, Shay, and Pidge. Keith let himself get dragged around to different locations to pose.
Lance had already had his pictures done so it left one final thing before the ceremony; the first look. They both knew what they were wearing but neither of them had seen the other in their suits yet. Keith was happy Lance suggested the first look for them, he didn’t know how he would handle seeing his soulmate in his tux.
Their first look was going to be done between them, with a photographer being silent in the background. Lance enjoyed having pictures of everything and Keith was going to do everything he could to make sure his fiancé was happy.
He looked down toward the water, admiring how it shimmered under the blue sky. It was silent, except for the wind shaking the leaves slightly. He could hear footsteps behind him and he took a deep breath.
A familiar hand touched his wrist and he turned around, his eyes trying to scan every aspect of Lance at once. “Whoa,” Lance literally took his breath away.
“I could say the same thing about you.” Lance looked him up and down, “holy shit you’re my husband.”
“Not yet.”
“Oh shush, close enough.” They stood there staring at each other for a few minutes, both of them shedding a few tears of happiness. “God I want to kiss you so bad but I will wait till you say ‘I do.”
Keith nodded, “okay. Should we...um?”
Lance nodded, “yeah, it’s almost that time,” he started to walk backward, “damn you look so good!”
Keith tried to ignore the blush that overtook his face. “Just go.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” He made it a couple more feet, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
---
“And now, you each have vows correct?” Coran said, his voice carrying easily over the open space.
They both nodded and Lance dropped one of Keith’s hands to grab a paper from his inner vest pocket. “Okay,” Lance cleared his throat again, “when I first saw you, you blew me away. I couldn’t believe I ended up with such an attractive roommate.”
The crowd chuckled slightly.
“But then you hated me. And I hated you for a bit, well hate is a strong word but we didn't get along at the start. And, I can’t recall exactly when I realized how much I liked you or when I fell in love with you but I fell hard for you. You came into my life like a storm, powerful, unpredictable, but beautiful in its own way.”
“I still remember that night you dragged me onto the rooftop at the Garrison,” he glanced at the crowd, “you really need to change that passcode,” more laughter. His eyes fell back on Keith, “you were so beautiful under the stars. And when you came back from visiting Shiro and we went again I wanted to kiss you. I don’t know if you wanted to kiss me back but I suppose having our first kiss after a Star War marathon is pretty cool too.”
Lance wiped his eyes, “Keith Kogane, you are the love of my life. You are someone I didn’t even know I was looking for. I love you and I will continue to love you through any obstacle the universe throws at us. I love you.”
Keith wiped his own eyes, mumbling a small “fuck you” to Lance that Coran must have heard since he snickered. He glanced at the crowd, everyone rubbing their own eyes; even his dad was teary-eyed.
He pulled out his own paper, “I should have gone first, I can’t compete with that.” Keith chuckled, earning his own laughter from everyone. He looked down at his paper, crumpling it up and shoving it back into his pocket.
He ignored Lance’s confused look and took a deep breath. “I was nervous to have a roommate at the Garrison, I know I’m a hard person to like. And I remember venting to Shiro, pacing his office because I hated being mean to you. I’ve never cared much about that before. Even on the days I wanted nothing to do with anyone, you sat on my mind like a textbook. I wanted to know everything about you.”
“When Shiro was hurt I wanted to shut down, I wanted to hide from the world and pretend that it wasn’t real. But you kept me talking, you called me every night, and you offered me support, even if I didn’t take it. You showed me you cared.” He squeezed Lance’s hand tighter.
“I know you think I was a storm but you were a storm to me. I have never been so occupied by another person, no matter what I did you kept coming back with open arms, willing to give me another chance. And honestly, thank you for pushing me. Pushing me to open up to others, to reach out to others, to become a better version of myself.”
“I owe you so much Lance,” he looked down at their intertwined fingers, “and it’s a good thing you proposed because I was ready to fly Coran with me to Spain and marry us in your office.”
Everyone laughed and Lance took a couple of moments to compose himself.
Coran cleared his throat, “rings please.” Hunk grabbed the pillow the rings sat on and handed them to Coran. “Lance, take Keith’s ring.”
Lance grabbed Keith’s ring, a black ring with a purple middle.
“Do you, Lance McClain, promise to protect and support Keith through sickness and in health; through wealth and poverty; through the ups and the downs for however long you two will live?”
“I do,” he slid the ring onto Keith’s finger, sitting snugly against his black ring with blue in the middle.
“Keith.”
He grabbed Lance’s ring, the same style black with purple.
“Do you, Keith Kogane, promise to protect and support Lance through sickness and in health; through wealth and poverty; through the ups and the downs for however long you two will live?”
“I do,” he slide Lance’s ring on, finding its home in front of the black and red ring he wore.
“Then I now pronounce you husband and husband! You may now kiss the groom.” Coran stepped off to the side, leaving just the two of them at the altar.
The world was silent at that moment for Keith. He couldn't hear the cheers from the crowd, the birds that were chirping only a moment ago. All of his senses were consumed by his husband. His official husband.
Lance swung him down for a dip, which Keith normally would have protested but he was on cloud nine. They pressed their lips together, feeling electricity in the air. Keith felt breathless as he was stood back up.
“I love you,” Lance squeezed his hand three times.
“I love you too,” Keith squeezed his hand back three times.
|
2
John and Sherlock had been out celebrating their eighth wedding anniversary, and they had consumed a bit too much celebratory champagne. They stumbled over the threshold of the front door and fumbled their way up the seventeen steps to their flat.
It really wasn't their fault that they were so demonstrative. They had dropped Hamish with Mrs. Hudson for the night and didn't have to worry about where he was when they came back into the flat from their date. Mrs. Hudson had given them a wink when they had dropped the four-year-old off downstairs and had warned them that even though the walls were fairly thick, she remembered what it had been like when they had first gotten together and that she didn't have child sized earplugs. John had blushed and muttered something about her not having to worry about that, and Sherlock had merely tugged John out and said something about being as loud as he wanted that somehow sent blood simultaneously to John's cheeks and his groin.
They had been to a lovely restaurant, which was where the champagne had been consumed. There was then a walk for several blocks in the direction of home that included several stops for kisses where someone was pressed up against the wall of the nearest building, and eventually they hailed a cab and got a bit too frisky in the back seat.
Somehow, they managed to get through the door of their flat, and instead of heading straight for their bedroom, they made a detour to the couch. Sherlock landed on his back and John stretched himself out along his husband, kissing every bit of exposed skin that he could find and rolling his hips onto Sherlock's, causing his husband to moan in pleasure. Sherlock fumbled with the buttons on John's crisp white dress shirt as John wriggled free of his sport coat and gripped Sherlock's head with both of his hands, one resting on a gorgeous cheekbone and one buried deep in the dark, curly locks on Sherlock's scalp. John was seriously considering forgetting the idea of the bedroom for the time being and taking Sherlock right there on the couch and potentially on the floor if the need arose as he worked on divesting Sherlock of his shirt when suddenly-
"Ooh ooh!"
The two of them broke for air and raised their heads. There stood Mrs. Hudson in her nightgown, and in her arms was Hamish in his pajamas.
"Daddy! Papa!" Hamish cried and he reached for the two of them.
Sherlock let his head fall back and groaned. John smiled at his baby and held out his arms for him.
"I'm so sorry, dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled apologetically. "I don't think that he actually fell asleep. I think that he was just waiting for you two."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry for the trouble," John sighed, accepting his son. "Hello, sweetheart!" John sat Hamish on the back of the sofa and kissed his chubby cheeks.
"Hi, Daddy," he yawned. "Did you and Papa have a nice date?"
"It was lovely," Sherlock groaned. John squeezed his hips with his legs and sent him a threatening glare. Getting the message, he sighed and asked, "How was your evening with Nan?"
Hamish yawned again and said, "We had lots and lots of fun! Why are you and Daddy not wearing your shirts properly and lying on the couch instead of the bed? Isn't this only the place you're supposed to sleep when you're in trouble? Did you get in trouble and Uncle Greg arrested you and now you have to sleep on the couch because you were naughty?"
At this, Mrs. Hudson let out a little noise that sounded like an apology. She knew exactly what the two of them were going to be getting up to.
John sighed. Hamish really was asking too many questions. "We were tired and we decided that we wanted to sleep out here rather than in the bedroom because it was too far away. Nobody is in trouble tonight, baby."
Sherlock giggled at this. Hamish had found out about people sleeping on the couch when they were bad after a particularly gruesome experiment that had resulted in Sherlock nearly blowing up the flat while Hamish was playing only ten feet from the kitchen. John was so furious with him that he had thrown a few pillows and blankets at Sherlock and said that if he even thought about coming in and sleeping in their bed he would be going to stay with Mycroft for an indefinite period of time. This was right after Mycroft and Lestrade had gotten together, so they were in the stage of their relationship where they were having sex every possible waking minute on ever surface of Mycroft's home. Restriction of this privilege would have resulted in Lestrade stopping Sherlock's access to cases and Mycroft taking out his sexual frustration on his brother. Needless to say, Sherlock had obediently gone to the couch and didn't even think about their bedroom for the rest of the night.
Hamish seemed satisfied by the answer. "But why are your shirts off and you hair looks like you have morning hair?"
"We were so tired that we didn't finish getting into our pajamas," Sherlock supplied. "We fell asleep for a little while and we got our morning hair."
"That's silly," Hamish yawned, nuzzling into John's shoulder.
"Yes it is. You look sleepy, baby," John remarked. "Do you want to continue your sleepover with Nan?"
Hamish looked uncertain, but then Mrs. Hudson stepped in and said, "I'll let you sleep in my bed with that special pillow that you like."
Hamish's eyes went wide. "The blue one?" he asked, his eyes full of hope.
Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Why don't you say goodnight to your daddy and your papa and we'll go back down? How does that sound?"
Hamish nodded and gave both of his parents a kiss. Mrs. Hudson scooped him up and winked at them before locking their door and closing it.
John and Sherlock waited a few minutes until they were sure that the door to the downstairs flat was shut. As soon as they heard that, Sherlock hooked his leg around one of John's and flipped them over. He kissed John with more urgency than they had before and ground his hips against John's much harder than they'd been doing it a few minutes earlier. They managed to completely divest each other of their clothing, and then Sherlock flipped them once again, but this time they lay on the floor with Sherlock still on top and thrusting his naked erection against John's, causing both of them to cry out in pleasure.
There were small bottles of lube hidden strategically in their flat where Hamish wouldn't find them. There just so happened to be one stored under the couch cushion in a spot that their son couldn't reach at any angle with his small arms. He squirted a generous amount onto his fingers and circled John's entrance as he sucked on John's nipples.
It wasn't long before Sherlock was buried to the root inside of John and he was thrusting harder than he had in a very long time into his husband. He was doing an excellent job of hitting John's prostate with nearly every thrust. In order to kiss John to muffle their moans (they were slightly mindful of what Mrs. Hudson had said to them before they left for dinner), Sherlock had to fold his body so his stomach was arched. John whimpered at the loss of contact of skin on skin, so he arched up into Sherlock, reminding them both just how well their bodies fit together. Sherlock used the little leeway that he had with his movement to pepper John's jaw and mouth with kisses and nips. John, desperate for more, pushed Sherlock's head harder onto his skin and rocked his hips to meet each one of Sherlock's thrusts and to ensure that his cock stayed trapped between both of their bodies, ensuring the wonderful friction he needed to get off.
In no time at all, John stiffened and began spurting in between the two of them. The clenching of the muscles around Sherlock caused Sherlock to let out a low, almost animalistic noise and then he was coming hard into John's tight cavity.
The two of them lay there without moving for several minutes. Sherlock's face was still buried in John's neck and John was gently threading his fingers through Sherlock's curls. Sherlock slipped out of John as he softened and John could feel Sherlock's rapidly cooling semen dripping out of his hole.
"We were too tired to get into our pajamas and fell asleep half-dressed on the couch?" John mused, finally having time to digest what Sherlock had said to get their son out of the flat again.
"I couldn't think of a proper excuse," Sherlock whined. "You were sitting on me and there was no blood left in my brain. It was difficult not making some obscene noise in front of him."
John chuckled and ran his hands down Sherlock's spine and kissed the top of his head. "Thank God he young and sleepy."
Sherlock hummed in response and leaned up, brushing his nose against John's. Soon, they were kissing lazily and beginning to move against each other again. This time, John tugged his husband up and began to drag him to the bedroom. He was planning on making slow and passionate love to the man who he loved most, and this time, there were going to be no interruptions. |
JIMIN
When Jimin woke up the next day it isn’t on his wobbly bed but on a different bed altogether.
And Taehyung was beside him hands wrapped around Jimin’s waist sleeping soundly.
Jimin was confused for a whole minute before he recollected the events from the night before.
Jimin sat up immediately and in the process also woke up Taehyung who stirred a little yawning as he slowly opened his eyes.
“Jimin,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Taehyung,” Jimin put on a fake smile.
Taehyung sat up as well as he reached for his phone.
“It's 7 am,” he said. “It's quite early”
“I uh I need to get ready for class,” Jimin said.
“Oh,” Taehyung said. “Is Yoongi back yet?”
“I um I don’t know,” Jimin said. “I better go check”
Taehyung nodded as Jimin got up from the bed. His head was hurting quite a lot.
“Thanks for letting me stay here,” Jimin said.
“It's nothing,” Taehyung assured him.
Jimin smiled as he left the room and went to his own. He was glad to see that the door wasn’t locked which meant Yoongi had returned.
Jimin knocked on the door five times before Yoongi finally opened the door.
Yoongi was dressed only in a pair of shorts and a towel covering the upper part of his body, his hair wet.
“I'm sorry I was in the shower,” he said.
“It's all right,” Jimin said.
“Where were you all night?” Yoongi asked.
“I uh I didn’t have the keys with me,” Jimin said. “So I spent the night with Taehyung”
“What?” Yoongi exclaimed out loud. “You could have called me for the keys”
“It’s fine Yoongi,” Jimin assured him. “I should have kept the spare keys with me”
“I am sorry,” Yoongi said.
“It’s not even your fault,” Jimin said. “You don’t have to apologize”
Yoongi didn’t say anything as Jimin went to shower. He stood underneath the shower scrubbing quickly feeling the semi-hot water flowing down his body. Jimin wiped himself before stepping out.
“I am making oatmeal,” Yoongi said. “Would you like some?”
Jimin just nodded as he dried his hair with the blow dryer before changing into a pair of T-shirt and jeans. Yoongi came with two bowls of oatmeal with little cut banana pieces on top.
“Thank you,” Jimin smiled at him.
Yoongi smiled back as he sat down on his bed eating the breakfast and so did Jimin not saying anything.
Jimin tried to eat quickly he was already quite late for class.
“You okay Jimin?” he heard Yoongi’s voice.
Jimin snapped out of his trance looking at Yoongi blinking twice.
“Yeah,”
“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked. “You seem to be out of it”
“I am okay,” Jimin said making it sound as convincing as he could. Yoongi just nodded. Jimin scraped the bowl of all the oatmeal feeling satiated. He washed the bowl before packing his bag ready to leave.
“I am going to class,” Jimin said. “See you later”
“Have a good day Jimin,” Yoongi smiled.
“You too,” Jimin said as he left.
Jimin had still the lingering headache though it felt much better than it did when he had just woken up as he walked to his class already ten minutes late. If it were some other day Jimin would have been running but today he is leisurely walking.
When he gets to the class, it’s already started and Jimin watches the Professor give him a distasteful expression as he walks to his usual seat. There is no sign of Namjoon, however, Jeon Jungkook is there giving an all-knowing smile to Jimin.
“I almost thought you wouldn’t make it to class today,” he said.
Jimin ignored him taking his book out and jotting down notes instead.
“You know you trying to ignore me never works out,” Jungkook said. “You like me too much to not pay attention to me”
Jimin still kept writing.
“Your eyes are red,” Jungkook said. “Wild night I guess”
Jimin told himself to stay calm. It was not worth it...
“Was it Hoseok? Was it Seokjin or was it both of them?” Jungkook asked in a sleazy voice.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jimin said through gritted teeth.
“See, I was right about you ignoring me not working out,” Jungkook said with a smile.
Jimin decided it was definitely not worth it.
“Why isn’t your nerd friend here today?”
“It’s Namjoon,” Jimin said. “And I don’t know”
“He is sitting there at the back,”
Jimin looked behind to see Namjoon sat alone on the last seat. He was confused as to why Namjoon had suddenly decided to switch seats.
“Young man,” Jimin heard a voice. “What in the back interests you more?”
Jimin looked to see the Professor was now looking at him so he looked down at his book instead.
Jungkook was just as annoying the rest of the class, he almost never shut up and Jimin tuned out most of the stuff Jungkook was saying about his ass or his legs or whatever he could find...
When the class finally ended Jimin was eager to talk to Namjoon. Namjoon was walking down from the other side of the row of benches earphones in.
“Namjoon,” Jimin called out.
Namjoon didn’t seem to hear him as he walked fast leaving the class. Jimin walked behind trying to catch up to Namjoon’s speedy walking without looking like a complete weirdo in a crowded hallway.
“Namjoon,” he called out again louder this time.
Namjoon turned around the corner of the hallway. Jimin stopped sighing. Why was Namjoon was behaving so weirdly? Switching seats and then running away almost as soon as class ended. Was Namjoon avoiding him? No, Jimin told himself he probably was just in a hurry to get to his other class.
That still didn’t stop Jimin from worrying about Namjoon for the rest of the day and hoping that he would run into the other.
But Namjoon was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day until classes ended.
Jimin thought he should text Namjoon just in case.
Jimin: ‘Hey, missed you in class today. You seemed in a hurry everything ok?’
Jungkook was already there and shot a smile towards Jimin as soon as he came. Jimin didn’t return the smile back as he went in the back and changed into his uniform. Yet, there was no sign of Seokjin.
Each time the doors of the bookstore opened Jimin would look up hoping to see Seokjin. But he wasn’t there.
“Looking for someone?” Jimin heard Jungkook’s voice.
“Why do you care?” Jimin shot back.
“Hey, I’m just asking a question,” Jungkook said. “Since you seem on the edge”
Jimin ignored him organizing the books. The door opened again, the familiar jingle of bells echoing. Jimin looked up to see a pair of father and daughter enter the store.
“Well, it’s not Seokjin again,” Jungkook said.
Jimin glared at Jungkook before walking away under the pretence of helping the customers as Jungkook followed.
“You must be wondering where Seokjin is right,” he said.
Jimin didn’t say anything.
“He quit,” Jungkook said.
Jimin stopped turning around.
“What?” Jimin said.
Jungkook just nodded.
“Why?”
Jungkook shrugged.
“Don’t know,” he said. “I heard it from the owner”
Jimin didn’t say anything.
“Damn, we are really gonna have a hard time wiping all these shelves with no help,” Jungkook said.
NAMJOON
“Really, that is your foolproof plan?” Jackson said as they walked in the campus together.
“Yeah, it is,” Namjoon answered.
Jackson sighed loudly.
“I still don’t understand what good can come from you ignoring Jimin,” Jackson said.
“It’s good for me,” Namjoon explained. “I know I have no chance with him...the more I stay away from him the better it is for me and for him as well”
“Sometimes I don’t understand how you got a full scholarship to this place,” Jackson said. “You are so incredibly stupid”
“The point is,” Namjoon paused. “I want to forget him”
“Oh,”
“And for that, if I have to avoid seeing him then I am ready,”
Jackson nodded crossing his hands in front of his chest.
“If only it were that easy to forget your feelings Kim Namjoon,” he said. “The world would be a lot easier”
Namjoon didn’t say anything.
“Or you know you could just try to confess for a change,” Jackson said. “See how Jimin reacts”
“Well, he has a boyfriend or boyfriends I’m not quite sure,” Namjoon said. “I am sure the thought of me mustn’t cross his mind at all”
“Well, aren’t you a Mr Know It All,”
Namjoon sighed as he returned to reading his notes.
“But you are wrong,” Jackson said. “You said he called out for you twice today”
“Well, he probably needed help with some concept,” Namjoon shrugged.
“Are you accusing Jimin of using you?”
“No, I’m not...,” Namjoon trailed off as he took out his phone so that Jackson would hopefully stop talking.
He had a text from Jimin.
“Did Jimin text you?” Jackson said.
“Huh, I uh how do you know?”
“I could see it on your face,” Jackson said. “Anyway, what did he say?”
“He missed me in class and asked if I’m okay because I was in a hurry,” Namjoon said reading the text from the notification bar shocked that Jimin had even noticed the lack of his presence.
Namjoon kept the phone inside his pocket again.
“And you still say Jimin doesn’t care about you,” Jackson said.
JIMIN
Jimin was particularly tired from work today. And it wasn’t even because of Jeon Jungkook who had surprisingly not bothered Jimin the entire evening and was always reading something. Times like this, Jungkook could be attractive to him but of course, his horrendous personality didn’t make up for it.
When Jimin got home, Yoongi wasn’t home again. He had said he was staying with a friend again after reminding Jimin three times to keep the spare key with him. Jimin realized he didn’t even deserve a roommate like Yoongi.
Jimin was opening the door when Taehyung stepped out of his room.
“Hey Taehyung,” Jimin said.
“Hey Jimin,” Taehyung smiled at him.
Jimin observed Taehyung looking all dressed up in a pair of ripped jeans and a white tee paired with a black jacket.
“Heading out somewhere?” Jimin asked.
Taehyung sighed loudly.
“Some of Baekhyun’s friends are throwing a party,” he said. “Baekhyun forced me to come”
“Oh...wow I hope you have fun,”
“You and I both know that is not gonna happen,” Taehyung said with a chuckle.
Jimin pressed his lips into a smile as he unlocked the door.
“See you later then,”
Taehyung just nodded.
“Hey Jimin,” he said a few seconds later. “Would you like to come with me?”
“Huh,”
“To the party?” Taehyung said. “I barely know anyone there. But if I don’t go Baekhyun would be pretty mad and it would be really nice to have company”
Jimin didn’t say anything.
“I mean only if you want to...,” Taehyung trailed off.
“Yeah...sure,” Jimin said. “I’ll change”
Jimin decided he could use a break. Besides, it wasn’t gonna be any fun to be cooped up in the room all night alone where he would just overthink. At least the party could offer some distraction.
Jimin changed his clothes, styled his hair and put on some cologne for good measure before stepping out.
“All ready?” Taehyung asked.
Jimin nodded with a smile.
They walked out of the campus together.
“You look great Jimin,” Taehyung said.
Jimin smiled at him.
“Thank you,” he said. “You look really great too”
“Uh um thank you,”
Taehyung was particularly cute when flustered, Jimin noted.
They took a cab to the venue of the party and during the ride talked about their classes, the weather or anything else they could make small talk over.
They finally reach the venue, a decent sized house with music that can be heard from miles away that Jimin is surprised that someone hasn’t called a cop already to stop the party.
Jimin and Taehyung walked in the place effectively crawling with people when Jimin spotted Baekhyun at the corner of the room waving as he walked towards them.
“Taehyungie,” he said his voice slurred as he hugged his roommate. “I am so glad you came and you also brought Jimin with you”
Taehyung smiled at Baekhyun.
“It’s so nice to see you Jimin,” Baekhyun said as he turned towards him and hugged him as well.
“I’ll be right back...,” Baekhyun said. “You guys have fun together”
Taehyung was still smiling as he watched Baekhyun walk off inside.
“You want something to drink,” Taehyung asked.
“Yeah sure,” Jimin said.
“All right,” Taehyung said. “I’ll get us a drink”
Jimin nodded as he stood by the corner of the room on his phone so he didn’t seem as awkward as he occasionally looked around. He could recognize almost no one. Most of them were older students; Jimin realized hence the party seemed a lot more subdued than the usual ones Jimin attended.
Jimin looked to the front and this time he wasn’t even surprised when he saw Jungkook. Of course, he had to be at every party.
Jungkook smiled at Jimin and started walking towards him. Jimin rolled his eyes.
“It’s such a delight seeing you here Jiminie,” Jungkook said.
Jimin stayed quiet.
“The only thing this lovely party was missing was you,” Jungkook said. “And here you are”
“Fuck off,”
“Always so rude Jimin tsk tsk,” Jungkook said.
Jimin walked off in order to avoid Jungkook when he bumped into Taehyung and Baekhyun.
“Good I was looking for you Jimin,” Baekhyun said his grip around Jimin’s arm.
“What for?” Jimin asked.
“We’re gonna play a game,”
“Huh,”
JUNGKOOK
Jimin was sat between Taehyung and Baekhyun looking around at everyone.
Jungkook was looking at him sat next to Mingyu and some other dude sipping on a cocktail. Jimin’s eyes met Jungkook’s who smiled while Jimin looked away in disgust.
Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t feel anything when Jimin completely disregarded him like that.
Jungkook finished his drink setting the empty red cup aside.
What could possibly be more perfect than this? A game of truth or dare among a bunch of twenty-something college students most of them drunk out of their mind, Jungkook thought to himself. And Jimin was there which made the whole experience even more perfect.
Jimin didn’t look particularly gleeful about it however his eyes darting nervously around the unfamiliar faces.
“Truth or dare,”
They had already begun with a beefy senior guy that Jungkook barely knew chose dare a proud smile on his face.
“Take off your shirt,” some girl said.
It was nothing too daring and the guy looked particularly happy at the opportunity of showing off his body.
It moved on to a girl.
“Truth,”
“Have you ever had a threesome?”
A blush crept on her face as she slowly nodded.
By the fourth person, Jungkook had practically dozed off until Jimin’s friend Taehyung had confessed to stealing someone’s pencil in fourth grade.
It was now Jimin’s turn.
“Truth or dare,”
“Truth,” Jimin said his voice unsure but it came as no surprise to Jungkook. Of course, Jimin would choose a truth.
“Are you a virgin Jimin?”
It was Mingyu. Jungkook looked at him shocked watching Mingyu smile as he looked at Jimin.
Jungkook looked at Jimin who was twiddling his thumbs not saying anything.
“Come on Jimin, the time’s ticking away,” Mingyu said in an airy voice.
“Yeah...,” Jimin said his voice slow.
“Yeah, what?”
“I’m a virgin,” Jimin said his voice low not meeting anyone’s eyes.
There were laughs that followed after Jimin’s confession and for a second Jungkook felt bad for Jimin.
“Baekhyun, truth or dare?” he said in order to avoid some attention.
The game went on but Jungkook barely paid any attention to it his eyes only on Jimin concerned as he seemed particularly withdrawn and Jungkook wanted nothing but to comfort him for whatever strange reason.
“Jeon, truth or dare,”
“Huh,”
“Truth or dare,” someone repeated.
“Truth,” Jungkook said absentmindedly.
“Pussy,” Mingyu said.
“Have you slept with anyone in this room?” a girl asked.
Jungkook could laugh at that question as he nodded.
“Yeah I have,” he looked at two of the girls who had shy looks on their face.
He watched Jimin shift uncomfortably.
The game continued with dares getting more risqué. Two guys stripped down, two girls touched each other’s boobs.
And once again it was Jimin’s turn.
“Truth or dare,”
“Dare,” Jimin chose surprising everyone in the room including Jungkook.
Jinwoo who was sitting next to Mingyu was whispering something into Mingyu’s ear. They both shared a knowing smirk as Jinwoo cleared his throat.
“Make out with Jungkook,” Jinwoo said.
“Huh, why him?” Jimin asked his voice sounding annoyed.
“It’s a dare,” Mingyu shrugged. “You can’t do it”
“I can,” Jimin answered.
Jungkook felt his heart speed up as Jimin stood up from his spot and walked towards him.
Jimin sat down and was looking Jungkook directly in the face. Jungkook gulped unconsciously.
“Seems like we are gonna be here all night,” Mingyu said.
And just the next second Jimin was grabbing Jungkook by his face and kissing him hard. There was no hint of hesitancy in the kiss like the times before this when they had kissed. Jimin was forceful with his kiss his tongue exploring Jungkook’s mouth.
Jungkook’s eyes were closed his hands to his side as Jimin deepened their kiss and it seemed like a long time had passed since they were kissing.
“All right that’s enough,” Jungkook heard Jinwoo’s voice and the next second Jimin’s lips weren’t on his. It felt empty as Jimin moved away.
“That was something,” a girl said.
“Hot,” another one whispered.
Jimin stood up.
“I don’t wanna play anymore,” Jimin said.
“All right,” Mingyu said.
Jimin nodded and left soon after his friend Taehyung followed him. Jungkook had lost all interest in the game but he stuck around for some time before he had seen enough of drunk people kiss or touch each other.
“Where are you going?” Mingyu asked.
“Thirsty,” Jungkook lied as he got up from his spot and headed where Jimin had and hoped that Jimin hadn’t already left the party.
Thankfully, he hadn’t. He was dancing with his friend. He looked happy, laughing as he twirled around and also possibly drunk.
Jungkook made his way towards Jimin and watched as Jimin’s expression changed.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I can be anywhere I want,” Jungkook answered.
“Fine,” Jimin said taking his friend’s hand walking away.
“Jimin,” Jungkook said. “Stop”
“What do you want?”
“Can we talk?” Jungkook asked.
“Yeah sure,”
“In private,” Jungkook said.
Jimin thought about it a second before he nodded and followed Jungkook to one of the empty rooms.
“What do you want to say?”
“Jimin...,”
“Yeah,”
“Jimin I...,” Jungkook began before he paused and then kissed Jimin. It was just as much as a surprise to Jungkook as it was Jimin who pushed him off.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Jimin I...,” Jungkook began reaching for Jimin’s arm but he was cut off Jimin.
“Don’t touch me,” Jimin said.
“I...,”
“Each time I think you can’t be more of a dick you prove me wrong,” Jimin spat out. “You had no right to kiss me like that”
“I need to tell you...,”
“I don’t want to hear anything,” Jimin said as he left the room leaving Jungkook alone. Maybe, it was the alcohol in the system, maybe it was the feelings that he had for Park Jimin that were messing with Jungkook’s head leading him here where he wanted Jimin to know just how much he had fallen for him.
It was hard to admit it first. How could he fall in love with anyone and Jimin out of all people? But it was the truth, something hard to deny. Jungkook didn’t know what to do with all these feelings he suddenly had.
Jungkook had realized he had landed into a mess.
TAEHYUNG
Taehyung was running his hand on Jimin’s back.
“Does that make you feel better?”
Jimin nodded his head bent down holding a pillar as he puked for the second time in the night.
“I...I shouldn’t have drunk that much,” Jimin said.
“Everyone says that,” Taehyung said as he took out tissues from his pocket. “But no one ever stops”
Jimin smiled a little as he wiped his mouth. He looked drained.
“Do you think you need to see a doctor?” Taehyung asked concerned.
“I’ll be fine with some coffee and Advil,” Jimin smiled but the next second his expression changed and he was once again puking.
Taehyung was stood by his side patting him on the back.
“It’s good...let it all out,” Taehyung said.
Jimin stood up again wiping his mouth again.
“God, I don’t think I can make it to class tomorrow,” Jimin said.
“Good thing then it’s a Sunday tomorrow,” Baekhyun smiled.
“I didn’t even realize,” Jimin said.
“Do you really think I would let Baekhyun drag me to a party on a weeknight?”
“Definitely not,”
Taehyung laughed.
“Hey...do you mind if we sit down for a second?” Jimin said. “I don’t think I can walk anymore”
“Yeah, sure,”
Jimin and Taehyung sat down together on a cement bench by the side of the road. Taehyung watched Jimin sway his leg back and forth looking at the street where the cars were still speeding by even when it was so late at night.
Then suddenly, Jimin rested his head on Taehyung’s shoulder and Taehyung’s heart started to beat really fast as he tried not to react.
“The night’s so beautiful,” Jimin said. “Don’t you think so?”
“Mmhm,”
Taehyung watched Jimin smile a little.
“Hey Jimin,”
“Yeah,”
“You free tomorrow?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Maybe we could go somewhere...together...,”
“Oh that sounds nice,” Jimin said.
“So, would you come?” Taehyung asked.
“Of course,”
Taehyung couldn’t contain his grin.
“But where are we going?”
“We’ll uh see about that”
Jimin laughed out loud as he moved his head away from Taehyung’s shoulder and at the moment Taehyung wanted nothing more than to kiss him but he restrained himself. It could wait.
For now, Taehyung just wanted to cherish Jimin and the beautiful night.
|
"My Tall Man is my Daddy now," little Harry quietly told Captain early the next morning. Severus was still asleep, but the small boy didn't mind waiting for him to wake up.
"Always and forever?" His small pink friend asked.
"Yeah," he whispered, holding the bear to his chest tightly as he tried to deal with the warm feelings shooting through his body.
. . .
Although some things were going well with his small charge, the same could not be said for all facets of the tiny boy's life.
In order to get the child up to a more normal weight, Severus had been forced to supplement his meals with a nutrient potion that helped the lad's body better process the food he was eating. Unfortunately, Severus was having trouble finding the right dosage, given the age and extreme malnourishment of the boy in question.
At first, the amount he was giving Harry resulted in constipation bad enough that the child nearly couldn't walk the next day. It was apparent to Severus that there was far too much—ahem—bulk within that concoction, so after getting the child's immediate problem cleared up, he had taken them back to his private lab to experiment a bit more.
Within his lab, he had cleared a small spot off of one of the counters and then transfigured the top into something more similar to a cushion. After adding a few charms to keep the boy in place and out of danger, he put the boy there with Captain and the beginning Potions book while he worked.
"Daddy," the child said one day not too long after the disastrous constipation incident.
"Harry?" He turned from chopping ingredients to look at the boy not more than an arm's length away.
"Is dat, dis?" The lad asked, pointing a tiny finger at the book in his arms. The textbook had been a bit too large for the boy to maneuver, so Severus had simply shrunk its dimensions a bit. Besides, the pictures were the important bits, given that the boy couldn't read yet.
Or so he thought.
He moved to where Harry was sitting and looked at the book in question.
"Is that dis?" The child repeated; pointing again once he was in viewable range.
It was a picture of ginger roots being cut into smaller pieces; which also happened to be the exact ingredient that he was currently slicing.
"I 'member dat smell," the child told him solemnly, green eyes turned trustingly up towards Severus's own dark amber ones.
Surprised at the lad's accuracy, Severus only could nod dumbly. Many of his third years had still not yet managed to identify between the smells of daisy roots with ginger roots, but as his son had correctly pointed out, ginger was a very distinctive odor.
"Is dat for my tummy?" The boy asked perceptively, green eyes staring up intelligently at him.
"And why do you think that, young man?" Severus asked with a smirk, picking the child up and carrying him on a hip to look at his potion.
"'Cause ginger helps tummy aches?"
"Indeed," Severus said, a small proud smile working its way over his face. "But how did you know that?" He asked, somewhat perplexed.
"Oh!" His son chirped excitedly. "'Cause my book told me so!" He explained, with a soft clap of his hands.
"Your book?" Severus raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah daddy, dat potions book you gave me," his child said with a happy look up at him.
"Did I read that part to you already?"
"Nuh uh," the boy shook his head in the negative. "It tolds me itself."
"You mean it spoke to you?" Severus was now officially confused.
His son giggled and Severus couldn't help but smile back at the innocently happy expression. The boy hadn't giggled but once or twice since living with him, but each and every time had been something related to the two of them.
"No. I looked at it and saw what it said!" The child looked expectantly back up at him, and understanding suddenly filled his brain.
"You mean you read it?" He asked, trying to keep the amazement from showing in his voice.
"Yeah," his boy nodded, resting his head back down against Severus's chest.
"You can read?" Severus asked, carrying the lad back to his cushioned spot.
"Some," the child admitted softly, before peering back up at him hopefully. "But some words don't make no sense and I never had no one to help me," he said sadly.
"What words?" Severus asked, rising quickly to the challenge his son had just thrust at him.
After that, they read together a little each day, and every night Severus would make sure to ask his son if there were any words he wanted to ask about before going to sleep. As he told Harry with an almost serious look on his face, it was important to get all of one's vocabulary straight in one's mind before falling asleep.
"What happens if you don't first?" His son asked with a bit of trepidation.
"Muddled words and bad spelling," he answered solemnly, before breaking up the moment by tickling the child into a bout of runaway giggles.
. . .
Albus and James sat in his old childhood home and watched in silence as his mother argued wildly with his father. The man had witnessed his youngest going from bad to worse over the past months and had finally reached the end of his tether. He was going to go and confront those boys and their parents and make them understand the hideousness of what they had done to his family.
Albus looked at his father—his papa—with no small amount of bitterness. What the man was saying was all fine and good, but his father hadn't bothered to stop and think about the potential consequences of his actions; like being put in Azkaban for attacking three muggle families for seemingly no reason.
"Oh Percival," he muttered under his breath to his father, "You stupid fool."
It was safe to say that he was surprised at the amount of anger still present in his heart from his father's actions and resulting abandonment of their family.
"Kendra, as your husband it is my right—nay, my duty to uphold the honor of this family by any means that I see fit!" His father had and was arguing to his wife.
"And how will Ariana do without her father in her life? What about Al and Ab? How can you just leave them behind for your ridiculous sense of justice—your so-called honor!" His mother had and was shouting back. Then and now he could tell just how close she was to tears.
Albus walked around to the other room where he and his brother had listened to that ghastly fight on that day so very many years ago. As he had remembered, there they were, up against the cracks of the door, listening in horrified attention.
He crouched down beside his own younger self and observed the boy that he had once been. The younger Albus's nose had not yet been broken by an angry younger brother. It was still thin, but it was straight. His younger self was crouched down with his hands on the floor and his ear just beside the vertical crack that ran between the door and the doorway. His eyes were slightly unfocused as he listened intently, and his mouth was slightly open from a combination of shock and horror.
Below him, his brother Aberforth—or Ab, as they often had called him in those days—was laid out on the ground, listening at the horizontal crack between the door and the floor. He was three years younger than Albus, but at this age, three years was very noticeable.
Albus took one more look at the two eavesdropping brothers and then turned on his heel and walked out the room, only to find the ghostly form of James waiting for him on the other side of the door.
"How old were you two?" James asked him with a nod of his head towards the now closed door.
"Ten and seven," he answered quickly, not really in the mood for discussing such painful memories with a dead man.
"I wouldn't have pegged you for a redhead," James said with a chilly grin. "Nor your brother for a blond," the other man added when he failed to respond.
Albus shrugged. There wasn't much he could say about that. His hair, like his brothers, had started turning silver in his eighties, and then finally had gone completely white in his nineties.
"Where was your sister during all of this?"
That was actually a good question. Where would his sister have been during a monumentally upsetting experience such as this?
He didn't verbally answer James's question, but instead turned quickly to the left and headed off down the hallway to where his youngest sibling's room had been. Finding the door quickly, he opened it and stepped through to find Ariana in the floor playing with some paper dolls. He remembered that his mother had enchanted those same paper dolls to get up and interact with Ariana, but not to respond to any other members of the family. They had been just for their sister, and no one else.
Of course, as he and Ab had both argued, why would they have wanted to play with their sister's stupid ol' dolls anyway?
He looked down at the bent head of his sister and was hard pressed not to try and speak to her. Even if he could, what would he say? It was not as though he could offer apologies for something he hadn't even done yet, and to a girl who was mentally disturbed too.
Ariana looked up then, staring directly at the spot in which he was standing, and he quite nearly jumped. He remembered that Ariana had started talking to herself or her imaginary friends—or what have you—sometime after the incident with the muggle boys, but he hadn't remembered it starting so soon.
"Who are you?" The look in the little girl's eyes was very sharp, and forced himself to let out a breath that he hadn't been aware of holding.
"You can see me?" He whispered shakily.
"Of course I can see you," the very young Ariana answered easily. "Can't you see me?"
"I—I can see you," he said very softly, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Well, then what's your name?"
"Brian," he whispered, mentioning one of his many middle names in the place of his real. He was no longer sure if this really was just shadows of the past, like in Dickens's "A Christmas Carol," or actually the past itself.
And of course, James was nowhere to be found.
. . .
Little Harry was caught in a dream that he couldn't escape from. His auntie stood over him, screeching about how worthless and disgusting he was, while he begged and cringed at her feet, pleading for forgiveness for whatever unforgiveable thing that he had done this time.
"Nasty boy, nasty freak! How many times have I told you that freaks aren't allowed to sit on the furniture! Freaks aren't allowed to sit at the table! Freaks aren't allowed to be part of the family! Nobody wants a dirty horrible freak like you!"
He cried out aloud, and then suddenly the dark had broken around him and warm arms were holding him close, stroking his back soothingly. He gasped out a sob and turned his face into his Tall Man's chest, trying to hide from the very real image of his auntie's angry face.
"Hush, little one. You're safe now. I won't let her get you, I promise. Would you like your bear?" He felt his small fuzzy friend being pressed into his arms and he grabbed onto it too.
"You keep me safe?" He begged through his tears, needing very much to hear his Tall Man's reassurance.
"Always," his daddy promised, pulling him up to rest his head on his Tall Man's shoulder.
"Always and forever?" He sniffled, calming down some now. He could feel his daddy's heartbeat next to his own and it just felt right.
"Until the end of time," his daddy whispered in his ear and he nodded his relief back against the man's shoulder. |
Silver had been tracking Team Rocket’s activity for over a month, ever since the first rumors of their reunion started floating the dark web. Skeptical at first, he disregarded it completely, taking it for another hoax. With the disappearance of Giovanni three years ago and the subsequent disbanding of the syndicate, multiple criminal assaults claimed to have been operating under the Rocket’s name, yet all without fail were later uncovered as unrelated cases.
This time around, though, it was distinctly disturbing. Just within one week the Rocket’s mentions grew in an exponential manner and a multitude of recruitment threads opened in the unindexed corners of the net. The first alerts to the Johto police servers started coming in soon after that. Mostly consisting of minor crimes such as property damage, burglary and Pokémon theft, they had one thing in common - as reported by the witnesses, they were all committed by people in dark clothing with an unmistakable red ‘R’ on their chests.
This was something he could no longer ignore or discount.
He kept monitoring the info channels and, despite the increased frequency, the attacks remained oddly chaotic. Larceny, Slowpoke tail black market, Pokémon trafficking, drug trade - all lacking a definite pattern. Team Rocket was evidently growing its network, but without the bigger picture present their ultimate goal had still been unclear.
With the beginning of repeated assaults on electronics warehouses and radio stores across the region Silver could, at last, make an estimated guess regarding their target. The Azalea Slowpoke Well he’d suspected earlier was a purely temporary outpost like numerous others and all the logistics and operations were conducted from a separate, more secure location. The scattered data he’d been acquiring had finally fallen into place. The hideout was in the direct vicinity of Goldenrod, the largest city in the region. It was the capital, bore the most complex infrastructure and was home to one of Johto’s main jewels, the Radio Tower.
Posing as a returning member, he spent an evening scanning the Rocket’s secret message boards and data communication channels and shortly, in a somewhat superficial search, was able to attain some hard evidence. Situated in the far southwest of the Ilex Forest, was an actively operating supply and distribution hub.
The teen conducted an assessment of the GPS coordinates, mapped the exact location and made arrangements to set out. The time for action had come. He would hinder further development, mercilessly shut down any advances and make it crystal clear to each and every Rocket member that none of their activity will go unpunished. He was prepared to declare war on the organization that took everything from him, the syndicate that made his existence living hell. He was ready to eradicate Team Rocket in its entirety and, ultimately, take on Giovanni himself.
Remaining on standby, he camped outside of the three building complex, careful to stay undetected. The shipment rotation held to a regular schedule: two large cargo trucks arrived early every morning and left in the afternoon of the next day. From what it seemed they were assembling equipment and packaging it to transport elsewhere. Where to? He required more intel.
He discreetly released his ghost type from his Poké Ball.
-Haunter, drop these at the interiors of buildings two and three. Keep out of view.
He then lowered a handful of flash drives into the Pokémon’s extended claws. Same brand as the Rockets used, they were designed to fool the victims while voiding any unwanted misgivings.
The ghost type drifted away and reappeared ten minutes later, giving his trainer a silent nod. Silver returned the gesture and fired up his tablet. Now all there was to it was patience and waiting for someone to take the bait. And surely, there it’d been. Just minutes later a bored yet inquisitive Rocket goon was inserting the drive into his computer. The device’s console came to life and a cascade of logs flooded the black window. The backdoor was in place.
Silver expertly navigated the file system, getting his hands on the building’s blueprints, shipment logs and the current roster of Team Rocket members. He couldn’t help but snigger. For the infamous criminal team that once ruled all over Kanto, the employed security measures were downright inferior. If the intent was revival, then their efforts should require a lot more than a half-assed firewall and a few modded permissions.
He browsed around some more and in the end stumbled upon a set of encrypted directories. Perhaps they did deserve some credit, after all. This particular employee, unfortunately for the intruder, did not have the clearance to view the data and the chance of a Rocket executive falling for the flash drive trick was rather improbable. Silver tabbed out of the original window, thinking. He’d have to get his hands on the access codes some other way. Out of the options that did not include blatantly brute forcing the servers, he’d rather go for the lowest hanging fruit first.
Lifting his eyes from the tablet’s screen, he gazed past his cover at the hidden facility. Given this was a mere distribution hub, most of the Rocket members were unarmed and instead carried a barcode scanner and a pair of magnetic stripe cards on an extendable keychain. One was ostensibly used for entry, so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume the other acted as a network authentication key.
“Archaic, simple,” Silver thought to himself as he pulled up a list of commercially available card readers. Normally it was the government and affiliated agencies that were known for utilizing card slots on their machines, yet even they strove to move away from the approach in the later years. Security issues aside, it was plain impractical, but to a degree made his life easier.
A number of compatible input devices matched his specifications, so he went ahead with the order. Now he’d simply have to wait for an admin to arrive at the hub and then swipe his card. This would not go unnoticed, of course, but he was prepared for a confrontation.
The second phase of the plan was just about to begin.
According to the blueprints and general observations, the west wing contained the primary storage unit. Half of the equipment inside was to be used for the upcoming Radio Tower assault and half to be allegedly exported. Central housed the main control hub and the east was an assembly facility. All bore strategic significance, but the latter had to be the first target.
Silver split his last brick of C4 into three uneven parts and painstakingly attached the electric blasting caps. Two larger blocks for the comm and production departments and the smallest one for the storage. That was more than sufficient, considering the volatile qualities of the stock and equipment. A short blast and the whole thing would be in the air.
In addition to the basics he affixed an ignition based detonator to each set in case of chip malfunction and set them aside. Some further preparations were to be made, such as disabling the fire alarms and the sprinklers on the property, but for a Pokémon that could go through walls, but that would be a minute task.
The Team Rocket admin had not arrived for another two days. In the meantime Silver used Haunter to plant the explosives in their respective buildings, distribute his flammable Toxic at the perimeters and take out the whole two smoke detectors he’d managed to find in the entire complex.
Further inspection of the servers hinted at potential expansion at Mahogany and the Lake of Rage yet without further elaboration. Most of the data was still masked under keys and layers of encryption, unattainable for prying fingers and eyes. For the lack of a user ready solution he tried brute forcing the system anyway, but each attempt deemed expectantly unsuccessful. He’d just had to wait for the admin’s and his access card.
A black sedan zoomed through the forest on the third day and parked in the lot near the central structure. Greeted by a number of subordinates, a tall figure in a dark grey uniform emerged from the vehicle and casually walked to the hub. Just as in the case with his underlings, a set of plastic rectangles was dangling off his right hip.
Tonight was the night then. Silver would retrieve the key card and after years of hiding and evasion make his statement.
For most of the day the teen merely monitored the hideout’s methodical activity. The grunts turned in their weekly reports to their superior, three more pieces of radio equipment were manufactured, two of which moved to the west wing. Dusk fell upon the forest and a truck got prepared for loading. Silver checked the minimal gear once more - Poké Balls, messenger bag, detonator - all was in place. He’d planned to engage prior to the movers’ departure and the time was inevitably drawing near.
He crept past the rears of the facility and tossed a dark orb in each of the buildings, whether it was through a cracked window or an air vent. He then circled around and emerged a dozen meters away from the comm center’s exit and waited for the delayed action of the smoke bombs.
Clouds of dark fumes erupted from the interiors’, followed by a choir of outcries. Eager to escape, humans spilled from the concrete boxes, coughing, shrieking, swearing. Two grunts stumbled out of the east building and four more from mid. The admin had yet to be seen. Silver surveyed the loadout. Regardless, 7 men total, that he could deal with.
-Brat! You responsible for this?
One of the Rockets recovered from the gas and was now yelling hoarsely at the teen.
-Nobody’s supposed to be here apart from us. Team Rocket, get him!
In unison, the goons reached for their Poké Ball belts. Silver intercepted.
-Sneasel, Golbat!
Multiple consecutive cracks echoed in the air, followed by a muted flicker. A scatter of crushed red and white orbs fell to the ground, lifeless, permanently trapping their inhabitants inside. The foremost Rocket gaped in shock as he watched the teen rob them of their Pokémon in one swift pass. He stomped forward when a weakness spread through his limbs. Suddenly, he was floating through a thick haze, the sole thing ahead of him a pair of hypnotizing crimson eyes. A distorted voice rang through his clouded conscience.
-Where is your admin?
-...admin.
-Yes, the Rocket executive in charge of this facility.
-Well, well, aren’t you looking for me then?
A lanky man appeared to the west of the central hub, rotating a Poké Ball in his palm.
-Fancy you managed to disable my underlings. Are you capable of handling me then?
Three rapid red flashes and Arbok, Koffing and Raticate emerged from their captivity.
-Raticate - Hyper Fang, Koffing - Sludge, Arbok - Bind.
The trio charged Silver’s direction.
-Golbat - Supersonic, Sneasel - Agility, then Fury Swipes.
Speed far superior Golbat’s intense sonic wave struck first, forcing the foes to disperse. A slash, then another sliced through the Koffing, Raticate soon, too, fell unconscious. Arbok slid around and sprung yet again, aiming for the trainer’s throat. A hack through the air snapped the snake’s neck and with a nasty crunch, the final opponent dropped.
Silver turned to the admin with a thinly veiled smirk.
-You were saying? I advise you prepare for the end of Team Ro--
-ENOUGH!
A terrible ringing cut him off, filling his ears, skull, very essence, threatening to churn his brain cells and turn his mind inside out. His knees buckled. With the corner of his eye he saw his three party members writhing on the ground in agony. The white noise was everywhere.
He grasped onto his head and with all his might struggled to hold himself upright. Inwardly, he backtracked his course if actions. Had he neglected one of the manufacturing logs? Overlooked the existing inventory? No, none of the records mentioned anything remotely similar. This device had to be one of the new developments from Mahogany. Foolish, he’d been so so foolish.
-End of Team Rocket? Kid, you’re playing with fire. Next time, I suggest you take on someone your own size.
The Rocket executive swung a long, black remote in his hand. He mocked the visibly paralyzed trespasser.
-If there will be a next time, of course.
The grunts finally broke out of their trance and were now making their way toward the teen, completely unaffected by the jarring sound. Silver forced himself to take a few long inhales and exhales and to calm. It was impossible to tune out the noise completely, but the waves’ frequency seemed to taper with each passing breath. Seemed to, but not quite enough to resist against. “Keep cool,” he urged himself, “whatever that is, it must still be a prototype. I can still move, so if I could only...” He reached his hand towards his pocket and grabbed the detonator. All he had to do was flip the switch.
A sharp blow collided with his jaw, causing him to stumble backwards.
-Thought you outsmarted us with your little tricks, punk?
The group of goons was now surrounding him, faces smug. Warily, he noticed them all wearing miniature earpieces. So, those were not just comm devices as he’d assumed earlier, but also custom built dampers.
Another punch came his way, now from the left. Toiling to keep focus, Silver leaned back, dodging the jab, readying his right elbow to absorb the next impact. Despite being sufficiently trained in close quarter combat, it got progressively harder to avoid and even more so to deflect. Vision blurry and head about to split in two, he missed a hook that landed hard on his face and a straight punch to the gut. He needed to shut the device down. Now.
He spun around, searching the admin, when a heavy kick to the back sent him flying to the ground.
-What is that, a switch?
A man stepped on his wrist, kicking the detonator out of his grip.
-You weren’t gonna blow us up, were you?
Silver hissed at the ache. This was bad. The only other way to trigger the explosions was to set the altered bombs on fire. Using his free arm to protect his head, there was nothing he could do to shield the rest of his body. A number of blows met his chest and stomach, more plundered his sides. Another strike to his gut caused him to retch.
-Who’s acting all high and mighty now, eh?
Body growing numb with pain, he could not afford another second of downtime. He inhaled and counted the tact, the sound wave rhythm, doing his best to ignore the burn of his insides. Just for a split second, the noise’s frequency tempered and he forcefully yanked his hand from under the Rocket’s sole. Spinning on his elbow, in a low sweep he took out the closer grunt. Then, in the momentary confusion he ripped the earpiece out of the man’s ear, and shoved it into his own.
Blessed, refreshing silence filled his buzzing brain. He spotted his device on the far right and he dove forward. With a tuck and roll he swooped it from the grass. Hesitating no longer, Silver flipped the levers.
A massive blast shook the area. A second bang so deafening that the ringing stopped altogether and the explosion completely nullified the sound waves. The manufacturing facility went up in flames.
But why weren’t the other two detonating? Had the white nose disrupted the receiver?
With a burning flash the plastic device flew out of his grasp. The Team Rocket executive stood a few meters away from him, gun in his hand. His features were contorted with fury.
-You or your Pokémon move an inch and I’ll fire.
Silver slowly twisted his head. Blood streamed the left side of his face, painting his vision red and partially obstructing his hearing.
The admin’s tone shifted.
-Now tell me, who sent you?
-No one.
-Liar. Is it the Spearows of the police?
-Neither. I'm here on my own accord.
-How many allies?
-None. I told you, I’m going to bring down each one of your bases, wipe everything that you’ve worked on. I am going to single-handedly put an end to Team Rocket.
Shrill laughter pierced the silence. Still pointing his gun, the man jeered. A few grunts crossed their arms in derision, a few outwardly heckled.
Slightly shifting his stance, the teen locked his gaze with the Rocket's. With his right hand out of the view, he crossed his fingers and flicked them sideways. A signal. Haunter and Sneasel blinked in acknowledgement and prepared.
-Although your meager attempts are nothing compared to the empire Team Rocket once was. It will be easy to dispose of you.
-Don’t act so cocky, kid. You’re barely standing.
Absently, Silver pondered his current state. Face bloodied, clothes soiled with dirt and bile - he must've been quite a sight right now. But no matter, it was no time to stress about appearances.
-By the end of this night you will learn better than to underestimate me.
The Rocket dangerously lowered his gaze and flicked the safety off.
-Good luck with that.
-Sneasel, now!
A number of things happened at once. A gunshot, a clang of metal on metal, a purple mist and a slash through the air. Silver fell on one knee, sharp pain exploding in his leg. Sneasel deflected the bullet’s trajectory from his chest with a Metal Claw, causing it to hit his upper left thigh instead. Haunter filled the clearing with a dark haze, freezing the grunts and the admin’s advance, a metal object landed to the ground with a single clunk.
An anguished cry roared in the night.
The Rocket executive clutched onto his hand. Fingers missing, bleeding profusely, he smeared his suit and gear belt with dark blood. Just as he pulled the trigger, Golbat had sliced the firearm out of his clasp.
Silver did not even look in his direction. He briskly examined his injury through the torn fabric. The bullet did not seem to have hit an artery, nor did it lodge itself in his flesh. A slicing wound was something he could deal with later. He got back on his feet and with a swift motion released his last Pokémon from its confines.
-Quilava, Flamethrower!
The nimble fire type sprang toward the building, proceeding to cover it with a barrage of hot flames. The trainer recalled the other three and leapt a couple meters backwards, kneeling and shielding his head. A huge blast tore the comm center apart, sending glass and debris everywhere as a giant shockwave downed anyone standing upright.
A third explosion reverberated the scene and set the storage facility ablaze. An array of cracks came from within, indicating simultaneous detonation of the equipment’s electrodes and coils. Staying in radius was no longer dangerous. It was lethal.
The teen strode toward the Rocket executive who sprawled in the dirt, squirming, still grasping onto his injured limb. Silver kicked, turning the man over to his back, and examined the pupils. Fading, still conscious.
The admin looked at his assailant with clouded eyes. The boy stood above back to the fire, blood on his face glistening black, red hair illuminated from behind. A look of pure revulsion adorned his youthful features. Proton must’ve sworn he’d seen the same kid sometime, somewhere before. But where and when? His memory was irrevocably failing him, as was his body. One way or another, this child was none other than an agent from hell itself.
Silver leaned towards him.
-If you somehow survive this, make sure all the other Rocket admins know - I’m coming for them. I’ll burn all of you to the ground.
With that he snatched the Rocket’s key card off his hip and spun around, making his way into the pitch darkness of the bramble and overgrown trees.
The goal was met. It was time to get out. |
Yi and Diao had been engaged to be bonded as Alpha and Omega since they were twenty-seven and eighteen respectively. Yi was now thirty and Diao was now twenty-one. Three years had passed and they still hadn’t officially left their bonding marks on one another or mated.
Hell, they hadn’t even kissed.
Everyone in their lives was starting to notice. It was clearly a bit surprising that a virile Alpha in his prime like Yi could keep his hands off young Diao. For all intents and purposes, Diao seemed to be the personification of the Omegan ideal: small, sweet and lovely. So why weren’t people constantly having to pull them off of each other? What was keeping them from culminating their bond?
From a purely logistical standpoint, Yi and Diao were perfect for each other despite their engagement being an arranged affair. Their families were old business partners and having sons whose secondary genders presented as Alpha and Omega, it made sense to push them together. No one had directly forced them into their situation. Well. That is to say, if the immense pressure of meeting familial expectations didn’t count as being forced.
On Diao’s eighteenth birthday, their families announced their engagement to their ritzy social circles in all the official channels. Not long after that, Diao went off to study abroad. It was fairly common to encourage couples to spend time apart before their mating. After a few years away and with a degree under his belt, Diao returned to Thailand. The anticipation among the upper crust was that they would soon finally get the news that Yi and Diao had culminated their engagement, but that looming moment never happened.
Yi had been more than happy to welcome Diao back into his life and into his home, but he hadn’t pounced on the boy as soon as he stepped in the door. They kept separate rooms and Yi often stayed at his own apartment closer to his business downtown anytime he felt Diao needed space.
A full season passed and they were still unmated. Them living together assuaged some of their family’s concerns, but their parents were starting to ask questions.
Why hadn’t they mated yet? Were they not compatible? Did they not get along?
No. The two of them got along well enough and Yi could admit he liked keeping Diao safe and near. They might not have been mated but he was protective of Diao as if he were already his bonded Omega. Yi enjoyed having Diao around and Diao seemed content with him, if not a little nervous and rigid. Yi couldn’t blame him for it. He was tense too. It was hard not to be.
As an unrelated Alpha and Omega pair, the tension in the air between them was constant and palpable. They were compatible. Yes. Yi had discovered that early on, but he had never acted on it. Despite feeling his breath hitch and his chest tighten as soon as he spotted Diao coming down for breakfast after his morning shower, Yi didn’t want to be the one to make the first move.
He couldn’t risk ruining this delicately foraged relationship he had built with Diao. He couldn’t scare the poor Omega whose family had all but given him to Yi and placed him under his protection. Everything about Diao screamed softness and fragility. Yi could tell that the Omega was always walking on eggshells around him and didn’t want to do anything to cause that behaviour to worsen.
And so Yi restrained himself.
*~( ・∀・) ♨ (・∀・ )~*
Diao wanted Yi.
He wanted the Alpha so bad his body ached and trembled. Whenever he was alone, just thinking about Yi sent a hot rush pulsing through his abdomen. Yi was everything an Alpha should be. Tall. Handsome. Strong and austere.
Diao wanted Yi, but even after all their years together, he didn’t know how to get him.
That night, Diao came home to find Yi sitting on the couch, drinking a casual glass of wine before bed. Yi was so well-put-together even in his business casual work clothes, tie loose around his neck and shirt slightly unbuttoned. Just the sight of him stopped Diao dead in his tracks. Usually Diao would just pass by Yi with a short, awkward greeting, but that night he decided to step into the room.
“Good evening, Hia Yi,” he said, soft and formal as he always tended to be around the Alpha. He folded his hands in front of him. As soon as Yi’s eyes were on him, he averted his gaze in a shy glance. “How was your work today?”
As if the question bored him, Yi sighed. “My day was fine,” he replied quickly.
Diao bit his lip. Even when he was annoyed Yi was positively rideable.
Yi’s gaze turned on Diao once more, scanning him up and down as he elaborated, “It was just work. I went to the race track and had a meeting at the club with—”
As Yi droned on, Diao chewed the insides of his cheeks. He could have listed so many other things they could have been doing that wasn’t pointless, tedious small talk. But instead he listened to Yi’s innocuous monologue about his day and how his club, Pentagon, was doing. Eventually, they both headed off to their separate beds in separate rooms without ceremony.
Diao wondered if Yi ever suspected that he went back to his room and fingered himself silly thinking about him, wishing the Alpha would just burst into the room and take him right there. He wanted nothing more than to be held down and fucked into oblivion.
Diao often fantasized about how much it would take to push Yi to a breaking point. If he tried hard enough would the Alpha just cave to his instincts, throw him down and take him? Would that be scary?
Diao muffled a gasping cry as his climax hit him in bed that night. The slick running down his legs clearly proved his horny brain didn’t find it scary.
Still, Yi never went over the edge. He often stepped up to it, but when the moment came and it seemed like he’d boil over, he always managed to reign himself in. When he got mad, he calmed down as soon as Diao showed even an ounce of distress.
Damn Yi and his impeccable control.
Diao wanted him. He wanted to break him.
*~( ・∀・) ♨ (・∀・ )~*
“Maybe you should just sit him down and tell him what you really want?”
As soon as those words left Kuea’s lips, Diao let out a barking laugh. He’d come to his best friend’s place seeking counsel and all he got was that sort of rubbish.
“Just tell my Alpha what I want?” Diao scoffed. “That’s rich coming from you! Your Alpha clearly wants to throw you down across every horizontal surface every second of every day. You’re the one who’s all shy about it.”
“Diao!” Kuea crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t want my advice, why did you even call and demand to meet at my secret house, huh?”
“Oh, stop yelling at me.” Diao pouted right back at him. He couldn’t really argue with Kuea when the other Omega was so clearly right. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. Now tell me how you made Hia Lian fall so hard for you.”
“I don’t know.” Kuea leaned back against the couch with a heavy sigh. He seemed to unconsciously cup one hand over the months-old mating mark at his neck, caressing his imprinted skin gently. “As soon as we moved in together it was like he just couldn’t hold back anymore or something.
Diao tutted. “Well, that doesn’t help me, does it? Yi and I have been living together for way longer than you and Lian have.”
Kuea shrugged. “I don’t know what else to tell you.” After a pause, Kuea tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You could always try getting him the good old fashioned way.”
“What’s the good old fashioned way?” Diao asked, tilting his head to one side like a curious puppy.
“Oh come on, you know,” Kuea shot back with a sly wink.
Diao pursed his lips and shook his head and Kuea rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh in response.
“Seduce him.”
“What? Seduce? I—” Diao stammered. “How?”
“I don’t know. However Yi likes.” Kuea shrugged. “From my experience, Alphas are super simple. If I wanted to seduce Lian, I’d probably just wash off all my scent blockers and wait for him in bed.”
Diao blushed at the thought and wet his lips. “Wash off my scent blockers,” he murmured to himself.
“I mean, it’s pretty basic biology.” Kuea waved a dismissive hand through the air between them. “If your scent doesn’t attract your Alpha, you’re definitely not compatible and you should probably just end it anyway.” As soon as the words left his lips, Kuea covered his mouth. “Ops! Not that I’m saying you should leave Hia Yi if you haven’t found that out yet or anything.”
Diao gnawed on his bottom lip. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out something like that, but then again, he already knew he was attracted to Yi’s Alpha pheromones.
The man had come home a few times after a long day’s work with his scent-blocking cologne all-but faded and his own natural scent bursting through. It was orgasmic. Diao always rushed off to his room. He came twice in one night once, Yi’s scent was that good.
On the other hand, Diao’s scent was suppressed doubly with his daily heat-control pills and scent-blockers. He’d never let his natural scent out around Yi, so it was possible that even if he was attracted to Yi’s scent, Yi was not attracted to his.
“What if I just drop all my suppressants for a few days?” Diao murmured, just wondering out loud.
Kuea huffed out an amused laugh. “I mean that would definitely do it but good luck leaving the house anytime soon.” With a chuckle, he glanced over to Diao. The smile immediately fell from his face. “Wait, are you serious? Dropping your suppressants on purpose to get an Alpha to mate with you is serious heat-trapping. I mean, is that even legal?”
Diao sighed. Did he care? He was honestly willing to try anything at that point. “It’s not like I’m going to do something Yi doesn’t want me to. I just need him to understand that…that I’m ready for it.”
“Oh, if you actually go through with this, he’ll smell that you’re ready for it, all right.” Kuea laughed. “If he doesn’t get the clue at that point you can dump him and come live here as my secret mistress.” Saying this, Kuea blew his bestie a teasing kiss.
Diao scrunched up his features and stuck his tongue out at him. “I’m sure Hai Lian would totally accept that arrangement,” he said ironically.
Kuea’s brow arched. “Maybe he’ll think it’s hot. We could put on a little show.”
“Kuea!” Diao grabbed a couch cushion and thwapped him with it.
Giggling, Kuea raised his hands over his head defensively. “I’m just kidding!”
“You’ve gotten so dirty since you and Hia Lian mated,” Diao scoffed.
Kuea quirked his brow in reply. “Well, maybe if you played a little dirty for once you would be in Hia Yi’s bed instead of on my couch.”
With an annoyed huff, Diao grabbed one of the stuffed toys off said couch and threw it at Kuea’s head. The move earned him a laugh as Kuea caught the thing easily.
“Don’t shoot the messenger!” Kuea tittered.
Diao glared at his best friend, but he had to admit Kuea had a point. Maybe he did need to play a little dirty.
*~( ・∀・) ♨ (・∀・ )~*
Yi noticed a slight sweetness in the air the next morning. Diao had left early to go to class, but his light scent lingered longer than usual and there was a ripeness to it that Yi couldn’t quite place. He shook it off and went to work, when he came home later that evening, the scent had faded somewhat, but there was still a succulent note like fresh peaches were sitting in a bowl somewhere.
“Hia Yi?” Diao said as he stepped through the front door and caught his gaze. “I’m home.”
The scent that had faded throughout the day came back with a vengeance, wafting in with the breeze from the opened door. Yi didn't need that greeting from Diao. He could tell the Omega had returned home as soon as the front door opened. Diao’s scent was heavenly. If he opened his lips, Yi felt like he could take a juicy bite out of the air and get a mouthwatering flavour on his tongue. He nearly growled, steeling himself against the rise of lust within him.
Diao smelled so good. Fuck. Did he usually smell this good?
“Diao, where were you out so late?” Yi demanded. He needed to know immediately where his Omega had been. In Yi’s mind he shouldn’t have been out at all smelling as tempting as he did.
Diao sucked his bottom lip. “Ah, sorry, Hia,” he said softly, staring up at Yi through the dark curtain of his lashes. “I just finished teaching my Taekwondo class and rode my bike home. I must be really sweaty. I’ll go shower and change.”
“Kon Diao, wait.” Yi wasn’t sure why he stopped Diao. The Omegas scent was overpowering, but Yi didn’t want to let it go. He wanted to bathe in it.
“Hm?” Diao replied, still blinking up at Yi with wide innocent eyes. That expression alone sparked something in Yi that had his inner Alpha clawing at him to just let loose.
He stood and approached Diao. With one hand on the Omega’s hip, he drew him in a little closer and gently sniffed. Diao shuddered as if he was cold and another wave of sweet peach-scented pheromones filled the air.
“Did you change which brand of suppressants you’re taking?” Yi asked with a frown. The question wasn’t exactly subtle or polite, but they were living together practically as a mated pair just without the mated part. Yi was allowed to be concerned for Diao’s health. He’d never smelled so strong before.
“Oh,” Diao bit his bottom lip. “I’ve actually stopped taking my suppressants,” he confessed.
“You stopped—What?” Yi spluttered. That explained a lot. “Can I ask why?”
Diao pursed his lips and lifted his shoulders in a little shrug. “Well, since I know we're expected to be mated soon, I didn't think I needed them anymore.”
“Kon Diao.” Yi sucked in a sharp breath. “You should still use them if you’re going out alone. You can’t just go around smelling like—” Yi stopped abruptly. He ran his hand over his face and shook his head.
“Like what?” Diao stared up at him through the auburn curtain of his bangs, his eyes narrow with something Yi had never seen in his gaze before. “What do I smell like?” he demanded.
“You smell like you’re ready for an Alpha to have his way with you,” Yi finished, speaking from between gritted teeth. “It’s completely inappropriate.”
His words had an effect on Diao. His scent grew stronger. Yi could tell he was wet, the sweet aroma of slick dripping between his thighs was palpable even through the layers of his clothes.
Closing his eyes, Yi let out a low growl that rumbled deep in his chest.
Next to him, Diao took a shuddering breath. “Hia Yi,” he gasped, with anticipation heavy in his shaky tone. “I—I am ready for an Alpha to have his way with me.”
“Kon Diao.” Yi grit his teeth as he inhaled with a hiss. “You’re not—We shouldn’t do this.”
The keening whine that his words roused from Diao made something in Yi’s abdomen clench tight. “But I want to do this,” Diao protested. “I want to do it with you. Please, Hia. You’d never catch on if I was subtle so I had to be obvious.”
“Diao,” Yi said, his tone low like a warning. “What are you talking about? You need to go to your room. I won’t be able to control myself around you like this.”
“I won’t go,” Diao bit back, earning himself a raised brow from Yi.
“Excuse me?” the Alpha snapped. Diao had never once talked back to him before. “Where is this childish attitude coming from?”
Diao seemed to muster up some courage with a deep breath. “I may be younger than you, but I’m not a child. You can’t just send me to my room,” he said, pointed and firm. “I’m an adult and your intended mate. I know what I want. I don’t care if you lose control.”
Shock hit Yi before realization dawned on him. Diao’s words forced something to click into place in his mind.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Yi muttered.
Diao pursed his lips and stared up at him with an expression that clearly read, “Took you long enough.”
Yi’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths. He wasn’t sure if he was upset or if it was Diao’s scent triggering him, but he wanted nothing more than to take this Omega and finally claim him as his own.
“Hia Yi. You can do it.” As if reading his mind, Diao whispered, “Take me. Right Here.”
Yi was beyond arguing. He had no more excuses or diversions. All he had was a primal need.
Take him. Right here. Right now.
Surging forward, Yi cupped Diao’s cheek and pulled him in for a deep kiss. It wasn't as soft and tender as Yi had always imagined his first kiss with gentle Diao would be. No. This kiss was bold and wild.
Yi crushed his mouth against Diao’s with a bruising force that had the other man whining sweetly into their kiss. As their lips moved together, Diao melted in his embrace. His small body arched against Yi’s broad form as he reached up to wrap his arms around the Alpha’s neck.
Something predatory triggered in Yi. He gathered Diao up and spun them both around to plunge down onto the couch, trapping him between his weight and the soft cushions. His Alpha hindbrain was celebrating having finally captured his Omega when in reality it was Diao who’d ensnared him so completely.
His fingers ran through Diao’s amber-tinted hair, drawing him in. Their all-consuming kiss deepened. Yi sucked in a breath through his nose before his lips parted. He delved into Diao’s mouth with his tongue as the Omega arched up against him.
Diao’s small hands gripped the back of Yi’s shirt, fisting in the black fabric, creasing the silk. His blunt nails clawed slowly down Yi’s back, tickling his spine, sinking lower and lower.
Yi jerked back at the sensation of fingers gripping his ass, drawing him in closer. His confused gaze met Diao’s impassioned one. Diao was usually so passive, shy and sweet. Now he stared up at Yi with a heavy lidded gaze, his lips slightly parted as he breathed shallow breaths between their kisses. His chest heaved and his hips rolled up, begging for friction as their bodies ground together.
“Kon Diao,” Yi breathed his full name with that hint of warning in his tone he used when he wanted the Omega’s full attention. “Let’s get upstairs. I don’t want our first time to be on the couch.”
“I do. I don’t care,” Diao whined. He squeezed Yi, pulling him closer. “Please. Right here. Right now.”
Those words again. Yi couldn’t resist.
With a heavy exhale and a muttered curse, he surged forward, claiming Diao’s lips once more. He gripped the Omega’s neck, grazing the blushing skin above his mating gland with his thumb. It was Diao’s turn to break the kiss then.
“Hia,” he whispered. It was all he needed to say. His heavy, hooded gaze said the rest.
Yi pulled back and unbuttoned his top. He all-but tore the black fabric from his torso and down his arms, tossing it aside without any of the care he usually had for his fine clothes.
Beneath him on the couch, Diao seemed to be in a daze. He blinked slowly as Yi exposed his body for his pleasure. Yi’s chest heaved, the toned angles of his muscle on display in the dim evening light seemed to glisten as he moved.
Without a word, Yi’s hands dropped to Diao’s narrow hips. He splayed his fingers beneath the hem of the Omega’s cutely oversized sweater, pushing it up higher and higher. Glancing up, Yi stared into Diao’s dark, hazy eyes, asking for permission.
Diao nodded.
A pleased sound rumbled through Yi’s chest. He stripped off the thick fabric of Diao’s sweater, pulling it up off over the Omega’s head and mussing his hair in the process. Small and unblemished, Diao unclothed was exactly what Yi expected. Perfect. Angelic. Yi couldn’t wait to cover his untouched body with his own.
Diao’s cheeks were flush with redness. He looked entirely undone. “Hia Yi, I feel hot,” he whispered.
Yi leaned back over Diao. Skin to skin, the feverish warmth rising off Diao's chest was searing. Inhaling through his nose, Yi took in his scent and closed his eyes. “You’re going into heat, Diao,” he murmured, pressing his kisses along a path up the Omega’s neck. “What did you expect when you suddenly stopped using your suppressants?”
Diao bit his lip and held in a soft cry as Yi’s hands scooped under his back, pressing their torso’s closer together as he continued trailing his lips all over Yi’s neck and jaw. He ravaged Diao’s body, getting high off his scent. Every moment energized Yi as he consumed Diao, lips caressing his heated skin.
Diao’s eyes rolled back before closing as Yi manhandled his body. He wanted nothing more than to lie back and spread his legs, so he did. The shift in movement brought their lower bodies into perfect alignment and drew shuddering moans from both men.
Yi sucked in a breath, gripping Diao’s shoulder before his hands slid down over the smooth skin of his Omega’s chest. His long fingers caressed the budding peak of a nipple before slipping lower and lower.
“Off,” Diao said, the breathy demand coming out of him as soon as Yi’s fingertips dipped down into the waistline of his pants.
Far beyond his original demur, Yi didn’t need to be asked twice. With a rough and hasty hand, he wrestled Diao out of his pants. The loose fabric came away easily, leaving Diao naked beneath Yi in the middle of their living room.
Yi froze above him, taking everything in. His heart pounded racing against his heaving ribcage. Diao’s body and scent managed to overwhelm all of his senses.
“Yi,” Diao whined. He arched back, his neck on display as the redness in his cheeks spread down his body. “It’s hot,” he panted.
Yi cursed and stripped out of the rest of his own clothes. He was taking too long, making his Omega wait when Diao was so clearly in need.
“I’m sorry,” Yi whispered as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to Diao’s slightly parted lips. He kissed him gently, his mouth moving over Diao’s slowly before gradually trailing over his neck and jawline. Between kisses he murmured, “It’s only like this because you decided to be naughty.”
“Hia, don’t tease me,” Diao uttered, breathlessly. “I can’t take it now.”
Yi huffed out a chuckle, but relented. He could punish Diao for his little scheme later. For now, it was Yi’s duty as Diao’s Alpha to properly take care of him through his heat.
Pressing his lips to the blushing shell of Diao’s ear, Yi whispered, “Let me take you then.”
Yi’s hands trailed down Diao’s concave abdomen as he kissed and scented his Omega’s neck. The wet tip of Diao’s cock slid along the back of Yi’s fingers before he turned his grip and took the length of it against his palm. With slow, deliberate pulls, he smoothed his fist over Diao’s cock.
Yi was straddling one of Diao’s lean thighs, laying slightly on his side to give himself space to stroke him. Up and down.
Diao moaned beneath Yi as the Alpha manipulated his body. When he was on the verge of a shuddering climax, Yi let go of his cock. Diao gasped as Yi’s long fingers delved further between his legs. His heated skin pulsed in time with the beat of his heart.
The natural slick dripping from Diao’s ready hole coated Yi’s fingers as soon as he touched the Omega. After running the pad of one finger through his slick a few times, Yi thrust that single digit past Diao’s clenching muscle.
“Relax,” he whispered.
Diao let out a shuddering breath. His body sank back and he seemed to force the tension away. However, it all came bounding back as soon as Yi moved.
Drawing his finger in and out of Diao’s body, Yi smiled as the Omega arched up beneath him. “This is what you asked for, isn’t it, Diao?” he purred.
Diao bit his lip and nodded vigorously. He gasped and choked on Yi’s name when another finger slipped in with the first. Yi pulled and stretched his tight muscle, getting him ready for something much larger that Diao’s hooded eyes were already fixed on between his legs.
Yi tortured Diao’s hole with a mix of slow paced thrust. Pressing his slick walls, Yi brought him closer and closer to the edge with every thrust. It wasn’t long before Diao was a writhing mess beneath him.
Diao’s cock stood hard and pink against the pale curve of his belly. Already the slick head was dripping.
“Come for me, Diao,” Yi whispered.
His words pulled Diao’s trigger. With a sharp cry, he arched back. His muscles clenched around Yi’s fingers and more slick erupted from him, soaking the Alphas hand and their couch. His cock twitched and splashed across his belly leaving shiny splatters up to his nipples.
As his chest heaved, Yi couldn’t help but lean forward to lick the salty substance off of those sensitive buds. The move earned him a drawn out moan.
“Hia Yi, you’re so good,” Diao breathed as his body stopped shaking and the fingers thrusting inside of him slowed to a stop. “Do you—Do you do this a lot? With other Omegas?” he asked the question hesitantly. His voice was small and fragile in a way Yi had grown all too familiar with.
Yi shook his head, surprised Diao had even asked that. “I haven’t for a long time.”
“Since—”
“—our engagement,” Yi finished before Diao could get his next question out. “I promise. I don’t play around. I was waiting for you to be ready, Diao.”
“I’m ready now.” Diao spread his legs wide. One foot fell off the couch while the other circled Yi’s waist. “Please, Alpha.”
“Shouldn’t I let you rest first?” Yi murmured though he already had his cock in hand, stroking the length of it with the fist covered in Diao’s slick.
“Who needs rest?” Diao replied. His legs circled Yi’s hips. “I’m not old like you, remember?”
Yi huffed out a laugh that was quickly muffled by Diao’s lips as the Omega arched up for another kiss. With a muffled groan, Yi thrust his cock against the wet mess between Diao’s legs. As he pressed forward again and again, he could have come just from the frictionless slide over Diao’s hole, but he held back. He knew where his Omega wanted him.
Yi touched the thick head of his cock to Diao’s winking entrance and pressed in.
Just the tip had Diao’s core shuddering. He clenched down tight around Yi’s swollen head and let out a heavy breath that sounded like a sigh of relief.
Finally, Yi was inside of him.
“Is this what you wanted?” Yi whispered hot against the shell of Diao’s ear as he sank in deep. By the time his hips smacked against the back of Diao’s thighs, the Omega was at a complete loss for words.
Grunts and whines filled the air along with the slick sounds of their sex. Once deep and heated kisses became soft and lazy. Their lips caressed each other, breaths apart as they panted into each other’s mouths, needing air, unable to control themselves.
Yi fucked Diao hard and fast and exactly how he’d always so clearly wanted it. The Alpha wasn’t absolutely merciless, but he was passionate and forceful. The vicious pleasure his thrusts sent coursing through Diao’s body eventually had him unable to even voice his moans and cries. With every pounding motion, pleasured sounds exited his lungs breathlessly, choked by the overwhelming excitement.
Viscous slick mixed with come leaked down Yi’s cock as he fucked Diao. His knot would stopper it soon, but their couch would be ruined long before then.
Feral and wild, Yi covered Diao’s body with his own. The muscles of his back rippled, his glutes clenching beneath Diao’s heels with every penetrating thrust forward. The press of those heels on his lower back and the way Diao clung to his body barely allowed room for him to pull back for the next thrust.
Diao needed him inside. He wrapped his arms around the back of Yi’s neck. The sting of his fingers clawing down over his shoulder blades was nothing compared to the burning sensations flooding their bodies with heat.
Yi couldn’t take his eyes off his Omega’s face as he fucked Diao harder and faster. Diao’s eyes rolled back, his expression utterly destroyed by pleasure. His lips moved rapidly, trying to voice something as his body tensed beneath Yi.
“I’m—I’m—” the breathless whisper never got out. Diao was coming again.
Yi groaned as the grip around his cock grew tighter while at the same time the wet blust of Diao’s orgasm lubricated his path. The thick knot at the base of his cock was beginning to swell, catching on the rim of Diao’s hole with every thrust. As the pulse of Diao’s climax clenched around it, Yi’s knot expanded and settled just inside his hole. As the Omega’s body shuddered around him, Yi let go.
With a grunt, he pressed his hips to Diao’s. Yi tensed and stilled. Arching over Diao, he palmed the Omega’s waist, pulling him down more firmly onto his cock as he filled him to the brim.
Diao was like a rag-doll beneath him at that point, limp with pleasure and blissfully fucked out. His hooded eyes gazed up at Yi with an expression he could only describe as thankful as they finally, finally set the kindling building up between them alight.
They were both breathing deep and heavy as the blood pounding in their ears finally died down and the blinding, white-hot sensation of pleasure gave way to a softer after glow.
Yi lowered himself over Diao’s body, taking care not to put too much of his weight on the smaller man. As his knot subsided, he gently pulled out. A rush of come followed the pull of his cock and dripped between Diao’s shuddering thighs.
Diao practically seemed semi-unconscious, but as soon as Yi pulled out, his hazy eyes blinked open. His dark, contented gaze met Yi’s and they both smiled.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Diao asked softly. A little smirk Yi wasn’t used to seeing played at the corner of his lips.
Yi huffed. “Who’s bad, huh?” he murmured before pressing a kiss to Diao’s swollen red lips. “Naughty boy. Next time I’ll not be so gentle with you.”
Diao pouted. “Next time should be soon, hm?” With a tilt of his head, he arched back, putting the long line of his neck on display. “We’ve mated now, but you haven’t marked me yet.”
Leaning in, Yi pressed the tip of his nose to Diao’s pulse. He dragged his lips over the Omega’s neck, taking in his already recovering scent.
Yi chuckled. “Next time.”
Diao smiled.
Next time. He was in heat. Next time would come soon enough. |
2nd Month of 286 A.C Harlaw
Lord Benjen Stark
He was going to be Lord of Cerwyn, Jonella had sent word to him before he had left, her father was ailing, was soon to be dying. That mean that he would need to take on the responsibilities for the construction of the canal, and he was not sure what to make of that or anything else for that matter. Everything had been happening so quickly, so very quickly, gods it was strange to think that one moment he had been considering going off to the wall and now here he was about to become the Lord of Cerwyn and being trusted on going on a mission to Harlaw. He felt honoured that Ned felt secure enough to trust him with something such as this, truly he did. And if he was being honest, he felt as if he was ready for it, he wanted to see if he could be a good talker, and a help for Ned, in their quest to gain revenge against Baratheon. Truly he hoped that there could be some chance of gaining more aid, he hoped as such, and therefore was somewhat nervous as he looks at Lord Harlaw who sits before him assessing him with intrigued eyes.
“My Lord of Harlaw, I thank you for agreeing to meet with me, I know that this might appear somewhat sudden, but I promise you it will be worth your while in the long term. The offer my brother, Lord Eddard has for you is one that I think you will approve of.” Benjen begins.
Lord Harlaw, a serious man looks at him intrigued. “And what makes you say that. I have had a look at this offer your brother sent with you, and there are things there that are certainly interesting, but what I want to know is why has he gone for me and not Balon?”
Benjen hesitates a moment, unsure of how to answer that question, after all Harlaw is brothers by marriage with the Lord of Pyke. He takes a moment and then responds. “You are known for being a reasonable man, you are known for wanting to further relations with the mainland. My brother, Lord Eddard feels that you would make for a good partner in these endeavours.”
Harlaw laughs then. “And he has heard of Balon’s supposed beliefs is that what this is? I am surprised though, such a thing one would think was not in his interests, considering the loyalties your brother has.”
Benjen hesitates then. “Loyalties?” he asks.
The man’s eyes narrow. “To King Robert. Your brother won Baratheon the throne, it would not make sense for him to go seeking allies within the islands, for we did not provoke any hostilities during the war, and yet there might be another reason for this.” the man pauses then and then after a moment asks. “Is your brother thinking of replacing Greyjoy with Harlaw?”
Benjen almost breathes an audible sigh of relief that Harlaw went with that tact, and not what he thought he was going to say. “What makes you think that that is the course my brother is thinking of approaching?”
Harlaw looks at him then, his gaze somewhat sharp. “We are the most powerful house within the islands. Far more powerful than House Greyjoy, and we command the most powerful houses within the islands. For many years the Greyjoys had to pay off my forebearers to prevent them from rebelling, and then the marriage between Balon and my sister ensured my father’s and my loyalties. But, Balon has not shown sense in the years he has been in power.”
“What decisions has Balon Greyjoy been making that you do not agree with my lord?” Benjen asks, surprised at himself for the boldness with which he asks the question. “If you do not mind telling me of course.” he hastens to add.
Harlaw laughs then. “I do not mind. Greyjoy knows of my discomfort with what he is planning. The building of a war fleet, when the time for war has passed. The dispatching of septons and septas from the isles. The slaughtering of maesters as well, he is trying to throw us into an age of dark. Something his father tried so hard to prevent. It seems as though he is growing more and more rash as the methods are met with approval.”
“You are worried that he might bring ruin to the islands?” Benjen asks.
Harlaw laughs. “I know he will bring ruin to the islands. Quellon Greyjoy was a great man, but he failed to raise his sons to be anything but mad men or puppets for others. Balon is a fool who believes the old age was the best, and in his desire to seek them once more he shall throw us into darkness. Euron is mad, has always been mad, but there is some sense within him. Victarion is but a soldier he does not do anything Balon does not tell him to do. Aeron is a drunkard. But there is some hope within him. I do not know where the brothers will take the islands, but wherever they go, I do not think it will be good.”
Benjen considers this then. “And is that why you agreed to meet with me? Are you hoping that my brother is going to offer you some freedom from that burden?”
“If you can call watching the islands tear themselves in two a burden then yes, I am willing to listen to what your brother has to say. So tell me, what are the finer points of this offer?” Harlaw asks.
Benjen looks at the man and then asks. “Define what you mean by finer points.”
Harlaw smirks then. “I know all about the part of the profit that I could get through the trade through the canal, and the better rates for the goods we would be selling. What I want to know is what the cut is that your brother will be taking, and what he plans on doing about other islands lords.”
Benjen thinks over this then, straining his memory to think over what Ned had said to him and how it had been explained. Eventually he responds. “As you know my brother has promised you some four percent of the profit from the overall profits from the venture. He knows just how valuable you are to this business succeeding. As to the cut he takes from the island trade, it will be around six percent of overall profits. As to the other island lords if you would mind elaborating.”
Harlaw looks at him, his expression serious. “Drumm, Goodbrother, Botley are they being included in this dealing? Or are they remaining silent, and if so, how does your brother expect to keep them quiet?”
Benjen considers the question and then responds. “Drumm has not been considered, for they are too close to Greyjoy, as for Botley, they are not the main concern of the islands, surely you can see that as well. As for Goodbrother, well they are a powerful house, and yet there are so many members of that family, that we were hoping you knew of the ways to divide them.”
Benjen gives Harlaw his best smile, and the man laughs then. “Ah, I see, so there is one more role you wish for me to play in this little game of ours then. And what is it that I would gain from doing this?”
At this Benjen hesitates. “We would of course give you preferential treatment regarding the payment of fee, and the usage of the canal. Furthermore, we would not prohibit the shipping of other materials into the trade area.” he leaves the implied suggestions there, unsaid, and he sees from how Harlaw responds that the man has caught on to his meaning.
“Very interesting, and if I were to ask for a raise in the profit I received?” Harlaw asks.
At this, Benjen hesitates, unsure of how to respond. He tries to hide his uncertainty, and he is not sure how successful he is at doing this considering Harlaw’s own expression is unreadable. Eventually, he replies. “I believe that I would need to speak to my brother on that matter. But should things look good from the initial point of trade, I do not think he would object.”
Harlaw laughs then. “Another way of saying you do not know, or are saying no politely then?”
Benjen looks at him uncertain of what he means. “I am merely giving you my thoughts on the matter my lord. I cannot speak for my brother, therefore I try not to do so.”
Harlaw looks mildly impressed then. “Very well, so we have discussed the treaty, or rather the finer points of it. Now let us discuss the actual thing itself. I believe all is in order, yet there is one thing that I am not sure on.”
Benjen looks at the man and asks. “This thing would not happen to be the requirement that a note of homage be given for access?”
Harlaw nods. “Indeed it would. The note of homage, is it necessary, and if so, who am I giving homage to? To Winterfell, to the iron throne, to someone in Lys?”
Benjen stiffens slightly at that last part, he tries to hide his nervousness then. He is not sure if he is successful at doing so, and yet when he looks at the man he finds that the man is staring at the paper before them not him. Benjen swallows nervously and then responds. “To the throne, and in thanks to Winterfell for use of the canal, that is what Lord Eddard means I think.”
Harlaw is looking at the paper and responds. “Well he has made it very vague as to what he means here. That could mean anything, do homage.”
Dammit Ned, why did you have to leave it so vague, now he’s going to start asking questions. Benjen internally laments, schooling his face into a mask, he turns his attention to Lord Harlaw and says. “It could do, and yet for that you must forgive my brother, my lord. I am sure that he merely assumed you would know he meant to the throne. If you were to take that as its meaning then I am sure that there should be no qualms.”
Harlaw nods then. “Very well, I have just one more question.”
“And what is that question my lord?” Benjen asks.
“What provisions has Stark made for all of this should Balon begin to act out. My Goodbrother is not known for his common sense, indeed some could argue that he was not born with it. He might seek to attack the canal, how is Lord Stark planning to protect it.” Harlaw asks.
Benjen considers this, he thinks through all that his brother had told him, considers it down to the last, and then says. “There will be a fleet of ships protecting the canal at all times. My brother is investing in the ships, and has commissioned them to be built, on both the eastern and western shores of the north, and especially near the canal itself. That is why in the agreement it states you will be given a banner to fly alongside your own when coming to trade.”
Harlaw considers this. “That sounds reasonable.”
Benjen breathes a sigh of relief then, looking at Lord Harlaw he asks. “So you are willing to sign the agreement? You have no further questions?”
“Just the one.” Harlaw responds. “You are married yes?”
“I am my lord.” Benjen responds cautiously.
“How would you feel about a betrothal between your firstborn child and my grandchild?” Harlaw asks.
“I would need to speak with my wife.” Benjen responds.
“Very well, then I am happy to sign this agreement.” Harlaw says, he puts his quill to the paper and signs it, and then Benjen signs it. They shake hands, and Benjen feels a deep sense of relief.
5th Month of 286 A.C. Lys
King Rhaegar I Targaryen
It was grating, this waiting, the constant waiting, not knowing whether or not he would succeed. He had never truly been good at waiting, and it was beginning to fray his nerves. He did not know what had taken them so long, where in the name of the seven could his mother, Viserys and the little girl who was his sister have gotten to? That his men had found Rhaenys had been a relief and he’d found himself greatly calmed by that, but now there was the other worry, how had they been able to find his daughter but not his mother or siblings? Gods, he was not good at this, he had never been good at this. Not for the first time he found himself wondering if he had made a terrible mistake all those years ago, and then he shook his head. He could not think like that, there would be no hope for him and her if he thought like that.
Lyanna, gods, that was another thing he was not sure how to handle. With Elia, well he had been a very bad husband to Elia, he could see that now. He had barely spoken to her in the first few months, only when he needed children had he come to see her, and gods, he felt awful about that. And yet Elia was dead now, along with Aegon, only Rhaenys was left of her, and he found himself clinging to her all the more because of that. Things with Lyanna had been strained, he did not know how to approach things, they had agreed somewhat to cool things off for the time being, but gods he did not know why it had to be so hard. What they had had in the beginning had been so good, where had it gone wrong? He refused to believe it had gone wrong, that was why he was here now, looking at his wife holding their son, Jaehaerys, or Jon as Lyanna called him, he was three years old, walking and talking, he was sweet, such a sweet child, and Rhaenys was listening to her talk. He coughs slightly, and his wife falls silent.
He looks at his wife and asks. “Might I speak with you Lyanna?”
His wife puts down their son, and his son totters over to the books stacked against the walls. “What do you want to speak about?” she asks.
“In private, away from the children.” Rhaegar says.
His wife looks at him for a long time then, and then says. “Very well.” she stands and walks with him turning briefly to say to the children. “I shall be back shortly, I just need to speak with your father. Rhaenys keep an eye on your brother.” His daughter nods, and Lyanna takes his offered arm and walks with him out of the room, Ser Jaime remains guard outside the room where the children are.
Rhaegar feels his heart begin to quickening then. He takes a deep breath as they enter their own chambers, and as his wife sits down on the bed, he looks at her and says. “I am sorry Lyanna.”
His wife looks surprised then. “Sorry? Whatever for?”
Rhaegar sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I am sorry for the way I have acted toward you these past few moons. It was not right of me, and I know I was wrong to behave as such.”
His wife considers this then and asks. “What made you come to this realisation?”
Rhaegar runs a hand through his hair once more and responds. “Elia.” he hesitates when he sees Lyanna’s reaction, but knowing he has to go on for it to make sense, he does. “I treated her like dirt, I see that now. And my marriage suffered for it. I do not want the same thing to happen here. Lyanna, I….” he pauses then unsure of how to continue, and struggling to find the right words, looks at his wife, and sees the things he found so beautiful in her before. “I love you. Truly I do, and I know it might not always seem like it, but I do, and I do not want to push you away. Not like I did with Elia.”
His wife looks at him then and asks. “And what about our son. Is he Jon or is he Jaehaerys, what is he?”
Rhaegar swallows then. “I… I think he should be called Jon in private and Jaehaerys in public. He is our son, but he must represent the dynasty as much as he does us. Can you see where I am coming from?”
He braces himself for her rebuttal, but is instead surprised when she says. “I quite agree. I think he should be named Jaehaerys in public, when he is named Prince of Dragonstone he should be named as Prince Jaehaerys. It is important after all that our supporters see him as a prince of the blood, they will not if he is called Jon.”
He looks at her surprised. “I…I know. I am surprised. What brought this change?”
His wife stands then, and walks toward him her hand resting on his cheek. “I have no wish to continue arguing with you Rhaegar. And I am not such a child anymore that I cannot see the benefits of him bearing a Targaryen name. I wish for him to know his heritage, both sides of it. What better way for him to have that then his two names.” His wife pauses then and then whispers. “After all the Conqueror had two names, you, yourself told me that.”
Rhaegar laughs softly. “Is that what our son is now then? The conqueror come again?”
“Well, his father most certainly is.” his wife responds leaning up to kiss him.
He kisses her back, and soon they are deepening the kiss, but before he can fully enjoy the feeling of her against him, there is a knock on the door, and they pull apart. He looks round to see Ser Arthur there. “What is it?” he asks.
The Sword of the Morning looks at him and then at Lyanna, and then quickly says. “There has been word from Oswell, it would appear that there has been some problem finding the Queen Dowager and her children.”
“Yes I know that. That’s why I sent him out to find out what the problem was.” Rhaegar snaps, Lyanna takes hold of his hand then and squeezes.
“No, you misunderstand me Your Grace. Oswell has found out the main reason for this problem.” Ser Arthur responds. “It seems that there is someone else who is interested in them.”
“Who? Who else is interested in them?” Rhaegar asks though he has a vague idea who might be.
The knight pauses then, looking as if he were about to deliver some severely bad news. “First, I must offer my condolences Your Grace. The word we received of your mother, Queen Rhaella’s survival was incorrect, she died long ago, but her handmaidens and half-sisters saw to it that Prince Viserys and your sister Princess Daenerys were safe and secure in Braavos until Ser Willam died, following that, well they disappeared.”
Rhaegar feels as if he has been hit by a rock, his mother dead? No that can’t be right, Lyanna is there by his side now looking up at him concerned. He looks at Arthur and asks. “And? What more is there?”
“Oswell managed after great effort to find where the trail of the Prince and Princess and their helpers went cold. It went cold near Norvos, and it seems from there, there have been several near sightings of them, and some close calls.” Arthur says.
“Close calls? What do you mean?” Rhaegar asks, his grip on Lyanna’s hand tightening.
“The usurper has been sending his own men after them. Using the same hints that we have been to try and find them. And yet slowly but surely they have been missed. I think there is more to it than the usurper might think, or even Oswell thinks. I think the Dornish are getting involved.” Arthur says.
“Why would they get involved with Prince Viserys?” Lyanna asks.
“Because they could not find Rhaenys, and I know Oberyn, he will not stop until he has gotten revenge for Elia.” Rhaegar responds.
“Then why not send word to him and ask for his assistance?” Lyanna asks.
Rhaegar looks at his wife and responds. “Because, Oberyn would more than likely want to have me killed rather than aid me. And furthermore, because Doran is too cautious and clever to truly trust. No, we must wait and see what they do.” he looks at Arthur, and then says. “But judging by your expression that is not the only thing you have.”
Arthur looks at him with a sad expression on his face. “Oswell had some troubling news. It seems that the Cheesemonger Illyrio Mopatis has begun making moves to speak with the rulers of Norvos. Something about expanding their peace agreement.”
Rhaegar curses then, and his wife looks at him and asks. “What is bad about that?”
“It means that they won’t be looking to wage war through trade. And it might well mean relations with the Iron Throne are better than we thought. Gods dammit.” Rhaegar responds.
Arthur nods. Rhaegar looks at him and asks. “When did Oswell say he’d be able to return?”
“Within the month my king.” Arthur responds.
Rhaegar looks at his friend and says. “Very well, you may go for the night.” his friend nods and then leaves, once his friend is gone, Rhaegar settles down on the bed with his wife and says. “Gods, this has just gotten so much more complicated.”
His wife is sitting in his lap now, and her weight feels like a good one. “Did you think it would be any easier?”
He laughs then. “No, I did not. I just did not think the cheesemonger would capitulate as soon as he did. Usually the man and his ilk remain stubborn until the last. That is what my father always used to say.” he grimaces as the mention of his father and then sighs as he feels his wife’s arms wrap around him.
“Well, I know Ned will be doing his best to make thing easier. He managed to get the trade agreement with the Harlaws and their allies. And soon enough there will be word from Jon, I am sure.” his wife responds.
Rhaegar groans then. “Gods, I had forgotten about him. No doubt the man is going to try something or the other. He has not yet forgiven me for the last time we spoke.”
His wife kisses him then and the pulls back to look at him. “I am sure he will, after all, who could refuse you? I surely couldn’t. And I think Jon is half in love with you.”
Rhaegar looks at his wife surprised then. “What makes you say that my love?”
Lyanna laughs. “It is obvious, anyone with a brain could see it from the way he looks at you.”
Rhaegar looks at her then and laughs with her. “I always thought there was something about the way he spoke to me, that was a bit odd. But then that raises the question, what do I do about it?”
His wife is straddling him now, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to think, as she grinds herself against him she groans as does he. Breathily she murmurs. “Do you think it will cause an issue?”
“I…I... do not know.” he responds somewhat stiltedly
“Then wait and see what happens.” his wife replies, and then conversation stops as their love reunites itself, through fire and heat.
Somewhere in the back of his mind though, Rhaegar remembers the desperation in Jon’s voice, and he begins wondering if he can use that for his family’s gain. He cannot allow there to be any weaknesses, not now. Not with things getting more complicated. |
Bernie spent most of the next few days lazing on Serena’s sofa, Serena and Jason happy to run around after her, insisting she got plenty of rest. Although she was never usually one for laying around doing nothing, she had to admit that laying doing nothing with Serena’s arms around her was quickly becoming one of her favourite things in the world.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay going back to work?” Serena asked as they laid together on Serena’s bed, Serena’s fingers gently raking through Bernie’s hair.
“I think so” Bernie nodded, “I’m not in any pain, I don’t feel exhausted any more, you’ve seen the wound, you said yourself that you think the antibiotics are doing their job. I’ve got a week of freedom before I start my radiotherapy, I want to make the most of it.”
“By being at work?” Serena raised an eyebrow.
“By being with you, and our AAU family.”
Serena propped herself up on one elbow, “you’d tell me wouldn’t you? If it was too much for you?”
Bernie nodded, lifting her head awkwardly to brush her lips against Serena’s, “I promise you, if it gets too much for me then I’ll tell you. And if you, or anyone else has any concerns about my health or my work then I promise to listen to them and not brush them off.”
Serena smiled and bent down to kiss Bernie again, “thank you, I’d appreciate that.”
Bernie smiled and gently stroked Serena’s cheek with her thumb, “I’m getting ready for another cuppa” she said, “do you think Jason will let us go back downstairs yet?”
Serena laughed, “I don’t know, what time does his documentary finish?”
“No idea” Bernie shrugged, “how about I go down and make us both a drink? If only one of us goes down he can’t complain we’re making too much noise.”
“Good idea Major” Serena smiled, they’d been banished upstairs about hour earlier after Jason had complained their chat was distracting him when he was trying to watch a documentary about the Natural History Museum, “but I’ve got a better plan, you stay here, I’ll go downstairs.”
Bernie laughed, “I’m going to start getting muscle atrophy if I’m not careful” she rolled her eyes, “am I allowed to walk to the bathroom while you go downstairs?”
Serena sighed and rolled her eyes, “I suppose so.”
“Go on then” Bernie passed Serena her mug, “I promise I’ll be back here by the time you come back up.”
“Promise?” Serena raised an eyebrow.
Bernie laughed and kissed Serena again before she stood and carefully stretched her back, “I promise.”
They spent a lot of time curled together in Serena’s room over the rest of the week and Bernie even spent the night before her return to work curled into her partner’s arms. She was dressed, putting on her makeup when she saw Serena walk out of the ensuite, raising one eyebrow in the mirror when she noticed Serena was leaning against the doorframe watching her, “if you’re worried about…”
“No” Serena interrupted, “not worried at all” she pushed herself to stand upright and slowly walked over towards Bernie, “just wondering how you can look that good in skinny jeans at your age when I wouldn’t even have looked half as good when I was half your age.”
Bernie laughed as she turned to face Serena, “I disagree” She looked Serena up and down, “I’d love to see you in a pair of skinny jeans”.
“Well” Serena winked cheekily, slipping her hands into the back pockets of Bernie’s jeans, “maybe I might have to get a pair then, for your eyes only”
Bernie wrapped her arms around Serena and stole a quick kiss as Jason called them from downstairs to let them know breakfast was ready, “maybe I might have to keep you to that.”
They walked downstairs together, “this looks lovely Jason, thank you” Serena said as she sat at the table, Bernie echoing Serena’s compliment.
“Yes, well I thought Doctor Bernie might appreciate something substantial before her first day back at work, the eggs are full of protein, and the unrefined carbohydrates in the whole wheat bread will be a good source of energy.”
“Thank you Jason” Bernie smiled, since they’d made the lasagne together she’d been teaching Jason other meals too, simple things he could cook on his own if Serena ever needed to work later than planned. Bernie and Serena had been surprised at how interested Jason had become, not only in the cooking but in the nutritional background to the food he made.
“Quite” Serena nodded, “scrambled eggs on toast is a very good meal to start the day with.”
“We tried to make omelettes last week” Jason told his aunt, “when you were working, but mine fell apart so I think I need to practice that more before I serve it for other people.”
“Well, they do say practice makes perfect Jason” Serena told him, “you’ll get better the more you try.”
“Would you mind if I drove?” Bernie asked once they were all ready to leave a little while later.
Serena said nothing but threw her car keys over to Bernie who caught them easily, “try not to get any speeding tickets” she joked as the three of them left the house.
To Serena’s relief, the traffic stopped Bernie even reaching the speed limit for most of their journey, “I’m going to work” Jason told them as soon as she’d parked, “I know how long you two will spend talking before you get out of the car and I don’t want to be late, I’ll see you later.”
They both said goodbye to Jason before Serena reached for Bernie’s hand and squeezed it softly, “okay?”
“Yeah” Bernie nodded, “do you erm, do you think you’ll be able to come with me later, don’t worry if not, you’d probably just be sat in the waiting room anyway and…”
“Bernie” Serena squeezed her hand again, “if you want me to come with you then I’ll be there. I’ll call Ric down to watch the ward if needs be.”
Bernie smiled and kissed Serena’s lips, “thank you” she whispered before glancing at the clock on the dashboard, “we should get in, we don’t want Jason lecturing us about our timekeeping skills.”
“That’s true” Serena stole another kiss before getting out of the car, waiting for Bernie to lock it and return the keys before slipping her hand into her partner’s once again, “and I know everyone on the ward is looking forward to seeing you again.
Serena wasn’t lying, Bernie walked into the office to find Jasmine, Morven, Raf and Fletch waiting to greet her, the interior of the room was covered with ‘welcome home’ banners and balloons, Raf had bought her coffee and a pastry and she was hugged so tightly by Morven and Jasmine that it took her a minute to catch her breath again, “It’s good to have you back Major” Fletch smiled, briefly reaching out to squeeze her arm.
Bernie smiled and nodded as the others all voiced their agreement with him, “it’s good to be back.”
The morning passed without incident, Bernie changing quickly into her familiar blue scrubs before helping Jasmine diagnose a patient who’d been sent up from the ED. She helped her come up with a treatment plan for the patient and, after telling Jasmine how well she’d done, she left the junior doctor to discuss the treatment with the doctors on the relevant ward and arrange for the patient’s transfer. She didn’t realise how much she’d missed AAU until now, the banners and balloons in the office were right, she really was home. “Everything okay?” Raf asked when he saw Bernie glance at the clock a little after 11.
“Do you know where Serena is?” she asked, perching on the edge of the nurse’s station to talk to him.
“In theatre I think, with Morven, emergency appendectomy and we were the only ones with a free theatre apparently, do you need her?”
“No, no, I erm, I’ve got my planning appointment in radiology, if she’s out of theatre before I’m back will you let her know where I am?”
“Of course I will” Raf nodded, “I could probably take over in theatre if…”
“No” Bernie interrupted, “I’ll be fine, she’d probably just have been sat in the waiting room anyway. Just make sure she’s not worried about not being there.”
“Of course.” Raf nodded again, “and don't you worry either, the ward will be fine.”
Bernie nodded, “Ric knows about my appointment, so if you need anything call him, he’s probably expecting Serena to go with me as it is.”
“Don’t worry” Raf squeezed her arm, “we’ll be fine and so will you.”
Bernie nodded and forced a smile as she stood from the desk and smoothed out her scrubs, “I hope so” she mumbled under her breath as she grabbed her hoodie from the office and left the ward alone.
|
“Oh my god I think that’s my new favorite movie.” The main room of the movie theater is bright compared to the dim of the theater they just came out of it. Tim can’t help but remember that one tumblr post where someone said they feel like they can do anything after seeing a movie and a theater worker said movie goers look like idiots when they first walk out.
“I know right! And the part where they showed nothing but Deadpool’s butt for like three minutes at least!” Steph slaps her thigh and crows drawing a couple of turned faces. “Take that no homo dude-bros!”
Tim rubs his eyes and throws away his now empty giant cup of coke (Small his ass. Though if he’s paying like seven dollars for it it better be big.) “You hungry? There’s a diner around the corner that has some bomb burgers.”
Steph holds a hand to her heart. “I’m always hungry for some bomb burgers Tim, why do you even need to ask?”
The diner doesn’t look like much but then again most of the good ones are the ones you’d never notice unless it’s three in the morning suffering from blood loss with a craving for fried eggs, but that’s a different story.
“Hey there Tim!” Dolly greets him when she sees him open the door and lead Steph to his normal seat. “I’ll be with ya in a sec.” Tim sits opposite Steph with his back to the door. The bell attached to it rings. Must be a busy day for the diner.
“Here you go.” Dolly comes with a platter of water and coffee, praise Jesus for this woman, she just leaves the entire coffee pot with them knowing Tim will go through the whole thing. “What can I get you all to eat?”
Steph gives the menu a quick once over before ordering a cheese burger with fries, Tim orders the same. Dolly writes it on her paper pad, nods and goes to give it to Stan the chef. Steph and Tim talk about their favorite parts of the movie until they’re food arrives. Tim thanks Dolly and waits for Steph to take a bite before eating his. “You’re right, this is a bomb burger.”
Tim smiles and takes a giant bite of his burger closing his eyes while doing so. Steph laughs at him and Tim looks up from his burger confused. “You still moan into your food. It sounds like you’re having sex with your food Tim. That’s a whole different kind of playing with your food.”
Tim rolls his eyes. So what if he enjoys his food? If it’s good it’s good. The bell behind Tim rings again and Steph’s face darkens. Tim resists the urge to look behind him. He tries to angle his coffee cup or spoon to look behind him without being obvious but it doesn’t work. Instead Tim puts down his burger and makes the hand signal for ‘Danger?’.
Steph scowls back and shakes her head signing instead ‘Ally.’ One fault with Batman’s hand signal version of sign language is that most of it is fight related, so there’s no signal for ‘Family’ as Tim soon realizes when Steph curses “Damnit Dick.”. At first he thinks she means dick like lower case D, not dick like acrobatic older brother with a penchant for cuddling and not letting go.
“I swear to god I’m going to punch them so hard when I get home.” Steph lowers her voice.
Tim raises and eyebrow. “Them?” he questions.
“He’s got Damian and Jason with him too. How he managed it I don’t know. I do however know that they’re all dead when I get home.”
Tim closes his eyes and breathes. Great. Just great. He thinks before “Hey do you want to play a game?”
Steph looks up with a raised eyebrow to twin Tim’s previous one. “I know I said I was going to murder them but I didn’t mean Saw style Tim you evil master mind.”
“Well if they’re gonna follow us we might as well give them something to follow right? After all they were trained by a very scary very good man, we should put that to the test, right?”
Steph’s face brightens. “You know, that sounds like a plan.”
Tim waves Dolly over and pays for their late lunch before they leave and walk back to Tim’s car. Behind them they can see the shadows of Steph’s brothers following them. Instead of going to the underground parking lot Tim and Steph jerk left and down into the subway instead.
They quickly shove cash into the till and run down and into a corner where they wait until they hear her brother’s foot steps past. They then run back out and get onto a departing train heading uptown. As the doors closed Dick pushes onto the platform and watches Steph wave goodbye. Tim wishes he could have snapped a picture of Dick’s face. In fact he might just hack the subways’ cameras and see if they caught the look he made. If they did he’s going to frame it and put it above his fire place.
Halfway up town where the subway stops Tim and Steph get off and make a rush for the stairs. Once up on the surface they take a cab and split after five minutes of drving. They go their seperate ways and Tim can see Damian scowling with Dick some fifteen yards behind him. Tim dives into a dress shop where he knows the owner. Fabian doesn’t even ask questions as he gestures Tim past a very confused bride and into an escape route.
Once he’s shaken Dick and Damian, Tim meets back up with Steph at a 7-11 on the corner of fifth and fourth. They then rush to another cab take it till they get to an apartment building and they then walk down the allys to the mall of Gotham. They speedwalk to the first clothing store they see and hide in the clothing racks in the back. Tim really hopes there are no employees nearby.
It’s not long until Dick, Damian and Jason walk by. Dick’s muttering to them but they aren’t very responsive. As fate would have it they stop right in front of the clothing rack Steph and Tim are hiding in.
“I can’t believe we lost them! How’d Tim lose us Dami? How did he lose us? And Jay, I thought you were on top of following Steph! How’d you lose her? But whe does Tim know to walk into a dress shop and not walk back out but still wind up three miles up town?”
Jason snorts. “Hell if I know. You know what else I don’t know? Why I have to be here when I’ve only bumped into the kid once.”
Damian nods. “For once Todd and I are in agreement. Why do we have to join in on this waste of time Grayson?”
Dick feigns hurt and shoots them a look of betrayal. “As Steph’s family it is our job to know about her life and take care of her! It’s our job to make sure her friends won’t hurt her!”
Jason looks at Dick with dead, dead eyes. “Have you forgotten the fact that she’s as trained as you and I? Or the fact that she knows how to kill a man with her bare hands as many times as there are days in the year? And yet she doesn’t. I think she can take care of herself Dick.”
Dick scoffs. “I know that! But she’s known this guy for three years and we only just met him! Doesn’t that sound kind of suspicious to you! For all we know he could be a spy or under Luthor’s pay roll or even worse he could be just some ass who doesn’t want people to know about him so he can control Steph!”
Steph decides to slowly inch out of the clothing rack that Dick’s back is to. She drags Tim out with her. Jason and Damian notice but don’t say anything. Jason’s eyes look alight and the left side of Damian’s mouth pulls up in a smirk.
Dick continues not noticing. “We know nothing about this guy except for that he’s the CEO of one of Wayne Enterprise’s enemy companies! Maybe he’s a spy whose trying to take over Wayne Enterprises!”
“I don’t know Dick, why don’t you ask him yourself.” Steph speaks behind him. He freezes and slowly turns his head around to look at her.
“Oh, hey little sister. How’re you?”
“Annoyed.” Her voice is as dry as the Sahara and oh boy Tim is crowing inside. As much as he says he hates drama he loves to see it. It could be worse though. Jason starts gang wars when he’s bored, Tim just pushes people a bit off the edge so that they snap about snickerdoodles or stealing their man.
“Oh wow, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? Some water, a snack maybe?”
“You could stop spying on me and my friends! Don’t you have something better to be doing Dick than this? I know you’re a weirdo but spying on high school kids? That’s a new low Dick.”
Jason is pounding on the display table next to him and Damian is holding back laughter.
Dick splutters then sighs. “Sorry Steph. It’s just we don’t know anything about your boyfriend and we’re just trying to look out for you.”
Jason raises a hand and speaks. “I was forced into this! I know that if someone messed with you, you’d get them back.”
“Fatgirl can take care of herself Grayson. There’s no reason to follow her and boyfriend on their date.”
Tim is spluttering at Dickand Damian calling him Steph’s boyfriend. Jason looks at him and barely contains a snort laugh thing. Steph looks at Tim and glares at Dick. “And now you’re embarrassing my friend! Key word friend! We are not dating!”
Tim can feel his face heat. How do you react to your friend’s vigilante brothers thinking your dating your best friend? If they were anyone on his board or if he were Black Bird he wouldn’t be blushing. No he’d know exactly who he is and how to react. Instead he’s trying to figure out where he belongs in this mess of Steph’s family and how to act around them without making too bad of an impression.
“Because you three decided to follow us around you can drive me home after Tim and I get a lemonade! Meet me in front of the mall in like ten minutes.” Once they’re a fair distance away Steph turns to Tim smiling. “Sorry my brother’s are asses. You know I haven’t seen you turn that red since I first stripped down in front of you.”
They do get a lemonade like Steph said they would. “Do you want Dick to drive you down to the movie theater so you can get your car or do you want to walk there? It’s getting pretty late, I didn’t realize how much time we spent running and hiding from them.”
Tim shakes his head. “Nah, I think the walk will do me good. I had fun today Steph, see you later.” They hug when they reach the mall exit. Damian is waiting in the back seat of Dick’s car, which Dick is leaning against waiting for Steph. Tim and Steph part and he starts walking towards the nearest subway when he hears someone call his name.
Tim turns to see Jason on his motorcycle, shit, holding his helmet in his lap. In that moment Tim is reminded of how attractive Steph’s second eldest brother is.
“Hey strawberry!” Jason calls again. “Sorry about that, I didn’t know what Dick had planned until I saw you two at the movie theater.”
Tim rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry?” he says unsure. “Um, why is Dick so interested in me?”
Jason shrugs. “Dick was a raised in a circus, hard to believe I know.” Jason speaks sarcastic almost as well as Tim. Do not get a crush on your friend’s brother Tim, do not it. Maybe he should check himself into Arkham if he’s starting to talk to himself in his head. “But Dick’s used to everyone being a big family and family being in each other’s business like 24/7. He’s used to knowing everything about his family, including things about their not boyfriends.”
Tim ignores the last part of Jason’s sentence. “Yeah but he doesn’t have to stalk us. He could just ask me like a normal person.”
Jason smiles and Tim resists the urge to run or shudder or both. It’s not a razor thin smile like Tim when he’s closing in on someone in the board room but it delivers the same message in it’s wolf like display of teeth.
“Great!” Jason says. “Then you can drop by at the family dinner tomorrow at six! Don’t be late and bring wine, bye!” With that Jason puts his helmet on and zooms away leaving Tim with his jaw hanging and struggling to get a word out.
Tim takes a steadying breath as he reaches a hand up to knock on the doors to Wayne Manor at exactly 5:58 pm. He doesn’t get the chance to knock as it swings open to reveal Alfred standing behind it.
“Ah, very good to see you young sir, right on time. We’re so please you could come. Right this way.” Alfred leads Tim inside and takes the bottle of wine Tim offers.
“A fine vintage, thank you sir. I’ll serve it with dinner. Dinner is being served in the second dining room, Master Bruce wished for it to be a familial affair.” Alfred leads Tim to said second dining room. Tim chokes down the urge to gulp as the entire bat family turns to look up at him. Bruce is sitting at the head of the table, Dick is on his right, Steph sits next to him and Cass sits next to her. On Bruce’s left side is Damian, an empty seat, and then Jason. Tim really wants to fight whoever it is that manages his luck. They must be having a hell of a time wherever they are.
Tim sits in between Damian and Jason and can’t help but feel like he’s in a den of wolves. Though bats is more fitting. Oh god what if they’re vampires? He glances at the silverware quickly and sees it actually is silver. Well them being vampires is out.
“Thank you for having me Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce laughs loudly but his eyes are still cold to Tim’s eyes. “Please, Tim, just call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne sounds so stuffy. Now then, what are your goals in life?”
Tim gives the usual answer of becoming better and keeping Drake Industries successful. Dick jumps in with another question before Tim is even finished with the last breath of his sentence. Dinner is tense at first with everyone trying to figure Tim out and Tim them in return, albiet a little less as out there as the Wayne’s are. Even Jason jumps in a couple of times.
Then Alfred brings out the first dish and they eat and things become a little less tense. Dick and Bruce are the only ones who can legally drink the wine Tim brought. Not that it would loosen their tongues any, Bruce has trained all his kids to deal with alcohol. Just like Tim’s mother trained him when she started taking him to business parties.
They’re starting to actually laugh by the time the main course gets around, Dick is in the middle of a thrilling story about Jason’s childhood. No one directly addresses Jason being the same one who died, just like no one addresses the suspicion that Tim is Black Bird. Some would call them loose ends but Tim already knows their secrets, and if worse comes to worse he can always spell a twin vision of him and place Black Bird and Tim Drake in the same room at once to dispel any remainder belief that he is who he is indeed.
“Dessert will be served in the sitting room. I will be with you shortly to serve it.”
Tim follows the Wayne’s. His smile is for real as he listens to Jason’s response to Dick talking about Jason’s first crush. Everyone looks up in surprise when the clock tolls nine. Tim knows he’ll need to leave now, nights have been getting longer and patrols have been starting earlier.
Not even five minutes later Bruce says something about it getting late and needing sleep. Dick leads Tim to the door while Alfred cleans up.
“I was nervous when I first came here that you all would eat me alive.” Tim says at the door. “I’m glad tonight was fun.”
“Same. You should come to movie night next week. I’ll text you what time if you want, it kind of changes with schedules.”
When Tim first woke up this morning he wasn’t expecting to be exchanging phone numbers with Dick Grayson by the end of the day and yet here he is. When Dick says he should come to movie night Tim can’t help but remember how smoothly Jason got Tim to come here tonight. It must be something Bruce teaches them. |
Nyota opens the doors without even checking the DNA signature or asking who it is; she knows the sound of her girlfriend’s knock by heart. She taps the release switch and they slide aside, revealing a crushed-looking Carol with tears streaming down her cheeks. Before Nyota even has a chance to ask what’s wrong, Carol’s flown into her arms, catching her right in the open doorway. The apartment building hallway around them is completely empty, but Nyota would be frozen here in surprise even were it teaming with people.
This is one of Carol’s powerful hugs. She’s a strong woman, even by Nyota’s high standards, but clearly something terrible has happened, something that’s shaken her to her very core. She has her arms wrapped tightly around Nyota’s torso, clinging to Nyota’s sweater and catching in stray strands of hair. Her face is buried in Nyota’s shoulder, soaking the base of Nyota’s neck with free-flowing tears while her body’s wracked with sobs. Nyota can do nothing but gently hold her back and stroke her golden hair, murmuring, “I’m here.” She doesn’t say ‘it’s okay,’ because in their world, it’s not a promise she can make.
Carol whispers hoarsely, “I love you.”
Nyota, without missing a beat, replies simply, “I love you too.” Carol sniffs.
She loosens her airtight grip incrementally, but she doesn’t let go. She mumbles into the crook of Nyota’s neck, “He disowned me.” Nyota gasps, but before she can properly extend her condolences and sympathy—even though she’s always personally hated Carol’s father—Carol rushes on in a harried tumble, “H-he found Khan Noonien Singh—” Nyota stiffens at the mention of the man whose name adorns Carol’s arm, “and he just brought him home for dinner, just like that! I-I tried to take him aside and talk, but he was such a creep, and he practically forced himself on me! Father heard and came rushing out and actually yelled at me for misbehaving! I... I had to tell him the truth about us, but he just...” Carol stops to sniff before bitterly choking out, “He said I didn’t have a choice! He said our names on each other’s arms made me Mr. Singh’s property and given time I’d see that, but I didn’t... Nyota, I love you so much, I—”
“Shhh,” Nyota murmurs, trying to calm Carol down, even though she knows that if their positions were reversed, she’d be just as upset. The way Carol’s father treats her has always irked Nyota deeply, and the thought of a man forcing himself on Carol makes her sick. If she’d been there, things would’ve gone very differently.
She can feel Carol shaking her head, and she rolls on, voice cracking, “Singh’s a powerful man, with military achievements, contacts, credits... that stuff means nothing to me, but you know how father is; he thought it was a perfect match; he didn’t give a damn about my feelings! He told me I would go home with Singh or I would be disowned, and I...”
Nyota, torn, doesn’t know what to say. Her heart aches for Carol; there’s nothing quite like seeing her girlfriend shattered to ruin her world. Their very public setting’s melted into the background, and Nyota’s entire being pours into being Carol’s rock, holding Carol’s trembling form up and making soothing sounds and just being supportive and there. Finally, she opts for confirmation and mumbles, “You made the right decision, Carol. But you should’ve never been put in that position.”
“I... I know...” Carol chokes. And she’s smarter than to ever go home with a stranger, especially after such a huge red flag. Nyota doesn’t care what society says; soulnames are not infallible. They’ve left Carol cold and shivering, and she whispers, “My father... he made me sit there and watch while he contacted the authorities. He’s so high up, it hardly took him any time at all... I... I’ve been completely written off... he cut me out of the will, he had all of my things sent to a postbox, he wouldn’t even look at me, just because I wouldn’t bow to his almighty soulmate beliefs...” She’s practically spitting by the end of it, furious. But when she pulls back to look at Nyota, she’s nothing but sorrow. Her eyes are so red that they shine vividly through the veil of tears. She hisses, “I’m not even a Marcus anymore. I’m just... I’m just Carol.”
“Carol Uhura, someday,” Nyota offers gently, though she’s not sure if that joke’s in good taste. She’s relieved when Carol manages the barest of smiles. Back to her own frown, Nyota shakes her head. “I... Carol, I can’t imagine what you’re going through...”
“I guess I should be happy,” Carol mutters, glancing aside. Her face twists for a moment. “In a way, I’m finally free of his awful control...”
Nyota sadly says for her, in full agreement but understanding, “He’s still your father. You can be upset.” Carol just nods.
Carol opens her mouth but can’t seem to bear saying anymore.
Nyota says for her, “It’s... it’s going to be hard, I won’t lie. Sticking with me...”
“I don’t regret that,” Carol snaps. “I regret him making me choose, but I’ll never regret choosing you.”
“We’ll never really be able to marry,” Nyota continues, facing a truth she’s long been avoiding. She always knew she would stick with Carol, she thinks, even in the face of her own soulmate, but as she’s never met him, it was never quite so real. “Only soulmates can get insurance. We’ll always be judged...”
“I love you,” Carol repeats, and for a moment, she looks strong again: stubborn and beautiful and the powerful woman she is.
Nyota echoes, “I love you too. ...And I would’ve picked you too.”
Carol sniffs.
Then Carol lunges into her arms again. Nyota never quite let go, but this time she squeezes tighter: exuding all assurance. Carol whispers against her, “My things’ll be ready for pickup tomorrow, but... I need a place to stay...”
“I wanted to move in together last week, remember?” Nyota chuckles, and she can feel Carol’s palpable relief in the sigh against her shoulder.
A door down the hall opens, omitting a short, older human man going bald, looking instantly surprised at the two of them. Hearing it, Carol pulls back, and she wipes at her eyes.
Nyota ushers her inside the apartment, where the doors lock them into their own private world: one where they’re just perfect the way they are. |
Fully feed and finally clean, the 15 teenagers after putting on their night clothes made their way back to the dining room. Everyone quickly fell into their spots and began to set up their stations.
"Marinette, I made a misstep in the previous session. You are not supposed to learn Heat Metal until 3rd level. Would it be alright if you removed the spell?" Max asked Marinette, who bobbed her head in agreement.
"Alright, everyone!" Lila's voice practically surrounded her classmates when she spoke. The chatter among them, from nervousness about what came next to which dice had been claimed their favorite, quieted down. "I've already talked to Max about this and we have our individual preferences, but he wanted to ask you. How would you like to level up?"
"Do you mean 'would we like to level up' or 'what method would you like to level up'?" Myléne quickly asked for clarification. Chloé nodded as well while everyone else looked rather confused.
"It's a matter of method," Max cleared up, "Would you rather we level you up based on experience points, where I would keep track of the numbers, or have it be based on milestones?"
Adrien, in his own house, raised his hand. Marinette gave a small loving sigh (and so did several others in the room).
"What do you mean by milestone in this context?"
"The decisions you make and how you come to them in within the story." Max said, but they all still looked lost.
"So like," Alya dawdled, "you mean like when we came together and fought of the monsters to get our gear?"
Lila's nodded vigorously. "Yes exactly! It all depends on where you end up in the game and after you'd clear certain events or schemes we came up with. Right now, I consider what you all did last session worth a level up! However Mr. Let's Crunch The Numbers says otherwise."
Lila teased, rubbing her elbow into Max's side. Max pushed up his glasses to adjusted them on his nose. "It's true that I lowered the Experience Points available to you from Goblins and Hobgoblins, but that is only because we have such a large party. Besides, anybody can kill a goblin, it's not that hard when they have 9 HP. So what say you, friends?"
The group took a moment to weight the pros and cons. Ultimately, they decided on the milestone method. It was a mix of concern that Max already doing so much plus seeing what events and trials Lila considered level worth. Everyone rolled hit dice, Adrien whooping loudly as he actually got lucky for once and rolled his max. Next came picking second level stuff. For some it was finally getting access to spells while others had new combat abilities.
Once everybody was satisfied with their choices, Lila clapped her hands together and gave them a mischievous rub. Almost everyone was nervous by the action, except for Chloé who merely smirked and surprisingly Myléne who wore a resolute face.
"Since you lot leveled, all of your spell slots are full as well! Is everyone ready? Good. Now to pick up where we left off. The ragtag team of adventurers had finally come together to find their loot. Upon victory, you took time to gather yourselves and after taking precautionary measures not to start another conflict, one of your party unlocked a large steel gate and revealed a dark tunnel. What do you want to do?"
"You think that's the exit?" Nino asks hopefully.
"It could be a trap though," Kim suggests, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Miss?" Adrien addresses Sabrina who blinks at her owlishly.
"Izari. And are you asking me to scout ahead?"
"I'd be more than willing to assist." Adrien says with a wink.
"Give me a stealth roll, you two." Lila asks, met with two dice meeting wood. "18 and 17? Your companions watch as you step forward into darkness and quietly fade from sight. Izari and Felix, the tunnel is only 60 feet long and as you come to the other side of the opening, you find that it opens up to a large, wide space. Along the towering walls are hundreds stone gargoyles that look as if they are about to come to life at any moment. On the other side, across, is large metal door. From where you are, the space is empty and unguarded."
"Stay here and don't do anything." Sabrina says to Adrien, who smiles a little too innocently for her liking. "I head back to the group and tell them the path seems to be clear."
"While she's doing that I'm--"
"Adrien Jacques Agreste." Sabrina's eyes narrowed.
"I'm waiting. Just as told. Not doing anything except inspecting the room. I got a 14?" Adrien backpedaled.
"The gargoyles look really intimidating. Is everyone going quietly or are you gonna charge forward? Also what's your marching order?"
Collectively, they were as silent as mice. Sabrina led, followed closely by Chloé with Ivan taking the rear this time.
"You come to a halt just shy of the entrance. Do you venture forward?" Lila asks, eyes looking over everyone rapidly.
"The door right there and the path is clear. I think we can make it." Adrien suggests. "Before waiting for anyone else, Felix is going to make a mad dash across the room."
There were cries of "Adrichou!" and "Bro why?" from his very best friends. Alix and Kim are both cackling with glee as Marinette groans.
"I reach out to grab him by the arm." Sabrina snaps.
"Give me a dexterity check please." Max says, eyes sparkling at at this surprise interaction.
Sabrina is only half mock-glaring at Adrien who is still smiling wide, as they roll.
"17." Sabrina declares as she reads her dice, sure that she wont the contest. Adrien's head is cock ever so slightly with the angle making his grin that of Cheshire.
"Oh god of numbers and goddess of stories, tell what happens with a natural 20."
There's a collective groan except from a now hollering Kim.
"Almost if a spell of bad luck has come over you, Izari, you trip over air despite being so nimble and balanced. Felix has shot off like a light in the dark, racing across the floor. He only makes it a good 60 feet before there's a flash of white bluish light.
"Arcana?" says Nathaneal the same time as Marinette chimes, "Can I roll to recognize it?"
"With a 18 and 13 you both recognize the spell as teleportation magic. Philip, you notice that a rune has been etched in the cobblestone floor. From the light, 3 large figures have appeared in the middle of the room. Standing before you is an Orog, a Bugbear, and a Troll. They are dressed in armor and what looks like warden's outfits. The Orog and the Bugbear have large clubs rest on their shoulder."
"'Looks like you were right to connect our room to opening chamber, Snazar,' the Troll commends one of the other two. He then points a greatsword with green tinted blade in your direction. 'I suggest you prisoners go back to your cells. Your punishment for attempting to escape before trial will be a lot less painful then it you attempt to resist.'"
"Felix does that cartoon skid to a stop and backpedals. 'I'm sorry sir I don't think I can abide by that. I don't do to well in cells. Allergic actually.'"
"There's a pause before the Troll lets out a roaring bellow of laughter. 'You're funny, little human man. We can't have that here so you have to die now.' He brings the sword down on you."
"I CLICK MY BOOTS OF HASTE AND RUSH TO INTERCEPT!" Alix immediately yells, slamming her hands on the table, rocking her dice.
"Lightning Step." Juleka utters more quietly, but no less urgently.
"Can I shot him from here? Can you?" Alya asks Kim, panicked a little.
"Alright alright! First things first, everyone roll for Initiative. Then you two--" Lila points to Alix and Juleka but then pauses. "Well, actually can they make it, Max?"
Max scanned his notes for a moment, glassing glaring white from the light of his computer's screen. "Well Alix and Juleka both have characters that are arguably the fastest on foot characters. They both have a natural aptitude for closing a large amount of distance in a short amount of time. I will say, in this case, yes."
"The two of you vanish from your spots among the group. In a blink of an eye, you both block the large blade with your sword and palm respectfully." Lila illustrated, almost giddy at how they reacted.
"Alix, take a point of damage. And Juleka please roll a d8 for me." Max noted. "And now for the Initiative order?"
Rotten luck put Adrien towards the rear with a 6 while his two guarding companions rolled a 14 and 15. The Order ended up like so:
Max moved all of their tokens outside of the tunnel for combat.
"The troll--who's name you haven't asked for by the way, how rude of you--roars in anger at having his attack blocked. He lifts his blade back with one arm to swing at you, Rashida."
"He attacks with his sword with a 17." Lila says, looking over at Max's roll.
Alix eyes go big. "Um! Um! Um! Lightning Evasion!"
Max hums pridefully. "I'm surprised you remembered to use it."
Alix stuck her tongue out at her best friend who chuckled.
"Using your clan's ability, you dodge out of the way quick as lightning. You spin out of the way, pushing Nishi and Felix away from you as the blade is brought down. Cracks splinter in the stone floor from the force. He gets a second attack and he's going after you again, Felix. Annndddd that's an 18."
"Parry!" Juleka cried out uncharacteristically loud, standing up and striking a pose. The class was stunned as her sudden jump in volume. Her pale cheeks went rosy immediately, as her girlfriend smiled at her. "I got a 16 for my save dc!"
"The troll is caught off guard by this lanky, yet beautiful creatures strength as he's blocked once again from attacking. He's completely off balance now and the next attack get advantage. Alya, you're next and then Marinette's up!"
"I'm gonna move out and over there. No, no, to the right closet to the wall. I'm gonna pull out my rifle and take aim at the big guy who keeps swing my pardners."
"Aileas pull off a sleek metal rode with an open end on it from her back. It's nothing like any of you have ever seen before, as she twirls it and points the open end at the troll. A moment later a roaring "BANG!" is fired and--"
"12 for my first roll, but with my firearm bonus, it's a 14. Next is aaaaaa, 18+2! 20! I'm gonna add my Fox Fire damage as well! Ummm, 7 and a 3!"
"---the bullet whizzes through the air and slams into the troll shoulder, tearing through the shoulder plate of his armor. Hui, what would you like to do."
"I'm going to cast Searing Smite as a Bonus Action. Then I'm going to try move as close as I can to attack with my one of my chakrams."
"Because you're so far behind in the marching order of the tunnel, you can only get to about here." Lila moved Marinette's poker chip about two spaces shy of the conflict.
"Bassam, your move."
"Well I was goin' to cast Charm Person on the troll asshole--"
"Say no more!" Lila didn't even hesitate to roll her die, the black die with orange paint rolling in her box. "Ohohoho. This is so good thank you, Nino, you beautiful genius. Pick a target to attack."
Nino gave such a winning smile that it was definitely obvious a model was his best friend.
"The Orog."
"Beautiful. You are a true testament to your Class. Out of panic from seeing your best friend come face to face with some powerful monsters the likes you haven't seen on your journey, you remember something. A spell that can makes people do what ever you want." Lila praised before her smile shifted into an analytical frown.
She gave a moment to study the board and to see where everyone had positioned themselves. Speaking from a narrative point of view the Bugbear Snazar knew more about magic than Gorrog the Orog. So he'd recognize a spell was cast on his boss but not exactly what it was and instead go after the source. Lila moved the chip that was to the right of the Ragik towards Nino, and subsequently the rest of the party.
"This guy here is going to attack who's ever up front. That's Izari right? He's right on you."
"I stand my guard and draw my daggers." Sabrina said with a confidence that seemed to surprise even herself.
"Lucky for you this guy only has one attack. Max?"
"17. And he hits you for...13 damage."
Sabrina just nods as she looks Lila in the eye.
"Wait." Ivan calls out. "I'm going to use my protection fighting style to make him roll at a disadvantage?"
"Oh and that's a 7. Good job Ivan." Max notes.
"Izari, the enemy is before you. You know your fast enough to dodge whatever is coming your way but you take account you have allies now. While it hasn't been long, you view them as important and worth protecting. After all, you're no longer alone in this world. He swings down and you stand your ground. You're sure the blow would almost knock you unconscious, but when you open your eyes unwounded, the giant Goliath in leather armor is blocking the blow with his massive arms. Next up is Gorro."
Gorro was extremely loyal to Ragik and would most likely defend him, Lila remembered from her notes.
"Gorro is going to attack one of the 4 surrounding Ragik--that's his name by the way." Lila rolled a d4. "Nishi, looks like you're the lucky one."
"A 13?" Max rolled.
Juleka smiled. "He misses."
"Alright then," Lila starts--
"I'll go next!" Rose cuts her off, "I'm going use my Cure Wounds ability again from my class! That's one 1d8 right? 8!!!!!!!"
"Ivan, add back 8 HP. Also, it's your turn!" Lila cheers. This is going a lot better than she thought. Sure the first group conflict had been mostly led by Marinette, but she hadn't expected everyone to have each other's backs so early. Here they were immediately playing off of each other.
"I'm going to hit him with my greatsword." Ivan says simply and rolls. He smiles just a little. "Natural 20."
The table erupts with cheers and applause, Max and Lila among them.
"Roll 4d6 and then double it." Max instructs.
"11. So 22?"
"There's a flash of metal as you roar in anger, your Goliath upbringing showing it's face, as you slash deep into Snazar. He stumbles back, clutching a gaping wound gushing black blood. He looks almost dead. Good job, Ivan! Alix?"
"Finally!!! Jeez! I'm gonna go after the other do who went after Nishi. One, two, and then Flurry of Blows his ass! Hiyah! That's a 19, a 17, a 15, and a 21! Bite me!"
"Roll for only two of those hits, Al," Max giggles.
"Aw, man!!!" Alix sticks out her tongue at the two DMs but rolls anyway. A 1d4 for her knuckle ax ("4!!! Choice!") and 2 for her unarmed strike.
"I'm going come around and slash at the Orog with a 12?" Juleka says.
"Out of the corner of his eye, while blocking two of the strikes from this small weasel like creature, he sees you coming around to catch him off guard. He moves out of the way just as you go to attack him."
"Pretty boy, I assume you pull out your quarterstaff? Spell or attack."
"Magic missile, that way I can't miss! 2 for Ragik and 1 for the Gorro. That's a 7 and a 2!" Natheanel cheers.
Kim on his roll flubbed with a 2 against Ragik ("I'm just really off tonight that's all!") while Sabrina uses her Shadow Step behind the near dead Bugbear. While it wouldn't have taken much to finish him, Sabrina took pride in delivering the last blow.
On Myléne's turn she used her bonus action to shift into a Wolf again but held her action. Chloé used her both her Command Points to Dash over towards Gorro and to deal two attacks on him, a 3 and 4 respectfully.
Now it was finally Adrien's turn. "Well I can't very well fire an eldritch so close and while surrounded by all these lovely people. So I suppose it's time for me to use my uh, rapier? And I'm gonna try to disarm the big guy from his sword."
"Well first roll to attack." Lila laughs. This will either go wonderfully or horribly.
"....Really? A 3???"
Alya places a hand on Adrien's shoulder as he sighs.
"Better luck next time, gorgeous. Alright now it's top to the round. Since it's been a while, Nino, you have my big bad Ragik charmed," Nino lifted his cap at her with wink and she shook her head. "To attack his dear friend and ally Gorro with his sword. Alright then let's get to it. Max, I'll roll against you. And--ohhhhhhh--another natural 20."
Max grimaced at how Lila's eyes glittered with sparkles.
"Lila, I cannot believe you are about to do this to us."
"Not me, my friend, the Gods of Dice!"
"There's no such thing as--"
"Ragik's green metal greatsword suddenly begins to glow a rich, dark green color. He stabs Gorro through the chest. He pulls out the blade, leaving a see-through hole in his friend. There's a pause before what look like super thorny rose vines start growing from the hole and spreading all around his body rapidly. Although fallen to the ground dead, the vines have Gorro's body ensnared. Amazingly he makes his saving throwing against the spell, I'll say for story's sake, killing his comrade pushed him out of it. Finally free from the spell, he looks around at his fallen brother's in arms. 'You shall all pay for this.' He roars, his voice echoing across the chamber as it turns into cries of rage."
Lila's paying attention to the hungry look in Ivan's eyes as she describes some of what the sword is capable of. She knows that, out of character, he'll do anything to get his hands on it.
"Alya, are you taking another shot or are you going to try and persuade him to surrender."
"Well, we outnumber him 13 to 1 but now he's full of vengeance instead of trying to oppress us. Which means his probably going to keep fighting till he dies." Alya thought out loud, trying to figure out what the best decision was.
"I want his sword!" Ivan stated bluntly. Alya stroked her chin as if that held any weight on her choice.
"You would look really cool with that sword, big guy. You know what? He's kind of a dick, so yeah I'm gonna shoot him."
Apparently, yes, it did hold some weight.
Ragik was dead before Adrien could get a chance to redeem himself.
Lila yawned and stretched before turning off her tablet and closing her book."I think we'll call it quits there, everyone. You can rack up your loot tomorrow!"
"I'll be more usefully in the next fight." Adrien swore with a clutched fist, Nino and Alya patting him on the shoulders. Everyone was congratulating Ivan, who had dealt the final hit on Ragik after defeating him in a show of strength.
Rose looked at her phone. "I can't believe we were fighting for 3 hours. It doesn't even feel like that much time has passed."
Adrien stretched, his shirt riding up a bit as he did so (Marinette flushed). "I know (now) the point of a sleepover is to not sleep but anybody else ready for bed? Because I know I am." He was met with agreement from everyone as they cleaned up. It didn't take long for them to pile into the parlor room and took less time for Adrien to fall sound asleep at the sound of other people's breathing. |
#
Steve and Sam find Bucky three weeks into searching for him. Natasha responds to Steve's (not at all smug) text, “pics or it didn't happen”. But Bucky is hunkered down behind the dumpster of a chain restaurant that Steve remembers used to be a friendly milkshake joint where the swankiest teens would take their dates, back before everything, so Steve tucks his phone away and approaches – not too quiet and not too loud, of course – as if Bucky were the angry raccoon his makeup made him look.
They take Bucky back to Avengers Tower, because it's big and close and has the highest security of any building in the whole country, in the discreet but heinously expensive car that Tony sends them because Bucky's metal hand clenches hard enough to make some really ominous noises when the buses or the taxis get near. Bucky refuses to get in the car with the chauffeur, so she dismisses herself with a level of professionalism that Steve admires and which reminds him of Agent Hill, and Sam drives. Almost as soon as the purr of the engine comes to life underneath them and the soothing hum of wheels on road starts up Bucky is fast asleep with one hand curled in his own hair and the other in his truly grungy undershirt, but Steve stares straight ahead at the neat row of miniature booze bottles that he should have known to expect in a Stark's car. He contemplates taking one, for all the good it won't do him.
Tony sets Bucky up with his own room, like he did for everyone else long before anybody agreed to move in (and most of them still haven't). He throws one together for Sam too and insists he stay, and Steve takes advantage of his own predestined floor. Now that Bucky's here, Steve can't imagine being anywhere else. Maybe never again.
For the first couple of months, Bucky doesn't speak at all. He doesn't feed himself, or bathe himself. He's malleable as all hell, and it's the scariest thing Steve's ever seen in his life. Bucky stays where he's put, sleeps when he's brought to a bed, follows people with his eyes and does nothing else. But somewhere around the third or fourth month at Avengers Tower, Bucky starts making noises. No words or anything; he never even opens his mouth.
“But it's something, right?” Steve demands of Sam. Sam only shrugs helplessly in response because “I don't know, man,” is all he has to offer. He's never seen anything quite like this, he says. He's out of his depth, he says. He's a volunteer cum counselor not a doctor, Steve, lay off.
Surprisingly, it's Tony who comes to the rescue. He hands Steve a little book titled Life, Living, and The Self.
“Erikson's eight stages of development,” he explains. “Psychology mumbo-jumbo, you know. I, uh. I kind of went through this when I found out about Obi and how my whole life was a lie? Regression, and all that horseshit. Obviously to a lesser degree, though. Anyway.” He disappears again, to wherever it is that he goes, and Steve doesn't attempt to follow. By now he's all too familiar with the walk of a man who doesn't want to be needled.
#
1. Trust vs Mistrust:
Steve is pretty hesitant to think of Bucky like an infant, at first. But after the fifth time Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night, not screaming from nightmares like Steve, or gasping like Tony, or reaching for weapons like Natasha, but instead crying desperately with a wide open mouth and wide open eyes in the dark, Steve figures it's probably time to admit that Tony was onto something with this stupid book. So instead of leaving Bucky be to blink away the past and come back to his true surroundings like the rest of them prefer, Steve grabs an extra blanket and goes to his room to turn the light on for him. He wraps Bucky up in a fluffy blanket hug, pets his hair and rocks him, and tells him that everything is okay.
“I'm here,” he repeats until his voice goes hoarse. “Nothing's gonna happen to you. Everything is alright. You're okay.”
Steve starts waking Bucky up in the mornings (at exactly the same time every morning because that stupid little book stressed consistency, dependability, and predictability) and running a bath for him. He washes Bucky's hair, and then methodically works the tangles out with a roundbrush he borrowed from Natasha while Bucky sits incredibly still. Sometimes Bucky hums at him a little, and Steve tries to remind himself that that's progress. Steve feeds Bucky from a spoon or from his hand, and Bucky opens his mouth for each bite and chews until Steve offers another, looking all the while at Steve with stars in his eyes. Steve waits until Bucky takes to the couch or the floor for a nap like he needs it until he lets himself cry over his own cold and soggy breakfast.
Nine months into Bucky's stay at Avengers Tower, at one in the morning, he brings himself into Steve's bedroom of his own volition.
“Steve,” he says, and Steve is awake in a blink. There are tear tracks down Bucky's face that shine in the light pollution from Steve's window, and he doesn't wipe or try to hide them. Instead he crawls into bed with Steve and tucks his wet face into the sleep warm crook of Steve's neck. He wraps one hand in his own hair and the other in Steve's t-shirt.
“It's gonna be okay, Buck,” Steve says. He's choked up, but he doesn't think Bucky notices because all he does in response is mumble “Okay,” and fall asleep.
“Okay,” Steve repeats hopefully. “Okay.”
#
2. Autonomy vs Shame/Doubt:
Steve gets barely one fucking day before Bucky transitions directly into the Terrible Ninety-Two's. It starts easy enough, with Steve literally right on over the moon as Bucky explores the communal floor of the Tower on his own. That is until Bucky starts touching everything, which Steve guesses would probably be fine if Bucky had any concept at all of his own strength. He's quietly and guiltily glad that Tony almost never surfaces, because if he did Steve would have a lot of broken things to explain. But the inadvertent destruction is by far not the worst.
The worst also is not that Bucky starts hoarding. He takes most of Tony's things that he puts out of commission, like he broke it he bought it or something but without actually paying for anything. He takes food, pamphlets from Sam's little workspace, and art supplies from Steve's. It's all in a big pile in Bucky's room, which he periodically rearranges and tilts his head at like a puppy, scooching a days-old bagel this way and a colored pencil that until it somehow strikes him as just right. Steve wants to clear the mess away, make Bucky's space barracks inspection ready, but he grips tight to that stupid little book that Tony gave him and ignores how his heart half breaks and half swells when Bucky gets his ill-gotten junk in perfect placement and grins proudly at Steve with an excited hum.
Steve tells him, “Looks great, Buck,” even as he grits his teeth against the itch in his fingers for disinfectant and maybe a toothbrush. He complains to Sam, who tells him nothing. But even without a single word, he's plenty articulate. The look on his face says plainly, “Maybe you need therapy too, dude.” Steve ignores that, and rubs the likely already pristine countertop with a rag.
No, most definitely the worst is the rage. One day when Bucky is reaching out for one of Tony's bottles of fancy giggle juice, one which Steve knows not only is the most expensive stuff on the shelf but also was Howard's favorite and so has a very specific kind of value to Tony, Steve shouts quickly from across the room, “No, Bucky, don't touch that!”
Bucky turns to him with the ugliest look on his face that Steve has ever seen: eyebrows down, lip curled, teeth clenched. Where Steve has been thinking of Bucky as a child for almost a year, his adult attributes are suddenly very clear – the strong jaw and the stubble Bucky will no longer let Steve shave, the broad shoulders, round delt and hard bicep, the strong bones in his wrist, his sure-footed stance on solid legs, the metal arm. It takes Steve a full minute to remember that he doesn't have to fear for his life from Bucky anymore (and if he did it wouldn't matter, but that doesn't stop his heart from racing). Maintaining a deadly kind of eye contact, Bucky reaches out with his metal arm, grabs the liquor, and then without any kind of preamble or even a blink he throws it with force to the ground, spraying glass and booze all over the entire kitchenette and his own bare feet.
Steve lets himself react on instinct, marching over and picking Bucky up under his armpits. He plops Bucky down face first in a corner, and while Bucky doesn't resist that he does pout viciously, and as soon as Steve's back is turned he puts his metal fist through the wall in front of him and yanks out some insides, throwing them all over the floor too. At a loss, and furious, Steve simply storms off and leaves him there, only to come back hours later to find that Bucky hasn't moved, and that he may or may not have cried.
The guilt is nothing short of crushing, akin to what Steve felt when he realized he should have gone looking for Bucky in those mountains, but Steve knows thanks to that stupid little book that he shouldn't let Bucky see it. Instead, he turns Bucky gently away from the wall, hugs him tightly, and explains why what he did was wrong and how hurt Tony's feelings will be.
“Do you understand?” he asks. Bucky's still pouting a little, but his eyes are a tad watery when he nods so Steve's pretty sure he's not still being ornery. “Okay,” Steve says, too brightly it feels like. “Help me clean all this mess up, and then we'll watch a movie, okay?”
Bucky does, and then he goes downstairs and invites Tony to the movie and even lets him pick.
#
3. Initiative vs Guilt:
A little over a year since they found Bucky and moved him in, he starts following Steve around everywhere he goes and imitating everything he does. Half the time he seems honestly curious about Steve's actions, and the other half he makes dissatisfied faces and frustrated noises with his lips as if Steve is incomprehensibly silly. Bucky tires of Steve pretty quickly, and copies Sam for a while, as well as Tony, and Bruce when he's around, which is very discomfiting for the poor doctor.
Bucky watches Natasha, Hill, and Pepper like a hawk when they drop in, but never copies them. After a couple weeks he starts holding doors for them, and letting them shut in the men's faces with a self-satisfied smirk. Natasha scolds him for it one time and he never does it again. She also scolds Steve, Sam, and Tony for being bad influences, and immediately moves into the Tower. Tony pretends to be inconvenienced, but even without the fact that he built her floor before Steve's, it's impossible to remain convinced when Jarvis gladly plays footage of his happy dance in the elevators. Bucky laughs at the video and doesn't imitate Tony at all after that, except to make good fun.
Two weeks later he asks for a mirror. Steve has been dutifully reading that stupid little book, so he knows that Bucky is forming opinions on his body, which may or may not be sexual in nature, so he feels a little uncomfortable about getting him one (for all that he knows he shouldn't because Bucky is a grown ass man, and a deadly assassin to boot). Still, he springs for the full-length antique he sees in a storefront window.
Bucky starts closing his door, and Steve figures that's because he's spending a lot of time naked so he lets it be. It's been a while since Bucky had a catastrophic nightmare, anyway, so there's nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing to worry about.
Steve catches Bucky a couple times staring at him when he comes back from some of his runs bare-chested, wiping sweat off his brow with his shucked shirt. He refrains from quipping, “See something you like?” because that is so not appropriate for Bucky's mental state and inquires instead, “Whatcha doing, bud?” but Bucky never answers, just gets Steve a glass of water and asks how his run was.
It's only days with the mirror in his room before Bucky marches out into the communal floor's living room one hundred percent buck naked (ha) while Steve and Tony are hanging out. The first thing he does is give Steve a truly nasty look, which Steve can think of no good reason for. The injustice flees his mind pretty quick, though, when the next thing Bucky does is grab hold of the bottom of Tony's shirt and yank it upward.
“Now wait a minute!” Tony exclaims as Steve yells, “Whoa, hey!” but Bucky cuts them both off pretty effectively by stating calmly that, “Steve doesn't have scars.” Tony tips his head back against the couch, and Steve is pretty sure his super hearing catches him mutter, wistfully and/or ruefully, “Aah, prepubescent sexuality,” before he commandeers his shirt back from Bucky and holds it up to his chin himself.
“I'm of the, somewhat biased, clearly, opinion that scars just make your body more interesting,” he tells Bucky with the same inexplicable level of authority he manages to put into every bit of nonsense he sells to all the people who desperately need something to buy. He's like the emperor king of emotional consumerism.
Bucky traces the starburst of scar tissue over Tony's sternum for a few moments, making thoughtful noises in the back of his throat. He must reach some sort of verdict because he declares out a simple, “Yeah,” and puts on some pants.
After that Bucky closes his door less often, wears a shirt less often, and has much looser limbs. He gets a haircut too, but one that Steve hasn't seen before, and would probably never have seen back before everything. Tony tells Steve it's called a wolftail, and Bucky says he likes it because he can have both long hair and short hair – he doesn't have to pick, doesn't have to pretend one is more him than the other. Steve courteously ignores that it's not really about the hair, and Bucky rewards him with a big grin and a kiss on the cheek.
#
4. Industry vs Inferiority:
Tony and Sam both recommend to Steve that he should encourage Bucky to spend more time with their other teammates, but Steve drags his feet about it. It's not that he doesn't think Bucky can handle a little extra social interaction, it's just that after everything that's happened, and with everything that's happening now, Steve has developed this weird protective jealousy of Bucky. He doesn't want to share, just in case someone takes Bucky away again, or worse – Bucky decides he likes someone else better on his own. But after a very short, and very frightening, talk with Pepper in which Steve was compared quite a few too many times to Tony (or rather, to how Tony used to be), Steve straightens his spine and takes Bucky to the Tower's communal gym.
Bucky meets Barton first, mostly because he's is the only one there. He's swinging around on a bunch of wild bars and ropes that Steve doesn't have any hope of knowing what to do with, though that doesn't stop him from being duly impressed when Barton greets them with even breath and his body in a perfect straight line up as he balances on his hands on a bar seven feet off the mat-covered floor.
Steve leaves Bucky with Barton, asking about how strong the bars are, conceivably so that he can suss out whether or not they'll be able to take him and his metal arm. Steve goes over to the punching bags so he can keep an eye on Bucky even while they both do their own thing.
Bucky takes like a fish to water with everything he does, and even from his relatively distant vantage point Steve can practically see the arrogance building. He catches Barton's eye and subtly mimes shooting a bow and Barton is all too glad to comply. The two snipers line up at the paper man shooting stables, one with a recurve and one with a rifle. They shoot, and Barton bests it. Bucky gives him a sour look, but he seems pretty okay. He's just had a little hot air let out of his flying balloon.
“How about some hand-to-hand?” Bucky suggests slyly, saccharine sweet innocence completely ineffective when paired with those narrowed eyes. If Steve didn't know better he'd say Barton got a little green about the gills.
The team starts having trivia nights. Most of the time Bucky sits right next to Steve, a little too close on bad days, but sometimes he lets there be space between them, and sometimes he sits with someone else. He almost never knows an answer, but then neither does Steve, or Thor when he joins them. Bucky teases Tony and flirts with Natasha and also with Phil when he's around. His laugh comes easy.
When Steve cries in his room at night now, it's not because he's sad.
#
5. Identity vs Role Diffusion/Confusion:
There's a period of a few months where Bucky changes all of his preferences to the complete opposite of what they were a week before. Steve (and everyone else) tries to keep up but it's pretty exhausting and he doesn't always get it right.
Bucky gets really angry sometimes, has started breaking things by accident again. This time he puts them back together though, and then he uses some of Tony's money to buy himself a model airplane making kit. His metal fingers go through the brittle wood pieces and he destroys the table he was working on, even though Steve can tell he wants to cry instead.
Bucky paces around the Tower, stops sleeping as much, and won't eat what Steve makes him. He has a mysterious chat with Barton, and then disappears for three weeks. Steve is furious, and even grounds Hawkeye for as long as the rest of the team will let him get away with it (which isn't long).
“Moratorium,” Tony says, a non-sequitur as they play gin rummy. “He's gone off to find himself, Cap. He'll come back. It's necessary.”
When Bucky does come back it's with the short parts of his hair shorter, the tail part of his wolftail held up and together with a bright red band. He's got a bit more beard, but it's nice and kept now, even and clean. There's new clothes too: he comes in wearing a pair of very tight black jeans and a too loose heathered Henley, which to Steve don't seem to match too well, but which Natasha nods at approvingly. Bucky is also wearing his dogtags, which he admits without shame that he stole from the Smithsonian.
“They're mine, huh?” he proclaims. “Why shouldn't I take 'em?”
He plops himself down in between Clint and Natasha, where there was no actual room for him, and throws his arms around them both.
“I'm fuckin' sick of silence,” he tells the room loudly. “Let's watch an action picture.”
They do and, in a pleasantly surprising turn of events, nobody has to leave the room in a panicky rush when the explosions happen.
#
6. Intimacy vs Isolation:
They're putting ornaments on the biggest Christmas tree in New York aside from the one put up by the city in Rockefeller Center when Bucky asks Steve, “Remember that year you got pneumonia?” Steve stops what he's doing to look at him, because they never talk about the past. Not ever. And yet here Bucky is bringing it up.
“Yeah?” Steve acknowledges, trying to be encouraging but not pushy. Bucky won't meet his eyes, keeps putting up ornaments. A gigantic plastic gold one first, and then a tiny little porcelain angel, a wooden cross and a crystal Star of David.
“I pulled all sorts of reckless shit to get you some proper medicine.” Up goes a tiny sculpy clay Iron Man. “This kid gave me this cure-all vitamin stuff, you remember? Turned out you were allergic.” The Hulk joins his comrade, and Bucky spends a few long moments moving the two little sculptures around on their branches until their faces touch and they look like they're kissing. Hard to tell whether it's just a joke or really passive aggressive matchmaking, but either way it's not relevant right now, because Bucky eyes meet the floor when he whispers, “I almost killed you,” and it's obviously not about the stupid magic beans.
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, because it's true – Bucky did almost kill him. “Almost. But you didn't.” Bucky meets Steve's eyes sideways, one long escaped strand of hair looped behind his ear. Steve hands him a blown glass reindeer, and hangs his own shiny metal candy cane (the color scheme is just like Bucky's arm, and Steve may or may not let his warm fingers linger on it just a tad too long). “And you didn't mean it, Buck,” he adds quietly. “You didn't mean it. That's what's important.”
Bucky is silent as he painstakingly finds the perfect place for his reindeer, but then he says, “Okay,” and flicks some silver glitter at Steve out of the big plastic bin of festivity they're digging through.
Bucky serves Steve spiced (or is it spiked) eggnog with a stick of peppermint in it, and sips from his own glass which boasts raw cinnamon instead. He comes away with a cream mustache, which Steve wants to lick off. He ignores the impulse until Bucky drags him under some mistletoe and kisses him until the cinnamon flavor in his mouth is stronger than the mint.
New Year's Eve comes and goes (and Tony gets roaring drunk while Natasha and Thor maintain straight postures and challenging eye contact after ten shots of straight vodka each even though by all rights Natasha probably should be dead from that). January 5, when they're all rolling their eyes at a photo of Spiderman on the front page wearing a backpack with a Monotype Corsiva anigramed P, Bucky decides to move into Steve's room. He doesn't ask, which is fine because there's only the one possible answer.
More months later, and Bucky is rocking out to the Kelly Clarkson blaring directly into his by now very damaged ears, dancing wildly in just his navy blue boxer briefs in front of the antique mahogany wardrobe Tony bought them as a 'congrats on the sex' gift and singing at the top of his lungs, “You tried to break me but you see – what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!”
Steve is reclining in their bed, reading that stupid little book Tony gave him so long ago. Bucky throws himself on the bed, bouncing them both up and down and displacing their fluffiest pillow onto the floor. He grabs Steve's book with his metal hand and tosses it at the window, off of which it bounces harmlessly and lands with a soft thump on the cushioned niche seat (god they are so rich now).
“Quit reading that shrink garbage,” he says, and snaps his teeth playfully. “I think I'm all up to date now.” Except that when Jarvis informs them politely that, “Ex-Director Fury kindly requests that you both go the fuck to sleep,” Bucky jumps about a foot in the air. Steve raises an eyebrow and does an awful job withholding his laughter.
“Okay, so maybe not all up to date,” Bucky admits reluctantly. “But hey, you know what we're not gonna do for Captain fuckin' Killjoy down there?”
“Oh, do you ever behave?” Steve asks, but he's grinning and so excited to get into trouble with his best guy again.
“Jarvis,” says Bucky. “Be a fella and teach us the worst love song of 2016.” Steve laughs and laughs and kisses Bucky hard, even though it's really just their grinning teeth pressing against each other. Whatever the last two stages of life are, Steve and Bucky will go through them together and that's all Steve really needs to know about them. And for now, they'll sing and dance in their underwear and keep awake the geezer who's not in charge of them anymore.
No one's in charge of them anymore.
They both have their own Self.
|
Almost three years.
Since that day they fled to all the way down south.
They prepared in crossing a desert. Amassing food and water, tents, protection, the works that desert life was very comfortable even if they lived frugally to make supplies last long. Stealing qiankun bags from Cultivation Merchants en masse, so they can purchase tents, bedding, medicine, barrels for water, kitchen and diningware and food. Excess because there's no way of telling what they'll find beyond borders.
They had to endure a lot before they crossed a desert, to get to the south where its all green again. And during life in the dessert, they had to restore Wen Ning's consciousness since he went nuts.
And it was worth it. Even if they luckily found an oasis when their water ran out...and their food ran out a week later even if they were dang frugal about it...but at least they learned how much food and water they ACTUALLY NEED to cross the desert.
They arrived in the south where nobody knows them.
But as a precaution, they wore casual clothing. They didn't dare to wear cultivator robes.
All of them have two missions.
Keep the Yin Hufu away and protect their only child, A-Yuan.
And now, they're in a village in a valley, called Puqi Village.
A small place, but it suits them just fine.
They built cottages for themselves, settled down and made a living as farmers...and A-Yuan having a happy childhood, other than studying under Wen Qing and Wei Ying.
Down here, nobody uses Courtesy Names. Just Birth Names.
As farmers, they eke out a decent living.
Earning 2000 silver every two months isn't bad...it's a HUGE DEAL. That's like 500 silver a week which is as much as Senior Cultivators make a month!
They plant quick-growing crops, which was very rewarding. Stuff that grows two months and less are really helpful! Plenty of food for everyone.
Which explains that 2000 silver income, really...and to think a farmer's average ANNUAL income was 200 silver...
This way, they were able to have it good and they all lived happily in their first year, finding hope at long last.
Eating healthy also restored Wei Ying's health levels and farming restored the muscular body he lost.
But still, they were wary of travelers and newcomers. They did their best to live a healthy life. They eventually earned enough money to open a clinic where Wen Qing and the other aunties work.
And another year later...a young man came to live in the old abandoned shrine, choosing to worship a god nobody in the village knows. Totaling three years since leaving Jianghu.
But the young man seemed nice enough.
'Really, if in the North we worship our ancestors, down here in the South they worship Gods.' said Uncle Four during dinner. 'And they were rather aghast we worship people, not real gods and began recommending Gods to worship for our family.'
'Like who?' Aunt Six joked.
'Water Master Shi Wudu who brings you wealth but if you make no offering on sea travel bad luck falls you. Ling Wen who is a Civil God who blesses you in Imperial Exams...and there's even this one god who was,' Uncle Four then stuffed his fingers in A-Yuan's ears, '-worshipped by women in hopes their husbands can satisfy them in bedroom matters! His name was Juyang Jiangjun!(to put it bluntly, General Giant Dick)'
The adults did a spit-spray of shock while Wei Ying and Uncle Seven laughed their ass off as Uncle Four removed his fingers.
'A god for THAT exists?! Men in south must be so pathetic!' Uncle Seven laughed.
In Heaven, Feng Xin felt a strong need to wreck something out of rage for some reason...and settled for wrecking his training grounds.
'Oh my god you're killing me! Heeheehee!' Wei Ying howled in laughter, smacking his hand on the dining table.
'But still, let's be kind to this brave priest trying to start a new worship to a god nobody knows. That'd be difficult.' said Wen-popo. 'Let's start by giving him some rice.'
'Right!'
And so...
'Excuse us!'
Xie Lian has new visitors.
'Oh, what can I do for you?' Xie Lian greeted Wei Ying and Wen Ning. But they're carrying gifts. A sack of rice, and a wooden box of condiments. 'Oh my!' However, he noted that the two visitors have powerful Yin Energy and the one carrying the sack of rice is no longer alive in a sense. But they seem no harm.
'We heard from neighbors that you're starting a new shrine, that'd be tough since nobody knows who you're worshipping.' Xie Lian wore a smile but inwardly felt an arrow to his chest at Wei Ying's words. 'Frankly, my family's newcomers here too and we're from a place that worships our ancestors...next thing we know neighbors are endorsing gods to us. Can it be that easy to let go?'
'That depends on your situation.' said Xie Lian neutrally, but kindly. 'What made you move here though?'
'...hypocrisy and bullshit we can't stand anymore, I guess.' said Wei Ying with a bitter smile. 'The road to doing what's right is a single-plank bridge with no return road yet the road to satisfying one's hypocrisy and greed is a broad avenue. So we decided to break free, for the sake of the only child we have left.' Xie Lian felt that's a long story, but that will come another day. He can wait. But their words worried him.
What happened to these people exactly?
'I see...does that have to do with the young ghost with you though?' the two froze. Wen Ning looked nervous now and Wei Ying's left hand was about to grasp Chenqing. 'He is young, but powerful. But a gentle spirit.' Xie Lian continued on, pointedly ignoring that Wei Ying was ready to attack him for the sake of his companion.
'H-how can you tell? Jiejie put my make-up on well...' Wen Ning stammered out fearfully as Wei Ying was in front of him protectively now. Xie Lian took everything into account so he can judge properly. Wei Ying was overprotective of the...sentient corpse, so he has to exude a calming aura.
'I can tell. Down here where worship of gods is prevalent, so is the trend that mortals have two paths. Ascension to Godhood or becoming a Ghost. You have the power of a Li-Class ghost by your young age, but you have potential to grow the older you are.' Xie Lian taught them. 'That's up to you though.'
'So you're not against Wen Ning just for what he is?' Wei Ying asked him warily and anxiously.
'No. Ghost he may be, but he has no savagery nor bloodlust. But for a ghost to have an actual body...never seen one like it, they're always spirits.' Xie Lian mused, intrigued. Wei Ying spent minutes judging the new priest starting from when he called out Wen Ning's true nature...but he clearly didn't mean harm so he relaxed to explain.
'...he's what you'd call Fierce Corpse.' he said. 'In the north across the desert...people who had died with resentment tend to reanimate and fulfill their grievances. Normally that's all they have. A need to exact their thirst for revenge. And after that, they're...lost, that they just do whatever afterward, usually a nuisance that cultivators are called to help deal with them.' Wei Ying explained. 'The sooner one becomes a Fierce Corpse the stronger they are...their resentment in life adds to their strength too. One can say that its their cultivation that they can only use upon death. So Wen Ning is very strong now.' he chuckled, patting Wen Ning's shoulder.
'And to make them sentient...their souls must be nearby and quickly put back in, while restoring their sentience is a little tricky, but doable...but Wen Ning is the first sentient Fierce Corpse I made...for his sister's sake and to repay a debt. A sibling for a sibling.' Wei Ying continued that made Xie Lian gasp. 'They saved me and my brother four years ago when the atrocities of their relatives went amuck, killing anyone who dares to oppose them and their tyranny. War occurred afterward...and then their harmless and just-as-oppressed relatives are then persecuted by everyone else, forcing them to inherit the sins of their relatives as a great excuse to commit inhumane war crimes upon them in return.' that was to Xie Lian's horror. 'We ran...for the only child left in the prison camps.'
'Master saved us all...there's only twenty of us left...' said Wen Ning somberly. 'Twenty out of fifty branch clan members who served our horrible relatives as doctors and wine-brewers. A lot of children died too...killed for amusement by Lanling Jin Sect who oversaw the prison camps.'
'I see...sorry to hear that.' Xie Lian shook his head, utterly dismayed. 'How certain are you that they will not find you here?'
'Crossing the desert was nasty...for those hypocritical spoon-fed spoiled brats who never knew hardship of survival, they won't last one week in the desert. They'd lose heart just trying to wonder how long it'll take, where to find food and water or shelter, as knowing them, they won't come prepared.' Wei Ying sneered in derision. 'Moreover when we took that risk, on camels it takes 8 months. If on sword-flight, several weeks, but upon seeing an endless wilderness of sand with no way to navigate, its easy to get lost unless you're good at reading the stars. Our family is very safe with the desert as a natural pest deterrent.' Wei Ying snorted. 'Looking at the desert alone will strongly discourage anyone due to fear of the unknown.'
'I see...so are you guys well?'
'Living in peace was wonderful...we make a living as farmers and wine-brewers. We can forget about cultivation since its peaceful in this village...that I can overcome the loss of my Golden Core.' Wei Ying sighed wistfully. 'It was why I turned to Demonic Cultivation.'
So with that as the motive for turning to a heretical path out of necessity, Xie Lian decided to see for himself.
Xie Lian touched Wei Ying's chest, making him squirm a bit to diagnose him with actual medical skill as he cannot use his powers. '...cut out? But Meridians still alive...' he commented as the two younger men were stunned that he figured out Wei Ying's condition with just a touch. Who is this guy?! 'It was masterfully-done that you can create a new core as your meridians remain alive and intact...didn't you know that?'
Wei Ying fainted from the shock, causing Wen Ning to panic.
'Master!' Wen Ning yelped as Xie Lian caught the shocked man. 'I-is it really possible?' Wen Ning stammered out hopefully. 'Can he really...regain his core back so he can stop wielding Resentful Energy?'
'Yes...because his meridians are still alive.' Xie Lian smiled in confidence to the hopeful man. He would cry if he could, but corpses lack that function now. 'Had he lost his core so brutally that it damaged his meridians, there'd be no hope otherwise.'
'I'll get jiejie! She needs to hear this!' Wen Ning ran out of the shrine happily after putting down the sack he was carrying. Xie Lian can only chuckle.
And thus later, Wen Qing was in a serious discussion with Xie Lian regarding the possibility of restoring Wei Ying's cultivation as Wen Qing's regret was agreeing with Wei Ying for Jiang Cheng's sake which led to Wei Ying's current reputation in the North and the truth behind his persecution...even if they won the war BECAUSE of that cultivation yet as soon as his 'usefulness' was done, fear came into play as well as hypocrisy, putting Jiang Cheng, a newly-minted Sect Leader in a tight spot thus politically-weak. That made Wei Ying willingly desert Yunmeng Jiang to protect him. It was horribly exploited in turn. Wei Ying then left a package to a courier station to deliver to Qinghe Nie Sect containing a scroll from Wei Ying as well as a method to counter Qi Deviation as incentive, as well as numerous letters he got from other sects, to his old classmate Nie Huaisang who was the most socially-skilled.
Jiang Cheng has 'no mouth filter and talks with anger', Lan Zhan cannot go beyond the 3000+ rules thus cannot 'think flexibly'. That left Nie Huaisang who Wei Ying can truly count on.
'I really wished Gods truly existed...so they would know the great injustice done unto us, so we'd have a way out to truly gain peace.' she lamented to Xie Lian, thus he offered her comforting words...and advised her to pray with her heart.
'Gods listen, Wen Qing.' Xie Lian smiled kindly as he told her. 'Surprises come in unexpected packages.'
And they worked on it under Xie Lian's guidance and when Wei Ying reformed his core, he wept tears of joy that Xie Lian earned good friends in the family of refugees, keeping him company, giving him free food with Aunt Three cooking and cleaning for him, and he was trusted with A-Yuan while they're all out at work in the fields...as well as supervising Wei Ying's return to orthodox path.
He then learned the full truth about them that he can only shake his head at sheer dismay of events at the north now that he had Ling Wen investigate for him to determine the motives for the persecution and who was doing it...and to listen to the prayers of the north even though they worship ancestors, not gods to know who was on Wei Ying's side...and then work from there.
Xie Lian told them about the God of his temple, and thus without knowing his real identity, they pray to him without knowing it!
Come summer...
'I need to travel a bit as per my duties now that the shrine is starting to settle down.' said Xie Lian after Wei Ying regained his golden core that he was now hard at work with regaining his former level and catching up.
Before his loss, he was a middle-level Gold Core cultivator which was why he was lauded as a genius when peers his age were still at the low-level stage before Lotus Pier fell. And now he has to regain it all in a much-richer southern region. If he obtained his golden core in a year as a child, he can do it again! And as the south is so rich in qi, doing that was loads easier now! That its not farfetched, that he would regain his former level in six months.
'Alright! We'll look after the shrine and make some repairs here and there.' Wei Ying promised him. 'No idea when you'll be back, but expect a new room or two at least!'
'Oh my! Thank you very much!'
'OK, now then...where to even start?' Wei Ying wondered as they explored the rundown-shack of a shrine.
'Well, one room at a time, A-Ying.' said Wen-popo gently. 'Let's start with his non-existent bedroom, shall we?'
Xie Lian's bedroom...he took being frugal too far. Its just a frigging patch of straw with a sheet over it, a very worn-out pillow and a smaller sheet for a blanket! Both from rough material!
'Alrighty! Wen-Ning!' Wei Ying pointed with drama at the bedroom. 'Wreck the Bedroom so we can rebuild it with better material! Buying a new bed can wait a bit until it's all done!'
'Yes!'
Wen Ning was a very efficient wrecker. It helps that the shrine was THAT run-down, while Wen Qing put a sign that reads as 'Reconstruction in Progress' outside the shrine. The flooring is still OK, its the walls and roof that's the problem. And the windows. But since they're rebuilding, why not go all the way while Xie Lian's gone?
Upon consulting with an architect for latest trends, they went with the kind that ensures insulation so its comfy in summer, warm in winter. Upon rebuilding, the womenfolk decorated the bedroom befitting a young priest's modest taste reflecting the god he was worshipping, and with other knick-knacks. Next was the kitchen and bathroom.
By the time Xie Lian went back with a red-clad companion, the kitchen was just finished.
'Welcome home Lian-gege!' A-Yuan, now five years old greeted Xie Lian. 'Everyone finished the bedroom, bathroom and the kitchen!'
'Oh my, that quick?!' Xie Lian was amazed, picking up the toddler and cuddling him before putting him down. 'What work ethic!' he exclaimed in amazement as the little boy beamed happily.
'Ehehehe! it helps that the building is just that old it's easy for Uncle Ning to wreck it before it can be rebuilt.' A-Yuan giggled. 'The kitchen's just started cleaning after building so its a bit dusty, so go see the bedroom Lian-gege! Still working on other rooms but no idea how to make a proper shrine. Gege tell what to do!' he egged on before running off to play with his cuju ball.
'...whose kid is that?' San Lang asked Xie Lian, eyeing the cute little boy with chubby cheeks playing on his own.
'He is the only child in the Wen Family, Wen Yuan.' said Xie Lian. 'After hardships, he was their only child. The other children were...lost to inhumane cruelty and persecution upon them for the sins of their relatives they were forced to inherit to justify cruelty done unto them.' said Xie Lian softly. 'They are thus overprotective of him and determined to give him a good life. They're also the ones renovating the living area.' he explained. 'I wonder what they did...' he was both excited and nervous and when they saw the bedroom, there's a large canopy bed with a thin but firm mattress and a just-as-thin pillows, with a thick blanket. The canopy bed also has gauze hangings...to keep out mosquitoes no doubt...there's a vanity desk, a closet, a study table, drawers, a closet...and a painting of a picturesque scenery of a waterfall basin.
'...they did too good a job...' he croaked out as the bathroom was also just as gorgeous. But why is there a stack of talismans by the tub??
And the kitchen?
The aunties were cooking, while Wei Ying and Wen Ning were wiping here and there with damp cloth.
San Lang also noted that one of the wipers, is NOT human, judging by his skin and sharp, black fingernails. He dresses well though.
'Oh! Welcome back!' they greeted.
'Everyone, thank you so much!' Xie Lian was utterly grateful to them. It has been a while, since he last slept in a decent place after all! He endured centuries of indignity till he got used to it, but still...he was once a Crown Prince, OK?!?!
'Think nothing of it daozhang. You were the first to understand us.' said Wei Ying with a beaming smile. 'That meant a lot to us all. This is the least we could do.'
'Take a bath now dear, lunch will be ready soon!' said Aunt Three.
'Y-yes!' and Xie Lian left with his guest.
'Ara, daozhang has a friend over, we should increase the portions...' said Aunt Six thoughtfully.
'Well, its vegetables and noodles, that's easily doable.' said Wei Ying. 'I wonder if priests down here eat meat...'
'Well, best be sure not to make any...'
'Ah, gege, this one summons water if we put it at the bottom of the tub, and this one if left to float after activation, will heat up bath water...this is really generous of them!' San Lang exclaimed after analyzing the talismans.
'Oh wow, that explains the stack of talismans now...they made talismans for comfortable living!' Xie Lian was utterly amazed. 'But still, no wind outside yet wind flows in here? Kinda like gentle warmth though since outside is pretty cold even in summer.'
'The renovated rooms are like that, even your room.' San Lang pointed out. They inspected the windows to find spells carved into the wooden windowsill! 'They did pretty much everything regarding comfortable living! You got good friends, gege.'
'Ehehehe...' Xie Lian looked sheepish now. 'They became good friends when I helped Wei Ying regain his cultivation. That child suffered a lot for walking the thorny path of righteousness...but not once did he stray from his beliefs. And he felt as long as he did what's right, his end won't matter...a painful way of thinking that perhaps, it's for the best that little A-Yuan is his leash...he can't bear to make that child cry because of him, something the other Wens exploit so he would finally care for himself like a normal person would. Being too selfless will put you in danger.'
'Blackmail by child?' San Lang looked amused with a raised eyebrow.
'Yep.'
'By the way, kiddo is right.' San Lang grinned. 'What to do with the shrine indeed...you don't have a statue of the god you're worshipping.'
Xie Lian squeaked. Shrines need images of the god in question, right?!
'L-Let's see the shrine so I'd know what's missing other than an image...' Xie Lian stammered with a weak laugh.
At the shrine?
It was untouched and same as ever as the Wens fixed his living areas first. Because they were northerners who worship ancestors, their shrine is the Ancestral Hall with mortuary tablets of their deceased in it. They understandably, don't know how to make a shrine for Gods, so they left this place alone.
But they DID find a book on the old table...its clearly a well-made homemade book with a note under the cover that read: 'For Xie-daozhang'. And the book was 'Book of Virtues'.
In it was the table of contents. Chapter 1 was 'Heart of Good Behavior'. Chapter 2 was 'Heart of Personal Virtues'. Chapter 3 was 'Heart of a Good Home'. And Chapter 4 was 'Heart of Social Interaction'.
It was a fairly thick book. Each page has a rule written in large writing back to back in thick paper. The rest was the context of it which was 'thoroughly dissected'.
It was written by someone with good handwriting, as Wei Ying has crappy handwriting.
'Well, I did tell them that Huaguan Wushen is a God who cultivated by abstaining from worldly desires...' Xie Lian chuckled while flipping through the pages to read one page alone, but he admired that it was so well-written even a CHILD will understand. 'This book is pretty good, even I didn't know such rules existed.'
'You did say you'll hold lectures soon, right? Why not use it? Though I'd like to know where they got that from...' |
He doesn’t know how long it takes them all to fall asleep on the couch, but when he wakes the sun is just beginning to break the night. He doesn’t feel well rested by any means, although who would after sleeping on a small couch with two other people? Derek sighs and slowly untangles himself from Scott and Stiles before standing, making sure to be quiet as he creeps upstairs. He knows that if he accidentally woke one of them, they would trail after him, their very presence silently asking questions he doesn’t have the answer for.
Derek doesn’t mean to go to Straudia’s room, but he finds himself carefully pushing open her door anyway. It’s still early enough that she’s sound asleep, lying diagonally across the bed with her limbs starfished out. It reminds Derek of how Jazz used to take up his bed when she stayed the night. She’d always make him sleep on the couch without apologizing.
“If I perform my good friend duties and come here to listen to you whine about your sister until ass o’clock in the morning, then you can let me have your bed,” she had told him the first time he had tried to protest, before shoving him out of his own room and shutting the door behind him.
Thinking about her makes that numbness he’s come to despise wrap itself around him again, so he shakes off the memories and makes his way back downstairs. He feels far too restless to try lying down again. Instead, he walks into the kitchen and pulls out a notepad.
Went for a walk.
Be back soon.
If Straudia’s up before I get back, watch her for me. Please.
He doesn’t leave with any particular destination in mind. He just walks, watching as the world slowly wakes up around him. He avoids the center of town, deciding that he isn’t in the mood for trying to pretend he’s okay enough to hold conversations with people that he doesn’t actually give a damn about, because he’s so far from okay it might as well not even exist to him anymore.
When he was young, he had known that death was a part of life. It was a simple fact, just like it was a fact that he was a werewolf, and no matter how good he was, there would always be people out there with their guns aimed at him. But he had never expected death to haunt him so closely. He had never thought that he would be unable to go a year without having someone close to him fall, and not kindly, because apparently those he cared about weren’t afforded the luxury of a kind death. There were no cases of people falling asleep at night and never waking up. It was always bloody, always violent.
Fires.
Ripped into pieces.
Swords thrust through chests.
Sighing, he shoves his hands into the pocket and abandons the sidewalk he’s been following in favor of walking alongside the shoulder of a road that leads to the preserve. There are not a lot of cars on the road, not at this time, but he doesn’t spare a glance for those that go by. At least, not until one of them slows and the driver rolls down their window.
“Get in, sunshine,” Isaac says, and Derek stares at the teenager driving his car in confusion.
“What are you doing out here?” he finally says.
“The Wonder Twins called me,” Isaac explains. “Explained everything, told me to find you. You know, Derek, I’m a little hurt you haven’t introduced me to your daughter. I’m great with kids,” he adds, his face serious, but Derek can tell from his tone that he’s joking. Mostly.
He briefly considers carrying on with his walk, but he figures it’s not fair to leave Scott and Stiles with Straudia all morning. Plus, he’s hungry, and he forgot his wallet.
“Why do you have my car?” Derek asks as he climbs into the passenger seat.
“I wasn’t about to walk all over town,” Isaac snorts. “Sorry, but I don’t love you that much.”
They drive in silence for the first ten minutes and Derek appreciates it. The walk had helped to clear his head, but he still doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he sees Straudia. Part of him wishes that he could just keep it from her, and pretend that nothing had ever happened, but he doesn’t think he could lie to her like that.
“How do you tell a kid that their mom is dead?” Derek wonders out loud while he fiddles with the radio. Isaac listens to shit music.
“Not the right person to ask about that,” Isaac says, slapping Derek’s hand away from his own radio and Derek would smack him for it, but his words have him pausing in confusion for a moment until he catches on.
“I’m not asking Stiles how he was told that his mother died.”
“I wasn’t suggesting it. He might punch you for it, he’s not exactly the most emotionally stable person right now,” Isaac says. He flinches a little when Derek looks at him with a growl. “I wasn’t trying to insult your boyfriend. Your other one already has the whole protection front covered.”
Derek frowns. “He’s not my boyfriend. Neither of them are.”
“Right,” Isaac says, looking at him like he’s an idiot. “How does it feel to live in denial?”
Derek growls at him again, flashing his eyes. It’d be more dramatic if he was still an alpha, but Isaac still reacts, turning his eyes back on the road and falling into silence, leaving Derek to mull over what he had just said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Oh, good, he found you,” Stiles says as soon as Derek walks into the loft with Isaac trailing along behind him. He abandons the bowl of cereal he was eating on the couch and walks over, punching Derek in the arm. He immediately grimaces in pain.
“Oh my God, I think that hurt me more than you,” Stiles whines, pulling his arm in close.
“Ow,” Derek says flatly, in an attempt to make him feel better.
Stiles just glares. “Don’t fake ow me,” he snaps. “You know you can’t just get up and leave without telling anyone where you’re going, right?”
“I wrote a note. I said I was going on a walk,” Derek argues.
“I’m just gonna upstairs and avoid this whole conversation,” Isaac mutters quietly, stepping around the two of them.
Stiles watches him practically run up the stairs before he’s rounding on Derek again.
“Derek, you could take a walk and end up in Canada. That note was so not helpful. Besides, Straudia wanted to know where you went. She’s mad at you, cause she’s convinced you went somewhere fun and didn’t take her. If you had just written down that you were going to brood in the forest or something, we could have avoided her small meltdown.”
“She can’t even read. You could’ve just lied and said that,” Derek points out, although he does feel a little guilty about not being there when Straudia woke.
“Don’t use logic with me,” Stiles hisses before he deflates and gives Derek a careful look. “Scott’s upstairs with her. Do you know what you’re going to say?”
“No,” Derek says truthfully and he feels like he’s back to square one again. “I...I don’t know.”
“Well,” Stiles says. “Maybe that’s for the best. It never goes right when you try to rehearse something.”
Derek makes a noise of agreement before moving towards the stairs. He can hear Scott and Isaac in Straudia’s room with her. When he opens the door to her room, he’s greeted by the sight of Scott dramatically falling over while Isaac stands over him with a toy sword. Straudia cackles wickedly behind him in a long, black wig and a witch hat.
“Uhm…” Derek says intelligently and she looks over at him.
“I’m the evil witch. I tricked them, now Scott is going to sleep for a thousand years until true love’s first kiss wakes him. Do you want to play? You can be true love,” Straudia adds excitedly.
“Maybe later,” Derek tells her, looking over at the two teens. “I think Stiles needs your help downstairs.”
“Our help? With wh-” Isaac starts. Scott elbows him in the side. “Ouch, what the- oh. Oooh, he needs our help. Downstairs. Right,” he clears his throat and leads the way out.
Derek waits until they’re both gone before he shuts the door and turns back to his daughter.
“Come sit down with me,” Derek says, walking over to sit on the lower bed that she rarely ever used for sleeping. It’s primary purpose now was for story time before bed, since Stiles had damn near fallen backwards off the ladder the first time he tried to go up to the higher bunk to read. “I have something to tell you,” Derek begins when she sits on the bed next to him. “About your, uh...your mom.”
Straudia brightens up. “Is she going to come back?” she asks. She sounds so hopeful that Derek wants to run away, because he can’t crush her like this. But he also can’t leave her to find out from someone else.
“No, honey, no. Your mom...she’s gone,” Derek tells her. “She won’t be coming back.”
He’s not sure how well she understands the concept of death, but he knows that she’s been around it before. Any child raised among wolves has.
“She’s dead, Straudia.”
Straudia looks at him for a very long time, completely silent before her expression suddenly begins to crumble and she shakes her head.
“That’s not nice, Derek,” she tells him, scrambling off the bed. “You’re not supposed to lie.”
Derek follows, kneeling on the ground in front of her. “I’m not lying,” he says. “I wish I was,” he adds, mainly to himself.
Tears begin to roll down her cheeks and before he knows it, she’s screaming. He curses and reaches for her, but she smacks at him until he pulls his arms back. Even then, she moves forward, punching at him with clumsy fists.
“That isn’t nice!” she repeats, drawing in a shaky breath. “You’re not supposed to lie to me!”
None of her blows can physically hurt him, but he catches both of her fists in his hands anyway and holds on until she stops struggling. She’s still crying, but she’s stopped screaming at least.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he tells her. “But it’s going to be okay. Alright, Straudia? Alright?”
He doesn’t wait for her to respond before he stands, scooping her up in his arms. She wraps her arms tight around his neck, burying her face in his throat. He walks around the room with her, slowly rubbing her back in the same way he had when she once climbed into his bed after a nightmare. He isn’t sure how long it takes until she falls asleep, but she eventually does, and the tension he’s been fighting off for her sake begins to rear up inside of him as soon as he lays her down in bed.
His fangs begin to grow in his mouth when he leaves her room, rushing down the stairs. Scott looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch with Isaac and his eyes widen.
“Woah, dude, are you okay?”
“No,” Derek snarls through his fangs. He knows his eyes are flashing on and off. He doesn’t want to shift, not here. Not when he isn’t sure he’s going to be in complete control of himself.
“Derek, you need to calm down,” Scott says, leaping over the back of the couch with ease. He walks forward slowly and Derek snarls.
“I am trying to calm down,” he snaps. “I’m going for a run.”
“You can’t go run like-”
“I’ll go to the fucking preserve,” Derek growls. His claws elongate as he speaks and he barely resists the urge to run his hands through his hair. “Both of you stay here. I don’t need to be followed.”
“Derek-” Scott takes a step forward and he roars. He hears Straudia wake upstairs as soon as the sound cuts off and he curses himself.
“Don’t follow me,” he hisses, wrenching open the loft door and running out as fast as his feet can carry him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Every breath he takes burns in his lungs. His body screams at him to stop fucking running, but he pushes on anyway. He’s gotten good at ignoring what his body is trying to tell him.
He doesn’t know when he stopped running like a human, and dropped down onto all fours, but he covers more ground this way Which is good, because all he can focus on is putting distance between himself and...something. To be honest, he doesn’t know what he’s running from. He just knows that he couldn’t stay in that loft for a second longer. The anxiety, the rage...it had all begun to boil over as soon as he had to watch his daughter break down.
With a vicious snarl, he rises and swats at a tree in front of him. His claws take out chunks of bark and he wishes that it was the wolves that had attacked Jazz instead. He is not naive enough to believe that sinking his claws into their throats would do anything to bring her back, nor would it really make him feel any better in the long run, but they would deserve it. He’s tired of people that do awful things getting away with everything without consequences.
It’s kind of a hypocritical thought process, considering he’s not the most qualified person to be talking about justice. He knows that he’s made his fair share of mistakes and done things that he now wishes he could changed, because they had always ended with people getting hurt, or killed.
Drawing in a deep breath, he scents the air to see how far he’s run and immediately tenses when he catches the scent of another wolf. He’s acting primarily on instinct when he turns around, snarling at the sight of Scott standing in front of him, hands raised in a placating gesture.
“Derek,” Scott says. “Shift back.”
Derek bares his teeth. “I told you not to follow me. You’re not my babysitter.”
“You ran out of your loft barely in control of your own shift. You’re an idiot if you think that I would’ve actually left you alone,” Scott scoffs, taking a few careful steps forward.
“Just go back to the loft,” Derek says. He wants to back up, but is body won’t let him. All he can do is stand where he is and growl until Scott is right in front of him.
“Okay,” Scott agrees. “But you’re coming back with me.”
"I just need to be alone, okay? I’m goin-”
“No. You’re not going anywhere else. Straudia thinks that you left her because you got mad at her. She cried and told me to tell you that she’s sorry. You’re going to go back, and you’re going to actually deal with her instead of running away because it’s not about you right now,” Scott snaps, eyes flashing red while he speaks. “You’re not the only one that got hurt. Go. Home.”
Guilt and shame wash over Derek and he’s not even aware of shifting back until he’s on his knees with his throat exposed, whimpers caught in his throat.
“Get up, I don’t need you to submit to me,” Scott growls, turning away. He starts walking back in the direction of the loft and Derek scrambles to his feet to follow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Straudia is sitting on her bottom bunk, holding her pillow close as she flips through a book. He knows that she can’t read at all, but she likes to make up her own stories more than she likes to listen to what the author actually wrote. When she realizes that she’s not alone, she looks up from her book and her eyes widen.
“What’cha doing?” Derek asks. It’s a stupid question, he can see what she’s doing, but he doesn’t know what else to say to her.
Fortunately for him, Straudia ignores the question and instead asks, in a quiet, hesitant voice, “Are you mad at me?”
“No, of course not. Why would I be mad at you?” Derek asks, walking over to kneel before her on the bed. That guilt he felt in the preserve with Scott bites at him again.
“Cause I hit you,” Straudia says quietly. “And I called you a liar. And I yelled at you.”
Derek shakes his head, reaching for her. She wraps her arms around him again when he sits with his back against the bed, holding her in his lap.
“I’m not mad. I’d never be mad at you,” Derek tells her quietly.
After a couple of minutes have passed, Straudia asks in the same quiet voice, “Is Mommy really gone?”
“Yes,” he tells her. He doesn’t bother to try beating around the bush. There’s no point, especially not when she asked him directly.
She’s quiet again, and Derek almost thinks that she’s fallen asleep until she starts to speak in a soft voice.
“Mommy told me that she was going to bring me to my daddy. She told me that she had to go away for a little bit and I couldn’t come with, because it would be very dangerous.”
Derek thinks his heart skips a beat in his chest when Straudia pulls back to look at him.
“I miss her.”
“Me too,” Derek says truthfully, the words almost catching in his throat.
He sits with her on the floor until it’s dark and time for her to go to bed. He knows that Scott and Stiles are still downstairs, but he’s thankful that they leave them alone while he gets her ready for bed. She’s quieter than she’s ever been, but Derek isn’t alarmed by it.
When he reads her a story that she knows by heart, she doesn’t say the words along with him.
“I want to sleep down here,” she says, when he stands to help her get into the top bunk. “Will you stay with me?”
“Okay,” Derek says.
It’s awkward, and he doesn’t really fit, but she curls up next to him anyway, resting her head on her chest.
“Mommy told me that my dad was really silly, but he was nice, and he’d make me smile,” she whispers when she’s close to sleep and he can tell she’s having trouble keeping her eyes open.
Derek feels something twist inside of his chest and he can’t stop himself from asking, “How would you feel if I was your dad?”
Straudia smiles. He can see it clear, even though it’s completely dark.
“I think that’d be nice.” |
It isn’t until John notices the blurred ink on the page that he realises he’s been crying. “Sherlock,” he gasps, and that’s when he learns he’s been holding his breath as well. He closes his eyes, running his fingers over the smooth paper, allowing the words scrawled at his fingertips to sink in—the words Sherlock believed would be the last he’d ever say to him.
After this, John says nothing for a long time. None of them do. Molly stands at his side, she and the others waiting with silent strength until he's prepared to speak.
Before, he felt that he already knew what he needed to know about Sherlock. But there's an empathy that comes only from learning the truth of his past; and he aches, knowing all he’s endured. Taking the fall for a murderer—his former mentor, a man he admired for years. Faking his own death, giving up his entire life, leaving the people he loved behind. Starting over in an unfamiliar place, never knowing if or when it would all come to a grinding halt. Falling in love, despite knowing that it would have to end. Trying all he could do to keep John at a distance, but failing, only to have his worst fears become reality.
John's eyes finally open, carrying his gaze over to the woman on the sofa. She smiles at him softly.
He says her name into the silence. “Mary.”
She lifts an eyebrow, her smile fading. “Pardon?”
“In his letter, he called you Mary.” John's tone isn’t accusatory; it’s simply an observation. “Earlier, you said you use a fake name. So I assume he’s referring to you.”
Her eyes shift to Irene, then to Molly, as if expecting them to protest, but they only await her response. “Did he?” She relaxes. “Guess he decided it was worth revealing.” She shrugs. “Yes. You’re correct. I'm Mary. But from what I’ve gathered, you don’t get too miffed over false names?”
Gabriela speaks first. “Hang on,” she says, leaning forwards on the bed, her arms linked comfortably with Irene’s. “You’re the only one here who uses a fake name, right? Why not the other girls?”
Mary looks back to John. “Did he tell you why?”
“No. Though he did mention you’re quite skilled at handling a weapon.”
Mary presses her lips together, huffing something like a laugh. “He’s not wrong.” Her eyes move away. “I’ll spare you the details, but...” She begins to fumble nervously with the hem of her shirt. "...I also have a past I left behind. The difference is, there was nobody for me to take the fall for. In my story, I was the villain.” She pauses, carefully forming her words. “I hurt others. I took lives. I don’t think I can ever hope to redeem myself; I definitely don’t deserve it. The best I can do is spend my life protecting others from people like me.”
John watches her shift continuously in her seat, nervously wringing her hands. A former assassin, he thinks, though she's not being candid.
“What convinced you to leave that life behind?” he asks.
“There was a mission that went horribly wrong.” Her throat tightens. "I lost everyone I cared about. I was the only one to make it out alive."
John wonders if he should offer her comfort; but he isn’t sure how welcome it would be. She has, as far as he knows, spent the past few weeks hating him. And while she was technically “Marci” then, the lines remain somewhat blurred.
“I’m fortunate to have met Mycroft,” she continues. “And that he believed I could change, and offered me this mission. I’m certain I’d be locked up or dead, otherwise.”
John lifts an eyebrow. “Mycroft?”
“Sherlock’s brother,” Molly explains. “He’s the one who enlisted the three of us. He’s a sort of...erm...government…” she stumbles over her words as if she’s forgotten them. “A… government something or other.”
“Ah,” John acknowledges. Then, he turns his attention back to Mary, still hoping to offer her comfort, but she refuses to meet his eyes.
“Mary,” he says gently.
She waves him off with a dismissive hand. “It was the life I chose to live, and if karma repays me, so be it.”
“No. It’s not that. I was...simply going to say that Sherlock is lucky to have you.” He turns back to Molly, then to Irene, and he feels grateful. “All of you.”
“And you,” Molly chimes in. “He’s lucky that you’re his, as well.”
His.
“Thank you,” John says. Only a few weeks before, he thinks, Molly spoke of her unrequited love for Sherlock. John knows she was telling the truth about that; he remembers the way she looked at him. And it must have broken her heart for her to watch Sherlock falling for someone else. But here she is—just like Sarah and Gabriela, helping him, though she owes him nothing.
John has very quickly moved from utter loneliness to having the best friends in the world.
A sudden wave of drowsiness overtakes him. He glances over at the clock; it’s already half past one in the morning.
“You should sleep,” Molly suggests, as if reading his mind.
He nods in agreement. “Do you need a place to stay?”
“We’ve got a place,” Molly says. “Not far from here. We can grab a taxi.”
Irene stands, then, at the foot of the bed, pulling Gabriela up by her hand. She turns to her, smoothing down her silk robe. “Sorry I pulled a knife on you, darling. I promise it won’t happen next time.” She coyly looks up at her beneath her long lashes. “Unless that’s what you like.”
In response, Gabriela clutches onto the front fold of Irene’s robe, pulling her in until their mouths meet. Irene takes in a sharp breath, cupping her hands behind Gabriela’s head to press her closer. Gabriela sucks delicately at her bottom lip, tightening her grasp. Their kiss quickly becomes passionate, tongues peeking out of their mouths as they slide them together. They seem to have forgotten that they aren’t the only two people in there.
John clears his throat pointedly, and the two women separate from each other with giddy laughter.
“I’ll go get dressed,” Irene says as she slips away, her silk robe clinging to the curves of her body as she walks into the next room.
Gabriela watches her as she leaves, her eyes in a daze, her lips stained with scarlet. “Good lord,” she exhales. “The Woman. I cannot wait to tell Sarah about her.”
Molly quickly glances at John, searching for an explanation.
“Sarah Sawyer. Gabriela's girlfriend,” he explains. “They’ve got an open relationship.”
“Oh.” A smile settles on Molly’s face. “That’s cool! I’ve met Sarah a few times at the bar. She’s pretty great.”
Gabriela turns to her, returning from her daze to give Molly her full attention. She’s brilliant at that, John thinks. She has a way of making everyone around her feel as though they’re the most important person in the room.
“She likes you as well, Molly,” she says. “Thinks you’ve got a great smile. Talks a lot about how brilliant you are.”
Molly’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Yeah?” she says sheepishly. “Tell her thank you for me, then.”
Gabriela pushes a long, silky strand of hair behind her bare shoulder. “We ought to have you come over sometime,” she replies, her dark eyes glinting. “Perhaps you’ll be able to tell her yourself.”
“That would be lovely!” Molly pauses, considering. Then, a doe-eyed expression as she understands what Gabriela is suggesting. “Oh!”
“Gab,” John says mildly.
Before Gabriela can protest, Mary stands up from the sofa, taking a step towards him and holding out a hand. “John. May I see your phone?” she asks.
He raises an eyebrow out of curiosity, but reaches into his pocket and hands it to her. She takes it, presses a few of the buttons, and passes it back.
“I’ve given you my contact information,” she says. “If you need anything, you can call. We’ll be here in a heartbeat.”
John gives her an appreciative nod. “Will do,” he says.
Irene returns, wearing the same dress she arrived in, and the three women make towards the door. As Irene passes John, she pauses, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Take care, darling,” she says. “See you soon.”
He smiles. Apparently, she’s given in, and is no longer angry—either accepting that it isn’t worth the fight, or taking enormous pity on him. “I will,” he promises.
Once they leave, Gabriela heads off to the loo for her nighttime routine. John changes into his pajamas and sinks into bed, feeling as if his body carries the weight of a bulldozer. He reads Sherlock’s letter again, and rereads it, and rereads it again. By the end of the night, he’ll surely have memorized every last word, but he can’t stop—these words are the only piece of Sherlock he’s got.
Finally, with the letter still open, he begins to nod off. He stirs, gathering only enough energy to fold it and return it to the bedside table.
Gabriela is lying in the bed next to him, leaning against the headboard, staring at an open book in her lap.
“Hey,” he says drowsily to her. “How’s the book?”
“Dunno.” She closes it. “I keep reading the same page over and over, but I’m not retaining anything.”
John glances again at the clock on the wall. It’s a quarter past two in the morning, but his mind doesn’t rest; it seems to be clinging to the events of the day.
“Gab.” He crosses his arms behind his shoulders, resting his head there like a pillow. “Did Irene tell you what happened? To Sherlock? About his past?”
She turns her head to him and nods. “She did.”
“Good. Then you understand what I plan to do.”
“Of course. You’re going to find him.”
Though John is flattered by Gabriela’s unwavering faith in him, he hesitates before giving her an answer. “In the letter, Sherlock begged me not to go after him.”
“You’re not going to listen to him, though.”
“He doesn’t want me to risk my life,” John continues. “But I’m afraid it’s not his choice to make.”
With his answer, Gabriela’s face lights up, and she grins widely at him before returning to her book.
Just then, John’s phone vibrates with a text message from an unfamiliar number.
John?
His heart skips a beat. His fingers fly over the keys of his phone as he types a response.
Who is this?
Before I disclose anything, I need you to swear that this exchange will remain secret.
John looks back up at Gabriela, paranoid that she may suspect something, but she carries on with her book, unaware.
He goes back to his phone.
I swear.
Good. I’m in a room at your hotel. 201. Come alone.
John blinks. Meeting a stranger alone in an unfamiliar place? It feels dangerous; but he’s surprised to learn that this only spurs him onward. And yet, he won’t go without a reason.
Why should I?
He waits.
I can take you to Sherlock.
***
Goosebumps form on John’s skin as he stares blankly at the message.
“You okay?” Gabriela closes her book once more and sets it onto the bedside table. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
John fumbles, and his phone slips from his hands and into his lap. “Yeah. Yes, I’m good. I just...read a news article that was a bit disturbing.”
He doesn’t like that he’s lying to her, but he hopes it’s for good reason.
“Yeah?” She yawns, stretching her arms over her head sleepily. “Go to Youtube and search for videos of cute, fluffy animals. That’s what I do when I need to forget about something awful.”
As she falls back onto her pillow and shuts off the light, John's chest swells with affection for her. Her open, loving heart; the innocence she possesses, regardless of her intelligence, strength, and wit. The way people seem drawn to her like magnets, and yet she doesn’t bat them away, as other beautiful women might do; instead, making an equal place for each of them.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, yawning once more. “It suddenly hit me how sleepy I am.”
John feels a surge of relief as she says this, gripping onto his phone. This will make things easier. “No worries at all," he says. "It's late."
“Night, John,” she says, her eyelids heavy. “Love you.”
“Goodnight, Gabriela,” he replies, but she’s already out like a light.
Quickly, he picks his phone back up and types his next message.
Wait for me there. I'll see you in five minutes.
***
John slips out of bed carefully so he doesn’t wake Gabriela. He tiptoes out of the room, still wearing his pajamas. The door quietly clicks shut behind him, and he walks through the eerie, barely-lit hallway to the second floor. The walls are a dark shade of green; the coarse, aged carpet a darker shade still.
He soon finds himself in front of room 201. He pauses before the door, and the bronze numbers tower before him, and he begins to question his own sanity. Briefly, he considers turning back—but decides against it.
Even if the person behind this door means to harm him, he’s willing to take that chance. Because it could be anyone. Even Sherlock.
He raises a hand to knock, but before his knuckles reach the dark wood, it swings open.
“John.” A pretty, short-haired woman looks over the threshold at him. She’s changed from her earlier black attire and is now clad in a loose-fitting shirt and boxer shorts. “I wasn’t so sure you would come. I know this is a bit sudden and strange.”
John’s mouth drops open. “Mary? It was you who texted me?"
“Shh!” she shushes him. She glares daggers into him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him in roughly through the door.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologises as he stumbles through. “Didn’t mean to reveal your identity to...whom, exactly? Though to be fair, I’m certain every word I said got soaked up by that thick, shaggy carpet."
Mary rolls her eyes at him, but there’s no malice there. “Sit,” she commands, pointing to the sofa.
John surveys the empty room. “Where are Irene and Molly?”
“They've gone back,” she answers. “We decided at least one of us should stay behind for your safety, just in case. I volunteered."
John takes a seat on the sofa. He decides to waste no time. “You've brought me here to tell me more about Sherlock?"
She takes a seat next to him. “Yes.”
“Right,” he responds, releasing a gust of air. “Good.”
For a short time, Mary stares down at her hands on her knees, saying nothing. John wonders if she’s already regretting her decision. But she finally turns to him, her eyes apprehensive.
“John," she says. "As I said in the message. It’s extremely important you don’t share this information with anyone. If you did, it would mean I could no longer help you."
He nods firmly. “You have my word.”
She breathes in. “What the girls said earlier to you, about not knowing of Sherlock’s whereabouts? That’s a lie."
“Oh,” John exhales. “So you do know.”
“Yes, of course. We’re Sherlock's bodyguards. We have to remain close to him. But Mycroft is firm about us letting on what we know."
“I see. And what would you be risking by taking me there?”
Mary's grip tightens around her knees. “Quite a lot, I suppose. My own role in this mission, to begin with. But I’ve already risked a lot by simply getting you here.”
Her words startle John. “Getting me here? What do you mean?”
Finally, her gaze lifts, and her eyes catch his. “The string of clues.”
John sucks in a short breath, unsure of whether he’s shocked, confused, grateful—or all three. “That was you?”
She tilts her head to one side. “Yes. Well, partially. I had help.” She swallows. “But please don’t ask who helped me. I won’t tell you.”
“Mary, I—”
“It’s alright, John,” she interrupts. “I’ve weighed the options, and it’s something I want to do.”
John tries to understand. He could never have predicted her role in this. He was certain the clues were carried out by Molly, considering her photographs and the computer tricks; or Irene, planting her contact information for him to find. Why would Mary—who barely knows him—be the one to help him?
Then, he remembers what she shared with them earlier: her new purpose. Her endeavour to redeem herself after years of hurting others. Still—he’s not sure that he can accept her offer. He doesn’t think he’s willing to risk the life of anyone else that Sherlock holds dear.
That’s not completely true. He’d risk his own.
That’s when he understands Mary's willingness. Why she would reach beyond her duties to help Sherlock and himself. He nods again. “Alright.”
“He’s not far," she says quietly. "He’s staying at a house in a small city just beyond the military base.”
John lets out a low whistle. "Military? They're risking nothing this time, are they?"
Her lips curve upwards into a smile. “Mycroft may have a flair for the dramatic, but he’s a very good brother. Even though the two of them drive each other absolutely mad, Sherlock is the most important person in his life. And he’s the only family Sherlock still has after...you know.”
John's wonders if Sherlock realises how incredibly loved he is. “What time will we go?” he asks. He’s prepared to go now, in his pajamas, if he must.
“Meet me in front of the El Cortez at seven o’clock sharp. I’ll have a car waiting for us. It shouldn’t take much longer than an hour to get there.”
“Mary.” John surges forward and wraps his arms around her shoulders. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
She tucks her arms underneath his and hugs him back. “There’s no need,” she says. “Now go try and get some sleep. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
***
In the morning, when John leaves, Gabriela still sleeps. He pens a note to her and places it on the counter.
Got an early start. Going out to explore a bit, perhaps try to enjoy the sunshine and warmth. May wander about. Just didn’t want you to worry. -John
He looks back over at her. She’s in a deep sleep, breathing heavily. He feels a bit guilty for going into this situation without telling her, but he’s got no other choice. And he's certain that if she knew the reason, she’d understand.
Making his way to the El Cortez on foot, John tries to wrap his head around all that’s happening. In just a couple of hours, he’ll be looking at Sherlock. He thinks of his eyes—green, blue, and gold. He can’t help but wonder: will they be harsh with anger when he arrives, or will they soften at the sight of him?
He checks the time as he reaches his destination. 6:57. At 7:00 sharp, a black limousine pulls up to the curb, and Mary steps out.
“Morning.” She smiles warmly at him and leans forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Get in. Let’s deliver you to your love.”
John grins, excitement propelling him forward as he steps into the vehicle.
As he settles in, the driver looks into the rearview mirror at him. “Good morning.” His voice is light and cheerful, and he speaks with a charming Irish lilt. “John, right? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Jim."
John smiles politely at him. “Cheers. Thanks for doing this."
“Jim is one of us," Mary explains. “Our chief of transportation, you might say. He handles all of the exciting tasks of getting us from point A to point B.”
“I’m happy to help." The driver turns the steering wheel, pulling the limousine out into the street. “Sherlock’s one of my closest friends. He misses you terribly, you know.”
John's chest clenches. Of course, he knows how hollow he has felt himself since Sherlock went missing, but he hasn't taken much time to consider how equally miserable Sherlock must be.
"I miss him, too," John says. "Terribly."
Mary reaches over John’s lap and takes his hand. “I'm certain he knows. But you’ll have the chance to tell him very soon.”
“Yes.” The weight begins to lift itself from John’s chest. “Yes, yes, yes.” |
“Words don't come easy
Words don't come easy to me
This is the only way for me to say I love you
Words don't come easy”
Vimini stayed with us the entire afternoon and refused to go home for dinner.
I called her parents to tell them that I would take their daughter home at a reasonable hour.
Mafalda cooked us grilled fish and stuffed tomatoes, and an apricot crostata with ice-cream for dessert.
The weather had returned to normal, but it wasn’t as humid as before the storm.
“I was thinking of going to the cinema,” Samuel said, causing a mild sensation. He’d never mentioned the movies before, and that one time Elio and I had gone the previous summer, he hadn’t seemed in the least interested.
“Tonight?” asked Elio, who was as surprised as me, “Isn’t it too late?”
“The last show is at ten, so there’s plenty of time,” replied his mother.
There was an Ingmar Bergman retrospective in Crema, she explained, and she really wanted to see Persona. This evening was the only time they were showing it.
“May I come too?” asked Vimini.
“Next time,” Annella said, smiling, “It's going to be too late for you; surely past midnight.”
She grumbled, but did not insist.
“You wouldn’t like it, anyway,” said Elio, who enjoyed teasing her once in a while.
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t have an actual story. And not much talking either.”
She scowled at him.
“I’m not a child,” she said, “And I have seen Fanny and Alexander last Christmas.”
“Didn’t you find it boring?”
“Not as boring as this conversation.”
We all laughed, including Elio.
I suspected that they had decided to go away for the evening in order to leave us alone; I didn’t doubt that they wanted to see the film, but in other circumstances they would have asked us to join them.
Like I’d promised, I accompanied Vimini home just as the clock struck nine.
“Elio is annoying, but he can be nice, sometimes,” she said, before hugging me goodnight.
“He was doing it on purpose,” I replied, handing her the yellow hat she’d been wearing that afternoon, “He believes you are a genius; that’s the first thing he told me about you.”
“That’s one thing he is not,” she joked, “Or it wouldn’t have taken him so long to understand that you were here for him.”
I wanted to tell her that life is more complicated than that, but in all honesty she was right that we’d made it more difficult that it needed to be.
When I returned, I heard the car as it drove away.
Mafalda had already cleared the table and Elio was sitting there, drinking wine and writing on his notebook.
He didn’t hear me approach, and he jumped when I touched him on the shoulder.
“Is that about me?” I asked, pointing at his pad.
“Yeah, I’m reporting all your heroic deeds,” he replied, “Think of me as a modern Homer and of yourself as a latter-day Achilles.”
I pinched his glass and drained it in one gulp.
“More punishment?” he suggested.
“You tell me.”
The night was all around us and the only light came from the villa. Mafalda was in the kitchen, but soon she would go up to her room and we’d be completely alone.
I sat next to him, brushed away the curls which had fallen over his eyes and kissed his cheek.
“Would you like some more wine?” I whispered.
“Yes,” he replied, licking my lips until they parted and let him in.
We shared long, deep kisses, drawing breath for a matter of seconds only to fall into each other again, and again.
“I had an idea about a composition,” he said, when we finally drew apart. He was sitting in my lap and I had my arms around his waist. He had messed up my hair the way he liked it and was contemplating the result, tousling it some more.
“Is that new?” I asked, and he nodded, “I couldn’t write before, couldn’t think.”
“Maybe I had the same problem with my book.”
“But you said that being here helped you.”
“Because you are here,” I said, nuzzling his throat.
“It wasn’t enough for me,” he argued, “You being here was a distraction rather than an inspiration.”
I bit the tender skin underneath his jaw.
“What you are really saying is that you missed a special part of me.”
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled.
“Why, are you denying it?”
He sulked but I tickled him until there were happy tears in his eyes.
“It’s offensive,” he gasped, “To say that I only wanted your dick.”
I assumed a shocked expression, pressing the palm of my hand to my chest.
“My heart, that’s what I meant,” I exclaimed.
“You dirty liar,” he said, rubbing his ass against my not-so-soft groin.
I tickled him some more and he tugged at my hair; we would have ended up wrestling if I hadn’t grimaced in pain.
“Sorry, sorry,” he pleaded, looking mortified.
“Don’t be,” I reassured him, “I started it and anyway it’s nothing.”
He raised the hem of my shirt to uncover the large bruise on my side.
“You need more Arnica,” he stated.
“That’s just a ploy to get me naked.”
He sniffed, “Like I need it.”
“What are you implying?”
“You almost accepted to pose naked for Patrice.”
He stood up and looked me in the eye.
“I did not almost anything. I refused in the first place.”
“But you would have done it if I had asked you to.”
I thought about it and wondered whether I’d have accepted only to provoke Elio’s reaction.
“No, not even in that case. It would have made me too uncomfortable and it would have been nearly impossible to disguise my interest in you.”
He leaned down and brought his lips to my nape.
“Talking about your heart again?”
I laughed. “Yeah, it would have beaten way too hard.”
Elio started doing something sinful to my hair; I had a weakness for it being stroked and pulled, and he remembered only too well which buttons to push.
“Did I make it hard for you when I touched my foot?” he murmured, while he continued his ministrations. My jeans felt too tight, so I spread my legs to ease the growing discomfort.
“Very hard,” I replied, “That’s why I was so sweaty afterwards, which you complained about.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I wasn’t complaining, quite the opposite.”
The situation was spinning out of control.
“If you still want to talk,” I started, but he reached over and placed his hand on my crotch. He palmed my erection and moaned softly.
“You looked so huge in that Speedo,” he said; his mouth was close to mine; he stuck out his tongue and licked the corner of my lips.
I turned my head and pulled him into a messy, disjointed kiss.
At some point, we made it back into the house and with our virtue at least partially intact. My underpants had a sizeable wet spot and his erection was still tenting his shorts as we walked through the door.
There was no real need to go up to the attic, since no one was around to hear us, but Elio wanted to keep the discussion away from our bedroom and I thought it was a good idea.
After we’d both used the bathroom, I told him to wait for me upstairs.
He complied, with a slight smirk on his lips.
There were a few things I needed, including condoms and KY, because that’s how I hoped the evening would end. I tried not to think about it, since the mere idea made me dizzy with want. Nothing compared to the feeling of sinking into Elio, to the way his body opened up to receive mine.
I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt and headed up to the attic.
“I can’t believe that we are here again,” he said, when I closed the door behind me. “I waited for you that night, but you never came.”
“You were asleep when I got in.”
“And you left me here?”
I cupped my hands around his face.
“I didn’t want to wake you and have a big ugly shouting match.”
“It wouldn't,” he said, closing his eyes, “I only wanted to explain that it wasn’t what you thought it was.”
“And what was it?”
He moved away, walking up to the window. I went to him and offered him a cigarette; I lit it then did the same with mine.
“Last year, you kept so much from me,” he said, as he puffed out a curlicue of smoke, “We barely talked.”
“We were talking all the time.”
“Not about the important things, like you having a girlfriend. And yes, I know, you were on a break, but you should have mentioned her anyway.”
“Yes, I know. It’s just that we were in our perfect little world and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“You said the same thing when we were in Rome, on that first evening.”
I remembered all too well, the anguish I felt at witnessing his popularity; everybody loved him and I was only the hand on his waist; somebody else was already catching his attention, and it was fine, because Elio was enchanting and could have whatever and whomever he wished for.
“I made mistakes too,” he conceded, “I should have insisted until you told me the truth. And I should have told you how I felt, but I was so happy I didn’t understand that you were slipping away from me, right from the start.”
He was so wise, my Elio, so much wiser than me.
“You are always running from something, and I was, too.”
I swung round so that I could look at him.
“What were you running from?” I asked, fearing the answer a little.
“The same thing,” he smiled, “What I felt for you.”
“You were the one who spoke first,” I said, “You were brave every step of the way.”
He shook his head and placed his hand on my chest.
“Maybe that’s how I acted, but inside my head... it was a giant mess.”
We finished smoking and chucked the scorched filters out of the window.
I had taken a bunch of miniature whiskies with me and I handed him one. We sat on the mattress, side by side and with our backs against the wall.
The liquor made him bolder.
“You seemed so unattainable, so far above me,” he said, “Impossibly handsome, clever, athletic, uber-popular Oliver.”
I snorted loudly.
“That’s what you were to me. For a very long time I believed that if I could only be you, I wouldn’t need to have you.”
Understanding dawned on me, suddenly.
“You wanted to do with that girl what I had done with Chiara last summer.”
He opened a second bottle and sipped from it.
“I’m a terrible person,” he murmured.
“It wasn’t your fault, but mine.”
“You have to stop doing that,” he said, as I plucked the bottle from his fingers and drank it down. “You are not responsible for my actions, I am. And yes, it hurt to be without you, but it doesn’t excuse my behaviour with Susanna.”
“Did you tell her about me?”
His hand was on my thigh, squeezing it lightly, in a very distracting manner.
“I told her that I was trying to get over somebody and that night when I ran after you, she put two and two together.”
“And she wanted to help you forget about me.”
“As if I could ever do that,” he smiled, and I covered his hand with mine. For a while, we both stared at our hands: mine so big, dark and hairy, and his, slender, elegant and lily-skinned. He was biting his lips and I was losing the will to resist.
“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he said, as we locked eyes again, “Not from myself and not from you.”
“After I left Lucy, I went to a gay bar,” I blurted out, “I wanted to be sure. Nothing much happened and it only made me feel worse.”
“So it didn’t resolve your doubts?” he asked, frowning.
“Yes, it did,” I replied, making sure that he could see that there were no more screens between us, “It made me realise that I was still in love with you.”
|
The war was over.
Bucky still couldn’t quite believe the said fact is true despite his current sight–Steve and the Commandos dawning over cheap beers in a shitty German bar as they celebrated the homecoming.
He had been through hell and back while fighting alongside the team, unable to decide what had been worse between being captured by HYDRA from having to walk over a pretty much literal hell. It was funny how so many things had changed and so many things remained the same during the war. Steve had changed, physically at least, but their friendship didn’t. If anything, it just got more stronger. Bucky himself had changed, or so he wanted to believe he did. There was no way you could see what he saw without letting that change you for a tiny bit.
But there were the things that didn’t change. And well…
The Howling Commandos talking about girls was one of them.
“You telling me that that one german girl we met before?” Dum Dum asked Gabe, a smirk pulling his lips as he took another sip of his beer. “You said you didn’t like german girls!”
Gabe just shrugged somewhat cockily, grinning at the Sergeant as he put down his own cup on the table, the rest of the guys mocking him playfully.
“I never said that,” he piped up with a laugh, his eyebrows raising challengingly. “I said the french girls were cuter.”
Bucky couldn’t help but laugh along the rest of the team at Gabe’s smug expression as Dum Dum grumbled in response.
“What about you, Barnes? Captain’s got Agent Carter now…” Dugan teased with a grin as he shook Steve by his shoulders, a sheepish chuckle escaping the latest’s mouth. “Word went around saying you’re quite the ladies’ man.”
Another laugh escaped Bucky’s lips and saw Steve raise his eyebrows, a lopsided smile curving the blond’s lips as they stared at each other almost confidently.
“I think you’re mistaking me for Stevie right here,” Bucky replied as Steve huffed loudly, Jim slapping his back playfully. “Mine’s back in Brooklyn. My girlfriend.”
Bucky held back a amused laugh as the guys fell into a sudden silence with the unknown information.
“You got a girlfriend?” Jim broke the silence with a shriek and immediately they started their teasing and mocking session, Bucky finally letting out a loud laugh.
“Come on, it’s not like I was on the hunt like you guys,” he stepped up defensively but soon grinned, giving a nonchalant shrug. “But yeah, I’ve got a girlfriend.”
Jacques and Jim let out a wolf whistle and Dum Dum laughed as Bucky rolled his eyes playfully.
“Pictures! Let me see her!” Dum Dum demanded and Bucky shot him a fake indignant glance. “Don’t give me that look, you’re the one hiding stuff around here.”
Bucky let out a snort and crouched down to pick up his small crossover bag, quickly opening it and pulling off your picture, neatly placed between a pile of letters you’d send him during the past months and a few of his stuff. He remembered the day from the picture like he had just lived it.
It was 4th of July and Steve’s birthday and they had just thrown a surprise party for him back at his mom’s apartment.
The party was almost over when Steve’s mom joined the room with her newly bought camera, snapping a few pictures of Steve with Bucky’s youngest sister. He wasn’t even paying attention when Sarah pointed the camera to you, both sat in the living room’s couch with his arm loosely draped over your shoulders as you laughed confidently to each other.
Bucky handed the picture to Dum Dum and watched amused as the other guys leaned over the table to see the picture. Gossiping idiots.
“Maybe we can meet her back home, go for some drinks…” Jim piped up jokingly and Bucky shot him a fake glare, his eyebrows turning into a challenging frown. “Just playing, man. She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, she’s gorgeous, Barnes!” Dum Dum beamed and let out a short laugh, friendly patting the brunette’s arm. “Bet you can’t wait to get home, huh?”
Bucky just smiled fondly, taking back the picture and running his fingertips through it under the table.
“You have no idea.”
When Bucky finally arrived, the place was a mess.
Steve had stayed behind since he was with Peggy and the few american Commandos were already off to their homes probably. There was millions of families and women and kids greeting the other soldiers and Bucky was caught right in the middle with no sign of you. Just when he was starting to think that maybe you weren’t there, he spotted a familiar frame not too far away, wearing a floral skirt with a white button-up shirt and sunglasses perked up in the head.
That alone would make him recognize you everywhere.
“Searching for someone?” Bucky half whispered into your ear as he sneaked up on your back, chuckling lightly when you jumped up a little.
Until you turned around, your mouth falling open in surprise as you literally jumped onto him, arms encircling his neck tightly.
“BUCKY, OH MY GOD!” you shrieked in his ear as he laughed and hoisted your legs up in his waist for support. “WHEN DID YOU ARRIVE?”
“A while,” Bucky replied jokingly before giving you a playful indignant glance. “Long enough to think you wouldn’t come.”
A giggle escaped from your lips as you rolled your eyes playfully at him.
“Dramas, dramas,” you joked and gave a pat on his cheek, standing on your feet again as you adjusted the sunglasses on your head with the other hand. “You’re spending too much time with Steve.”
“You tell me,” Bucky replied between a chuckle and smiled fondly at you, his hand cupping your cheek as you stepped closer to him. “Hi.”
You just laughed again and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down as your lips finally met in a soft and slow kiss. And Jesus Christ, he missed those so damn much.
His arms fell to your hips as you pulled back, slightly brushing your lips against his smiling ones.
“Hello, Sergeant,” you breathed and placed a kiss in the corner of his mouth, his hands squeezing your hips lightly. “Welcome home.”
He smiled and encircled your waist fully, hugging you so tightly that your feet almost left the ground.
“God, I missed you so much,” Bucky mumbled against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “You look just as beautiful as I remember."
"I missed you too,” you whispered softly in his ear and placed a kiss upon it, pulling back slowly. “Let’s go home?”
He chuckled, his lips meeting the curve of your shoulders.
Home.
“Home sounds good.”
Back at his own place, nothing had changed.
The neighborhood was still rowdy, his apartment was still a mess and his baby sister had grew a few inches, which she showed and beamed about proudly. Same went with yours, the familiar and comfortable atmosphere still there, maybe even more noticeable now that he was back from a place he barely had a proper place to sleep in. No one could blame him for wanting to enjoy the whole thing.
“I just want to cuddle!” Bucky exclaimed as he laid down on the large bed, patting the empty spot beside him. “Come on, (Y/N)!”
You let out a laugh, slowly crawling over the bed wearing his uniform’s shirt.
“Did I hear it right?” you asked jokingly as you laid down beside him, feeling Bucky’s hand pulling you to his top. “Sergeant James Barnes wants to cuddle instead of going out dancing?”
Bucky rolled his eyes playfully before chuckling lightly, his fingers trailing patterns on the back of your thighs.
“Sergeant James Barnes is missing his girlfriend, that’s what,” he replied as he tried to fake your voice, making you giggle loudly.
You pulled your body out of his hold and kneeled between his legs, grabbing his cap from the bedside table and placing it over your head as his hands went to your hips.
“Sergeant James Barnes’ girlfriend was missing him too, you know,” you said with a lopsided grin as Bucky just watched you attentively, a tender smile on his lips.
“You know, I showed a picture of you to the Commandos,” he confessed with a smirk as you raised your eyebrows inquiringly. “They said they want to meet you.”
“What? Really?” you asked incredulously between a laugh, your cheeks flushing slightly at the fact they talked about you.
“Yeah.” Bucky chuckled and shrugged, his fingers already up inside your shirt. “Don’t know if it was just a joke, though.”
“Well, Sergeant, if that’s what they want…” you joked and laid your body against his again, placing cap on his head and kissing his lips quickly. “I'd love to meet them.”
The so expected meeting happened about a month later, when all the guys were in New York. Peggy was the one to chose the place as she had determinantly said that both her and Steve would go, claiming the Captain needed to practice his dancing. Just like that, Bucky was back to his sight of one month ago, Steve and the Commandos dawning over beers.
But this time with his arm draped over your shoulders, like in the picture he had previously showed them.
“What is a pretty girl like you doing with this idiot?” Jacques asked jokingly as he nodded towards Bucky, who playfully hit his arm. “I’m just saying!”
“That’s a really good question,” you laughed and then shrugged nonchalantly, a playful smile on your lips. “But just for his good looks, really.”
“We all have better looks than this guy, come on,” Jim said after letting out a groan and you bursted out laughing as the other guys nodded in affirmation.
“I think you’re getting a little bit ahead of yourself, Morita,” Peggy joked with a smirk and laughed when he shot her a hurt look.
“The Captain’s only the pretty boy around here, folks!” Dum Dum beamed playfully and Steve groaned as he rolled his eyes.
Before the group could enter in a more heated discussion, Bucky placed his cup on the table again and stood up.
“You guys are all idiots.” The brunette chuckled in amusement and extended his hand to you. “Come on, doll, let’s dance.”
As both of you got up and walked to the dance floor, you heard Gabe scream ‘and he dances too!’ making you laugh and Bucky roll his eyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” Bucky said apologetic and grinned, his arms falling around your waist. “That’s just how they are, surprisingly.”
Your own arms encircled his neck and you shook your head dismissively.
“They’re rowdy.” You let out a laugh, shrugging lightly as Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I kinda like them.”
“Yeah, wait until you have to spend months with these guys,” he grumbled with a grin and you laughed again.
Leaning your head against his shoulder, the both of you fell into a comfortable silence, swaying slowly to the beat of the song playing.
“Thanks for letting me meet them,” you mumbled softly breaking the silence and placed a feathery kiss behind Bucky’s ear. “It was nice and I loved it.”
“Thanks for agreeing in meeting them,” he replied genuinely and grinned mischievously. “That’s a tough thing to do.”
You laughed again as you punched his back playfully, hearing him protest playfully on your ear. Silence settled again for a few moments until you broke it again, lifting your head from Bucky’s shoulder.
“Hey, Buck,” you called out and watched him glance down at your face as you smiled tenderly. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Bucky couldn’t help but smile back and palm his hand on your cheek, his lips meeting yours lovingly as his thumb ran through your cheekbone.
This was his home, this was what made the place become home.
“I’m glad to be home too, doll.”
And he couldn’t be more happy to be back at it. |
"I promise you, that that will never happen again. I will do everything in my power to stop myself from letting another drop of alcohol pass my lips. This – whole thing is just...it can't keep going. I'm going to stop myself – I have to. Or it is going to kill me." Whether he was talking to Jack or himself, no one in the room was entirely sure. But his mother beamed happily and hugged Will tightly, as if trying to show him how proud and happy she was of him.
"Jack, we got you something that you really should've gotten earlier." His mother dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a flat blue and white rectangle, passing it into his head with a wide grin.
He examined it, running his fingers over its surface before mentally berating himself 'It's a phone you dumbass...' He smiled as he turned it over and looked at the design on the back. A large snowflake with stripes on both sides, above and beneath it. "Thanks so much..." Jack really had no idea who he was going to call or what the capabilities of the phone were but he was sure that it'd be useful to have one on the go now.
"We need signed that test paper, be sure to pass it this time okay?" Jack nodded and turned around to run back up to his room.
"And try and get all your grades a little higher. You're smarter then what they show, I know it..." His father yelled after him and something inside his heart beamed.
He didn't even think his father knew about his grades.
–
It was the first time in a long time that Jack found himself waking up early in the morning and forcing himself to leave the ever beautiful and cottony comfort of his bed only to be softly told to go back to sleep as his father readied his little sister for school downstairs, doing everything from double checking with her books to lightly brushing her hair down while she giggled jubilantly and told him about her many new friends at school from entering the new year.
Jack felt a part of his heart ache for two different reasons. The first reason was because he was happy and enthralled to see his father actually sober for once in such a long time and doing something for them that they needed—finally playing the part of a parent. The second reason was because he knew that if Will really did decide to pick up the slack and actually be father to Mary, he wouldn't be able to anymore. Jack knew that after he stopped being the 'father' of Mary he wouldn't be able to spend nearly as much time with her and their current time spent together, things that Jack had up to now seen as their own little private time that included walks back and forth to school and getting ready in the morning would be taken from him.
'A necessary evil I guess...' Jack thought wistfully and quickly tip-toed back upstairs from his looking place so he could get ready for his own day – for once not having to rush as much as he did before. He even spent a little more time double checking over his backpack – making sure he had everything, including his new phone, he needed before he went into the bathroom downstairs and looked at himself in the mirror.
Still too thin for his height and age but with Will taking a much more active role Jack was sure he'd fill out eventually. With a hint of a grin on his lips he examined himself in the mirror a little closer, he didn't like how thin he was but he really loved how lithe he looked. 'Can't gain too much weight...' Jack thought with impressing Pitch with his appearance at the forefront of his mind.
Then it hit him.
He didn't have to be with Mary all around the clock if Will was with her.
Meaning he had time for himself...and Pitch.
With a mischievous grin he thought of the man of his affections before almost painfully yanking himself out of that train of thought – he'd be late for school if he allowed it to go any further. Instead he focused on getting downstairs and getting some breakfast, planning to fix himself something nice, filling and quick instead of just grabbing whatever he could get his hands on. But he found his plate fully prepared for him upon coming downstairs, a small stack of pancakes with maple syrup dripped on them that resembled a smiley face and few pieces of bacon along with a note that was done in near-sun bright-orange colored crayon.
'Me and Daddy made this together! - Love Mary! :)'
Jack bit his lip and mentally read it in her voice a few times before licking his lips and biting down in order to stop the tears from coming out, he didn't know why he was crying but he felt it was so undeniably adorable...he promptly sat down and got to work.
–
He was heading to school alone, without the need to go to the local grade school to drop off Mary, this was something new and almost alarming for him. He realized how pathetic it was but Mary had become such an important part of his morning regime that he actually felt uncomfortable and unsafe walking down the street alone. Her presence was a calming assurance for some reason.
He tried to swallow it down but his fear was really getting the best of him – he looked down, didn't quite wear the same smile and only when he approached the near empty Cafe Claussen and saw an unforgettable face inside did he perk up and dash into the place, noting that he had at least a good twenty minutes to spare before class.
"Pitch!" A wide, confident grin along with a happy stride as he approached his friend/cafe acquaintance/flirtation-ship partner/mental boyfriend.
Pitch looked up from his book and only after seeing Jack did he allow a grin to come through. "Well, hello Jack...shouldn't you be headed off to school?" He checked his rather expensive looking watch with a flick of the wrist and Jack noticed: the Argyria really was covering him from head to toe but bright silver looked gorgeous on him.
Jack admired Pitch's current outfit. A simple black suit with a white tie and again that shining, beautiful silver watch with basic reading glasses.
"I got time." He dismissed Pitch's worries with a wave and sat across from him, showing off his gleaming smile while unceremoniously dumping his backpack into the seat next to him.
"At least fifty minutes worth here. I usually leave around thirty minutes after the bell rings – gets so scarily quiet around then."
"So you do come here often." Jack said, half teasing and half joking.
Pitch smiled, caught slightly off guard and took off his glasses, folding them into his book as a placeholder before pushing it aside and centering purely on Jack. "You look radiant this morning. Something exciting happen?"
He wasn't sure how Pitch knew that but he didn't ask – he already knew he looked different with a full stomach and actual time to prepare himself before leaving the house. "Yeah..." Jack stopped himself from speaking about the 'exciting news'. Fathers with crippling alcoholic issues that they are only currently attempting to try and get over after eight years of family abuse wasn't something the average man found attractive...to his knowledge. "Just got a little more time on my hands as of late." Jack decided he didn't want to get end their conversation there and kept going – he didn't need to but he just wanted to hear Pitch keep on talking to him. "So what's up with you?"
"Nothing really, I'm not the type with much action going on. The most news you'll get out of someone like me is that I'm interested in a new book." Pitch rested his arm on the table and used it to cradle his head, as if holding it.
Jack bit his tongue and quietly weighed his options: actually let the matter rest because he couldn't quite find another option of conversation aside from option two or...flirt like he had never flirted before.
The latter option always was the best one.
"You should spend a little more time with me then. I'm sure I can find some excitement for you." Jack grinned naughtily with his hand lying casually on the center of the table, drawing invisible hearts with his fingertips while hoping that Pitch would actually keep up the teases he did back at the front of the campus.
Jack didn't know what he would do if he didn't.
At first Pitch seemed shocked to hear Jack say such things but then he smirked and leaned forward a bit more with an equally playful smile dancing on his own lips. His voice sounded husky and deep and as Jack listened to him he swore he felt his heart skip a beat. "Well, entertain me Frost. What have you got in mind?"
Jack's lips formed an 'O' as he processed that statement. Pitch just returned his flirt. Meaning he was interested...right? Jack figured he didn't have enough relationship experience to tell...but decided that if Pitch really wasn't interested, he'd tell him. After he was done gaping like a fish he tried his best to focus on Pitch again and be as alluring as possible – but it was clear that Pitch had seen his weakness and interrupted him before it began.
"Oh Jack..." His voice was hinging on a moan and sounded almost as if he was really making love to Jack right at that moment. "Don't tell me you thought I was joking the other day..." The tips of his own light, dexterous fingers brushed against the back of Jack's hand and he looked him directly in his sky blue eyes. "I wasn't...this isn't mere play."
Jack took a sharp breath and nearly moved his hand, the contact feeling like static electricity dancing on his skin. He looked up to retort and ended up staring back at Pitch, the single look stealing the air out of his lungs and the thoughts from his brain, his mind only briefly accounting that he had possibly the most beautiful, sexually intimidating and attractive eyes Jack had ever seen before his mental thoughts shut down with the exception of the most basic systems.
Pitch grinned and continued with his butterfly touches, leaving a light trail of goosebumps on Jack's palm. "I wonder if you're simply all talk Jack Frost. I wonder if you really know what you're saying and doing to me when you throw me such...teasing looks." Pitch took this opportunity to absorb everything...Jack's light panting that was almost undetectable by anyone who wasn't sitting directly across from him, the way his pulse seemed to jump under skilled fingertips, the needy expression and parting of his pink and kissable lips...'Much too cute' was quickly becoming an understatement. "I refuse to be teased for too long without having a little fun for myself. I promise you Jack, I will have every part of you to myself if you intend to keep doing this and you will enjoy it." Only then did the older lover pull his hand back "...every last moment of it." Then he pulled his left hand to his mouth and gently kissed the tip of his index finger before gently pushing it towards Jack's lips, which puckered ever so slightly forward waiting for the indirect kiss...
He wanted everything Pitch had to give him. He wanted to feel him, touch him, every sensation he could get. He was desperate for it and he'd take anything he could get his hands on – even something as simple and as childish as this...he was wanting for too long, thinking about it too much, spending too much precious time believing that Pitch was like some pie-in-the-sky dream he could never have and feeling too saddened and upset to really chase after.
Finally he was going to get it and as he felt the heat of Pitch's fingertips near his mouth he felt as if his mind went partially blank and he flew away, only to crash down distressingly to Earth as Pitch pulled his hand back sharply and turned towards the luckily less-then-attentive waitress with a grin that spoke of inner laughter and delight with a hint of wicked cruelty.
"Excuse me." Pitch said, his voice now all business with none of the naughty playfulness that it had before. "Can I get some bubble tea over here for my friend? Preferably ice made."
Jack snapped out of it from the pure shock of what Pitch did and slowly put both of his hands in his palms, embarrassed and upset by his own actions – or the specific lack of intentional ones. Without realizing it he allowed himself to be like putty in Pitch's hands for those moments, completely wide eyed and slack jawed and easily lead on by the nose. "...You're a horrible man."
"And you're eventually going to like that." Pitch said casually as Toothiana – Jack tried not to focus on how implausibly stupid that name sounded when said aloud was or how befitting the name was considering the horrendous shades of teal, blue and green she donned herself with – flitted over to the table and delivered him a strangely colored, icy concoction that he assumed was bubble tea.
Jack waited until the server leaved before speaking. "So you're going to just not give me anything? How delightful."
"Oh no, I just won't give you enough." Pitch spoke dismissively with an invisible grin that Jack had rapidly learned to see through the attempt to stay straight faced and serious."...or maybe I'll give you everything you've ever wanted if you'd be patient enough..."
"Patience isn't one of my better qualities I'm afraid." Jack nervously poked the slushy tea with the bright pink silly straw that came with it in embarrassment – 'keep it noted to never tip Toothiana ever'.
"Then that makes us at party of two, doesn't it Jack?" Pitch said slowly pointing to the silly straw with a smirk before looking at Toothiana, once again not paying attention, with disapproval.
"Then maybe you should hurry up before I lose interest hm?" Jack grinned haughtily before sipping gently on his bubbly tea and thoughtfully noted to get more for himself then next time he came.
"Let's not play that game little one. You don't control the conversation." Pitch informed him, voice dangerously low once again and Jack felt a small rush of sexual adrenaline go through him as he realized just what position he was in...there was something intoxicating about their back and forth quips and flirts that he just couldn't get over.
"Oh please, don't bore me with warnings. I'm not the type to learn much from them anyway." Jack chuckled quietly and tried to hide and stop his bubbling smile – he was grinning to the point where his face was actually beginning to hurt.
"Obviously not...you're the type that needs to learn from rough, hard, fast experience." Pitch's voice was akin to a low rumble of seduction and he looked Jack in the eye again as he stealthily licked his lips – just a flash of soft pink against his grayish skin was dashing enough for Jack to notice and let out a small gasp of surprise that unintentionally escaped him as a pleading moan for more. "You need it, not even for the experience but so that someone can show you the greatest pleasure you could possibly feel..." He moved closer with his eyes never parting Jack's pupils – the pools of icy blue now blown to at least double their size as he imagined and fantasized about Pitch with every word he spoke and every faint touch. "Slowly and carefully pleasing you, making you plead for it with every breath until they ultimately give it to you, tortuously well until your arcing from the bed, melting, hot, breathless, screaming their name..." Jack was now crossing his legs under the table and linking his fingers together, his face beet red but his eyes unable to look away...Pitch leaned in under their noses were just barely touching. "You need..."
Jack took a deep breath at the light contact, back arcing from the want.
"To get to school or you'll be late." Pitch backed away just as quickly as he closed in, his voice now switching from its seductive tone to a very concerned one that didn't fit the mood at all. "You've got about five minutes if I'm guessing correctly..." He peered at his watch and nodded without even giving Jack the slightest glance.
…...'Pitch...you're a HORRIBLE, terrible person!' Jack mentally yelled at the aching between his legs and the dizzying feeling, resembling a knotted rope that needed to be released, in the pit of his stomach.
"Bathroom is right past the fourth table against that well." Pitch pointed behind him with one hand while opening his book with the other, disregarding the whispered curses that came spilling from Jack's mouth as he passed – a bit too loudly to be polite – bent over, trying his best to hide his erection from the now giggling Toothiana who had witnessed the whole exchange.
Jack came very close to collapsing against one of the stall walls in the bathroom, his pants feeling too tight to walk around safely in and his body far too hot for normal. He took deep, even breaths, trying to will it down but he couldn't – not enough to get to school on time...
He bit his lip and unzipped his pants, letting them pool around his ankles and looked down at his tented black boxers with an upset face. He couldn't even remember the last time he actually did this – he had done it before, he knew that for certain but...he couldn't as of late, not enough time to focus on himself or even relieve himself of stress...
He heaved an upset sigh and gripped his leaking erection in his hand, with his opposite hand running up his chest, leaving behind trails of raised skin as he thought of Pitch and his promises of what he would do...taking his time to make Jack scream.
Thinking of Pitch's hips rolling into his own, their erections grinding together and his own breath hitching at the thought of the heated contact, their flesh melting against each other had him rolling his hips into his hand and leaning forward, now using his hand to brace himself against the opposite wall. The fantasized versions of what Pitch could do to him that he thought of during school were not helping him hold back any.
"Piiitch..." Jack was veering on drooling as he thrust into his palm over and over again, tip leaking pure white essence while he could just barely stop himself from releasing too much noise as to alert anyone that could be in another stall.
'Slowly and carefully pleasing you, making you plead for it with every breath...' Pitch standing over him, controlling him, pleasing him only enough to keep him excited, never enough to actually let him reach his peak, Jack groaned deeply and added a light twist to his strokes, right up near the base. He caught himself just in time to push himself back up against the wall and use his free hand to quickly shove his mouth full of shirt to no one would hear him...he was in heaven and he wouldn't last long. 'until they finally give it to you, tortuously well until your arcing from the bed, melting, hot, panting, screaming their n.' Jack couldn't finish that thought, his mind completely blank and gone as he screamed silently into the cloth, most of the noise being drowned out and the rest sounding muffled. He came hard, seeing stars and white bliss behind his eye lids, gripping himself tightly while he rocked into his hand, not stopping until he could see again with his white seed emptied into his hand.
His body felt warm and strangely lighter in the afterglow but he didn't want to actually do anything, he felt too tired and spent. All he wanted to do was go home and crawl under the covers where it was nice and warm and not school work filled...but he tore himself away from the quite, post self-copulatory comfort of the bathroom stall and washed his hands rapidly and thoroughly before stomping out to see a still smiling Pitch and embarrassed looking Toothiana, almost hiding behind the counter.
"How was it?" Pitch's voice sounded more interested then he probably wanted it to be but Jack shoved it off and answered it as if it was a normal question.
"Good...Remember to tell me how yours will be." A snide smirk thrown towards Pitch got an intrigued look back and Jack slid towards him – briefly running his hand against Pitch's shoulder in a seductive way, slower then what was publicly acceptable considering the words that just left his mouth - before moving away and gathering up his belongings. "You're paying." He pointed to the half finished Bubble Tea in his stride and moved towards the door. "I'm holding you to every last word Pitch, I hope you realize that."
"That's nice." Pitch spoke offhandedly as if he was saying 'Please, I can do much better then that.' while he ignored Jack's statement. "Hurry up and run to school my little bravado loving child, before your teachers begin to question where you are." He was teasing, joking and perhaps being slightly discourteously condescending all in once – Jack's brow furrowed in a bit of inward anger.
"I'm not a child Pitch...and if you treat me like one don't expect for me to give you too much attention." Jack grinned in response and left the cafe in a seductive stride, a little too much shake in his hips considering he was in public but he knew exactly where Pitch's eyes were just then and failed to care until he reached the front of his school, luckily right on time to get swept up in a massive wave of flooding teenagers in a non-voluntary rush to get to their classes. 'So wait...this means that it's kind of serious right?' He thought as he struggled to move out of the stream of classmates and towards his first class. 'You don't usually masturbate to a specific person you know, with them knowing about it and standing like ten feet away without it being serious right?' Jack wished he had more relationship experience to help him deal with these kinds of things...
–
On the opening gates of the high school campus, an unseen observer of Jack and Pitch's romantic meeting scrolled through the numerous photos she had taken of the two. The quality was remarkable and she was confident that no one – not even Jack and Pitch could deny the truth of these photos. It was almost aggravating how people just walked by the cafe without a second thought – not paying attention to the two rather popular men inside who were obviously having an intimate moment.
It didn't matter though.
She had proof.
And she was going to use it. |
The first noise that filtered down the phone line was enough to send chills down Enjolras’ back. The low, plaintive whining of a truly distressed omega was not something alphas like him ever wanted to hear, especially not from their mates, and until that moment Enjolras had never heard Grantaire make that noise and he didn’t really know what to say except his lover’s name.
“Enjolras,” Grantaire whimpered down the phone. “Enjolras please, you have to come home, I’m in heat and I’m going out of my mind.”
“But your heat isn’t due for another two weeks,” Enjolras says, realising belatedly that it was a foolish thing to say to someone clearly suffering the effects of a sudden, unexpected heat without their partner. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both looked up from their discussion when they heard that, alarmed, and Enjolras could practically hear the two of them mentally making plans.
Grantaire gave a rough, choked sob and made a noise somewhere between a moan and a laugh. “I know,” he muttered, a little breathless. “I know, but it – it’s happening now and I feel like my brain is boiling you have to come home, Enjolras, you have to come home right now because if you don’t I think I might just – I might just – oh god Enjolras just get home, now.”
“The next train leaves in 4 minutes, you can make it if you run,” Combeferre told the alpha when he looked up.
It took him just a few seconds to get up out of his chair and grab his coat and his bag – his textbooks were still strewn across the table but he didn’t care, Courfeyrac and Combeferre would bring them to him in a few days when the sickly sweet scent of heat-ridden omega had dissipated from the air in their apartment – and he was running out the door of the university library just a few moments later, phone still pressed to his ear as he listened to his omega speak.
Grantaire wasn’t making any sense – some of the words he was saying weren’t in a language Enjolras could understand, some of them not even words, dissolving into pained moans and grunts and gasps before they reached completion. It was referred to by some as being heat-stupid, heat-dumb, being so achingly desperate for even the simplest touch of an alpha that coherent speech became a challenge for even the most eloquent of omegas. Enjolras hated it – he hated seeing and hearing his blisteringly intelligent partner reduced to a writhing, sobbing, incoherent mess, but all he could do about it was help Grantaire through it, touch him where he needed to be touched, fill him up the way he wanted, and hold him as he shivered his way through the fever.
“Grantaire,” he panted once he reached the station – he’d beaten the train there, though only just, and he could see it approaching in the distance. “Grantaire, I need you to listen to me.”
There was a low, sustained whine, and Enjolras felt rather than heard his own growl. “Stop moving, stop whining and listen to me,” he said in a low, steady tone of voice, and he heard the other man grow silent, only his still heavy breathing indicating that he was still there. Enjolras hated using that tone of voice with Grantaire, the one the still slightly animal part of his brain recognised as a command to be followed exactly, and he hated the odd thrill the animal part of his own brain got when he heard the omega quieten down. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m – ah, I’m sorry Enjolras, the sheets are all dirty,” he managed eventually, and Enjolras sighed a little in relief – he was probably in the bedroom, and hopefully would remain there for the few minutes it would take for the train, just pulling up to the platform, to get to the stop just a couple of minutes walk, one minute at a run, from their apartment. “I couldn’t – I can’t – fuck, I can’t think properly.”
“It’s okay,” Enjolras cooed as soothingly as he could, stepping up into the carriage and clinging to a hand rail. “It’s okay, I’ll be home soon, love, and we’ll make it better together. When did you first start to feel it?”
“My-my skin was itchy this morning,” Grantaire mumbled, and the way his breath hitched and his words slurred into each other told Enjolras that he had something – fingers or a toy – up his ass in futile attempt to quell the desperate, aching emptiness he always described feeling. “I didn’t think it was heat until a few hours ago when I got – I got all wet, all damp and sticky in class, Enjo, everyone could smell it and my tutor sent me home but I didn’t want to go home because everyone smelled so good, not as good as you but there were so many of them and they all wanted me.” He paused for a moment to moan, and Enjolras bristled at the idea of someone else touching his omega, his Grantaire. “Bossuet came and got me and he brought me home, made sure I was okay and then he took my key and locked the door on his way out.”
That would explain the missed calls from an unknown number on his phone – Bossuet had just recently gotten a new phone with a new number, and Enjolras was always reluctant to answer a call from someone he didn’t know. Bossuet had been trying to get in touch to tell him to go home, and Enjolras had ignored it, and the man likely didn’t know where Enjolras was that afternoon and had been unable to find him.
“I was f– I was okay for a bit but about an hour ago I just got really hot all of a sudden and then I felt a bit sick and then – and now – I’m all empty, Enjolras, I’m all wet and empty and I feel like I’m burning up and freezing to death all at once, fix it, please,” he whined, and Enjolras could hear him doing something, slick and sloppy and he realised that Grantaire was probably fingering himself desperately, seeking some sort of gratification. “I’m gonna – fuck, I’m go-going out of my fucking mind, Enjolras, where are you?”
“I’m just a few minutes away, I’m almost at the train station, love, I’ll just be a few minutes, I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise,” he breathed, listening to Grantaire’s increasingly feverish babbling, the noises coming from him now almost constant, not always words again, more incoherent noises than anything that Enjolras listened to as he waited for the doors to slide open. He practically launched himself from the train and towards the turnstile, vaulting over it instead of wasting the few seconds it would take to put his ticket through the reader, and once he was out on the street he darted across the road, through the car park and up the street towards the apartment five of them shared.
The scent of Grantaire’s heat was hot and sweet and heavy on his tongue and in his nose and he could feel his cock swelling in response to it even as he climbed the stairs three at a time to get to Grantaire up on the second floor. One of their neighbours – an alpha – was leaning out of his door, sniffing the air curiously, and Enjolras snarled as he passed him, keys jangling in his shaking hands as he tried to get the door open, and after a few attempts he succeeded, slamming the door shut behind himself and bolting it securely.
“Grantaire,” he called out. “Grantaire, I’m here, I’m home.”
There was a debauched moan from the direction of their bedroom and he headed through quickly, pulling clothes off as he did so, and when he reached the bedroom he paused for the briefest moment to take it all in. The air was so thick with the beautiful scent of his omega that he thought he might well pass out from the rush of arousal that hit him, and Enjolras wasn’t surprised when he saw the state of Grantaire’s thighs, glistening with slick, practically dripping, as he writhed on the floor in an attempt to get his fingers – four of them – further inside of himself. His hair was a mess and his skin was flushed red across his chest and cheeks, and he looked dazed, confused, dizzy, and when he looked up at Enjolras he smiled as though he’d forgotten he was coming.
“I’m here,” Enjolras murmured as soothingly as he could while pushing his pants down around his knees. “Shh, quiet now, I’m here, we’re going to make it all better, okay?”
He reached out and placed a hand on Grantaire back gently, watching as Grantaire writhed under the shock of that first skin-on-skin contact, waiting until most of the tremors had passed before he gripped his hip gently with one hand and pressed two fingers into him with the other.
“No,” Grantaire whined, and Enjolras withdrew immediately, drawing a louder cry from the omega, dry, rough sobs shaking his body as he pushed back mindlessly towards the alpha. “No, no, you have to – you got – please just fuck me, please, before I lose my mind.”
“Okay,” Enjolras murmured, bringing one hand back up to Grantaire’s hip, the other gripping his own cock – hard and flushed already but hardly even bothering him in a way comparable to Grantaire’s apparent intense discomfort. He pressed the head of his erection into the omega slowly, wanting to go slow to avoid hurting Grantaire but the omega had other ideas altogether – he pushed back quickly until the whole of Enjolras’ length was inside of him, giving a satisfied moan and dropping his head down until all Enjolras could see were his skinny shoulders.
Grantaire moved just a little after that, short rocking motions that revealed just an inch of the alpha’s cock before taking it back again, and each movement seemed to be striking the right spot over and over again in the omega, and he moaned and gasped and cried out as he came a few moments later. Enjolras ran his hands down the smooth plane of his back as Grantaire shuddered through his orgasm, feeling guilty that Grantaire had been that wound up because of him, that all it took were a few short moments for him to come, but also satisfied that he was the only one who could do this, who could make Grantaire tremble and come apart like this beneath him, and he reached down to stroke his hands up his soft belly gently as he curled forwards to press a kiss to the soft skin of his back.
“A bit better?” he asked as he started fucking Grantaire almost gently, slowly and smoothly as the omega caught his breath again. This stage of the heat – arousal, fever, a desperate, undeniable need to be fucked – would last until Enjolras knotted him. They would sleep, bound by the knot at first, until the next wave of fever and arousal overtook Grantaire again a few hours later, again to be ended by knotting. They would come and go, these desires, for a few days, and even the moments of clarity between the surges of lust would find them inseparable – an omega in their heat phase would find not being touched absolutely intolerable, and even without this urge for physical contact Grantaire and Enjolras would probably be curled around each other anyway - their bed wasn’t quite big enough for the two of them but neither had any inclination to buy a new one as this current arrangement suited them both.
“A bit,” Grantaire said, his voice no longer as rough as it had been with desperation. “I hate how stupid this all makes me.”
“It’s okay, love,” Enjolras responded, stroking his back gently with one hand while he gripped his hip with the other to keep him still. “Heat is what’s stupid if you ask me.”
“Yeah, I guess. Hang on,” he murmured, and once Enjolras stilled he flopped down onto his side, then rolled over onto his back, hooking his legs around Enjolras’ waist to pull him closer once he was laying on his back and could look up at the alpha, beaming happily up at him. “I love you, you know.”
“I love you too.”
“Come on then, fuck this heat out of me then we can spoon a little bit before it starts back up again,” he said, and grinned against Enjolras’ lips as they kissed. |
Hannah came into the kitchen, finding Chris sitting by the kitchen table by himself. Luckily he managed to hide his troubled expression from Hannah before she’d noticed.
“Hey… where’s Jude?”
“Umm…” Chris hesitated, what should he tell Hannah? Does she already know? Chris knows that if Jude has told anyone of his friends it would be Hannah.
“He and Connor are talking in your parents’ bedroom.”
“Ah, good...” Hannah replies.
They don’t say anything for a while. Chris is peeling away the label of his beer bottle.
“You think he’ll be ok?” Chris says, not looking at Hannah but still concentrating on making his bottle label free.
“Who? Jude? Why shouldn’t he be?”
“He didn’t look ok in the cafeteria… when Maddie… told us.” If Chris wasn’t under the influence he wouldn’t have talked but here he was, desperate to have someone to talk to about Jude.
Hannah gulped. She didn’t realize that someone else had noticed. Chris of all people was the last one she’d expect to see something like that.
“You know how he gets sometimes. I mean, he seems alright now.” She tried to sound casual, not making a big deal out of it.
Chris understood that she wouldn’t spill, which in a way he was thankful for. He got up from the table.
“I just hope he knows what he’s doing…” He said before joining the others in the living room, leaving Hannah alone in the kitchen.
“Yeah… me too…” She said to herself.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Connor closed the door behind them as they got into Hannah’s parent’s bedroom. He leaned back against the door, closed his eyes and exhaled.
Chris’s words had gotten to him. Which they really shouldn’t, he had no right to be upset. But he couldn’t bare the thought of Jude and… no he didn’t even want to think about it. He couldn’t.
“Fuck…” He says leaning his head upwards, still having his eyes closed and trying to pull himself together.
Jude felt he had to explain himself, seeing that Connor was upset.
“Hey…” Jude said while taking a step towards him before continuing.
“Are you alright?”
Connor opened his eyes and saw Jude standing there with concern both in his voice and on his face.
“Yeah I’m… yeah. It’s just…” Connor bit his lip, cursing himself that he never could find the words. Why the fuck am I always like this around him…
Jude waited a while for Connor to speak but as he didn’t seem to, Jude said.
“Connor, I… I’m sorry.”
Jude looked sad. Connor didn’t like that.
“Why?”
“I…” Jude stopped himself. He couldn’t. If this… if this didn’t turn out good, he didn’t know how he was going to react. He couldn’t tell Connor here. He looked down. Connor witnessed Jude’s fingers doing the familiar fiddling thing.
Connor’s back left the safety of the door and took a step towards Jude.
“Hey… what is it?”
Jude didn’t know why, but suddenly he was sniffling while keeping his head down and his eyes closed. He felt his eyes starting to tear up. Just the thought of losing Connor as a friend was more than he could handle. It was… no. Jude shook his head, still sniffling. He could hear and… feel Connor approaching him.
“Jude? Please talk to me, what is it? Don’t cry… please.”
Jude couldn’t stand Connor’s caring tone right now. Could you not be perfect for once…?
Jude’s jaw was shaking as he tried to speak. The music from the house seemed distant although weirdly enough loud, here and now there was only them. After a minute Jude finally said.
“I’m… I’m scared.” He felt a tear running down his cheek.
“Why…? You don’t have to be scared, I’m here Jude.”
“That’s the th-thing… I’m scared you won’t be much longer.” Jude dried off his cheeks with the back of his hand, getting some of the blue makeup on it.
Connor’s anger from before was long gone. Seeing Jude like this made him want to comfort him so badly and tell him everything was going to be alright.
“What are you talking about Jude? I’ll be here as long as you want me to.”
Jude had opened his tear-filled eyes and looked at Connor, his voice cracked several times.
“Yo-you don’t know that. You can’t sa-say that. You don’t know.”
Connor took another step closer to Jude. Jude had to look up to meet Connor’s eyes.
“Yes I do. I’m here as long as you want me to.” Connor said and continued saying “I promise.”
Jude gulped, remembering that Connor saying those words meant something to him.
“I… Chris tried to… make you jealous on purpose.” Jude was shivering as he finished his sentence. He knew what saying those words would lead to. He knew that with that, he opened the door.
“But… what… why?” Connor wasn’t following. Why would Chris do that?
Jude took deep breaths. He looked up at Connor before looking away. Another deep breath before looking up at Connor again. Connor’s beautiful hazel eyes for a second got Jude side-tracked. Jude shrugged it off, exhaled and Jude… let go.
“Because I wanted him to. Or I didn’t. I did when I thought you were going with Maddie as a date-date. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking because I felt… I felt like it all was falling apart, again.”
Connor listened carefully to Jude’s choice of words, noticing that Jude had important things to say. Jude looked down at his fiddling hands before continuing.
“Somehow Chris had noticed that I liked you like that and he thought you liked me too and I was so selfish that I didn’t mind him trying to make you jealous. I wasn’t thinking and I’m so sorry Connor. I just… I can’t lose you as a friend. Please forgive me… You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, ever… and I… I cannot lose you…”
Jude’s tears were now running freely down his cheeks as he spoke, voice still cracking. He was shaking like a leaf.
“I’m sorry… Please… I cannot lose you.” Jude was crying, he didn’t want to but he couldn’t help it.
“Hey… look at me.” Connor’s voice was impossibly soft. Jude had to obey him. He looked up and saw that Connor’s eyes were glistering, with… tears?
“Do you… like me?” Connor said and with that Connor’s face lit up the room as he smiled wide, his white teeth almost blinded Jude.
By reflex Connor’s smile made Jude laugh softly between his sobs. Jude would never in his life understand this, how Connor could make him go from feeling broken to… dare he say it, whole, in no time.
“Well of course I like you, haven’t you noticed that I’m a mess around you…”
Connor put his hand over his mouth as his body was filled with joy.
“Oh my god this isn’t happening… I’m dreaming right?” Connor said through his hand, still beaming.
Seeing Connor like that soothed Jude, but still he had to know… he couldn’t wait another second.
“So you don’t… mind?” Jude’s voice barely audible.
Connor was still in shock.
“Mind!?”
Jude nodded. It was at this time that Connor noticed that Jude still was shaking. Jude was smiling softly but his eyes gave away that he was beyond worried.
“Jude… I…. I like you too. A lot. A whole lot.”
Jude held his breath, before he could ask Connor had read him as he continued.
“Like that. I like you, like that.”
Connor was still smiling at Jude. It felt so fucking good finally saying it out loud to Jude and not just repeating it in his own head.
Connor’s smile faded a little when Jude looked at him with a confused look. Jude opened his mouth and… he was walking backwards.
“Jude…?”
Jude continued just looking at Connor with eyes wide open while walking backwards. When his calves hit against the double bed Jude sat down.
“Jude are you ok…?” Connor was worried. Jude hadn’t said a word, he just sat there looking at him with his mouth open.
“I’m sorry, I… I need to lie down a moment.” And with that Jude leaned backwards until his back was firm against the bed.
Connor didn’t know what to do. This was not what he was expecting Jude’s reaction to be, especially after Jude telling him he liked him like that. Connor walked up to the bed, Jude was lying with his eyes closed and mouth open as he was taking deep breaths.
“Jude, talk to me please, is something wrong?”
Jude kept breathing deeply. Connor sat down in the bed and leaned in over Jude. He saw that Jude was counting as he whispered “Three, four, five, six…”
When Jude got to ten, he opened his eyes and looked straight into Connor’s.
Jude’s bottom lip began to tremble and Jude’s eyes and entire being looked so scared that it almost broke Connor’s heart.
Jude spoke.
“Connor… is this real? Are you real?”
Connor searched Jude’s eyes. His question seemed to be a serious one.
“Wh-what? Of course this is real. What do you mean?”
“Connor, you don’t understand… You have to tell me now if you’re joking or if I’m dreaming or if I’m drunk or high without knowing or if-.” Jude was still looking so scared when Connor cut him off.
“Jude I’ve liked you since my first day at Anchor Beach.”
Connor took a breath before finally saying what he has wanted to tell Jude for a long time.
“I’ll never forget the moment that I saw your eyes for the first time in the cafeteria. Everything else… faded, time stopped moving and… and I’m not sure it’s been fully turned back on since that day.”
Connor looked fondly at Jude before repeating himself.
“I like you. Like that.”
With Connor’s next words, Jude’s life would never be the same. He was forever changed.
“I promise.”
Jude’s facial expression went from scared to disbelief to… Jude put his hand over his mouth but Connor could clearly see the moment that Jude’s eyes shifted from sad to something completely different. Jude once again was shaking and tears formed from nowhere and went down his face hitting the comforter he was still lying on.
“Hey… don’t cry…” Connor said even though he kind of knew what kind of tears they were.
Jude sat up next to Connor, he couldn’t help laughing as he took his hand away from his mouth.
“It’s just… It’s the good kind... Believe me.”
Before Connor could do anything other than smile warmly at Jude he felt his hand once again being embraced by the brunette.
Connor spontaneously laughed by the touch and he felt something wet on his cheek. With his free hand he wiped his face from tears.
Jude was smiling with his entire face as he was just looking at Connor’s face.
“I can’t believe this is happening…” Jude was not lying. He tightened the grip of Connor’s hand.
“Me neither…” Connor couldn’t take his eyes of Jude.
Just as before time was not a known concept to Jude and Connor when they were lost in each other. This time it was very different though. This time all the anxiety, doubt and worry that always had been present before was nowhere to be found. This state of mind proved to be short-lived.
The smiles on their faces faded at the exact same moment. It wasn’t intentional done by Connor but as they were sitting there looking fondly into each other’s eyes, Connor’s eyes flickered for a second down to Jude’s lips.
Jude noticed and forced down a gulp. For some reason, lost to Jude, his body reacted by looking at Connor’s full lips for a second before looking up at Connor’s eyes again.
For the first time since entering the bedroom, Jude noticed the lyrics of the song playing in the background. He had heard the song before but couldn’t really place it. The list of things that Jude could place right now in this moment was in all honesty a short one. The words kept repeating.
I don’t wanna be friends…. I don’t wanna be friends…
Connor had also noticed as he started to mouth the words silently while alternating looking at Jude’s eyes and lips.
Jude kept concentrating on not passing out, he felt completely paralyzed as Connor sucked in his own bottom lip in his mouth before rubbing it against the upper one.
They were still holding hands, sitting side-by-side, when Connor’s head slowly started to move closer to Jude’s. The only thing able to match Jude’s beating heart would be Connor’s.
Connor was under a spell, he felt drawn to Jude, like he needed to be closer to him. To Connor it felt like the most important thing to ever take place in the history of the world. It needed to happen.
As Connor slowly moving head started to get closer, Jude could feel his warmth and for a second it made him calm down. Connor stopped moving his head and looked Jude in the eyes, seeking permission.
Jude took shallow breaths before giving a barely noticeable nod to Connor. Connor tilted his head and closed his eyes and Jude did the same.
When their lips were a few inches apart the door flew open and with that they separated in an instant disconnecting their hands.
“There you are!” An apparently drunk and attractive girl said while looking at Connor.
Jude was relieved that the intruding girl seemed to have been too drunk to have noticed them almost sharing a very intimate moment.
Jude looked over at Connor who looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“Connor, who’s this?”
“Th-…. That’s Melissa.”
“Surprise!” The girl said before throwing herself into a surprised Connor’s arms and with that placing her lips right on Connor’s. |
Oh boy. Oh boy.
Lorelai woke from the dream with her thin summer PJs plastered to her as she struggled to catch her breath. For the first time ever, she was grateful Rory hadn't decided to crawl into bed with her, because that would had been a dozen different kinds of awkward.
Her dreams were normally fluffy ones that edged on the utterly bizarre. They were strange enough that she and Rory often shared a good laugh, pretending to be amateur Freuds. Lorelai could psychoanalyze this one on her own perfectly well, thank you very much. Summary: Get laid. Or in lieu of that, get a vibrator. Sex toys were also off the list when one had a kid that was more than happy to root through her mother's nightstand to look for stuff. Granted, Lorelai only had herself to blame there. More than a decade of sharing extremely closing living quarters with Rory had kept Lorelai from making certain purchases.
Maybe it was time to get a nightstand that locked.
She rolled onto her stomach, burying her head in her pillow. She never had sex dreams. Well, almost never. It was maybe once a year, and they were usually twisted up with the bizarre. But this one was a good, old-fashioned hot-and-sweaty getting-it-on scene that seemed to be lifted from the pages of a romance novel. This is what happens when you spend your evening egging on really hot, yet obstinate guys, Lorelai told herself. She levered herself onto her arms, pushing her hair out of her eyes and debated whether to quickly take matters into her own hands to finish out the dream or take a cold shower. Or combine option A with option B. That was probably the best choice.
Rory's voice floated up the stairs, along with the scent of something delicious. Lemon, sugar, and coffee. Oh, sweet, sweet nirvana. Sookie, bless her amazing heart. Suddenly ravenous, Lorelai rolled out of bed and snagged a robe. She didn't bother belting it as she sailed down the stairs. "Sook, you are the bestest friend ever whose name isn't Rory Gilm …" She drew up short when she saw Rory sitting at the table, something buttery yellow on a plate in front of her as she chatted with a person who was definitely not Sookie. Her jaw dropped.
They looked up from whatever they were discussing at the table. Her daughter and the baseball guy, both giving her quizzical looks that made her wonder if she looked as deranged as she felt.
Luke stood, shifting a bit apprehensively as Rory leaped from her seat.
"Mom, Mom, you have got to try this! Luke made this!" Rory shoved a hunk of that yellow goodness in Lorelai's hand, and she realized it was some sort of small cinnamon roll.
She ignored the food for the moment to address the town's living legend, who had somehow found his way into her kitchen. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was just …," Luke started to explain.
"Mom, try it," Rory cut in.
She took a bite. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head as the slightly bitter taste of lemon was immediately cut by the sugar and the softness of the dough. "You can bake?"
The angry guy from the previous visit was gone, and Luke looked equal parts painfully shy and very arrogant. He shrugged. "Yeah, a lot of people bake."
"I don't bake. She doesn't bake." Lorelai pointed to Rory. "Our speciality is mac and cheese."
"On really special occasions, we go straight for the Velveeta," Rory informed him.
Lorelai took another bite and moaned. "I need a moment with this thing. What is it?"
"Lemon pull-apart bread."
Lorelai scoffed. "Pal, this isn't bread. It's heaven."
Luke turned away and … was he blushing? He fiddled with the coffeemaker and handed her a mug. "Here, wash it down at least. I heard a rumor you're addicted to this stuff."
"Right. First I am going to praise you for knowing the proper order of things in the Gilmore kitchen." Lorelai took a swallow of coffee, and before she could list the other thing on her mind, she experienced her second culinary orgasm of the morning. She gawked at the coffee, at him, then back at the coffee. "What the … how did … what are you?"
"The Food God," Rory said solemnly. "We can never let him leave this house again."
She downed the rest of the coffee in one swallow and lunged for the coffeemaker.
"Geez, lay off. That stuff's bad enough for you as is."
"You started it." She took a sip of caffeine ambrosia, and noticed Luke averting his gaze once more. What, did she spill coffee down her … Lorelai looked down to see her unbelted robe with her PJs that were so old they were practically see-through. And her breasts were making it known in a really visible way that having a guy who could bake and make the coffee of the gods was well appreciated in her kitchen. Rory, who was no help at all, was too busy stuffing her face while reading her book.
"Sorry," Lorelai whispered and put the mug down long enough to belt the robe.
"No, no, it's fine."
Were you looking, she wondered, briefly meeting his gaze. Luke's eyes had gone dark, but that was the only indication her unintended show had had any affect on him. "So, what brings you back to Stars Hollow?"
Luke shifted from foot to foot, then turned away from her. Snagging one of the dishes she and Rory had stacked up in the sink after pizza and leftovers night, he turned on the tap. "Nothing really."
Lorelai leaned against the counter, hands wrapped around her coffee mug, and watched as he grabbed the sponge and scowled at it before sticking it under the faucet. "Right. Uh huh. Sure, I believe you. Do we believe him, Rory?"
"Not for a second." Rory finished her food and licked her fingers before reaching for a napkin to wipe the rest off.
Lorelai waved her mug. "See? Kid and I don't buy it."
"Geez," Luke muttered, and his nervousness was endearing. And, it was also getting the dishes clean. "Look, I wasn't raised to treat women the way I treated you Tuesday night, so I wanted to apologize."
"You mean your default mode isn't grumpy and surly?"
"It is," he admitted, "but I don't have to make you grumpy and surly along with me."
She took another sip of coffee, mulling it over. Yes, he had been a bit bizarre, but she had dates that were far worse. "Huh. You weren't that bad."
"Yeah, I was at times." Luke's eyes met hers. "It wasn't your fault."
Now she was just confused. "OK. OK, good to know. Thanks."
The kitchen lapsed into silence other than the rattling of dishes and the slight thunk of Rory's mug whenever she took a sip from it. Guilt led Lorelai to grab a towel from the laundry room so she could help dry. She wondered if it had ever been this silent in the house other than when she was alone or they were asleep. Even when she was alone, there was some sort of noise in the background. But it wasn't entirely horrible.
She studied Luke out the corner of her eye. He wore pretty much the same outfit as from the town meeting, but a bit more weather-appropriate. The jeans were well worn-in, and she deeply appreciated it. The flannel this time was short-sleeved, revealing those same tanned arms she first spotted on the game she watched. Her TV really was terrible, she thought absently. That old set didn't accurately capture the definition of those arm muscles as they flexed. The front was left unbuttoned, revealing a grey T-shirt underneath. He didn't wear a hat this time, and she saw it sitting next to a cloth bag on the counter.
Boxers or briefs, she absently wondered, then nearly hit herself with one of her Betty Boop plates to get her mind back on track.
"I was wondering if we could talk," Luke said after a few minutes as he stacked the last dish in the drying rack.
"Sure." She sounded normal. This was a good thing.
He looked down at the sponge, then neatly 3-pointed it into the trash can. "Get a new sponge. I'm not even sure what all's crawling in that thing. Can you meet me at the hardware store?"
"As soon as I get dressed. It won't take long, we can walk down there together." Lorelai craned her neck to look into the garbage can. Well. He wasn't exactly wrong about the sponge.
"Nah, I'd rather drive over." Luke reached for the sunglasses and the hat, affixing them both the way they were during the town meeting. "Look, I know this place, and the microgoggles will come out soon. But I'd like to talk with you before that happens."
"Because backwards baseball cap and huge sunglasses aren't conspicuous at all?" She smirked when his face twitched. She was positive he was rolling his eyes at her behind the darkened lenses. "Give me 30 minutes?"
"Sure. Just leave this stuff here. There's more coffee in the bag." He beckoned to the cloth bag. "I'll leave the back door unlocked for you. Bye, Rory."
"Bye, Luke!" Rory said without looking up from her book.
When he had disappeared out the back door, Lorelai waited four heartbeats before refilling her mug with more coffee and dropping down to the table across from her daughter. "OK, kid. Eyes up."
"I'm listening," Rory said absently.
Lorelai leaned over and pushed the book down. "Rory."
"Fine, fine." Rory flipped the book shut, her finger marking her place.
"How did baseball guy wind up in here this morning?"
"Through the door," Rory answered primly, and Lorelai had to admire a good round of teenage smart-ass. She winged an eyebrow in response.
"He got here an hour ago and knocked on the back door. I knew who he was, of course. He said he had something for us, to thank you for last night, and then I smelled it." Rory beamed at the rest of the lemon bread. "Mom, how could I turn him away? He had food! Then he made coffee!"
"That's an acceptable reason to let a guy we barely know into the kitchen and not wake me up."
"I tried," Rory said. "You were pretty out of it. You were tossing a bit and moaning."
Oh good grief. Lorelai nearly hit her head on the table.
"I know it's not really a good thing to jerk someone out of a nightmare, but I was about to when you settled down. I came back downstairs and Luke said he was OK with waiting. So we talked."
"You talked?" It took a near act of Congress for Rory to talk with someone she didn't know. Lorelai thought of her toddler daughter and her unusual affection for Bill Danes. Maybe it ran in the family. Some pheromone that caused shy Gilmores to open up.
"He reads, Mom!" Rory's eyes lit up, and she started to wave her hands before remembering she held her book. She fumbled for a bookmark and pushed it into place. "He finished The Testament, and I just read it too, and we were talking about what Troy changing his will did to his family, and how it was pretty good, but nothing really beats A Time to Kill. I mean, yeah, it was Grisham's first but it's a classic. Oh, and his nephew is a big reader too, and he's around my age. He lives in Boston with his mom. The nephew that is, Jess."
"Huh." Lorelai wondered when the last time was that Rory said so much at once when it didn't involve the two of them sat in front of the TV watching the annual A Christmas Story marathon.
"He reads a lot because apparently there's a lot of downtime at work, and there's only so much Need for Speed he can stomach, and he doesn't like playing that new MLB game because he lives it."
"Huh," Lorelai repeated, frantically trying to slot the information dump into her mental image of him.
"And then Luke suggested that I try that Harry Potter series that started coming out a couple years ago, since his nephew also read it so he did too. I heard it was really good, and I think if a grown man likes a kid's book then there's something to it. Plus, the third one comes out later this year. Then you came downstairs looking like your hair was caught in the inn's weedwhacker."
"Damn," Lorelai muttered, absently patting her hair.
"He's really nice, Mom," Rory said, getting up from her chair with her empty plate and mug. "I didn't know famous people could be nice."
"Not everyone hails from the pages of the National Enquirer, kid."
"I know, but …" Rory hedged for a bit, then went for the last of the coffee after dumping her plate in the sink. "Lane told me that Luke wants nothing to do with the town. That's what Miss Patty told Gypsy after the town meeting last night, and Babette confirmed it to Mrs. Kim, and Lane overheard. Apparently this is the first time he's been here since his dad died. Lane said she didn't think he was ever outright mean to anyone, but he just didn't like the town. So I thought he'd be kind of snotty. But he's not."
"I'm not exactly Hartford's No. 1 fan," Lorelai pointed out. "Not everyone loves the place where they grew up."
"How could you not love Stars Hollow?" Rory gasped.
Oh to be 14 again, Lorelai thought as she dressed and started out toward the center of town. She didn't think she had ever been this innocent, not even when she was a small child. The unlucky byproduct of being the daughter of Emily and Richard Gilmore.
The Chilton envelope hidden at the inn weighed heavily upon her. Even if she could find the money to send Rory there, Lorelai knew what those schools did to teens. She lived that life once and had spent the last decade ensuring that Rory didn't follow in her footsteps. But Rory was too advanced for Stars Hollow High unless she started skipping grades. She would be bored and miserable there. Chilton would be a different kind of miserable, but it had the educational challenges that Rory craved. Everything in Lorelai screamed to keep Rory from Chilton, but …
Lorelai stopped outside of Weston's and took a slow survey of the town, trying to possibly see it the same way someone like Luke would. Someone who, if the gossip was right, bolted from town and barely gave it a glance in the rearview mirror. It was small, not even 10,000 people. There were the festivals, the town meetings, the quirky business owners that clustered the square. There were all the porcelain unicorn stores and other kitschy tourist traps.
There were the people who accepted teenage Lorelai into their fold and looked out for her and Rory. Miss Patty had heavily discounted dance lessons for Rory when Lorelai could barely afford them. Gypsy had been after Lorelai for years to trade in her beat-up Nissan, which had already been ancient when she bought it. She was just to the point where she could afford payments on a newer car. Maybe Jeep would be nice. But regardless, Gypsy kept her car running. Taylor was nice in his own way. There was Sookie and Mia and the Gleasons. Mrs. Kim and Lane. This was her town, and it was the first place she ever felt like she truly belonged. She loved Rory more than anything, but Stars Hollow definitely ranked in the top 5 of her greatest loves.
With a smile, she ducked down the alley to the back of the hardware store, where a battered green truck sat just outside the back door. She vaguely remember Bill coming out to the inn a couple times in it, when Mia asked him to do some odd repairs around the place before he grew too sick to work. She pushed open the back door to reveal the empty storeroom, a few random boxes scattered over the large space. Her footsteps echoed as she walked through and into the main part of the store.
"Hello?" she called.
Luke's voice came from upstairs. "Up here!"
This time, more of the binders had been pulled from the shelves and lay open on the desk. He had taken up residence on the couch, scribbling something on a legal pad balanced on his knees as he glanced at an open binder beside him. The sunglasses were discarded on the desk, but he kept the hat on this time. Lorelai wondered if she could get into a position to break them. Accidentally, of course. They were Ray-Bans after all. She knew their worth.
He held up a finger as he finished what he was working on, and she saw it was some sort bulleted list. He absently stuck the end of his pencil in his mouth, gnawing on the eraser before adding one more thing. Shifting from one foot to the other, Lorelai decided to perch on the empty armchair before the binders decided to invade it too.
"So, I've had a day or so to think, and I really need to do something with this place," Luke said more to the notepad than to Lorelai herself.
She drummed her fingers on her knees, looking around the office. "Taylor's been lusting after it for years. I think I saw him humping the stairs a few times." The mental image that went along with the quip immediately made her stomach turn, and she regretted ever saying it.
Now Luke looked up from the notepad, eyebrow raised in agreement. Yeah, that was definitely a foot-in-mouth, lose-your-lunch statement. Thankfully, he let it slide. "I can't let him have it, Lorelai. It'd break my dad's heart. Really, I don't want to sell it. He bought the land in cash, put the building up himself because the property here was in such bad shape that it had to come down. He worked in construction."
"Really?" Intrigued, Lorelai leaned forward just a bit.
"Yeah. It looks a lot older than it is." Luke set the legal pad aside and cast a glance around the room, brow furrowed. "He built it about … 35 years ago? He finished it not long before I was born. Made sure it fit in with the existing town architecture. Ever meet Taylor's dad?"
"No." She thought he had died some time after she came to Stars Hollow, but it had been before she and Rory got involved in town life.
"If you think Taylor's bad, well." Luke gave a small shrug. "He got it from his old man. Drove my dad insane when I was a kid."
"Huh." Circle of Life started to play on a loop in her brain.
"Anyhow, I have this property to manage and the house over on Green. My parents' old place. I was kind of hoping my sister would take it over one day. It's why I never let it go either. But, it's time."
It made sense. The words burned in Lorelai's throat. What took so long to come to this decision? What kept him away from Stars Hollow for so long? It couldn't be because of an apparent long-standing feud of a sort between the Danes and the Doose families. She remembered his skittish behavior and decided to shelve her curiosity for the moment. "OK. So what do I have to do with it?"
"I'm thinking of leasing out the hardware store building, and I'm selling the house. I wanted to see if I could hire you to represent me in those matters."
Lorelai jerked back in shock, blinking once. Then twice. Then she shook her head because clearly she had not heard him right. "I'm sorry, what? Don't you have real estate agents for this sort of thing?"
"Yeah, there'll be those. And lawyers and accountants and inspectors and everyone who can possibly overcharge you." Luke removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at her. He sighed, fidgeting with the hat bill. "Look, I haven't lived here since I was 18. I got drafted right out of high school. You know the town better than I do at this point. I don't want someone taking over my dad's place that would tear it up or damage it. Same thing goes for the house. Not quite so much oversight need, but I at least want to know they're not starting some meth lab or anything in there."
Her lips twitched. "In Stars Hollow?"
He rolled his eyes, and she couldn't quite hide her answering smile. "Right. See? It shouldn't take that long. A few weeks, maybe a couple months."
It made sense. It made a lot of sense, actually. What little Lorelai had gleaned of Luke's career indicated that he was on the road a lot, and it was hard to be a landlord while you were hurling pitches off a mound in California. Then she sat up straight and thought of Chilton. "How much?"
"How much would you charge?"
Lorelai rattled off the amount of Rory's tuition for the first year at Chilton.
Luke shrugged. "OK."
She gaped at him. "OK? Really?"
"If that's what you want."
Lorelai narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Look, pal, I essentially just went for highway robbery, and you said OK?"
Luke gave a bitter chuckle. "Never hired a lawyer, have you?"
Her gut churned and she knew. "You knew I was going to ask for that, didn't you?"
Luke got to his feet, pacing to the window. "I wasn't born yesterday," he said sarcastically. "I do know how to use a search engine."
She leaped to her feet, all rage and fury as she stormed to his side. "I didn't blurt out my problems to you so you can take me on as some charity case."
"Lorelai, that's not what it-"
She jabbed a finger in his chest, poking him until he backed up a step in reflex. "I have been on my own for over 13 years now, and I will make my own way. I don't need a bunch of cash thrown at me by some rich guy trying to appease his conscience!"
"For God's sake, Lorelai, would you just listen?" Luke reached for her, seemed to remember himself, then let his hands drop. Surprised, she backed up, realizing for the first time how close they were standing. They stared at each other for a few heavy moments, and she wondered what would happen if he stepped forward again.
He placed his hands on his hips and stared at the floor, taking several deep breaths before speaking again. "I'm not trying to belittle you, and I don't think you were looking for a handout. I need to do something with the house and the hardware store, and even after the store's rented out, someone needs to act as landlord. You'd be earning every cent of that money, and I grilled Mia about you. You have the skills to do this."
"You barely know me!" Lorelai protested.
"I know enough about you. You didn't think I didn't bother to see who the hell you were before I drove here?" He scowled as she kept her suspicious gaze on him. "Mia, your boss? She was my mom's best friend."
"Shut up," Lorelai snapped and turned away from him.
"But …"
"Just please. Shut up." She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the silence that settled in. The room was quiet, but her brain was loud, and everything was one jumbled mass of confusion. And it wasn't helping that her hormones were sending her brain alternate versions of their fight. No, discussion. No, it was a fight. Ish. "I need to think about this."
"OK. That's fine."
She turned back to him. "Thank you. How long are you staying?"
Luke waved at the binders. "I'm gonna finish going through these old books. Property taxes and all should be up-to-date, but things like building inspections and the like I need to pull for repairs and whatever the money-grabbers will need for the sale."
"He what the what?" Sookie shrieked as Lorelai finished telling her what had happened in town. Sookie's spatula fell from suddenly slack fingers into her mixing bowl and slowly sank to the bottom of the batter she had been mixing.
"Offered me a job to be his representative in Stars Hollow," Lorelai repeated. "I'd oversee the renting of hardware store building and selling the house. I'd be acting as landlord in his name for the store. I just … What do you think, Sook?"
"Take the job, Lorelai," Sookie said without hesitation.
Lorelai drank the coffee she held like it was wine and wished it was a martini. "I can't take the job," she protested.
Sookie gaped at her. "Why not? It's either take the job, go to your parents, or tell Rory she can't go to Chilton. Lorelai, it's $25,000, and it just won't be the one year. Manage that property for the next four years, and you have Chilton made. Longer, and you could help get Rory through Harvard or whatever school she wants. You'd be working for the money, you're personally interested in the property, and he's gorgeous."
"Sookie," Lorelai sighed.
"Just saying." Sookie frowned at her batter, then moved to the sink to pour out the batter so she could rescue the spatula. She got more of the batter on her apron than in the sink. "Lorelai, why do you really not want to take this job?"
Because, Lorelai thought as she headed to her office, I had a sex dream about Luke, and I thought at one point he was going to kiss me in his dad's old office, and it all bothers me in more ways than one. She locked the door so Michel wouldn't barge in on her and sat at her desk. Mia's old desk before she moved to California. She swiveled back and forth in the chair, staring blindly at the papers strewn across the top. She reached in her drawer and pulled out the Chilton envelope, tossing it on top of the stack of invoices from the inn's linen supplier. All of her daughter's dreams were in that envelope. Sookie was right. The only way they could even begin to afford Chilton without going to her parents was if Lorelai took on a second job.
And Luke was right himself. She had the background for this job. She oversaw the inn and knew what went into inspections, building repairs, handling the financials, things like that. The building needed a spruce, and she could oversee that. It would be challenging, but not completely drain her the way any other second job would. She could do it from home. All the pros aligned themselves on one side of the brain, but the con. Oh, the con. She couldn't work for the guy and dream about him nailing her against a wall.
Who was she kidding? Baseball puns aside, he was out of her league in every single sense of the word. He made it clear he wanted to spend as little time in Stars Hollow as possible, and her entire life was here. His world didn't appeal to her. They had nothing in common. Well, except their apparent love of Mia. And he somehow made the best coffee on the planet despite not drinking it. What was up with that? And that bread-cake-walking orgasm thing he made? How the hell did he have time to bake? And he somehow connected with Rory, and that was just mind-boggling.
Right, Lorelai told herself and mentally shoved all those dangerous thoughts into a box, then that box into a small box, then that box into the tiniest box imaginable and shoved it into the back corner of her mind. Then she grabbed the Chilton envelope.
She bypassed the hardware store and went straight to the house, where Rory was on the couch reading The Great Gatsby.
"Hey, Mom," Rory said absently, not looking up from her book.
"Hey, kid! Guess what?" Lorelai waved the envelope. "You're going to Chilton!" |
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