sirowsky-stories

[sirowsky-stories]

Little later than I'd hoped, but here it is. And there's now a masterlist for this story on my general Masterlist, since this is now officially a series 😊

Part 2 - The Date

Hey, y'all. I had hoped to post this early last week, but childhood trauma decided to join the conversation, and here we are. It is looking like this is gonna be a shorter series, though, so I hope to be able to update more frequently, but I make no promises.

Description: You and Pero have your first date and as promised, he cooks for you. But it's the conversation that is the real treat of this evening, because you finally get to learn more about this mystery of a man, and share some things of your own.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader, reader is not described but there are descriptions of clothing in this part, mention of road rage and a fatal crash, mention of problematic mental health (neither reader nor Pero), one mention of adhd, mention of the Cali cartel and associated issues.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 10,460 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics

   He goes directly to the store at the end of the workday, still screaming internally at the mere fact that you invited him to your home, not to mention that you’re calling it a date.    But the voice inside of him isn’t just screaming with excitement. There’s massive quantities of fear and anxiousness in there as well, because he has no clue how to behave on a date, or what you might expect from him, beyond him being nice to you.    Therefor he passes as much time as possible strolling down the aisles and busying himself with looking around the entire store just in case he finds something other than the ingredients he needs.

   Your ordinary workdays on the morning shift are between 6am and 2pm. It’s only when working away that any operator can flex their hours a little, since it’s considered a big enough inconvenience just to live away and work with strangers. Which is why you’d pushed your schedule to start at 7 while you’d been at the sister factory.    But it’s back to the normal shifts now, which means he’s got four hours to kill before going to see you. And his entire body feels strangely charged and alert as he repeatedly looks at his watch, getting increasingly frustrated with how slow it seems to move.

   He stops in the aisle where they have household items, like coffee cups and vases, cutlery and dishtowels, but also scented candles and little knickknacks, as well as tiny stuffed animals and plushies.    Would you like it if he got you something for your apartment?    You’ve been living all alone for years, so you probably have your place decorated exactly as you want it. But a candle couldn’t hurt, could it? And most people love plushies, right?

   With a deep sigh of annoyance, entirely directed at himself, he starts picking up candles and sniffing the different scents, disliking practically all of them, until he finds a vanilla scented one which isn’t as strong as the others. A more subtle fragrance. And when he sniffs it, it somehow reminds him of you, which seems odd, until he realizes that your perfume must have a vanilla-based fragrance as well, which settles it.    He puts the thing in his basket and goes to leave the aisle. But right at the end of it, a frankly adorable grey teddy bear with a red heart stitched in on its right butt-cheek catches his eye, and without even stopping to consider if he should, he grabs it.

   Because fuck it. If you don’t like it… Well, he’d be heartbroken, actually. Not to mention the poor little bear.    Seriously shaking his head at himself, he continues through the store, wondering if you’re on the verge of driving him insane before you’ve even started dating. But also realizing, within just seconds of pondering on it, that he wouldn’t give a shit if you were, he’d still wanna see you.

   That smile you gave him right after he’d told you about wanting to cook for you was the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He couldn’t describe it, or what it made him feel, even if it was the only way to save his own life, but he’d bring the stars down from the skies if it meant he’d get to see it again.    Honestly, he can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for you, just to make you happy, because your joy truly does infect everything around you, and that’s a precious thing. If his past has taught him anything, it’s that while he struggles to accept happiness for himself, he knows how important joy is, in how it prevents people from becoming the worst versions of themselves.

   He ends up spending almost ninety minutes in the store, and he notices the slight surprise on the cashier’s face when she scans the candle, the plushie, and the bouquet of flowers, little gift bag of small fridge magnets with smiley faces on them, and a miniature gift box of your favourite brand of chocolate, which he stumbled on closer to the checkout.    This is his regular store, so the staff recognize him and probably remember that he’s never bought anything of the sort before, although she’s kind enough not to get nosy about it.

   “Are they stupid?” he finds himself quietly asking while he gets the money from his wallet, since there isn’t anyone else in the que behind him and he really is nervous about getting this right.

   She’s about your age and several things in her appearance reminds him of you. He feels like you’re the same type of woman, if there is such a thing, so odds are you like some of the same things, at least.

   “Are you kidding? If my man brought me stuff like this, I’d be giddy for days,” she says with a genuine smile, understanding even without further explanation, that the items in question aren’t being purchased for his own use.

   “It is only a first date…” he admits, wanting to make sure it isn’t too much, and the woman quickly puts him at ease.

   “Oh, that’s lovely, congratulations! And don’t worry, first date or tenth, if she’s anything like me, she’ll love this.”

   “Okay.” He doesn’t have a smile for her because those only ever come natural to him when he’s around you, but he does nod politely and tells her that she can keep the change, which makes her smile.

   Once back home, he unpacks the groceries and then repacks them, putting everything that needs to be refrigerated into one bag and then putting the entire bag in the fridge, while he leaves a second bag with the room temperature stuff on the counter, ready to go.    He almost forgets to put the flowers in water, and then he spends a good twenty minutes trying to decide how to present all these gifts to you.    Why did he get so many?

   It’s still not even 4:30pm once he settles on an idea, and he’s too nervous to try and do anything relaxing, so he ends up cleaning his apartment instead. And then, when he’s only fifteen minutes away from having to leave, he remembers that he should maybe take a shower before the date.    Which is why, when he rings your doorbell a few minutes after 6pm, his hair is still wet, making him feel like a dog begging to be let in after taking a shit in the rain.

   You’ve been fretting ever since you got home. You don’t have adhd so far as you know, but you do have some of the very typical traits that many types of neuro-divergent people have, such as task-fatigue. Which means you sometimes just can’t bring yourself to clean your apartment or take care of the laundry, even though you absolutely hate seeing the dust and dirty clothes pile up.    But it also means that all it takes for you to feel motivated to take care of it, is knowing that someone is coming to visit.

   Which is why, the moment you step through the door, you start picking stuff up and, in your head, getting started on about ten different tasks simultaneously.    You had intended to start the laundry first, since that would mean you’d have time to swap it into the dryer while getting other things done, but while you’re picking up the clothes left on the sofa and the living room floor, you get distracted by the clutter on your coffee table and the used drinking glasses and cups you’ve had sitting there for the almost two weeks you’ve been away.

   There wasn’t time to take care of it before you left, and you haven’t had the energy to get to it in the one night you’ve thus far spent at home since, but it now disgusts you to see it, which is why it makes you forget all about the laundry.    Then, bringing the dishes to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher, you find empty food packages and other junk and start throwing that away, which then makes you remember that the bathroom trash can needs to be emptied.

   It carries on like this for over an hour before you eventually remember the laundry, at which point you’re about ready to slap yourself with how much you’re needlessly stressing over this. Because Pero is not gonna care if your home is spotless. At least, you don’t think so. Then again, he does always keep his station very neat at work.    You technically work at his station as well, the two of you alternating between operating the MAP, taking care of the orders on the computer and doing the daily maintenance work, so it’s never seemed strange to you that he always comes to help you clean up at the end of each shift.

   But what if he does it because he doesn’t think you’re thorough enough?    Two weeks ago you wouldn’t even have entertained the thought that he even cares about such things, but everything’s different now and you just don’t know.    At 5:30 you decide it looks good enough and hop into a very quick shower followed by the fastest and sloppiest blow-dry of your life, so you’ll have a few minutes to throw on some makeup, albeit very basic and neutral.    You finish with about five minutes to spare, and it’s only then that you realize you haven’t decided what to wear.

   Thankfully, since you both have to wear safety clothes at work and mostly arrive in sweats or other simple and soft garments, he hasn’t seen you wear any of your fancier items. The occasional jeans, sure, but not any of your truly nice pants, nor any blouses or dresses.    You hadn’t brought any of that for your hotel stay either, since it was a work trip, so literally everything you look really good in will be something he’s never seen on you. And yet, it still stresses you out, because it’s a first date. Which means it can’t be too fancy, but it also has to be a little fancy, otherwise it might seem like you’re not that interested.

   The doorbell rings just as you’ve thrown on the top, so you don’t even have time to check yourself over in a mirror before darting to open it, you just take a quick look down to make sure your top isn’t unbuttoned or anything.    You open the door to find him standing there in the stairwell with two full grocery bags leaning against his legs, wet hair and a generally sour expression, which then vanishes the moment he sees you smile at him.

   “Hi,” you greet, and for a moment, he looks paralyzed.

   “Uh… Hello,” he finally manages, before bringing his arms out from behind his back, revealing a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a large glass jar candle.

   The flowers are the grocery store kind, but you know the brand, and the chain of florists which the store collaborates with is an excellent one. It’s a spring bouquet, yellow and pink with white sprinkled in there as well, and it's so big that you suddenly can't believe you didn't notice it until he brought it out.    Then again, he is the broadest person you’ve ever met.    You take the bouquet and smell it, before doing the same with the candle, finding the fragrance of both to be subtle and sweet, which you approve of.

   “Oh, my goodness, thank you so much,” you grin, suddenly no longer the least bit stressed about anything because his presence seems to coat everything under a blanket of comfort and safety. “Come on in.”

   He looks you over thoroughly before stepping in, though, and you can tell that he likes the soft but tight pants you chose, and the simple and cute silk blouse with the widely cut V-shaped neckline, which sits further out on your shoulders and therefor shows off the thin gold necklace he gave you perfectly.    The blouse is designed not to be tucked but rather hang loosely over your hips where it’s cut to enhance the female curves, which always makes you feel a little more confident.

   You do the same to him in return, remembering you’ve never seen him in anything nicer either, and you’re surprised at how much it affects you.    He’s wearing dark blue jeans, clearly not new but designed to last and only get better with wear and tear. And on top he’s gone for a white henley underneath a black leather jacket which is unzipped.

   Now, you would’ve found him attractive no matter what he’d decided to wear, but this?    It’s not overtly sexual, but that’s also exactly what makes it so damned good. The combination of colours which manage to enhance his skin, eyes and hair, the way the jeans hug his male anatomy just right to give you a hint of what’s under there, how the shirt falls so that it just brushes over his softly muscular abs, and then the leather to frame it all in…    If he didn’t do this on purpose then he’s adorably ignorant of his own attractiveness, and if it was intentional, then he’s clearly a genius on more levels than you’ve given him credit for.

   To reign yourself in and prevent the ogling you’re already guilty of, you grasp at the first thing to come to mind as a conversation topic, while he grabs the bags and steps past you into the front hall.

   “Is that a motorcycle jacket?” you ask, since you recognize the distinct cut and collar.

   “Yes. But I did not ride here.”

   “No, I suppose it’d be kinda difficult to get all this on a bike,” you chuckle, closing the door while he takes his shoes off. “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you arrive to work on it, though.”

   He picks up the bags again and follows you to the kitchen, which is the closest room to the front hall and from which the spacious living room is fully visible, where he sets the groceries down on the counter and you grab a vase to put the flowers in.    You place the candle on the kitchen table, followed by the bouquet once it’s been trimmed, and suddenly it looks so much cozier.

   “I prefer to drive it only for the pleasure of the ride, not as a means of transportation,” he explains, and then proceeds to remove the jacket and push the sleeves of his shirt up over his forearms, which momentarily makes you forget how the brain connects to the mouth.

   “O-oh. I… don’t think I’ve ever met a biker with that perspective on riding before,” you finally manage, now awkwardly trampling from one foot to the next because you apparently have no fucking idea how to act in your own kitchen with him there.

   “How many bikers have you met?” he wonders, which would’ve been an innocent enough question, if not for the barely detectable competitiveness which sneaks into his voice.

   And since this very unexpected reaction brings some focus and clarity back into your brain, you jump on the opportunity to tease him a little.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You can see that he wants to press the issue, but he lets it go and starts unpacking the groceries instead, so you decide to reward him for his restraint. “My brother used to ride when he was younger, and he had a whole group of friends he’d go out with, so I’d end up hanging out with them sometimes when they were waiting for the group to gather at our house, or when they helped each other work on the bikes.”

   “I did not know you have a brother,” he says after taking a moment to absorb this new information, and he suddenly seems only openly curious.

   “Yeah, I don’t talk about him a lot since we kinda lost touch a while back.”

   “You said he used to ride. Does he not anymore?”

   “No. He stopped after losing his best friend to a road rage incident,” you explain, to which he simply lowers his brows in a silent question, so you start to elaborate. “The driver of an SUV got angry that they filtered to the front of the que at a stoplight, so she raced after them and at the next light, she tried to run them all over.    She clipped Richie’s back tire, and he went down right in front of the car, so she just gunned it and drove over him. Then she kept trying to get the rest of them, so they had to abandon their friend while he was dying in the street, to save themselves.”

   You haven’t talked about this in a long time, and now that you do, the memories make you sad, but it’s also a bit cleansing to sort of dust it off and air it out, so even though he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, you keep talking.

   “My brother escaped unharmed, but he was only twenty-one and it scared the shit out of him, so he never rode again afterwards. An accident would’ve been difficult enough, but knowing there are people out there who might try and kill him if he does something they don’t like, even if it’s legal… it made every car a weapon in his mind, and he couldn’t handle it.”

   “I have seen this behaviour as well,” Pero nods in recognition, and his tone is low now. “For me, it was never a problem because I know how to scare people into leaving me alone, but I know how dangerous these drivers are.    I am sorry it happened to someone you knew.”

   “It was a horrible day. But honestly, it was the aftermath that really messed things up.”

   “How so?”

   “Because my brother didn’t just lose his friend and his passion for riding bikes that day. It was like he lost a part of himself he didn’t know how to exist without.    At first, he got depressed, which then affected his grades and eventually got him kicked out of university. But as it progressed, his mental health got so bad that he tried to end his own life three times within the space of just one month.    So, our parents decided that the only way he’d have a chance to get himself out of that state, was to put him in an environment where his entire life would be controlled and structured.”

   “They had him committed?” he carefully asks while somehow locating the correct cabinet to find a bowl on the first try, which he then fills with water and dunks a packet of raisins into.

   “No. My father was a navy captain, so his solution was to force my brother to enlist. Although, he figured a young man wouldn’t be aided by being in the same branch of the military as his own father, but he wanted the strictest possible regiment, so he threw his weight around a little and that’s how my brother ended up in the Special Forces.”

   Your date gets a strange look in his eyes when he hears that, but you can’t pinpoint what the reason might be, so you decide not to ask him about it.

   “And this is how the two of you lost touch?” he wonders, while he begins to prepare the meal, so you take out a cutting board for him and watch him chop onions and garlic cloves as you answer.

   “Kinda. He’d already distanced himself from me at that point, because I didn’t understand what he was going through and just wanted my brother back.    I made it worse for him back then, just out of ignorance. Thinking if I could just find something that would make him happy, all his problems would magically disappear.    He stopped talking to me, and then he started getting mean. Until eventually, he even tried to hurt me, and I still didn’t understand that it was because I was adding to his stress.”

   “How much younger are you than your brother?”

   “Just over eight years. Our parents had him when they were pretty young, and then my dad had a period of time when he was away a lot, so it wasn’t until he was promoted that I came along.”

   “Then you were still only a teenager while this happened. This must have been very scary.”

   “It was, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could go back. Because I get it now. With what I know about life and mental health today, I would’ve been able to help him. But I guess there’s a reason why that stuff takes a lifetime to learn.    And now it’s too late,” you end in a sigh, which makes him pause his work to look at you.

   “Is your brother dead?”

   “No. But I’ve only seen him once since the day he enlisted, sixteen years ago. He showed up for mom and dad’s funeral about five years ago, but he never spoke to me or wanted anything to do with the inheritance, and he was gone the moment the ceremony was over.”

   “What happened to your parents?”

   “They died in a plane crash on their way to a favourite holiday spot of theirs, up north. It was a small prop plane, one of those for like four people, so a bird-strike was enough to take it out.    I’ve been afraid of flying ever since,” you admit, but he puts a warm hand over yours on the counter and when you look into his eyes, there’s no judgement in them.

   “I’m sorry to hear your family is no longer with you. I do not like to think of you all alone,” he offers with a slightly concerned tint to his features, which only makes you like him more.

   “Thanks. But at least I have you now,” you carefully suggest, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

   But he gives you one of his rare smiles in return.

   “Yes, you do.”

   “So, what about you? Do you have any family?” you ask when he returns to the meal, moving on to the minced meat, so he locates a frying pan and turns the stove on.

   “No.” He first intends to leave it there, because he doesn’t like to talk about it.

   But then, it must’ve been just as hard for you to share these terrible memories from your past, so it’s only fair he does the same.    It does not come naturally to him, though, and he’s certain that you can hear the frustration in his voice, so he just hopes you won’t misinterpret the cause behind it.

   “I was an only child, and my father was out of the picture before I was even born.”

   “So, your mom raised you?”

   “For a time,” he starts, but then needs to pause to figure out how to explain, so he lets himself focus on the food for a beat, while you patiently wait. “I was born in Colombia, and my mother was not someone who could afford a good education, so her options were limited.    She worked as a dancer, but it was not always enough, so to make ends meet, she would help the Cali cartel.”

   “As a mule?” you quietly wonder, and in the depths of your voice, he can hear the other, more frightening options you’re also aware that the cartels might’ve used a woman for.

   “Yes. But when I was only ten years old, she got caught by the Narcos, and she was too afraid of the cartel to turn witness, so she was sent to jail instead.    I found out later… she died just six months after her sentencing. I was told it was due to dehydration after a very bad stomach flu, but I was never able to confirm if this was true.”

   “How much later? Were you able to go to her funeral?”

   “No. I only heard about it several years later.”

   “Why? What happened to you?”

   He pauses again, this time because there’s shame involved in what he needs to say next, and he’s never been good at handling that particular emotion.

   “The people she smuggled for knew about me, so when she was caught, they came to find me and took me away to work for them. They did this with orphaned children a lot, because it was an easy and cheap way to procure safe labour for them.”

   “Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t an easy way to grow up.”

   “I knew of nothing else. I was a strong child, so rather than put me to work in the jungle factories, they taught me how to use weapons and hurt people. And for a long time, this was my life.” He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped working on the food until your hand lightly rubs his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.

   “I’m guessing you’re ashamed of that?” you correctly surmise, so he just nods in confirmation and returns to the task at hand, putting the finished pino aside to cool and getting started on the dough.

   He’s forgotten to boil some eggs, and while he prepares that and starts to melt the butter, you remain very quiet.    Still, he feels like it’s a loud kind of silence, hanging under the pressure of a million thoughts and reactions, none of which you’re letting him see.    Until the pressure seems to ease when you draw a slow and deep breath.

   “I can’t imagine the things you must’ve done, either because you had to or because you thought it was normal, but it doesn’t matter which.    We’re not responsible for the things we’re taught as children. How we behave when we realize that those things are wrong… that’s what matters.    So, what did you do?”

   You don’t know it yet, but you’ve stumbled upon the most difficult question you could ever have asked him, because the answer requires him to reveal the most cataclysmic event of his entire life, and he has no idea if he’s ready for that.    And even more significantly, he knows with almost complete conviction that you’re not.

   “Ay, Sonriente… I am not sure you are ready to know this. It is not… the happy ending you want it to be.” He says it while meeting your eyes, so you can see the honesty in him.

   He doesn’t lie and he isn’t going to, so if you ask him, he will tell you the truth. But he hopes you won’t. Not yet.    You take your time, examining his face, maybe looking for some clue to explain what could be so terrible that he’s asking you not to go there.

   “What does Sonriente mean?” you finally ask instead, and relief washes over him.

   He’ll owe you for this one, and if you somehow find it in your heart to keep dating him, he will tell you at some point. But for now, the lighter subject is a balm to his nerves, bringing a grin to his lips while he pours the melted butter into the mix of flour, salt and baking powder, followed by some water before he begins to knead it into a dough.

   “You have not looked it up?”

   “Asking you is more fun,” you shrug, allowing the playful atmosphere to blossom.

   “How do you know I will not make something up?”

   “Firstly, because you’ve never lied to me and that’s not a streak you wanna break if you want me to stick around. And second, because I’m obviously gonna look it up after you’ve told me.”

   “How would you know if I have ever lied to you or not?” he wonders, partly just playing along, but also making a little point for you not to assume he’s incapable of being dishonest.

   There’s a dramatic pause then, in which you throw him a look that clearly says this is a very stupid question, before you proceed to explain why.

   “Pero, I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve said a single thing to me that wasn’t a description of how to perform a task at work, and believe me, I remember them all in perfect detail.”

   “Oh, really? Name one,” he challenges, and you don’t miss a beat.

   “Two months into my employment, we were waiting for Gary when he was bringing that big shot visitor from Japan, and I sighed and complained about having to just stand around forever when there was so much work to be done. I finally resorted to asking you if you knew why it was taking so long, to which you replied: Gary has a thing for Asians.    And at the time, I actually assumed you were trying to be funny, especially when they finally arrived, and I saw no evidence whatsoever to suggest any secret interest in anyone.    So, you can imagine my surprise when the guest leaves, and Gary turns to me and says: Oh, thank god, I was running out of lemon-related content in my brain…”

   The memory makes him huff a tiny laugh, particularly at how accurately you’re recounting it, while you start fully laughing once you’re done.

   “I mean, it would’ve been a completely innocent little joke,” you add between giggles, “even if it had been made up, but the fact that it was true just made it so much funnier.”

   “I was nervous,” he admits, feeling a bit sheepish now.

   But the fact is, you’ve made him nervous from day one. And while he’s always been quiet and kept to himself, specifically because he hasn’t wanted to become friends with anyone and have to talk about himself and his past, he’s always been extreme with you because of how beautiful you are.    He’s known, from the first time he laid eyes on you, that if he ever allowed himself to start talking to you, he’d never wanna stop.

   “About meeting a big shot businesswoman?” you incredulously wonder, making him shake his head while he waits for another bout of your giggles to settle.

   “No… about just standing there awkwardly with you. You were talking so much, and I was trying not to engage with you, but then you asked me a question and it would have been rude not to answer.”

   “And instead of giving me some bland conversational answer like agreeing with me that it was a waste of time, or saying they’d probably be there soon, you chose to share a truth that no one else in the entire crew knew about him,” you question, but you’re not really looking for a reply. This is clearly your way of showing him how well you have him figured out. “That’s how I know you’ve never lied to me. Because even when you’ve had the chance to do it in the most innocent of ways, you still haven’t.”

   He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he returns to your original inquiry.

   “Sonriente means smile, or in this case, Smiley. It is how I think of you.”

   Nervously, he reaches into the left front pocket of his jeans, where he locates the little clear plastic-wrapped package of smiley magnets, which he then hands to you.    You take it, immediately realizing what it is, and while not a word spills across your lips, he knows without question that you love them. You rip the package open while mildly squealing with excitement, and immediately start to arrange the little faces on your refrigerator door, giggling to yourself as you come up with funny combinations of expressions.

   “Thank you! For the magnets and the nickname. I love them,” you giddily declare after stepping back to admire the now much happier-looking fridge.

   He nods in recognition of your thanks, feeling less nervous about whether you’ll like the little teddy bear, which he intends to give you at the end of the night.    But for now, he just keeps working on the empanadas. The dough is rolled, and he’s begun cutting it into pieces, and the eggs are done just when he’s about to start flattening the pieces into round little plates.

   “Something I’ve always wondered,” you start after waiting for him to discard the boiling water and return to the dough, “is why you never help anyone, unless they ask?”

   “Why would I assume they want my help, unless they ask?” he counters, to which you cock your head to the side with a sceptical frown.

   “When Eric accidentally crushed his foot right next to you, I’m pretty sure he would’ve appreciated a bit of assistance…”

   “Oh no, that was very intentional.”

   You obviously weren’t expecting that, so you’ve probably never heard about this particular operator’s lesser qualities.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Eric is a bully. He is scared of women, though, so you never became a target, but many of the younger crew were constantly heckled and ridiculed by him whenever he was alone with them. I was one of the few who noticed this, and I tried to get management involved, but I had no proof, and the victims of his abuse never spoke up themselves.    So, when I finally got fed up with it, I made sure he would not be able to work with us anymore.”

   “Wait, I’m confused. Are you saying that you caused his injury?”

   “Yes.”

   This is all news to you, and he can see how you’re trying to absorb it all while re-framing the memories inside your mind into such a different and surprising perspective.

   “But he was operating the press himself when it happened, so how did you…” you trail off, probably unsure of how to even phrase it, now that you’re no longer certain of anything regarding the situation in question.

   “The reason I was standing next to him was because I was working on the computer for that machine, so I created a temporary error, causing the press to glitch. And when he kicked it, which I knew he would because that is the kind of man he is, I reset it, and it fired up again.”

   Your jaw drops for a second, but there’s still a smile in your eyes, so even though this might be a bit disturbing for you to learn, you’re not put off by it, at least.

   “You are diabolical. And very clever, since you’re the one who does the diagnostics on those machines, which means you can hide your tracks,” you conclude after closing your mouth. “And I have no idea why this turns me on a little.”

   Now it’s Pero’s turn to be surprised and mildly confused, and he quickly turns all his attention back to the food. But he can’t help but smile with pride, despite the slight awkwardness.    He can’t deny that he does very much hope he’ll be able to turn you on more than just a little, in the future. Not tonight, though.

   “Come on, you can help me with this last step,” he offers, because the silence is too fucking loud, and he indicates the finished flattened pieces of dough which are ready to be filled and shaped into the final product.

   You’ve always been good at taking instructions, so once he’s showed you the correct technique, you pick it up and immediately start generating perfect little empanadas.    They need to sit in the oven for about twenty minutes, so in the meantime, you both clean up the kitchen and then you give him a small tour of your apartment.

   “It is bigger than I thought at first,” he observes after you’ve shown him your guest bedroom and the very large balcony which is accessible from both your master bedroom and the living room.

   “Yeah. I don’t really need the extra space, but I like to have it, and since the inheritance I got from my folks allows me to afford it, I figured I could give myself that.    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rich, or anything. If I’d inherited that much, I would’ve bought a house.    But I set it up so that the bank releases a certain sum every month, designed to last for the rest of my life, so that even if something happened like I lost my job or got injured, I’d still have enough to survive on.    I wouldn’t be able to live here anymore, obviously, but I’d survive.”

   He has wondered how you can afford a place in the city on the same salary as him. Granted, he’s chosen to live pretty far out into the suburbs because the apartments out there have the same great quality as these city ones, at a fraction of the cost, which allows him to save a lot of money and still live comfortably.    But if you have the means, of course you should live where you wish, and these buildings are expensive because of their security rating as well as their top quality, which he approves of for you.

   “This is a very smart set-up,” he hums approvingly. “You must stop calling me clever when you are clearly the brighter of us two.”

   “Hey, I might’ve made some good decisions in my life, but you thought up the MAP. You built it… There is no comparison to be made.”

   “It is only a machine.”

   “A pretty darn impressive one.”

   “But still only a thing. When it comes to people… socializing, expressing myself, emotions… I am an idiot.”

   “Maybe, but not with me,” you counter, and he has no reply for that, because it’s true. “Anyway, it’s not that smart of a decision when I also waste the extra money on space I don’t need, rather than save it up.”

   “If this is how you wish to live, then there is no fault to your logic.”

   “Yeah, I guess. To tell you the truth, I’ve always dreamed of having a house, but I just don’t wanna live alone in one. An apartment somehow seems less empty even when it’s just me.”

   He understands that feeling, and he can appreciate how a single woman, in particular, might find it reassuring to have other people around.    For a split second, he imagines a future where you could have your dream house and not live alone, but it’s an image he doesn’t dare to linger on or allow to take footing in his mind, because even if it is a remote possibility, the present is what matters if he wishes to reach the future he glimpses.

   The food is finished just as your little tour comes to an end, so Pero takes the tray out of the oven and then you set the table while it cools a little. It makes the entire kitchen smell amazing, so you have high hopes for how good it’ll taste.

   “So, I might be revealing my total ignorance of foreign foods here, but I thought empanadas was usually like a starter, or a snack, not a full meal,” you ponder, thinking back on the few times you’ve come across them on a menu or heard someone talking about the dish.

   “It depends on the country and the recipe. When I was growing up, it was our equivalent to a Sunday roast. My mother would always make them on Sundays, and she made them large enough that two or three was a full meal.    Other families I knew only made the smaller versions, eating them as evening snacks while playing games or watching tv,” he kindly explains without giving any indication that he’s disappointed in your lack of cultural awareness.

   “We never did the Sunday roast thing in my family,” you offer in return. “Mostly because dad was away so much, and mom wasn’t actually that interested in cooking, so she’d stick to simpler and quicker meals if there wasn’t a celebration or other occasion where we might want something more elaborate.”

   “Did your father enjoy cooking, then?”

   “He loved it. Some of my fondest memories with him are the two of us out by the grill in the backyard, with him showing me how to prepare and cook different meats and fish and veggies.    For someone with such a serious job and so much pressure to live up to, he was extraordinarily good at just stopping to enjoy the simplest moments with his family. He was always relaxed and happy when he was home.”

   Pero seems to think on that while he finishes preparing the meal, so you wait to say anything more until you know whether he’s going to. And sure enough, a minute later, he rights himself up, leans his hip against the counter and looks at you with a curious but also knowing kind of gaze.

   “This is why you are so comfortable in a male workplace. Because your father taught you that real men are not cruel or unkind without cause, so when you have met this behaviour in your life, you have not tolerated it.    I have seen this strength in you many times, and I know it is the reason why the crew respects you. They can sense, even before they know you, that while they can certainly scare you, they can never manipulate you.”

   He says it so simply. As if it doesn’t even occur to him that this could be the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you.    Emotions deeper than you’re able to recognize in the moment, are making your chest ache and bringing tears to your eyes, but it’s a strangely wonderful feeling.    And then he smiles, just a little, and says the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

   “Your father lives in you in this way. Protects you, even from the grave, with the certainty he put inside your heart, that you are worth a man’s time and his respect.”

   The tears in your eyes spill over onto your cheeks, but when you smile back at him and start moving towards him because you want a hug, he surprises you by shifting his weight back, away from you.    You stop, suddenly feeling a sour pit begin to form in your stomach where the overwhelming gratitude was just swelling so warmly, with the abrupt expectation of something bad.

   “But…” he begins, and then looks away, back down at the plate of delicious food waiting to be enjoyed, and the look on his face is something you’ve seen before, but never thought you’d ever see on this man. “I don’t know if I can claim to be worthy of such a woman.”

   The feeling in your gut disappears when the warmth returns, and you take a soothing breath before finishing the motion you started before, closing the distance between you even though you can see him make another attempt to deter you.    He crosses his arms over his waist to limit how close you can get, so you settle for putting your hands on his cheeks instead, which prompts him to meet your eyes again.

   Unworthiness is a feeling you know painfully well, both from personal experience, and from how often you’ve seen it in people around you. It lies and contorts a person’s view of themselves until it becomes this unbreakable truth, built on nothing but the fear of not being enough, and yet so powerful it can make one turn away from the most wonderful and positive opportunities that might ever come your way.    All because of a single thought. Because that’s how it always begins. Just one moment in which you aren’t your best self, and someone happens to notice it, and suddenly it becomes a pillar of your existence, as real and significant as those biggest core memories which build your individuality from childhood.

   “If my father was here, he would be the first to tell you that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before you met me, because worth isn’t measured by tallying up how much good you’ve done versus how much evil.    Worth is a gift that other people give you.”

   He almost flinches with how hard that hits him, and you can see how the words play on repeat in his head in the moments of silence you let him have before you hit him with the next volley.

   “You are worthy of me if I choose you. It really is that simple, Pero. And if you need proof, just go pet a dog. Because I can promise you no dog chooses to love or trust you due to some secret ability they have to detect if you’ve got more than fifty percent goodness in you.    And I’m no different, so if you want to feel worthy of me, just keep making me feel safe and cared for, because that’s all it takes for me to decide that you are.    Do you hear me?”

   You keep holding his face, waiting for him to either brush you off or accept what you’re telling him, but even before you’ve stopped talking, you can see in his eyes how deeply he wants to believe every word.    And sure enough, not two seconds later, he uncrosses his arms and wraps them around your waist instead. He holds you gently at first, but when you lean into the hug and squeeze his shoulders, his grip becomes so firm that even a deep breath is out of the question.

   “I got it wrong,” he whispers into your neck. “I should call you Asombro.”

   “Okay. Why?”

   “It means amazement and wonder, and I know of no human being who makes me feel such things like you do.”

   By the time you’ve sat down to dig into the meal, the empanadas are at perfect eating temperature, slightly cool on the outside while the pino is still nice and hot.    He watches you closely when you take your first bite, because your reactions are always honest, so he will see it if you don’t like them, you won’t be able to hide it.    But his worry is unfounded. Your immediate reaction is to close your eyes and actually moan with delight, taking the next bite before the first one is even close to chewed.

   You notice him watching you and a small laugh makes you hunch forwards and dip your chin a bit, so he can’t quite see your face. There’s too much food in your mouth for you to be able to speak and explain why, although he guesses it’s because you’re embarrassed about the sounds you just made. You don’t need to be, though, since he finds them only endearing.    There’s a big grin on his face as he quietly observes, incredibly pleased to have created something you enjoy, not just because he likes to see you happy, but because he’s never cooked for anyone before, and he was genuinely nervous about it.    This is the one recipe his mother taught him and he still has no idea why, after so many years lost to violence and rage, he remembers it so clearly.

   “Oh, Pero… this is so good!” you finally mumble, because you won’t stop stuffing your face with the food, and he can’t help but laugh heartily with the thrilling warmth that spreads through him at the scene.

   “I can see that. I am very happy you like it,” he muses, but it makes you pause, stopping your chewing to just stare at him, which in turn makes him unsure. “Is something wrong?”

   “No, I just…” You keep looking at him with this peculiar expression he can’t place, but it’s still a happy one. “I’ve never heard you laugh before. I mean, I’ve heard a few chuckles from you recently, which was shocking enough, but that was a real laugh just now.”

   He doesn’t spend much time reflecting on how often he smiles or laughs, but he does know it’s not a frequent occurrence by any measure.    Your reaction seems a tad excessive, though, since you should’ve learned by now that all bets are off whenever you’re involved.

   “I have told you before, Sonriente, your joy is infectious, it is beyond my control.”

   “Oh, really? Then how come you’re still fully able to control it at work?” you challenge with a confidently raised brow, surely thinking he won’t have a good comeback for this.

   “Because you are still the only one who gets to see this other side of me,” he smirks in response, to which you proudly square your shoulders, clearly happy to claim the privilege despite having your challenge bested.

   But his confidence falters somewhat as he thinks back to this afternoon and how he’d been nervous enough to ask a cashier for advice. And then his thoughts travel back further, to the sister factory, and how he’d all but lost his fucking head when going at those three assholes. Then every moment he’d spent after that, almost unknowingly checking where you were every few minutes, not to mention last night and the sudden inability to sleep well without you, and he can’t deny that things have changed rather drastically lately.

   “Although, I will confess… since that morning in the hotel room, I have had a much harder time controlling my emotions around you,” he quietly admits, feeling no shame, but a great deal more vulnerable than usual. “You might not see it on me, but there is a reason I still avoid getting too close to you around the crew.”

   “I did wonder at lunch today. But I figured you were just sticking to your routines.”

   “No. I wanted very much to sit with you.”

   “Then why didn’t you?”

   “Because I want it too much. More than I am ready for,” he tries, mentally kicking himself for not being able to explain it better. “Do you understand?”

   “I think so… You worry that if you just cave to all these strong feelings you’re not used to having, you won’t know how to control yourself?” you surmise, and again, he wants to kick himself because he should’ve been able to say this.

   “Yes, exactly,” he agrees, adding a nod of approval just to emphasize how much better you are at finding the right words to describe what’s going on in his head.

   “Well, thank you for thinking like that.” Your quiet voice surprises him enough that he pauses the bite he was just about to take. Because this is the sad kind of quiet. The kind he thinks you’re not even aware reveals all the pains inside you. “Most men don’t take much responsibility for their emotions, much less actively work on controlling themselves.”

   He hears the echo of conflicts from your past in those words, which is not unexpected, he’s seen enough traces of defensive behaviour in you to have known for some time that you’ve had bad experiences.    What is unexpected is how much it suddenly affects him to see it. How much he wants to ask you to name anyone who’s ever hurt you so that he can track them down.    Reminding himself that this is a first date and you’ve both already shared darker parts of yourselves, he instead settles for offering the most significant bit of wisdom he’s gained from the trials of his youth.

   “One thing I learned growing up among evil men, is that when all you pour into the world around you is anger and fear, this is also what comes back at you. You cannot expect to be met with kindness and generosity if you scream at people or beat them.”

   “Does that mean the reason why you’ve always kept away from everyone is that you wanted them to stay away from you?” you ask without even a second’s delay, as if you already had the question locked and loaded. “Because I assumed it was because you just don’t like anyone.”

   “No, you are correct, I dislike most people, and this is the reason I wish for them to stay away from me.”

   “Ah. Especially with your lack of control over your emotions and all that. Could get very messy.”

   “See? You get it,” he winks, and you smile back before delving into more of the empanadas.

   Neither of you speak for a minute then, allowing the good food to have undivided attention and satisfying your stomachs.

   “So, at the risk of biting myself in the ass here,” you start after finishing your fourth piece of stuffed pastry, “what is it about me that’s different? Why do you like me? Because I refuse to believe it’s as simple as you being affected by my smile.”

   He ponders on this for a bit, trying to decide if he should name the things about you which he just casually likes, like the way you’re always so honest, or the direct way you deal with things that bother you, like confronting those who talk shit about you behind your back. Or maybe the grace and dignity with which you’ve endured his unfriendly and probably often frightening behaviour for the past year.    But those are all largely superficial things. They’re not the real reason for his evolving and blossoming affection, and the problem is, he doesn’t know what that real reason is.

   “If I told you the number of hours I have spent wondering this myself… I wish I had a good answer for you, and for myself, but alas, I have not yet found it,” he finally admits, and is relieved to see you still smiling despite what must be a disappointing outcome.

   “Will you promise to let me know if you do?” is all you ask in return, and since he can’t wait to find out this answer for himself, it’s only fair you get to know it as well.

   “Yes. I promise.”

   Full and happy after that amazing meal, which was actually perfectly spicy in your opinion, the couch seems like the natural option for the next portion of the evening. So, once the dishes are squared away and the ice cream is just soft enough, you dig into the squishy pillows and blankets with your little bowl, while Pero takes a seat like a normal person, at the other end of the spacious two-seater.    Again, you’re a little bummed that he didn’t opt to sit closer to you, but since he’s explained why, you decide not to press the issue.

   “Wanna watch something?” you ask, before realizing you have no clue if he even likes movies, since the topics of this date have been very intimate and not at all light-hearted for the most part.

   “Sure.”

   “Okay. Anything in particular you prefer?”

   “Not really. I will watch almost anything, so you pick.”

   Oh, great. That’s not stressful at all, you just have to try and find something that won’t put him to sleep, potentially trigger his childhood trauma, or make him think you’re a total weirdo… Simple.    You scroll through one of your streaming services, eliminating genres like gangster films, period dramas and horror, followed by teen movies, steamy romance and anime, until you finally decide on adventure, because who doesn’t like a little adventure.    E.T is among the first films to come up once you’ve gone into the genre specific menu, and you haven’t seen it in at least ten years, so that’s your pick.

   “Have you seen it before?” you ask while the opening credits begin to roll.

   “Of course, I have seen all the classics, and all the 80’s and 90’s action movies. They were the best, in my opinion.”

   “I mean, you can’t really beat The Rock, The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Screamers. Not to mention RoboCop, Top Gun and Tremors.”

   “Yes, Tremors is one of my favourites,” he agrees with a grin, and you’re pleasantly surprised by his choice, since you consider it the best B-movie ever made. "I also like The Goonies, Karate Kid and Indiana Jones.”

   Since you’ve both seen E.T before, you’re okay with chatting quietly during the film, talking about your favourite cinema experiences and movies that made lasting impressions on you.    It’s a very comfortable kind of conversation, naturally paused by the more dramatic scenes before you, and then casually picked back up. It feels cozy, simple and safe, which is probably why you begin to almost doze off about two thirds into the movie, which Pero notices.

   “Perhaps we should call it a night,” he suggests, in a warm, also quite drowsy voice. “We do have to work tomorrow morning.”

   “We’ve worked for almost two weeks straight already, they really should give us Thursday and Friday off,” you sleepily mumble, mildly annoyed at the idea of having to end such a lovely evening.

   “Yes, they should. But they prefer to throw money at us rather than lose workforce, since that impacts productivity, especially when our shift has already gone understaffed for ten days.”

   “But that’s not our fault…”

   “No. It is just how the corporate world thinks.”

   He gets up and grabs both of the empty ice cream bowls, bringing them to the kitchen on his way to the front hall, even putting them into the dishwasher before he reaches for his leather jacket, while you simply follow him to say goodnight.    But before he slips the jacket on, he digs around in it for a moment, which you assume is just a hunt for his keys. Until he pulls a small flat box out of it and hands it to you.

   “What?” You stare at the little blue square with the familiar emblem, once more wondering if this man is even real. “This is my favourite brand of chocolate…” you point out, meeting his eyes with incredulity once more. “How do you know?”

   “I listen,” he shrugs. But when he speaks again, his tone suggests there’s uncertainty underneath the apparent comfort. “Especially when you speak.”

   It makes you smile, knowing that he’s been quietly absorbing all this information about you, not to use against you, but simply because he found it interesting enough to warrant his attention.    He slips the jacket on and moves on to his shoes, and once they’re in place, he stands before you in your hall, ready to leave. But he lingers, and there’s a restless kind of awkwardness to him, making you wonder if he’s pondering on the traditional first-date kiss.    You wouldn’t mind if he does want to go for it, but you’re not gonna try and persuade him either way. If there’s one thing this evening has taught you, it’s that this man is much more sensitive and fragile than his public behaviour would have you think.

   “I would like to do this again…” he finally says, earning another smile from you, which seems to put him at ease, “if you would not mind.”

   “I’d like that very much.”

   The grin that adorns his face is one of pure joy, and then he nervously turns to leave, reaching for the doorhandle and stepping out into the stairwell. But then he turns back a little too fast, startling you as you’re following him to close the door behind him.

   “Oh, sorry.”

   “That’s okay,” you reassure him, although you are wondering why he still seems nervous. “Was there something else?”

   “No. No, not really. I just… well… Listen, I spent way too much time in the store today, and it was not my intention to get you all these gifts, but I was nervous about tonight and what you might expect, and I wanted to make sure you would be happy. But now it all seems a bit silly…” he bumblingly explains, all of which sounds only endearing to you.

   But before you can tell him that, he continues.

   “Still, there is one more thing I must give you, and it is perhaps the silliest of all, and if it is you may say so. I am fully aware that you are a grown woman and not a child, it just looked cute, and I thought… heck, I don’t know what I thought.    But here…”

   From behind his back, he somehow produces the most adorable little grey teddy-bear with a bright red heart sewn onto its butt cheek, and aside from the question of where the hell he’s been hiding this thing all night, all you can think is that you’ve never been more happy to be proven wrong about someone in your entire life.    You take the gift with a squeal that morphs into an aww-sound by the time you’ve brought the teddy to your chest, where you hug him close while bouncing slightly on your toes.

   “He is not silly, he’s perfect! I love him, thank you so much! If being a grown woman means having to give up on teddy-bears then I don’t ever wanna grow up,” you assure him, pleased to see his uncertainty give way to comfort.

   “You’re welcome, Asombro,” he grins, looking stupidly happy now. “Thank you for tonight. Perhaps next time you will let me take you out on a bike ride?”

   “Yeah, I’d love that. The weather’s gonna be good this weekend, so maybe Saturday?” you hopefully suggest, and his smile seems to spread from his face all the way through his entire body.

   “I cannot wait. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”

   “You too. Goodnight, Pero.”

   He leaves down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, and you close the door, locking yourself in as always, already certain you won’t be able to sleep much tonight because there’s just too much to think about.    But you wonder how in the world you’re gonna go to work tomorrow and pretend like he hasn’t just given you the best date of your life. Because you know he’s still gonna act like there’s nothing special between you in front of your colleagues, and since you know it’s only because of his desire to keep people’s noses out of his business, you’re okay with that.    You simply have no clue how you’re gonna keep yourself in a purely professional state of mind around him.

   Chuckling to yourself at the thought that you’re definitely falling for him now, and it’s making you think and probably behave like a teenager again, you blow out the lovely candle he gave you, take one more whiff of the bouquet of flowers next to it, turn the tv off and leave the little box of chocolates on the coffee table, and then you head straight for bed, still holding the teddy to your chest.    No matter what, tomorrow’s gonna be a good day, because you’ll get to see him again. And the most wonderful thing of all is that that’s a thought you never would’ve dreamed of having two weeks ago.    What a difference a day makes.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream

[sirowsky-stories]

Masterlist

Welcome to this Valentine's story featuring a modern Pero Tovar and Female Reader!

Plot Summary: You work together at a factory and while Pero is possibly the unfriendliest person in the world, when the two of you are sent off to fix a broken machine, you discover that there's a different side to him. One which is entirely too attractive.

Author's Note: It is always my ambition to post weekly updates on any series I write. However, I work shifts which makes it very difficult to create solid routines, and I suffer with trauma which regularly pops up to fuck up my life, leaving me unable to think creatively for randomly long periods of time. This is beyond my control and while I hate that it robs me of my ability to do one of the things I love most of all, there's nothing I can do about it, except hope my readers can forgive the randomness of my updates.

Warnings: Read individual chapters for specific warnings, but overall, this is just a simple romance story with very real human problems. I'm not planning on doing anything angsty or too dramatic with this one, it's just gonna be two imperfect people falling in love ❤️

Part 1 - The Trip Part 2 - The Date

[sirowsky-stories]

Part 2 - The Date

Hey, y'all. I had hoped to post this early last week, but childhood trauma decided to join the conversation, and here we are. It is looking like this is gonna be a shorter series, though, so I hope to be able to update more frequently, but I make no promises.

Description: You and Pero have your first date and as promised, he cooks for you. But it's the conversation that is the real treat of this evening, because you finally get to learn more about this mystery of a man, and share some things of your own.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader, reader is not described but there are descriptions of clothing in this part, mention of road rage and a fatal crash, mention of problematic mental health (neither reader nor Pero), one mention of adhd, mention of the Cali cartel and associated issues.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 10,460 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics

   He goes directly to the store at the end of the workday, still screaming internally at the mere fact that you invited him to your home, not to mention that you’re calling it a date.    But the voice inside of him isn’t just screaming with excitement. There’s massive quantities of fear and anxiousness in there as well, because he has no clue how to behave on a date, or what you might expect from him, beyond him being nice to you.    Therefor he passes as much time as possible strolling down the aisles and busying himself with looking around the entire store just in case he finds something other than the ingredients he needs.

   Your ordinary workdays on the morning shift are between 6am and 2pm. It’s only when working away that any operator can flex their hours a little, since it’s considered a big enough inconvenience just to live away and work with strangers. Which is why you’d pushed your schedule to start at 7 while you’d been at the sister factory.    But it’s back to the normal shifts now, which means he’s got four hours to kill before going to see you. And his entire body feels strangely charged and alert as he repeatedly looks at his watch, getting increasingly frustrated with how slow it seems to move.

   He stops in the aisle where they have household items, like coffee cups and vases, cutlery and dishtowels, but also scented candles and little knickknacks, as well as tiny stuffed animals and plushies.    Would you like it if he got you something for your apartment?    You’ve been living all alone for years, so you probably have your place decorated exactly as you want it. But a candle couldn’t hurt, could it? And most people love plushies, right?

   With a deep sigh of annoyance, entirely directed at himself, he starts picking up candles and sniffing the different scents, disliking practically all of them, until he finds a vanilla scented one which isn’t as strong as the others. A more subtle fragrance. And when he sniffs it, it somehow reminds him of you, which seems odd, until he realizes that your perfume must have a vanilla-based fragrance as well, which settles it.    He puts the thing in his basket and goes to leave the aisle. But right at the end of it, a frankly adorable grey teddy bear with a red heart stitched in on its right butt-cheek catches his eye, and without even stopping to consider if he should, he grabs it.

   Because fuck it. If you don’t like it… Well, he’d be heartbroken, actually. Not to mention the poor little bear.    Seriously shaking his head at himself, he continues through the store, wondering if you’re on the verge of driving him insane before you’ve even started dating. But also realizing, within just seconds of pondering on it, that he wouldn’t give a shit if you were, he’d still wanna see you.

   That smile you gave him right after he’d told you about wanting to cook for you was the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He couldn’t describe it, or what it made him feel, even if it was the only way to save his own life, but he’d bring the stars down from the skies if it meant he’d get to see it again.    Honestly, he can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for you, just to make you happy, because your joy truly does infect everything around you, and that’s a precious thing. If his past has taught him anything, it’s that while he struggles to accept happiness for himself, he knows how important joy is, in how it prevents people from becoming the worst versions of themselves.

   He ends up spending almost ninety minutes in the store, and he notices the slight surprise on the cashier’s face when she scans the candle, the plushie, and the bouquet of flowers, little gift bag of small fridge magnets with smiley faces on them, and a miniature gift box of your favourite brand of chocolate, which he stumbled on closer to the checkout.    This is his regular store, so the staff recognize him and probably remember that he’s never bought anything of the sort before, although she’s kind enough not to get nosy about it.

   “Are they stupid?” he finds himself quietly asking while he gets the money from his wallet, since there isn’t anyone else in the que behind him and he really is nervous about getting this right.

   She’s about your age and several things in her appearance reminds him of you. He feels like you’re the same type of woman, if there is such a thing, so odds are you like some of the same things, at least.

   “Are you kidding? If my man brought me stuff like this, I’d be giddy for days,” she says with a genuine smile, understanding even without further explanation, that the items in question aren’t being purchased for his own use.

   “It is only a first date…” he admits, wanting to make sure it isn’t too much, and the woman quickly puts him at ease.

   “Oh, that’s lovely, congratulations! And don’t worry, first date or tenth, if she’s anything like me, she’ll love this.”

   “Okay.” He doesn’t have a smile for her because those only ever come natural to him when he’s around you, but he does nod politely and tells her that she can keep the change, which makes her smile.

   Once back home, he unpacks the groceries and then repacks them, putting everything that needs to be refrigerated into one bag and then putting the entire bag in the fridge, while he leaves a second bag with the room temperature stuff on the counter, ready to go.    He almost forgets to put the flowers in water, and then he spends a good twenty minutes trying to decide how to present all these gifts to you.    Why did he get so many?

   It’s still not even 4:30pm once he settles on an idea, and he’s too nervous to try and do anything relaxing, so he ends up cleaning his apartment instead. And then, when he’s only fifteen minutes away from having to leave, he remembers that he should maybe take a shower before the date.    Which is why, when he rings your doorbell a few minutes after 6pm, his hair is still wet, making him feel like a dog begging to be let in after taking a shit in the rain.

   You’ve been fretting ever since you got home. You don’t have adhd so far as you know, but you do have some of the very typical traits that many types of neuro-divergent people have, such as task-fatigue. Which means you sometimes just can’t bring yourself to clean your apartment or take care of the laundry, even though you absolutely hate seeing the dust and dirty clothes pile up.    But it also means that all it takes for you to feel motivated to take care of it, is knowing that someone is coming to visit.

   Which is why, the moment you step through the door, you start picking stuff up and, in your head, getting started on about ten different tasks simultaneously.    You had intended to start the laundry first, since that would mean you’d have time to swap it into the dryer while getting other things done, but while you’re picking up the clothes left on the sofa and the living room floor, you get distracted by the clutter on your coffee table and the used drinking glasses and cups you’ve had sitting there for the almost two weeks you’ve been away.

   There wasn’t time to take care of it before you left, and you haven’t had the energy to get to it in the one night you’ve thus far spent at home since, but it now disgusts you to see it, which is why it makes you forget all about the laundry.    Then, bringing the dishes to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher, you find empty food packages and other junk and start throwing that away, which then makes you remember that the bathroom trash can needs to be emptied.

   It carries on like this for over an hour before you eventually remember the laundry, at which point you’re about ready to slap yourself with how much you’re needlessly stressing over this. Because Pero is not gonna care if your home is spotless. At least, you don’t think so. Then again, he does always keep his station very neat at work.    You technically work at his station as well, the two of you alternating between operating the MAP, taking care of the orders on the computer and doing the daily maintenance work, so it’s never seemed strange to you that he always comes to help you clean up at the end of each shift.

   But what if he does it because he doesn’t think you’re thorough enough?    Two weeks ago you wouldn’t even have entertained the thought that he even cares about such things, but everything’s different now and you just don’t know.    At 5:30 you decide it looks good enough and hop into a very quick shower followed by the fastest and sloppiest blow-dry of your life, so you’ll have a few minutes to throw on some makeup, albeit very basic and neutral.    You finish with about five minutes to spare, and it’s only then that you realize you haven’t decided what to wear.

   Thankfully, since you both have to wear safety clothes at work and mostly arrive in sweats or other simple and soft garments, he hasn’t seen you wear any of your fancier items. The occasional jeans, sure, but not any of your truly nice pants, nor any blouses or dresses.    You hadn’t brought any of that for your hotel stay either, since it was a work trip, so literally everything you look really good in will be something he’s never seen on you. And yet, it still stresses you out, because it’s a first date. Which means it can’t be too fancy, but it also has to be a little fancy, otherwise it might seem like you’re not that interested.

   The doorbell rings just as you’ve thrown on the top, so you don’t even have time to check yourself over in a mirror before darting to open it, you just take a quick look down to make sure your top isn’t unbuttoned or anything.    You open the door to find him standing there in the stairwell with two full grocery bags leaning against his legs, wet hair and a generally sour expression, which then vanishes the moment he sees you smile at him.

   “Hi,” you greet, and for a moment, he looks paralyzed.

   “Uh… Hello,” he finally manages, before bringing his arms out from behind his back, revealing a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a large glass jar candle.

   The flowers are the grocery store kind, but you know the brand, and the chain of florists which the store collaborates with is an excellent one. It’s a spring bouquet, yellow and pink with white sprinkled in there as well, and it's so big that you suddenly can't believe you didn't notice it until he brought it out.    Then again, he is the broadest person you’ve ever met.    You take the bouquet and smell it, before doing the same with the candle, finding the fragrance of both to be subtle and sweet, which you approve of.

   “Oh, my goodness, thank you so much,” you grin, suddenly no longer the least bit stressed about anything because his presence seems to coat everything under a blanket of comfort and safety. “Come on in.”

   He looks you over thoroughly before stepping in, though, and you can tell that he likes the soft but tight pants you chose, and the simple and cute silk blouse with the widely cut V-shaped neckline, which sits further out on your shoulders and therefor shows off the thin gold necklace he gave you perfectly.    The blouse is designed not to be tucked but rather hang loosely over your hips where it’s cut to enhance the female curves, which always makes you feel a little more confident.

   You do the same to him in return, remembering you’ve never seen him in anything nicer either, and you’re surprised at how much it affects you.    He’s wearing dark blue jeans, clearly not new but designed to last and only get better with wear and tear. And on top he’s gone for a white henley underneath a black leather jacket which is unzipped.

   Now, you would’ve found him attractive no matter what he’d decided to wear, but this?    It’s not overtly sexual, but that’s also exactly what makes it so damned good. The combination of colours which manage to enhance his skin, eyes and hair, the way the jeans hug his male anatomy just right to give you a hint of what’s under there, how the shirt falls so that it just brushes over his softly muscular abs, and then the leather to frame it all in…    If he didn’t do this on purpose then he’s adorably ignorant of his own attractiveness, and if it was intentional, then he’s clearly a genius on more levels than you’ve given him credit for.

   To reign yourself in and prevent the ogling you’re already guilty of, you grasp at the first thing to come to mind as a conversation topic, while he grabs the bags and steps past you into the front hall.

   “Is that a motorcycle jacket?” you ask, since you recognize the distinct cut and collar.

   “Yes. But I did not ride here.”

   “No, I suppose it’d be kinda difficult to get all this on a bike,” you chuckle, closing the door while he takes his shoes off. “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you arrive to work on it, though.”

   He picks up the bags again and follows you to the kitchen, which is the closest room to the front hall and from which the spacious living room is fully visible, where he sets the groceries down on the counter and you grab a vase to put the flowers in.    You place the candle on the kitchen table, followed by the bouquet once it’s been trimmed, and suddenly it looks so much cozier.

   “I prefer to drive it only for the pleasure of the ride, not as a means of transportation,” he explains, and then proceeds to remove the jacket and push the sleeves of his shirt up over his forearms, which momentarily makes you forget how the brain connects to the mouth.

   “O-oh. I… don’t think I’ve ever met a biker with that perspective on riding before,” you finally manage, now awkwardly trampling from one foot to the next because you apparently have no fucking idea how to act in your own kitchen with him there.

   “How many bikers have you met?” he wonders, which would’ve been an innocent enough question, if not for the barely detectable competitiveness which sneaks into his voice.

   And since this very unexpected reaction brings some focus and clarity back into your brain, you jump on the opportunity to tease him a little.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You can see that he wants to press the issue, but he lets it go and starts unpacking the groceries instead, so you decide to reward him for his restraint. “My brother used to ride when he was younger, and he had a whole group of friends he’d go out with, so I’d end up hanging out with them sometimes when they were waiting for the group to gather at our house, or when they helped each other work on the bikes.”

   “I did not know you have a brother,” he says after taking a moment to absorb this new information, and he suddenly seems only openly curious.

   “Yeah, I don’t talk about him a lot since we kinda lost touch a while back.”

   “You said he used to ride. Does he not anymore?”

   “No. He stopped after losing his best friend to a road rage incident,” you explain, to which he simply lowers his brows in a silent question, so you start to elaborate. “The driver of an SUV got angry that they filtered to the front of the que at a stoplight, so she raced after them and at the next light, she tried to run them all over.    She clipped Richie’s back tire, and he went down right in front of the car, so she just gunned it and drove over him. Then she kept trying to get the rest of them, so they had to abandon their friend while he was dying in the street, to save themselves.”

   You haven’t talked about this in a long time, and now that you do, the memories make you sad, but it’s also a bit cleansing to sort of dust it off and air it out, so even though he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, you keep talking.

   “My brother escaped unharmed, but he was only twenty-one and it scared the shit out of him, so he never rode again afterwards. An accident would’ve been difficult enough, but knowing there are people out there who might try and kill him if he does something they don’t like, even if it’s legal… it made every car a weapon in his mind, and he couldn’t handle it.”

   “I have seen this behaviour as well,” Pero nods in recognition, and his tone is low now. “For me, it was never a problem because I know how to scare people into leaving me alone, but I know how dangerous these drivers are.    I am sorry it happened to someone you knew.”

   “It was a horrible day. But honestly, it was the aftermath that really messed things up.”

   “How so?”

   “Because my brother didn’t just lose his friend and his passion for riding bikes that day. It was like he lost a part of himself he didn’t know how to exist without.    At first, he got depressed, which then affected his grades and eventually got him kicked out of university. But as it progressed, his mental health got so bad that he tried to end his own life three times within the space of just one month.    So, our parents decided that the only way he’d have a chance to get himself out of that state, was to put him in an environment where his entire life would be controlled and structured.”

   “They had him committed?” he carefully asks while somehow locating the correct cabinet to find a bowl on the first try, which he then fills with water and dunks a packet of raisins into.

   “No. My father was a navy captain, so his solution was to force my brother to enlist. Although, he figured a young man wouldn’t be aided by being in the same branch of the military as his own father, but he wanted the strictest possible regiment, so he threw his weight around a little and that’s how my brother ended up in the Special Forces.”

   Your date gets a strange look in his eyes when he hears that, but you can’t pinpoint what the reason might be, so you decide not to ask him about it.

   “And this is how the two of you lost touch?” he wonders, while he begins to prepare the meal, so you take out a cutting board for him and watch him chop onions and garlic cloves as you answer.

   “Kinda. He’d already distanced himself from me at that point, because I didn’t understand what he was going through and just wanted my brother back.    I made it worse for him back then, just out of ignorance. Thinking if I could just find something that would make him happy, all his problems would magically disappear.    He stopped talking to me, and then he started getting mean. Until eventually, he even tried to hurt me, and I still didn’t understand that it was because I was adding to his stress.”

   “How much younger are you than your brother?”

   “Just over eight years. Our parents had him when they were pretty young, and then my dad had a period of time when he was away a lot, so it wasn’t until he was promoted that I came along.”

   “Then you were still only a teenager while this happened. This must have been very scary.”

   “It was, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could go back. Because I get it now. With what I know about life and mental health today, I would’ve been able to help him. But I guess there’s a reason why that stuff takes a lifetime to learn.    And now it’s too late,” you end in a sigh, which makes him pause his work to look at you.

   “Is your brother dead?”

   “No. But I’ve only seen him once since the day he enlisted, sixteen years ago. He showed up for mom and dad’s funeral about five years ago, but he never spoke to me or wanted anything to do with the inheritance, and he was gone the moment the ceremony was over.”

   “What happened to your parents?”

   “They died in a plane crash on their way to a favourite holiday spot of theirs, up north. It was a small prop plane, one of those for like four people, so a bird-strike was enough to take it out.    I’ve been afraid of flying ever since,” you admit, but he puts a warm hand over yours on the counter and when you look into his eyes, there’s no judgement in them.

   “I’m sorry to hear your family is no longer with you. I do not like to think of you all alone,” he offers with a slightly concerned tint to his features, which only makes you like him more.

   “Thanks. But at least I have you now,” you carefully suggest, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

   But he gives you one of his rare smiles in return.

   “Yes, you do.”

   “So, what about you? Do you have any family?” you ask when he returns to the meal, moving on to the minced meat, so he locates a frying pan and turns the stove on.

   “No.” He first intends to leave it there, because he doesn’t like to talk about it.

   But then, it must’ve been just as hard for you to share these terrible memories from your past, so it’s only fair he does the same.    It does not come naturally to him, though, and he’s certain that you can hear the frustration in his voice, so he just hopes you won’t misinterpret the cause behind it.

   “I was an only child, and my father was out of the picture before I was even born.”

   “So, your mom raised you?”

   “For a time,” he starts, but then needs to pause to figure out how to explain, so he lets himself focus on the food for a beat, while you patiently wait. “I was born in Colombia, and my mother was not someone who could afford a good education, so her options were limited.    She worked as a dancer, but it was not always enough, so to make ends meet, she would help the Cali cartel.”

   “As a mule?” you quietly wonder, and in the depths of your voice, he can hear the other, more frightening options you’re also aware that the cartels might’ve used a woman for.

   “Yes. But when I was only ten years old, she got caught by the Narcos, and she was too afraid of the cartel to turn witness, so she was sent to jail instead.    I found out later… she died just six months after her sentencing. I was told it was due to dehydration after a very bad stomach flu, but I was never able to confirm if this was true.”

   “How much later? Were you able to go to her funeral?”

   “No. I only heard about it several years later.”

   “Why? What happened to you?”

   He pauses again, this time because there’s shame involved in what he needs to say next, and he’s never been good at handling that particular emotion.

   “The people she smuggled for knew about me, so when she was caught, they came to find me and took me away to work for them. They did this with orphaned children a lot, because it was an easy and cheap way to procure safe labour for them.”

   “Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t an easy way to grow up.”

   “I knew of nothing else. I was a strong child, so rather than put me to work in the jungle factories, they taught me how to use weapons and hurt people. And for a long time, this was my life.” He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped working on the food until your hand lightly rubs his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.

   “I’m guessing you’re ashamed of that?” you correctly surmise, so he just nods in confirmation and returns to the task at hand, putting the finished pino aside to cool and getting started on the dough.

   He’s forgotten to boil some eggs, and while he prepares that and starts to melt the butter, you remain very quiet.    Still, he feels like it’s a loud kind of silence, hanging under the pressure of a million thoughts and reactions, none of which you’re letting him see.    Until the pressure seems to ease when you draw a slow and deep breath.

   “I can’t imagine the things you must’ve done, either because you had to or because you thought it was normal, but it doesn’t matter which.    We’re not responsible for the things we’re taught as children. How we behave when we realize that those things are wrong… that’s what matters.    So, what did you do?”

   You don’t know it yet, but you’ve stumbled upon the most difficult question you could ever have asked him, because the answer requires him to reveal the most cataclysmic event of his entire life, and he has no idea if he’s ready for that.    And even more significantly, he knows with almost complete conviction that you’re not.

   “Ay, Sonriente… I am not sure you are ready to know this. It is not… the happy ending you want it to be.” He says it while meeting your eyes, so you can see the honesty in him.

   He doesn’t lie and he isn’t going to, so if you ask him, he will tell you the truth. But he hopes you won’t. Not yet.    You take your time, examining his face, maybe looking for some clue to explain what could be so terrible that he’s asking you not to go there.

   “What does Sonriente mean?” you finally ask instead, and relief washes over him.

   He’ll owe you for this one, and if you somehow find it in your heart to keep dating him, he will tell you at some point. But for now, the lighter subject is a balm to his nerves, bringing a grin to his lips while he pours the melted butter into the mix of flour, salt and baking powder, followed by some water before he begins to knead it into a dough.

   “You have not looked it up?”

   “Asking you is more fun,” you shrug, allowing the playful atmosphere to blossom.

   “How do you know I will not make something up?”

   “Firstly, because you’ve never lied to me and that’s not a streak you wanna break if you want me to stick around. And second, because I’m obviously gonna look it up after you’ve told me.”

   “How would you know if I have ever lied to you or not?” he wonders, partly just playing along, but also making a little point for you not to assume he’s incapable of being dishonest.

   There’s a dramatic pause then, in which you throw him a look that clearly says this is a very stupid question, before you proceed to explain why.

   “Pero, I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve said a single thing to me that wasn’t a description of how to perform a task at work, and believe me, I remember them all in perfect detail.”

   “Oh, really? Name one,” he challenges, and you don’t miss a beat.

   “Two months into my employment, we were waiting for Gary when he was bringing that big shot visitor from Japan, and I sighed and complained about having to just stand around forever when there was so much work to be done. I finally resorted to asking you if you knew why it was taking so long, to which you replied: Gary has a thing for Asians.    And at the time, I actually assumed you were trying to be funny, especially when they finally arrived, and I saw no evidence whatsoever to suggest any secret interest in anyone.    So, you can imagine my surprise when the guest leaves, and Gary turns to me and says: Oh, thank god, I was running out of lemon-related content in my brain…”

   The memory makes him huff a tiny laugh, particularly at how accurately you’re recounting it, while you start fully laughing once you’re done.

   “I mean, it would’ve been a completely innocent little joke,” you add between giggles, “even if it had been made up, but the fact that it was true just made it so much funnier.”

   “I was nervous,” he admits, feeling a bit sheepish now.

   But the fact is, you’ve made him nervous from day one. And while he’s always been quiet and kept to himself, specifically because he hasn’t wanted to become friends with anyone and have to talk about himself and his past, he’s always been extreme with you because of how beautiful you are.    He’s known, from the first time he laid eyes on you, that if he ever allowed himself to start talking to you, he’d never wanna stop.

   “About meeting a big shot businesswoman?” you incredulously wonder, making him shake his head while he waits for another bout of your giggles to settle.

   “No… about just standing there awkwardly with you. You were talking so much, and I was trying not to engage with you, but then you asked me a question and it would have been rude not to answer.”

   “And instead of giving me some bland conversational answer like agreeing with me that it was a waste of time, or saying they’d probably be there soon, you chose to share a truth that no one else in the entire crew knew about him,” you question, but you’re not really looking for a reply. This is clearly your way of showing him how well you have him figured out. “That’s how I know you’ve never lied to me. Because even when you’ve had the chance to do it in the most innocent of ways, you still haven’t.”

   He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he returns to your original inquiry.

   “Sonriente means smile, or in this case, Smiley. It is how I think of you.”

   Nervously, he reaches into the left front pocket of his jeans, where he locates the little clear plastic-wrapped package of smiley magnets, which he then hands to you.    You take it, immediately realizing what it is, and while not a word spills across your lips, he knows without question that you love them. You rip the package open while mildly squealing with excitement, and immediately start to arrange the little faces on your refrigerator door, giggling to yourself as you come up with funny combinations of expressions.

   “Thank you! For the magnets and the nickname. I love them,” you giddily declare after stepping back to admire the now much happier-looking fridge.

   He nods in recognition of your thanks, feeling less nervous about whether you’ll like the little teddy bear, which he intends to give you at the end of the night.    But for now, he just keeps working on the empanadas. The dough is rolled, and he’s begun cutting it into pieces, and the eggs are done just when he’s about to start flattening the pieces into round little plates.

   “Something I’ve always wondered,” you start after waiting for him to discard the boiling water and return to the dough, “is why you never help anyone, unless they ask?”

   “Why would I assume they want my help, unless they ask?” he counters, to which you cock your head to the side with a sceptical frown.

   “When Eric accidentally crushed his foot right next to you, I’m pretty sure he would’ve appreciated a bit of assistance…”

   “Oh no, that was very intentional.”

   You obviously weren’t expecting that, so you’ve probably never heard about this particular operator’s lesser qualities.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Eric is a bully. He is scared of women, though, so you never became a target, but many of the younger crew were constantly heckled and ridiculed by him whenever he was alone with them. I was one of the few who noticed this, and I tried to get management involved, but I had no proof, and the victims of his abuse never spoke up themselves.    So, when I finally got fed up with it, I made sure he would not be able to work with us anymore.”

   “Wait, I’m confused. Are you saying that you caused his injury?”

   “Yes.”

   This is all news to you, and he can see how you’re trying to absorb it all while re-framing the memories inside your mind into such a different and surprising perspective.

   “But he was operating the press himself when it happened, so how did you…” you trail off, probably unsure of how to even phrase it, now that you’re no longer certain of anything regarding the situation in question.

   “The reason I was standing next to him was because I was working on the computer for that machine, so I created a temporary error, causing the press to glitch. And when he kicked it, which I knew he would because that is the kind of man he is, I reset it, and it fired up again.”

   Your jaw drops for a second, but there’s still a smile in your eyes, so even though this might be a bit disturbing for you to learn, you’re not put off by it, at least.

   “You are diabolical. And very clever, since you’re the one who does the diagnostics on those machines, which means you can hide your tracks,” you conclude after closing your mouth. “And I have no idea why this turns me on a little.”

   Now it’s Pero’s turn to be surprised and mildly confused, and he quickly turns all his attention back to the food. But he can’t help but smile with pride, despite the slight awkwardness.    He can’t deny that he does very much hope he’ll be able to turn you on more than just a little, in the future. Not tonight, though.

   “Come on, you can help me with this last step,” he offers, because the silence is too fucking loud, and he indicates the finished flattened pieces of dough which are ready to be filled and shaped into the final product.

   You’ve always been good at taking instructions, so once he’s showed you the correct technique, you pick it up and immediately start generating perfect little empanadas.    They need to sit in the oven for about twenty minutes, so in the meantime, you both clean up the kitchen and then you give him a small tour of your apartment.

   “It is bigger than I thought at first,” he observes after you’ve shown him your guest bedroom and the very large balcony which is accessible from both your master bedroom and the living room.

   “Yeah. I don’t really need the extra space, but I like to have it, and since the inheritance I got from my folks allows me to afford it, I figured I could give myself that.    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rich, or anything. If I’d inherited that much, I would’ve bought a house.    But I set it up so that the bank releases a certain sum every month, designed to last for the rest of my life, so that even if something happened like I lost my job or got injured, I’d still have enough to survive on.    I wouldn’t be able to live here anymore, obviously, but I’d survive.”

   He has wondered how you can afford a place in the city on the same salary as him. Granted, he’s chosen to live pretty far out into the suburbs because the apartments out there have the same great quality as these city ones, at a fraction of the cost, which allows him to save a lot of money and still live comfortably.    But if you have the means, of course you should live where you wish, and these buildings are expensive because of their security rating as well as their top quality, which he approves of for you.

   “This is a very smart set-up,” he hums approvingly. “You must stop calling me clever when you are clearly the brighter of us two.”

   “Hey, I might’ve made some good decisions in my life, but you thought up the MAP. You built it… There is no comparison to be made.”

   “It is only a machine.”

   “A pretty darn impressive one.”

   “But still only a thing. When it comes to people… socializing, expressing myself, emotions… I am an idiot.”

   “Maybe, but not with me,” you counter, and he has no reply for that, because it’s true. “Anyway, it’s not that smart of a decision when I also waste the extra money on space I don’t need, rather than save it up.”

   “If this is how you wish to live, then there is no fault to your logic.”

   “Yeah, I guess. To tell you the truth, I’ve always dreamed of having a house, but I just don’t wanna live alone in one. An apartment somehow seems less empty even when it’s just me.”

   He understands that feeling, and he can appreciate how a single woman, in particular, might find it reassuring to have other people around.    For a split second, he imagines a future where you could have your dream house and not live alone, but it’s an image he doesn’t dare to linger on or allow to take footing in his mind, because even if it is a remote possibility, the present is what matters if he wishes to reach the future he glimpses.

   The food is finished just as your little tour comes to an end, so Pero takes the tray out of the oven and then you set the table while it cools a little. It makes the entire kitchen smell amazing, so you have high hopes for how good it’ll taste.

   “So, I might be revealing my total ignorance of foreign foods here, but I thought empanadas was usually like a starter, or a snack, not a full meal,” you ponder, thinking back on the few times you’ve come across them on a menu or heard someone talking about the dish.

   “It depends on the country and the recipe. When I was growing up, it was our equivalent to a Sunday roast. My mother would always make them on Sundays, and she made them large enough that two or three was a full meal.    Other families I knew only made the smaller versions, eating them as evening snacks while playing games or watching tv,” he kindly explains without giving any indication that he’s disappointed in your lack of cultural awareness.

   “We never did the Sunday roast thing in my family,” you offer in return. “Mostly because dad was away so much, and mom wasn’t actually that interested in cooking, so she’d stick to simpler and quicker meals if there wasn’t a celebration or other occasion where we might want something more elaborate.”

   “Did your father enjoy cooking, then?”

   “He loved it. Some of my fondest memories with him are the two of us out by the grill in the backyard, with him showing me how to prepare and cook different meats and fish and veggies.    For someone with such a serious job and so much pressure to live up to, he was extraordinarily good at just stopping to enjoy the simplest moments with his family. He was always relaxed and happy when he was home.”

   Pero seems to think on that while he finishes preparing the meal, so you wait to say anything more until you know whether he’s going to. And sure enough, a minute later, he rights himself up, leans his hip against the counter and looks at you with a curious but also knowing kind of gaze.

   “This is why you are so comfortable in a male workplace. Because your father taught you that real men are not cruel or unkind without cause, so when you have met this behaviour in your life, you have not tolerated it.    I have seen this strength in you many times, and I know it is the reason why the crew respects you. They can sense, even before they know you, that while they can certainly scare you, they can never manipulate you.”

   He says it so simply. As if it doesn’t even occur to him that this could be the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you.    Emotions deeper than you’re able to recognize in the moment, are making your chest ache and bringing tears to your eyes, but it’s a strangely wonderful feeling.    And then he smiles, just a little, and says the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

   “Your father lives in you in this way. Protects you, even from the grave, with the certainty he put inside your heart, that you are worth a man’s time and his respect.”

   The tears in your eyes spill over onto your cheeks, but when you smile back at him and start moving towards him because you want a hug, he surprises you by shifting his weight back, away from you.    You stop, suddenly feeling a sour pit begin to form in your stomach where the overwhelming gratitude was just swelling so warmly, with the abrupt expectation of something bad.

   “But…” he begins, and then looks away, back down at the plate of delicious food waiting to be enjoyed, and the look on his face is something you’ve seen before, but never thought you’d ever see on this man. “I don’t know if I can claim to be worthy of such a woman.”

   The feeling in your gut disappears when the warmth returns, and you take a soothing breath before finishing the motion you started before, closing the distance between you even though you can see him make another attempt to deter you.    He crosses his arms over his waist to limit how close you can get, so you settle for putting your hands on his cheeks instead, which prompts him to meet your eyes again.

   Unworthiness is a feeling you know painfully well, both from personal experience, and from how often you’ve seen it in people around you. It lies and contorts a person’s view of themselves until it becomes this unbreakable truth, built on nothing but the fear of not being enough, and yet so powerful it can make one turn away from the most wonderful and positive opportunities that might ever come your way.    All because of a single thought. Because that’s how it always begins. Just one moment in which you aren’t your best self, and someone happens to notice it, and suddenly it becomes a pillar of your existence, as real and significant as those biggest core memories which build your individuality from childhood.

   “If my father was here, he would be the first to tell you that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before you met me, because worth isn’t measured by tallying up how much good you���ve done versus how much evil.    Worth is a gift that other people give you.”

   He almost flinches with how hard that hits him, and you can see how the words play on repeat in his head in the moments of silence you let him have before you hit him with the next volley.

   “You are worthy of me if I choose you. It really is that simple, Pero. And if you need proof, just go pet a dog. Because I can promise you no dog chooses to love or trust you due to some secret ability they have to detect if you’ve got more than fifty percent goodness in you.    And I’m no different, so if you want to feel worthy of me, just keep making me feel safe and cared for, because that’s all it takes for me to decide that you are.    Do you hear me?”

   You keep holding his face, waiting for him to either brush you off or accept what you’re telling him, but even before you’ve stopped talking, you can see in his eyes how deeply he wants to believe every word.    And sure enough, not two seconds later, he uncrosses his arms and wraps them around your waist instead. He holds you gently at first, but when you lean into the hug and squeeze his shoulders, his grip becomes so firm that even a deep breath is out of the question.

   “I got it wrong,” he whispers into your neck. “I should call you Asombro.”

   “Okay. Why?”

   “It means amazement and wonder, and I know of no human being who makes me feel such things like you do.”

   By the time you’ve sat down to dig into the meal, the empanadas are at perfect eating temperature, slightly cool on the outside while the pino is still nice and hot.    He watches you closely when you take your first bite, because your reactions are always honest, so he will see it if you don’t like them, you won’t be able to hide it.    But his worry is unfounded. Your immediate reaction is to close your eyes and actually moan with delight, taking the next bite before the first one is even close to chewed.

   You notice him watching you and a small laugh makes you hunch forwards and dip your chin a bit, so he can’t quite see your face. There’s too much food in your mouth for you to be able to speak and explain why, although he guesses it’s because you’re embarrassed about the sounds you just made. You don’t need to be, though, since he finds them only endearing.    There’s a big grin on his face as he quietly observes, incredibly pleased to have created something you enjoy, not just because he likes to see you happy, but because he’s never cooked for anyone before, and he was genuinely nervous about it.    This is the one recipe his mother taught him and he still has no idea why, after so many years lost to violence and rage, he remembers it so clearly.

   “Oh, Pero… this is so good!” you finally mumble, because you won’t stop stuffing your face with the food, and he can’t help but laugh heartily with the thrilling warmth that spreads through him at the scene.

   “I can see that. I am very happy you like it,” he muses, but it makes you pause, stopping your chewing to just stare at him, which in turn makes him unsure. “Is something wrong?”

   “No, I just…” You keep looking at him with this peculiar expression he can’t place, but it’s still a happy one. “I’ve never heard you laugh before. I mean, I’ve heard a few chuckles from you recently, which was shocking enough, but that was a real laugh just now.”

   He doesn’t spend much time reflecting on how often he smiles or laughs, but he does know it’s not a frequent occurrence by any measure.    Your reaction seems a tad excessive, though, since you should’ve learned by now that all bets are off whenever you’re involved.

   “I have told you before, Sonriente, your joy is infectious, it is beyond my control.”

   “Oh, really? Then how come you’re still fully able to control it at work?” you challenge with a confidently raised brow, surely thinking he won’t have a good comeback for this.

   “Because you are still the only one who gets to see this other side of me,” he smirks in response, to which you proudly square your shoulders, clearly happy to claim the privilege despite having your challenge bested.

   But his confidence falters somewhat as he thinks back to this afternoon and how he’d been nervous enough to ask a cashier for advice. And then his thoughts travel back further, to the sister factory, and how he’d all but lost his fucking head when going at those three assholes. Then every moment he’d spent after that, almost unknowingly checking where you were every few minutes, not to mention last night and the sudden inability to sleep well without you, and he can’t deny that things have changed rather drastically lately.

   “Although, I will confess… since that morning in the hotel room, I have had a much harder time controlling my emotions around you,” he quietly admits, feeling no shame, but a great deal more vulnerable than usual. “You might not see it on me, but there is a reason I still avoid getting too close to you around the crew.”

   “I did wonder at lunch today. But I figured you were just sticking to your routines.”

   “No. I wanted very much to sit with you.”

   “Then why didn’t you?”

   “Because I want it too much. More than I am ready for,” he tries, mentally kicking himself for not being able to explain it better. “Do you understand?”

   “I think so… You worry that if you just cave to all these strong feelings you’re not used to having, you won’t know how to control yourself?” you surmise, and again, he wants to kick himself because he should’ve been able to say this.

   “Yes, exactly,” he agrees, adding a nod of approval just to emphasize how much better you are at finding the right words to describe what’s going on in his head.

   “Well, thank you for thinking like that.” Your quiet voice surprises him enough that he pauses the bite he was just about to take. Because this is the sad kind of quiet. The kind he thinks you’re not even aware reveals all the pains inside you. “Most men don’t take much responsibility for their emotions, much less actively work on controlling themselves.”

   He hears the echo of conflicts from your past in those words, which is not unexpected, he’s seen enough traces of defensive behaviour in you to have known for some time that you’ve had bad experiences.    What is unexpected is how much it suddenly affects him to see it. How much he wants to ask you to name anyone who’s ever hurt you so that he can track them down.    Reminding himself that this is a first date and you’ve both already shared darker parts of yourselves, he instead settles for offering the most significant bit of wisdom he’s gained from the trials of his youth.

   “One thing I learned growing up among evil men, is that when all you pour into the world around you is anger and fear, this is also what comes back at you. You cannot expect to be met with kindness and generosity if you scream at people or beat them.”

   “Does that mean the reason why you’ve always kept away from everyone is that you wanted them to stay away from you?” you ask without even a second’s delay, as if you already had the question locked and loaded. “Because I assumed it was because you just don’t like anyone.”

   “No, you are correct, I dislike most people, and this is the reason I wish for them to stay away from me.”

   “Ah. Especially with your lack of control over your emotions and all that. Could get very messy.”

   “See? You get it,” he winks, and you smile back before delving into more of the empanadas.

   Neither of you speak for a minute then, allowing the good food to have undivided attention and satisfying your stomachs.

   “So, at the risk of biting myself in the ass here,” you start after finishing your fourth piece of stuffed pastry, “what is it about me that’s different? Why do you like me? Because I refuse to believe it’s as simple as you being affected by my smile.”

   He ponders on this for a bit, trying to decide if he should name the things about you which he just casually likes, like the way you’re always so honest, or the direct way you deal with things that bother you, like confronting those who talk shit about you behind your back. Or maybe the grace and dignity with which you’ve endured his unfriendly and probably often frightening behaviour for the past year.    But those are all largely superficial things. They’re not the real reason for his evolving and blossoming affection, and the problem is, he doesn’t know what that real reason is.

   “If I told you the number of hours I have spent wondering this myself… I wish I had a good answer for you, and for myself, but alas, I have not yet found it,” he finally admits, and is relieved to see you still smiling despite what must be a disappointing outcome.

   “Will you promise to let me know if you do?” is all you ask in return, and since he can’t wait to find out this answer for himself, it’s only fair you get to know it as well.

   “Yes. I promise.”

   Full and happy after that amazing meal, which was actually perfectly spicy in your opinion, the couch seems like the natural option for the next portion of the evening. So, once the dishes are squared away and the ice cream is just soft enough, you dig into the squishy pillows and blankets with your little bowl, while Pero takes a seat like a normal person, at the other end of the spacious two-seater.    Again, you’re a little bummed that he didn’t opt to sit closer to you, but since he’s explained why, you decide not to press the issue.

   “Wanna watch something?” you ask, before realizing you have no clue if he even likes movies, since the topics of this date have been very intimate and not at all light-hearted for the most part.

   “Sure.”

   “Okay. Anything in particular you prefer?”

   “Not really. I will watch almost anything, so you pick.”

   Oh, great. That’s not stressful at all, you just have to try and find something that won’t put him to sleep, potentially trigger his childhood trauma, or make him think you’re a total weirdo… Simple.    You scroll through one of your streaming services, eliminating genres like gangster films, period dramas and horror, followed by teen movies, steamy romance and anime, until you finally decide on adventure, because who doesn’t like a little adventure.    E.T is among the first films to come up once you’ve gone into the genre specific menu, and you haven’t seen it in at least ten years, so that’s your pick.

   “Have you seen it before?” you ask while the opening credits begin to roll.

   “Of course, I have seen all the classics, and all the 80’s and 90’s action movies. They were the best, in my opinion.”

   “I mean, you can’t really beat The Rock, The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Screamers. Not to mention RoboCop, Top Gun and Tremors.”

   “Yes, Tremors is one of my favourites,” he agrees with a grin, and you’re pleasantly surprised by his choice, since you consider it the best B-movie ever made. "I also like The Goonies, Karate Kid and Indiana Jones.”

   Since you’ve both seen E.T before, you’re okay with chatting quietly during the film, talking about your favourite cinema experiences and movies that made lasting impressions on you.    It’s a very comfortable kind of conversation, naturally paused by the more dramatic scenes before you, and then casually picked back up. It feels cozy, simple and safe, which is probably why you begin to almost doze off about two thirds into the movie, which Pero notices.

   “Perhaps we should call it a night,” he suggests, in a warm, also quite drowsy voice. “We do have to work tomorrow morning.”

   “We’ve worked for almost two weeks straight already, they really should give us Thursday and Friday off,” you sleepily mumble, mildly annoyed at the idea of having to end such a lovely evening.

   “Yes, they should. But they prefer to throw money at us rather than lose workforce, since that impacts productivity, especially when our shift has already gone understaffed for ten days.”

   “But that’s not our fault…”

   “No. It is just how the corporate world thinks.”

   He gets up and grabs both of the empty ice cream bowls, bringing them to the kitchen on his way to the front hall, even putting them into the dishwasher before he reaches for his leather jacket, while you simply follow him to say goodnight.    But before he slips the jacket on, he digs around in it for a moment, which you assume is just a hunt for his keys. Until he pulls a small flat box out of it and hands it to you.

   “What?” You stare at the little blue square with the familiar emblem, once more wondering if this man is even real. “This is my favourite brand of chocolate…” you point out, meeting his eyes with incredulity once more. “How do you know?”

   “I listen,” he shrugs. But when he speaks again, his tone suggests there’s uncertainty underneath the apparent comfort. “Especially when you speak.”

   It makes you smile, knowing that he’s been quietly absorbing all this information about you, not to use against you, but simply because he found it interesting enough to warrant his attention.    He slips the jacket on and moves on to his shoes, and once they’re in place, he stands before you in your hall, ready to leave. But he lingers, and there’s a restless kind of awkwardness to him, making you wonder if he’s pondering on the traditional first-date kiss.    You wouldn’t mind if he does want to go for it, but you’re not gonna try and persuade him either way. If there’s one thing this evening has taught you, it’s that this man is much more sensitive and fragile than his public behaviour would have you think.

   “I would like to do this again…” he finally says, earning another smile from you, which seems to put him at ease, “if you would not mind.”

   “I’d like that very much.”

   The grin that adorns his face is one of pure joy, and then he nervously turns to leave, reaching for the doorhandle and stepping out into the stairwell. But then he turns back a little too fast, startling you as you’re following him to close the door behind him.

   “Oh, sorry.”

   “That’s okay,” you reassure him, although you are wondering why he still seems nervous. “Was there something else?”

   “No. No, not really. I just… well… Listen, I spent way too much time in the store today, and it was not my intention to get you all these gifts, but I was nervous about tonight and what you might expect, and I wanted to make sure you would be happy. But now it all seems a bit silly…” he bumblingly explains, all of which sounds only endearing to you.

   But before you can tell him that, he continues.

   “Still, there is one more thing I must give you, and it is perhaps the silliest of all, and if it is you may say so. I am fully aware that you are a grown woman and not a child, it just looked cute, and I thought… heck, I don’t know what I thought.    But here…”

   From behind his back, he somehow produces the most adorable little grey teddy-bear with a bright red heart sewn onto its butt cheek, and aside from the question of where the hell he’s been hiding this thing all night, all you can think is that you’ve never been more happy to be proven wrong about someone in your entire life.    You take the gift with a squeal that morphs into an aww-sound by the time you’ve brought the teddy to your chest, where you hug him close while bouncing slightly on your toes.

   “He is not silly, he’s perfect! I love him, thank you so much! If being a grown woman means having to give up on teddy-bears then I don’t ever wanna grow up,” you assure him, pleased to see his uncertainty give way to comfort.

   “You’re welcome, Asombro,” he grins, looking stupidly happy now. “Thank you for tonight. Perhaps next time you will let me take you out on a bike ride?”

   “Yeah, I’d love that. The weather’s gonna be good this weekend, so maybe Saturday?” you hopefully suggest, and his smile seems to spread from his face all the way through his entire body.

   “I cannot wait. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”

   “You too. Goodnight, Pero.”

   He leaves down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, and you close the door, locking yourself in as always, already certain you won’t be able to sleep much tonight because there’s just too much to think about.    But you wonder how in the world you’re gonna go to work tomorrow and pretend like he hasn’t just given you the best date of your life. Because you know he’s still gonna act like there’s nothing special between you in front of your colleagues, and since you know it’s only because of his desire to keep people’s noses out of his business, you’re okay with that.    You simply have no clue how you’re gonna keep yourself in a purely professional state of mind around him.

   Chuckling to yourself at the thought that you’re definitely falling for him now, and it’s making you think and probably behave like a teenager again, you blow out the lovely candle he gave you, take one more whiff of the bouquet of flowers next to it, turn the tv off and leave the little box of chocolates on the coffee table, and then you head straight for bed, still holding the teddy to your chest.    No matter what, tomorrow’s gonna be a good day, because you’ll get to see him again. And the most wonderful thing of all is that that’s a thought you never would’ve dreamed of having two weeks ago.    What a difference a day makes.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream

[sirowsky-stories]

Hello! Here I am, yet again posting a themed fic at the wrong time! I'm trying okay, but shit keeps getting in the way...

Description: The day before Valentine's, you and Pero are sent on a mission to repair a broken machine at the sister factory to the one you work at. And of course, the hotel reservation gets screwed up, and obviously you end up having to stay much longer than expected.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader (no descriptions of reader beyond being female), both main character's pov, Valentine's Day theme, forced proximity, only one bed, coworkers to friends, friends to dating, vague references to a planned SA but no descriptions whatsoever, protective!Pero.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 11,572 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics

   “Is this a joke?” You’re too stunned to even be upset about it yet, because this is just too fucking rich.

   “I’m afraid not,” your supervisor Gary apologetically shakes his head. “Look, if there was anyone else we could send, we would, but…”

   “But what? There are two thousand people working here, so don’t tell me you don’t have anyone else to send,” you grumble, not really out of anger, that’s not part of your overall makeup, but more out of nervousness.

   “I meant in the sense that you’re probably the only one who can put up with him for that long.”

   “That doesn’t mean it would be easier on me. It just means I can tolerate feeling like shit better than most.”

   “I’m sorry, I know it’s a bad deal for you,” he sighs, and he does look like he feels genuinely bad about it, but he’s also not leaving any options open for you.

   “And you’re still not gonna budge, are you?”

   “We have to send someone…”

   He gives you the details for the hotel and the keys to a company car, and you’re given one hour to go home and pack for at least a two-day stay in the neighbouring town.    The factory where you work is relatively new, only about ten years old, but it’s been performing excellent from the start, which means a sister factory has been in construction for the past two years just a hundred-and-fifty miles to the east.    It was officially launched six months ago, and there have been very few hiccups since.

   But a couple of days ago, a complex overhead crane began to malfunction, and then completely broke down, and that’s the machine which you have quickly become a master at handling, despite only having been working here for a little over a year. And you’re happy to go and help the new factory back on its feet, that’s no problem at all, you’re only excited about the fact that the company is doing so well, since it means you’ll get to keep your job.    Your issue with all this is that the only person who really knows how to mechanically repair this particular machine, is Pero Tovar.

   He’s been working here since the mother factory was first built, and he was the one who hatched the idea to build the crane, and then both designed and built the damned thing, largely on his own.    He’s a genius, for lack of a better word, but he’s also the most unfriendly person you’ve ever met.    And now, you have to not only work with him on repairing the damaged one, but you also have to travel and live with him for as long as that takes.

   Gary told you that he’d made reservations for you at the nearest hotel to the sister factory, but that they only had one room available, since it’ll be over Valentine’s Day, so you’re quite certain that no matter what happens, this is gonna be a horrible week.

   It’s still only 7am when you arrive back at work with your small suitcase, locate the correct company car and throw your luggage in the trunk, but you don’t get in.    You have no intention of angering your travel mate, so you’re not gonna assume anything in terms of whether he wants to drive or not. You lean against the side of the car with your arms crossed and your cap pulled low over your eyebrows, trying not to think about just how much this is gonna suck.

   He arrives just a couple of minutes later, parking his own car and then walking over to you with brisk steps.    You’ve never seen him dawdle, but he never seems rushed either. More like he just has his own pace through life which he keeps to no matter how fast or slow the world around him is moving. Like he’s perpetually unaffected by absolutely everything, which he probably is.

   “You wanna drive, or should I?” you ask before he reaches the car, so you’ll have time to move out of his way if you need to.

   But he doesn’t answer. He just walks up to the boot and throws his bag into it, shuts it, then heads for the passenger side.    A bit surprised, you take the driver’s seat, but you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him why he doesn’t wanna drive. It just seems out of character, so far as you know him, because he’s always in control of everything around him.    He’s the one person in the entire factory who has every license required to operate every piece of machinery or vehicle available, and he never seems the least bit unsure of what to do or when.

   Still, he’s not a supervisor. He has the same rank as you, which seems ridiculous given the disparity of skills between you, but it does mean that technically he can’t order anyone to do anything. And you’ve never heard him try.    People very nervously come to him with their problems or questions and for the most part, he just sighs and takes care of it, usually without a word but with a fair bit of growling. And if it's something simple enough that the person asking should be able to do it themselves, he’ll begrudgingly instruct, or show them, no doubt hoping they’ll never bother him again.

   But for all his expertise, the only times he outright tells people what to do, is when they’re asking for help. Beyond that, even on the occasions when he overhears operators talking about a problem and he knows how to sort it out, he never says a word without being asked.    And you’ve never been able to work out if it’s out of a deep respect for rules and procedure, if he just doesn’t give a shit, or if he secretly enjoys hearing them struggle with stuff that’s simple to him.    He’s about as easy to read as a book with every page blacked out.

   Which is one of the many reasons why you’re glad it isn’t a longer drive, since you wouldn’t dream of trying to start up a conversation with him.    But even without asking, you know he doesn’t want to stop by the hotel and check in before going to the factory, so you head straight there.    They’re expecting you, evident in how the gates swing open before you’ve even come to a full stop in front of them, so you roll your window down and wave to the security camera as you drive through.

   Parking by the large Arrivals entry at the back, where all new materials are brought in, you step out and wait for someone to come and escort you inside. Since you’re not employed at this factory you can’t enter the factory floor without a yellow vest and a supervisor to take you to the area that you’ll be working in.    Safety procedures are so precise that not even Tovar, who’s done this several times before, is allowed to step foot inside without an escort.

   “Good morning,” a cheerful older woman greets you after just a minute. “I’m Hannah, supervisor of the assembly team.”

   You notice that she only introduces herself to you, so she’s clearly met Tovar before. She’s carrying two vests and hands them to each of you, waiting until you’ve put them on fully before she invites you inside.

   “How big of a failure are we talking about?” you ask as you follow her out of the morning sunlight and into the crisp white, fluorescent lighting, which seems so dark in comparison.

   “Complete. My estimate is that we’re looking at both mechanical and hydraulic malfunction, and there also seems to be a problem with the software.”

   “In that case we have to consider the possibility that the software is the root cause.”

   “I wasn’t aware the crane could sabotage itself,” she ponders, turning a corner around a plastic processing machine before you reach the assembly section, which sits two floors lower down to make room for the giant overhead crane in question.

   You still have to walk halfway through the rest of the factory to reach the control panel, but while you do, you get a good look at two sides of the machine. It has a scientific name, but all workers just call it MAP, short for the three processes it’s capable of performing simultaneously: moulding, assembling, and packaging.

   “If the software fails to accept new commands, especially if they’re related to the assembly arms rather than the material deposits and moulds, then it can end up over-reaching or colliding with itself, which isn’t necessarily visible on the outside, since the turning radius is shorter than it appears to be.” You rattle off the explanation without pause, and she turns her head to the side to look at you while you continue to walk.

   “You mean it can crash into itself without us noticing?”

   “Unfortunately, yes. And when it happens because of a software problem, there’s no guarantee the system will be able to identify the collision and inform you about it, so then the only option it has is to default to its primary security mode and completely shut itself down.    But we won’t know if that’s what’s happened until we’ve had a chance to look at the failure logs.”

   You’re highly aware that Tovar is walking right behind you, and it makes you feel self-conscious in terms of your knowledge about the potential problem.    He knows so much more than you, and yet here you are, talking about the machine that he developed as if you’re every bit as familiar with it as he is. You wouldn’t even blame him if he told you to shut up and leave it to him, because honestly, he’d be well within his rights to.    But he doesn’t say a word.

   Reaching the control panel, you find a whole group of operators waiting with tools of every kind, ready and possibly even eager to pitch in and start fixing stuff, but you merely nod at them and then the two of you set to work. They won’t be able to help with anything until you’ve identified what the actual problem is.    Still with his mouth firmly shut, Tovar begins to dismantle a cover which protects a kind of black box, designed to record and store all malfunction log entries of the operating system for the entire machine, while you start tapping keys to assess how big of a problem you might be dealing with.

   “Shit… The system’s completely crashed,” you relay your findings to your colleague. “We might be looking at a partial or even complete reconstruction.”

   As always, without being asked a direct question, the grumpy Spaniard doesn’t reply, but you’re expecting that. You’re just trying to keep him informed.    But when he manages to gain access to the box, what he finds is even worse than you’d imagined.    The box contains servers, about a hundred of them, and there’s a small screen on one end where he can access specific logs by searching for dates and times. But when he activates the screen, it’s already displaying thousands of entries, all flashing red to indicate problems.

   “We will need to look at the main servers,” he instructs, and the operators immediately spring into action to unscrew the access panel for the primary system.

   It only takes them seconds, and then the core of the computer is revealed.    There are about five hundred servers in there, each with its own little sequence of tiny lights on the front, to indicate where there might be problems. They can shine green, yellow, and red, but also flash in each colour and in a specific order to tell him what’s going on.    But more than half of them have gone dark. Not shining red or flashing, but completely dark. Dead. Which means those servers have suffered such a catastrophic failure that they’ve burned through their circuits.

   “That didn’t happen all at once, did it?” you guess, peering over Tovar’s shoulder after he kneels in front of the open panel to take a closer look.

   “No. This started months ago and slowly built into a cascade. The entire computer must be replaced and the operating system re-uploaded and installed.”

   You can’t quite hold back your heavy sigh of disapproval as you realize just how long this is gonna take.    It was bad enough to be stuck here and living with the unfriendliest person in the world when it was just gonna be for a couple of days, but now it’s looking more like it’s gonna be a couple of weeks.

   “Fuck…”

~~~    You don’t arrive at the hotel until almost 9.30 that evening, after trying to get as much of the dismantling as possible done, so you’ll be able to get started on the rebuild already tomorrow morning. And you’re so tired by the time you get to the room that you don’t even care about having to sleep in the same room as Tovar. All you want is just a shower and then as many hours of rest as you can possibly get.    However, when you walk into the room and see a large double bed, instead of two separate ones, sleep suddenly seems very far away indeed.

   “T-there were supposed to be two beds…” you nervously stutter, while racking your brain to try and remember exactly what Gary had said about the booking.

   Did he say that they only had one room available, with double beds, or with a double bed?    The more you think about it the more convinced you become that it was in fact the latter, and your pulse jumps to what seems like twice its normal pace.    But your colleague doesn’t respond, nor does he look the slightest bit concerned about it.

   “’I’m gonna go talk to the front desk clerk again,” you say while already heading for the door, grabbing a key card on your way out.

   Pero sighs deeply after hearing the door close behind you. Nobody likes him, for good reason, so he isn’t surprised that you don’t want to share a bed with him, but it also offends him somewhat.    It’s not like he’d ever do anything to you. He’s not a kind or sweet person, but he sure as shit isn’t an abuser either. He would never lay hands on a woman without permission, and he’d rather chew off his own arms than hit someone who couldn’t possibly defend themselves against him. There’s no victory to that kind of fight.

   But of course, you can’t know how he thinks since he never shares any of his thoughts with anyone.    Hence the sigh.    The likelihood of another room being available is very low, though. Gary wouldn’t have booked this if there was any better alternative available within the company’s budget, so while he waits for you to return, he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth.

   You come back just as he leaves the bathroom, which is right next to the front door, so the two of you almost collide in the hallway. And if he isn’t mistaken, he catches a glimpse of you eyeing his naked upper body with what doesn’t appear to be disgust or disinterest. More like the opposite.    It’s only there for a millisecond before you’ve schooled your expression and turned your entire face away, but he could swear there was a sliver of desire within you just then, and he’s quite surprised at how much that pleases him.

   “Uh… wh-.. Hrm…” you try, but whatever you meant to say, it doesn’t seem to find its way out, so you simply pass him in the hall and head for your suitcase which is parked at the foot of the bed.

   Since he’s done with his evening toilet, Pero ends up following you there, rounding the bed behind you and pulling the covers back on the right-hand side of it.    He’s only wearing his boxer briefs and when he sits down, his back is to you, so he can’t see if you steal any more looks at him, but it does secretly bemuse him to imagine that you do.

   “There weren’t any other rooms available,” you finally manage, just after he lays down and pulls the covers over himself. “They apparently have a Valetine’s Day special here every year, offering all kinds of romantic couples spa treatments and even a speed-dating event, all of which seem to be very popular.”

   Your voice is small and nervous, as if you’re worried that he’ll scold you for speaking too loudly in his presence, which seems excessive. He’s never been cruel to you.    At least, not by any of his own definitions of cruelty.    He’s lying on his side with his back to you, so he can’t read your expression, but he wonders if you’re actually scared of him, because that’s what it sounds like.    It’s quiet for a minute then, and all he hears is the zipper on your suitcase being opened and you grabbing some things before heading for the bathroom, so he assumes everything’s okay, and with the day you’ve had, he falls asleep not long after.

   He wakes up to his alarm the following morning at 5:45am, and rolls out of bed on routine, heading for the bathroom. Rounding the foot of the bed, he notices that the covers on your side are already immaculately made up and when he looks up, he finds you sitting at the small table in the corner by the TV, dressed and ready, fiddling with your phone.    Momentarily confused, he glances at his wristwatch, wondering if he set the alarm the wrong time or something. Because why would you get up earlier than you need to when you got in so late last night?

   He would’ve slept another half-hour himself if not for the fact that you need to go to the hotel restaurant for breakfast since you didn’t have time yesterday to buy something you can eat in the room or on the way.    Your head is bowed as you’re looking at the screen, but he can still see how tired you are, so clearly, you didn’t sleep nearly as soundly as he did, which seems to match with your nervousness last night.

   And while he’s doing his morning toilet, he realizes that something about seeing you look so tortured really annoys him. Deep down, he knows why, but he doesn’t allow himself to go there.    Returning to his bag on his side of the bed, he steals glances at you, trying to quell the stronger feelings that your presence keeps stirring up, but he can’t seem to gain control of himself, which leaves him sour and cranky. So, when he finally has cause to speak to you, it comes out with much more of a sting than he’d intended.

   “Let’s get going.”

   It sounds harsh and almost accusatory, which comes as a surprise to Pero himself, because you’ve been ready to go since before he woke up, so he has no right to hurry you on.    Still, you don’t protest or challenge him, even though you absolutely should, and as he leads the way down the corridors to the elevator, he wonders if he truly has left such a horrid impression on you over this past year, that you genuinely do fear him.

   You’re a happy person. He’s not good at interacting with people, but he’s excellent at reading them, and he’s been working closely with you since you first started, so he’s had plenty of opportunities to study you. And what he’s seen is a lot of humour and a generally positive attitude, even when things are tough. You’re the one who keeps everyone’s spirits up in the breakroom, coming up with little games and puzzles to keep your coworkers entertained and let them forget about the problems out on the factory floor.

   But he hasn’t seen that side of you for even one minute since the two of you were sent on this repair mission, and the only reason he can see why that would be, is because you’re on your own with him.    It’s not like the two of you haven’t been on your own in your sector of the factory before, but it’s different when you’re in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by people you’ve never met, and can’t even go home to your own bed at the end of the day.

   Pero has never had more than temporary relationships with women, because he does know how unfriendly he is and why he behaves that way, which means that there’s a lot he doesn’t know or understand about the fairer sex. But what he does have extensive experience with, is seeing how the world treats you, and how powerless you often are to change your own circumstances or even keep yourselves safe.

   He’s lost count of how many brawls he’s gotten himself into, and walked away from largely unscathed, simply by intervening whenever he’s witnessed men behaving badly towards women. He doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart, he’s not even sure his heart is good at all, but simply because it irks him. And he doesn’t expect or accept any thanks for it because he only does it to keep from losing his fucking mind with the urge to vomit all over those kinds of guys.

   But now that he watches you hurriedly fill a plate from the breakfast buffet, ignoring all the things he knows you normally love to indulge in when you get the chance, like the Nutella croissants and raspberry yoghurt with fresh berries, he realizes that he’s the only one who’s being disrespectful towards you right now.    He should apologize for barking at you, maybe compliment your cute red nail-polish with little white hearts, or perhaps express some concern over how tired and stressed you look.

   Instead, he finishes filling his own plate and takes his seat opposite you, without a word spilling over his lips.

   Work is slow and tedious, each new hard drive being installed takes about twenty minutes because each one has to be independently connected to the core system, in the correct sequence, before you can move on to the next. And on top of that, the hydraulics in all eight of the machine’s mechanical arms needs to be replaced, which is where most of your focus lies, while Tovar primarily works on the computer.

   He’s better at it than you or anyone of the other operators, so it’s only logical, and you’re somewhat relieved to not be around him much today.    You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to lay down next to him last night, so you’d spent the night on the floor instead, thankfully waking up early enough that you’d had time to make your side of the bed before he noticed.    Not that you’re sure why he’d be bothered by that. He doesn’t give a shit about your comfort, so why would he care where you sleep?

   Unfortunately, this means you haven’t gotten much sleep at all since the floor was hard and cold and you kept having to change positions to keep various body parts from going numb.    But working on the mechanical arms means working with the sister factory operators, and they’re proving to be just as good fun as your regular coworkers, so while the day might have started out crabby, by lunchtime you’re feeling pretty good.    Until you hear that Tovar has left the factory over lunch, taking the car into town to eat, without asking if you might wanna tag along.

   You wouldn’t really have expected him to ask, that’s not his style, but he could’ve let you know that he was leaving to give you a chance to go with him and maybe buy some breakfast for tomorrow or just a damned Valentine’s gift for yourself.    Today is the 14th after all, and since it was supposed to be a day off for you, you had a whole day planned back home.

   Nothing fancy, just a nice solo dinner and dessert, a spa bath and some skin pampering, and then just relaxing on the sofa with the book you’re currently reading and some of your favourite music.    It would’ve been a perfect day. But instead, you’re literally covered in engine grease, the kind used for airplanes, no less, and there’s no point in washing more than your hands before digging into your microwave meal which you bought from a vending machine outside the management offices.

   Your colleague returns within the allotted half-hour break, which seems odd considering the time it usually takes to order a meal, receive it, and then eat it, plus the drive back and forth into town. But you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him about it. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with you.    So, you get back to work, doing your best to ignore him for the rest of the day.

   However, it being a holiday, albeit a small one, the staff aren’t gonna stick around until 9pm like last night. They start packing it in before 6pm, and since you can’t be there without a chaperone, you’re both forced to leave early as well, which means you now have an entire evening to spend with the one person you’ve ever met who hates spending time with a single living thing.    On fucking Valentine’s Day.

   He drives this time, and you’re so tired and fed up with this whole situation that you never even ask if you can stop by a grocery store on the way. And once back in the hotel room, you’re all but ready to collapse and sleep for the rest of the evening, but then you remember that you’re not in any way interested in sleeping next to your travel companion, which just sours your mood even more.

   “Do you need the bathroom any time soon?” you ask after arriving back in the room, and he just shakes his head, so you grab your toiletry bag and some clean cozy clothes from your suitcase and then lock yourself in there for what’s gonna be a very long shower.

   For a long while, you just sit on the floor underneath the spray, and cry. Maybe because you feel particularly lonely today, or maybe just because you’re so tired, but whatever the reason might be, you don’t care enough to try and work it out.    But after what has to be an hour, possibly even more than that, you start to feel overheated, so you quickly clean your hair and scrub your skin before stepping out and getting started on some moisturization.

   You still don’t wanna go out into the other room, though, so you take your time blow-drying and styling your hair, even though you’re just going to bed. Then you clean and dry all your product bottles before putting them back into your toiletry bag.    And then you can’t find any more excuses to stay in there any longer, so with a deep sigh, you unlock the door and step out into the cool and dry air of the bedroom, heading straight for your suitcase without even looking to see where Tovar is.

   Until something catches your eye.    There’s a glimmer towards the head of your side of the bed, and when you look up, a little gift box is sitting on your pillow.    You turn around once, scanning the room, but he isn’t in there. What is in there, sitting on the small table in the corner, is a classic silver tray with a cover, and a single red rose resting in front of it.

   Confused, you look from the silvery little box with a perfect bow on top, to the silvery tray in the other end of the room, utterly unable to connect the dots and unsure of where to even start with this.    Finally, after at least a minute of perplexed deliberation, you decide to open the gift first.    It’s about the size of the palm of your hand, and it isn’t wrapped, so you can just lift the top half of it off, but once you do, you kinda forget how to be a human being for a split second.

   Because this must be from him. But how the fuck does he know? You’ve never had a genuine conversation with the man, and he’s never once expressed any interest in learning anything personal about you. So, how could he possibly know that you’ve wanted a d’amour gold diamond necklace from Cartier for years, and just never felt like it was an acceptable expense?    It’s not the priciest piece of jewellery, just shy of a thousand bucks, but that’s still way beyond what you feel is acceptable to spend on what’s essentially just an accessory.

   Yet, here it is. The exact piece you’ve been dreaming about one day feeling like you can gift yourself. It makes no sense.    Tearing your gaze off the sparkling jewellery to try and regain some clarity of thought, you then remember the tray, and slowly approach the little table, suddenly extremely curious but also kinda worried about what might be under that cover.

   The rose is also of the expensive type, as big as a coffee cup saucer and blood red, with a sweet and soft aroma. You know the kinds of florists who sell these and it’s about the last place you’d ever expect to see Pero Tovar. The mental image alone is enough to make you snort.    And then you lift the cover and once more lose your marbles, because the tray is absolutely filled with all your favourite treats.

   From strawberries to your favourite sour candies, to caramel brownies, peanut butter cookies, your favourite chocolate, grapes, and two bottles of the best sparkling water you know.    Even if your solo Valentine’s hadn’t been cancelled you never would’ve treated yourself to all this. And once again you’re left wondering how in the hell the unfriendliest man in the world has accomplished this.

   But he’s not here, and his phone is sitting on the bedside table on his side of the bed, so you can’t reach him. Which has to mean he did all this so that you’d have a night to yourself in the middle of all this work, and the thought damned near makes you cry again.    So instead, you take the necklace out of the box and put it on, then you grab the tray, move it onto the bed, turn on the tv and snuggle up while you search for something to watch.

   He comes back around midnight, to give you as much space as he can without making himself miserable with too little sleep before work tomorrow, and he tries to be quiet when he steps out of his shoes and sneaks into the bathroom.    Once he’s used the toilet and brushed his teeth, he stays in the bathroom while he undresses and then quietly makes his way to the bed. But once he sees you, he has to stop for a moment and just look at you.

   The bedside lamps illuminate you where you lay, curled up against the headboard with the covers bunched up as a third pillow for you to hug, still fully dressed and with the tray of sweets in the middle of the bed, most of it already eaten. You’re holding the rose so that the soft petals touch your cheek, and around your neck the thin chain and tiny diamond glimmers.    You’re far away, sleeping soundly with a slight smile in the corner of your mouth, and it makes him feel warm to see it.

   You always smile, even when you have no apparent reason to. It’s how he’s used to seeing you, and it’s an unexpected relief to have that smile back.    It takes him several minutes before he realizes that he’s been staring at you for far too long, and promptly reaches over to lift the tray out of the bed and take one of the spare blankets to cover you with, before he carefully crawls into bed beside you and falls asleep still watching you smile.

~~~    The alarm on his phone is automated, set to 6:15am for the entire week, and it goes off when it’s supposed to.    He turns around and reaches for his phone but then hits snooze instead of turning it off. He’s dead tired and not at all in the mood to get up, so he tries to go back to sleep, hoping the alarm will magically turn back time and give him another two hours.    But then that feeling hits him. That feeling which tells him something’s off and he needs to be alert, so he opens his eyes.

   He’s still lying on his left side, facing your direction, so when he looks up, he meets your eyes staring back at him.    You’ve sat up and you look tired and confused, but also… softer, maybe. Less tense than you have these past two days.

   “When did you get in? I didn’t hear you.” You seem truly surprised to not have noticed him coming back, but then, you have no idea how stealthy he’s had to be earlier in his life, and how those skills still serve him on occasion.

   “Midnight,” he sleepily slurs without lifting his head off the pillow.

   “Oh. I was trying to stay up… to thank you.”

   He doesn’t reply to that, because he really doesn’t know what to say, and he much prefers silence to outing himself as both stupid and incompetent where conversation is concerned.

   “I spent all night trying to figure out how you could possibly know how much I love all these things,” you quietly continue in your raspy morning voice, which he finds himself enjoying far too much, “but then I decided that it doesn’t really matter. Because I know you aren’t nearly interested enough in people to ever stalk anyone, so however you found these things out, I don’t think there’s anything bad about it.”

   You haven’t asked him anything, or indirectly posed an inquiry of any kind, so there’s nothing for him to answer, which is why he simply keeps looking at you. But in his mind, he recalls all the moments when he’s overheard you talking to your colleagues, freely sharing your interests, tastes, and dreams, as well as what things annoy, scare, or unsettle you. And he wonders if you’re even aware of how much you openly reveal about yourself without hesitation.

   He thinks you must fear a great many things to be so ready to be known. To have such a need to never be misunderstood or caught on a lie that you’ll tell complete strangers about your thoughts and feelings on almost any subject, just to ensure they’ll know in advance why you might react negatively to certain things. Because that way, no one can ever call you a liar or attack you for being dishonest or unapproachable.    He thinks you must be terribly scared of people in general, and that being completely open is your way of both protecting yourself and ensuring you won’t become closed off from the entire world.

   But for all your vigilance, like everyone else around him, you don’t seem to notice him when he works within earshot of you, or just passes by close enough to overhear a few words or sentences of whatever conversation you happen to be in.    He’s good at blending into the background when he chooses to, but he’s also aided by the fact that everyone overlooks him because they know he won’t interact with them even if they try, so it’s like their brains scrub him out of their senses to make sure they don’t waste any energy on him.

   “What I do need to know,” you continue, oblivious to his internal memory trip, “is why you would ever spend a thousand bucks on a gift for someone you don’t care the least bit about.”

   The alarm goes off again, and since he’s wide awake now, he sits up and switches it off, turning away from you as he throws his legs over the side of the bed.

   “We need to get going,” is all he replies, fully aware that he’s avoiding the issue and using the fact that you still haven’t asked him a direct question as an excuse not to answer.

   But he knows the answer. He knows it painfully well. And there’s a part of him who seriously hates that truth.    You’re always unsure around him, for good reason since he’s never made it possible for you to be comfortable and relaxed in his presence, but his dismissal this time is more than just rude. It’s cruel, because it leaves you completely unable to judge his behaviour.

   Did he do this for you because he’s trying to manipulate you? Or because he expects a favour in return? Is he trying to get into your pants?    He can tell even without looking at you that these questions now flood your mind, as the tension of fear makes the entire room electric from one moment to the next.

   Ordinarily, you don’t shy away from tough conversations. You hate it when things hang in the air like thunderclouds waiting to strike at you. But you’re also smart enough to pick your battles and you’ve understood from day one, that all discussions involving Pero are gonna be largely pointless, especially when he behaves this erratically.    But he wishes you would pick this fight.    He hates to see your fear. If only he had the guts to let you know that.

   The workday continues just like the previous ones, with the two of you on separate tasks, him working on the computer and you out on the main body of the machine, teaching the operators how to reset and mend the hydraulics.    You’re tremendously skilled at all functions of this complicated machine, especially considering how short a time you’ve spent learning it, so he’s never concerned about you working on it. The sister factory operators, on the other hand, he could outright strangle with their own incompetence.

   And it only gets worse today, after he overhears a conversation between a few of them while they’re making their way to the lunchroom.    As usual, they don’t notice him still working where they slowly pass while quietly speaking amongst themselves, and the first sentence he hears is enough to set his teeth on edge, so he abandons the work and sneaks after them.

   He’s in a seriously bad mood that evening, and you can’t help but think it has to do with you, for some reason. He doesn’t wanna look at you and every time he has to, his mood seems to sour even more, and since you have no idea what you could’ve done, it just scares you.    So, by the time you get back to the hotel, around 9pm, you’re not even thinking about laying down in the same bed as him.

   Using the same tactic as the first night, you offer him the bathroom first and then take your time in there once he’s done. Then you sneak out and quietly pull the covers and pillows down on the floor, where you make a bed for yourself.    You don’t hear anything from him, so you assume he’s already asleep, and after a little while, you manage to drift off as well. But the floor is hard, and you’re not used to that, so you wake up frequently as your body goes sore and occasionally numb from the pressure, forcing you to switch positions.

   All of which means you don’t really get a lot of sleep, and by the early hours of the morning you’re finally all but passed out from exhaustion. And of course, that’s when his alarm goes off.    You’re sleeping so heavily just then that you go back to sleep the moment the alarm is turned off, and it isn’t until you feel a hand on your shoulder that you finally wake up fully, with an instinctive, sharp jerk away from the unfamiliar touch.

   “What are you doing on the floor, Sonriente?” he asks, and he still sounds almost angry, which makes you shrink away from him.

   But you can’t find a single word to explain how he is the reason why you’ve put yourself in such an uncomfortable position, so you just turn away and start trying to wake your limbs up enough that you can stand and maybe begin to feel a little less vulnerable.    Surprisingly though, as soon as he sees what you’re doing, he immediately reaches out and helps you until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. Which only further confuses you because why would he help you when he’s angry with you?

   You’re trembling slightly when he lets go of you, and you’re not sure if it’s because your limbs are still in the process of waking up or if it’s adrenaline, but either way, he notices, and it seems to connect the dots for him.

   “You sleep on the floor because of me?” he quietly asks, while slowly backing away from you, and he looks either shocked or hurt. You can’t tell which.

   “I don’t know why you’re so angry… but whatever I’ve done-…”

   “No,” he cuts you off sharply, shaking his head and closing his eyes as if it’ll somehow make all of this go away. “It is not you.”

   There’s something very raw and open about him in that moment. As though his innermost being is exposed and trying to crawl back into the shadows of his heart, but hindered by whatever this thing is that’s making him so angry.

   “It is never you…” he barely whispers, and now he is the one who’s trembling.

   “But then… why? Why could you barely even look at me yesterday, and why did it seem like you only got angrier every time you did?” you question, feeling slightly bolder now that you’re starting to see how vulnerable he is in this situation.

   A ripple seems to go through him, and suddenly all the hairs on his arms stand up, and the trembling in his hands intensifies.

   “I can’t say it.” He’s gritting his teeth as he speaks, so the words come out in a slight growl, but you can sense now that this isn’t directed at you at all. “But I would never hurt you.”

   He sinks to one knee on the floor in front of you, still with his eyes closed and his head bowed, and his fists closed tightly against his thighs, but somehow you’re not the least bit scared of him anymore.    You slip off the bed and drop to your knees before him, carefully reaching a hand up to his shoulder to see how he reacts, and the moment you make contact, another ripple goes through him.

   But in the aftermath, he softens. His shoulders drop and something seems to unlock within him, so you decide to take both his hands in yours, fully expecting him not to accept the small act of comfort. But he does.    Piece by piece, he surrenders, first by letting his hands be held, and then by holding yours in return.    He’s breathing hard, and you can see the pounding of his heart in his neck and on his temples, but the longer you hold onto him, the calmer he becomes.

   “I’m sorry… for ever letting you think you had to protect yourself from me,” he eventually whispers, and his voice trembles with the anger that still simmers within him. “I promise you will never have to.”

   You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time all over again, or at least seeing sides of him you never would’ve thought even existed if this stupid trip had never happened. And it emboldens you in terms of how much you dare to stand up for yourself and demand a few explanations. Because you sure as shit have questions and it’s about time he answers them.

   “Why did you buy me the necklace, Pero?” You keep your tone soft, but you also let your voice remain strong to let him know you’re not gonna tolerate any excuses, and then you wait patiently while he gathers himself.

   “Because you were stuck here with me,” he eventually begins, and his voice is full of uncertainty now, which is something you never thought you’d hear from this man. “I know you had plans for Valentine’s and it all got ruined, but then you also had to put up with me and I just thought… maybe it would bring your smile back for a while.”

   “My smile?” Of all the reasons to give someone a gift, making them smile is certainly good enough. But this particular man wishing to make you smile is entirely unexpected.

   “You always do. Like there is a happy little film playing on the insides of your eyes all the time. Have you not noticed how everyone you meet smiles back at you?” he wonders, and you think back to all the people you’re regularly around, and then all the people you’ve met for the first time recently.

   And he’s right. Everyone always smiles at you, even the most sour office workers whenever they have to set foot in the factory where they’re no longer the experts on everything because their knowledge is all theoretical and they wouldn’t be able to operate much of anything out there on the floor.    Everyone smiles at you. Except Tovar.

   “You are sunshine,” he continues, “drawing people in with your light and warmth. It is impossible to resist.”

   “But you do. I’ve never seen you smile, not at me or anyone, for any reason, not even a smirk,” you counter, before you slip a hand out of his to reach up and gently lift his chin, because you need to see his eyes. “So, why are you suddenly acting like this matters to you?”

   It takes him a minute, in which he keeps trying not to look at you, but his eyes still return to meet yours every few seconds, as if he really can’t resist.

   “It always makes me happy to see you,” he finally admits, and he looks so small and unsure suddenly, which stuns you somewhat, because you would never even have imagined that Pero Tovar could look anything but tall, broad and competent. “I’m sorry that I am not better at showing you this.”

   It’s still so difficult to wrap your head around this, because in the entire year you’ve been around him, this man has never shown any level of care for another human being, whatsoever. As in, you’ve seen him sigh and continue working as if nothing happened, after a guy standing next to him accidentally crushed his own foot.

   “So… you’re saying you care about me?” you ask, needing the outright confirmation before you’ll even be able to begin accepting it.

   He pauses again. But this time, he meets your eyes the whole time.

   “Yes.”

   You’re a little late to work this morning, but he’s very relieved to have had the conversation you ended up having after waking up.    It had damned near broken his heart to find you on the floor, knowing it was all his fault for being such a fucked-up person that he can’t even tell you he wasn’t angry with you. And he’s absolutely certain that anyone else would’ve either gotten angry with him or just tried to avoid the conversation all together.

   But not you. You always take the hard road, because that’s how much honesty means to you, and you always manage to do it without losing your temper or getting rude about it. It’s one of a long line of things he admires about you.    And that’s precisely why he’s never dared to actually talk to you.    He doesn’t know how to do any of that. How to have honest and open conversations without losing his shit at some point. It’s destroyed every relationship he’s ever tried to have, and he’s been so scared of losing the calm and harmony you bring into his life by just existing in his presence, that he never would’ve attempted it.

   But this morning was different, because you didn’t get angry or defensive or even demanding. You just kept opening doors for him and for the first time in at least twenty years, he found the courage to step through them, one by one.    And now, when you park at the sister factory for your fourth day of working on MAP, he feels like maybe this won’t be as bad of a day as he had initially thought.

   As usual, Hannah comes out to escort you both, but there’s a grim look on her face today, and while Pero can guess the reason behind it, you still have no idea what happened here yesterday.

   “Good morning. I’m afraid we’re a bit short-staffed today so you’ll have to make due with just two extra pairs of hands on the hydraulics.”

   “Is there a flu going round, or something?” you ask, which is a valid question given that you worked closely with the three men who are out sick today and who could’ve infected you with a disease.

   “No, no. It seems there was an incident here yesterday, and a few of our workers were injured.”

   “Oh. Was it another malfunction?”

   “It appears to have been an altercation, actually,” Hannah explains, to which you raise a shocked brow. “None of the boys are talking about it, so we don’t know exactly what happened, but between them they have broken hands, arms, noses, ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a shattered knee. So, whatever went down, it was serious.”

   At this point, Pero notices a slight stutter in your steps, just before your head turns ever so slightly in his direction.    You know that he can fight, and you know he isn’t afraid to get in the middle of it when he wants to, so you’re probably guessing that he was involved in this altercation and that it explains his temper problem from yesterday. All of which is correct, and none of which he intends to confess to in front of the supervisor, which is why he’s relieved when you don’t say anything.

   Once by the control panel for MAP, however, where no other operators are working, since they’re already busy with the hydraulics, you only wait until Hannah’s moved out of earshot before you come at him.

   “What the hell, Tovar? Did you mess up those guys?” Your voice is low, but the tone is heavy with accusation and even a bit of disbelief, so you clearly never noticed the darker shades of these particular operators as they worked with you.

   “Yes,” he admits without shame or hesitation, to which your shock doubles.

   “Why would you do that?”

   He doesn’t want to answer this one, so he gets to work, hoping you’ll let it go as you usually do when he shuts you down. But of course, this is one of those times when you decide to take the fight, probably because of the progress with communication you had this morning.

   “None of them even worked with you, what reason could you possibly have to break their fucking bones?”

   Disgusting words spoken in entitled and arrogant voices suddenly flood his mind once more, and his anger re-emerges with full force. But he manages to stay in control of himself, so while he turns his head to meet your questioning gaze, none of that anger spills onto you, and it only takes you a second to realize why.    Your breath seems to die inside your lungs and for a moment he worries that you’re about to pass out. But then you suck in a shaky breath and tears form in your eyes as the understanding dawns on you.

   It’s a horrible thing to see, watching as you involuntarily envision what could’ve happened, the nausea and sudden weakness which seems to creep into your very bones even at the mere suggestion of the plans that Pero interrupted by taking them out.    If he’d needed any reassurance that his actions were just, your reaction is more than enough. But it only lasts for a few seconds, and then a different emotion begins to replace the fear and discomfort.    It takes him a minute to figure out what it is, and just as he does, you step towards him.

   The strength of your arms when they wrap around his waist is almost enough to bruise him, but he doesn’t mind.    He might not often feel deserving of someone’s gratitude, as the things he occasionally does to aid them are largely self-serving, but he does this time. Not because this threat was more real than any other, but simply because he knows and cares about you.    He’s tried not to. Tried every day not to let you creep further under his skin and infect him with your joy, but he never stood a chance.

   You don’t speak and you don’t need to. Your body tells him the truth of what you’re feeling in that moment, in the tiny shivers which keep making you tremble against him, and the strained breaths you struggle to take with your face buried against his chest. He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cry, how you bite it back with each inhale and then almost lose control of it every time your lungs empty.    But he also feels the relief within you when he wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his cheek against the side of your head.

   In this moment, he has become your safety. The place where you choose to be because it makes you feel better. And for all his accomplishments, his inventions and ideas, technical skills and comprehensive knowledge, this is the only time he can recall ever feeling truly proud of himself.    Because you’re choosing him. You. The strongest and most impressive person he’s ever met.

~~~    That night, you fall asleep lying next to him, and although he’s tired after a long and emotional day, he stays awake for a little while just to look at you. Just to make sure you’re still smiling in your sleep.    And in the following five days, which it takes to finally fix the machine, this becomes your routine every night.    So, when the day eventually comes when it’s time to return home, you’re both mildly disappointed by the prospect of going back to your empty beds.

   Still, it’s nice to come home. You see your cars still parked where you left them when you drive past the employee lot on your way to the company car slots. It’s past office hours so once you’ve collected your things, you drop the keys in a kind of mailbox designed specifically for that purpose, and then begin making your way back to your own vehicles.    Neither of you are in a hurry, and he decides to walk you to your car before he heads to his own, just to help you feel safe. He’s noticed that you’re still rattled about the incident he prevented, in how you’ve been jumpier than usual.

   “I never thought I’d say this,” you quietly muse once you reach your car, “but I’m gonna miss your presence tonight.”

   You say it with a smile, but there’s insecurity within the expression, making him think that what you’re really going to miss is the feeling of safety which his closeness over the past week has given you.

   “But it will be nice to sleep in your own bed, yes?”

   “Definitely.”

   “And we will meet for the debrief first thing in the morning,” he concludes, hoping to leave you with a brighter perspective. And perhaps also hoping that you’ll reassure him of your desire to see him again.

   “The debrief?” Your question is genuine, reminding him that this is your first time working away and that you’ve probably never been told about the follow-up procedures.

   “Yes. We must meet Gary in the morning and explain everything that’s happened and what we have done.”

   “But won’t he have gotten continuous updates from the management team over there?”

   “Of course. The debrief is to ensure that our recollection and experience of what has happened concurs with theirs, to eliminate the risk of either side trying to hide any problems or complications.    So, we will need to tell Gary about the user errors which led to the breakdown.”

   “Okay. But we’re not telling him about…” you trail off, unable to finish the sentence because the thought alone still makes you curl in on yourself.

   “It would not do much good. Those men will be dealt with by the sister factory’s human resources unit.”

   “How so? We never told them what really happened, so why would their HR get involved at all?”

   “Because I hacked their phones and took a look at their search histories and saved videos, and even the small percentage of things I anonymously sent to their HR representative will be enough to get them arrested eventually,” he confesses, and it somehow still surprises him just how warm it makes him feel inside when he sees the relief in your frame.

   “Careful, Pero. I might start spreading a rumour that you’re secretly the sweetest guy in the world,” you joke, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind the teasing tone.

   “Go ahead, Sonriente. No one would believe you.”

   He says it with a soft note to his voice, just to make sure you know he wouldn’t mind if you did decide to spread rumours about him, regardless of what they might concern, if it would in any way help you feel good.

   “That’s definitely true,” you agree, mirroring his softness, and a slight spark lights up somewhere in your eyes then. “But you know, I kinda like that I’m the only who’s seen this other side of you.”

   “You may take all the credit for this yourself, because no one else has a hope of drawing it out of me. But it seems, against you, I have no defences anymore.”

   The smile you give him in response to that is enough to make him wish he could always sleep beside you. But this is where you finally part ways for the night.    He waits until you’re safely locked inside your car before he heads over to his own, already missing your closeness when he takes a seat and buckles up, and already accepting the fact that he won’t get much sleep tonight.

   It almost feels stupid how relieved you are to see him again the next morning. And the way his eyes light up when you walk into Gary’s office, just a few seconds past the dotted time, makes you wanna sit down on his lap rather than the chair beside him.    But you notice how discreet his reaction is now that there’s an audience, compared to how directly he’s been allowing you to see his emotions while you’ve been couped up together in that hotel room.    So, even though he might like you, he’s not prepared for the world to know about it, which is why you greet him with just a polite nod while you take your seat.

   “Good morning,” Gary grumbles in his characteristically sour morning mood. “So, this took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but I see you got the MAP working again, well done.”

   “Yeah. It was shot to shit when we got there,” you chip in, immediately back to expecting Tovar not to speak unless he’s asked a question, since that is still his normal state of being.

   “I saw the pictures of the hard drives. Someone sure did a real number on that thing.”

   “I’m guessing more than one someone. But we’ve shown them how to operate it correctly now, so hopefully it won’t happen again.”

   He asks you to go over the repair process day by day, and he has a lot of questions along the way, and true to form, your colleague remains silent unless Gary addresses him, so it ends up being a lot of talking for you.    But as it begins to wind down, you start to wonder if Pero is being deliberately silent specifically because he wants you to talk through it.

   He’s always quiet at work, that’s not unusual. But this was his repair job, not yours. You were just the extra hands, which means that this debrief should be primarily directed at him, yet by keeping his mouth shut, he’s forcing the supervisor to focus on you. And in doing so, you’re getting a chance to unpack everything that’s happened, at least in your own head, even though you’re editing stuff out before you speak.    Gary knows better than to push his top employee for a comment when the man is clearly not in a talkative mood, so it works perfectly, if indeed that is what the Spaniard’s doing.

   “Alright, I think I’ve got everything I need, so unless either of you have anything you wanna add, we can wrap it up here.”

   “Nope, all good,” you cheerfully declare, feeling lighter than you have in the past few days.

   “No critique you wanna hurl at me? About the hotel or the car? No jackass operator giving you a hard time over there, or anything?”

   From the corner of your eye, you see Tovar shift ever so slightly in his seat, and you wonder if he’s thinking about the men he hurt, or the one bed hotel room you initially hadn’t wanted to share with him.    But he says nothing, so you just shake your head at your supervisor and then the two of you leave his office and head onto the factory floor to get started on your regular workday.

   It’s nice to be back at your own station with your regular crew. It feels safe and familiar. But you find yourself thinking about Pero almost every second of the day. Wondering what he’s up to whenever you can’t see him at his station and wondering if he’s thinking about you at all whenever you do see him.    He never looks at you while he’s working, at least not that you can tell, so by lunchtime you’re pleased when he falls in beside you while you walk towards the breakroom, although it is a bit disappointing when he still takes his usual spot at the far end of the room rather than choosing to sit with you.

   But you do understand. It’s not like he’s gonna become a different person just because the two of you have begun to build a friendship, and you wouldn’t want him to.    So, you take your usual seat and play along with the customary banter, answering everyone's questions about the sister factory and what you got up to over there, and it all feels comfortably normal.

   Until someone makes a remark about Pero, the kind of thing you would’ve previously just ignored, but which now that you feel closer to your taciturn colleague, you suddenly find offensive.

   “Bet this one charmed everyone’s socks off,” the operator smirks, throwing a thumb in Tovar’s general direction after you’ve just finished describing the difficulty of coming in as the experts and trying to find a good working dynamic with a different crew.

   And in that moment, the fact that the Spaniard never defends himself, despite seriously fucking people up for just talking about hurting you, just makes you feel like it’s your turn to have his back and teach this crew not to talk about him like he isn’t even there.

   “No, he didn’t. But he did manage to charm my pants off.”

   You say it frankly, leaving no question that it’s the truth, even though you’re twisting the narrative a bit to make it sound like the two of you hooked up, when you’re actually just referring to him making you feel safe enough to sleep beside him in nothing but your panties and a top.    Still, the effect it has on the entire room is worth the fib.

   They all know you’re not easy. It takes a lot just for someone to get a date with you, courtesy of trust issues because of previous experiences. Nothing traumatic, thankfully, but enough that you always have your guard up and actively look for red flags in every guy you meet. Also, you’re very clear on what you want and what you tolerate, as well as what you don’t, which is enough to deter a great many men.    So, for you to let a mystery like Pero anywhere near you, he has to have insanely good game, and not one of the people in that breakroom with you can picture a reality where that’s even possible.

   Which results in a highly amusing blend of shocked and disbelieving faces, some frozen while they’re clearly trying to visualize this alternate universe, while others are just staring at Tovar, still sitting there perfectly calmly in his usual spot, reading something on his phone.    And the best part is, none of them have the guts to ask him about it, because they’re all just as scared of him as you still were two weeks ago. Which means that all they can do is live with this incredibly shocking revelation, presumably forever.

   You continue to chuckle about it for the rest of the day, and when the next shift arrives to relieve you, from a distance, you can see how they too are informed of this latest piece of gossip. So, odds are, this is now gonna be the talk of the factory for the foreseeable future.

   “You know you will be the topic of discussion for a long time now,” Pero cautions as if he’s just read your mind, while he comes to help you clean up before you leave your station.

   “It’s harmless, I don’t mind. Besides, it is true.”

   “Technically. But I do not like them thinking of you as a conquest. Mine or anyone else’s.”

   “Okay. Then shut them down,” you smile, and he can tell there’s a hidden meaning behind those words, but he can’t quite make it out, so you decide to spell it out for him. “Let’s go on a date.”

   Your confidence ebbs out about halfway through the sentence, resulting in a sudden fade of both volume and potency, so the word date comes out all strangled and barely even audible. But you’ve said it now, so you might as well soldier on.

   “What I mean is, I would like to go on a date with you. You’re free to decline, of course,” you elaborate, feeling more insecure by the second, even turning your head down to look at your shoes because you suddenly remember how much rejection stings, which you somehow hadn’t thought about until just now.

   “Do you like empanadas?” he asks then, and his voice is soft, just like it always was when the two of you were alone together in the hotel room this last week.

   “I’ve never tried them,” you confess, still unsure of what he means by that, but then he gives you a little smile.

   “Then I will make them for you. My mother’s recipe is a bit spicy, but I think you can handle it.”

   Relief and joy wash over you as you realize he’s agreeing, and your responding smile feels like it blossoms out of you. Like there’s no connection between your brain and your heart in that moment, it just happens because the feeling is too big to control.

   “Okay. So… your place?”

   “You choose. If you wish to have the option to leave if you feel uncomfortable: my place. If you wish to eat by a table and not sitting in the sofa: your place.”

   “For the record, I know I’d feel safe at your place. But yeah, a table might be nice,” you chuckle, and he nods in agreement, so you decide to be bold. “How about tonight, maybe 6pm?”

   “Sure,” he quietly agrees, but you can tell he’s pleased that you didn’t suggest waiting until the weekend.

   “Great. And if you’re gonna cook then I’ll get dessert.” You say it while starting to walk towards the assembled crews, ridiculously happy to see them still flabbergasted at the realization that their grumpiest colleague apparently has more game than all of them.  

But when you turn your back to him, you miss how his expression changes as he follows you, turning from a controlled interest and mild happiness, to almost tearful with gratitude that you’d still choose to spend time with him even when you no longer need to.    He might not be ready to show it in front of the others, but the brightness you pour into his soul with just your smile and your willingness to give him a chance, would make him glow in the dark if it was visible.    You might not have figured it out yet, but Pero Tovar already belongs to you, so all you need to do to have your forever Valentine, is simply to keep choosing him.

   I’m not gonna write THE END on this one, because I feel like I’m gonna be returning to these two at some point, so please let me know if that’s something you’d like to see.    All my love, always.    /Jay

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky-stories]

The Sixth Extinction

Alrighty, number two of the two veeery delayed Halloween stories, but hey, let's not dwell on past mistakes!

Description: After a series of catastrophic events, Earth has become nearly lifeless and only a few humans and animal species have survived, which means people are now on everything's menu.

Author's Note: This is less horror and more like a snapshot of a dystopian future and the struggle for survival when the very planet can barely sustain life anymore.

Warnings: Brief description of extinction level events, scary birds. Word Count: 1192 Author's Masterlist Dividers by @saradika-graphics

   There were many monsters in the new world. The world which came after the sixth extinction.    If anyone had known it had been about to happen, they’d chosen not to speak up about it, but you’d always gotten the feeling that even science hadn’t seen it coming. After all, hundreds of natural disasters kicking off simultaneously wasn’t something anyone had known to look for.

   It had started in Iceland, when the many active volcanoes there had suddenly erupted all at once, culminating in the formation of a brand new one, which had grown large enough to engulf the entire island over just a few days.    And while that was happening, each day saw the news broadcasts informing about more volcanoes becoming active across Europe, then Africa, closely followed by Asia and by the time it had circled around to the Americas, only three weeks had passed.

   Yellowstone had been the first real sign that the world was in serious fucking trouble, because the massive eruption had left the entire country such a toxic environment in so short a time, that only a few million people by the coasts had managed to escape.    But then, only hours after the caldera had blown up, the hurricanes had started to form. Dozens of them, covering all the oceans around the globe.

   From there, things had only gotten worse.    For a total of eleven months, the earth continuously punched the reset button, leaving no landmass untouched by the multitude of earthquakes, storms, eruptions, rock and mudslides, avalanches, lightning strikes and tsunamis, until there were no habitable places anymore. Not even little pacific islands in the middle of nowhere.

   The atmosphere had become so filled with ash and volcanic materials, which were then spread even further by the hurricanes, that pretty soon, not even the hardiest plants could survive the contaminated air. All land-living animals were killed, either by the toxins or the lack of food or clean drinking water, and before long, most aquatic life had succumbed as well.

   Still, when the dust had finally begun to settle, some humans had managed to find a way to survive.    On drifting boats, with air and water filtration technology, surviving on what scraps of biological life could still be consumed relatively safely, a few hundred of you had made it, somehow finding each other and sticking together in small groups, in the frail hopes of maybe one day being able to go back to living on land.

   That was twenty years ago now, and sure enough, you had found stabile ground to settle on eventually, made easier by the fact that the atmosphere had begun to clear much faster than you’d first thought.    What was perhaps more surprising and challenging than your living situation, was the realization that a lot of life had actually survived. Just not in the same form as before.    Forced to evolve thousands of times faster than they otherwise would have, and perhaps aided in their mutations by the strange new foods they’d had to learn to survive on, dozens of animal species had mutated into nearly unrecognizable creatures.

   Common butterflies have become the new mosquitoes, growing smaller in size and developing the ability to make their trunks stiff enough that the tip can be used to pierce skin, allowing them to feed on blood.    Komodo dragons have made it, but with so little food on offer, they’re less than half their previous size, which of course also makes them much faster.

   Unsurprisingly, crocodiles are among the survivors as well, and contrary to the dragons, the river reptiles solved the food problem by becoming ocean dwellers, feeding on fish and later sharks to survive, all of which means that the fucking things have all but doubled in size.    Sharks are still around, but you believe they’ve retreated to deeper waters where the contamination won’t have been as severe. They’re rarely ever spotted anymore.

   Today, though, the monster that’s responsible for causing you trouble is the only remaining species of bird. The former Golden Eagle.

   A clever strategist from the beginning, the eagle has only gotten smarter with this new evolution, becoming a full-fledged pack-animal, travelling the entire globe in groups up to twenty individuals strong. And as if that wasn’t enough to make your teeth clatter, the birds have lost their feathers to the toxic atmosphere, and now resemble the ancient pterodactyls in how their naked wings have become thin and sinewy.    Their beaks, talons and eyes remain unchanged, though, which somehow only adds to the alienness of their new appearance.

   “Wait…” Joel cautions.

   He’s noticed the twitch in your spine. The instinct to flee kicking in, even though you know it would just provoke the nine birds who are quietly circling above you, into a dive.

   “Where the fuck do we go?” Your question comes out hoarse with the sudden dryness in your mouth and throat, and there’s no masking the fear you feel.

   Because you know exactly what happens when a flock of New Dacts get their claws in someone’s flesh.

   You and Joel are harvesting out in the fields, somewhere in what used to be northern Africa, but is now a completely different landmass, after the entire continent broke apart and was reassembled several times during the extinction. It’s now a giant island which sits in the center of what was once the Atlantic Ocean.    But there’s no cover in the wheat-field. No trees, no big rocks, not even ditches.

   “The river.”

   “Are you insane?” you whisper, glancing to your left where you can only just make out the edge of the field as it drops into the riverbank. “We’ll never make it…”

   “No choice…” he grumbles, but as always with Joel, there’s a kind of determination to his voice. Something that sounds much older than the man actually is, as though he’s lived several lifetimes already and therefor knows things no other man ever could.

   The circling beasts above you have begun to spiral downwards with each turn, which means they’re preparing to attack.    You’re out of time.    It’s been over a year since you last saw any Dacts, but on that occasion, your small village had lost half its population. Over thirty souls. You can’t afford another loss like that as the community hasn’t even had time to recover since then.

   So, when your partner gives the signal, you run.    Life in the new world kills the slow, so you’ve all learned to be fast, and with the scarcity of food, weight isn’t anyone’s problem anymore. The wheat you’ve been able to cultivate is a pale replica of the genetically enhanced kinds from before, and each harvest is small.

   You starve every winter, surviving on a bare minimum of vegetables and edible plants, so your muscles are small and weak, but still capable of incredible bursts of speed over short distances.    Which is the only thing giving you hope as you sprint for your life through the yellow stalks, cursing them for slowing you down when even through the whining of the wind in your ears, you hear the sharp cut of the leathery wings behind you.

THE END

@harriedandharassed @pedrostories

[sirowsky-stories]

Rocky Roads

Right, well this is one of two short stories I wrote the week after Halloween, obviously intending to post them around that time, only the post office in my brain lost the dang memo, so here we are.

Description: This is not a Pedro character story, just a little horror story about a woman who finds a strange rock. It's pretty much the classic "Thing" sort of vibe, just less gooey.

Warnings: This is a mini alien horror story, so you know, expect the usual horrific things.

Word Count: 925 Author's Masterlist Divider by @saradika-graphics

   It looked no different than every other amethyst she’d ever picked up, except that it was unusually big. The cave system was just half a mile from her little cabin at the edge of the desert where she usually worked, turning seemingly dull rocks into pieces of art.    But this one proved to be a challenge, which should probably have been a clue, since her equipment had never struggled to simply split a rock open before.

   Nevertheless, the stubbornness of the thing only managed to make her redouble her efforts, but when all else had failed, she finally decided to simply crush it with her hydraulic press. It wouldn’t earn her as much if she had to sell it in smaller pieces or turn them into jewellery, but at that point, she’d settle for anything.    Happily, the press worked.

   But her joy was short-lived when the first crack resulted in the entire room being flooded with bright blue light, so intense that even though she closed her eyes, it still stung them to the point where she turned away and put her hands over her face.    The press ground to a halt a moment later, automatically rising to its starting position, and then everything went quiet and still.

   She opened her eyes while still facing away from it, just in case, but since the room was only normally lit by then, she spun around to find out what had happened, only to instantly regret it.    Because between the two metal disks of the press, something was moving, trying to get out of the cracked stone.

   She stood frozen to the spot while she watched as something which had to be alien, or if not, then at least previously undiscovered, crawled out of the press and disappeared behind it. And although she didn’t get a good look at it, she could see that it was black, and not even like a raven’s feathers or a block of coal. No, it was as dark as Vantablack, the blackest black in the world, and she counted at least eight legs.

   One minute later, she was in her jeep and leaving the driveway, driving way too fast on the narrow gravel road under the moonless night sky, hoping that by the time she decided to go back out there, the thing would’ve left on its own.    She turned onto the interstate ten minutes later, gunned the engine as the tires finally had some good grip, and reached for her purse, which she’d thrown into the front passenger seat before setting off, to grab her phone.

   The purse was leather, so she was expecting the familiar smoothness of the material to greet her fingers, when instead, something dry and texturally similar to really fine flour except in a fixed shape, met her touch.    Unwilling to even entertain the possibility that the fucking thing had followed her into the car, she convinced herself that she’d imagined it and turned her head to look at the seat.

   The moment her eyes landed on it, registering that it was about the size of a corgi and that there were no eyes looking back at her, the thing suddenly moved, heading across the center console and directly towards her.    Panic set in like an instant fever, removing all thoughts of vehicle safety and every danger associated with uncontrolled driving, as she let go of the steering wheel and started trying to punch the thing away from herself, waving so manically that she managed to hit the wheel several times, sending the car off the road at a hundred miles an hour.

   It wasn’t long before another driver noticed that there was something in the ditch, over a hundred yards from the road, with a trail of broken plastic and pieces of metal littering the chaotic scene, so he decided to investigate, stopping his car so that the headlights were aimed directly at the wreck.    The jeep had rolled but it had landed upright, so when he reached the driver’s side, he could see the woman in the front seat.

   She was quite clearly dead, but he had to make sure, so he reached through the broken window to try and find the pulse point on her neck.    But the moment his hand passed into the car, something crawled up from the inside of the driver’s door, and then continued up his arm.    Waving and thrashing to try and get rid of whatever it was yielded no result, and in no time at all, it was crawling onto the back of his head, spreading its legs around the sides and over his face, and even though he tried to pull it off, he couldn’t seem to get a grip on the fucking thing.

   Screaming, since there was nothing else he could do, the last thing he felt was how something warm and slightly moist seemed to connect to his brain, inside of his skull, although he felt no pain, and then everything just sort of... seized.    Everything he was, his memories, his thoughts, it all just stopped and vanished, leaving him an empty shell, prepared to be filled with something new.

   From his car still on the hard shoulder of the interstate, the man’s five-year old daughter watched as her father climbed back into the car. And even though he looked exactly the same, she knew it wasn’t him.    Eons of evolution told her so.    But before she could do anything, the unknown man put the car in motion, and she was trapped.

THE END

[sirowsky-stories]

Isolated Incident

My goodness it's been a minute! Hello, tumblr, wonderful to see you again 🤗

Description: When a hike doesn't go quite as planned you're forced to seek shelter for the night, only the little cabin isn't empty when you reach it.

Warnings: Marcus Pike x Female Reader, reader is defined as female but has no physical descriptions at all, mention of the bear vs. man thing, smut, minor angst.

Author's Note: This is something of a request from my good friend @bilibiche although I've altered the setting from winter to autumn because it just came easier to me right now, oddly enough. Sorry for the delay, and I hope you like it, love!

Word Count: 4720 Author's Masterlist Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Wednesday 12:38 PM

   ”Can I ask you a serious question?” one of your newer colleagues wonders while you’re having lunch together.

   “I thought all your questions were serious…” you say with a critically raised brow, because this particular guy is of the less than goofy sort, and it bothers you how it feels like he’s labelled you as flimsy, or lax, just because you approve of a little light-hearted fun now and then.

   “Well, yeah, but like serious as in; life or death.”

   “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but sure, ask away.”

   “Okay. Why would you risk your life just to walk to the top of a mountain?”

   You can’t help but smile a little at his apparent lack of insight into how the world works, but you soon turn serious again since it’s not really a fun topic.

   “I hike because the woods are peaceful and make me feel strong and at ease with myself. And if some wild animal does decide to try and eat me, I actually have a much better chance of scaring off a bear or puma, than a man.”

   He looks slightly confused by that.

   “Sure, but… the leading cause of death for female hikers worldwide is drowning or falling, not encountering either men or animals.”

   “And the leading cause of death for women worldwide is cardiovascular disease, but you don’t see us leading healthier lives just because we know that,” you counter, and he tilts his head with curious interest.

   “So, you equate the risk of hiking to the risk of dropping dead from an unknown disease?”

   Instead of trying to explain to him that you never actually weigh the dangers of anything you do, since that would just put you off of doing anything, ever, you decide to give him a comparison he might understand.

   “I look at it this way: When going to a club, or on a date, is even more dangerous to my overall health than being alone in the woods, why shouldn’t I walk to the top of a mountain?”

Thursday 07:41 AM

   The drive was long, especially when you’d decided to get started before dawn to get the most out of the daylight hours, but now that you’re on the trail, the fatigue has vanished and not even the light drizzle and grey skies are able to dampen your mood.    You’ve only walked this trail once before, and you’re planning on exploring a different section of it this time, which is supposedly a bit more challenging as you get closer to the top, so it somehow feels like the mountain is still completely new to you.

   In terms of height, the mountain is a small one, only about a thousand feet, but the base of it stretches for about ten miles in every direction, making it massive all the same. And the view from the peak is amazing since nothing else in the area comes close to the same height.    It boasts impressive cliffs where erosion and the occasional earthquake has cracked the stone and generated immense landslides, and since rain is pretty consistent around here, some of those cliffs have become breathtaking waterfalls.

   The woodlands are thousands of years old, untouched save for the narrow trail which is kept clear by the many hundreds of feet which tread on it every year. It’s illegal to cut down trees or start fires, or just do anything which negatively impacts the natural state of the forest, like leave garbage or dig any hole bigger than what might be needed to bury your natural waste.

   And to help people keep to these rules, a volunteer group has built little cabins on regular intervals along the trails, where hikers can take shelter in case of bad weather or if they get injured.    Each cabin has basic survival equipment like chopped wood and lighting tools, jugs of fresh water, first aid kits, candles and blankets. And there’s a wood-burning stove in all of them.    You’ve never needed to use one, but you’ve familiarized yourself with them anyway.

Thursday 11:24 AM

   The weather improves all through the morning, first with the stopping of the rain and then gradually becoming less cloudy, until the entire sky is suddenly bright blue above you, just in time for your lunch-stop.    You’ve gotten high enough by now that the trees are much fewer and further apart, and there are large sections of bared rock in between, some of them chiselled smooth by millennia of rainfall and snow, and others covered in soft moss.

   You don’t stay for long, both to avoid getting chilled by the autumn air, but also because your timeframe is limited. It takes roughly six hours to get to the top, and then between five and six hours back down, depending on how slippery it is, and that’s about as much daylight as there is for the time of year, so there isn’t much left over for you to sit around. Not if you wanna avoid having to stay the night.

   There’s a sleeping bag designed for arctic survival in the bottom of your backpack, and protein bars as emergency food if you should need it, so you are prepared to spend the night on the mountain if it becomes necessary, but you’d prefer not to.    Which is why, just as you reach the top and notice another shift in the weather, you start to feel a bit anxious.    You take a few pictures up there and give yourself a moment to just sit and catch your breath, but the looming black clouds on the horizon won’t let you fully relax.

   It looks incredibly dramatic, the contrast of the soft-looking woodlands with their colourful fall leaves against the dark pine needles, all caressed by bright midday sunlight, against the darkness of the incoming storm and the shadow it casts over the landscape further to the east.    That weather system is going to swallow up the sun soon, and if it lingers, which it looks like it probably will just going by the size of it, you’re not gonna have another six hours of daylight. You might not even have half that.

Thursday 16:18 PM

   The rain comes down so hard that even your baseball cap isn’t enough to let you have full vision in front of you, and although it isn’t fully dark yet, your flashlight is your only hope of seeing where the hell you’re putting your feet, not to mention where the trail is.    You’d hoped to make it down to where you’d parked your car, but it’s taken you twice as long to walk down as it did going up, so you still have at least four hours left, and it’ll be pitch black and way too dangerous to keep moving long before then.    So, when you reach the next cabin, you decide to call it a day.

   But as you approach the unassuming little wooden structure, you can see faint lights through the one small window in the door.    There’s no electricity out here, so it’s not like someone could’ve accidentally left the lights on when they left, unless a hiker forgot to blow out a candle, which seems unlikely. Even the rookies on this trail know better than to jeopardize their own or someone else’s chances of survival by burning down a cabin.

   So, in conclusion, there’s another hiker here, and you haven’t seen a soul along the trails so you have no idea who this person might be. But you also can’t keep going to the next one, because it’s more than an hour’s walk away.    Suddenly your conversation with George pops up in your head again, and you find yourself weighing the risk of sleeping in a cabin with a stranger, compared to the risk of walking in the pouring rain in complete darkness on a trail you’re not really familiar with.

   “Shit…” you mutter to yourself, before slowly approaching the cabin.

   You knock on the door, since it seems rude to just walk in, even though whoever’s occupying the tiny house doesn’t have any more of a claim to it than you do.    It takes a few seconds, during which you don’t hear anything at all from inside, until the door swings inward and a tall man comes into view before you.    He’s wearing wool underclothing, the figure-hugging kind designed to keep people warm and dry closest to the skin to prevent hypothermia, so he’s probably not a rookie.

   “Hi,” you half-shout over the thunder of the rain, thinking you probably look like a drenched cat, while this guy looks more like a movie star than anyone you’ve ever met.

   “Hi. Come on in,” he offers with a smile, and you only hesitate for a second because this man’s smile is as disarming as a cat’s purr.

   “Thank you.”

   Once inside you take off your pack and then get started on your soaked outer layer of clothing, while he politely closes the door for you and then moves over to the stove where he’s apparently in the middle of boiling some water.

   “That’s some monsoon level rain,” he chats while he works. “How long have you been out there?”

   “Yeah. Uh, since 7:30 this morning. I could tell from the peak that it was gonna come in fast, so I tried to keep up the pace, but the trail was still wet from the morning drizzle.”

   “I came from the south trail and there was a lot of fog down there this morning, so I decided to wait and get a later start, but then I got stuck in this instead. It wasn’t on any of the forecasts, as far as I know.”

   “No, it wasn’t. I chose this week specifically because the worst of the autumn rains have hit two weeks later for the past five years,” you share, since he’s being very kind and keeping his eyes on what he’s doing while you strip down to your underwear and then put on a dry set of underclothes, almost identical to his.

   “Same. I’ve been coming here around this time every year for almost a decade now.”

   “If you came from the south and you decided to stop here you must be doing the circle trail, right?” you ask, curious now that you’ve begun to feel comfortable around him.

   There are three trails that lead from the bottom to the top of the mountain from three different directions, each one difficult in its own way, from steepness, to long stretches where the trail is impossible to see, to marshlands and tricky seas of rounded boulders that like to shift under your feet.    But the circle trail takes you along all of them while also bringing you around the entire base of the mountain. It’s the hardest one and it takes a minimum of three days to complete.

   “That’s right. Is this your first time here?” he wonders while you take your sleeping bag out of your pack and use it as a cushion when you take a seat closer to the stove, facing him.

   “Second, but I love this mountain.”

   “You’re not a rookie, though,” he observes. “You’ve got all the right gear. I noticed the bear spray on your shoulder strap, and the stiletto on the other one.”

   “Honestly, I carry those mostly in case I need to protect myself from people,” you admit, to which he smiles again.

   “I figured. And you’re right to do so.    I know you don’t really have any reason to believe me, but I promise you won’t get any trouble from me.”

   You just nod in return, and he refocuses on the stove, where his water is now steaming hot, so he pours it into a thermos and then reaches for his wood-carved cup and what looks like a packet of dehydrated soup.

   “You want one?” he asks when he sees you looking at the cup.

   Initially, you’re about to decline because you have your own emergency food with you and he clearly has a long way to go before he’s leaving the mountain, so you should let him keep his nutrition.    But you don’t have anything you can heat up with you, except for plain water, and while you’re not exactly cold, the prospect of warm soup after a long day of walking sounds too good to pass up.

   “Do you have enough to spare?”

   “Don’t worry about it, I’m ex-military, I know how to stay alive even if I run out of food,” he offers, and then just hands you a packet. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

   You give him your name after thanking him for the soup, but while you dig out your own cup, you decide to let your growing curiosity take over.

   “So, what’s a former military man with good manners doing all alone in the wilderness on a random Thursday afternoon?”

   “That’s possibly the most subtle way anyone’s ever asked me if I’m single,” he chuckles, and the humour brings a playful glimmer to his eyes.

   “Don’t forget the subtle hint to unemployment as well,” you smile in return while stirring the soup, and a warm laughter rocks him back a little where he sits.

   “That’s right. You’re good, I like it.    Well, I’m actually really crap at taking vacations, so my boss has made it a tradition to kick me out of the office around this time of year. And since I don’t know how to exist without a purpose, I spend that time out here, which should tell you everything you might wanna know about my relationship status, reminding myself how big the world is and how easily it can crush me.”

   “Wow, you’re just a big bag of sunshine, aren’t you…” You say it with a smile, but the ironic tone is unmistakeable. Still, he just chuckles again.

   “Alright, look, I know it sounds kinda negative, but it’s really the opposite. I’ve been in wars, seen people’s lives be destroyed by hurricanes, pulled animals out of mudslides, dug skiers out of avalanches. I’ve seen survival where it should’ve been impossible, so when I come out here, it reminds me that no matter how bad a situation I might find myself in, there’s always hope.    Knowing I’m small and fragile doesn’t make me feel any less alive. It makes me feel like every step is a victory.”

   Having no words to offer in return to something so unexpectedly profound, you end up just staring at him, suddenly wanting to know absolutely everything about this man.

   “And the good manners I got from my mother,” he finishes with a wink, making you laugh.

Thursday 22:19 PM

   You spent the entire evening talking and getting to know each other, but eventually your curiosity gave way to fatigue, forcing you to accept that no matter how interesting this man is, you’ll have to part ways in the morning, so you might as well get some rest.    Learning that he’s an FBI-agent was a bit of a shock, since he looks like he belongs in Hollywood, but it’s done nothing to dull your attraction to him. And you are attracted to him. Way too much for someone you just met.

   The rain is still hammering the metal roof and the fire crackles in the stove as you try and create a comfortable sleeping place with nothing but the blankets as mattrasses on the wood floor, although the padding of your respective sleeping bags helps a bit.

   “I love the sound of the rain,” he quietly ponders after you’ve both settled in.

   “It’s like it harmonizes with the background noise of your mind and creates a melody only you can hear,” you chime in, and hear him turn his head towards you.

   You’re both on your backs right next to each other, so you turn your head as well, meeting his brown eyes, turned black by the darkness of the cabin now that you’re no longer by the fire.

   “Exactly,” he whispers, and a peculiar look sneaks into the frame of his features.

   Something you can’t name but somehow know in your soul all the same. And the longer you meet his gaze, the clearer that expression becomes.    Until you realize that his response isn’t just referring to the rain, but to the harmony that each of you have instilled in the other, by just existing in the same space.    He’s telling you that he feels it too. How the two of you just… fit.

   So, with a nervous inhale setting a thousand butterflies lose in your stomach, you roll onto your side and gently press your lips to his, silently begging him not to pull away, not to reject you when you’re taking a chance. Pouring all your hope into the perception you’ve created of him as a good man. A man worth that chance, even if just for tonight.    He meets your lips with soft desire, the most welcoming sensation anyone can offer, and you let all guards and barriers fall.

   The sleeping bags are rearranged to accommodate you both together, then the clothes are discarded without hurry or fanfare, because this isn’t two people merely wanting a release, but seeking a connection.    He settles down on top of you and you pull his sleeping bag over his back, then you lay there just looking at each other while your bodies warm one another.

   “Of all the things I imagined might happen on this hike, this wasn’t one of them,” he whispers, and at first you think he’s just being sweet, but then he continues. “Which is my way of saying I don’t have any protection with me.”

   Surprised that he’s even thought of it, you need a few seconds to decide how to respond.

   “Same. But I still want to.”

   He nods in agreement, letting his fingers trace your jawline.

   “Would you trust me to pull out?”

   You hold his gaze for a long moment, seeking any kind of crack in his gentlemanly character, and when you can’t find it, you have your answer.

   “Yes.”

   The next kiss is deeper, filled with craving and lust but still so warm and harmonious. You’re both still seeking connection, figuring out how to fit together entirely without tension, and it isn’t until you feel yourselves relax into one another that he finally unites your bodies.    He pushes himself inside and you both seem to enter a new dimension in your shared pleasure, somehow knowing what the other feels without words.

   You settle your hands on his lower back, letting one slowly slide up to the nape of his neck, making him shiver, and he scrapes his teeth against your shoulder in return, generating the same response in you.    His hips are firm but rolling with each push to give you more friction, and every time you shift yourself to alter the angle between you, he follows your lead, letting you show him what you need.

   And when the pressure builds and the need takes over, you’re already so attuned to each other that it happens organically.    But then, just as you’re about to fall into the rapture, you feel him tense. Holding back, to let you come before he has to pull out, but in doing so, he breaks the harmony.

   “Don’t,” you whisper through strained breaths, tightening your arms around him. “Stay.”

   He doesn’t question it, he wants it just as much as you do, and the moment the tension eases, you’re suddenly falling together, and it’s better than anything you’ve ever experienced before this moment.    Every time his muscles curl, your body responds, and vice versa, until you’re both so drained that your bodies won’t move at all anymore.

Friday 06:11 AM

   The dusky light of dawn wakes you, and Marcus is the first thing you think of.    He’s still there, having only just managed to lift his torso off you before he passed out last night, but his arm is resting heavy over your stomach and his legs are still entwined with yours while he sleeps soundly, nestled against you.    For a few minutes you just watch him sleep, wishing that time would stop today and let you stay here with him, but then he stirs.

   You don’t say anything even when he eventually opens his eyes and smiles at you. You just keep looking at him, and he quickly figures out why.

   “You’ll see me again, honey,” he promises in a husky morning voice, and you want to believe him.

   But life has taught you not to expect you’ll get to keep the amazing. It always seems to come and go according to someone else’s will, never listening to what you want or need.    So, you close your eyes and try to burn the image of him into the backs of your eyelids.    A kiss graces your lips then, and in his touch the promise seems so real.

   “We should pack up,” you hear yourself say, even though that’s the opposite of what you want.

   He lets go of you when you sit up, and a part of you wishes he’d forced you to stay with him, even though that would only prolong the inevitable.    You each pack in silence. There’s no fire this morning, because then one of you would have to stay until it burned out, which means that breakfast is simple and quick.

   “I know what you’re doing,” he says when you’re pulling your pack on, “I’ve done it myself so many times, trying to cut ties before I get hurt, but I’m not gonna let you do it to me.”

   “Marcus… I want to keep you,” you admit once you’ve clipped all the straps into place. “I didn’t even know it was possible to feel this connected to another person, of course I wanna see you again.”

   “Then why are you trying to say goodbye to me?” he understandably wonders, and you sigh deeply, looking for the words.

   “Because connection is hard. Relationships are hard. And I’m soft…    You look at me and you see this strong woman out here all alone, ready to take on anything, but underneath all that, I’m just scared,” you explain, somehow feeling smaller while you watch him quietly absorb and consider his reply.

   “We all are.” He says it so simply, and yet the words sound so heavy.

   Resting your hands against your hips, you lower your gaze to the floor and try to silence your fears for a minute.

   “And what if we work?” you question, watching him as he tries to follow your logic.

   You can see the moment it clicks. The moment he realizes what you’re really saying.    Because in the end, it isn’t this moment that’s going to solve anything.

   “We’ll figure it out.”

   “But that’s the thing… I finally have my life figured out. I finally have the house I’ve scraped and saved for my entire life, the job that makes me happy and lets me live the way I want to, the true friends that I can depend on for anyth-…“

   “And yet, you’re still alone,” he gently cuts you off, and the look in his eyes is so sad it makes your chest tighten. “Because you’re scared. Just like I am.”

   You step out of the cabin without another word, setting a careful pace on the slippery track, still saturated with water even though the rain has stopped, and the sun is about to rise to a mostly clear sky.    He doesn’t have your number, nor do you have his. Walking away means ending this relationship before it’s even begun, but somehow it feels like the easier path. Still, every step taking you closer to your car makes your feet feel a little bit heavier.

   The woods deepen, growing wilder with the lower altitude, until you need to keep your arms up in front of your face to keep the branches from scratching it.    You emerge from the path onto the road exactly where you’d entered it yesterday, and your car is right there waiting for you.    The drive home feels longer than any journey you’ve ever taken.

Friday 10:32 AM

   Your house somehow looks lonelier than before. Even the flowers in your garden seem to have lost some of their colour and the chirping of the birds sounds hollow to your ears.    And all this is because of him. Because for a few hours, you experienced true harmony, and now nothing could ever compare.    Part of you regrets ever meeting him, and another part regrets walking away. But it’s done.

   The rest of the day is endless and too short at the same time, spent in a haze of confusion while you do the laundry, cook, clean up the kitchen, shower and try to watch something on TV. All while Marcus fills every corner of your mind, every second that passes.    When you eventually fall asleep it’s with an anxious restlessness which has you twisting and turning, waking up every thirty minutes, and dreaming strange things in between.

Monday 07:46 AM

   “I thought you said the hikes make you feel better…”

   “Huh?”

   “When I asked you why you’d risk your life to walk up a mountain you said it was because it makes you feel better,” George reminds you at the breakfast break, but you still have no idea why he’s bringing this up.

   “Yeah. What’s your point?”

   “Only that you look more like you’re feeling worse.”

   “Thanks a lot…” you scoff. “It wasn’t a great hike.”

   “How come?”

   “It rained most of the time.”

   “And here I thought all you outdoorsy people didn’t mind rain.”

   “It just wasn’t a great hike, okay,” you snap at him, not at all interested in talking about this with him, or anyone else, for that matter.

   “Alright, I’m sorry I asked.”

   He’s quiet for a while after that, scrolling on his phone like everyone else in the break room. But just a few minutes before your break is over, he suddenly looks up from his device with a very puzzled wrinkle between his brows.

   “Uh, who the fuck is Marcus Pike?”

   You literally drop your own phone onto the table and just stare at your colleague with absolute shock. And when he doesn’t get a response, he glances back down at his phone and then looks back up at you, even more confused.

   “Why is he asking about you? How the hell does he know we work together? How did he even get my number? Who is this guy?”

   “He’s… an FBI-agent,” you finally reply, and George turns a shade paler.

   “Why does an FBI-agent wanna talk to you? And why would he go through me?”

   “My number isn’t that easy to find, I guess he decided to take a shortcut.”

   “Again, why?”

   You’re not remotely interested in sharing the details of your meeting with Marcus with your coworker, so you counter with a question instead.

   “What exactly is he asking?”

   “He just texted me asking if I could pass the phone to the woman sitting across from me. Wait… How does he know where in the room we are?”

   “Because your idea of phone security is sharing your data with absolutely everyone,” you admonish, then snatch the device from his hand.

   The moment you see the message, a call comes through from an unknown number, so you take a breath and then pick up the call before you can change your mind.

   “Hi,” he answers, identical to the way he did when he answered the door at the cabin, and it immediately makes a lovely warmth spread through you.

   “Agent Pike. This is unexpected,” you reply, highly aware that you’re in a room full of people who are all listening.

   “You’re surprisingly hard to find, honey. But once I figured out where you work, your address was a piece of cake,” he confidently announces, and there’s something in his voice that makes you feel like his confidence is about more than a victory over a technical limitation.

   “Where are you, right now?”

   There’s a soft laughter on the other end, and right then, you can hear birds in the background. The same chirps you always hear from the trees around your house.

   “I did promise you’d see me again.”

THE END

@harriedandharassed @pedrostories

[sirowsky-stories]

Do not let them erase this. Do not let them tell you he meant "my heart goes out for you."

This man is the grandson of a Canadian Nazi sympathizer who moved to South Africa BECAUSE he thought the apartheid was just the coolest.

He has a gaggle of kids specifically because he believes his genes are superior and need to be spread to improve humanity.

He has thrown his support behind the neonazi party in Germany and the far right party in the UK, not to mention how far he's wormed up the ass of the Republican party.

He threw two sieg heil salutes back to back at the inauguration of the president of the United States and is trying to scrub the evidence off the internet.

Elon Reeve Musk is a fucking Nazi.

[sirowsky-stories]

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 23 - Surprises

Description: Coming back home after your self-imposed isolation was not without difficulty, leading to a few tough conversations. But also to fully reuniting with your man, finally.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Author's Note: This was one of the chapters I was most looking forward to updating, adding so much more depth and a much more accurate characterization to the decisions both Marcus and Hermosa are faced with.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 9809 (5442 words added) Masterlist (this story)

   It was late afternoon by the time Marcus parked the car outside the house. The sun was sitting low, creating a pink and golden shimmer to the air and it all felt a bit more magical than it probably was. But you were so happy to be home again, your own heart was probably adding a layer of sparkle to the whole scene.    He’d turned the engine off and unhooked his seatbelt before your partner realized that you weren’t moving.

   “Hey, are you okay? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” he asked, and he sounded almost panicked at the mere thought.

   “Not at all,” you reassured him, still looking at the seemingly otherworldly view outside the front window.

   “Oh, thank goodness. Don’t scare me like that,” he replied with a sharp exhale, as though the fear had made him hold his breath.

   “Sorry. I was just thinking that it’s time I sold my house,” you explained, too lost in your own thoughts to notice how he visibly flinched. “I don’t even know why I haven’t done it sooner, but I guess I just never got around to it. I feel like it’s been one crazy week after the other for so long now.”

   His silence finally broke through your slightly mesmerized gaze, and you turned your head to look at him, surprised to find him staring teary-eyed at you.

   “What is it, honey?”

   “It’s just…” he started, but then had to pause just to breathe for a moment. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

   “That I wanna get rid of the house? Why? I haven’t even set foot in there since our first night together.”

   “Well, at first, I figured you kept it as a failsafe, in case we didn’t… work out. Which made total sense, it was just rational thinking.    But then, after… the prison… I thought maybe you still wanted to keep it because you worried that I might push you away again. And it broke my heart to think I made you feel like you needed a safe place to get away from me.”

   You unbuckled yourself and turned in your seat so you could fully meet his eyes, and took his hands in yours, gripping them tightly to let him have the physical support if he needed it.

   “That whole mess was a stepping-stone. For both of us. But we managed to step over it together, and we’re on the other side now, so we get to walk away and leave it behind us.    I trust you, not because I have to, but because I want to. Okay?” you posed, and he nodded but he was still fighting tears, so you kept going. “These past weeks, where I’ve been the one staying away, those were another stone of ours, and thanks to you, we got past this one too.”

   Realizing the truth behind your words, he finally smiled and leaned forwards, letting go of your hands to hold you instead, and you held him in return with all your strength.

   “I love you, Marcus. So much.”

   “I love you, hermosa.”

   When he loosened his grip, you pulled back and kissed him once. Any more than that and you wouldn’t be leaving the car any time soon. And he knew it too, smiling with recognition as he saw the familiar heat in your eyes before you turned away and reached for the doorhandle.    He waited for you to round the car so he could take your hand for the short walk around the garage, and as you approached the front door, he huffed a small laugh.

   “Oh right, I should probably tell you; Missy doesn’t know you’re coming home today.”

   His mirth made sense then, because she was bound to be overjoyed, and she tended to get a bit hyper in those circumstances.

   “Ah. Good to know,” you smiled back, mentally preparing for lots of screaming and hugging, just in case.

   He walked in first, noting that no one was in the living room, from which the front hall was fully visible, then stepped out of his shoes and approached the kitchen, while you lingered in the hallway, out of sight for a bit longer.    In your fear of hurting her, you’d asked Missy to keep her distance, and not visit you every day or for very long. Circumstances had then led to it being almost two weeks since you’d last seen her, and you felt a little unsure of how she’d take it. If she was angry with you, you’d certainly understand.

   “Hi, dad. Did you talk to her today?” was the first thing she said after hearing her father greet her, and it tore at your chest to hear the mixture of hope and sadness in her voice.

   “I did. That’s why I’m late.”

   “And? When is she coming home?”

   For a few seconds, you were frozen in the shadowy space among the shoes and jackets, because in those few words, you heard the echoes of entire conversations the two of them must’ve had concerning you.    How they must’ve sat together and worried, trying to come up with strategies for how to convince you to come home, and the realization left you struggling to breathe for a while.    They both truly loved you, so much more than you’d ever dared to believe.

   “How about now?” you asked, allowing the gratitude for their affection to give you strength as you quietly emerged from the hallway, and saw her entire face light up before she was already running at you.

   “Hermosa!” she squealed and ran the short distance to jump into your arms, without a hint of fear or anger.

   Ever since she’d found you in the grass at Anita’s place that day, and used her father’s favourite nickname for you, you’d noticed she’d started using it more regularly. You hadn’t questioned it or asked her why, but hearing it now, when she was so reactive, you wondered if it had simply become your name to her.    Her father had certainly used it enough to make it plausible.    She hugged you so tightly and laughed while she cried and tried to tell you how much she’d missed you, all at the same time.

   “Hey, no need to rush, kiddo, I’m sticking around,” you giggled at her chaotic welcome, and she pulled back to look at you.

   “Really?” Her question wasn’t disbelieving, but it was unsure enough that it made you feel terrible about having stayed away from her for so long.

   “Really, really. I missed you too, angel.”

   She stayed close to you while you cooked that evening. You’d asked to have the honour of cooking by yourself on your first day back, because you hadn’t done any cooking for so long, and you still felt like you could taste those disgusting early supplements in the back of your throat, so you wanted to make something you knew would chase those tastes away.    The food provided to you while you’d been locked up hadn’t been bad, but you longed for something spicier, richer in flavour than what you’d been served there.

   “Are you sure those things were actually for consumption? Cause I saw one of them, and it sure didn’t look like it,” Missy asked when you explained your desire to cook while taking out all the pots and pans you’d be needing, and you had to laugh.

   “Oh, trust me, it didn’t taste like it either. But they did manage to come up with one that works, finally. They’re still working on the flavours, but at least it doesn’t taste like cardboard, and does what it’s supposed to.”

   “And what is that, exactly?”

   “Well, if and when I get drained of energy, if I eat one of those bars, it’s the equivalent of eating about three full meals.”

   “That sounds… unhealthy,” she settled on, looking a bit like someone smelling a bad fart.

   “It really does,” you chuckled at her expression, “but it might save my life, so don’t knock it. And don’t ever let me leave the house without at least one.”

   “Make that three,” Marcus chipped in from the dinner table, where he was busy setting the plates and cutlery.

   He shot you a hard look under his brows as he waited to hear you agree, and while you might’ve felt it was a bit over the top, you weren’t gonna argue. Certainly not after just telling his daughter the damned things could save your life.

   “Fine.”

   The three of you had dinner together for the first time in a very long time, and it was so relaxed and comfortable. It seemed almost like you could’ve actually been in prison in comparison to what this felt like.    After the table had been cleared, Missy wanted to play a board-game, so you went to find it in the cabinet in the hallway to the bedrooms, and of course, the one she wanted was on the bottom shelf.    You bent down to get it, and when you stood up again, there was suddenly a figure next to you, and you leapt sideways while you felt your energy react.

   “Anita, for fucks sake!!” you full-on yelled at her. “What is wrong with you?! I could have flung you into the neighbour’s yard! What the hell were you thinking?!”

   You’d only just managed to restrain yourself long enough to realize that it was her. Just.

   “Well, you were worried about blowing up the house. If you can keep from instinctively throwing out a perceived threat, then I think you can rest easy,” she shrugged, completely unbothered by the danger she’d just placed everyone in.

   “Wha-… Are you serious?!” you kept screaming, still trembling with the remnants of fear she’d made your body leap to, making you furious that she’d take such a risk for no reason.

   But she merely smiled and walked past Marcus, who had come to see what you were screaming about, and it pissed you off to no end that she wasn’t even taking the threat you posed seriously enough to acknowledge that what she’d just done was absolutely idiotic.

   “You are completely fucking crazy! Do that again, and I’ll throw you to the other end of the god damned neighbourhood, let’s see if you’re still smiling then!”

   She left without another word, and Marcus came to stand beside you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He didn’t even look worried.    You closed your eyes to try and focus on just breathing to get your heart to slow down, and leaned against the wall, holding a hand up towards him to indicate a tiny measurement in between your fingers.

   “I was this close, babe… My skin is crawling.”

   His current washed over you, helping your body to settle down, but he wasn’t at all concerned about what had just happened, and that truly worried you.

   “Look, I get that you have this unbelievable faith in me and I’m very grateful for it. But how the hell can you stand there so calmly right now? You know what I can do…” you questioned, still fighting the pounding of your own pulse with every breath.

   If it had just been the startle, you would’ve settled down in no time, but because the shock of it had activated your powers, all the fears you had about how destructive you could be, entirely without meaning to, had come along with it. And that was a lot harder to quell.

   “Yes, I do know what you’re capable of, but I also know how far you’ll go for the people you love,” he answered simply, but there was a depth to his eyes which spoke of strong emotions lurking under the surface. “You died to protect us, and however much I hate it… I know you’d rather die than let any harm come to us.”

   He took his hands out of his pockets and came to take your hands instead, and even with the trails of despair you saw in his face, he still looked so calm.

   “Yes, you came close, and no, she shouldn’t have done that, but you have nothing to fear,” he reiterated, letting more of his current roll through you to take the final edges of shock out of your system.

   “How can you be so sure, so confident? When all it takes is one jump-scare for me to devolve.” It really was unfathomable to you that he wasn’t reacting at all to something so serious, but his mind was apparently very clear on this matter.

   “Because you’re here. You took the step to come here, and you can tell yourself it was because you finally believed it was gonna be safe, but I think the truth is much simpler than that. I think it’s because this is where you truly want to be.    Crazy though she may be, even mamá is one of the people you want to be around, to have around you. Because we’re the ones who make you strong, who give you confidence, just like you do for us.    If she had been a burglar, you would’ve dispatched her to the neighbour’s yard, without hesitation. Do you really expect me to be upset about that?”

   “No, but I expect you to react when something dangerous happens in your own home,” you pleaded, feeling your mind sink into a dark and terrible place you never ever wanted to get trapped in fully. But you had to make sure Marcus was aware of its existence. “I need to know that if it comes to it… you’ll protect them from me.”

   He didn’t flinch or look stunned to hear you say it, which told you he already knew about this side of you. Which wasn’t surprising, given your actions in the past.    But there was a difference between being willing to give your life for others, to recognizing that you had the capacity to also take life from them, given the right trigger.    He hadn’t been there when you’d killed the errand boy. And even if he had seen the video, it wouldn’t have been able to show him how easy it had been. How truly insignificant the energy you’d sent at the kid had been.

   Of course, you wanted to believe you could never harm anyone, and especially not your family. But in the core of your being, there was a lot of darkness, none of which Marcus had ever seen.    You’d always used the pain of your past to feed the positive sides of yourself, letting it remind you that your life since then had been good, that the problems you’d faced had been nothing in comparison.    But underneath all that, the hatred and injustice was still alive. And if something ever happened to draw those things up to the surface, there was no telling how much darkness you could inflict upon the world.

   “No,” he finally said, with a slight shake of his head. “I won’t agree to that.”

   “Marcus…”

   “No. Don’t ever ask me that again.” He sounded almost angry suddenly, which made no sense to you, and when he saw the confusion in your eyes, he let go of your hands and turned away from you for a beat. Frustration rocked his frame when he came back, stepping even closer, crowding you against the wall. “I love you, do you understand that?    I love you so much that for the past two months, I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time, because I kept waking up, hoping you’d be there. And every time I reached over to find your side of the bed cold and empty, I cried for hours.”

   Stunned, you couldn’t do anything but stare at him. He had never mentioned any of this in all the time you’d been apart. He’d mentioned having trouble sleeping without you on several occasions, but you had no idea it had been this severe.

   “I abandoned you at the prison. I left you when you needed me, and I will never forgive myself for it.    But you left me too,” he accused, and he was getting increasingly sad now. “You chose to stay away, and I respected that because I knew you were still mine. I could see you and know you were okay.    But I wasn’t. Every day has been torturous to me, and I was never gonna tell you about it, because I knew you only did what you needed to do, and I was fine with it. I would suffer through anything for you.”

   He paused then, closing his eyes and slowly lifting his hands to place them on the wall on either side of your shoulders, as if he suddenly needed the support.

   “But not this,” he tremblingly continued, opening his eyes to reveal the absolute horror which filled them at the mere thought of what he was saying. “You don’t get to ask me to fight you. To stand between the people that I can’t live without and keep them apart. To look at you and see an enemy… I can never do that.    I’d rather die.”

   The final sentence was little more than a whisper, strangled by the unbearable truth behind them, and you finally understood.    Life had taught you everything about fear and survival, about despair and desperation. But things like friendship, joy, security and trust, respect and emotional intelligence, you’d had to figure out on your own, much later in life.

   Which was why, you’d never contemplated on the potential existence of a person who could love you so completely that even the risk you posed to his child would never be enough to tear him from you.    Those were the plotlines of impossibly romantic fantasies. You’d never seen any proof, at any stage of your life, to suggest it could ever be real.

   And yet, it was staring you in the face, right now. As real and devastating as every harsh word you’d been made to endure, as if the universe was trying to show you that everything truly does have an equal counterpart. That if such catastrophic and destructive things as your mother existed, then so too must her opposite.    For a long moment, you just stared at the man before you, still resisting the notion that such a creature could’ve stepped out of the pages of books and movies, much less that he could ever fall for you.

   “How… How are you real?” you heard yourself ask, and his features softened but he kept meeting your gaze with unchanged intensity, and after a few seconds, he seemed to realize why you’d asked such a thing.

   “You’ve never known someone could love a person this much… have you?”

   Shaking your head, you never broke away from his eyes, still barely able to fathom that this was the real world and not some dream you’d made up for yourself.    He leaned closer, until his face was mere inches from yours.

   “Well, I do. And even if you don’t know it yet, you’re exactly the same.    Remember, hermosa, I know you. So, when I say that I know Missy’s always gonna be safe with you, it’s not wishful thinking.    I’ve told you before, you have good instincts, so trust yourself. Your body knows when you’re really in danger, so trust it.”

   He held your focus until he saw you give in, so attuned to your every expression that he noticed the moment your resolve began to falter, and you started to allow yourself to believe that this man and his unbelievably enormous heart, was indeed real.    Leaning back, he let his hands slide off the wall and rubbed them over his face, as if trying to scrub the intensity of the conversation you’d just had, out of his frame.

   “I’ll try,” you replied, which seemed like a hopelessly inadequate response, and much too delayed to even relate to what he’d said, but it was all you could think of.

   He sighed into a slight smile, letting his hands fall to his sides.

   “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”

   Gaping like a damned fish for a beat, you pushed off the wall while your brain scrambled to get out of the incredulous haze he’d put it in.

   “Wow… Now? This felt like a Yoda-moment to you?” you questioned, unable to keep from grinning slightly at the sheer ridiculousness of the quote in this setting.

   “Hey, it made you smile.”

   Huffing lightly, you let your head fall forwards and saw the game you’d dropped on the floor when Anita had startled you.

   “Right. Well, I guess it’s playtime.”

   You walked past him to pick it up, but when you bent over, he grabbed your hips and pulled your ass back against his groin. The unexpected action caused you to abruptly right yourself again with a loud gasp, clutching the box to your abdomen as he leaned into your back and kissed your neck, quickly but passionately, before whispering in your ear.

   “Oh no, that comes later, sexy. And I promise to keep Yoda out of it,” he whispered, low and gravelly, knowing that voice would move through you like the vibrations of a drum.

   He deliberately bucked into your ass just a little, before letting you go, because the fucker knew it would make you soil your panties. It seemed he was intent on not only keeping you distracted tonight, but on making good use of the fact that he’d finally have you back in his bed tonight, and you couldn’t really blame him.    Grabbing the game, he sauntered off to the living room while you grunted and went to the bedroom to change underwear. Which was when you remembered something from months back, when you’d been on a shopping spree with the twins.

   When you re-joined the family in the living room, shooting Anita a harsh glare, they’d already set the game up and were playing rock-paper-scissors to determine who’d get to start, so you took your seat and fell into the comfortable familiarity of just being with these people.    It didn’t take long before you’d let go of the tense minutes in the hallway earlier, letting the light-hearted energy at the table infect you until you couldn’t even remember what you’d been so upset about.

   You’d put on a knitted dress, which you’d used to wear a lot while you’d lived alone but had never worn in front of Marcus.    It wasn’t really anything special. Light grey and snugly fitting, with a big open neck that naturally fell off both shoulders. It had long sleeves, and came down to about mid-thigh, which meant your legs were mostly bare, since you’d opted not to wear any leggings underneath.

   But there was something about the softness of the wool, and the way it hugged your form. It made you look really cute and sweet for some reason, while it also unapologetically showed off your curves, which was why you’d never worn it in front of anyone else before. The strange contradiction of the garment had always made you a bit self-conscious.    Although, you’d had the satisfaction of watching Marcus’ eyes widen for a second, as he’d taken you in, before clearing his throat and returning to battling for starting positions, which had boosted your confidence immensely.

   While you all played, you decided to test yourself on the accuracy of your abilities, since the only way you’d ever get comfortable using your powers around the family, was by practicing, and the game offered a perfect distraction.    During your training, you’d learned how to use your energy for very specific tasks, such as threading a needle through a small opening, or lifting a feather past a table fan, so you’d gotten good at shifting the flow of energy very precisely. Your trainers had also made sure there was always a distraction present, to force you to learn how to focus even when your mind was drawn elsewhere.

   So, as the game progressed, you amused yourself with trying to move things around the room without letting on that you were doing it. Not within the game, that would’ve been cheating, but at one point, you made a fairly large candle holder move from one side of a shelf behind Marcus, to the other, without anyone noticing.    Emboldened, you moved on to the people, shifting a few strands of hair, or lifting a corner of a shirt. Just enough to make them turn and look, wondering if they’d imagined it.

   About halfway through the game, you decided to up the ante, and bumped Anita’s foot under the table, just as she took the lead. And because of how you were all positioned around the table, the only one that could’ve physically reached her was Missy.

   “Hey, it’s rude to kick the elderly.”

   “Which is why I don’t,” the girl immediately shot back, unaware what her grandmother was talking about, but always ready to defend herself. “I might steal your lucky earring, though.”

   “You wouldn’t dare.”

   “Just you wait, Abuela.”

   Ten minutes later, Missy smugly reclaimed the lead, and keeping up with their banter, Anita reached towards her right ear, just to make sure her luck hadn’t been stolen.

   “Well, I’ll be damned. How’d you do that, you little rascal?” she smiled, but the girl was of course only confused.

   “Do what?”

   “Give me back my lucky earring, you thief. What are they teaching you at that super’s school?”

   “What?! I didn’t actually take it, that was just a joke.”

   “Mhm. I’ll get it back, don’t you worry.”

   Missy just shrugged and kept playing, and the two of them were locked in a battle for first position all the way towards the end, which was why no one noticed you racing up behind them, taking the lead at the last second and winning the game.    Predictably, your partner was a good loser, his daughter was disappointed she’d been too distracted to see you coming, while Anita was the sore loser.    So, when she glowered at you, you lifted your left hand from the table and dangled her earring between your fingers.

   “Hm. Guess it really is lucky,” you grinned, watching all three of them stare at the piece of jewellery with comically stunned expressions.

   “How did you…?” Marcus was the one who tried to ask, but you just winked at him.

   “Trade-secret.”

   You shot him a bright smile, before leaning over the table to hand Anita her earring back. And he seemed to realize that your happiness wasn’t at all about winning the game, but that something about stealing the earring had to do with you trusting your powers, and although he didn’t know what exactly, you could tell he shared the joy of your triumph.    The four of you played another game after that, but without interference from you, as you were reserving your strength for the promised adult playtime.    Anita left around nine, and while Marcus cleaned up the living room, you tucked Missy in for the night.

   “How’d you do it? The earring?” she wondered after you’d pulled the covers up to her waist, and instead of answering her, you picked up her headphones from the bedside table and handed them to her, without moving your hands. “Wow! Do you have telekinesis too?”

   “No. I’ve just learned how to use my energy to manipulate things.”

   “How does that work? I thought your energy was like a shield.”

   “It can be. That’s sort of the thing, I can make it into pretty much anything I need. From a huge shield to a tiny speck, just enough to hold a grain of sand in the air.    But the really mindboggling thing is how I can do these things without anyone being able to detect the energy, even when it touches them, and I can chose if I want the energy to be solid and heavy, or let objects pass through it completely unaffected.”

   “That’s so cool, though! It’s like the ultimate sneak attack weapon.”

   “Yeah, I guess it is. Although, I’m hoping I won’t have to use it as a weapon at all.”

   “HQ hasn’t asked you to join the Heroics?” she wondered, and she looked a bit confused, which was understandable since she couldn’t wait to be part of the team herself.

   “They have, but I don’t really feel like that’s my place.”

   “Because your powers didn’t come naturally?”

   “Partly. But also, just because I’ve never been a part of that world.    You might not have any powers, but you were still raised within this atmosphere, connected to it through your father, so it’s always been part of your everyday life in some way. Whereas for me, the first time I encountered this world was when I met Marcus, so I just don’t feel like it’s my path.    Does that make sense?”

   “Kinda. But you should do whatever makes you happy, anyway.”

   “Thank you, sweetie. It means a lot to me that you care about my happiness,” you smiled at her, and she smiled back but there was something deeper behind her expression.

   “I’m so glad you’re home,” she said, and even though she tried to hide it, you heard the slight tremor in her voice, telling you how scared she’d been that you wouldn’t come back.

   “Where else would I be? This is my family,” you assured her, and felt a bit of wetness bother your eyes when you leaned down to give her a hug, so immeasurably grateful to feel her arms hold you so tightly in return. “You put those headphones on now, okay?”

   She smiled even wider as you let each other go, and grabbed the device, preparing to put it in place over her head.

   “Go easy on him.”

   “Never,” you winked, to which she huffed a laugh, shook her head at you and then turned the music on as you stepped out and closed the door.

   You walked back out into the living room, and found your partner sweeping popcorn off the floor, so you plopped down on the sofa to watch him work, enjoying the play of muscles in his arms.

   “So, you’ve learned more than I thought in your training,” he quietly stated while reaching the broom underneath the dinner table.

   “I assume you’re referring to my borrowing a certain earring?”

   “I didn’t know you could do things that detailed. You never gave me access to your records during your training,” he reminded you, and some of your good mood faded a bit, because you knew he struggled to understand why you’d kept him at a distance concerning your abilities.

   “One of things that helped the most in my training was when I realized I could decide how much energy I want to bring into this dimension, how to control where it goes and how to manipulate it so that it actually becomes useful to me.    The thing that took the longest to learn was how to use it to move really small or light things around, and I figured tonight was a good chance to practice and maybe get more comfortable using my powers around the family.”

   “Okay,” was all he said, turning his back to you while he emptied the dustpan into a trashcan.

   “Honey,” you sighed, realizing he hadn’t brought it up because he was looking for clarification on the extent of your capabilities, but rather because he was still disappointed you’d kept him out of the loop. “If there’s something you wanna air out, please do.”

<><><><><> 

   He put the broom away and came over to the couch, taking a seat on the coffee table, opposite you.

   “I just thought that…” he started, but then paused, looking for the right way to phrase this so it wouldn’t sound like he was angry with you. “I’ve been with you every step of the way. You’ve allowed me to help you heal, to be your crutch and your soundboard, talked to me about everything you’ve struggled with.    So, I just don’t understand why you won’t let me help you with your powers.”

   “It has nothing to do with what I want, Marcus,” you surprised him by saying, but he stayed quiet to let you explain. “If there was a way for me to get what I want, I wouldn’t have these powers at all.    I chose not to keep leaning on you with this because I realized that at some point, I was gonna have to stand on my own two feet. That so long as I kept you as my crutch, I was never gonna trust myself to be strong enough to handle it without you.”

   Your logic was sound, he couldn’t argue against it. But somewhere in his chest, it was a bit painful to accept that he wasn’t needed as much anymore.    It was a good thing for you to want to be strong on your own, to not be reliant on anyone else, but throughout your relationship, he had been the one you’d always turned to for help, and he just wasn’t sure how to accept that he might not have that role in your life anymore.

   “So, does this mean I’m permanently excluded from your records?”

   “Why does it matter so much to you that I didn’t give you spousal privileges to my files with Research? What do you think you could learn from reading them?”

   “It’s not that I wanna read them, really… it just feels like you don’t trust me.”

   “Oh, my god,” you sighed, shaking your head in what appeared to be disbelief before you fixed him with your piercing eyes. “You are literally the only person in the world I trust, and if you don’t know that by now, then I don’t know what else to do.”

   “Then why?” he persisted, truly perplexed as to your reasoning for letting him have access to literally everything about you, except for this. “You lied to me about the healing.”

   He hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it slipped out anyway, revealing the real reason why this mattered so much to him. But he regretted it the moment he saw your expression, because you looked so hurt.

   “So, this has nothing to do with me trusting you, after all. This is about you not trusting me.”

   “No, it’s about me being terrified of the fact that your own abilities can kill you. Do you know how rare that is? No other super is capable of that,” he tried to argue, but even he could hear how poor of an excuse it was.

   “Which isn’t that surprising, since technically, I’m not a super. I’m a compilation of fifty different ones, so when you think about it, it’s actually kinda miraculous that I don’t have dozens of different abilities, which considering how much I’ve struggled just to manage the two I do have, would probably have been wholly disastrous.    Now, stop sidestepping the issue and tell me the truth. Do you think I’m keeping something from you?”

   You didn’t sound angry at all, only disappointed, which was so much harder to hear.

   “No,” he truthfully admitted. “But I’m not sure you’d tell me if something else came up, regarding your powers. I feel like you’re keeping me out so that if something happens, you’ll have the freedom to decide how much to tell me, even if it’s something that might affect me negatively.”

   “You mean like you’re keeping your past away from me?”

   The question took him completely off guard, and he found himself just staring dumbly at you.

   “I haven’t pried, even though there have been plenty of opportunities, but your mother, Amaire, doctor Kane and even you yourself have hinted at something you did in your youth that you’re carrying with you to this day. But you’ve chosen not to share that with me even though it’s clearly something important, and maybe even defining to your character.    So, maybe you should take a hard look at yourself before you start talking about keeping people out.”

   Mildly stunned, he just kept looking into your eyes, wondering how he could’ve been stupid enough to think you hadn’t pieced together what little clues he’d inadvertently let slip in conversation.    You were a survivor. A hyper independent woman. Of course, you noticed and remembered everything.

   “I’m sorry,” he offered, but he wasn’t ready to talk about this yet. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.”

   “Are you ever gonna tell me about it?” you asked, correctly deducing that his apology was also a deflection.

   “Yes. I promise I will, but it’s… It’s something I spent a long time overcoming, and I couldn’t have done it without… Sarah.”

   He ducked his head at the mention of his wife, not because he thought you wouldn’t wanna hear about her, but because it pained him to remember.    You leaned forwards in the sofa and put your hands on his clasped ones, urging him to look at you, so he did.

   “Okay,” you said, nodding softly. “Then I promise I will tell you if anything happens with my powers.”

   As comforting as that was to hear, he didn’t miss the fact that you still hadn’t agreed to let him have access to your records, meaning you still wanted the freedom of getting to choose how much he knew.    On the other hand, you had no access at all to anything regarding him, medical or otherwise, so perhaps he was being overly intrusive.

   “Thank you, hermosa.”

   You stood up then, and since he was sitting right across from you, that meant your hips were at his eye-level, just inches from his face, when you rose to your full length and stretched, causing your knitted dress to rise up just high enough for him to see what underwear you were wearing.    Sucking in a sharp breath, he let his hands slide up your thighs, moving the knitted hem further out of the way so he could see more of it.

   “You’ve been wearing that underneath this dress all evening?” he breathlessly wondered, having already forgotten all about difficult conversations and past mistakes.

   “Call it a welcome home gift,” you smiled looking down on him, while letting your hands drop to his shoulders and gently massage them.

   “I’m the one that’s supposed to give you a welcome home gift,” he objected, but half-heartedly at best, since he was already dreaming up things to do with this unexpected turn of events.

   “Oh, I fully expect you to. So much so, that I told Missy to put her headphones on,” you heatedly grinned, and he had to take a moment to remind himself that this was even really happening, because you’d been so unsure about being with him in the cell earlier that day.

   But it seemed you’d made the decision to not let your fears control you. Maybe coming home and being around your favourite people again had given you the final push of motivation you needed, to make sure you’d be able to stay with them.    The thought pleased him greatly, and he swallowed hard while letting his grip tighten on your hips, before he ducked his head and kissed your mound on top of the underwear. Then he got up, hoisted you up onto his hips and carried you to the bedroom.

   He set you down on the floor at the foot of the bed and noticed that his hands were actually trembling as he reached up to hold your face while he kissed you slowly. He wanted this to last, because even though you’d made love only hours earlier, this was different.    You were home, finally. After so long he finally got to have you for a whole night, in a soft bed with no visitation hours or monitoring equipment to consider.    It was just the two of you, together, exactly as you both wanted.

   You reached for the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it off, but not heatedly, having picked up on his lack of a rush. Once it was on the floor, you let your hands caress the curves of his arms and shoulders, trace the edges of his collarbones and the dip between them.    He sighed contentedly at your touch, and then kissed you again before he reached down to pull your dress over your head.

   You were wearing a dark violet strapless balconette teddy in lace, with the bra and panties connected only by two strips of lace crossing each other over your abdomen on the front, and by thin golden chains in a diamond pattern over your back.    Both parts of it was transparent, since the lace was of the less densely embroidered kind, and it was somehow more enticing that he could see what was underneath it, since it meant he could enjoy your body without having to remove the seductive garment.

   “When did you get this?” he asked, letting his voice drop to that husky whisper you loved, while he spun you around so he could admire every angle of it.

   “During one of my shopping-days with the twins a while back. We had a lot of fun that day, trying on all kinds of bustiers and corsets, giving comments and critiquing each other based on what we thought our partners would like.”

   “Hmmm… And who suggested I would like this?” he wondered, letting his hands trace the path of one of the chains over your back.  

   “Both of them,” you replied with heavy breaths, letting him know how much you enjoyed his scrutiny. “Claire’s husband loves anything on her, so long as it’s red, but Amanda’s wife is very specific. Only silk, no lace at all, and nothing black or too strappy.    But they both agreed that this one was perfect for you the moment they saw it on me.”

   You’d turned so that your front was to his again by the time you fell silent, so he pulled you forwards by the hips, pressing his groin into yours and moving his hands to squeeze your ass.

   “Well, they were absolutely right. For the first time since I met you, I’ve come across an article of clothing that I really don’t wanna rip off you.”

   “In that case, I should have gone for the crotchless one,” you purred, and he smiled.

   “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure I can modify this to my satisfaction.”

   He had his eyes on your breasts, their roundness perfectly hugged by the soft lace, but when you moaned in anticipation, he kissed you again, more heatedly this time, pulling you closer against him so he could feel your tits against his chest.

   “Honey… you can do whatever you want with this teddy, as long as I get to feel you stretch and fill me the way only you can,” you whispered in his ear after breaking the kiss, and he couldn’t help but growl in response.

   To keep his desires from overtaking his senses, he dropped his forehead against yours and just stood there breathing calmly for a moment, moving his hands to hold you around the waist instead.    You mirrored him, holding him to you while you patiently waited for him to be ready to keep going.

   Slowly, he moved against you, pushing you backwards towards the bed, but he didn’t ask you to climb onto it yet. Instead, he took a step back and started removing the remainder of his clothes, before coming back to you.    He saw your gaze drop to his cock, hard and thick and so ready for you, and suddenly a whimper escaped you, which utterly stunned him.    You never whimpered. Moaned, yes, but never whimpered.

   Spurred by your apparently almost unbearable need for him in that moment, he stepped closer again and reached down to stroke you through the lace of your panties, only to find them absolutely drenched in your juices.

   “Oh, god… Don’t worry, my love, I’m gonna take such good care of you,” he huskily promised, before kissing your neck and then continuing to kiss his way down your chest, over your abdomen, until he was kneeling in front of you.

   Carefully pulling the crotch of your panties away from your flesh, he ripped a hole in the fabric, large enough that he’d fit through it when he entered you later. But for now, his aim was simply to ease the pressure within you.    You were so overcharged with arousal that just his fingers gently caressing your folds was enough to bring you over, and unsurprisingly, the overload made your power flare, shaking the whole room while you unravelled over his hand.

   But it didn’t worry him. He’d always known you wouldn’t let anything happen to him, no matter how lost in ecstasy you might be, so he just watched you, utterly amazed at your sensitivity and how unashamedly you got lost in your pleasure.    It wasn’t until you started to lose balance that he helped you lay down on the bed, before settling himself on top of you.

   You sighed happily at the feel of his weight on you. You’d told him so many times how you loved it, and as much as he enjoyed watching you ride him now and then, your pleasure was always greater when he had you underneath him, and he wouldn’t argue against that.    Lowering himself just enough that he could kiss your breasts and let his hands play with the exposed skin along your sides, pretty soon he had you panting again.

   “Please…” he heard you mutter in between strained breaths, and he looked up at you in stunned silence.

   You never begged. If there was something you needed from him, you asked for it, or just took it, knowing he would never stop you. But this was a nearly desperate plea, and it almost made him worried.

   “Hermosa?”

   “Please, babe… I need you inside me.” You actually strained to get the words out, and he wondered if you could be capable of such amounts of arousal that it reached a point of nearly getting painful for you.

   He moved himself up again, settling in his usual position over you, cradling you into him so that as much as possible of your bodies was touching one another.    And when he began pushing into you, it looked as though you actually felt a sense of relief. As though the friction of his cock against your walls somehow satisfied you even without the need for a climax.    He felt it when your powers activated again, and for a moment you tensed up, until you felt his current respond.

   “Don’t be afraid, mi amor. Let it flow with you, with me. Trust your body,” he whispered, driving into you a little harder to make sure your focus remained on the pleasure, drawing you further away from fear, and it worked.

   He could tell how you gradually relaxed into it, and suddenly surges of pleasure were moving through you both, melding your powers so seamlessly that there was no telling what was your pleasure and what was his own.    Like that time in the med-chamber, your skin started to shine slightly when you connected to each other like this, and when he glanced at his own arm, he noticed that the same thing was going on with him.

   Surprisingly, the energies you were creating together somehow seemed to prolong everything. Not by holding you back, but by levelling you both out before you started sprinting towards the peak. Usually, you just leapt to that edge, almost immediately, unable to stop yourselves, but when the energies combined like this, entirely without restraint, they seemed to create a kind of temporary lull, before the inevitable storm hit you.    But when it did, it was even stronger than usual.

   You got there a few seconds before him this time, and the veritable explosion of sensations was indescribable. He could feel everything you felt, which extended and deepened the act, as you shared in his peak as well, the satisfaction you both experienced well beyond the simple physicality of sex.    As the climax slowly settled in your bodies, he thought about how he wanted to tell you so many things. How proud he was of you, how much he loved you, how amazing you were.

   But he was too tired to say a word, and before he drifted off into deep sleep, he thought how it was good he hadn’t said any of it out loud. Because those words wouldn’t make much difference to you, you already knew how he felt and what he thought about you.    And he realized that the reason he wanted to keep telling you these things, was to make sure you knew that he was serious. That there would be no doubt in your mind of where the question came from or why he asked it, when he did.

<><><><><> 

   You couldn’t remember Marcus climbing off you or pulling the covers over you, but when you woke up, you were on your side, snuggly cuddled up to his chest, with a bright sun coming in through the window, making his golden skin almost appear to shimmer.    Your last thought before you’d succumbed to subconsciousness had been how relieved you were to be back home, and to have made love to your man without breaking anything, which had to have been some kind of record or milepost for the two of you.

   Raising your head a bit, you found your partner watching you, also lying on his side but with a peculiar little smile on his face.    Pulling back just a tad, so you could lie comfortably while you met his gaze, you settled yourself opposite him, mirroring his posture, and just looked at him. Drank in his features while wondering how you could have ever been lucky enough to have this in your life.    You saw something change in his expression, and even though you couldn’t tell what it was, you could see the moment that he decided to speak his mind.

   “Marry me.”

   Having expected something more along the lines of “Good morning” or “I love you”, it took you a solid moment to realize what he’d actually said, and then even longer to absorb it.

   “W-what…?” you eventually croaked, and while his expression remained largely unreadable, you could see a smidgeon of fear creep into the corners of his eyes.

   “Will you marry me?” he asked in full.

   His voice was low and soft, but there was no hesitation or self-doubt in him. He was sure about this. Which meant he’d thought about it, thoroughly and probably repeatedly.    But you hadn’t.    Sure, you’d envisioned being with him long term, but only in an abstract sort of way. You hadn’t been daydreaming about what your wedding would look like or practiced writing your married name in the backs of your notebooks.

   Yesterday had been a strange and emotional day, revealing not only the true depths of your boyfriend’s love for you, in his utter refusal to ever let any barriers exist between you, but also just how completely he knew you, in how expertly he’d managed to keep you balanced, despite the emotional turmoil you’d suffered.    And while all that was comforting to know, what truly settled your mind on the question, was the realization that he wouldn’t have been able to become this person to you, if you hadn’t let him. If you hadn’t wanted him to.

   “Yes.”

   You’d barely gotten through the little word before you were already throwing yourself at him, kissing him like it was your first time all over again, a full-on assault on his face. But he just laughed heartily into the kiss and pulled you in close.    The teddy unfortunately didn’t survive his morning hunger, but you promised him you’d go shopping for a few new ones at your earliest convenience.

   You bounced into the kitchen half an hour later, humming and dancing to your own tune in a pair of worn old sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt with a picture of Lightning McQueen over the chest.    Missy had just dug into a bowl of cereal, and she eyed you suspiciously after you’d startled her with your energetic entry.

   “Who are you, and what have you done with grumpy morning-hermosa? I rely on her for my daily dose of reality-check.”

   “I’m just happy,” you chirped, grabbing the kettle before pirouetting over to the tap to fill it up.

   “Yeah, I can tell, and frankly, it’s unnerving.”

   “Oh, come on, live a little,” you giggled, before sending a little flicker of energy to ruffle her hair, making her flinch so hard she dropped her spoon on the floor.

   “Okay, seriously, what is going on with you?” she grumbled while retrieving it, but before you could answer, Marcus walked into the kitchen.

   “Morning, sweetheart. How’d you sleep?” he also chirped, but that was normal for him in the mornings, so she didn’t react to it.

   “Like a rock, I suspect thanks to someone’s warning about the headphones,” she deadpanned, but then seemed to think of something. “Is that what this is about?”

   “What what’s about?” her father wondered, having heard nothing about her suspicion towards your joyous disposition.

   She gestured to you, where you now stood by the toaster, humming Proud Mary and rolling your hips to the rhythm.

   “It’s 7am and she’s singing and dancing. Is that a sex-thing?”

   Profoundly stunned by hearing his daughter even utter that word, Marcus missed the button on the coffeemaker and hit his thumb against the wall next to it instead, so hard that he cracked one of the tiles.    You decided to rescue him from having to answer, since this was clearly a topic he had no idea how to even approach. Also, the question did concern you more than him.

   “No, sweetie, it’s just a happiness thing. Although the sex does help with that, when it’s good.”

   His coffee-cup hit the floor when he apparently missed the counter as he turned sharply to stare at you with shock and disbelief, obviously not at all comfortable with how openly you talked about this.    You ignored his embarrassment, however, since you believed his daughter’s questions should be answered rather than dismissed. And Missy just kept going.

   “And what about when it’s not good?” she wondered, at which point, Marcus just gave up and slowly bent down to pick up the pieces of his broken cup, looking about as flustered as you imagined him capable of.

   “Then it just makes you tired and disappointed,” you happily shared, entirely unaffected by your partner’s embarrassment.

   “Okay… But wait, I’m confused,” Missy pondered, and you were kinda proud to see her approach the subject so relaxed and openly curious. “So, the sex was good, but that’s not why you’re happy?    Then why?”

   You were about to say something generic but truthful, like it had just been a generally wonderful morning, and you were just so happy to be back home. But right then, Marcus popped back up like a human-sized jack in the box.

   “I asked her to marry me this morning!” he all but screamed, so desperate to change the subject that he blurted it out without the two of you having had a chance to discuss how to approach her with it.

   You and Missy both just stared at him, momentarily frozen in your respective spots.

   “Sorry. That came out a little forced,” he sheepishly admitted, nervously scratching his neck when neither of you moved.

   “Are you serious?” his daughter eventually questioned, suddenly sounding terribly unsure. “Cause you can’t joke about something like that, dad.”

   “I’m completely serious,” he assured her, at which point she turned her firm eyes at you.

   “Please tell me you said yes?”

   For the smallest moment, you were stunned into silence, because there was real fear in her eyes while she waited for your reply, as if she truly believed there was a chance you wouldn’t wanna be with them for the rest of your life.

   “Oh, sweetie… Of course I did, why do you think I’m so happy?” you grinned at her, and when she scrambled out of her seat, you went to meet her, pulling her into a tight hug while you both cried with joy.

   The three of you had breakfast together and caught each other up on everything you’d missed while you’d been locked away at HQ, while you constantly had to get up to refill your plate with eggs, bacon, toast and muffins. Until you eventually just gave up and rummaged through the fridge for some left-over pizza.    You’d forgone the energy bar that morning, because it was just so nice to sit and eat with your family again, in comfortable familiarity and leisure.

   Once you were full, and the conversations began to ebb out, Marcus set about cleaning up and you went outside to pick up the paper. While you were out there, you stood for a moment just basking in the warmth of the sun, enjoying how it felt on your skin.    But just as you turned and started walking back towards the front door, a voice spoke behind you. A voice you hadn’t heard in a very long time, but one that turned your blood to ice in an instant.

   “Hey, sis. You look good.”

   You had to force your body to actually turn towards him, as it threatened to shut down at the traumatic memories of everything he’d done to you.    But the moment you laid eyes on him, it woke up with a fury which had the entire neighbourhood shaking under the pressure of the massive amounts of energy which poured from you in your instinct to shield yourself and everyone you cared about.

   You heard your partner call out your name from inside the house when he realized the tremors he felt weren’t caused by an earthquake, but you didn’t answer, because your full focus was on the man in front of you.    The brother who became the monster. The family that became the enemy.    And only one thought existed in your mind: He was not going to touch your family. Ever.

   “Danny. I’m gonna give you one chance to save yourself.”

   You could only just hold yourself together enough to even speak to him, as each time you opened your mouth, all you wanted was to scream.    Clenching your hands into fists in a feeble attempt to control how much energy was still pouring from you, only resulted in the driveway cracking like a biscuit underneath him, and you caught yourself thinking that you probably wouldn’t even regret it, if the ground split and swallowed him whole.

   “Leave…” you growled, with pure hatred saturating every syllable. “And never come back.”

[sirowsky-stories]

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 22 - Safety Not Guaranteed

Description: Although you were finally learning more about your new abilities, you were far from carefree. But Marcus wasn't about to let you hide away forever.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 6322 (5056 words added) Masterlist (this story)

   He didn’t say a word during the walk from Research, which was apparently housed on the deepest of the subterranean levels, up to the cells which were still underground but only just. He was tense and worried, though, so you knew once you got there, he’d need to try and sort through everything you’d both learned today.    You just hoped you’d both manage to stay calm for this conversation, since you were already on edge and risked losing control if you got too emotional.

   When you reached your accommodations, there was a guard posted outside your cell, and Marcus stopped in front of him before taking you inside.

   “Turn off all surveillance to this room immediately,” he ordered, and the guard relayed the command to what you assumed was a control center somewhere nearby.

   Then your partner escorted you in and closed the door behind the two of you, but he still checked that the cameras and microphones really were off before he started talking.    It looked to you as though he merely glanced at them, but you knew he could tell if there was still power running to them, which there wouldn’t be if his orders had been obeyed.    Nothing fried during his scrutiny, so it seemed they had respected his authority on this matter.

   “What did you learn about your powers, hermosa?” he finally asked, and he sounded very calm, if a bit tired, which put you at ease as well.

   “You didn’t hear? I thought you’d been there the whole time,” you wondered, but he shook his head.

   “I didn’t even know they’d brought you in for testing until I felt the entire building shake and learned that it came from Research, so I went to see if I could help.    It was no small shock to walk in there and find you sitting in The Diametric, or what was left of it, talking about how you’d healed the entire team in Florida.”

   Oh. He’d only heard that last part. Well, you were done with lying and keeping secrets, so you sighed and sat down on the bed, preparing for what was clearly going to be a long conversation.

   “Alright, first I need to apologize for keeping you in the dark. I’m so sorry for not telling you about the healing, it was never about me not trusting you.”

   “No, I know. You were trying to shield me from the inevitable moral conflict that comes with it. But I do hope you know you were wrong to do that.”

   “I knew the moment I made the decision not to share it, that it was wrong. I guess a part of me was hoping it would turn out to be a temporary thing, or at least something I could never repeat. The circumstances in Florida were so extreme, I genuinely didn’t know if the healing was something I conjured up out of desperation or if it was actually a part of my abilities.    But then that kid today…” you trailed off, and he stepped closer, suddenly looking very worried.

   “What kid?” he asked, and you realized he hadn’t been told about anything which had happened that day.

   “One of the kids who runs errands for Science. He’s been here a half dozen times to deliver food cubes, but this afternoon I lost my temper seeing him again, and I… killed him,” you explained, watching Marcus’ face turn pale and disbelieving as he kneeled in front of you. “Obviously I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to shove him back out the door, but I sent him flying headfirst into the wall instead.”

   You looked towards the wall in question, which seemed oddly unaffected by what had been so traumatic to you.    There hadn’t been any blood as the damage to the boy had been internal, but you’d never forget the sounds of his bones being crushed.

   “So, that’s what prompted Research to start testing, even though it was ahead of schedule.”

   “Yeah. I passed out after healing him, and when I woke up, I was under the dome.”

   “I wondered if you were the one who’d convinced them to skip ahead, but I guess it makes sense they’d feel pressured to assess you after something like that.”

   “I would’ve told you if I’d decided to take the risk of doing the tests early, honey. I know I’ve given you reason not to trust me where my powers are concerned, but that’s only because they scare the shit out of me. And you’re the one who makes me feel safe,” you assured him, and you could see in his eyes that he believed you.

   “Is the kid okay?”

   “Apparently, he’s even better than before. It seems I healed more than just the broken neck and skull, I took care of every little kink along the way as well.”

   “Hm. You’ll need to work on that, if this ability is gonna be safe for you to use going forwards.”

   “Yeah, I’ve thought about that,” you agreed, so relieved to finally be able to talk openly about this. “I can’t seem to decide what injury I wanna correct in a person, which obviously means I can’t choose how much energy I expend on them, but if I could learn to just take care of one problem, I could help people without it being so destructive to me.”

   “The problem there is how to train yourself to do that without risking your life each time. But we’ll get back to that.    What did you learn about the shield?”

   “Ugh, that it’s scarier than anything I could’ve imagined,” you said with an unpleasant shiver travelling down your spine at the memory.

   “How so?” he prompted while getting up and taking a seat beside you on the bed, taking your hand to help give you strength, which you sorely needed.

   “It comes from another dimension,” you explained, and he apparently didn’t know what to say to that, so you soldiered on. “I was trying to trace the energy back inside myself, looking for its origin or at least a way to better understand what the hell it is. But instead, I found myself somewhere else.    Somehow, my body has a direct line to this other place, where there’s no light or life. But it’s full of this massive energy that I can’t even describe, much less understand. And it feels kind of… alive.”

   “Alive?” he echoed with a sceptical brow. “You mean alive like a sentient being or more like bacteria?”

   “I don’t know. That’s what makes it so scary. If I could say for certain that it was some evil force or entity, then at least I’d know to steer clear of it.    But whatever this is, it’s so different, so other, that I can’t say I understand the first thing about it. It could be something malevolent, or it could just be my own fear making me misinterpret a mindless energy for the monster under the bed.    Kane thinks it’s just drawn to me because I act like a power cord, giving it an outlet into this reality, and frankly, that’s as good a theory as anything.”

   “You have good instincts, querida. If it feels dangerous then I’m sure you have good reason for sensing that. But I also think that this is a part of you now. And anything that connects to you is under your spell, not the other way around. Trust me on that.”

   “You’re sweet, but just because you’re powerless against my charms doesn’t mean everything in existence is,” you reminded him, while tiredly bumping his shoulder, but he remained steadfast.

   “Maybe not, but I know how powerful you were long before you had any supernatural abilities, and I don’t doubt for a single second that you can bend even the unknown energy of another reality to your wishes,” he replied, and you were about to argue that he shouldn’t joke about something this serious, when he made you realize he wasn’t trying to be funny at all. “I don’t think you need to fear it, so much as yourself.”

   That made you pause for a moment, trying to see his reasoning, but you drew a blank.

   “I don’t know what you mean by that?”

   “I mean how you’ve always doubted yourself,” he started, and you were a bit struck by how clear and resolute his thoughts were on this. He must’ve thought a lot about what he’d learned of your past recently, to come to such strong conclusions so quickly. “Even when you were fighting for your life against your own family, it wasn’t their cruelty that made you feel small. It was your belief in your own insignificance which held you down.    For years it was beaten into your bones, giving you no choice but to believe you were weak and inadequate, and even though you managed to prove them wrong, a part of you still believes them.”

   He paused then, giving you the chance to object in case he’d missed the mark.    You couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so he carried on.

   “But you’re wrong. You were never weak. And you’re stronger now than you’ve ever been before, not because of any powers you possess, but because you’ve dared to share yourself with me.    Love doesn’t cut you into pieces, hermosa. Bad people do. When love is reciprocated in equal measure it both roots you and makes you grow. And the more you share of yourself the bigger you become, just like the crown and roots of a tree living in its ideal conditions.”

   You couldn’t help but smile at the image he was painting. But you also couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if he, like so many artists, had embellished this picture in order to make it fit with the image inside his mind.

   “I know you don’t see yourself like that, and that’s precisely why you are your own worst enemy… You keep holding on to the person who fled the violence of your youth, because to your mind, that’s the strongest you ever were or ever will be.    You don’t see how much you’ve grown. How far your roots have spread, letting you stand tall and secure even against the toughest hurricanes.    But I do. So, please believe me when I tell you that you can and will control this energy, no matter where it comes from.”

   It was hard not to believe him when he talked like this, sounding so sure, but you were still scared, and that wasn’t going to magically sort itself out.    He was right about you holding on to parts of your younger self, though, which was something you hadn’t really realized before, and hearing him say it made you reevaluate your recent choices.

   “I really wish I could see myself the way you do. You make it sound like I’m invincible,” you smiled, not even joking, but he merely waited, knowing you’d have some objection or other. “I just… I’m so scared. Because even though I’ve spent my entire life fighting, which you might think would make me tough and strong, I’ve always felt like all I ever did was scrape by. Barely strong enough to save myself, each time I was forced to try.    And now suddenly I have all this power.”

   You looked into his eyes, letting him see the very real fear which was haunting you, and a concerned wrinkle appeared in his brow, as if this was the first time it occurred to him that you could be this fragile, but he kept quiet as he could see you weren’t done.

   “I don’t doubt that I have the strength necessary to wield it, I’ve always managed to somehow find just enough strength to keep going. What terrifies me is that I won’t know how or when to stop, when the day finally comes when I’m faced with something that really could break me.    Because for all my roots and however much I’ve grown… you have to see that all it would take to tear me down would be for someone to threaten the very same love that helps me grow.    If something happened to you or Missy, no matter how much control I ever managed to master, it would all disappear in the face of that loss. You must know that.”

   He did. You could see it in the lines on his face. The fear he couldn’t hide, even under such a massive faith and confidence as he still had in you.

   “I know,” he admitted, but his voice was still strong, showing no trace of the fear he clearly felt. “I’ve had those same thoughts myself, long ago, when my power was new and scary. And I made mistakes that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life, so I’m the last person to promise you it won’t be difficult or that you won’t screw up.    All I can say is, you’re not alone. I’ll be here to help you, in any way I can. And if that day does come when the strength of your roots is tested… I’m sorry to say you won’t know what that’ll do to you until you’re in that situation. There is no preparing for it.    The best you can hope for is that you’ll remain true to yourself. To the core of who you are and what you believe in.”

   Once again, you wondered what those mistakes of his were, but you hesitated to ask, and not just because he hadn’t volunteered any details. Suddenly you wondered if you really wanted to know.    Because if someone as purehearted as this man had faltered so completely that he’d hurt someone… what hope was there for you to avoid doing the same?    Shivering at the thought, you decided to change tracks.

   “It’s getting late. You should go home to Missy, I’m sure she’s worried.”

   “Yeah. But I want you to know I’m gonna be here every day to help you.”

   “I know you will, but don’t forget about the rest of the world. They need you too,” you reminded him, but he shook his head at that.

   “The team can manage without me until we’ve sorted this out.”

   “Do you really believe that, or are you trying to convince yourself of it?”

   He sighed in a disapproving sort of way, but he didn’t argue.

   “I suppose we’ll find out,” he suggested, and then kissed you lightly before he stood to leave, and he abruptly looked completely exhausted, sliding a heavy palm over his face and rubbing at his neck. “I’ll come by before work tomorrow.”

   “No,” you protested firmly. “You’re dead on your feet, honey. You need to sleep, or you won’t be any good to anyone.”

   “I don’t sleep well without you anymore, no matter what’s going on,” he admitted, doing his best not to look sad, but he didn’t quite succeed.

   You couldn’t do anything about that, so you got up and hugged him instead, and he held you so tightly in return, almost as if he feared you’d disappear if he let you go.    But he had to. Tomorrow would be the start of a new challenge for you both, and he’d be back to supervised visits only. It would undoubtedly be a hard time, and there was no telling for how long it would last, so you both lingered in this moment, hoping to extend it into eternity so you wouldn’t have to face the coming day, and all the trying days to follow.

-=¤=-

   “Hermosa…” he sighed exasperatedly, after you’d changed the subject for the third time when you noticed what he was trying to steer the conversation towards.

   “Yes, okay, I know we’re overdo for that talk,” you snapped back, a little harsher than intended, but it had been a bad day overall and you’d hoped that his visit would be nothing but a bright spot, free of all difficult subjects.

   “You can’t avoid it forever.”

   “I know that, Marcus, but it’s not like I don’t have enough to stress about already.”

   “And this isn’t something you should ever feel stressed about.”

   “Well, I’m sorry but that’s just not possible for me,” you almost growled with frustration. “Besides, I’m no clearer on what I want now than I was two months ago.”

   “All the more reason to talk it through,” he persisted, and he wasn’t wrong. “My feelings haven’t changed.”

   “I didn’t expect they would have.”

   “Did you hope they would have?” He posed the question without a hint of accusation, and yet, you somehow felt provoked.

   Which was why, rather than answer while you were still reacting to his query, you folded your arms over your chest and started slowly walking along the edges of the cell, while you tried to take an honest look at yourself and what you felt.    Your history with your own family had always been in the way, somehow, but now that Marcus knew about it, things were different and you needed to try and see them in this new light, even though it scared you.    The idea of becoming a mother was still entirely perplexing to you.

   “I would never wish for any part of you to change, and especially not your love of family,” you eventually answered him.

   “I appreciate that,” he simply remarked, waiting patiently for you to come to the real issue in your own time.

   He was standing in the middle of the room while you kept circling slowly, using the motion to keep your mind in a forward-thinking mode.

   “Tell me something… Would you be terribly disappointed if it turned out I can’t conceive at all?” you started, although you were unsure of why you needed him to clarify his feelings before you felt like you could get started on yours.

   “No. I’d be sad, but I wouldn’t be devastated. We’re still a family, whether we grow or not.”

   “And what about… if I asked for us to not even try?”

   That made him turn to face you, as your trudging had placed you to his left when you delivered the question.    You stopped moving when his gaze connected with yours, held in place by the indecipherable expression in his entire body.

   “I would want to know why. Why you would deny yourself the possibility when I know how much love you have to give,” he suggested, and by then, you’d figured out what it was you were hesitating to tell him.

   “Growing up, I saw so many families around the neighbourhood. People who looked so happy together. Children who smiled and laughed with their parents, without a worry in the world.  �� They were so fortunate, and yet they had no idea, because they’d never known anything else. And I would sit in the kitchen window and watch them, wondering if their mothers tucked them in at night. If she read to them… sang lullabies…    I envied them, sure. But most of all I wished they would never lose that security. That they’d never learn what it feels like to have no safe place in the entire world to run to.”

   He didn’t say anything, and neither of you had moved. But there was a pain, or perhaps sorrow, growing in the depths of his eyes while he listened.    Your eyes were already filled with tears, knowing where you were going with this.

   “When I was dying on the kitchen floor after Danny had stabbed me, I remember thinking that we must’ve been mistakes. That we could never have been meant to exist. Because how could any mother want children… only to end up hating them?”

   Your voice faltered at the end, and Marcus instantly knew why.    He was right in front of you less than a second later, taking your face between his palms and staring at you with a mixture of incredulity and shock.

   “No… No, sweetheart. You’re not capable of doing that.”

   “If you’d seen her before dad died, you might’ve said the same thing about her,” you fully cried now, finally able to admit to yourself that what you feared about motherhood was that you knew everything about the worst possible sides of it, yet almost nothing about the good.

   And without that, how could you hope to imbue a child with anything but darkness?    It was different with Missy, because she’d already been her own person when you’d come into her life. Her birthparents had already solidified her character and made her the strong and clever person she’d been from the moment you’d first met her.    But an infant? A blank slate, genetically hardwired to imprint on its mother…

   “Listen to me,” he broke through your internal self-criticism, pulling you even closer to his own face until all you could see were his eyes. “You get teary-eyed when you see a child in the supermarket find their lost toy. You laugh at kids playing hopscotch in the street or arguing about who won the latest round of tag…    You are not capable of ever hating an innocent baby.”

   “I can harm someone without hating them-…” you tried to argue but he cut you off.

   “No. Not like that. What she did to you and your brother requires a complete lack of empathy, a total inability to feel compassion, and a heart incapable of feeling love.    So, unless you’re about to tell me you’ve been fooling me into thinking you love me all this time, this idiotic argument is over.    If you don’t want to have kids, then we won’t. But that’s the only reasoning I’ll accept. Anything else is irrelevant.”

   You had to close your eyes against the clarity in his, because it was almost too much to bear. He was so sure. So absolutely confident in the accuracy of his assessment. And despite all the years you’d spent believing in your own inadequacy, this unwavering faith he had in you was enough to shift your belief.    As if all you’d needed all those years was just for someone to prove to you that you were wrong.

   “Yes…” you whispered, before opening your eyes again, finding his still just as clear before you. “I want to.”

   A quiet surprise came over him as he realized what you meant, as though he really hadn’t thought you’d manage to come to an answer already. Or perhaps just not that one. But it made him very happy.    He was trying to downplay it, probably so you wouldn’t think he would’ve been devastated after all if your answer had been the opposite, but you could see the joy radiate from him even so.    And honestly, it was a relief, because his happiness made it feel right.

   He moved so softly when he leaned in to kiss you, as if your decision had finally allowed him to relax some major muscle which had kept him unknowingly tense until now. And the kiss itself was also soft. Tender and loving to the point that it awoke a new kind of passion in you. Not heated and craving, but something deeper, moving slowly and gradually through your body, sparking a kind of desire you’d never felt.

   It wasn’t until his kiss intensified, slowly growing more wanton as the familiar heat started to blossom, that you began to understand what you were experiencing. It was the primal desire to be bred, something you’d never understood before, but which was now quickly becoming almost suffocating, it was so strong.    He was suddenly feeling so good you heard yourself moan out loud in between kisses, somehow not at all bothered by the fact that there were cameras and microphones trained on you.

   But when he decided to act on your increasingly intense need for him, grabbing your waist to try and move you over to the bed, you felt his shoulders slump before he unexpectedly broke away from your lips and released a deep sigh.

   “Hermosa… will you please remove the barrier you just placed between us?” he patiently asked, though not without a hint of irritation.

   He still couldn’t feel your shield, but he could tell when you wrapped yourself in it if he touched your skin, because it wouldn’t allow him to actually feel you. And although there was no real reason for it, realizing that you’d instinctively decided to block his access to you was enough to kill the mood.

   “Sorry…” you offered, but even though you dropped the shield, he could tell the heat had dissipated within you, and a frustration you’d begun to become familiar with settled into his frame.

   “Please stop doing this, you know you’re not gonna hurt me,” he practically begged, but you couldn’t just shut off your instinct to protect him, even from yourself. “You’ve been here for almost two months now, even though you’ve been cleared by everyone to come back home already. Why are you hiding?”

   It made you feel guilty when he phrased it like that, but you weren’t going to risk accidentally hurting someone again, and especially not him.

   “You know why. We’ve had this conversation before.”

   “And you’re still not convincing me. I understand your need to have better control over what you can do before you’ll feel it’s safe to come home, but you crossed that hurdle weeks ago. You haven’t failed a single test since your first week of training, everyone involved with your assessment have been amazed at how quickly you’ve mastered your abilities, so that excuse just isn’t gonna fly anymore.”

   “A single nightmare is all it takes for me to accidentally turn our home into a pile of dust, and yet you’re somehow just fine with having that kind of threat sleeping next to your daughter… Explain that to me,” you questioned, to which he stepped back and turned in a little circle, mumbling something to himself in Spanish.

   You didn’t know what it meant but you understood the tone just fine. He was tired of having this conversation.

   “You’re not going to do that. You love both of us far too much, you’d instinctively shield us before anything like that could happen.    I mean, the one thing about our relationship that’s always been out of your control has been how you’ve reacted to me when I’ve touched you, and now look at you. You just stopped me from touching you while I was kissing you.”

   “It’s not good enough,” you persisted, and he almost growled with frustration, so you tried to explain better. “Yes, I can stop myself from getting lost in the sensation, at the start of it. But you know how easily we both get lost in the rapture, neither of us aware of our surroundings or even what our powers are doing when we come apart for each other.”

   “So what? We should just never make love to one another again?” he posed, but it felt much sharper than he’d probably intended, and he could see you recoil slightly, which made him change tracks. “Sweetheart, this is the safest place you could possible be. If there’s anything that’s gonna survive us taking a test run, it’s gonna be this cell.    So, if you’re really worried about losing control, test yourself. Use me as your provocation, let me throw every trick I have at you, and if you can keep from tearing the walls down, you’ll know for sure that it’s safe for you to come home.”

   You actually hadn’t considered that, oddly enough. But he was right. This was the most optimal place you’d ever find, even if you were fairly certain you could bring it down if you really had to. The Diametric was proof of that.    Still, this was the one argument you hadn’t gotten past in terms of feeling okay with returning home, despite how positively surprised you’d been yourself at your rate of success once the training had started.

   The Research Division had helped you understand exactly how the dimensional energy was distributed through your body, the path it took and how you could direct it to achieve different intensities in how it flowed from you, and where it went once it left you.    This meant you’d quickly been able to learn how to regulate and not drain yourself during training, enabling you to work for hours on end, getting familiar with every nuance of the energy, which had helped to soothe your fear of it.

   What had also helped tremendously, was that Science had finally managed to create the nutritional supplements a couple of weeks into your powered workouts, meaning you didn’t have to constantly pause to eat, or fear passing out if you happened to lose control for a second.    They’d made them in the same format as regular energy bars for you, and they tasted largely similar as well, although you could still tell that the flavours were entirely artificial.

   You’d been given entire boxes of them and encouraged to eat at least three a day regardless of how much regular food you enjoyed, and it had made a world of difference.    Not that it mattered much to your current predicament. You just caught yourself briefly considering whether you should chew one down before copulating, or if it might be better to wait until after.    Which meant you’d already decided to go for it.

   “Zap the fucking cameras and mic’s already…” you ordered, immediately feeling the desire build again, knowing you were about to be thoroughly satisfied for the first time in months.

   He smiled wickedly, and you felt his current pass through you on its way to short-circuit all the electronics in the cell, including the lights.    There were no windows in the cells, so when the lights died, the darkness was complete, leaving you blind. But you still knew where he was and where the walls and the bed were, because you could sense his current reverberate off them.

   You knew he was approaching and opened your arms to welcome him. His hands found your back without any fumbling, and he squeezed you to him while he dug his face into your neck and kissed the base of your throat before moving up to your jaw.    Tearing at his long-sleeved t-shirt, you felt him move back just enough to let you pull it over his head, and then he immediately started tugging the bottom of your top up to let his hands find your warm skin.

   You’d missed him so much, and the feel of him close to you again was intoxicating, which did scare you but was also exactly what you hoped for, since the whole point of this was to test yourself under mind-numbing circumstances. And as always, the more of his skin connected to yours, the more lost in him you became.    He started pulling you towards the bed without breaking away from you a single inch, even when he slipped your top and bra off. And when you reached it, he sat down, still holding you close, leaving you straddling him.

   There was something like a hum within him. A quiet vibration you could only just detect, whispering about how much he needed you and how torturous it had been for him to not get to be with you all this time.    Feeling it made your determination to not lose control so much more solid, compressing all the warring elements within you, summarizing them until you were left with just the base emotions behind them: fear and love.

   And out of those two, you already knew which was stronger.

   Allowing yourself to lean into your love for him, you stopped trying to control every aspect of what you’d become, trusting your heart to never willingly harm him, as you kissed him with every grain of passion you possessed.    He felt the shift in you, the surrender, and responded by letting his own barriers fall away, diving headfirst into his own pool of desire.

   You managed to tear away from him and get up from his lap to remove the rest of your clothes just before he turned feral, holding nothing back in his need to feel and claim you, once again. And like every other time you’d been with him, you were amazed at how deep his passion really went. How he could keep craving you even when he was fully embedded inside you.

   His current hit you with full force the moment he felt you clamp down on him, forcing him to inch his way inside, as if you required an entry-fee of excess sensation before you’d let him settle, and you felt your own power immediately respond, twisting and melding with his, wanting to dance to his unique tone. And it was remarkably pleasing when you felt his power accept the invitation and begin to twirl with yours.

   Still, nothing cracked. No mass of energy filled the room or threatened to tear the fabric of space apart.    Even now, when you were lost in ecstasy and even more lost in your man, the only direction your power went, was towards him. All you wanted was to feel more of him, to be closer to him, in any way you could.

   And as always, he somehow knew exactly what you craved.    Lifting you up, he turned you both to the side and set you down on the mattress underneath him, never letting you slip even a hair’s breadth away from him, and then he started driving into you, as much and as hard as your pussy would let him.    Each hit was accompanied by a jolt of energy, although if it was primarily coming from him or you, you couldn’t possibly determine. You couldn’t even tell where your power ended and his began.

   You felt yourself close in on your peak, and somewhere in the part of your brain which was still able to formulate thoughts, you knew this was the moment when you might truly loose it. But against the purity of this kind of pleasure, there was nothing you could do.    The climax was entirely physical. All thoughts seized to exist as the explosion of hyper-sensation rocked through your body again and again, completely unaware that the rest of the world even existed in those few moments.

   But you were more deeply connected to Marcus than ever before, so you felt him come with you, felt his current sparkle like actual fireworks against yours, and you delighted in the warmth of his seed as it spilled into you in thick ropes, already wishing it would take hold.    His strong arms around you shuddered with the force of his release, and yet somehow, he found a rhythm with yours. Your bodies so attuned to one another that you both effortlessly followed the other, even when there was no rhyme or reason to what you were doing.

   Collapsed and exhausted, you just laid there together, breathing heavily in perfect sync without a care in the world, even though anyone could walk in at any moment.    Your mind was still in shambles, but you could feel every inch of your body. Where it was pleasantly smothered by his, where the pearls of sweat had accumulated, where his release was dripping down onto the sheets as he softened with relaxation.

   And you could feel his current recede, slowly untangling itself from yours and then both powers fading away, leaving a strange kind of softness behind, as if the very air had been laced with both the gentleness and fierceness of your shared love.    You were probably imagining that last part, but it didn’t matter.

   Gradually regaining your ability to think and reason, you were happy to note that the room was still in one piece, as evident by the fact it was still pitch black in there. Had there been even a crack made to one of the walls, light would’ve filtered through, as the holding rooms really were cells, standing separate from the larger space they occupied, so that the destruction of one, however unlikely, wouldn’t damage the structural integrity of the entire floor.

   “I told you,” your partner breathlessly whispered in your ear, before dragging his head closer to yours so he could kiss your cheek.

   “You did,” you smiled in return, turning your head so you could meet his lips with yours.

   “Are you ready to trust yourself now?” he asked, and there was such hopefulness in his voice, but you also heard the slight trepidation.

   The fear that you still might not wanna put yourself to the test of leaving this safe place.

   “A lot more than before, yes. But this doesn’t mean I have complete control. I still don’t know what’ll happen if I get angry, or terribly sad,” you admitted, needing to keep things real for your own sake.

   “And I’m telling you, this proves you can handle it. I know because when I turned away from you out of fear of my power, it was finally letting myself lean on you, believe in our shared strength, that I was able to handle it.    So, lean on me. Because even if I’m not there beside you, I’m always in your heart. With what our relationship has already overcome, you have to know by now you can trust that much to be true.”

   He sounded nearly desperate towards the end, and you were once again reminded how hard it must’ve been for him to be separated from you, not due to any outside force, but because you’d chosen to stay away.

   “Please, hermosa, tell me this means you’re coming home. I miss you so much,” he full on begged now. “Please, come home so I can sleep again.”

   You tightened your arms around him while whispering your response in his ear, and felt him react with the purest relief and gratitude anyone could be capable of feeling.

   “Okay.”

[sirowsky-stories]

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 21 - Powers

Description: A mistake which almost saw you do the unforgivable finally landed you in the hands of the powers-experts. Although, what you learned there was as informative as it was terrifying.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 8356 (5671 words added) Masterlist (this story)

   The next morning you woke up in a secure room. Apparently, they didn’t trust you with med-chambers anymore. Which was probably about time.    Tuesday. You knew it was a Tuesday, sighing heavily as you wondered just how long it would take before you’d inevitably mess up the days again. But for now, it was easy to keep track since there was a strict schedule to things in here.

   You already missed waking up to Amaire’s brisk and energetic “Good morning, champ”, as they’d always greeted whenever you’d been trapped in the medical bay. They were so good at using just the right level of enthusiasm to give you a boost, without stepping over into overly energetic, or annoyingly chipper.    Maybe that was just a testament to how well they knew you and your morning mood.

   In any case, there were no lovable nurses at all here, just sensors in the walls which continuously scanned you for any dangerously sharp changes in your energy-levels. No doctors barged in every hour on the hour to demand updates, and visitation was even more strictly controlled. Two hours a day, between five and seven pm.    It was a prison cell, more or less, and while that might sound harsh, you welcomed it.

   Because at least in here, you couldn’t hurt anyone if you lost control. These rooms were purpose-built specifically to contain supers, so in theory, nothing you did could result in any major destruction.    Unfortunately, though, the science division had been kept up to date on your move, and within five minutes of you waking up on this Tuesday morning, the door opened, and another piece of experimental cardboard was shoved in your face.

   “Seriously?” you groaned, still raspy with sleep and just as cheerful as usual at the crack of dawn, which a quick peek at the clock on the wall confirmed it to be. “When do you people sleep? It’s not even 6am yet…”

   “We sleep in shifts, miss. This is important, we wanna get you that assessment as soon as possible,” the kid enthusiastically declared, seemingly unbothered by your snarky attitude, which then made you feel bad about it.

   “How thoughtful of you…” you grumbled, only further annoyed with the added guilt on top of your already crabby mood. “And what about making this shit edible? Any ideas on how soon that might become a priority?”

   “Uh… sorry, miss. It’s a process.”

   “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned, before snagging the cube off the little tray and entirely un-enthusiastically began to chew it. “Ugh… Does the recipe even change at all? Because it still tastes like something between paper and dirt, no matter how many times I eat it.”

   “It does, but they actually remove as much flavour as they can, since it’s so full of synthetic materials,” the boy explained while studying you closely.

   “Sorry I fucking asked,” you mumbled through the distasteful bite, lowering your eyebrows at him in a clear expression of malcontent, before swallowing the synthetic piece of crap.

   He squirmed a little where he stood, probably uncomfortable with either your language or the generally unpleasant way you responded to everything. But in your defence, you were pretty sure he’d been waiting right outside the door for you to wake up, and then not even had the decency to wait until you’d been to the bathroom before he’d barged in.    So, you didn’t really give a fuck about his feelings right then. If he wanted you to be kind, he’d have to at least show you some common courtesy first.

   “What?” you questioned when he kept staring at you as though he was expecting something from you.

   “Sorry, I just have to ask if you feel any sense of fullness?”

   “I’ve barely swallowed it…”

   “I know, it’s just that the effect should be pretty instantaneous.”

   “Well, then this one didn’t work either. Like the last three dozen you people have made me eat for no goddamned reason.    So, can I go and do my morning bathroom now, or do you have to accompany me when I take a dump too?” you spat, and he all but ran from the room.

   You did feel a tiny little bit bad for him at that point, but they really should know better than to bother you first thing in the morning by now. Especially with nervous tweens.    Although you suspected they intentionally sent their youngest staff on these tasks specifically because they knew you wouldn’t be happy about it, but also much less likely to hurt a kid, physically or otherwise.

   While you went to the bathroom you thought about how you’d never expected to actually miss the med-chambers. But compared to these rooms, which were literally just empty squares, the hospital wing suddenly seemed cozy and warm.    This room was cold, in every way a space could be. The bed was a slab of metal which had been built out of the wall, making it nearly impossible to break, and the same was true for the one little table at the foot of it, making the bed double as the only available seat.

   The entire cells were made of a dark copper-coloured powers-proof material, or as close to one as you could get. There wasn’t any material which was guaranteed to be a hundred percent proof against powers, but some metal alloys combined with force-fields could withstand incredible amounts of supernatural forces.    And one in particular had proven especially successful, because it generated vibrations which could repel almost any force.

   It was only your status as the head of a relevant department which had afforded you the privilege to know about this alloy. It was a very closely guarded secret, for obvious reasons.    Only Marcus had thus far been able to break one of these cells, back when he’d been a teenager, before he’d learned to control the electromagnetic side of his abilities. Which did say a lot about just how powerful he was, seeing as not even Crushing Low had managed to do more than dent the walls.

   You did see the wisdom of keeping you in here, but the prison-like feeling of it made you anxious. You weren’t even sure why, if it had more to do with the lack of freedom or the lack of faith everyone around you clearly had, but either way, it made you feel isolated and fragile. Both of which were dangerous feelings for someone who was trying to understand herself.

   One of the only things keeping you calm was thinking about your partner. He’d been verbally reprimanded for taking you to the in-house restaurant after your memory melt-down, where he’d sat you down among dozens of other guests, risking their lives in order to get you fed as quickly as possible.    But in these circumstances that was like getting a slap on the wrist. Primarily because you hadn’t really been in any state to be able to harm anyone, since he’d practically had to carry you there.

   He’d made the judgement call that getting nutrition into you was more important than keeping you isolated, and it wasn’t like anyone was gonna argue against him. By now, everyone in the building knew exactly what you meant to him and just how far he would go to keep you safe.    Also, it wasn’t like he’d sat you down and then left you there. He’d been right there with you while you’d gone through the equivalent of about six dinners, continually refilling your plate as you emptied it, until you’d finally had enough and fallen asleep at the table.

   That was the last thing you remembered before waking up here this morning, but you weren’t surprised at the change in housing. Too much had happened yesterday for management to just look the other way.    Marcus wouldn’t be allowed to visit outside of the regular visitation hours, which meant you had no reason to expect any company until then, so you prepared yourself for a long and dull morning, probably accompanied by nothing but the fucking science division.

   So, when the door opened for the fourth time just before lunch that morning, you had no reason to suspect it would be anyone but another runner with another inedible cube, and as it had the previous three times, the visit immediately robbed you of all pleasantness.    You were just completing your eight set of push-ups, burpees and handstands when you heard the loud rumble of the locking bars being pulled back, and surrendered to the understanding that today was just gonna be one of those days when your morning mood turned into your overall mood.

   You were pushing yourself physically as a way of keeping yourself calm and balanced, despite the boredom and interjecting annoyances, but it hadn’t quite worked. So, you’d doubled your efforts, trying to drain yourself of enough energy that you at least wouldn’t have the strength to attack anyone, should you reach a level of irritation strong enough to push you over the edge.

   “Did these idiots give you coffee?” the unexpected and soberingly sharp voice of Anita Moreno carried across the room, and to your surprise, hearing it actually warmed your heart.

   You let your legs drop from your last handstand and turned around while righting yourself up, to see her magnificent scowl peering back at you.

   “I wouldn’t put it past them,” you smiled, for the first time that day feeling anything other than negative.

   “Well, sit down before you pass out,” she suggested, while making no move to do the same herself.

   “I’d rather stand. I have a little too much energy at the moment,” you offered, to which she merely raised her brows.

   “I find that hard to believe given the state of you.”

   “Covered in sweat or not, I’m sure you’d be less inclined to visit if I was at full capacity, Mrs. M.”

   “How insulting,” she shot back, seemingly calm but you suspected she wasn’t nearly as at ease as she made it seem.

   “Wasn’t meant to be. You know better than anyone how dangerous an untrained super is,” you replied softly, meaning every word, even taking a step further away from her to emphasize your point.

   “And still, here I am,” she countered, with that unwavering confidence of hers.

   “Indeed. Outside of the regular visitation hours, no less. So, to what do I owe the privilege of the big boss throwing her weight around just to see me?” you questioned, not at all surprised she could circumvent any rules she might want to.

   “Checking on you for Marcus’ sake. He’s a bit worried after yesterday,” she offered without hesitation, and you crossed your arms over your waist and started pacing around the other end of the room.

   Of course, she wouldn’t be there for you. Her son would always be the one she’d worry over first, it was only natural.    So, why did it hurt your feelings?

   “Yeah… that wasn’t a very good day, either. I don’t seem to have a lot of those lately.    But you could’ve checked on me using the cameras. Why come in at all?” you challenged, truly hoping she’d offer some sign of genuine care for you.

   It wasn’t that you questioned whether she did care, you knew she did. You just wished she’d understand how much it would mean to you, now when you were feeling so vulnerable and alone, to hear her confirm it.    After all, there was a huge difference between knowing it, and feeling it.

   “You really think he would accept anything less? You know him well enough by now to know he’d take my head off if I tried to suggest you were fine without actually seeing you.”

   “Sure,” you agreed, it was true after all. “I guess I was hoping you might’ve wanted to cheer me up. Just for me. But I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to show me that kind of care on a live feed.”

   She looked mildly offended, but glanced up towards the cameras and then seemed to re-center, as if she’d been about to say something but changed her mind.

   “It’s fine. I know better than to expect more from you,” you continued when she didn’t reply. “So, tell my better half I’m doing my best to stay sane and keep from slamming the door in the faces of all the runners from science, and that I can’t wait to see him, but I’d prefer he didn’t bring Missy.”

   She took a second to absorb, but her face was unreadable, so if you’d hurt her feelings with that remark about your expectations, she was keeping it to herself.

   “You’re not a threat to Missy, mujer.”

   “Yes, I am. And you know it,” you protested, suddenly realizing there was another reason she’d come to see you before Marcus did. “That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?    Obviously, I don’t know how much he told you about what happened yesterday, but I know he never would’ve let them put me in here unless he has doubts. Unless there’s something about me that scares him now.”

   “No,” she protested, and there was a deep strength behind the one little word. “He understands you now, which makes him look at things differently, but he doesn’t doubt you, he never has.    The only thing that scares him is the fact that you doubt yourself so easily. That you are so ready to believe in your own flaws, real or imagined.”

   “I can destroy people without them even knowing it’s about to happen, leaving even the most powerful person defenceless against me,” you argued, working hard to keep the deeper emotions in check so your energy wouldn’t flare. “He was right there with me, Anita… I sent him flying across the room.    Even he can’t stop me, because even he can’t sense when my powers flood the available space. And yes, of course I want to believe I could never harm either of them, but the truth is, I don’t know that for sure.”

   “That’s the whole point,” she sighed, dipping her chin in that way which said she felt you should already know this. “It’s not about what you know, it’s about having faith in yourself. Without that, you’ll never be able to trust yourself, with or without Marcus.”

   “And just how am I supposed to have faith in myself when I know that my powers come from hundreds of slaughtered children?” you almost spat, feeling the dam begin to break within you, and the energy start seeping into the cell. “How am I supposed to feel safe, ever again, knowing that in the end, I’ll always be his creation?”

   You were trembling by the end, and tears had gathered in your eyes while you tried desperately to calm yourself and stop your powers from growing.    But it didn’t work, and soon the squared room was flooded to the brim.

   “You need to leave… I’m losing hold of it,” you cautioned, doing your best to direct the bulk of the energy towards the wall behind you, opposite the entrance where she was still standing.

   “No, I have faith in you, my dear,” she rebutted, entirely undeterred. “It’ll get better because every time you lose control teaches you more about how to manage it.    All supers struggle after discovering their powers, if anyone is proof of that, it’s my son. What ultimately protects both them and the public is not total control, but rather a lack of fear against themselves. Which can only be achieved by making mistakes and learning from them.    The only difference between you and all the rest of them, is that you’re going through this as an adult, with your character and sense of self already established, which makes it harder for you to adapt to this new element.”

   For the first time, you felt your powers fade away on their own, as her logic solidified in your mind, giving you a perspective which allowed you to be kinder to yourself.    And she could see it in your eyes.

   “But you will. Like all those who have come before you, you will adapt. And in time, you’ll see that it doesn’t matter where your power comes from… only what you decide to do with it.”

   She was right, of course. It was somehow so easy to believe her when she spoke like this, and not for the first time, you wondered if it had something to do with her mysterious abilities.

   “Did the flowers tell you that?” you asked, mostly just to break the tension which lingered in the room even after your energy had vacated back to wherever the hell it came from.

   “They didn’t need to. It’s a universal truth. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s escaped you for so long, it’s only the moral of about a thousand movies already.”

   “Yeah… silly me.”

   It was quiet for a minute while she let you calm yourself completely, to the point where you felt confident enough to approach her, stopping just a few steps away.

   “You know I kinda love you,” you admitted, to which she didn’t quite manage to conceal her initial reaction, but soon covered whatever it was with a scoff.

   “You’re welcome, by the way,” she said, short and curt, while starting to turn away.

   “Oh, really? I’m supposed to be grateful for your refusal to admit you care about me?” you tiredly sighed, wondering why you still expected her to respond at all, and yet, finding it reassuring that she remained steadfast in her ways.

   “No. But if you looked in a mirror right now, you’d know exactly what you should be grateful for.”

   She didn’t even look back as she said it, walking out and leaving you to ponder what she’d meant. But you figured it out before the door had even begun to close behind her, when you felt the slight smile in your features.    It lingered on your face for a good few minutes after she’d left.

   You gave up on trying to exercise your stress away, after your arms gave out and you fell on your face halfway through your fifteenth set of handstands.    By then, your lunch had arrived, and you decided to replenish what reserves you’d managed to deplete, since Anita had left you slightly less scared of yourself and what you might do at full strength.

   There was an actual bathroom with a shower connected to the room. But it was an adjoining space which could be detached from the actual cell, if anyone feared you might try to use the toilet as a battering-ram for some reason.    If you showed the slightest hint of aggression towards someone, a thick kind of blast door would lower, and the bathroom would slide back to allow for a complete seal, making that wall as tough as all the others.

   Once you’d finished the food, you took a long and soothing shower, letting the soap wash away the sweat and grime, but also some of the nervousness which seemed to live in your skin. You even took some time to take care of your nails and put on creams and blow-dry your hair.    Which was the first time in weeks you’d taken the opportunity to really groom yourself, and it somehow made you feel better. Less chaotic and messy.

   However, when you stepped out of the bathroom, the errand-boy from science was back, and whatever good mood you’d managed to accumulate, evaporated in an instant.    You were so sick of these kids coming in here, risking their lives just to test a damned theory which no one even knew if it would turn out to be possible, that you just wanted to shove him back out through the door and never let him come back.

   “Oh, for the love of fucking Hades, will you just leave me alone, already!” you didn’t quite scream, allowing a small puff of energy out, just to push him back.

   But you completely misjudged how strong it would turn out to be, watching in horror as it flung the scrawny little boy up and into the wall above the door, hitting it head-first.    All the pent up anger and irritation inside you instantly morphed into a lump of ice in your heart, as he collapsed into a broken pile on the floor, right before your eyes.    Suddenly the only thing that mattered was that you’d done the unforgiveable.

   For one second, you’d believed you had at least a modicum of control over what you could do, and within the space of that second, you’d killed an innocent person.    You ran over to him, hearing the blast door lower behind you when the bathroom was sealed away, and picked him up into your arms, holding him tightly as you pushed your energy around him and felt the complete lack of activity within his body.    Wanting to make it right, to make him whole again, you allowed that thing you still didn’t have a name for, to leave you, and felt it bond with him.

   Like a benevolent parasite, coursing through him at the speed of light, setting right all the wrongs within him, whether caused by you or something else. Then the second passed, and he twitched back to life.    Your energy drained as his was restored, but even though your arms suddenly ached with the strain of carrying his weight, you kept holding him.

   “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry,” you rambled through the tears of relief and the simultaneous disgust at yourself.

   “Uh… it’s okay, miss. I’m fine,” he nervously responded, but you had to know for sure.

   You let him go just enough that you could grab his face and look into his eyes.

   “Nothing hurts? Nothing feels bad, or weird?” you demanded, watching him quickly check himself.

   “I feel… great. My shoulder’s been killing me after a baseball accident last week, but it’s all better now.    How’d you do that?” he questioned, and he sounded so impressed.

   Hearing that made you feel sick. You couldn’t believe he would ever admire you for what you’d just done, and if he did, he needed to understand how wrong he was to do so.    It terrified you beyond measure to realize how easily and effortlessly you’d hurt this boy, even when you’d actually tried to be gentle. He could never be allowed to think you were anything but a monster.

   “Go. Get out of here,” you ordered, starting to feel yourself begin to doze off, so you hurried to crawl away from him. “Don’t come back! Don’t let anyone come back in… Stay away from me.”

   You managed to crawl all the way to the opposite wall before the fatigue overpowered you, and you passed out still mumbling about keeping everyone away from you.

-=¤=-

   When you came to, you’d been moved. And wherever they’d brought you, it was a place you’d never been before, and waking up in an unfamiliar environment filled with people and sounds you didn’t recognize, was enough to make you instinctively try to protect yourself.    Your shield burst from you in a powerful flare, but to your surprise, it was contained before it could spread around the room.

   Confused, but also more awake, you began to understand where you were. Everyone around you were in blue coats, the signature colour of the Science Department, and you were on a hard bed of some sort, with an elliptic-shaped, transparent dome covering most of your torso. You suspected that was the reason why your energy wasn’t able to spread further, although you had no idea how the dome could accomplish it when it just looked like a piece of glass. There weren’t even any wires attached to it.

   There was to you, though. A sharp pinch in your skin when you tried to move made you look down, where you found two thin tubes leading into each one of your arms, and another two into each leg.    IV-tubes, as evident by the eight banana bags of maybe three gallons each which they were attached to, and which were all half-empty already.

   “Welcome back, miss. You had us worried there for a minute,” an unknown voice spoke from right next to you, and you turned your head to find an ebony-black woman smiling at you.

   “Who are you?”

   “My name is Doctor Emily Kane, and you’re currently in my care at the Research Division of the Science Department. Given the events in your cell earlier today, we decided to go ahead with your assessment, despite our concerns about your difficulty in sustaining yourself. Hence the medical staff.”

   You hadn’t noticed the white coats among the blue in your nearly frantic look around the room, but sure enough, there were at least five of them in there, some of whom you had seen before. Although Amaire wasn’t among them, which worried you.

   “There’s no need to be concerned about our wellbeing while you’re here, these instruments and machines have been calibrated to absorb your energy, you can’t hurt us as long as they’re active,” she continued, and you found her voice incredibly soothing, comfortably firm without feeling forced.

   “How… can you calibrate to absorb something you don’t even know the nature of?” you asked, truly confounded that the dome was still holding your shield contained to just a few inches outside of your skin.

   “This device,” she pointed to the large clear ellipse above you, “is called The Diametric. It has the ability to counteract almost anything it comes into contact with, no matter how obscure. And by scanning it while it does this, we can extrapolate whatever force or energy it’s countering, and how strong that force is.”

   “Doctor Kane, we have a problem…” another voice further away called out, drawing the doctor’s attention.

   “What is it?”

   “Her shield is blocking the IV fluids on all eight ports. We can’t keep her sustained through the test,” the other person explained, and Kane left your side to go and look at his data.

   “Damn… It’s protecting her on a cellular level, which means we can’t do anything but read the energy data while her powers are active.”

   “What do you mean? What’s happening to me?” you asked, already starting to feel the slight drain on your strength even though you were trying to stop your shield from being generated.

   Kane came back to your side where you could see her face clearly before she started to explain.

   “It seems you have a very unique type of ability. Usually, whenever we encounter someone with the ability to generate energy barriers, the actual shield sits outside of their body, protecting them by keeping any threat at a distance.    But in your case, the barrier seems to sit around each one of your cells, as well as in the air around you, which is probably why it drains you so quickly.”

   “Because it takes more energy to protect billions of cells instead of just one body…” you deduced, and she nodded.

   “Precisely. But it also means your protection is impenetrable, even from other types of energy powers.”

   “Which would explain why I could touch the cages when my shield was up,” you realized, and right then, you were finally able to turn your energy off.

   And as it died out, the dome gave off a strange tone, deep and vibrating but lasting only a moment before it faded.    There was a beep you recognized then, as the machines connected to the IV fluids registered the flow picking up again, and now that you were aware of it, you could feel the liquid being pumped into your veins, which was a strange and uncomfortable feeling.

   “We’ll let you get back to full strength before the next test,” Kane reassured you, and turned to leave your side, but there was something else you needed to know.

   “Is… Is the boy alright?” you asked, and she stopped turning.

   “He’s absolutely fine.”

   “But I killed him.” You closed your eyes, remembering the sight of his lifeless body on the floor. “His neck was broken, and his head cracked… I threw him into the wall like he was a paper airplane… like he was nothing.”

   “And then you saved him.    It was an accident, and I understand that it frightens you, but the key to controlling your powers in the future, is precisely by not being afraid of them. And the best way to reach that point, is to understand as much about them as you can.”

   “Yeah, Mrs. Moreno told me pretty much the same thing,” you recalled, and she smiled.

   “Well, she would know.”

   For a second, you saw something in her eyes you identified as a recollection of a troubling memory, and you wanted to ask her about it, but decided not to.    You wondered if it had anything to do with the thing Amaire had referred to a few days ago, which Marcus had reacted so strongly to. Whatever it was, it had to do with his powers, so odds were, some of these people would’ve been involved.    But you didn’t wanna hear about it from someone else. Either your partner wanted you to know, or he didn’t.    For now, your focus had to be on yourself and your own problems.

   “Will you be able to tell if my shield and my healing power are connected?” you asked after a while, knowing Kane was still close by since you could hear her somewhere behind you.

   “It’s too soon to tell,” she replied, coming into view again just a moment later. “Most supers have only one actual power but learn to use it in different ways to achieve different results. Marcus is one of the few exceptions, having two separate powers which can also function as one.”

   “The electromagnetism and metal manipulation. But aren’t those pretty closely related?” you pondered, trying to remember what little you could from your physics lessons at college.

   “Not really. Electromagnetism is a unified fundamental force which combines the aspects of electricity and magnetism. It’s created by the movements of charged particles, which we mostly perceive as light. Fire or lightning, for example.    What’s unique about your partner’s two abilities is that he can chose to use them independently of one another, but also at the same time. Just like he can choose to combine them to generate his own electromagnetic fields, in the same way that we can by using a battery and an iron nail. Although, obviously what he does is on a much larger scale.”

   “Wait, so… he can actually create lightning, all by himself?” you asked, truly astounded since you knew that even Red Lightning could only manipulate existing atmospheric conditions, not generate them herself.

   “Indeed. It’s the only reason you’re alive,” Kane replied, silencing your thoughts. “The electricity he sent through you wasn’t nearly as strong as the kind of lightning you see during a thunderstorm, which was fortunate since that would’ve melted your insides.    He moved the iron in your blood, using it a bit like a whisk to simulate normal blood flow, while also shifting the metal in your body to make it more concentrated around your spine.    The charge he sent though you became more precisely focused there, and it was just strong enough to kickstart the blood cell production in your bone marrow, which in turn prompted your heart to start beating.”

   “Then I really did die.”

   “Yeah. I’m afraid so,” she nodded, and for a moment, you recalled Marcus’ despair after you’d woken up.

   He’d said that he had entire minutes of memories of holding your lifeless body, but you hadn’t really absorbed those words. You hadn’t understood just how real your death had been, and it was jarring to realize you hadn’t just brushed past the gates of the afterlife, but actually gone there for a while.    Meanwhile, the nurses in the room had exchanged your now empty fluid bags with brimming ones, meaning it was time to go to work.

   “Alright, I think we’re ready to let you have another go at the dome,” the doctor announced, noticing your attention shifting, “and this time, I want you to give it everything you’ve got for just a couple of seconds. Can you do that?”

   “I honestly don’t know. I haven’t been able to control the energy even once since I first realized I had it. It’s all been either reactive or intentional but chaotic.”

   “Well, that’s sort of the point of all this. You can’t hurt anyone here, so there’s no need to worry about control. Let things happen as they happen, and we’ll try and gather as much data as we can in the meantime.”

   You nodded, although you felt anything but reassured. You wanted answers as badly as they did, and you believed her when she said the dome would protect them, but you were still scared for yourself.    For what these powers would turn out to be and what it might mean for you and your life, going forward.    Still, understanding all this better was the only way you’d ever be able to relax again.

   Taking a deep breath, you did your best to settle the nervousness in your stomach before trying to activate your energy.    It responded so easily that it made you flinch in surprise. It seemed almost overeager to be used, as if it was a trapped animal finally set free into the wild, bucking and jumping with excitement.    No wonder you’d flung the kid through the room. You had no idea just how readily your body kept all this power.

   “Amazing…” Kane’s voice broke into your concentration.

   She’d moved further away to study the results as they were displayed on a larger screen somewhere to your right, but you could still see her when you turned your head.

   “What is it?” you asked, feeling the energy lessen with your concern.

   “No, keep going. Try and give it all you’ve got,” she spurred, and she looked almost as excited as your power felt.

   The dome was working, so you decided this might be the only chance you’d ever get to truly test yourself, and you needed to give it an honest attempt, for your own sake.    You closed your eyes and tried to look inside of yourself. To find the source of the energy, the root of it, exploring the function and reaction it had to various efforts of manipulation.    But what you found was so frightening, it completely backfired.

   Because it was as though there was a black hole inside you. Tracing the energy into your body led you to something you could only describe as an endless nothingness, yet one filled with something unseen, thick and plentiful, but impossible to see, hear, or touch.    And despite all this… it responded to you. Sought you. It was drawn to you, and it felt so enormous that for a moment, you could’ve sworn it was the entire universe.

   Fear made you pull back so violently that it felt like you’d been hit by a bus, and upon returning to the room and opening your eyes, you might very well have been.    It was complete mayhem.    There was smoke billowing towards the ceiling, which had cracked and broken in several places, and at least one wall had collapsed. Alarms were going off and sprinklers were already spewing a fire-suppressing gas through the room, but one which was harmless to both humans and machinery.

   Shocked and confused, you instinctively tried to move, and discovered that you could, because the dome had been cut in half and fallen to either side of the slab you were laying on.    The dome which was supposedly indestructible.    You rolled to your side and tried to sit up, slightly hindered by the tubes and needles which were still embedded into your skin, so to keep from tearing at them, you adjusted until you could sit upright without tugging at them.

   You noticed that all eight IV bags were completely empty, which probably explained why you hadn’t passed out from exhaustion already. But it also made you wonder why it seemed like you’d been totally disconnected from reality for what was apparently at least twenty minutes, because that was the fastest the fluids could possibly be administered.    It had felt like mere seconds to you.

   “Oh, my god… Is everyone alright? What the hell happened?” you asked no one in particular, but it was Kane who answered you, still with an excited smile on her face.

   “No one was hurt, don’t worry. As for what happened, well… Apparently your energy seems to come from one or more alternate dimensions. But how you’re able to tap into them or draw such vast amounts of energy from them, we still don’t know.”

   “Other dimensions?” you echoed, tasting the words in an attempt to better grasp them. “Is that what I felt?”

   “What do you mean?” she asked, intrigued enough to abandon the screens, which had thankfully survived the mayhem, and come stand directly in front of you.

   “I tried to find the power inside myself, to feel where it comes from and how it works, and when I did… it was like I wasn’t here anymore. I couldn’t even feel myself. Just… emptiness.”

   “Interesting,” she mumbled, before starting to pace slowly beside you, just a few steps in either direction, while she pondered. “Most people think of alternate realities and dimensions as being largely similar to this one, but there’s no scientific basis for that assumption. An alternate reality could be a mirror opposite to our own, sure, but it could just as easily be something we can’t even imagine in our wildest dreams.”

   “It felt vast. But it also felt like it was… alive. Or at least reactive. I could’ve sworn it wanted to come to me,” you recalled with a shiver, but the doctor had a different perspective to offer.

   “I suppose it’s possible, but I would say the more likely explanation in this case, is that this dimension is indeed empty of everything except this energy, and that when you tap into it, your body becomes a kind of sinkhole, or magnet, drawing the energy to the only outlet in its existence.”

   “So, basically you’re saying the other dimension is a battery, and I’m the only power-cord in the world who has the correct socket?”

   “Precisely!” she cheerfully agreed, but you were anything but happy right then.

   “Great. And how the fuck am I supposed to figure out how to regulate a practically endless source of power, strong enough to destroy the indestructible, without dying in the process?”

   “Give us time,” she soothed, letting the mirth settle into a soft smile instead. “We have a ton of data here and it’s gonna take a while to sift through it all, but it will help us understand how to help you.”

   “And in the meantime, I have to live in a cell and eat for ten people every day, and just hope that nothing irritates me enough that I accidentally tear a rift through the spacetime continuum…” you grumbled, already certain that you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself in check every minute of every day.

   “I’m sorry, that’s the best we can do.”

   You weren’t happy about it, but you did understand that something like this couldn’t be solved by the snap of a finger. It was just that, the other dimension had really scared you, and now you were worried that if you kept tapping into it, something else might eventually slither through along with it. Something dark and malicious.    It might very well just be your own fear talking, but it really had felt like there was something else over there.

   “What about the healing?” you suddenly recalled. “How does that fit into all this?”

   “I’ve been thinking about that, and I wanted to ask you something. When you heal someone, does it feel different than when you use your shield?”

   “Um… yeah. It feels like something leaves me. Like, I wanna make it right, and then something inside me makes that thought real. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to explain it.”

   “No, that’s okay. What I’m getting at is, I don’t think it’s the dimensional energy which accomplishes the healing. I think you do that, using a completely separate ability.”

   You were a bit stumped, hearing that. It wasn’t at all what you’d expected, but it somehow sounded right.

   “If I was able to use the energy for healing, it shouldn’t weaken me to the extent that it does, should it?” you wondered, and she nodded approvingly.

   “Exactly. For whatever reason, you’re only able to give of yourself in order to heal, so you need to be very careful, because as you’ve already proven, your willingness to help others overrides even your own survival instincts.”

   “I’ve never considered my own life to be worth more than anyone else’s,” you shrugged, and for the first time since you’d met this woman earlier today, her childlike excitement completely faded away and she stopped pacing.

   “I can assure you that Marcus and Missy wholeheartedly disagree with you there. Your life isn’t just your own anymore, you need to remember that,” she admonished, and you knew she was right, of course, but it was also something you’d never had to consider before. “Have you talked to him about any of this yet?”

   “No,” you admitted, feeling ashamed of the lie you’d continued to keep from everyone but Anita. “He doesn’t even know that I was the one who healed the team.”

   “I suspected it was you,” she said while crossing her arms over her waist. “We knew it was unlikely they’d managed to recover that quickly from such a catastrophic cell-manipulation, but none of them could recall anything about their recovery, so we couldn’t be sure it wasn’t some spontaneous colliquefaction.    But how on earth did you manage to save all of them before you clocked out, when one kid was enough to bring you to the brink of another coma?”

   “I don’t know. All I know is that I needed them to live, and I made it happen. I was angry and desperate and even though each one left me impossibly drained, I just kept going.    It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Which, with the life I’ve lived… is saying something.”

   “But why keep it from us?”

   “Because I knew that as soon as Science found out, it would spread. And once Marcus knows what I can do, and what it costs me to do it, how is he supposed to feel about the fact that he knows I would sacrifice myself for him or Missy or Anita without hesitation?    Should he be thankful even when it means I might die in the process? Should he be angry, even though it means I can protect his daughter from death itself?” you posed, feeling increasingly disheartened with each question.

   “What I feel…” a much too familiar voice spoke from behind you, and your heart sunk as you turned to see him walk around the head of the slab, looking almost comically proper among all the destruction, “is a terrible sadness that you didn’t feel like you could talk to me about something this important.”

   “I did wanna tell you, Marcus, I’ve felt so bad lying about it…”

   “Then why did you?”

   “I just wanted to have some answers for you before I dropped it on you. Something which might offer us both some hope that this won’t be the thing that kills me since I can’t simply stand by and watch good people get hurt. Not after what I’ve been through.”

   “Am I not a good person?” he shocked you by asking, because it sounded like he genuinely thought you might not believe he was.

   “Of course you are, honey. Why would you even ask that?”

   “Because you’re apparently willing to hurt me,” he calmly suggested, although the pain in his eyes was unmistakeable. “Not because you want to, I know that. But because your way of thinking excludes me from the equation every time you put your life on the line for other people.”

   You couldn’t keep meeting his honest eyes, so full of heartache as he detailed just how fully he understood you, so you let your head fall forwards, doing your best not to cry.

   “You can’t ask me to stand by and watch people suffer and die when I know you’d do everything you could to save them too,” you argued, knowing full well you were sidestepping the real point of his argument.

   “We’re not talking about you healing someone from a potentially fatal injury or illness. We’re talking about you bringing ten people back from the brink of death, with no regard for your own life, at all. Even though you must know by now what it would do to me if I lost you…”

   His voice faltered then, and he stepped closer so he could take your hand, needing to feel how alive and strong you were, no doubt reliving those minutes on the beach, which had to have been so horrific for him.

   “I didn’t know what it would do to me then,” you started, thinking back to that awful day and what had been going through your head throughout your confrontation with the Inventor. “All I knew was that I’d been scared out of my mind for days, and then I found you, only to not be able to help you, and I needed it to stop.    I needed those kids to see their parents again. I needed Missy to get to keep her dad… like I’d promised.    That’s all I was thinking about.”

   “And I need you to understand that it’s not enough,” he argued, although just as tremblingly as you, and you looked up to meet his eyes then, because a part of you couldn’t fathom how you could possibly have done more. “You need to think further than that from now on. You have to consider everything, including the consequences to the people who love you, even it means hesitating for a second that might mean the difference between someone living or dying.    That’s the price you have to be willing to pay if you want to be a part of a family.”

   You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to object, another part wanted to apologize, and yet another part just wanted to scream about how unfair this whole mess was.    Like him, you hadn’t been given a choice as to what your powers would turn out to be. All you could do was try and use them for good, and beyond that… you’d have to rely on hope and determination.

   “On the subject of family…” Kane carefully rejoined the conversation, having stepped aside once Marcus had revealed himself, “there’s something you both might wanna know concerning healing abilities.”

   “What is it?” you asked, and she clasped her hands together in front of her body in a way you felt was meant to convey the same type of professional care that medical doctors were so adept at.

   “We don’t know why, despite many years of study on the phenomenon, but it seems that all forms of healing abilities in supers result in either partial or complete infertility.”

   Neither you nor your partner had any response to that, so she kept going.

   “Obviously, I don’t know if this is something you’ve discussed, but I feel you should know either way.”

   “What do you mean by partial?” you finally asked, not at all sure how you felt about any of this.

   “I mean that when it’s men who have the healing ability, the infertility is usually caused by a decrease in viable sperm, making it more difficult but not impossible to conceive.    However… when women have any sort of healing power, it’s as though our bodies end up locked in a fight with ourselves. Whether it has to do with the bleeding in our cycles or the hormones responsible, we still don’t know. But the result is always the same.”

   “So, even though I can’t heal myself, my body is in conflict with my abilities?”

   “As far as we can tell, yes,” she confirmed, and you glanced at Marcus, worried he wouldn’t take this well considering his feelings about your family growing.

   He met your uncertain gaze, but whatever he was thinking or feeling, he wasn’t sharing with you yet, because his features revealed nothing but his normal quiet concern for you.

   “That being said,” Kane continued after seeing you exchange the indecipherable look, “couples have defied medical science for as long as it’s existed. So, if this is something you want, don’t let the facts get in the way.”

   “Thank you, doctor,” your partner nodded, politely letting her know she could leave the subject.

   Then he shot you another glance, and this one you could read very clearly. It told you he wanted to talk more about it, but not right here and now.

   “I assume the tests are done for now, given the state of the room, so I’d like to escort my girlfriend back to her room,” he stated then, not really asking for permission even though Kane could certainly deny him on the basis of protecting the rest of the building.

   She didn’t, though.

   “We’ll need to repair the dome before we can try again, but we have plenty of data to go over in the meantime. I’ll keep you updated on our progress.”

   She shifted her focus to you on that last part, as Marcus wasn’t actually privy to either your medical or scientific information without your approval, which you’d given to the twins in terms of keeping him in the loop on your health. But you hadn’t given him those privileges here, and it didn’t escape his notice that you neglected to do so this time as well.

[sirowsky-stories]

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 18 - The Real Hero

Description: Marcus came face to face with his worst fear, as the consequences of your actions to save him came to fruition.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 6497 (3554 words added) Masterlist (this story)

   The Inventor was quickly dealt with once all the Heroics had somehow been freed and restored to full health. The only reason he’d been able to trap them in the first place, was because he’d had the element of surprise, along with what Marcus had to admit were really clever inventions, including a device on his belt which effectively shielded the man from his enemies’ powers.    An impressive feat, considering the magnitude of power they all collectively possessed.

   They’d been sent there after a string of gruesome murders had left the town’s folk desperate for help, but once they’d arrived, everyone had acted very strange.    Later, they’d learn it was because The Inventor had revealed himself to be the murderer before the local community, and threatened everything they held dear if they didn’t help him. And to make sure they believed him, he’d demonstrated just how clever some of his inventions were, by not only managing to keep track of everyone, but even frighten and harming them from afar.    So, they’d done as he’d instructed, leading the team into a trap and then covering it up.

   He’d been in contact with HQ from the start, attempting to bargain using the supers as leverage, all the while never planning on releasing them, despite the promises he’d made to the Heroics organization.    The only part of all this Marcus couldn’t understand, was you. How you’d found them, how you’d gotten anyone to tell you where the team was being held, and most especially, how you’d freed them?

   Being better prepared for what they were facing this time, as more of them joined the fight once they were freed, working together in the crowded space where The Inventor had nowhere to run or hide, they soon had him shackled and his protection destroyed.    And once he was neutralized, Moreno had only one focus.    He’d seen glimpses of you while battling, crawling along the floor, somehow breaking the cages open, but he’d had no idea what you’d actually been doing, or how you’d done it.

   When he’d first woken up, he’d seen you hold your enemy off without touching him, so clearly, something had changed, but he didn’t really care about that in the moment. He just needed to make sure you were okay, so as soon as he felt it was safe, he turned from the captured foe and went to find you.    It didn’t take long in the bright lighting of the room. But once he located you, for one infinite moment, he froze as his heart nearly stopped.

   He’d seen this before, that first day at the hospital, when he’d questioned how anyone could still be alive looking the way you had. The image had haunted his dreams for months, and now, he was staring right at it in real life, once again.    The nightmare had come true. His worst fear brought back and realized, and it shocked his system so completely that he lost all contact with his own senses beyond what he could see.

   Sickly pale, almost to the point of transparency, just like then. Too heavy in your limpness, as though nothing was alive within you anymore. Lying on the floor between two of the nearest cages to the exit, fallen where you’d broken the final lock.    Terrified of touching you, feeling certain you’d be as cold and lifeless as you looked, like a moth to a flame, he was still relentlessly drawn to you. Needing to know, no matter how bad it was.

   Kneeling, he tremblingly reached for your wrist, looking for your pulse as his superior hearing wouldn’t let him search for the beating of your heart.    Clinging to even the smallest of hopes, it offered him a grain of relief to find you warm to the touch… but it was crushed when he couldn’t find what he sought.    Nothing fluttered against his fingers, and suddenly his hearing came back, needing to disprove what his touch was telling him.

   Somewhere in his mind he registered someone talking, but he blocked it out, searching for any sound coming from you. Anything.    His heart seemed to drop to somewhere so deep within him he couldn’t tell where it was, and he felt desperation begin to cloud out everything else. Because there was nothing.    There was nothing he could do. Rationally, he knew that. But he still washed his current over you, needing to believe he could somehow save you.

   He was vaguely aware of the team slowly gathering around the two of you while he grabbed your other hand as well, trying again and again, hitting you harder each time.    Marcus had the ability to sense electricity in others, even the faint charge of thoughts and memories being carried through the brain. But there was nothing.    You were gone.    Truly gone, because you’d wanted to save him. To save them all.

   And abruptly, he was furious with you for wasting your own life on someone as undeserving as him. Marcus might be considered a hero, but to himself, he was nothing but a giant failure. Unable to save his wife, unable to truly lead this team, unable to let his daughter fulfil her potential because he was just so fucking scared of how quickly she was growing up and how soon she wouldn’t need him anymore.

   Firm but kind hands were being placed on his shoulders. His friends and coworkers trying to tell him they’d be there to help him, just as they had been after Sarah.    Like him, they could hear the silence of your heart, as well as the screams of his own, trying so hard to deny what he was facing.    But their touch was instead what made him rage against the truth. Made him want to rip the world apart if it even attempted to take you from him.

   Allowing his anger to take over, he snatched you off the floor and held you to his chest while he dug deep inside of himself, separating the two parts of his powers, the electromagnetism and the metal manipulation, so that he could control them both individually.    He did this all the time whenever he was playing around with different metals, but he’d never attempted to do anything as delicate as what he was about to try.

   Reaching into your body, he located every grain of iron and started to move them into specific parts of your blood so that they’d carry the electricity of his current to where he needed it to be most concentrated.    It took such focus that it sent a raging headache through his brain within a matter of seconds, but he kept going. Even as that ache turned into blinding, searing pain, so intense it had him screaming at the top of his lungs.

   Not until it threatened to knock him out did he finally let the rage within his heated blood send one final current through you, easily a hundred times stronger than anything he’d tried before.    Actual lightning erupted between his body and yours, so bright that all the others shied away, even Red Lightning Fury herself, while the sheer force of it sent all the cages crashing into the walls, distorting and twisting the metal in them until they were flat and unrecognizable.

   Abruptly terrified that so much electricity would’ve burned your insides, he felt the rage fade away and fear bleed into its place as he slumped over you, drained and trembling while he waited for the migraine to let up so he could see again.    The only burn he could detect was on your right hand, but he’d felt that before electrocuting you, so it had to be from earlier.

   However, as his senses returned, he could barely believe his own ears when a small thud reached him, seemingly from inside you.    Holding his breath, he waited, not daring to hope he might hear another one. But there it was. And then another.    It took a minute, but slowly your heart came back to a steady rhythm, albeit weak, and Marcus had never felt such relief in his entire life.

   But at the same time, he was still drowning in fear, because you weren’t safe yet. You were barely even alive and there was no telling what his blunt treatment of your systems might’ve damaged.    Without a word, Crimson came to his side and started helping him get you up the ladder and out into the daylight above, making sure you weren’t jostled in the process. And before long, the entire team was involved in your rescue, wanting to pay you back for what you’d done for them all.

   As soon as they re-emerged from the underground bunker, each of their comms started working again, coming alive with a slight click in their ears, and there was immediately someone on the other end, wanting an update.    Obviously, all channels had been continuously monitored for the mere possibility that someone might break free of their captor and make contact.

   Since he was their leader, no one else responded to the request from HQ, but while Marcus stepped to the side to take care of it, the rest of them made sure you were gently placed on the warm sand while they took up defensive positions around you.    Crushing Low was the only one keeping to the side, since he’d taken charge of the prisoner, and decided that the best way to detain him was for the Heroic to simply plop down on his back, once more earning his name as he slowly crushed The Inventor deeper into the ground.

   “HQ, this is Team Leader, reading you loud and clear,” Moreno replied into the comms.

   “Glad to hear it TL. What’s your status?” the operator cheerfully responded, but Marcus found himself feeling increasingly weakened, to the point that he had to drop to his knees to keep from falling over.

   “We need med-evac ASAP,” he tremblingly said, suddenly struggling to even speak.

   “Copy that Team Leader, med-evac activated, homing in on your signal. Are all team members accounted for?”

   “Affirmative. Plus two.”

   “Civilians?”

   “Negative,” he whispered, well and truly unable to find any more strength. “One hostile… and one family.”

   He started crying at the word family, wondering if he’d ever get to have that with you, or if it would all be snatched away from him before it had even truly begun.

   “Copy that. Med-evac ETA is 18 minutes,” the operator announced, giving no indication he’d noticed Marcus’ ever more emotional replies, even though there was no way he’d missed the change.

   Returning to you, he sat beside you terrified that every second might be your last, and that even if he could somehow muster enough strength to repeat what he’d done earlier, his powers wouldn’t be enough to bring you back a second time.    The others remained in a protective circle around you both, with their backs to you, the chain only broken when Miracle twisted around to speak to him.

   “I could fly her home, Mo. It would be quicker. I promise, I wouldn’t take any detours.”

   “Thanks, Guy,” Marcus hoarsely returned, not taking his eyes off you, “but she needs doctors, and the closest ones are on that plane.”

   “Yeah, you’re right. I just…” he tried, but Miracle wasn’t used to expressing his feelings in front of the team, so he couldn’t find the words.

   “I know, you just wanna help.”

   “She saved all of us,” the blonde quietly responded, and he sounded genuinely awed.

   The leader didn’t know what to say to that, so he just allowed the words to sit there, floating in the air between them where their truth seemed only to grow stronger.

   The plane was a modified plus-sized heavy jet, capable of vertical landing and take-off, with the tail end of the passenger section converted into a simplified med-bay for emergency treatments. There was always one doctor and one nurse on board, and whether the team was using it or not, the plane was always kept close to them, just in case.    While it was rare for any of them to sustain serious injuries, it did happen. They might be super, but they weren’t invincible, or immortal.

   Once it arrived, Marcus was surprised to see the entire team boarding. Normally, those who could fly always did, to get away from the usual post-mission-bickering. But this time they were unified in their worry over you, so no one even spoke.    Without so much as a single comment about the mission or each other’s performances, they all just took their seats, anxiously looking at you while waiting for the doctor’s assessment.

   The flight back to Los Angeles would take four and a half hours, so he prepared himself for the possibility that they would be the longest hours of his life. Not that there was much he could do in terms of preparation, save repeatedly reminding himself that you were the strongest person he’d ever met.    It took half an hour before the doctor finally came to the seated area to inform him of your condition, and by then, he was covered in cold sweat and feeling horribly nauseous.

   “Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever come across something like this before, so making any kind of statement as to her future condition would be rash,” the doctor said, after quickly greeting the team as a whole.

   But they still remained silent, turning to your partner out of respect for your relationship.

   “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her?” he asked, about ready to throw up and beginning to feel a seriously disconcerting crawling under his skin.

   “She’s… projecting some kind of energy which makes it impossible for our instruments to examine her. All we’ve been able to get is her pulse and blood-pressure, neither of which are desirable, but not indicative of anything acutely life-threatening.”

   It wasn’t anything close to what he’d hoped to hear, but it was also nowhere near the worst scenarios he’d envisioned.

   “So, she’s not dying?” he tentatively asked.

   “Not as far as we can tell,” the doctor gently shook his head, and Marcus breathed a small sigh of relief.

   That was as much as he dared to give himself, though, just in case things took a turn for the worse. Four and a half hours was a long time.

   “Can I sit with her?”

   “I don’t see why not, there isn’t much more we can do. Perhaps your presence will help her more than ours.”

   “Thank you, doctor,” he whispered while getting up, somewhere in the back of his mind registering that someone gave him a reassuring squeeze over his lower arm as he left the group, but too distracted to notice who it was.

   He sat with you for the rest of the flight, holding your hand and praying to the stars that whatever power you had also made you stronger physically, like it had with everyone on the team, accelerating their healing and making them more resilient to viruses and bacteria.    But as the pilot eventually announced that you were only half an hour away from landing, he suddenly remembered Missy.

   You wouldn’t have left her without making sure Anita would take care of her while you were gone, so he knew she’d be okay. But since his daughter had already managed to cultivate a very earnest and open relationship with you, he suspected you might’ve also clued her in to what you’d set out to do, in which case, she would be terribly worried.    He called her through his comms unit, and she picked up on the first signal.

   “Dad!”

   “Hey, sweetheart,” he shakily answered, somehow feeling both better and worse hearing her voice.

   “Oh, thank goodness… Abuela, it’s dad!” he heard her shout away from the receiver, and he heard his mother reply something in Spanish in the background.

   “You’re okay, right?” Missy asked, and she still sounded so stressed.

   It broke his heart to realize he had to make it worse, but he knew better than to lie to her or try and sugarcoat anything.

   “Um… yeah… I am,” he said, and heard her breath catch as she registered the way he made sure to emphasize only himself, knowing she’d understand exactly what that meant.

   “No…” she exhaled sharply. “No, dad, don’t tell me she’s-…”

   “She’s alive,” he cut her off, hurrying to ease her pain, although he couldn’t free her of it. “But she’s hurt.”

   “How bad?” she wondered, and he could hear how hard she was fighting not to fall apart.

   He wanted nothing dearer than to tell her she had nothing to worry about, that she wasn’t going to lose another mother. But he couldn’t even convince himself of such a thing.    The best he could do was keep her informed and hope that her strength would see her through this.

   “They don’t know. She… has powers now, and they’re messing with the instruments.”

   “Oh…” was all she responded.

   And really, what else could she say?      But listening to his daughter’s reaction made Marcus realize just how much he stood to lose here, and although he wanted to believe everything would be okay in the end, life had taught him not to expect miracles.    You’d already pulled off the impossible in freeing the team and allowing them to restore their strength, so how much more could he really hope for?

   “She saved us. All of us. If she doesn’t make it… it’ll be my fault…” he confessed, needing someone to know how responsible he felt that you’d had to literally give your life to save him.

   His voice broke as the tears finally began to fall, and he squeezed your undamaged hand tightly, trying to draw some comfort from the fact that you were still warm.    Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea, attempting to unburden himself to someone so young and fragile as Missy, but she was also the one person he’d always leaned on, and even now, she turned out to be the one who brought him out of the guilt and reminded him that your choices were your own.

   “No, dad! She did what she had to do. She told me something had happened to you, and that she was gonna raise hell to get you back.    She would’ve done anything, dad. That’s how much she loves you.”

   There were no words to describe how impressed he was by her courage in the face of the most difficult circumstances anyone could find themselves in. But this time, his own fear turned out to be even stronger than her hope.

   “…I can’t lose her, too…” he croaked, damned near choking on the words, because the truth within them was so heavy in that moment.

   “I know. I feel the same,” she admitted, and in her voice, he heard the same unbearable fear as he felt inside himself. She paused, and when she spoke again, he understood why. “I love her so much, dad. I never thought I’d love anyone like I did mom, but I do.    So, you bring her home. Bring her home so I can tell her that.”

<><><><><> 

   You woke up with a bit of a jolt and sat up in what was apparently a bed, somehow aware that you were in a different time than what you last remembered, but also unclear as to what that meant.    Because looking around, you could’ve easily travelled back in time. Or just dreamed up the past six months, since you were in a med-chamber which looked exactly like the one you’d been in before. Although, if memory served, you’d had more machines around you then.

   The room was only dimly lit, and there was no nurse present, suggesting it was nighttime. You wondered if Amaire would be there in the morning. If Marcus would visit you. But then you remembered that you could move and from there, the rest of what had happened came flooding back to you.    Marcus… the bunker, the team, The Inventor…

   Throwing the blanket off and swinging your legs over the side of the bed you intended to go and find out what had happened to him, but when you tried to stand, your legs gave out from under you, and you crashed to the floor with a hard bang.

   “Hermosa!?” you suddenly heard his voice from within the room, and in the next moment he was right there beside you.

   Even more perplexed, but also relieved to see him look perfectly fine, you just stared at him at first, reaching out to touch his cheek just to make sure he was really there.

   “Marcus…? Where did you come from?” you said with a smile, but he didn’t reciprocate, and only then did you notice how stressed and tired he looked.

   “Amanda and Claire brought us beds so we could sleep here with you, after they realized we weren’t gonna leave no matter how many times they tried to send us home.”

   “Oh… Us?” you asked, noting his use of plural, even though you hadn’t seen anyone else there.

   But then Missy appeared behind her father, looking teary-eyed but happy. And behind her, you could see two cots pushed against the wall, so they wouldn’t be in the way had the medical staff needed to move quickly to help you.    It told you that you must’ve been there a while, but you felt fine, so you chose not to focus on that for the moment.

   “Hey, sweetie. Well, at least this proves I didn’t dream up the last six months,” you chuckled, trying to break through the tension in the room. “This is all a little too familiar.”

   But Marcus remained unamused, picking you up and sitting you down on the side of the bed with a hard set to his jaw and something uneasy within his frame.

   “Where were you going?” he asked, mildly accusing, which made you a bit defensive.

   “To look for you, obviously. The last thing I remember was seeing you fight that Inventor guy,” you recalled, and then another thought hit you. “Wait… did everyone get out? Please tell me you beat that guy, cause he was a fucking nightmare.”

   “Barely,” was all the reply you got, and there was something dark in his features as he said it.

   But since he didn’t elaborate, you chose to try and keep the mood light, which turned out to be a mistake.

   “Hey, a win is a win. So long as he’s locked up for good-…”

   “This wasn’t a fucking win!” he cut you off, and he was suddenly angry enough to make you flinch and pull away from him a bit, which he didn’t even seem to notice. “Don’t you see where you are right now? Don’t you realize what this means?”

   “Yeah, it means I got hurt,” you quietly admitted, feeling small next to the anger emanating from him.

   “No. No, querida. You died,” he almost growled, and for a few seconds all you could do was stare back at him.

   Something inside of you turned icy at those words. As though your body remembered the coldness of death.    And unsurprisingly, so did Marcus.

   “You saved all of us, the entire team… by sacrificing yourself. And no one even knows how.    I was only just able to bring you back with my powers, but I have minutes of memories of holding your dead body in my arms, so don’t fucking tell me we won.”

   It wasn’t anger you saw in him. It was despair. And while you did understand why he reacted like this, you also knew that if your roles had been reversed, he would’ve done the exact same thing to save you.    Still, reminding him of that wouldn’t help this situation, he was too raw. So, you tried a different approach.

   “Honey… I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you go through something like that,” you said earnestly, hoping your remorse would calm him.

   “But you did. You made that choice for both of us,” he objected, entirely unaffected by your apology.

   However, this time, his perspective was way off, and you couldn’t let him continue to believe something so skewed.

   “No. It was never a choice,” you firmly stated, and saw a slight confusion seep into his expression, so you pressed on. “Do you really think I went looking for you on the other side of the country, all alone, with no weapons or back-up, because I felt an abundance of options?    I did what my gut told me to do, because the alternative was to sit here and wait to find out that you’d died, while I’d done nothing to help you. Do you think I could’ve lived with myself if I’d done that?    I could never have looked your daughter in the eye and told her that I’d done everything I could to help you, unless I actually had. So, however much you wanna blame me for how things turned out, don’t ever tell me that I had a choice.”

   He just stared at you while you spoke, gradually allowing the true despair to emerge the longer he listened. And by the time you finished, all you could see in him was pain.

   “I don’t blame you,” he finally said, after a long deliberating pause, but you could tell there was something he wasn’t sharing with you.

   Something big and frightening he was keeping away from you, and as much as you wanted to know what it was, you trusted he had his reasons for not revealing it right now.

   “Okay. Then, if we could possibly move past my death for a minute,” you paused when you saw him flinch at the blunt phrasing, throwing him an apologetic glance before continuing, “can you please tell me how long I’ve been recovering?”

   He swallowed hard a couple of times, clearly trying to dislodge a lump in his throat.

   “Eleven days.”

   “Alright,” you nodded, relieved to know it wasn’t worse. “Not as bad as I thought, but I get it must’ve really stressed you both out.”

   “Yeah,” Missy finally joined the conversation, although keeping a little distance, remaining behind her father closer to the foot of the bed. “You had us so worried when no one could tell if you were even improving.”

   That only confused you further, so you turned back to Marcus, since he’d been there.

   “What happened? I mean… What did I do, exactly?”

   “Actually, we were hoping you could tell us,” he replied, raising a brow at you. “All I know is that you somehow freed the entire team from cages no one could even touch. And all the doctors have been able to work out is that you have some kind of shield around you which completely blocks every instrument in their arsenal.    Which, considering these are the people who research abilities in supers, says a lot about how powerful you are.”

   So, they hadn’t realized you’d also healed each member of the team individually. They must’ve thought the cages being disrupted had simply allowed them to recover naturally.    But this left you with a dilemma.    On the one hand, it was a massive comfort to you, knowing you could protect the people you cared about. But on the other… you knew that Marcus would never see it that way. Not when your ability to heal came at the cost of your own strength.    Which left you conflicted about how much to tell him.

   “I just remember feeling like I was in water. Or something denser than air, anyway,” you recalled, doing your best to find a way to describe the strange barrier you’d managed to conjure up. “I could push it around, if I focused hard enough. And everything it touched… it was like it was my skin touching it.”

   “I couldn’t feel it at all,” your partner explained. “I mean, I guess I was inside of it at some point, but I couldn’t sense it at all, not even with my powers.”

   “Huh…” you breathed, giving yourself a second to think back. “I could feel you, though. And I think your current kind of recognized me. Does that make any sense?”

   “I doubt there’s any part of me that doesn’t recognize you,” he shot back, probably not thinking anything of it, but Missy clearly heard a different meaning behind it.

   “OKAY, and that’s the end of that line of thought, as long as the kid’s present,” she loudly protested, before finally rounding her father and coming to hug you. “I promised myself that if you ever woke up again, I’d tell you how I feel, so here it is: I love you so much!”

   “Oh, sweetie…” you sighed, holding her back as tightly as you dared without hurting her.

   It was rattling to realize just how deeply her declaration affected you. You’d known from the moment you first met her that you loved her, but you hadn’t really given yourself permission to believe she could ever feel the same for you.

   “I love you too. And I’m so sorry I scared you.”

   “You did. But you also kept your word,” she said while pulling out of the hug so she could meet your eyes. “I’ll owe you for that forever.”

   “Hey, you made me a promise in return, remember?” you asked her, glancing at Marcus, and she couldn’t help but smile in response.

   “I do, and I kept it,” she proudly announced, before both of you giggled slightly.

   “Then I’m pretty sure we’re even,” you winked at her, because even though her promise to you might’ve had slightly less life-altering consequences attached to it, it was something that bound the two of you together.

   Not in chains created by heavy commitments, but simply in the love you both had for this family, and the understanding of what each of you would be willing to sacrifice for it.    And despite her age, you knew in your heart that she understood exactly what you were saying.    Meanwhile, Marcus was just about to ask what the two of you were giggling about, when Anita walked in to the med-chamber.

   “Well, look who decided to wake up, finally. I’ve never known a real-life Sleeping Beauty before,” she grumbled, as always concealing the depth of emotion she was truly feeling about seeing her family all together and healthy.

   “Aww… Did you just call me beautiful, Mrs. M?” you joked, feeling lighter at heart thanks to Missy.

   “It’s a character, loco, don’t read too much into it,” her grandmother huffed, but you ignored her false impassiveness.

   “I most certainly will, thank you,” you chirped, flashing her a brilliant smile, to which she merely winced dramatically.

   “So, what brings you here in the middle of the night, mom?” Marcus cut in, as always trying to protect you from his mother’s sharper edges.

   “Ay, hijo, haven’t you even looked at the time? It’s past 7 am,” she replied, tapping her wristwatch meaningfully, as though that time should hold some significance to her son, but if it did, it completely passed him by. “Don’t you have an internal inquiry in an hour?”

   “Oh, right… damned it,” he grumbled, before turning back to you and kissing you on the forehead. “Sorry, I have to go, but I’ll be back as soon as it’s done.”

   “Wow, wow, wow, wait a minute, what internal inquiry?” you demanded, taking his hand to keep him from rushing off.

   “Uh, well…” he started, but Anita cut him off.

   “Don’t worry, I’ll fill her in. You get Missy to school.”

   He looked a bit apprehensive, but if he was gonna get back to HQ in time for the meeting, he really didn’t have a minute to spare.    With a reassuring squeeze of your hand, he headed for the door with his daughter in tow, who shot you a little wave before they both disappeared through the double doors.

   “Well now,” the older woman started the moment they’d left. “Apparently, you assaulted not one, but two security guards here almost two weeks ago.    Now, they haven’t pursued any legal actions, but with such a serious incident, there will be an internal review. And since those take time, management decided to get started on the process as best they can until you’re well enough to participate. They want to talk to Marcus simply because they know about your relationship, which means he can provide insight into your character.    You’ll be called to give your own statement, once you’ve been medically cleared.”

   “Oh…” was all you could say.

   You hadn’t even reflected on your actions here that day, but now that you did, you suddenly felt horrible, which Anita could see in your face without even trying.

   “It’ll be fine. You singlehandedly saved the entire team, it’s not like they can throw you in jail for some minor injuries. I doubt if they could even fire you, at this point,” she stated without a hint of uncertainty, but you weren’t primarily concerned with any practical repercussions.

   “I didn’t even recognize my actions as faulty or wrong. I just took them out, as though they were nothing but obstacles in my way. Like they didn’t matter at all,” you recalled, truly frightened by how callously you’d acted, not to mention how perfectly justified you’d felt in the moment.

   “The heart doesn’t hear reason, and especially not when it is hurting.”

   “That doesn’t make it right.”

   “No, it doesn’t. But you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make amends, if that’s what you want,” Anita calmly reminded you, while casually straightening out your blanket at the foot of the bed.

   “Yeah, I guess,” you pondered, thinking back on everything you’d done that day, which brought back your conversation with her on the phone before you’d left for the airport. “I’m surprised you haven’t given me an `I told you so´ yet.”

   “Hm? About what?”

   “You warned me not to do anything rash…”

   You’d expected her to scoff or hit you with some Mama Moreno wisdom, so you were both stunned and confused when she cocked her head to the side, and that same strange expression you saw in Marcus’ face sometimes, but still couldn’t decipher, crept into her features instead.

   “I’m forever indebted to you, loco, for the very reason that you didn’t listen to me. If you had, my son would not have been brought back alive,” she told you, and her expression shifted into something very soft and loving, just for a moment, before she started turning to leave.

   But halfway through the room, she stopped. She only turned to the side when she spoke next, and you got the impression it was out of respect. Maybe to let you react without her piercing eyes on you.

   “The shield is surprising… but the healing? That I understand completely.”

   For a second you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t think anyone had figured out it was you who had restored the team to health, since it seemed plausible Marcus would’ve been told about it if that was the case.    But this wasn’t just anyone talking to you. Whether it was due to some power involving flowers or just her knack for putting even the most longshot clues together, she always knew more than anyone else, and you suspected denying it wouldn’t do you any good here.

   “Should I even ask how you know?”

   “Honestly, I’m surprised no one else has figured it out yet. Granted, the cages were destroyed, and the team’s memories of your actions are hazy and fractured, since they had to step out of their cages straight into battle.    But I don’t see how anyone could have survived coming that close to death, without help. Even supers can’t heal themselves of everything.”

   “No… that much I’ve learned. They were minutes away from dying by the time I got to them,” you recalled, feeling a chill travel down your spine at the memory, and you tried to shake it off but with little success. “Why do you say it doesn’t surprise you?”

   This time, she did turn all the way around before answering, so she could look at you.

   “Simple. It’s who you are.    You tried to heal your family, even when you knew it was impossible. You tried to heal your friend Jean, despite the many times she took advantage of your kindness. And then, when I offered you this job, you set about trying to fix everything that’s wrong with this place, another form of healing.    And lastly, you’ve been trying to heal this family too, ever since you met us.”

   You’d never thought of it that way. Never seen yourself as any kind of healer, but hearing her say it, you realized it did make a lot of sense.

   “It is a bit ironic, though,” she continued after letting you absorb her perspective.

   “What?”

   “That you should be granted the power to save others, while the person who is most in need of healing, is beyond your reach,” she cryptically answered, but then pointed to your right hand.

   You hadn’t even noticed it was bandaged, but now that you saw it, you remembered. Electrical burns on the insides of your fingers and palm. It had been dressed with a special burn-gel and thin plastic foil, so the damage was fully visible. It wasn’t too bad, but it would leave scars, and you’d probably have some loss of sensation in your skin.

   “Yeah well, it doesn’t matter,” you noted, honestly unbothered since it wasn’t yourself you were concerned about. “If I can protect the people I love, that’s more than enough.”

   “I know. And that’s precisely why you deserve more. Because you never would’ve asked for it, much less expected it.”

   “I never asked for any of this, remember?”

   “True. But if none of it had happened, you and Marcus never would have met,” she cautioned, before waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Of course, I’m not saying what’s been done to you is a good thing, but… I would be lying if I said I was disappointed in the outcome.”

   You wanted to tell her how grateful you were for the role she’d played in making sure you and her son had found each other, but you knew she’d dismiss something that sappy, so you opted for a different truth.

   “If I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t trade anything for this family, no matter how much pain it’s caused me.”

   “I realize what it means to you, after how you grew up. But please remember… Marcus and Missy are counting on you to be there. Not just to protect them, but to actually be there. For many years to come.”

   With those sobering words, spoken with precise clarity, she turned and stepped out of the room, leaving you jarred in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

[sirowsky-stories]

For The Love Of A Grump

Summary: Pero reflects on how you made his birthday the best it possibly could've been.

Requested by @chaoticfestninja

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Pero Tovar x female reader, but told from Pero's pov. As always, my Pero has issues with self-worth, but this story is a positive one, focused on his perspective of being loved. Word Count: 900

   He’d asked you to keep it small, and you had. But you’d also made it enormous, somehow managing to incorporate the entire world into the intimate celebration, and for the life of him, he’s never known how you do those things.

   Dragging him out of bed first thing in the morning, almost before the sun had even risen, he’d grumbled at you, truly feeling upset that you hadn’t let him sleep in, or even wished him happy birthday before ordering him to get dressed and hauling him out to the car.

   The drive had been long and listening to your upbeat sing-along with your favorite pop music radio station, had eventually worn him down and made him laugh.    He’d never been able to resist your joyous energy and the way you seemed so unaffected by his general grumpiness.

   It was exactly what had eventually convinced him he’d already fallen for you, that day in the pouring rain two years ago, when he’d gotten angry with you for not even letting the autumn weather get to you. As if that could ever be a bad thing.

   That was the moment it had dawned on him, the only reason he would’ve been so upset was if he hadn’t wanted your positivity to infect him. But it already had, and he was already lost in it by then, craving it so badly it had frightened him into trying to scare you away.

   You’d been immune to his mood swings from the start, never backing down no matter how terribly he’d treated you, and so impossibly elated whenever he’d showed you even a hint of happiness, that your very skin had seemed to shine with your joy.

   He’d loved you long before he’d been able to understand it, but you’d known from the moment you’d met him, and you’d been determined to help him see it.

   He trusts you beyond all reason, which was why he’d kept his mouth shut that morning in the car, not letting himself gripe at you. He knows better. You had a plan, and whatever it was, he’d be stupid to interfere with it.

   The beach had been deserted that time in the morning, the ocean calm and pink in the first light of the day. Growing up far from the coast, he’d always been enchanted by the sea, drawn to it and calmed by it, so you’d brought him there to start the day off in the best possible way.

   Breakfast on a blanket in the sand, followed by soothing cuddles and soft kisses, while the waves had begun to gently roll against the land. You’d let him doze off in your arms, giving him back the desired sleep-in you’d robbed him of earlier.

   Getting back in car, you hadn’t brought him home, but instead taken him on a remembrance tour of your relationship, driving past all the places where you could recall something significant happening between you, and it had amazed him how much you’d held onto. Especially all the bad, which you somehow managed to see the positives of.

   The next stop had been his favorite lunch diner, where you’d made sure the staff had treated him to their birthday special, complete with a song and dance routine which had left him laughing with equal parts embarrassment and delight.

   But it was the afternoon which had really taken him to a sense of wonder, as you’d borrowed a pair of horses and taken him on a cross-country ride which had lasted until nightfall, over giant plains, mountains, rivers, and which had seen the two of you cook dinner over an open fire.

   And even though you’d been all alone, not seeing another person for the duration of the journey, the vast sky above you, as well as the wonder of the natural features you’d navigated, had spoken to his heart about the connectivity of all things. From the distant sun, to the little bird which had taken refuge on his shoulder, under the brim of his hat, to escape the afternoon heat for a minute.

   Out there, he had been reminded of how small he is, but at the same time, how wonderous it is that one little person could’ve found his soulmate at all, within this chaotic and artfully crafted world.

   The evening had been spent among the sheets, where you’d allowed him to show you every nuance of his affection and desire for you, and it was only when his strength had finally run out and he’d tugged you into his arms to feel your stubbornly stoic and unfathomably kind heart beat against his ribs, that you’d finally wished him a happy birthday.

   Because you’d known, the same way you always know these things, that he would only hear the truth of your words once you’d already expressed them in every other way possible.

   Not because he doesn’t believe what you say, but simply because that’s how little he thinks of himself.

   You are the only proof he’s ever had, that his life and existence has any meaning. He lives for you and the joy he somehow gives you by merely being there.

   And as he falls asleep with you safely tucked against him, he thinks that one day he might be able to deserve your love. If he keeps letting you guide him.

   If he keeps letting your unbridled positivity infect him.

   Forever.

THE END

[sirowsky-stories]

Forward Luxation

Summary: You're recovering from a dislocated shoulder and have to go to a physical therapist. But getting there, you find nothing at all is what you'd expected, least of all the man in charge of your training.

Requested by @bilibiche

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x female reader, reader is not described at all, and yes, we're taking liberties with the fact that any visit to an expert in human functionality requires one to take their clothes off. Lots of sexual tension here. Word Count: 2750

   The waiting room is surprisingly cozy for a physical therapist’s office. Although you’ve never been to one before, so you don’t really have anything to compare it to. You’d just sort of imagined it being a bit like a dentist’s office, with the cheap magazines, plastic plants, beige curtains which haven’t been changed in five years, uncomfortable chairs and squeaky linoleum floors.    But this is nothing like that.

   You’re sitting in one of the four available really nice armchairs, each with a little coffee-table to the side, on top of which are no magazines but instead a selection of pamphlets with useful information about the most common muscle injuries and treatments, and phone numbers and websites to other reputable establishments where people can find help for all manner of problems, from yoga studios to psychologists.

   The wallpaper is cream white with a discreet floral pattern in the same color, but glossy against the matte base, and the curtains are a deep green which together with the wallpaper somehow gives the impression that you’re sitting in a park. Especially since the chairs have exposed wood along with the soft cushions, which are the same color green, with embroidered flowers in pale yellow. And you’re pretty sure they’re made entirely of silk.

   Even the coffee is fucking excellent.

   If not for the fact that you had to sign in at the front desk, confirming your appointment and even having to show your ID, before being shown in here, you would’ve thought for sure you were in the wrong place.    This all seems so much more expensive than what you could ever afford. You’re here courtesy of your insurance, so you don’t need to worry about the cost, but it still feels way too fancy for you.

   “Good morning,” a soft and pleasant voice interrupts your thoughts, and you turn your head to find a tall, fit, brown-eyed, ridiculously gorgeous man smiling at you.

   “Uh… g-good morning,” is all you manage in response, because he’s literally taken your breath away by just standing there.

   “My name’s Marcus, welcome to my rehabilitation center. If you’ll please follow me, we’ll get started with a quick exam,” he continues, giving no indication he’s noticed your flustered reaction as he politely steps to the side to indicate which direction you’ll be heading.

   Air floods back into your lungs when you start to move, getting up from the chair and falling in behind him, at which point, your brain starts working again.

   “You own this place?” you ask, jumping at the first topic to come to mind.

   “I do. I started this business eight years ago,” he replies, before reaching a room with a door already standing open, where he stops just outside and beckons for you to enter. “Does that surprise you?”

   “Well, no. I’m just a bit confused overall,” you admit.

   “Oh? How come?”

   “It’s just… My insurance company made it seem like it was a big deal to even get a spot here. That this is like, the best physical rehab center in the country. And then I get here and the only person I’ve seen is the receptionist.”

   “I see. You thought that such a prestigious establishment would have thirty employees and patients constantly coming and going?” he guesses, and you nod, feeling slightly embarrassed.

   But he’s smiling when he gestures for you to take a seat on the large examination table in the middle of the room, while he closes the door and then takes a seat on a mobile stool in front of you.    You note that the temperature in here is higher, and a moment later you realize that it’s probably because people need to undress for him to examine them properly, and suddenly you’re flustered again.

   “The reason why we’re considered one of the best, is precisely because we don’t take on more patients than what we can effectively handle, both from a managerial standpoint, and from a practical one.    Since it’s just me and David here, that means our slots are usually limited to five people per day. Obviously, I’m in charge of the actual therapy, while David handles the charts, bookings, contact with hospitals, insurance and so on.    These limitations enable us to work entirely stress-free with our patients, allowing each session to take almost however much time it requires, whether due to physical restrictions, or mental ones.”

   “Mental ones?” you repeat, getting slightly caught on the notion, since it seems misplaced to you.

   This is physical therapy, not psychological, right?

   “Bodily injuries often result in emotional distress, most of which only comes out when people are confronted with the consequences, which is essentially the heart of what we do here.”

   “So, you’re like a jack-of-all-trades kind of therapist, then?”

   “I suppose I am,” he agrees with a small chuckle. “Now, if you’re satisfied with our business model, we should get started.”

   “Sure,” you say entirely without confidence, feeling the hairs on your arms prickle with nervousness at the mere thought of potentially having to undress in front of this man.

   “Dislocated right shoulder. Forward luxation, if I remember correctly,” he recalls without looking at any charts or notes. “May I ask how it happened?”

   “Oh, I have horses,” you sigh, knowing he’s probably not gonna need much more explanation than that.

   And sure enough, he mirrors your sigh.

   “Ah, yes. That’ll do it. So, how long did you wait before calling for help?” he asks, crossing his arms over his waist with a knowing, although friendly, glare in his eyes.

   “About an hour.”

   His eyebrows shoot up at that, but he can’t seem to find the words at first. And as always, the moment you feel the slightest bit judged for your passion for horses, you get defensive.

   “I couldn’t just drop everything, I had two horses who were panicking because of a fucking snake, I had to get them into the stables.”

   “Yeah, okay, fair enough. How long did that take?” he prods, and you hesitate.

   Because you’ve had both of your horses since they were foals and you’ve trained them well enough that they always trust you, even when they’re scared, which is why it had only taken you a couple of minutes to get them into the stables that day.

   “I don’t have anyone who can help me,” you quietly explain. “I had to make sure they’d be okay if I had to be in hospital for a few days.”

   His expression softens then, but he’s not done investigating.

   “So, you went around hauling hay, probably some buckets of water, checking fences and gates… I assume you also made sure to get rid of the snake, only calling for help once you’d double-checked that you hadn’t missed anything.”

   “I didn’t call. I drove myself to the hospital,” you conclude, at which point Marcus seems to give up any notion that you’re a reasonable human being.

   “As impressive as it is that you were able to endure that kind of pain for so long, you do realize by delaying getting this injury corrected, you probably added another month to the rehab you’re gonna need? Which is only gonna keep you from working with your horses that much longer,” he admonishes, but he sounds concerned more than anything, which tugs at your heart because no one ever concerns themselves about you.

   “I know, but I was… scared,” you admit, surprising yourself, since you haven’t even admitted this to yourself yet. “I’ve never been seriously injured before, and I hate hospitals. I knew I had to go, I just… had to convince myself of it.”

   Unexpectedly, he smiles at you then.

   “Thank you. For being honest with me. That’s always a good start.” He looks so grateful and earnest as he meets your gaze, you struggle not to look away.

   “I know it might not seem like it, but I do want help. I’m just really crappy at asking for it or accepting it.”

   “Well then, you’ll be happy to know I’m stubborn as hell, and I don’t take no for an answer when I know I’m right.    Chances are, you’re gonna get amazingly irritated and sick of me before we’re done, but if you can trust me despite all that, I’ll get you well again,” he offers, and you struggle to believe you could ever get sick of such a wonderful person.

   “I’m not great with trusting people. But I’ll try.”

   “That’s all I can ask for.    Now, I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off so I can assess the mobility of your shoulder.”

   Well, that went from sweet to nerve-wracking in one fucking sentence…    Suddenly your pulse is pounding in your ears, but it’s not like you can refuse. At least, not if you want to regain full mobility.    Internally cursing yourself for wearing a t-shirt and not a top with thin straps of some sort, you start fumbling with the fabric, trying to get it off without causing yourself too much pain.

   He notices that you’re having a bit of trouble and steps around behind you to lift the shirt at the back, which is nice of him. Except that when his warm fingers brush against the bare skin of your neck, you involuntarily shiver, which he of course also notices.

   “Is it too cold in here?” he wonders. “I try to keep it warmer than the rest of the building, but if you need me to turn it up further-…”

   “No, no, I’m fine,” you interrupt him, feeling absolutely ridiculous at how strongly his mere presence affects you.

   “Alright, but just so you know, it’s no trouble. If there’s anything I can do to make this more comfortable for you, don’t hesitate to tell me,” he says, as he carefully starts to prod and examine your shoulder now that the shirt is off, and you’re abruptly having trouble breathing again with the sensation of his skin exploring yours.

   “Oh, you don’t want me to do that…” you think to yourself, while doing your best not to be self-conscious about your choice of bra for the day.

   “Why is that?”

   His mildly bemused and curious question makes you freeze, and as the realization hits you that you’d actually spoken out loud just now, panic floods your every cell in no time flat.    Wishing the ground would open and swallow you, or that lightning would hit you right now, you let your torso fall forwards and then brace your good elbow against your knee so that your hand can catch your head as it drops so heavily into your open palm that it feels like you’ve just slapped yourself.

   “I am so sorry,” you mumble, seriously wondering what the fuck is wrong with you, you don’t even know if the man’s single. “Please ignore me, I don’t get out much.”

   He’s quiet for a moment then, and in that short space of time, you manage to imagine several scenarios for how he’s probably about to scold you for behaving inappropriately.

   “Ah… You didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you?” he finally replies, and he still sounds only bemused, but it does nothing to rid you of your shame.

   “I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say, because that’s how you feel.

   “Hey, don’t feel bad, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re allowed to think whatever you want.”

   “Even if it’s totally objectifying and unethical?” you counter, and there’s another pause before you hear a low chuckle behind you.

   “Okay, now I’m really curious. What were you thinking?”

   “Never mind, just… continue your exam,” you hurriedly try to deflect, even more mortified by the prospect of having to own up to your completely premature infatuation with him.

   But instead of leaving it alone, he rounds the table until he’s in front of you again, taking a seat on his stool so he’s at your eye-level.

   “As previously discussed, I’ve got time. So, please, do tell me what you think would make you feel the most comfortable with me,” he grins, clearly fully aware that it’s gonna be something juicy, and almost childishly excited to know what it is.

   For the most part, humiliation runs off you relatively easily. But that’s also because you rarely stray out of your comfort zone, which revolves around horses, dogs, driving tractors and using power tools.    Still, on the rare occasions when you do manage to get yourself cornered, you generally suffer for a minute and then you find a way to shake it off.

   And on the super-rare occasions, such as this one, when you’re so far beyond mortified that you don’t even know how to get out of it, something else happens.    You become kinda angry and a bit feral.    The last time it had happened you’d ended up spending a night in jail, and you hadn’t even been drunk.

   You can feel that anger take control of your brain and you know you’re about to say something ill-advised, but there’s no stopping it.    Raising your head, you lock gazes with him and see him flinch at the abrupt shift in your expression.

   “Basically any scenario in which you’re butt naked and in my bed,” you hear yourself almost snarl, and somehow, there’s no shame accompanying the words.

   As crude and inappropriate as they are, it’s the truth, and it wipes the sweetly crooked little smile off his face in a hurry. Although his eyes remain alight and curious.

   “Somehow that’s not what I was expecting you to say,” he slowly observes, and you can’t help how your face falls, hearing that.

   “You and me both, darlin’,” you exhale, feeling the anger fade as the air leaves your lungs, and in its wake, only regret remains. “Maybe I should just go.”

   Standing, you reach for your shirt at the top of the table, but he stops you with a hand on yours, and when you turn to see what he’s doing, he’s suddenly very close.

   “I told you that if you can trust me, I’ll help you.    It might’ve been unintentional, but you were honest with me just now, even though you didn’t want to be, which is a good sign.”

   “Not really,” you protest, starting to feel smaller against his large frame, “I get like that sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed. I blurt things out with no filter, it’s not a choice.”

   “It was still the truth, wasn’t it?” he persists, and you can’t deny it, so you nod. “Okay then, we have a baseline, so let’s build on it rather than abandon it.    I suggest we start with today’s session, and when we’re done, we make dinner reservations for this weekend.”

   You’re so unprepared for that last part, your mouth falls open and your mind goes completely blank for way too long. Like a damned fish, you just stand there, staring at him while his hand still holds yours, gently prying your shirt from it before he motions for you to take your seat again.    Grateful to be guided, since you still can’t think for yourself, you follow his directions and before long, the exam is done and he’s helping you get dressed.

   From there, he shows you out into the gym where he meticulously instructs you on which exercises to do and how often, making you swear not to overdo them.    And you might be imagining it, but you feel like he jumps on any excuse to touch you, holding your waist to make sure your core musculature doesn’t move when it’s not supposed to, or physically redirecting your hips when you’ve unknowingly turned them, even though he could’ve just told you to correct it yourself.

   When you’re done for the day, he takes you back to the exam room where he makes a few notes about how the session went and what you’ve agreed on.

   “Again, no lifting hay, grain, or heavy buckets,” he reiterates for what has to be the tenth time, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

   “I heard you the first nine times.”

   “And you’re still not gonna listen to me, are you?”

   “I live alone with two horses and two dogs, I make no promises, one way or the other.”

   “I’m just gonna have to tie you to the bed then,” he says without a hint of a joke in his voice, before he reaches for a calendar on his desk. “But, dinner first.    How does six o’clock on Friday sound?”

THE END

[sirowsky-stories]

Lingerie For Beginners

Summary: Pero wants to give his new lady a present, but he's not exactly at home in the underwear store.

Requested by @suttonspuds

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, the images are just for aesthetics, female character is not described beyond being a B-cup, no overt sexual themes but plenty of mentions of breasts and overall mature content. Word Count: 1200

   His hands are already clammy with nervous sweat as he walks into the store, certain he’s about to embarrass himself, but also determined to leave with what he hopes will be an outfit exactly as the one he pictures in his head.    Calling it that might be an overstatement, however, as he stops and looks around a few feet into the establishment, seeing nothing concealing enough to be referred to as a complete outfit.    Lots of it looks fun, though. While some of it looks downright scary.

   “Can I help you, sir?” a silky voice says to his right, and he looks over to find a middle-aged woman, wearing a polka dot dress in 60’s style with matching makeup and hat, all of which somehow suits her perfectly.

   “Yes, well…” he tries, but the words die on his tongue when he realizes he doesn’t quite know how to describe what he wants.

   “First time in a lingerie store?” the woman guesses, and there’s no judgement or even curiosity in her voice, which sets him at ease.

   He nods while feeling his shoulders relax somewhat, and she smiles in response.

   “Alright, no problem. My name is Wendy, now let me just work out what we’re dealing with here.    Are you looking for something for a new relationship or something to spice up an older one?”

   “New. Three months.”

   “Aw, congratulations,” she offers sincerely. “That means it’s not an anniversary, though. Birthday?”

   “No. She has been feeling down lately, because of her job. It makes her feel ugly sometimes,” he tries to explain, and she immediately gets it.

   “So, you wanna remind her that’s not how she looks to you, and maybe help boost her self-image a bit?”

   “Yes, exactly this.”

   “Honey, that’s precisely what sexy lingerie is supposed to be about. You’ve got the right idea, now let’s see if we can find a good fit for you, and for her, of course.    I assume you have her sizes?”

   “Uh… I know she has a B-cup,” he offers, feeling stupid for not remembering to check more than that, but in fairness, he’s never done this before.

   “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can figure it out. Can you show me by hand-measurement how wide her back or hips are?”

   This he knows without hesitation, because he loves to watch her when she struts around naked or just in her underwear in the apartment. And she’s been trapped beneath him both from the front and the back many times, so he knows her size compared to him very well.    Using his hands, he gives the saleswoman as accurate a representation as he can, and she leads him off down the aisles.

   “Okay, first off: which color did you have in mind?”

   “She looks especially good in white. And I like the lace that you can just almost see through,” he admits, feeling a bit vulnerable revealing his preferences to someone he isn’t intimately involved with.

   “And what about style? What type of bra do you think would best show off her bust?”

   This question he feels genuinely unwilling to answer, simply because discussing his woman’s private parts with a complete stranger seems utterly indecent.    She’s come to a stop in one of the aisles and is perusing a variety of white bra’s, some with lace, others with silk, but she pauses when she notices him turning away and displaying general discomfort.

   “I’m sorry, I know this can feel somewhat invasive. I’m just trying to help you visualize so that you can get the perfect set for your woman, and for yourself.”

   “I understand this, I just… don’t feel good about describing her in such detail.”

   “Well, maybe you don’t have to,” she suggests, and then picks out a cute little bra, holding it up to his scrutiny. “For example, this is a balconette. See how the cups form a straight line when they’re filled? It usually gives the breasts a bit of a bounce and rounds them off really nicely.    Whereas this one is called a plunge, because the triangular shape of the cup means that you don’t conceal any skin between the breasts.    And then there’s the cage-bra, which is really sexy with different kinds of straps, either over the breasts, shoulders, or across the back.”

   As she describes them, she holds each of them up and demonstrates their features, then she emphasizes that each of the different styles come in all sorts of fabrics, so there’s no limit to which one he can pick, if he wants lace.    But all this does, is confusing him even more. He really has no idea what his date might look best in. Hell, he didn’t even know there were so many different types of bras.

   “I don’t like the cage one,” he finally manages to work out. “Too complicated.”

   “Good, now we’re getting somewhere.”

   “Which would you recommend?” he asks then, conceding that he is talking to an expert on the matter and might as well trust her judgement better than his own ignorance.

   “Hmmm… Having only a basic sense of your girl’s body-type, I think I would go for the balconette. It generally makes any bosom look good, provided it’s a good quality piece.    And actually, come to think of it, we have a gorgeous lace version, with a satin/lace hipster panty to go with it.    Let me get it for you, and see what you think.”

   She darts off before he’s had a chance to respond, so he stands there awkwardly while he waits for her to return, idly looking at some of the choices available in the nearest aisles, some of which he can’t even work out how a person’s supposed to get into.    But he also spots something interesting. A teddy made almost entirely from glass crystals, strung together into the shape of a bra which connects to a tiny pair of panties, only the crotch of which is made of fabric, but still see-through lace.    It’s not at all what he thought he might be drawn to, but he can almost see how good it would look on the body he most desires, and he just can’t take his eyes off it.

   “That one’s not as expensive as it looks,” Wendy promptly informs him when she sees where his gaze has gotten stuck.

   “Really?” he hears himself ask before he manages to reel in his racing thoughts. “Uh, but it’s not what I was looking for. It is nice, though.”

   “Maybe next time,” she suggests, and he shrugs, so she proceeds to show him the piece she’s gotten for him.

   “Oh… this is perfect,” he whispers, not sure how his bumbling efforts of explanations enabled her to find exactly what he’d envisioned.

   “Excellent! I had a feeling you’d like it. But just so you know, if you keep the receipt, you can exchange it if your girl doesn’t like it.”

   He pays for the gift while she wraps it for him, in what has to be the most beautiful package he’s ever seen, and before he leaves, he throws one last glance at the crystal teddy, glinting at him from the back half of the store.

   “Next time. Definitely.”

THE END

[sirowsky-stories]

Bird Men

Summary: You've entered a cooking competition and your competitors are all intimidating, but also secretly sweet, men.

Requested by @bilibiche

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Multiple Pedro Characters (Joel Miller, Javi Gutierrez, Marcus Pike, Frankie Morales, and Jack Daniels), two mild bad words, obviously a bit of competition stress, but overall this is just lighthearted fun. Word Count: 1790

   You’ve all been tasked with making the perfect roast chicken, something you’ve never really gotten right before, so you’re nervous as you run back and forth in your little kitchen, trying to keep the timeframe you’ve set up for yourself within the one hour and forty-five-minute deadline.    Filets are easy, you can do those perfect with your eyes closed, but an entire bird for whatever reason is your weak point. It never comes out just juicy enough.    And to add to your stress, all five of your competitors seem perfectly at ease.

   It’s not a professional competition, you’re all amateur cooks, but it’s high profile enough that there are cameras present, and a rather large crowd gathered around the outdoor competition area.    Part of a local festival, the cook-off is one of dozens of different contests which will take place over a weekend, and the entire town is in attendance.

   You entered because of a dare you lost on a particularly wet night at the pub, most of which you can’t remember that clearly, but you do remember the promise to enter the cook-off if you lost a game of pool.    So, here you are, entirely out of your league and yet too damned stubborn not to at least try to win.

   The other competitors are all men, which is already enough to make you wanna beat them, but even more annoying is the fact that they’re all amazingly good-looking, but somehow, you’ve never seen any one of them before.    In a city this small, that seems impossible. Still, you all had to give your addresses when you signed up, at which point you took the liberty of reading theirs, and they’re all locals.

   Once you’ve got the chicken in the oven, you set to work with the sides, and after about a minute, the guy in the kitchen behind you says something to you, but you’re not expecting anyone to talk, so you don’t catch it.

   “Huh?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder at him.

   His name’s Javi and he has the most gorgeous hair you’ve ever seen on a guy. He’s tanned and wearing a silky soft shirt in pale pink, which suits him perfectly.

   “You forgot to start the timer,” he repeats with a smile and a tiny wink, and you’re momentarily distracted by how lovely his eyes are.

   “Oh, crap… Thanks,” you throw back, suddenly feeling terribly disheveled in your already stained blue t-shirt with a glittery silver unicorn on the front, and your hair tangled in the little beads of sweat around your face.

   “No problem. You got this, chica,” he whispers encouragingly, and for whatever reason, his words really move you.

   All at once, breathing gets a little easier and the worst of your stress seems to evaporate.

   You’ve been squaring up against guys for most of your life, being the kid who stood up for your friends at school, fighting the bullies that they never dared to even talk back to, or having to play football with the boys because there weren’t enough girls for a team of your own.    But not once in your life can you recall ever getting support or encouragement from any guy. Well, except for your dad, who is arguably your biggest supporter in all things.

   Feeling a smile spread across your cheeks, you set the timer and then continue with the potatoes, carrots and broccoli, soon disappearing into your own little world as your focus narrows with the task.    A sudden clanging draws your attention to the left, where another contestant, you believe his name is Jack, has just dropped a big bowl of homemade mayonnaise on the floor, and is staring at the mess with raised brows.

   “Well, that w’nt part o’ the plan…” he drawls in a deep Texan accent, before he shrugs and carries on like nothing happened, cleaning up the mess in no time and setting to work on making a new batch.

   And since you’re still grateful for the encouragement from Javi, you decide to pay it forward.

   “Don’t worry about it, Jack. There’s plenty of time,” you say, smiling at him when he looks up at you.

   “Why, thank you, sweetheart,” he replies with a nod and respectful touch to the brim of his bespoke cowboy hat.

   Then, as if the few polite comments at the three kitchens in the front have unlocked the tense silence you’ve all submitted to, despite there being no rules against talking, the remaining three contestants begin to join in as well.

   “Am I the only one sweating like I’m running a marathon?” the guy behind Jack says, and a peek at his nametag reminds you his name’s Frankie.

   “Not used to competing?” one of the two at the back, Marcus, asks, and he does look perfectly calm as he cleans off a few tools in between tasks.

   “Nope,” Frankie replies. “But I’m guessing you are.”

   “I’m a cop,” Marcus explains, and the rest of you all groan, because if anyone’s gonna hold up under pressure, it’ll be the law-enforcer.

   While you’re turned back, you take a moment to observe the men, noting that the other guy at the back, you didn’t catch his name and you can’t see his tag, is having trouble with a blender.

   “Hey, need a hand with that?” you ask, and after a moment he looks up, realizing you’re talking to him.

   “Uh… Never used one of these before,” he admits, and before you’ve had a chance to step in, Javi turns around from his position between you.

   “Yeah, these are a bit complicated. Ignore all those buttons with the funny symbols and just use the power one. Here,” he quickly shows the man, and when he turns back to his kitchen, you see that the other man’s name is Joel.

   “How stupid are we, helpin’ out the competition,” Jack chuckles from the front, but his grin is of the heartfelt kind, clearly enjoying the lighter mood which has developed with the lack of silence.

   “More fun to win an even fight,” Marcus chips in.

   “Easy for the stress-free dumbass to say,” Frankie grumbles, making everyone laugh.

   “How does being stress-free make me a dumbass?”

   “Oh, you know, the same way that being a cop makes you more attractive. It’s all in the eyes of the beholder.”

   “So, in other words, because you think I look like an ass, I am an ass.”

   “Bingo!” Frankie concludes, clicking his tongue in approval, and Marcus just huffs bemusedly and continues working.

   It’s quiet for about three seconds after that, and then a deep rumbling voice sounds from the third kitchen on your side, just as you’re taking a bite of your potatoes to make sure the seasoning turned out right.

   “By that logic, I’d say Frankie’s a dick,” Joel summarizes without even looking up from his cutting board, and the bite you were chewing comes flying out of your mouth with how hard you cackle.

   All six of you end up giggling for a good while after that, and so does most of the crowd.    But then the bell rings, signaling you’ve only got thirty minutes left, and suddenly you’re all back to sharp focus.    It is still a contest after all.

   You can’t sample the chicken before it’s served, so all you can do is try and present it as appetizingly as possible, and you’re quite pleased with the presentation you’ve come up with.    But as all six birds are put next to each other on the display table before the judges, your confidence wavers. All the boys have an eye for esthetics, it seems.

   As always, the ruling takes forever, since every judge has to cleanse their pallet before trying the next dish, and of course, take lots of dramatic pauses to extend the spectacle as long as possible for the waiting crowd.    But in the end, the cowboy takes the prize. You guess there’s just no competing with the deep appreciation of meat and its preparation in the south, where Jack obviously grew up.

   Surprisingly though, he’s a much humbler winner than you’d expected, and quietly suggests you should all celebrate together at a local bar, on his treat, since the prize is five hundred dollars in cash.    Having nothing better to do, and no reason to turn down free drinks, you all agree, and head off to the city center together as soon as the cameras are done with you.

   And to your absolute delight, the moment the pressure’s gone and there’s no rivalry between you anymore, all the guys turn out to be real sweethearts.    Not once during the course of the evening do you feel in any way unsafe around them. Contrarily, they actually protect you from the other drunks, even after they’ve all gotten plenty inebriated themselves, which just makes you laugh.

   “You know, it was a bet I lost over a game of pool that made me enter the contest,” you explain to Javi after having lost a game to Marcus and turning down a rematch, which the attractive cop had wanted to bet on.

   “Really?” Javi smiles, and then raises his glass to you. “In that case, I’d like to propose a toast to whomever bet against you, because without them, we would never have met you and this evening would have been a lot less wonderful.”

   “Javi… are you hitting on me?” you say with an unserious accusation in your tone, and yet he immediately puts his hands up in surrender.

   “Not at all. You’re just a lovely person, and I’m happy to get to know you.”

   Before you can answer that, Jack turns up with a fresh round of drinks, this time an expensive whiskey for each of you.

   “Are you sure you wanna spend the entire winnings on booze?” Joel asks while smelling the liquid with an appreciative set to his jaw.

   “Well, partner,” the cowboy starts, somehow sounding even more steadfast and reliable the drunker he gets. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that good friends are way more valuable than cash.    And I gotta say, as easy and comfortable as this evenin’s felt, I’m hopin’ it means I’ve gained some good ones.”

   No one says anything in response, you just look at each other with soft little smiles on your faces, then you raise your glasses and tip your heads at each other, silently agreeing that this day is only the beginning of what will likely become lifelong relationships.    Who would’ve thought when you’d gotten out of bed that morning, moaning about how you didn’t even wanna go, you’d end up having the best day of your life, all thanks to some grilled fucking chicken.

THE END

[sirowsky-stories]

The Regulars

Summary: Marcus and Missy befriend a waitress at their favorite diner.

Requested by @yourstrulylightstar283

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Marcus Moreno x OFC named Evey, father/daughter banter, mention of stressful working environment, otherwise just fluff and cuteness. Word Count: 1175

   ”Again, dad?” Missy asks when he puts the menu down, already knowing what he’s picked, even though he hasn’t said anything.

   “What?” he lovingly gripes in return, smiling as he knows where this is going.

   “There’s so much delicious food in this diner, and yet, every time we come here you order the same thing: the cheeseburger with fries. Are you scared of stepping out of your food comfort zone, or something?”

   “I’m not scared,” he huffs, “this is just the best burger in town.”

   “Alright, I didn’t wanna do this, but you’ve left me no choice,” she counters, and her tone clearly suggests she’s about to change his mind, whether he likes it or not.

   He loves when she gets all smart like this, so he leans back and feels a smile grow behind his cheeks as he watches her close her menu deliberately slowly before clasping her hands together and leaning her forearms on the table.

   “Dad, you’re a public figure,” she begins, very seriously, “which means that people pay attention to you. And what they’re seeing every time we come here, is that not only does Marcus Moreno support the meat-industry, which we all know is fubar, but that he’s also entirely unconcerned with his own health.”

   Suddenly, he doesn’t feel the smile in his cheeks anymore. Instead, he feels mildly nauseous, especially after he hears the next part of her reasoning.

   “Now, if you were a member of the public, which the Heroics are tasked with protecting, would you feel safe knowing that your supposed guardian doesn’t even take good care of himself?”

   He knows that she’s being deliberately manipulating, testing herself in how good she is at persuading others, but she’s also not wrong about anything she’s saying, and it’s surprisingly jarring to hear.    Before he’s had a chance to recover, however, the waitress comes to take their orders, and he feels a creeping panic at the back of his neck, realizing he doesn’t know what to do.

   “Hello, my name is Evey, I’ll be taking your orders today,” she says with a prize-winning smile which isn’t fake or overdone or disingenuous at all, and he’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he hasn’t seen this woman before.

   “Hi, I’m Missy, and this is my dad, Marcus,” his daughter responds, saving him from having to speak through the befuddled mess that is his brain right now.

   “Nice to meet you both,” Evey nods politely at them in turn, “what will it be today?”

   His daughter confidently asks for an omelet with a side of salad instead of potato fries, and then immediately turns the attention back to him, fully aware he hasn’t made up his mind yet.

   “Uh…” is all he says, before ripping the folded two-page menu open once again and scanning the options way too fast to actually make out what they are.

   He glances at Missy over the top of the pages, hoping she’ll start talking and give him a moment to think, but she just smiles knowingly at him while she calmly waits for him to make a fool of himself.

   “I can give you some options, if you prefer, sir,” the waitress suddenly offers him a lifeline, and he dives at it like he’s drowning.

   “Please, do. I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted today,” he tries to explain, hoping not to look like a complete moron, although that ship has probably already sailed.

   “No problem, that’s why I’m here,” she smiles again, and then proceeds to list the entire dinner menu from memory, highlighting the nutritional benefits of each dish, as well as giving him a general idea of the flavor sensation associated with the various options.

   Marcus has been at five-star restaurants with lesser service than this, leaving him staring dumbly at Evey once she’s finished, trying to comprehend what such a talented server is doing in such a simple establishment.

   “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Missy pipes up after a moment of stunned silence.

   “Yes, it’s my first week,” the waitress confirms, and the Moreno’s exchange a look of impressed bewilderment before both turn back to stare at her.

   “I’m guessing you’ve been somewhere a bit more… demanding than this place before,” Marcus suggests, finally freed of the confusion his daughter had inflicted on him.

   “Demanding is the right word for it, indeed, sir,” she replies, and while the smile is still warm and genuine, there’s a hint of something heavy in her eyes for a moment as she says it.

   He knows that many prestigious restaurants can be hell to work at, no matter how skilled or experienced a person might be, so if she’s been at a place like that, he could understand if she needed to seek out a less stressful environment.    A small corner diner might not seem like a desired workplace for someone used to the glamour of the top tier in her field, but there are benefits to be found in the simplicity and quaintness of smaller businesses.

   “Well, I hope you’ll like it here,” he smiles back at her. “It’s not too crowded most of the time, and the regulars are pretty decent.”

   Missy rolls her eyes at him in embarrassment over the last part, which Evey notices, and an adorable giggle crosses her lips.

   “I take it you’re the regulars in question, then?”

   “Oh, he’s a regular alright. A regular cheeseburger abuser,” his daughter shoots, paying him back for her embarrassment by making him look like an idiot in front of this lovely woman.

   “Am not!” he desperately fires back, succeeding only in sounding childish on top of stupid.

   “Am too! And apparently also dishonest, since you won’t even own up to it,” she counters, and he doesn’t have a good comeback for that, so he ends up just sitting there scowling for a beat, before finally closing the menu and setting it down on the table.

   “Fine. I’ll have the damned burger.”

   He expects the waitress to politely excuse herself then, as this little tiff has probably left her feeling uncomfortable.    But when she’s still by the table after a few seconds, he looks up to find out what she’s doing, only to discover her grinning at him with her head cocked to the side, looking as sweet as a labrador waiting for ear-scritches.

   “Good choice,” she says with a wink. “It’s the best burger in town.”

   Missy’s head hits the tabletop with an audible bonk, followed by her exacerbated groan of disapproval, now directed at both the adults, as her masterful plan to manipulate her father has been ruined.    Marcus, on the other hand, can’t help but laugh, and when Evey joins in even though she has both their orders and doesn’t need to stay there any longer, he feels like a friendship has just begun, and it sends a nice warmth through his abdomen.

   “I’ll be right back with your dinners,” she giggles, and then right before she turns away, she adds: “I think I’m gonna like the regulars here.”

THE END