#//I feel like at a certain point you get enough bored wardens in a room they're gonna fuck around with the blight

[theodosiani]

I'm not saying she's that scientifically inclined, but before Birdie had her kid she probably did fuck around with Antoine and his blight experiments in sheer curiosity. Then she got Bebe and suddenly coming home covered in Blight Surprise is less enticing when you have a Tiny Baby who sticks everything in their Tiny Mouth

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 8

Hey guys! So sorry it took a bit longer this time to get a chapter out. As always I love hearing from you guys and every comment and Kudos keeps me going. Realy, your support, no matter how small you think it is, means a lot to me. This chapter is a bit slower, in my opinion, but I hope you all will like it!

Read on AO3 or see Masterpost for more chapters!

Em had decided to drop the investigation into the Geiger counter and focus on more productive investigations. The work schedule and manual from Mead’s closet would bear more fruitful and usable data, but it didn’t mean that moving from it was easy. Something about Stu’s death was off, they all knew it. Em knew about answer lay in that single page of shorthand gibberish.

Now they were in the library... her and Emily at least. Timothy was in a meeting. Langdon had the worst timing... or the best. Depended on what eyes you looked with.

A book sat in her lap, closed after she had read the last page. Dante’s Divine Comedy — she had meant to read it above ground but... well she had meant to do a lot of things. As the days went on the more worry she had over an idea of an afterlife. She was desperate for it and if, as an unbeliever, she was cast to hell, she’d much prefer to have an idea what torture she faced.

Frowning, her hand went to her throbbing leg. Em prayed her sewing skills were enough to mend the wound, small but deep. She had dressed it with some cloth from the towel she had bloodied and tied it in place with a ribbon. Most of the time she could hardly feel it, but one wrong move and she was hissing in pain.

Emily was doing some reading of her own, that of the more productive sort. She understood science much better than Em did and was having a go at the Geiger counter note.

“You know what I hate most about stories?” the brunette mused aloud after staring at the ceiling for a good twenty minutes.

Emily’s eyes didn’t leave her book, “What?”

“The ending.”

Her friend's nose scrunched for a moment before she turned to her, “isn’t that the whole point of reading? To make it to the end?”

“It’s sad,” Em sighed, “isn’t it?”

Em shrugged, watching her friend stare at the sky, “depends on the ending.”

“No... happy or not... it’s sad.”

Emily sighed, closing her book and stashing the note in her corset, “I think you’ve been spending too much time in your own head.”

“So have you,” Em reminded.

“Because I’m trying to figure something out.”

This piqued Em’s interest, eyes glimmering with the excitement of something new as she leaned towards her friend. “A mystery.”

Emily laughed and shook her head at the other woman’s antics, “you make it sound dramatic.”

“We’re some of the last people on earth... everything we do is dramatic as there is nothing to compare it to.”

“You’re eccentric, you know that?”

Em was starving for something new to investigate. Her mind needed a focus or else it would go into the worst places. “What’s the mystery, Miss Holmes?”

Her friend rolled her eyes but quickly turned to business.

“Venable is hiding something.”

“Venable is hiding a great deal of things,” Em noted, “that isn’t something new. So is Langdon, but that’s part of his job description.”

“Why the secrecy, though?”

“Knowledge is power.”

“But what is the truth?” Emily said, “we’ve been here for almost two years and all we’ve found out is when certain Wardens work and decontamination procedures and whatever else is in that manual.”

“Then how do we find out their secret plot?” Em asked, “preferably before we have to put that manual to good use.”

Emily rose from her seat and quickly made sure the library was empty. It wasn’t a particularly large library... about the size of the one at her high-school. She looked down every aisle before coming to sit back down, leaning in close to Em.

“Timothy and I are working one out,”

“Oh?” Em asked, raising an eyebrow.

Emily’s face flushed, “Not like that!”

“Don’t dash the power of a romantic subplot.”

“Did you always speak in poetry or have you finally gone insane?”

“I’ve simply lost my filter,” Em dismisses with a wave of her hand, “this plan of yours?”

“We need you to distract Langdon.”

El laughed, quickly quieting when she realized her friend wasn’t laughing along.

“That man would see right through any attempt.”

“He likes you,” Emily reminded, “why else would he call you to his office so often?”

“Bored cats will catch mice and watch them run around, barely surviving death for hours on end, just for their own amusement.”

“...so Langdon’s a cat.”

“He something far worse.”

Emily sighed, “will you help us or no?”

Em really didn’t want to tell her friend that she would be a hindrance to the investigation due to her injured leg. However, saying that would bring up more questions and she really didn’t want the girl to think she had completely lost her mind. Blackouts were one thing... homicidal urges were something else entirely. And the possibility of them happening at the same time? Not a cocktail she was willing to try.

“Your best bet is to observe his behavior and watch for patterns,” She noted, “find out when he’s distracted. You’re smart, Emily, that’s why you’re here.”

“So you’re not going to help us?”

“I want to live,” Em insisted, “the best I can do is keep silent while you two work. Venable’s already watching me like a hawk and she’d gladly take down all of us if it meant killing me.”

Emily understood her friend’s reluctance. Last time Em had a more hands-on role. She could take action if things went wrong.

“Don’t you want to know?” She asked, grabbing her friend’s hands and squeezing them, “knowledge is power, right?”

Em remembered her vision, Emily and Timothy laying on the floor while foaming at the mouth. Their eyes staring desperately at the sky as if begging god to spare them.

She cursed under her breath and pulled away from Emily’s touch, pinching her nose and sighing.

“Where do you need me to be?”

                                  --------------------------------------------

By the time Timothy arrived Em and Emily had long grown bored of talking plans. In all honesty, the less Em knew of what they were doing the better it was. If she got caught there’d be nothing to pry from her. All that mattered was Em would make a distraction at the right time, pretend to search through his office while Timothy and Emily searched his room.

For now, however, they were content to play Heads Up and pretend the real world didn’t exist.

“Am I a pretty… lady?” Em asked. She was never good at this game.

Emily was sitting in Timothy’s lap, draped over him like a cat with her legs propping up on the armrest of the sofa.

“Would she be?” Timothy asked her.

Emily hummed, “I’m not sure.”

“Let me rephrase it,” Em proposed, turning to Emily, “is she my type?”

“Yes,” Timothy answered a bit too quickly, Emily giving him a look and shaking her head.

“But she has—” he tried to reason.

“But she doesn’t have—” Emily reminded, the pair staring at one another until they burst into laugher. Emily curled into Timothy, her head resting in the crook of his neck.

They were interrupted, as always, by a screeching of the library doors. Laughter halted in their throats, eyes turning towards the sound of feet on carpet as silence overtook the room save the small sizzling of melted wax meeting fire.

Mead appeared from the shadows of the room, arms crossed as she came to stand before them. Her eyes narrowed as she realized two-thirds of them had a piece of paper taped to their heads, something written upon them which she could not see.

She turned to Em with and sighed, “Michael wants to see you.

Not bothering to hide her annoyance, Em rolled her eyes and rose from the armchair.

“Who was I?” She asked the pair.

“Gwyneth Paltrow,” Emily said with a smile.

Em turned to Timothy and gave him a look. Her type? Really?

“Oh, honey,” She said, “bless your heart.”

Emily smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “That’s southern for stupid.”

“You said Pepper Pots could get it!” Timothy exclaimed.

“Pepper Pots is a badass,” Em noted before turning to follow Mead.

“They’re the same person!” Timothy shouted, exasperated as Emily’s laughter echoed through the room. It only stopped when the door closed behind Em, sealing off the pair from the rest of the world.

“You have a—” Mead noted, motioning to Em’s head.

“Oh!”

Em laughed and took the card from her head, staring at it for a moment before turning to Mead.

“Do you mind?” She asked the woman, holding out the card. There were some things she’d like Langdon to not know, small as it may be.

Mead sighed, trying to sound annoyed as she took the paper.

“Half the time I don’t know what to expect with you three.”

“Have to pass the time somehow.”

“Who’s Gwenneth Paltrow?” Mead asked, opening the paper and turning it back and forth in her hand.

“Actress,” Em told her, side eying the paper and trying not to think of the dull ache in her leg, “always on about that crazy new-age stuff that makes no sense.”

Mead shrugged and pocketed the paper, “never was one for all that crap.”

“Me neither,” Em admitted, “only know the name because she got into some crazy cult shit.”

Her companion let out a barking laugh, an infectious smile crawling onto Em’s lip, “so did half of Hollywood.”

The woman showed no hint of suspicion towards Em. Then again, Mead was the type of person who knew how to control her speech and emotions until it was time to strike.

A familiar sound of a cane caught the pair’s attention as they made it up the stairs—  tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap. Em looked to Mead, trying to read any emotion on her face. There wasn’t… something that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Venable’s face greeted them as they turned onto one of the many upstairs hallways. Em took some satisfaction in the momentary widening of her eyes as the woman saw them. The expression quickly straightened, lips pursed as Venable tore her eyes from Em and laid them upon her escort.

“Miss Mead,” she said, voice reminding the brunette of when her parents pretended they weren’t at one another’s throats just a moment before they sat down for dinner, “May I have a word.”

Mead’s only response was a subtle nod before she turned to Em, “you know the way.”

Em offered her a friendly smile, making sure it remained on her face as she walked past Venable. Her contempt was so easy to read.

“Have a good day, Miss Mead.”

                                        -------------------------------

Langdon was standing by the fire when Em entered. It felt like he hadn’t moved since their last visit, affixed to the same spot she had left him with his hands behind his back. She took a moment to read the room as she closed the door quietly behind her.

There were no wardens in the room, meaning he probably didn’t see them in Mead’s room and that Venable most likely didn’t inform him of her suspicions. So Venable didn’t trust him… that was revealing.

“Is this another interview?” Em asked as she took a few steps forward. She imagined he already knew she was there, but her words finally forced him to turn and acknowledge her. A smile flickered to his lips as he turned to her.

“This time more of a social call.”

“Oh?” she said, a brow quirking up her forehead and a smirk finding it’s way to her lips, “Is that what you’re telling residents now?”

Langdon glanced to the floor, still smiling as he shook his head. Finally, he gestured to a set of armchairs facing the fire. She rounded them, taking the one on her right. Her hands rested on the back as she waited for Langdon to move.

His eyes were focused on her skirt, eyes slightly narrowed in thought. Her awkward gait was obvious to him, slight as the limp may be. Langdon didn’t note it, simply staring at the woman until she finally sat. Em did so with a sigh, eyes turning to the chess set that sat on a small table between them. It looked like he had been mid-game with someone.

“You play?” she asked as he sat next to her, legs crossing as he turned towards her ever slightly.

“On occasion. You?”

“I used to be good once,” She admitted with a rueful smile, hands going to straighten one of the knights, “but I haven’t played since I was a child.”

This visit felt different from the others. Langdon seemed almost relaxed, leaning back into his chair and hands free of any files. The fire crackled before them, making the world feel a little more quiet than usual.

“Why is that?” he asked. She felt his eyes on her but refused to look at him, occupying herself by fiddling with the pieces.

“My parents weren’t overly fond of spending time with me… though they pretended they did.”

“Perhaps I can reteach you.” Langdon offered.

Finally, Em’s head rose from the chess set. He watched as green eyes flickered between himself and the fire, never quite meeting his gaze.

“I’d like that.”

They set to fixing up the chess pieces, exchanging pieces that lay on the other’s side. He chose the black pieces and she took the white — she’d have to make the first move. Though, that wasn’t surprising when it came to conversations with the man.

“You’ve spoken a lot about your parents,” he noted, “what about the rest of your family.”

“Emotionally abusive father and a codependent mother,” she noted, “are a perfect equation for isolation. One that kept us from reaching out to others and ensured that my siblings would rarely return home.”

“You feared him,” he noted, taking a bishop she held out to him, “your father.”

“Fear,” she corrected, “present tense.”

“But the bombs—”

“Fear is illogical that way,” Em noted, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What was your family like?”

Langdon paused, eyes betraying his amusement as he debated what he said next. A few details wouldn’t hurt.

“I was adopted by a family friend after my grandmother committed suicide.”

She didn’t apologize as most people did. Her eyes said enough. He expected the usual questions, the kind one would encounter in therapy. Em was debating which ones would be appropriate.

“Do you miss her?”

“Which one?”

“Either.”

Langdon sighed and placed his last pawn in place, “someone once told me that nostalgia is much nicer than true memories.”

“smart person,” Em noted, moving her first piece — a knight.

“She was.”

He was quick to counter her move, choosing to move a pawn near the outer edges of the board. The fire crackled as a log snapped in two, settling into the center of the fire with a rippling crack.

“I have to admit your quick thinking is intimidating.”

“Take all the time you need,” he reassured.

Her hands hovered over the board, fingers twitching as she ran through possible outcomes in her head. When she spoke, her voice sounded distant.

“So you can pick at my brain while it’s distracted?”

Langdon chuckled, moving a piece after she moved forward another knight, “Something like that.”

A comfortable silence filled the room as they got into the game, Michael’s movements quick while Em took more time to play out moves in her head.

“Are you sure about that?” he had taunted at some point, a devilish grin on his face. Em paused for only a moment. If she didn’t move the rook to take his bishop he’d have check in two.

“Fuck off, Langdon,” she laughed, moving the piece despite his warning. Her laugh was infectious as he shrugged his shoulders and moved another piece.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Langdon won, naturally. Though Em had a feeling he hadn’t played fair. His smugness filled the room, leaning back in his chair with an air of content at having beaten her. It both annoyed and amused her — like when her brother beat her at Super Smash Bros.

“Another round,” she demanded and he rose a brow, sitting up in his seat. He rose an amused brow and she shook her head. “This time we play checkers.”

“Checkers?”

“I lived in the south,” she reminded, ignoring a stare that displayed how much the man was judging her, “there were Cracker Barrel restaurants on every major exit. One was right across from the college dorms I stayed in.”

“So you’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Don’t worry,” she teased, “perhaps I can teach you.”

He smiled and put the chess pieces away as she pulled the checkers out from the compartment inside the board. She set them out and waited for him to make the first move.

“Can I ask you a few questions?” Em said as she quickly countered his move. He chuckled at the symmetry of her actions and waved his hand for her to proceed.

“Why was this place designed to fail?”

The way his hand hesitated over his piece betrayed his surprise, quickly recovering and completing his move. Her pieces clicked against the board as she countered, waiting for him to respond.

The blond straightened back into the iron mask he wore around the rest of the residents. “What makes you say that?”

Answering questions with questions. That was also a game she knew well.

“This whole place was designed on the tip of a knife,” She explained, balancing a checker on the tip of her finger, “We’re just waiting to lose our balance.”

To emphasize her point she allowed the checker to fall. It clattered on top of the other pieces she had stolen from Langdon.

“And what would you do to make it better?” he posed, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Do you want me to alphabetically or categorically?”

Langdon leaned back with a short barking laugh. He stared at her with what she’d almost consider pride… the cat’s favorite mouse. He waved a hand again, prompting her to continue.

“Whatever is easier.”

The board lay between them, game abandoned in light of a more interesting chain of events. She mirrored his actions, considering which point to bring up first.

“This place was built by the rich, yes?”

He nodded, watching her intently.

“Why the hell would the rich settle for unfulfilling cubes?”

“Those cubes—”

Em cut him off with a sigh, “have all the nutrients we need but not all the calories. An extreme coupon mom would have a greater quantity and quality of rations than we do.”

The blond prepared himself for a long conversation, leaning his head against a hand that was propped up on the armrest of his chair. She stared at him, waiting for a response.

“What else?” he asked with a sigh.

“The Cooperative put in place a NASA-esk water filtration unit, but couldn’t find a way to have a self-sustaining food resource?”

“You make it sound easy,” he noted.

“It is,” She stated, “Scientists already had designs in place before the bombs dropped.”

“This does nothing to prove we intended the worst,” He nearly sang.

“Then why do you claim there is a sanctuary more equipped for this? Why is that not the standard for all the outposts?”

Langdon thought back to his first interaction with the girl. Her first accusation. He should have known she’d be trouble from the start… but perhaps he could use this to his advantage. Leaning forward, he moved another piece across the board.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Em was intent to get to her thesis — the final blow.

“You intended this from the beginning — make people desperate enough to see their true colors then pick them off one by one.”

He chuckled, twirling one of her pieces in his hands and he shook his head and stared into the fire.

“Someone’s done their research.”

“Venable and yourself are the most openly condescending people I’ve ever met… you both think you’re so smart and with this crowd that’s mostly the case.” She said with a scoff.

Em took one of his pieces, then another, “you’re so pleased with yourselves that anyone with a brain can look right through you and see your intentions. No offense.”

“None taken,” he said with a smile, “…Mostly the case?”

“Timothy and Emily were chosen for their genetics. That’s the only good choice The Cooperative has made thus far.”

“Your care for them makes you blind to their faults,” he noted, “no offense.”

“None taken.” Em said, offering a shrug as she collected three more of his pieces, “King me.”

They lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Langdon lost and as she had expected he did so poorly, immediately challenging her to another game. That meant what she had said had some effect on the man. He sought to cover his fumble with conversation as they began the next round, asking about her observations of Outpost Three’s inner-workings.

Even that conversation came to comfortable silence, Langdon far more intent on this game compared to the last. Em stared at him when he wasn’t looking, too busy playing out moves in his head. His lips would twitch ever slightly when he thought.

“Do you ever feel lonely?” she asked him, playing the question in her head a few times before speaking.

“Lonely?” He echoed, voice distant as he finally moved a piece, “I thought we already had this conversation.”

The brunette sighed and stared at the pieces for a long moment as she ran through what to say next.

“Do you ever have that feeling that something is supposed to be there, but isn’t?”

He also took a moment to think, mouth open for a moment as he chose the right words to say, “I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with the emotion.”

“You’re lucky then,” She admitted, “sometimes it’s often claustrophobic in nature… like looking for a friend in a sea of thousands.”

“I thought you said you were content with your own company?” he asked, moving his piece to the other side of the board, “king me.”

“I am, but… I can’t place it. It feels different somehow.”

He looked at her, brows knitted together as he moved another piece, “how so?”

“It’s the same yearning I feel for a sense of purpose,” she said, shaking her head and speaking before she could think. Her eyes were on Langdon, but the man could tell she was looking at something past the physical realm. “But more specific. I yearn for someone or something, but I can’t place it’s… like I’m looking at it through a fog.”

“We all left things behind in the old world,” he noted, giving her his full attention “perhaps you are searching for something you lost.”

She sighed, “but reminiscing on such things is a fruitless task. Nostalgia is only healthy in small doses.”

“Nostalgia can be good.”

“Too much of anything is a bad thing,” Em noted.

“That it is.”

A buzzing in her head made Em focus back on the game before her. The sound of pieces moving made the blond turn back towards her, out of his thoughts and back into the current moment.

“What is it like?” Em asked, changing the subject, “traveling from outpost to outpost?”

“Is that what prompted your question?” he asked, sighing as he forced his mind back on strategy.

“In part.” She admitted.

“I’d call it a time to reflect,” he noted with a sigh, “but it’s hard to think when you’re keeping an eye out for cannibals.”

Em’s gaze turned to the fire, brows bunched together at the bridge of her nose. Venable had been right. She had somewhat hoped the monsters the woman spoke of would be nothing but fear-mongering.

“It’s only been a year and people are already—”

She cut herself off. Biting her lips and shaking her head, she chided herself, “no… that’s not fair of me to say.”

“Law was the only thing keeping humankind from its unlimited cruelty,” Langdon noted, hardly phased as he got yet another piece to the other side of the board. He was a quick learner. “The outcome isn’t that much of a surprise.”

Em was quick to change the subject, “What did you see out there?”

“Nothing pleasant.”

For some reason, he wished to keep the reality from her. Whether out of compassion or a desire to keep her ignorant, she couldn’t quite tell.

“I’d like to know,” she finally insisted, “Venable has only told us so much and we’re forbidden from leaving the premise… even with hazmat suits.”

Langdon nodded. He expected as much from the two women — Venable and Em. Pausing from the game, he gave her his full attention — turning in his chair and resting his elbows on the armrest closer to her.

“The trees are barren and everything is covered in thick green fog,” he said, slow and methodical as if he were trying to recall every last detail, “the animals have gone rabid or are in the very late stages of cancer. You cannot see the sun in the sky… an eternal night.”

“What about the people?”

“Killing each other for food or simply out of paranoia. Cancer and tumors are the norm for most.”

Her arms had come to brace themselves on the arms of her chair, knuckles white and jaw clenched. She stared into the fire but did not see it, darkness clouding her vision as she was sent back into that first day in the outpost. How many of those messages weren’t their last? How many survived only to face torment? How many had she abandoned in the wastelands?

“The children?” she forced herself to ask, forcing herself to look at him. His eyes widened every slightly before he glanced away, conflicted. She watched his chest rise and fall, his eyes close momentarily as he centered himself before speaking.

“On the way here, I came across a woman,” He told her, “A young mother, with two children. They were some of the unlucky ones who were far from the blast radius to survive the fireball, but… not the radiation.”

Em’s mouth opened every slightly in shock as she realized he was crying, a single tear breaking free and racing down his cheek.

He held his hand up, the other hovering over it and tracing up his arm as he continued to recall the incident before resting at his chest, “they were covered in tumors — sores. Their lungs were burned from the toxic air.”

With a clench of his fists, he fell back in his chair and refused to meet her eye, “After a few moments I realized that the child she was carrying in her arms was dead. She was begging for us to murder her other child out of mercy… she didn’t have the strength to do it herself.”

Em didn’t even realize she was crying until he turned to her. She stiffened as he reached out a hand to her cheek, cupping it and brushing away the tear gently with his thumb.

“Did you?” she asked, voice hardly above a whisper and his hand still on her cheek.

Blue eyes refused to look away from her, “Did I what?”

“Have mercy.”

An emotion she had never seen on him before tainted his features. It made his face fall, his eyes shine in a way that wasn’t pleasant and his lips part every slightly. His hand pulled back from hers and he turned away from her, closed himself off.

“No,” he finally answered, “I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Langdon felt regret… shame.

“I doubt anyone could.”

“Why do you cry for them?” he asked.

“I have nieces and nephews,” she said, “friends and—”

A frog sat in her throat keeping her from speaking. She waited a few moments before clearing her throat and drying her eyes, forcing the unpleasant emotion back from whence it came. After a few more breaths of unprompted tears, she spoke again.

“I’m sorry for bringing up a depressing topic.”

“Knowledge is power,” he noted, “and the desire of power is in our nature.”

Langdon cleared his throat as well before turning back to the game. It seemed both of them were content to pretend the last few moments be forgotten… for now, at the very least.

“What would you do to survive?” he asked her, waiting for her to make a move.

She sighed rather loudly. Naturally, he was using interview questions to take back the power he had relinquished for but a moment. Still made her head feel light like she had whiplash.

“What would I want to do?” she asked, moving a piece without much thought. Langdon was keen to take advantage, quickly moving his piece to take over it. “Or what I would actually do?”

He scoffed, “is there a difference?”

“Of course. I’d like to think I’d preserve some of my humanity — morality and the like.”

“But in reality?”

Em opened her mouth and closed it again. What would she do? So far she had certainly become more… adventurous wasn’t quite the right word. Admitting that, however, would be giving him and, in turn, The Cooperative more information than she was willing to part with.

“I don’t know,” she said, “It’s hard to know what you’d do until you are forced to take action.”

“You like to skirt around questions,” he notes, “despite my warning against hedging.”

“You want honest answers,” she reminded, “that required introspection — especially with these questions. It’s rarely linear.”

“How do you react to conflict?” he asked, sounding like he was reading from a list. Em wouldn’t be surprised if he had all the questions memorized at this point.

“What kind of conflict?”

He sighed, trying to be annoyed but failing as a hint of a smile let itself be known, “Your answers tend towards the circumstantial.”

“C’est la vie,” Em said with a shrug, moving a piece and watching Langdon frown as she captured one of his kings.

“It certainly keeps at least one of these conversations interesting.”

Em gave him a look, “is this a conversation?”

“We’re communicating, are we not?”

“You’re asking questions and I’m talking about myself for…”

She glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, “… an hour. Not much of a conversation.”

“Therapists would disagree.”

“You’re my therapist now?

He didn’t look at her, but she could see him smirk, “…of a sort.”

The brunette leaned forward in her chair, regarding him for a moment, “Then what do you see?”

Langdon’s head quirked to the side as he eyed her, “I see a woman who hides her insecurities behind bold and intelligent words… a philosopher without students.”

Em could only laugh, sparing him an amused but unbelieving look, “You give me far too much credit.”

“My records indicate you were quite introverted and withdrawn before,” he noted, “What changed?

“When you stare at death he does not care what mask you ware,” she told him, voice distant as if it was not her own, “so why bother with pretenses and polite society?”

“Why, indeed?”

They finished the game, coming to an impasse with two kings following each other across the board. Langdon rose from his chair and wandered over to the pitcher of water from before.

“You care for some?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

He turned to her with a Cheshire grin, “what happened to polite society?”

“Born in the south, remember? We mind our P’s and Q’s and say ‘bless your heart’ instead of ‘go to hell.’”

“I hear it’s quite pleasant this time of year,” he said, turning with two glasses of water.

“Hocus Pocus,” she noted.

“A staple in my house during Halloween,” he noted, a sad smile coming to his lips.

She rose and took a step forward as he approached her, hand extended to take the glass from his hands. A thankful smile turned tense as too much pressure was placed on her bad leg. After sitting for so long, she had forgotten it was there. She leaned back on her good leg and regulated her expression.

Langdon didn’t seem to notice and she pulled back and carefully lowered herself into the chair, waiting for him to move and do the same. Placing the glass on the table beside her, she turned to make a comment about a third and final match only to find him crouched on the ground.

Red coated his fingers, a small puddle on the ground the size of a silver dollar. One of her stitches must have torn. Of all the timing…

“You’re hurt,” he noted, looking up to her, “where?”

“Oh,” she tried to write off, “it’s embarrassing, but I think that’s— “

His eyes were deadly as he stood and stepped towards her, a growl in his throat, “we agreed not to lie.”

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Em lifted up her skirt to reveal the comically small injury that sat three inches above her knee. As she feared, unbinding the bandages revealed the stitching had come undone.

He kneeled down in front of her, hand hovering over the wound. “What happened?”

She tied the bandages around it, resolving to cauterize it later as she knotted the ribbon extra tightly around her leg. Langdon retreated as she threw her skirts over it once more, obviously not wanting to let the incident rest or for her to leave his office without treatment.

“A fucked up side-effect of conditioning.”

Langdon sighed, “this is why I said—”

“I’d be better off acting on my anger?” she snipped, “oh, yes, I remember. You were quite insistent on that point.”

Em averted her eyes, staring past him and into the fire with venom. From the corner of her eye, she could see Langdon sigh, shoulders falling ever slightly.

Her shoulders tensed as she felt a hand upon them, finally turning towards Langdon as she realized he refused to pull away. He wanted to speak, she could tell that from the way his lips pressed together. Why was he speechless? Langdon had a response for everything.

Green eyes couldn’t look away from him— his knitted brow and the frown that marred his features. His hand rose to her cheek and all she could feel was her heart beating in her ears as the heat rising up her neck. His thumb ghosted under her eyes, over the tired circles where tears had been not even thirty minutes before.

This strange and witty woman… why did she have such an effect on him?

Hands curled around the back of her neck as he moved her hair from around her face. The pieces she had pinned back had begun to fall from their confines.

His fingers pulled her forward, thumb hovering under her chin. She felt like she was under a spell, unable to move. Did she want to move? All she could feel was her heart trying to force its way through her chest.

She smelled sweet— lavender and earth overwhelming him in the best way. His eyes flickered between her mouth and her eyes, his neck craning to the side as he felt her breath on his face.

Then, she suddenly tensed. Breaking free of the spell, she pulled back— jumping off the chair and past him to the door. She had let her guard down and… she didn’t know what to feel. The hammering in her heart told her to run, but—

“I’m leaving,” She whispered.

Langdon took a step towards her, a hand outreached. He moved as if he were approaching a wounded animal, slow and tentative.

“The interview isn’t over,” he said, hand coming gently around her wrist.

“Yes,” She growled, realizing something that made her steel herself against him and tear her hand from his grasp, “it is.”

“This could forfeit your place—” he began, cursing himself as he realized how he sounded.

“So be it. I don’t care.”

She tried to open the door and his hand went instinctively to keep it from opening. He needed her to understand. He needed—

“I’m not here to hurt you,” He all but pleaded, “take a seat.”

“…You’re right—” she finally said after a moment. His grip on the door loosened and a smile of relief came to his face, tenseness leaving his body.

The door slammed into his head as she threw it open. With a grunt of pain, he fell back and gripped at his head. When he looked up a satisfied smirk was on her face, the door blocking her body from him like a shield.

“— My anger is best used outward instead of inward.” She said, disappearing back into the hall. By the time he stumbled to the door and threw it open once more she was gone… like she had never been there in the first place.

The thought of that terrified him.

                                       ---------------------------------------

Em was… well, she wanted to pace, but the newly cauterized wound on her leg would have protested too much. So there she was, seething on her bed. Her hands dug into the comforter, pretending it was someone’s throat.

At least this time she had been sure to put away her knife first. Then again, the now blistering skin took care of any destructive and impulsive urges she may have.

She had been blind, the desire for having her life mean something clouding the reality of logic and fact. Langdon wanted her to depend on him. He wanted her to think she was special. Em wasn’t. She was an average person with a tragic childhood. A dime a dozen case.

Coco probably got the same treatment. They were both single and desperate to survive, desperate to be wanted. Langdon weaponized sex.

… But that wasn’t what it was. Not to Em, at least. It was vulnerability, understanding, trusting someone with—

He was playing with their emotions. All their emotions. Part of her was willing to be strung along. Was certainly an easier route.

With a sigh, she hung her head in her hands. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. To live or not to live… wasn’t that the fucking question? She was supposed to graduate this year, get a shitty job with shitty pay, and live in a shitty apartment. It’s why she had sacrificed so much, stayed in a less than happy place in the hopes that one day—  

A knock at the door pulled her from the spiral. Straightening her back and clearing away her misty eyes, Em turned to the door.

“It’s unlocked,” she informed the person on the other side.

“That’s new.”

Emily’s head pocked through the door before she slipped inside, closing the door behind her after checking her six, “You didn’t come to finish our game.”

The bed dipped as she took a seat next to the brunette. Her worry was transparent on her face, lip quirking to the side and eyes focused on Em’s face as she waited for the woman to say something. “We were worried.”

Em could only shake her head, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Though her eyes were focused on the floor, she could feel Emily’s hands cover her own. A familiar squeeze curling around her hand.

“We’ll make it through this,” Emily assured. It did little to convince Em. No matter what the brunette did, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the wrong path.

“And then what?” she couldn’t help but ask, teeth gnashing with every word, “we leave here and play the game somewhere else in some mysterious sanctuary or play Mad Max as we slowly die from cancer?”

For once, Emily didn’t have a retort.

“I can’t live like that anymore!” Em hissed, finally turning towards her companion, “My whole life I’ve lived one day to the next just to say I made it another day. I can’t! I— “

Her companion could only stare at her friend, mouth open but no words. What could she say? Emily hadn’t much thought about what would happen next, the cost of living. It was quite like what doctors faced, wasn’t it? Determining whether quality of life justified the means to the end. What was the future when they faced the end of the world?

Em shook her head, “I just can’t.”

[shannaraisles]

Comfort & Ploy - Chapter 2

Carver Hawke needs a girlfriend for the festive season. Filipa Trevelyan needs an excuse not to spend Satinalia with her parents. Best friends pretending to be lovers … what could possibly go wrong?

[Read on AO3]

*****

"Thank the Maker that's over!"

Carver snorted in agreement with Filipa's declaration as the taxi cab bore them away from Garrett's apartment building and toward their hotel. That had been ... excruciating, in its own way. He probably could have handled it if they had only been fooling his brother and Isabela, but to suddenly find that Mila Rutherford was also Mila Trevelyan, Filipa's older sister? He had almost blurted out the truth several times, and she knew it. That was why he had the mark of her fingernails imprinted in his thigh, due to the number of times she'd had to pinch him under the table.

"I really am dreadfully sorry," he said again, finally allowed to apologize without being cut off mid-word. "I honestly didn't know that you were that Pip."

"And I didn't know that Mila's musician friend was your brother," Filipa pointed out, a lot calmer than he had expected her to be in the circumstances. "We're in a mess of our own making, but it's all fine, Carver. Honestly, I'll ... I'll think of something."

He sighed, absently wrapping a long arm around her shoulders to hug her, both grateful for her continued insistence on his deception and deeply apologetic for dropping her into a lie to her own family. He knew he was lucky that she'd even agreed to it in the first place, much less kept it up throughout an excruciating meal in which everyone and their partner had wanted to know all about his new relationship.

"We can at least tell Mila and Cullen," he began, but Filipa sighed, shaking her head.

"If we do that, they'll tell Alys," she told him, "and that little girl can't keep a secret to save her life if there isn't something in it for her. I'm afraid we're going to have to keep it up in front of my family as well."

"Serves me right for having the idea in the first place," he muttered, feeling her head thump onto his shoulder. It wasn't unusual; away from his brother, he was a pretty tactile person, and Filipa had never objected to absentminded hugs from her enormous best friend.

"Don't do that," his friend said, poking his ribs with one finger. "We're in this together, right? At least half of this is my fault, so don't you go getting all broody and grumpy on me. If we're going to do this, we're going to have fun doing it. Right?"

"Even though the odds of us being forced into a public kiss just went through the roof?" he asked pointedly.

"Even though," she agreed, firm in her certainty. "It isn't as though we're not used to being all huggy and friendly. We just have to do it in front of family for once. That's all. I'm sure it will be enough."

"Again with the confidence," he muttered, chuckling as she poked at him again. "Stop that."

"Be confident with me, then!"

Laughing, he batted at her hands, each of them lurching a little as the cab came to a halt in front of The Warden's Arms, one of his favorite inns in the city. He always stayed here when he visited Garrett - it had got to the point where Duncan, the owner, could tell it was him just from the greeting over the phone.

Within a few minutes, they were pushing their way inside, smiling and far more comfortable than they had been at his brother's house. The pub seemed busy, but not overly crowded, allowing them to make their way to the bar without barging into anyone relaxing with a pint and friends as they passed. The barman grinned as he caught sight of Carver.

"That time of year again?" he asked, already reaching for the ledger with the room reservations in it. "How time does fly."

"Hallo, Alistair," Carver greeted his old friend, setting his bag down to rummage in a pocket for his card.

"I thought I was paying?" Filipa objected, digging into her pocket for her own wallet.

"No, I'm fairly sure I'm the one who arranged this farce," Carver responded, handing his card to the barman. "Alistair, this is Pip."

The tall Alistair, who never ceased to have a smile on his face despite the fact that Carver knew bar-tending was a deeply stressful job at times, offered over one of his flirtier smiles to Filipa.

"Lovely to meet you, Pip," he said. "Welcome to Denerim."

"Thank you, Alistair," she answered, her own smile just a little too warm for Carver's liking.

Wait a second. That was a ridiculous reaction. Filipa was his friend, she was here doing this as a favor to him. He had no right to get stupidly jealous just because she might be flirting with a handsome man who wasn't shy about flirting back within boundaries. She wasn't his girlfriend. Well, to the outside world for the sake of an easy Satinalia, she was, but ... He frowned inwardly. He was confusing himself now.

"Here we go," Alistair said, handing over a room key. "Room 24, all ready for you."

Carver waited for the other key to be handed to him. There was no other key.

"I'm sure I reserved two rooms," he said, glancing worriedly at Filipa.

Alistair frowned, flipping through the ledger quickly. He shook his head.

"No, Duncan put you down here as one room," he said, worry creasing his face as he looked up at them. "We're fully booked, Carver. I don't have any more rooms to give you."

Carver opened his mouth, feeling the frustration boiling up inside him, and abruptly calmed as Filipa's hand touched his arm. She was looking up at him with that peculiarly gentle way she had; a sort of reassuring expression that never failed to stop him making a prat of himself for the sake of his pride.

"It's not like we haven't shared a room before," she reminded him. "It's an honest mistake, after all. Maybe another room will be available later on in the week?"

Alistair glanced down at the book in his hands.

"Looks like there'll be a free room in three days," he offered. "I can pencil it in as yours, if you want."

Carver hesitated. He didn't like to move about once he was settled, and he knew Filipa was the same way. And she was right - they had shared a room before now, though admittedly it had been in the company of seven other people. It wasn't as dreadful a thought as it might have seemed.

"Shall we see how tonight goes?" Filipa suggested, seeing his indecision. "It is a busy season, and if we're all right tonight, then that room could go to someone else who needs it without worry. Right?"

She looked at Alistair, who was glancing between the pair of them with a speculative look on his face. He blinked, apparently forcing himself out of his thoughts when he realized she was speaking to him.

"That would be a big help," he admitted. "Look, I'll hold the reservation in pencil tonight, and you can let me know in the morning if he snores too much for you to stay with him more than one more night."

Filipa laughed, and again, Carver felt a pang of annoyance at the flirting. What was wrong with him? He bent to pick up the bags, passing the key to her.

"Thanks, Alistair," he managed, though he was certain he sounded off. "Dinner still served here? Do we need to book a table?"

"Table booking comes with the room rez," Alistair reminded him. "Kitchen closes at nine, I'd suggest getting down here before half eight if you want a meal."

"Sounds good to me," Filipa said, smiling up at Carver. "C'mon, I want a shower."

"All right, all right."

Relaxing a little more now she was walking away from Alistair's appreciative gaze beside him, Carver lead the way out of the tap room and up the stairs. He knew this inn like the back of his hand, and room 24 was one of the better rooms. As he peered in over Filipa's shoulder when the door opened, he realized why.

There was only one bed.

Apparently Duncan had absorbed the information that Carver was bringing someone with him, but not that he needed an extra room. The bed was a divine, a size created specifically for couples who needed the extra inches, but still ... Just one bed. Sharing a bed. With Filipa. Who was staring right along with him.

He risked a glance down at his friend just in time to see her burst out laughing, sagging into his side as she absolutely guffawed with merriment, pointing wordlessly at the bed and cackling like a woman gone completely round the bend. Carver sighed, dropping his bag on the floor to get an arm around her before she fell over. He'd seen her collapse in giggles too many times to want anyone to find her keeled over and snorting with laughter half in and half out of their room. With an easy lift, he got her a couple of inches off her feet and walked into the room, depositing her on said bed before returning for his bag and closing the door.

"Are you done?" he asked, mildly irritated by her amusement and, if he was honest, rather more relieved by it. At least she wasn't flying off the handle at the very thought of having to share this space with him.

Filipa waved a hand at him, still fighting to get her giggles under control.

"Your face!" she declared, laying a hand over her eyes in an attempt not to burst out laughing once again in the face of his expression. "You look like someone just told you to strip and dance the Rivaini rhumba in front of your parents!"

"I do not!"

Despite his annoyance, he couldn't deny that his best friend's laughter was deeply infectious, thumping down onto the bed beside her to get his revenge for her laughter by tickling her until she squealed for mercy. Which she did, eventually, but only when he had her pinned down with both her hands wrapped in one of his, and her legs trapped beneath his thigh.

"I give, I give!" Grinning up at him, Filipa took in a deep breath, her cheeks taut with that gleeful expression on her face.  "I'll sleep on the couch."

"You will not," he told her firmly. "The least I can do is let you have the bed."

"Oh, so you'll give up a seven foot bed in favor of a four foot couch, will you?" she argued. "I don't think so. If we're going through with this week of glorious torture, I am not putting up with you being grumpy just because you didn't sleep well!"

"Me? You're the one who gets grumpy on bad sleep," he defended himself, trying not to blush as she wriggled.

He was acutely aware, as he had never been before, of just how ... feminine ... his best friend really was. Having her pinned down beneath him was doing nothing for his feeling of being completely off-balance. Filipa rolled her eyes at him, gently tugging on her hands, and he released her with a surprising amount of reluctance, rolling onto his back to lie on the bed at her side. In spite of the awkwardness of the situation, it didn't feel wrong to lie on a bed with her.

"Maybe we should just share," he blurted out, before his brain could grab the words and force them down a chimney somewhere. "There's plenty of room, after all."

"Are you sure?"

He tilted his head to find her looking at him, her smile faded from everywhere but her eyes as she considered him.

"Why not?" he said, shrugging. "It isn't as though I'm going to ravish you in your sleep."

"Sure you trust me not to ravish you in your sleep?" she countered wickedly, catching his hand before he could poke at her ticklish side again. "Okay, okay. I do solemnly swear not to get handsy in bed. Satisfied?"

"Very, thank you."

He grinned back at her, heaving himself up to sit and look around the room. It was one of Duncan's best rooms, he thought, inwardly groaning at the realization that the inn-owner had obviously decided that Carver was bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend with him and therefore needed a special room for the purpose. He was going to have words with that man if he caught him in the next week.

"Didn't you want a shower?" he asked Filipa curiously.

There was no answer. He glanced down, finding his friend dozing off on the soft covers beside him. Well, it had been a long day. They had been up before dawn to get to Kirkwall and catch the boat, and her seasickness would not have helped with her energy levels. Let her nap for a little while - he could take his own shower without embarrassment and wake her up with time to have her own before dinner.

With a fond smile, he gently maneuvered her out of her coat and boots, tucking his arms beneath her back and knees to lift her up and set her head on the pillow. He pulled the throw up and over her shoulder, catching his hand just before he stroked her hair. That was weird, and they had promised each other it wouldn't get weird. She was his best friend. She was doing him a favor.

Thank the Maker she was asleep, though. He had something rather insistent to take care of in the shower.

[ayalaatreides]

Inori Does Something Reckless (Again)

Fandom: Nanbaka Rating: T Characters: Samon Gokuu, Inori Hakkai, Kiji Mitsuba, Kokoriki Daisen Pairing: Samon/Inori

It's late night at Nanba Prison, and Inori Hakkai is on his way to retrieve Samon Gokuu from a celebratory dinner at the Warden's tower. He figures it'll be a quiet trip back to Building 5. Just a nice, peaceful monorail ride across the prison, just him and his supervisor. Quiet, unremarkable, uneventful...

Yeah, right!

(Based on manga canon, takes place after the Enki jailbreak arc. So, if you haven't read the manga past where Season 2 of the anime ended, this proooobably isn't going to make a whole lot of sense :'D If you have not read the manga and you would like to do so, please visit when-will-i-sleep on tumblr for information on where to read it!)

Anyway, welcome to rarepair hell :3 Tagging @pinktatertots99​ because I KNOW she ships it. Also @deirdre-relatable​: not sure if you still ship this, but I’m tagging ya anyway :P

The call came in from Central at exactly 2:30am: a summons for someone, anyone, from Building 5 to come and collect one Supervisor Samon Gokuu from a certain celebratory function. Secretly, Inori Hakkai was a little relieved; with Samon out for the evening, he'd been left in charge of Building 5. Inori, being a simple man of simple ambitions which did not include real actual leadership duties, had been all too happy to hand things over to the Daisens.

"Keep an eye on the place, will ya? Hate to bail like this, but I gotta go bring the Supervisor back from Central. Can't be helped, ya know? Sorry!" Inori said, not remotely sorry at all.

"B-but, wouldn't it make more sense for one of us to go?" Kokoriki asked anxiously.

"Nah, you guys'll do fine! Good experience for ya, right?" Inori said, not missing a beat. Kokoriki uttered a whine but Inori was already out the office door and striding away down the hall. Tall as he was, his long steps took him quickly away from Kokoriki's protests, already fading to inaudibility behind him.

He wasn't wrong about that- the Daisens could use the solo experience if they wanted to move up the ranks someday. It wasn't his fault if letting them get a taste of leadership experience meant he got to slack off for a while, right?

Besides, from Central back to Building 5 was a monorail ride of at least thirty minutes, plus the time it'd take to get from the officers' dining room to the monorail station. Like hell was he going to hand over all that time with a certain someone to one of the Daisens.

Granted, he was on his way to retrieve one very tired and sleepy Supervisor. Booze had been involved, too, but the Supervisor was graced with an ironclad constitution and a rocket-like metabolism. Alcohol didn't stand a chance against the genetics of the Gokuu clan. He never stayed drunk for long, but he did get awfully tired. When removed from irritants, such as bald gorillas named Hajime, the Supervisor tended to conk out pretty quickly after drinking. The return trip across the prison was probably going to be a quiet and uneventful one. That was fine. That was enough.

It always was.

Inori watched Nanba's lights flash by in the dark as the monorail hummed along. His left shoulder ached a little where the prosthetic joined it, and the right shoulder ached from where that poor bastard Houzuki had impaled him. The scars and lost arm were a small price to pay. He'd done what he'd needed to do, even though his plan had failed. He couldn't have lived with himself if he hadn't at least tried. And it had all been worth it when he'd seen that confident look back where it belonged on the Supervisor's face.

It was Kiji, swaying on his feet and squinting blearily, who answered his knock when he arrived.

"Heya, Big Sis Kiji," Inori said with a wave. "I'm here to collect my supervisor."

"Ooh, good," Kiji sighed unsteadily, hand pressed daintily to contoured cheek. "He's been quite the troublemaker tonight!"

As he followed Kiji into the hall, there was a decidedly awkward air hanging over the place. The rest of the supervisors were all there, sitting around amidst scattered bottles and cups, the remnants of their celebratory dinner still on the table. A few of them were talking quietly amongst themselves, but most looked like they were ready to call it a night. The place had the tense air of a party that had stopped being fun very abruptly.

Kiji led him to a couch across the room. "He got into it with Hajime again and then he just... fell asleep right on his feet," he said, as delicately as he could muster in his inebriated state.

Sure enough, there was Samon, now stretched out facedown on the couch. Inori tsked and squatted down, patting the back of the orange-and-green hair.

"Ah, man... and this party was for him, too. Hey, Supervisor! You awake?" he asked. A muffled grumble answered him. Inori didn't let on that he was relieved; he'd been worried he'd have to carry Samon out of there. Not that he was opposed to such a plan in theory, but he wasn't interested in adding to Samon's current state of self-inflicted indignity. Not in front of his colleagues.

"C'mon, Supervisor, time to go," Inori said, shaking Samon's shoulder lightly. The grumbling got louder and grouchier as Samon pushed himself up on his elbows. He craned his head around and blinked owlishly at Inori, then mumbled something incoherent but vaguely questioning. Inori chuckled and said, "Yep, it's me. C'mon, now."

Inori got Samon to his feet and kept him upright with a hand around his bicep- he made sure that Samon was on his right side, away from the hard metal arm.

"Try to keep him out of trouble for a while, Inori," Kiji said amusedly.

"Hey now, Big Sis Kiji, you know I can't promise that," Inori jibed back. "I can make sure he sleeps this off, though."

"Good enough for now, I suppose," Kiji sighed.

Inori saluted with his free hand and shuffled Samon to the door. On his way out, he spotted Hajime slouched in an armchair. Their eyes met, and Hajime nodded once. Inori nodded back. He wasn't entirely sure where his Supervisor stood now with Building 13's infamous gorilla, but he was hopeful it'd sort itself out in time. Not that Building 5 needed Hajime's approval, of course, but it'd be nice for Samon to settle this grudge for good.

After a few minutes of slow and silent shuffling, Samon came to his senses a bit. "Where're we goin'?" he mumbled through a yawn.

"Back to Building 5, obviously!" Inori told him, clucking his tongue chidingly. "Jeez, Supervisor, they had this little party for your sake, you know? It was a welcome back party and all!"

"Didn't want it," Samon grumbled. "Not right. Aniki... should'a been here too... Inori, he's... Aniki is..." He stumbled and leaned heavily into Inori's side, grasping at his jacket. Inori glanced down at the top of Samon's bowed head, his good mood sobering. The Supervisor had been in a better state since that recent incident, but the pain of that day was still there. How could it not be? With everything that Samon had lost, with what he had seen in that hospital room...

Inori stopped walking.

"Why we stoppin'?" Samon slurred, head swinging from side to side as he looked around.

"The Central food court's not far from here. There's some places that're open all night," Inori said, an idea taking shape. "Let's go get you shaped up a little before we go back. It's already this late, right? Might as well stay up a little later." Plus, there was no need for their underlings to see the Supervisor in this state.

Since Samon was in no condition to pick anything, Inori hauled him to a 24-hour coffeeshop and ordered a decaf for each of them, along with a bunch of small scones. The cute girl at the register shot a concerned look at the slumped supervisor, then hurried off to make their coffees. She was nice enough to bring their coffee and scones to the booth where Inori had deposited Samon, scurrying away again after another worried glance.

Samon was slowly chewing through his second scone before he spoke up. "Got tired of being in charge tonight, Inori?" he said wryly, his voice a little hoarse.

Inori laughed. "Now what makes you say that, huh?"

"You could've sent someone else to get me," Samon pointed out.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Inori said. "Besides, I don't need to be in charge. Those Daisens, though, they're probably gonna move up the ranks someday. Gotta start learning sometime, right?"

"A deputy supervisor who hates supervising," Samon remarked. He sipped his coffee, then smirked slightly and added, "Sometimes I wonder why you're here, if it's that boring to you."

"I blame it on you, Supervisor. You're too much of a good influence," he remarked, giving a teasing salute with his coffee.

He wasn't entirely kidding; even he didn't quite know how he'd ended up as a deputy supervisor. His only goal had been to follow Samon as his subordinate; but Samon kept rising up the ranks, and Inori's choices had been to keep pace with him or be left behind and wind up someone else's subordinate. Obviously the second option wasn't acceptable so he'd managed to do the first, and he had no idea how he'd done it. He could only attribute it to Samon's uncanny ability to inspire people without even trying.

And now here he was, second in command of an entire building at the most advanced and highly classified maximum-security prison in the world. It was kind of ridiculous.

Once they'd finished their scones and coffee, Inori guided a more stable but still wobbling Samon to the monorail station. Every few steps, Inori heard another stifled yawn. Yep, that's the Supervisor, he thought bemusedly.

"Feeling better, Supervisor?" he asked as they waited.

"Yeah, a little... guess I needed that coffee, after all," Samon said. Even as he said it, he was swaying on his feet and squinting against the fluorescent lights of the station.

Inori chortled. "Maybe I should've gotten you another coffee, huh?"

"'m fine!" Samon protested, but a traitorous yawn tried to force its way through even as he said it.

They waited in silence for a moment, and then, so quietly that he almost didn't hear it: "Thanks for coming to get me."

Inori stared at the opposite wall of the station for a second, waiting for his lungs to remember how to breathe again. Well, shit, what was he supposed to say to that? None of the things he wanted to say, obviously. So he settled for, "Hey, it's my job to keep an eye on my supervisor, right?"

The monorail glided into the station, and Samon plunked himself onto the nearest bench seat and slouched down with his hand over his eyes. "Too bright in here," he groaned.

"Kinda brought that on yourself, Supervisor," Inori told him.

He settled into the seat next to Samon, arms stretched out across the backs of the seats- partly because it was comfortable, and partly because it put his right arm in a convenient location. The monorail hummed to life and glided smoothly out of the station, and its lights blinked into semi-darkness. Samon muttered in relief and laid his head back with his eyes closed, very nearly resting against Inori's arm. Convenient, indeed.

From the corner of his eye, Inori watched the passing lights reflect against Samon's hair. It was almost embarrassing, how warm and fuzzy the sight made him feel. When, he wondered, had he gotten so damn sentimental? When had he started feeling like this? It was improbable enough that Samon had managed to turn a reprobate mafia enforcer into a prison guard of more or less reputable character. Then again, maybe that was the secret behind it all. This was someone who had believed in him at his worst, and someone he could trust enough to believe in and follow loyally.

At some point, this sappy feeling had added itself to the mix, arriving so naturally and smoothly that he couldn't even pinpoint when it had happened. Obviously, he had no intention of doing anything about it. Just being there was enough.

"How's the arm?" Samon asked after a few minutes, apparently not having dozed off as Inori had assumed. His head was craned back to look up at Inori, eyes open- although, judging by his heavy eyelids, it looked like he was struggling a little in that department.

"You asked me that this morning, Supervisor. Still a little out of it, huh?" Inori said, bemused.

"I'm asking again, then."

"Well, now that it's healing up, I gotta say that it's pretty great," Inori said with a grin. He lifted his left arm off the seat back and wiggled his fingers, his glove and sleeve hiding the titanium-plated miracle of modern science beneath it.

Samon squinted blearily at it. After a pause, he said, "Can... can you... feel anything with it?"

"Sure can! A little, anyway. Doc Kazari called it, uh, biofeedback? Pretty fancy word, huh?" Inori said proudly.

"Biofeedback," Samon muttered. He stared at the hand for a few more seconds, then pulled his right glove off and held up his hand, fingers spread. "So, you could feel my hand with that?"

"Let's find out!" Inori said cheerfully. It was as good an excuse as any for physical contact. He didn't want to move his right arm from its premium location, so he tugged off his left glove with his teeth and let it fall into his lap, then reached over. He pressed the titanium fingertips against Samon's and, sure enough, he could feel it a little.

"'S not cold. I thought it'd feel cold," Samon mumbled. "Since it's metal and all..."

"The doc says it's like a cell phone, the parts inside heat it up or something like that," Inori said.

"What do you feel?" Samon asked, his eyes fixed on their fingertips.

"Not a whole lot. It's kinda like wearing a glove," he remarked. "Ah, well, better than nothing at all, right?"

"That doctor really is clever, I guess," Samon muttered. He kept his hand there for a few seconds longer before withdrawing it.

Inori sat back and flexed his new metal bicep. "Kinda makes me a cyborg now, right? Almost makes it worth losing the real one, huh?"

"The hell are you talking about? Obviously a real arm's better than a metal one," Samon retorted.

"Yeah, but this one'll sure make an impressive story to tell the ladies," Inori shot back with a grin. "Heroically sacrificing my arm to protect my building and my supervisor, huh? Not bad, right?"

Samon stared blankly at him. "You're gonna tell women about your arm getting cut off?" he asked, nose crinkling.

Well, when he put it like that... "N-not with all the gory details..." He paused, clearing his throat. "A-anyway, everyone knows battle scars are hot. Besides, the arm's super cool!"

"Ah, yeah, the arm really is an impressive piece of engineering," Samon agreed. Then he smirked and added, "Too bad about the boar attached to the other end of it-!"

"Hey," Inori chided, elbowing him lightly. Samon jabbed an elbow right back, chittering. Well, the supervisor wasn't the only one who could be a smartass! Smirking, Inori added, "Anyway, what're you talking about? They don't usually mind the rest of this."

"Oh? No? I guess you don't usually talk to them like you did to the Warden that one time," Samon jibed.

"Hmmm..." Inori tapped his fingertip against his chin, pretending to consider it, then shrugged and said, "Ya know, I might've been off my game that day. Guess I'm outta practice from hanging around a buzzkill like you, Supervisor-"

Samon made an indignant sound. "Who're you calling a buzzkill?!"

"And too bad, looks like it's contagious. Like I said, you're too much of a good influence on me!" Inori teased. "Anyway, you're not really one to talk, Supervisor. I don't see you going around charming anyone, especially with that temper of yours!"

That was a lie, he'd managed to charm at least one person with that ridiculous temper.

Samon flushed. "I could if I wanted to!" he protested.

"Funny, I don't remember ever seeing you take a night off for a date," Inori said, pretending to contemplate the matter carefully.

Samon slouched down in his seat, arms crossed. "I'm just focused on my job, that's all," he grumbled. "B-besides, where are all these ladies you're gonna chat up, anyway? It's not like there's a lot of women around here."

"Like I said, that's what I get for teaming up with a buzzkill. Moving to an isolated island didn't help, either," Inori said cheerfully. Of course, he didn't mind the absence of women now as much as he had when they'd first arrived at Nanba, because of various reasons that he was never going to discuss aloud.

Samon snickered. "What, did you have tons of girlfriends back on the mainland?"

"You might be surprised, Supervisor! I used to do pretty well for myself," Inori bragged. "See, unlike you, I know how to be charming when it counts!"

"I told you, I could too if I wanted to!" Samon protested.

"I don't think challenging someone to spar counts as charming," Inori teased.

Samon flushed. "It could be. Besides, you haven't known me forever, maybe you'd be surprised too!"

Well, this roasting match was quickly heading into perilous territory. Time to steer back to safety.

"Yeah, well, give it a shot with somebody and let me know how that works out for ya," Inori jibed.

Samon sulked a bit. "If there's s-someone I feel like trying it with." Then he smirked and said, "Like I'm gonna be shown up by someone who's only got empty boasts, anyway."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Supervisor," Inori chuckled.

Samon paused, and then his smirk grew into a sly grin. "Can you even kiss anyone with those tusks in the way?"

Well, that certainly threw the brakes on Inori's train of thought. Coming from anyone else, it'd sound like an innuendo. Coming from anyone else... except, was he seeing things in the dimly lit monorail car, or was the Supervisor's face a little flushed? It was probably the lingering alcohol. Inori had always been a lucky bastard, but he wasn't that lucky. No one had that much luck. However, just maybe...

Recovering, Inori chuckled. "Is that a challenge?" he taunted right back. Samon just crossed his arms, an aggravatingly smug look on his face. He hadn't denied it.

Inori did a quick mental tally of his options: on the one hand, this was probably just the Supervisor being a smartass, as usual. On the other hand, what if it was something else?

A smart guy would laugh it off and change the subject. A smart guy would not wonder if he was maybe being offered a chance. A smart guy would not let his thoughts wander into dangerously optimistic territory. However, Inori was in fact an idiot, and he'd be the first to admit it.

Well, there was only one way to find out; he'd just have to do a little provoking of his own, and see where it went. Sighing dramatically and shaking his head, he said, "Always the smartass, huh, Supervisor? Watch it with the challenges, you might get proven wrong one of these days!"

"Oh? You think so?" Samon said, with a level of smugness that honestly seemed disproportionate to his compact body size. It wasn't his imagination; Samon's face really was reddening. It could still be from the lingering alcohol; but on the other hand, there was a non-zero and slowly increasing chance that it wasn't. And that prospect was enough to make Inori's head spin like he was the one who'd been drinking.

"Like I said, I used to do pretty well, usually," Inori said smugly.

Samon chittered. "Oh? How, by talking forever till she got bored?"

No way. There's no way, Inori thought to himself. But, on the other hand...

"See, that's the problem with meatheads like you who just jump into things without thinking," Inori said, shaking his head. "There's no sense of subtlety with your type! You gotta ease into it, do it right."

"Do it right? How's that?" Samon echoed, the corners of his mouth curling in an expression that was more cat than monkey.

I might get punched for this, he told himself, and then he decided to do it anyway.

"Well, if you need an explanation..." He slid his right arm off the seat back and settled it casually around Samon's shoulders. Convenient, indeed! "See, first of all, you gotta draw 'em in real close... like this, maybe!" He curled his hand around Samon's shoulder and slid him closer on the bench seat, till their knees touched. Samon glanced sideways at the hand on his shoulder.

Inori did not get punched. Well, there was no sense in backing down when things were getting interesting.

"Then, you catch their eye, and make sure they're looking only at you. You gotta make sure they're paying attention, after all. Liiiike... this." He reached over with his left hand, mindful of its hard metal. Gently, ever so carefully, he hooked one fingertip under Samon's chin and tilted his head up. Samon met his eyes with a direct, intent gaze.

And there was still no punching going on. He felt like he was wandering off the edge of the map into strange, uncharted waters. Here might be monsters, but also maybe not.

"And?" Samon prompted quietly.

Inori almost froze up. Almost. His mouth suddenly felt dry, his pulse hammering in his ears. He couldn't possibly be this lucky. He'd been lucky enough surviving the incident in the underground cells and not getting fired or locked up for his involvement; surely he'd already used up a lifetime's worth of luck? There was no way anyone ought to have this much luck...

Well, this was definitely not the time to back down. "And then... you... you do somethin' to let 'em know you're serious about it. Like... this," he said, and he lightly brushed his thumb over Samon's lower lip. "Or... or this..." He traced his fingertips back along Samon's jaw and brushed a lock of hair back behind his ear. He was very proud of how steady his voice was.

Inori had to give credit to that doctor: this metal hand she'd given him had an impressive degree of delicacy to it.

Samon was leaning in now, eyes heavy-lidded. And Inori realized, all at once, that this really was happening. The one thing he'd always assumed to be impossible. Suddenly, the moment felt a lot more serious. Inori's breath caught as the weight of the situation hit him. He stared down at Samon's upturned face, wanting to commit the moment to memory: the flush across his cheeks, the slightly parted lips, the softness of his hair even against the barely-feeling metal hand...

"And?" Samon persisted, his voice low. "What's next?"

Inori snapped out of his thoughts, and grinned widely. "What's next, huh?" He slipped his right hand from Samon's shoulder, sliding it up the back of his neck and into his hair, cradling the back of his head. "That's obvious, isn't it?"

Inori leaned down, and their lips met softly. Samon inhaled sharply through his nose, then he scooted himself even closer. Inori held Samon's face gently and kissed him slowly, but his Supervisor was never one to do things at less than one hundred percent. Without breaking contact, Samon scrambled up onto his knees on the seat and leaned deeper into the kiss, arms flung firmly around Inori's neck, hands grasping fervently at his collar and then twisting his fingers into his hair.

Well, then, if his Supervisor insisted... Inori wrapped his arms around Samon's back, clutching him tightly, holding him as close as he could, letting out the feelings he'd hidden away even from himself.

His tusks were most certainly not in the way.

Inori was just about to pull Samon onto his lap and go in for a neck kiss, when the lights blinked into life and a calm mechanical voice announced the next monorail station. The two of them pulled back, startled by the interruption that they really should've seen coming.

Samon cleared his throat and sat back down, breathing hard. Inori let out a slow exhale and combed his fingers through his hair to straighten it. Someone could board at the next stop, after all, and Building 5 had a reputation to maintain.

The monorail hummed into the station; as luck would have it, the platform was deserted. They sat in silence till the lights blinked out and the monorail glided off once more.

Samon was smirking again. He lounged in his seat, crossing his arms with a smug, chittering cackle.

"Ya know, you could've just asked, Supervisor," Inori told him, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Yeah," Samon agreed. Then he looked up with an ear-to-ear smile. "But where's the fun in that?"

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: By Any Other Name

Hey @hello83433, thanks for this ask about my beardy husband Blackwall! The relevant chapter of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) has finally arisen! 

Posting for @dadrunkwriting​ Friday. It’s quite a long chapter; ~7000 words. Read on AO3 instead. 

***********************

The next morning, Fenris and Hawke had barely set foot in the Great Hall when a messenger ran up to them.

“Your Worship. Champion,” he panted. “Warden Blackwall is gone.” 

Fenris frowned. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“He has left the Inquisition,” the messenger said. 

“What?” Hawke blurted. “Bullshit. He wouldn’t just leave.”

The messenger held out a note. “This was found in the stables this morning. Sister Nightingale’s people are searching the stables for further information.”

 Fenris dumbly took the note, and he and Hawke read it together. 

Fenris, 

You’ve been a friend and an inspiration. You’ve given me the wisdom to know right from wrong, and more importantly, the courage to uphold the former. 

It has been my honour to serve you. Please tell Lady Hawke I am sorry about the shoes. Would that I had the time to pay her back. 

Fenris looked at her in bemusement. “What is this about shoes?”

She shook her head impatiently. “Just some dumb bet from last night,” she said. “I don’t understand the rest of this note, though. What is he talking about here, ‘the courage to uphold the former’?” She looked at Fenris, her brow creased with confusion. “Did he say anything about this to you?”

Fenris shook his head. “No, I…” He rubbed his mouth. “He was talking about a dog yesterday.”

“A dog?” Hawke demanded. 

“A memory from his childhood,” Fenris explained. “He spoke of how it is easier to turn your back and look away than to take action when you witness evil. It didn’t occur to me that he was speaking of something specific.” He looked at Hawke. “He didn’t seem off to you last night at the tavern?”

“I mean, he was a little more quiet than usual,” she said. “But he was drinking with me and Sera and laughing at our jokes and everything. I didn’t…” She trailed off and rubbed the note between her fingers. When she looked up at Fenris again, her face was twisted with distress. “I don’t like the sound of this note, Fenris. I’m getting a bad feeling about it.” 

“Let us go to the war room,” he suggested. “Perhaps Leliana’s people have found something.”

As predicted, Leliana’s scouts had turned up a clue in the stables: a page that Blackwall appeared to have taken from one of her reports. She handed Fenris the page. “It is about a man named Cyril Mornay,” she said. “He is to be executed in Val Royeaux within the week for his involvement in the Callier Massacre.”

“The Callier Massacre?” Hawke asked. She was rubbing nervously at her wedding band as she spoke. “What is that?” 

“It was quite the scandal in Orlais in 9:37,” Josephine said. “Lord Callier was a prominent supporter of Empress Celene. He and his entire family were murdered during a vacation. The man responsible was a Captain of the Orlesian Army named Thom Rainier.” She tapped her fingers delicately on the war table. “It is believed that Captain Rainier was bought off by supporters of Grand Duke Gaspard, though the Grand Duke’s involvement was never proven.”

“All right, fine, some Orlesian political scandal and so on,” Hawke interrupted impatiently. “What the fuck does this have to do with Blackwall?”

“We don’t know, Hawke,” Leliana said softly. “But it’s clear that he had some personal interest in the matter. I suspect he has gone to Val Royeaux.”

“Great,” she said. She looked at Fenris. “Then we’ll go to Val Royeaux to track him down. Right?”

“Why?” Fenris said. 

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

Fenris shrugged. “His note made it clear that he is finished with the Inquisition. Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be tracked down.”

Hawke gaped at him for a moment. “You must be kidding,” she finally burst out. She picked up Blackwall’s note from the table and shook it. “This is a suicide note!” 

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think that?”

“It feels so final! Look at this.” She pointed at the note. “This honour bit, like he’s saying a big farewell. And what is this courageous act he has to do? That just smacks of some sort of sacrifice.” She laughed, but the sound was tight with strain. “These Grey Wardens and their fucking self-sacrifice, I swear. They’re such party poopers.” 

Fenris studied the note with a frown. Perhaps Hawke was right, especially given Blackwall’s unusual glumness yesterday.  

Cullen spoke up. “You may want to track him down on the grounds of desertion.”

Fenris looked up. “Blackwall wasn’t a conscript,” he said. “Nobody in the Inquisition is.” Fenris had been trying to stick to this principle since the Inquisition began. The idea of forcing anyone to fight against their will simply rubbed him the wrong way. 

“That is true,” Cullen said. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t make a commitment to our cause. If you wish to make an official investigation into his departure on those grounds, we could provide you with the resources to find him more quickly.”

Fenris looked at Hawke. She was gazing at him pleadingly and rubbing nervously at her rings. 

“All right. We will go to Val Royeaux,” he said, and some of the tension instantly left Hawke’s shoulders. He looked up at the advisors. “Let Cassandra know; I would like her to come along. And Cole, I suppose,” he added. Cole was still under Fenris’s orders to remain at Cassandra’s side until Isabela found an amulet of the type that Solas had suggested. 

Hawke clapped her hands. “Lovely! An impromptu trip to Val Royeaux. Just what we needed.” She smiled at Josephine and Leliana. “Can I bring you ladies anything from the market?”

Josephine’s eyebrows rose. “Oh – no thank you, Lady Rynne, that’s quite all right.”

“You certain?” Hawke said. “I’m a great believer in making errands as efficient as possible. If we can stop a Grey Warden from offing himself while doing a little shoe-shopping at the same time, that’s my idea of time well spent.”

And the jokes begin, Fenris thought sadly. “Come on, Hawke,” he said. “Let’s pack for this journey.” He gently ushered her toward the door with a hand at the center of her back. 

“I mean, it could be worse, right?” she said. “He could have gotten all concerned about some random execution taking place in the Fallow Mire. Now that’s a place where it would be hard to double-up your errands.” She laughed. 

Fenris pushed open the door from Josephine’s office back into the Great Hall, and Hawke continued with the witty remarks as they made their way back to their bedroom. “Maybe the Inquisition just wasn’t enough excitement for him,” she said. “I mean, you’d think our offering of baddies was quite solid, what with the whole undead-darkspawn-magister thing. But maybe that was too boring.”

Fenris pushed open the door to their bedroom, and Hawke idly patted his bum as she slid past him. “Really though, what in the Void was he thinking? Haring off to Val Royeaux at a moment’s notice? I can tell you they probably won’t let him through the gates with that beard of his. He doesn’t look nearly well-groomed enough to fit in.” 

Fenris pulled their travel packs out of the armoire. “I hardly this was a random execution that caught his interest,” he said. 

Hawke sighed as she walked over to the dresser. “No, I know. You’re probably right. He must know this man who’s going to be killed — this Mornay person.” She started pulling clothes from the dresser and tossing them haphazardly on the bed. 

“I would go further still,” Fenris said. He sat on the edge of the bed and began refolding the clothes that she’d tossed on the bed. “I suspect Blackwall was involved in the crime.”

Hawke looked up at him in surprise, and he shrugged. “You suspected months ago that he had a secret,” he reminded her. “Perhaps this is it.”

Her eyes widened. “I did suspect that, didn’t I? I impress even myself sometimes.”

Fenris scoffed. Hawke smiled briefly before turning back to the dresser. A moment later, however, she turned back to Fenris with a frown. “But wait a minute. Josephine said the Callier massacre took place in 9:37. Blackwall was wandering around the Storm Coast recruiting new Wardens at the time. He couldn’t have been involved.” 

Fenris paused. “Ah. That is true.”

He and Hawke frowned at each other for a moment. Then she shrugged and began tossing clothes onto the bed once more. “Either way, he’s clearly decided to martyr himself for… whatever this is. And you know what, I’ve had enough of that shit.” She strode over to the bed and started shoving clothes into her travel pack. “Bloody Grey Wardens,” she said with a chuckle. “This whole, ‘I have a sad-sack secret plan that I can’t tell you, but I’m going to be sad about it anyway and then I’m going to either die or disappear afterwards’ thing? I’m getting rather sick of it, I have to admit.” 

Fenris looked up from his pack. Now he understood why she was so upset. 

“Hawke,” he said cautiously. “This is not a Chantry-explosion situation. Blackwall is not like Anders. Whatever his reason for–”

“I asked him,” she burst out. She wasn’t even making the pretense of being lighthearted now. “I fucking asked him what was wrong in the tavern last night because he was being so mopey. He told me he was fine, he… he made some joke to Sera, and then we had another round of drinks, and… why didn’t he just talk to me?” She reached her arm around her middle and scratched at her left-side ribs. 

Fenris instantly rose from the bed and took her hand to stop her from scratching. “How can you think you are at fault for this?” he demanded. 

“I should have known something was wrong,” she snapped. “No, I did know. I knew he was acting strange. It’s not like him to be that bloody morose. These fucking Grey Wardens!” she burst out. “I hate this stupid attitude of theirs.” She adopted a mocking voice. “‘The only way to know you’re doing the right thing is if you’re about to die.’ Never mind if you’re leaving anyone behind who might care about you. Such a fantastic healthy attitude, that.” 

Fenris stepped closer to her and tilted her chin up. “Nobody is about to die,” he said quietly. “Don’t assume. You don’t know what we’ll find in Val Royeaux.”

Hawke smiled. “Luckily for me, I’ve got a very active imagination,” she said. “It conjures all sorts of lovely gory scenarios for me just to keep me on my toes.”

Fenris gazed seriously into her eyes until her shit-eating grin melted away. “This is not your fault,” he told her quietly. “Just like Anders’s… actions were not your fault. You can’t be held responsible for everyone else’s decisions.”

“I know, I know,” she said wearily. “Everything isn’t about me, right?”

Fenris froze. Those were the scathing words Carver used to say to her. For some reason, having her repeat them in this context felt oddly ominous.

She winced apologetically and pressed herself against his chest. “Fenris, I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to be so dramatic. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with Dorian.” She slid her arms around his waist in a loose embrace. “You’re right. There’s no reason to assume the worst. We’ll just go to Val Royeaux and see what’s going on, right?”

Fenris allowed himself to breathe. “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps we can buy some macarons while we’re there.”

She grinned and hugged him more tightly. “Now that’s a good plan. That’s why you’re the Inquisitor.”

He smirked at her. “That is the decision I hope to be remembered for: making budget allowances for the spurious purchase of Orlesian confectionery.” 

Hawke laughed, a genuine warm laugh, and Fenris relaxed. He pinched her waist, making her squeak in amusement, then gently disentangled himself from her arms. “Now come on, Hawke. Unpack your bag.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Unpack my–? Why?”

“Nothing is folded,” he said flatly. “You’re wasting space. You must conserve it.”

“For Orlesian confectionery?” she said slyly as she began pulling clothes out of her travel pack.

“Precisely,” he said. “And that sort of thinking is why you’re the right hand of the Inquisitor.” He continued packing his neatly-folded clothes into his bag.

She grinned at him, then hugged him from behind. “You’re my favourite,” she said softly. 

He started folding Hawke’s clothes. “I’m glad to hear it. I am fairly fond of you, as well.” 

She snorted in amusement, and Fenris smiled and began to pack her bag while she hugged him. For a quiet, pleasant moment, he pretended that he was packing for a leisurely weekend trip and not for the next problem on the Inquisition’s laundry list of never-ending crises. 

*********************

Five long days of travel later, Fenris stood near the guard’s desk in the Val Royeaux prison with Cole at his side. Hawke was still in the dungeon downstairs talking to Blackwall, and Cullen and Cassandra were outside speaking with one of Leliana’s scouts.

Fenris wearily leaned back against the stone wall and folded his arms. He couldn’t hear Hawke’s voice anymore, which meant she had finally finished shouting at Blackwall for leaving. 

Thom Rainier, that is, he thought. He glanced at Cole, who was gazing vaguely at the bars in the prison window. 

“You knew about this,” he said quietly. “That he was responsible for the Callier murders.”

“Yes,” Cole said. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You expose everyone’s secrets. Nobody’s thoughts are safe from you. Why protect his?”

Cole blinked. “Everyone hides dead things. Everyone pretends. He wanted to fix it. He was a murderer, but he didn’t want to be. He made a new him.” He began to drift slowly around the room, his eyes roaming over the stone walls as though he was seeing something written there. “He is Blackwall. He killed Rainier. He would stand between Rainier and the carriage, but he can’t. It doesn’t work like that. So he carries the bodies to remember.” 

Fenris eyed the spirit-boy appraisingly. As per Solas’s words, Cole’s purpose was to help; to heal those who were hurting, and to stop the innocent from being harmed. And Cole was able to read everyone’s most private thoughts. If Cole was convinced that Blackwall – Thom Rainier — was truly a changed man… 

“You carry the bodies, too,” Cole said. 

Fenris frowned. “What?”

“Silent, stealthy, slipping through mist, fighting through the fog for freedom,” Cole said. “But you weren’t free. You were found. ‘Fenris,’ he said, and you were forced to listen.”

Seheron. Fenris swallowed hard. “I am aware of the parallels,” he said quietly.

Cole nodded. “That’s why you’re not angry.” 

Fenris huffed, then unfolded his arms. “I suppose I’m not, no.” 

Cole nodded again, and he continued to shuffle slowly around the room with his gaze fixed on the stone walls. 

Fenris watched him idly for a time. Then, moved by boredom, he finally decided to ask. “What are you doing?”

“Counting,” Cole said. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Counting what?” 

“All of it,” Cole said vaguely. “Three weeks and three days until my parole. Two years, seven months and six days until I go free. Five days until Marielle visits me. Six hours until I die.” He picked at one of the stones in the wall, then looked up at the equally grim stone ceiling. “They count what counts most.”

Fenris frowned. Then the door to the prison opened, and Cullen and Cassandra stepped inside.

Cassandra’s face looked like thunder. “Is Hawke quite finished?” she demanded. “I am ready to put this matter behind me, as I expect you are.”

Fenris shook his head. “Not yet. She’s still speaking with Black– with Rainier.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and moved toward the dungeon stairs. “He is not deserving of such a lengthy farewell. I shall–”

“Cassandra,” Fenris interrupted. “Let them talk. Besides, this will not be a farewell.”

She looked at him sharply. “What? What do you mean?”

“Rainier didn’t really want to leave the Inquisition,” Fenris said. “His goal was to save Mornay’s life, not to abandon the Inquisition.”

Cassandra scowled. “Fortunately, that choice is not up to him,” she said. “It is up to you.”

“Yes, it is,” Fenris said. 

Cassandra’s face went slack with surprise. “You would take him back?”

Cullen sighed. “I thought you may want to pass judgment on him yourself,” he said to Fenris. “If that’s your wish, we must move quickly.”

“Good,” Fenris said. He studied Cullen’s furrowed brow. “You also believe he should accept the death sentence?”

Cullen curled his lip. “What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable. He betrayed their trust and betrayed ours. I despise him for it,” he spat. Then he sighed. “And yet... he fought as a Warden. Gave his blood for our cause. And the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it.” He rubbed his chin. “Saving Mornay the way he did took courage; I’ll give him that.”

Fenris nodded. He thought back to Blackwall’s story about the helpless little dog. “It would not have been easy,” he said.

“I do not believe this,” Cassandra burst out. “Fenris, I cannot believe you would simply accept this betrayal!” 

Fenris gave her a slightly chiding look. “Have you not been listening to Varric’s stories of our companions in Kirkwall?” he drawled. “This is far from the first time Hawke and I have been lied to by a friend. At least this time it didn’t result in a war with the qunari,” he said, thinking of Isabela and her damned Tome of Koslun. “Or a war against the Chantry, in Anders’ case.”

“And that justifies your forgiveness?” she snapped. “That you have been betrayed before? 

“No,” Fenris said patiently. “But his contrition does.”

“You are willing to let this lie simply because he is sorry?” Cassandra said in disbelief. 

Fenris studied her curiously. He hadn’t seen her this angry since the day they had first met. “He is more than sorry,” he said. “He has attempted to make up for the past.”

She shook her head in disgust, and Fenris frowned. “Cassandra, you don’t know what it is to kill innocents. To have that blood etched into your hands and lingering in your soul. The knowledge of your own actions… it is a stain that can never be undone. It is something you cannot forget, no matter how much you wish you could run from it.”

“He did run from it,” Cassandra retorted. “He ran and hid from his own crimes for years.”

“He attempted to start over and leave the ugliness of his past behind,” Fenris said. “It’s a wish I can understand.” He steadily held her gaze as he spoke. She knew the broad strokes of what had happened with the fog warriors in Seheron: how Fenris had betrayed and murdered the very people who had taken him in. 

She scowled. “It is not the same,” she snapped. “You did not have a choice in Seheron. Rainier did. He chose to attack that caravan! He chose to run and to leave his men to take the fall!”

For the first time since Cullen and Cassandra had entered the prison, Cole spoke up. “‘Mockingbird, mockingbird.’ Too many voices in the carriage. Maker, they're young,” he murmured. “If I tell my men to stop, they'll know it was all a lie. Cold, trapped, heart hammering like axes on a carriage door.”

Cassandra frowned at Cole. Fenris shrugged. “Perhaps he had less of a choice than you think,” he said. “Even those who live without chains are still bound: by fear, by tradition, by honour.” He glanced at the stars down to the dungeon. “Slaves dream of freedom, but I have found free men dream of it even more.” 

Cassandra stared at him, and Fenris watched as her scowl softened slightly. Finally she huffed and folded her arms. “You condone this, then. This lie, this… this identity theft. It truly does not bother you?”

“Of course I would have preferred if he’d told us before,” Fenris said. “But he has done no wrong since joining us. If he was the same man who murdered a family for coin, he could have turned on us and sold our plans and our movements to any number of people.” He shrugged and casually leaned back against the wall. “He is not that man anymore. People can change, sometimes.”

“Yes, they can,” Hawke suddenly said from the dungeon stairs. “Sometimes they just need someone to have a bit faith in them.” She was gazing at Fenris with a tiny smile.

Cassandra pursed her lips, then nodded stiffly to Fenris and Hawke. “I will wait outside until your business here is finished,” she said, and she turned on her heel and stalked out of the prison. 

Hawke whistled softly and stepped over to Fenris’s side. “Wow. Very wrathful and unforgiving, she is. It would be sexy if it wasn’t so terrifying.”

Fenris tenderly studied her face. She was smiling as always, but her eyes were reddened.

He surreptitiously squeezed her hand. “Are you all right?”

“I’m great,” she said cheerfully. “Thom might not be, though. I absolutely tore him a new one.” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Yes. We, er, heard much of your diatribe.” He looked at Fenris expectantly. “We will arrange for Rainier’s transport back to Skyhold, then.”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “We should make our own arrangements, as well. Let’s not linger in this place longer than necessary.” 

Hawke snickered as she followed Fenris and Cullen to the door. “When you put it that way, you make Val Royeaux sound about as appealing as the Fallow Mire.”

“It is as appealing as the Fallow Mire,” Cullen groused. 

“I agree,” Fenris said. 

Hawke laughed and slung her arms around their necks. “Oh, the two of you. So grumpy about any place with even a touch of class.” She kissed Fenris on the cheek, then released them both and skipped toward the prison door. “I’m just going to run to the pâtisserie and fetch some macarons before we go.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You were serious about that?”

She turned to look at him with wide eyes. “You weren’t?” She grinned at him, then winked and slipped out the door. 

Cullen shook his head in exasperation as he followed her out. Fenris nodded politely to the prison guard, but before he could step outside, Cole spoke again. “It’s not the betrayal that makes her angry. It is herself.” 

“I know that,” Fenris said quietly. He pushed open the prison door and gestured for Cole to pass. “I will remind Hawke that it’s not her responsibility–” 

“Not Hawke,” Cole said. “Cassandra.” He plucked idly at his sleeve as he floated past Fenris through the door. “First Varric, now Blackwall. What else have I failed to see?” 

Oh. Suddenly Fenris understood. He glanced at Cassandra, who was speaking to Cullen with her arms folded and a scowl on her face. Cullen nodded, then gestured for two Inquisition scouts to follow him as he strode toward the gaudy golden gates of Val Royeaux. 

Fenris and Cole approached Cassandra, and she nodded brusquely. “Cullen is making arrangements for our transport back across the Waking Sea. He would rather travel by horseback, of course, but–” 

Fenris cut her off. “You couldn’t have known that Blackwall wasn’t… Blackwall.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, and Fenris waited silently. Finally she shook her head. “I should have known,” she said forcefully. “I am a Seeker of Truth, Fenris. It is my duty to know the truth. Have I allowed everyone to pull the wool over my eyes?” She blew out a gusty sigh. “I did not pay close enough attention. I should have known.”

“In that case, I expect you’ll shout at Leliana when we get back to Skyhold,” Fenris said.

Cassandra frowned. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugged. “She is the spymaster. She should have known.”

Cassandra’s frown deepened. “Rainier stole a page from her report. It was hardly her fault…” She trailed off as Fenris gave her a knowing look.

She knew what he was driving at; he could tell from her sour expression. He said it anyway. “You would forgive our spymaster for her lapse, but not yourself?”

Cassandra eyed him resentfully for a moment, then snorted and looked away. “You can be irritatingly logical sometimes, Inquisitor.”

Fenris nodded. “Thank you, Seeker. I shall accept that as praise.” 

She shot him a look that was somewhere between a smile and a scowl, and Fenris smirked. A few minutes later, Hawke hurried over with a pale pink box in her hands. 

“Macarons, anyone?” she said brightly. She opened the box with a flourish. “I bought a selection. A flavour for every palate, I hope.” 

Cassandra peered into the box. “Is that blueberry?” she asked. 

“I think so, yes,” Hawke said. “Do you fancy it? Go ahead, enjoy!” 

Cassandra frowned at the macarons for a moment longer, then straightened. “No, thank you. We should meet with Cullen.” She started walking away with Cole ambling obediently at her side, and Fenris and Hawke fell into step a few paces behind them.

“Light pastry with blueberries, sticky on your fingers,” Cole said dreamily. He blinked at Cassandra. “Small hands reaching as Anthony tears his in half. But when you got to the kitchen, they were all gone.”

To Fenris’s surprise, Cassandra chuckled. “Ah, yes. They are delicious, but do not last long.”

“I could get you one,” Cole suggested. “The cooks don't see me.”

Cassandra tutted, but her tone was gentle when she replied. “Just because they don't see you doesn't mean it isn't theft.”

Hawke leaned in close to Fenris. “Aw,” she crooned. “The Seeker and the spirit making friends. Next thing we know, the mages and Templars will be having slumber parties and braiding each other’s hair.”

Fenris eyed Cassandra and Cole. “She does appear more comfortable with him than before. A consequence of his subtle manipulations of her mind, no doubt.”

Hawke shot him a look of rebuke. “Come on, Fenris. I know you don’t really think he’s manipulating her. You’re getting more comfortable around him too.” She took a little bite of macaron, then continued talking while she chewed. “Besides, if Cole making people feel comfortable is manipulative, then anyone with any kind of charm is a master manipulator.” 

Fenris grunted. “I wouldn’t say that. You are not manipulative.” 

Hawke smiled slowly at him. “Is that your way of saying I’m charming? You smooth talker. Trying to butter me up for later, are you?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

He smirked. “Shut up, Hawke.” He took the half-eaten macaron from her hand and popped it in his mouth. 

She chuckled and selected another macaron from the box, and they continued to share the fussy Orlesian treats as they followed in Cole and Cassandra’s wake. Fenris knew Hawke wasn’t truly feeling as bright and cheery as her behaviour would imply, but for once, he wasn’t worried. 

For once, this was a problem that Fenris could actually fix.

**********************

It took nearly a week to return to Skyhold from Val Royeaux, and almost another week before Thom Rainier was finally transported back to the castle. The waiting time was far from relaxing, however; a number of new issues and problems were brought to Fenris’s attention, the most unusual of them being an alliance offer from the qunari. 

When Bull told Fenris about the offer, Fenris couldn’t disguise his skepticism. “The qunari don’t believe in alliances,” he said flatly. “We are nothing more than uneducated bas to them. Why should I trust this offer?”

“It’s pretty simple, actually,” Bull said. “The qunari don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they really don’t like red lyrium. ‘The enemy of my enemy’ and all that.” He casually shoved Krem back with his practice shield, then tutted at his second-in-command. “Again,” he growled.

Krem gave a determined nod and rushed Bull again, and Bull continued to speak to Fenris as he held Krem back. “Ordinarily, I’d say you’re right to be suspicious. But they’ve identified themselves. They’re not running a game on you.” He sent Krem sprawling with a sudden shove. 

Krem grunted as he hit the ground, but he rose to his feet without complaint. “They’ve found a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the Storm Coast, and they want us to hit it together,” he told Fenris. “Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts.” He grinned fiercely at Bull. “Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action.”

Bull chuckled indulgently. “Bloodthirsty Vint.” He waved for Krem to attack him again. 

Krem charged at Bull once more, and Fenris watched for a moment before speaking. “The problem is your left leg,” he said to Krem, who was gritting his teeth with effort. “If you–”

“Hey, don’t tell him,” Bull complained. “He’s got to learn on his own.” He lowered his massive shoulder toward his shield and shoved hard.

Krem stumbled back once more and rubbed the back of his head in frustration, and Bull tsked and pointed at the Herald’s Rest. “Go get some water,” he ordered.

Krem shot Fenris a rueful smile as he trudged away to the tavern. Bull folded his arms and shook his head at Krem’s departing back, but his lips were curved in a smirk. 

“He’ll figure it out,” he told Fenris confidentially. “The harder you push him, the harder he works.” 

Fenris nodded thoughtfully. Bull’s tone was matter-of-fact but his smile was undeniably proud, and as always when he spent time with Bull, Fenris was reminded of just how different he was from the other qunari Fenris had known. There was no mistaking the camaraderie Bull had with the Chargers, and there was no mistaking the fondness in Bull’s rugged face as he watched Krem walking away. Even the story of how Bull and Krem had met set Bull apart: he’d sacrificed his eye to save the life of a man he didn’t even know. Fenris had never known qunari to do such a thing for someone who didn’t belong to the Qun. Bull claimed that he’d been re-educated and that he stood with the Qun, but Fenris just didn’t see it. 

This wasn’t to say Fenris entirely trusted Bull. The mercenary captain was still a self-proclaimed spy, and as long as that remained true, his primary loyalty was to Par Vollen. 

“Joining forces with the qunari could inspire outrage from our other allies,” Fenris said. “I’m surprised Leliana approved of this.” He picked up the practice shield that Krem had set down, then turned to face Bull. 

Bull grinned and waved for Fenris to attack. Fenris paused, then rushed at him with the shield. 

Their shields slammed together with a force that reverberated into Fenris’ arms. Fenris pushed back, keeping his left foot turned just so and his left leg steady to withstand the assault.

Bull grunted in approval at Fenris’s technique. “Red didn’t necessarily approve. She just gave me the go-ahead to run it past you,” he said. 

Fenris clenched his teeth as he withstood the pressure from Bull’s shield. They both held for a long, tense moment – long enough for Fenris’s muscles to start burning – then, by unspoken agreement, they both relaxed at the same time.

Fenris stepped back and took a deep breath. “I can’t agree to a formal alliance with the qunari. Not after everything I saw in Kirkwall,” he said baldly. “But I can agree to eliminating this red lyrium operation with the qunari’s assistance.” He hunkered into a ready-stance once more. “Would this compromise suffice?”

Bull twisted his lips, then waved for Fenris to attack, and Fenris rushed him once more. Their shields met with a loud crack of wood on wood, and Fenris braced himself as Bull replied. “I’ll run it past them,” he grunted. “They probably won’t be happy, but they’d be even less happy if Corypheus and his Ventatori cronies ran rampant all over their territory.”

“Their territory meaning all of Thedas?” Fenris panted. Then he sent a small burst of energy from his lyrium marks through his shield. 

The pressure from Bull’s shield lessened very slightly, and Fenris shamelessly took advantage to shove harder into the mercenary captain.

Bull stepped back – a very small step, but it might as well have been a stumble. “Vashedan,” he cursed, and he lowered his shield with a chuckle. “You and your dirty tricks.”

Fenris lowered his shield. “Tevinter tricks. You know better than this.” He tilted his head. “You are disturbed by this offer of an alliance, aren’t you?”

Bull shrugged easily. “Nah, I’m good.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, and Bull finally sighed and scratched his ear. “It’s, uh… I’m used to them being over there. It’s been a while.”

Fenris frowned. “Was it not your hope for the qunari to conquer Thedas?”

“I mean… yeah,” Bull said slowly. “Just didn’t think I’d see it.”

Fenris studied him quietly, and he shrugged. “Look, the Qun answers a lot of questions. It’s a good life for a lot of people. But it’s a big change, and a lot of folks here wouldn’t do so well under that kind of life.” He waved at Fenris. “You would have a hell of a time being re-educated, for instance. They’d have to go hard on you. And they’d probably try to strip that lyrium right out of your skin. I suspect you wouldn’t like that too much.”

Fenris lifted his chin and folded his arms, and Bull innocently lifted his hands. “I’m not saying they will. It’s not like we’re converting. We’re just… joining up to kill some filthy Vints.” He lowered his hands and tucked his thumbs into his belt. “On that front, I think we’re good.”

Fenris eyed him for a moment longer. He wondered whether Bull had even noticed his own phrasing when he’d said ‘it’s not like we’re converting’. 

Finally he unfolded his arms. “All right,” he said. “Let your people know we will work with them on this mission.” 

Given this new development, Fenris decided – with some disgruntlement – to head to the Storm Coast to meet the qunari instead of going to the Emerald Graves right away. By the time Cullen’s men were leading a chained and defeated-looking Thom Rainier up to the Inquisitor’s throne for judgment, Fenris was quite ready to tackle the next problem on the Inquisition’s list. 

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of his throne as Josephine read out the usual preamble. “For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formally known to us as Warden Blackwall. His crimes…” She darted a guarded look at Rainier before going on. “Well, you are aware of his crimes,” she said hurriedly. “It was no small expense to bring him here, but the decision of what to do with him is now yours.”

Fenris sat forward on the throne. “Is there anything you wish to say before I deliver my verdict?” he said brusquely to Rainier. 

Rainier shot him a quick and oddly resentful look. “Would it make any difference? I know you abused the Inquisition’s power to bring me here.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “We openly told the Empress that the Inquisition would prefer to judge their own,” he said. “It is hardly an abuse of power.” He leaned back in his chair, then shifted uncomfortably; he would never grow accustomed to being put on display on this awful throne. 

He scowled in annoyance, then gave Rainier a flat look. “Would you rather I have swapped you out for another man?” he said archly. “That was an option.” 

Rainier shot him a stricken look. “You must be kidding.” 

Fenris shook his head. “I’m not. But it was a choice I declined.” He sat forward in his chair again. “You’re a man with an ugly past. Innocent blood has painted your hands and shadowed your soul.” He tilted his head. “You are also a man who has tried to rectify it. Now you have a choice.”

Rainier narrowed his eyes, and Fenris went on. “You have your freedom. It is your choice to decide what to do with it.”

Just as Fenris expected, there was a scandalized gasp from the assembled members of the Inquisition who were watching the proceedings, followed by a susurrus of interested – and disgruntled – murmurs. 

Rainier was glaring at him now. “It cannot be as simple as that,” he snapped.

Fenris leaned his elbows on his knees. “It is not simple,” he said seriously. “You know that. You know the courage it will take and the pain you will suffer to face yourself. But it is up to you to decide how you will do it.” He waved at the Great Hall. “Remain with the Inquisition if you want. Or you can go to Weisshaupt and join the Wardens in full. But you will not die for this.” He shrugged. “There is a saying in Tevinter: na via lerno victoria. ‘Only the living know victory’. Perhaps if you remain with the Inquisition, that victory will also be yours.”

By the time Fenris had finished speaking, Rainier’s head was hanging low once more. Fenris sat back in his horrible oversized throne and waited. 

Finally Rainier lifted his face. “The man I am… I barely know him. But he…” He took a deep, bracing breath. “I have a lot to make up for. If my future is mine, then I pledge it to the Inquisition. My sword is yours.”

Fenris gave him a small smile. “Good. I consider this matter settled.” He hurriedly vacated his throne and walked over to Josephine to sign her paperwork, then made his way over to Rainier’s side. 

Cullen’s men had removed his chains, and Hawke was giving him an enthusiastic hug. He gave Fenris a feeble smile as he approached. “If I’d said anything less, would an arrow from the rookery snuff me like a candle?” he quipped.

Fenris smirked. “Fortunately for you, you will never know.” 

Rainier’s smile broadened. Then Hawke pulled away from Rainier and smacked his broad chest. “Don’t do this again, you big beardy brute,” she said, and she smacked his chest again. “Now that I know you’re not a Warden, no more stupid Warden death-wish bullshit, all right?”

Rainier winced as she smacked him again. “All right, all right,” he said hastily. “I apologize, my lady.”

She snorted with laughter. “Don’t call me ‘my lady’,” she said. “You owe me a copper.” Then she suddenly burst into tears. 

She ran away toward the door to the quarters she shared with Fenris, and Rainier’s face was practically dripping with guilt as he watched her disappear through the door. “Is she… Did I… Should I apologize again?” he asked Fenris anxiously. 

Fenris shook his head. Hawke might be crying, but it was the good kind of crying for once – the kind that would ultimately end in laughter and relief. “It’s all right,” he told Rainier. “She will be fine.” He folded his arms. “So. Thom Rainier. It must be odd to go by your true name after so many years.”

Rainier grimaced and scratched his beard. “It is. I can hardly respond to it without feeling like there are beetles creeping into my collar.” He sighed. “Rainier was a different man. A worse man. I… I’m afraid to be that man again, Fenris.” 

Fenris nodded. “I understand that. I can assure you that if you become that man, I will kill you myself.”

Rainier looked at him in surprise, then gave him a respectful half-bow. “I would appreciate that, in fact. Thank you.”

Fenris nodded and studied Rainier appraisingly. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he lowered his voice. “I have never told you this, but… Fenris is not my birth name.”

Rainier’s eyes widened. “It’s not?”

Fenris shook his head. “It was the name my master gave me in Tevinter. It wasn’t until years later that I… that I remembered my given name.” With a pang, he thought briefly of Varania; if not for their ill-fated meeting, he would never have remembered even that much.

“What is your given name?” Rainier asked curiously. 

Fenris took a deep breath. “It is Leto,” he said quietly. 

Rainier frowned slightly. “Why do you go by ‘Fenris’, then? Why not use your real name?”

Fenris shrugged philosophically. “By the time I recalled my birth name, I was no longer the same boy who wore that name. Leto was the name of my past. Fenris is the name I wear now.” He ran a thumb over the red scarf that was – and always would be – tied around his wrist. 

‘Fenris’ was once the hated name that Danarius had forced upon him, but in the years since Fenris had left Tevinter, the name had become his. ‘Fenris’ was his name, the name for which he was known by his friends and the name that Hawke whispered lovingly in his ear as they moved together in their bed. 

Leto was his name, once upon a time. But Fenris was a different man – a free man – and his once-hated name was a reflection of that. 

Rainier took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. “I think I understand what you mean,” he said softly. “I’ll think on what you’ve said.”

Fenris nodded. “Good,” he said. “In the meantime, you should return to the stables. I’ve been told that Dennet has been complaining about the stableboys more than usual in your absence.”

Rainier smiled and gave Fenris a deep bow. “It’s my honour, Inquisitor,” he said, and he strode away toward the exit of the Great Hall. 

Fenris sighed in satisfaction, then made his way toward the door to his and Hawke’s quarters, intending to check on her. But as he glanced at the end of the Great Hall, he noticed Varric speaking to a dwarven woman. 

Fenris frowned. It didn’t particularly surprise him to see Varric speaking to a dwarven woman; Varric spoke to everyone, after all. What did surprise him was how uncharacteristically anxious Varric looked. 

He stepped away from the door to his and Hawke’s quarters and made his way toward Varric’s desk instead. As he drew closer, he caught the tail end of their conversation. 

“I appreciate the warning, but you shouldn’t have come yourself,” Varric said tensely. “What if the Guild found out? Or what’s-his-name?”

The dwarven woman chuckled. “Are you worrying for me, or for yourself?”

Varric shot her a flat look. “A little of column A, a little of column B. I am the expendable one, after all.” Then Varric flicked a glance in Fenris’s direction, and Fenris’s bemusement grew as the discomfort on Varric’s face deepened.

The dwarven woman, however, hadn’t noticed Fenris yet. “Aww, don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she crooned playfully to Varric. “We’ll just have to–” She broke off suddenly and turned around, then smiled. 

“You must be Fenris,” she said warmly. “Varric has only good things to say about you.” She held out her hand. “Bianca Davri, at your service.”

Wait. Fenris looked askance at Varric. “Bianca?” he said blankly.

Varric sighed. “Well, shit,” he muttered.

[belphegor1982]

As of now, I can officially say this is chapter 8 of a total of 24 because I finished writing the damn thing. I promise I’ll shut up about it, but it just feels so damn good!!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested...

Chapter 8: One Long Night (on AO3 here)

“If I knew where we’re being forced to stay, I’d complain to a responsible person. The service leaves much to be desired if you ask me, and I’ve never drunk such a godawful tea.”

“That might be ‘cause this is supposed to be coffee, Jonathan.”

A pause, long enough for Rick to lift his eyes from his cup and raise an eyebrow at his brother-in-law. The Englishman was squinting at his cup the way someone would at a particularly complex mathematical equation. When he finally looked back at Rick, there was something in his slightly slanted eyes that could be interpreted as a wry smile.

“That explains it, then.”

Rick downed the last remnants of his cup in one gulp, refraining from shaking his head. Those Brits. Never happy without their sacrosanct cup of tea after a meal. And before. And every time someone knocked on the door. For eleven years now he had been living in England, but no matter how hard he’d tried this weird habit, if only for Evy’s sake, he could never, ever get used to it.

Unfortunately, for him English coffee was simply a disgrace to the name.

Still, he and Jonathan were pretty lucky that whoever was keeping them locked up had thought to send them food and drink. Although Rick really had to admit that he had seldom tasted anything as insipid as this stuff. Even back in England.

At least the smell of the now-empty plates was gone, as one anonymous goon had come a few minutes earlier to take the empty trays away, leaving only the yet-unfinished ‘coffee’ cups.

A full stomach was always good news. Between leaving the orphanage and meeting Evelyn, Rick had had a taste of a couple of prisons. Very few wardens had ever sent him a tray of basic but decent food. Usually, if they ever did, the food looked as if it had been there for over a week. Or more.

“You shouldn’t complain about the food, really,” he called over his shoulder to Jonathan, all the while making himself as comfortable as possible on the floor and crossing his arms behind his head. “Be happy they bothered to send us some. Even if it was lousy.”

The noise he got as an answer was halfway between a sniff and a snort, but he didn’t hear Jonathan change position. His brother-in-law had not moved from his spot against the wall since Ferguson left, and even if he seemed to be reverting back to his old self, there was still something on his face that bothered Rick. It was like a remnant of the haunted sort of look he’d gotten when Ferguson had pointed that gun at him in the afternoon, and Rick could not help the peculiar feeling that this was completely out-of-place. As he’d said to Evy, he and Jonathan weren’t the best of friends, but, as he’d said to Jonathan, the man was family. When all the family you’d ever had only had five people altogether, including yourself, you did everything to keep it as is. Besides, for all his faults, his brother-in-law was a pretty decent guy. Anyway, nobody should ever get that look on their face. Nobody. Ever.

Although Rick was never good at voicing concern or suchlike to anyone that wasn’t Evy, he had tried, earlier, to ask Jonathan if he was okay.

“Oh, don’t worry, Rick, old chap,” had come the reply. “I’ll be fine. I’m an Englishman, remember – Ye Olde stiff upper lip and everything.”

And that had been about all Rick had to make do with.

Every now and then, it occurred to him that while Jonathan talked a lot, there was also a lot he didn’t talk about. Not without a bottle of good single malt on hand, anyway.

Jonathan did not, for once, seem keen on making conversation, and Rick was left to his own grim thoughts. This could either be taken as a good thing – no risk of boredom – or a bad thing – as if the situation wasn’t glum enough – but anyway, he had much to think about. Like who the hell were those men and why they had taken the two of them.

He didn’t know exactly what had been Ferguson’s part in this, but it sure looked like he was in it up to his neck. In, but not at the head of things. Even if Rick had seen him give orders earlier to the gunman, the chief Oddball from the black Lincoln had not spoken about him the way an inferior in rank would.

One thing was certain, though. If Ferguson belonged to the real British Antique Research Department, then Rick O’Connell was a six year old ballerina girl.

Then again, according to what Evy had told him, Ferguson had been knocked out cold in the diamond’s room just as Jonathan had.

Rick shook his head. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. Even if he could not explain it, he had a feeling that this damn diamond was at the heart of things. Everything bad that had happened since they arrived in Egypt had come right after the robbery at the Museum.

If the diamond heist and their kidnapping were linked, as Rick was starting to believe, then there had to be some kind of organisation behind both deeds that used the British Antique Research Department as a front. He didn’t know who was behind this bunch of spooky weirdos in black, but it was not Ferguson. The American’s gut instincts had very rarely deceived him, and he had a hunch that the means displayed meant a great influence, which Ferguson didn’t seem to have. A great influence always meant great power. And Rick had long ago noticed that the more power some people had, the more power they sought.

According to what he knew about the guy, and what he had seen of him so far, Ferguson did not seem to be this kind of man.

Rick had been fairly surprised at Ferguson’s reaction when that Oddball had cocked his gun against Jonathan’s temple. It had all happened very quickly: the punch, his own amused blink, Ferguson’s bewildered look from the ground… Then there had been something that had felt like an icy hand grasping at his guts as the black-clad man’s gun flew to Jonathan’s head. The look on the gunman’s face had sent a chill – a slight one, but a chill all the same – up Rick’s spine. He knew the kind, having met a few like this in the Legion. This was a man who was just doing his job. His gesture had been a hundred percent professional. And Rick knew for certain that he would have pulled the trigger in perfect cold blood had Ferguson not leapt on his feet and pushed the gun away in a heartbeat.

Either Ferguson had received very strict orders, or else there was still a part of the lousy traitor that cared about his old buddy’s – or rather ‘mate’s’, as those damn Brits ever seemed to make a point of doing nothing like everybody else, least of all talk – life.

Part of Rick – a pretty small one, his cautious, often battered sense of optimism – preferred the second option. But if you asked the realistic part of his brain and what logical rationality had rubbed off on him from Evy, both were possible, the first surely more so than the last.

Rick blinked at the blank ceiling, wondering what to make of all of this. One thing was for sure: he wouldn’t want for all the world to be in his brother-in-law’s shoes right now. He’d been pretty pissed each time Beni had let him down, even if in the long run he had grown rather used to it. At least the little scumbag had never played the ‘best of buddies’ act convincingly. Sure, they’d had a few good times in the Legion, and a few good scares too, but there was never anything personal involved. Rick had known the only thing he could count on the guy for was an eventual stab in the back, and it had worked out. More or less.

Funny how things turned out eventually. From the first second he had seen Ferguson, Rick had had a feeling that the two Brits weren’t friends for nothing. They were as different as can be physically, but they did share not only a whole bunch of memories and the same nationality but also the same sense of humour, a certain ironical take on life… And a fondness for that undrinkable British beverage that could only be explained by blood legacy. That, plus Scotch.

Well, with everything they had in common, Rick would have thought that whatever friendship united them would last. At least a bit.

Guess I was wrong.

Rick shifted slightly on the floor. Beside the fact that he didn’t like silence all that much, he was slowly but surely getting bored. And tired.

“Hey, Jonathan?” he called over his shoulder. As nobody answered, he said with a crooked grin, “Lazy bum. Sleepin’ already, are ya?”

He got no reply, and propped himself up on his elbows to see if everything was all right behind him. It appeared so, he noted with a smile that was not entirely a smirk: Jonathan was sound asleep, still sitting with his back against the wall, his chin resting on his chest. He was even snoring slightly.

“Right,” Rick mumbled with a small laugh. “Thanks for the company.” Unsurprisingly, his brother-in-law didn’t bother to reply. The American put his head back on the floor, and went back to staring at the ceiling. “Well, even if you’re out of it, I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say we really are screwed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rick gave a jump, quite a feat considering the fact that he was lying flat with his back on the ground. There was a reason for that. The voice he’d just heard had absolutely nothing to do with his brother-in-law’s. He didn’t know where it had come from, or who.

Only that it belonged to a woman.

“Who are you? And where the hell are you?” asked Rick, sitting straight and alert, now fully awake. He peered across the room, his eyes squinting and his brows furrowing. Nothing. It still appeared that he and Jonathan were the only occupants of the cell.

He used to believe in ghosts when he was a kid, because the older kids at the orphanage always liked to scare the younger ones with stories. Then he’d grown out of it. Sure, there were things in this world nobody could explain yet, but dead people generally stayed dead.

Of course, his first encounter with the actual undead had made him revise his judgement. After his first trip to Hamunaptra, having seen what he’d seen, he had kept his eye out for anything – anything – unlike Evelyn, who used to reject every irrational theory outright.

Rick’s opinion about strange phenomenons had been last updated at Ahm Shere. Walking, talking mummies existed, as did green little murder pygmies, and Jonathan’s common sense – though this last one was occasional.

Ghosts do not. That he knew of.

“There’s no need to be rude, sir,” came the voice. It had a British – make that English – accent, and there was something sad in it, like a sigh. What on Earth could an English ghost possibly be doing down there? “I’m just an accidental neighbour. I’m talking to you through this little air vent down the wall. Can you see it?”

So much for ghosts. Rick looked past the sleeping Jonathan, spotted the vent, and walked over to it. “Yeah, got it.”

The vent was so small that he was not surprised he had missed it at first. Rather happy to see that rationality was kicking back in – and trying not to think about Evy’s triumphant ‘I told you so!’ if she’d been there –, Rick sat in front of it, trying to make out something on the other side of the wall. His attempt failed. The vent was too tiny, and the room was definitely too dark. “Who are you, and what are you doin’ here?”

“Is this your way of introducing yourself?” The woman’s words were stuck-up, but her tone wasn’t. Evy had something like that in her voice on early mornings. “Well, I suppose I should introduce myself first. I’m Elizabeth Ferguson, and –”

“Ferguson? Wait –” Rick frowned, every internal alarm bell blaring in his mind. “Is Tom Ferguson your husband or brother or –”

“Tom is my husband, yes. Have you seen him recently? Is he all right?”

Mrs Ferguson’s voice had shifted from tired to laced with fear and concern. But you could easily fake fear and concern. In fact, Rick was torn between lashing out at the woman and asking her again what the hell she was doing there while her husband was the one that got the two of them in a cell for no apparent reason, and sympathising with her for having married such a jerk. He picked neither and forced his voice into an even tone.

“Oh, he’s fine, all right… and yes, I saw him recently. Look, this may come as a shock to you, but –”

“How do you know him, anyway? I certainly don’t know you.” Mistrust was suddenly plain in Mrs Ferguson’s low voice. Pushing back his impatience, Rick rolled his eyes and bent closer to the air vent.

“Of course you don’t know me – I didn’t know your husband a week ago. But my brother-in-law did. Now may I –”

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

Now the woman was really ticking him off. Wishing she would let him finish his sentence this time, Rick snapped, “Right. I’m O’Connell – Rick O’Connell. Got locked up in here by men with guns for a couple of hours, and your husband’s the reason why I’m here and not at home with my wife and kid. How’s that for an answer?”

There was silence on the other side of the wall, long enough to make Rick feel a little bad about his somewhat harsh reply. If what this woman had been saying so far was the truth, she apparently did not wish to be there any more than he did, and he’d just gone and thrown this piece of news right into her face. After all, she couldn’t really help it if her husband was a two-faced bastard.

Ah, well. Evelyn teased him on his somewhat rough manners often enough.

“Look, Mrs Ferguson, I didn’t mean to go off on you. I’m just pretty angry. I mean, your husband’s a friend of my brother-in-law’s. The two of them went to the Museum and they were in the Diamond of Ahm Shere’s room when it was stolen –”

“Hold – hold on, Mr O’Connell,” cut in Mrs Ferguson, in a rather subdued voice. “Do you mean the Cairo Museum? And what is this diamond you’re referring to?”

Once more, Rick was sorely tempted not to trust her. She could very well be faking ignorance to draw information from him. Then again, she was the only person he could talk to at this very moment. He knew better than to lose time trying to wake Jonathan. The man could sleep like a log at the best of times and looked like death warmed over anyway.

“There was this big diamond from Ancient Egypt in the Museum of Antiquities, and Jonathan and your Tom got knocked on the head while it was stolen –”

“I take it that this Jonathan is your brother-in-law?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Do you ever let people finish their sentences? Yes, he’s my wife’s brother.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr O’Connell,” came Mrs Ferguson’s sheepish voice. “I’m not usually so rude, I swear, but I do tend to be rather short when I’m afraid.” A pause. “And I must confess I’m somewhat afraid right now.”

All right. So maybe she was being sincere after all.

“I used to know a Jonathan, you know,” she continued, and if Rick’s ears weren’t deceiving him yet, she was smiling slightly. “When I was in university. Tom and him were rather close friends at the time, and we used to meet in an Oxford pub for chats and drinks… I have very fond memories of those times. What’s your brother-in-law’s surname?”

“Carnahan.” He heard a tired, but happy little laugh. “Is he the Jonathan you were talking about?”

“Yes, the very same. How is he now?”

“Well, he’s…” Rick glanced behind him. “He’s asleep.”

There was silence on the other side of the wall, followed by a slight shuffle as Mrs Ferguson came closer to the air vent. “Jonathan Carnahan is here? In the same room as you?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s… asleep?”

“That’s right.”

For a few seconds Mrs Ferguson was silent, then she asked, sounding utterly confused, “Would you be so kind as to tell me exactly what happened to land the both of you in here?”

Rick pondered answering her for a little while. He looked into the space in front of him, then at the sleeping form of his brother-in-law, then at the air vent. Finally, he scratched the back of his neck and edged closer to the vent. “Okay. I’ll try to make it short, but I have a feeling it’s gonna take a while. Just warn me when you start to fall asleep.”

.⅋.

“Alex, dear, are you sure you’re not sleepy?”

“No, Mum, I’m not. Please, stop asking me that.” Alex shook his head conspicuously for effect, and his mother squeezed his hand briefly, not slowing down her pace.

It was not entirely true. Alex was aware that he was blinking a little too much than he should, and he was forced to admit that his head felt a bit heavy. But there was no way he’d admit this to his mum. Even at this hour in the evening, he had his pride. Besides, concern for his dad and uncle mingled with the beginning of excitement. He had not had a proper adventure in ages, and this sure looked like the start of a hell of one.

Although Cairo by night was certainly quite some adventure by itself. It was different, much creepier than in the dazzle of the day. Everything appeared to be a threat: the drop in temperatures, the small white houses all turned a similar dark grey, the pavements only lit by the little pools of bleak yellow light falling down from the street lamps, the lengthened shadows stretching over the walls and the streets… And you had to be extra careful to avoid the heaps of camel droppings when they were a little too close to the pavements.

Alex O’Connell had found himself looking into the newly-acquired eyes of the mummy Imhotep. He had faced a fierce red-clad warrior who would have taken sheer delight in strangling him. He had resurrected his mother at the Pyramid of Ahm Shere. Without exaggerating too much, he could consider himself a fairly brave boy of ten.

Yet he was perfectly content to cling at his mum’s hand and not let go as the both of them trotted along the darkened, colder streets.

“Don’t worry, Alex.” His mum’s voice made him look from the dark in front of him up to her face. “There’s nothing to fear.”

How could she possibly…? Alex shrugged and shook his head. Maybe this thing about mums knowing everything was true, after all.

“What are we gonna do exactly, Mum?” he asked, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Are we just going over to Dr Hakim’s and throw pebbles at his windows till he opens the door?”

She slowed down and looked at him, the expression on her face difficult to tell for sure in the dark. “Now where did you get this idea from?”

Alex hoped that his innocent smile was as efficiently lit by dim street lamps as it was in the light of day. Over the years, he had observed both his dad and uncle getting away with a lot with his mum on charm alone. As the two of them were quite different, Alex would only have to pick which tactic would be best for the occasion. Now, at the ripe age of ten years and one month, he had fairly well mastered a get-away smile of his own, something which he was rather proud of. And the best thing was that it worked with all three members of his family, most of the time.

It was his mother’s turn to shake her head, and Alex knew he had won this one when he saw a smile on her face. No matter what happened, his mum always smiled in the end, and this was one of the things that he loved most about her. Not all the other mums were like that.

“Bah. I don’t want to know.”

They had left the outskirts for Downtown Cairo, and were now walking along better-lit streets of smoother pavements. The light made the tall buildings appear taller, and you could actually see fifty feet ahead of you. It didn’t feel very different from London. Clearly the neighbourhood was wealthier and better-kept than the ones they’d seen so far, even if it still felt spooky and very eerie to be there by night.

As they walked past houses, Evelyn counted the numbers on the façades, finally stopping in front of a rather elegant-looking two-story house and heading decidedly to the door.

“I hope he’s not gone to bed already, or he won’t be in a good mood, I’m afraid,” Alex heard her mutter, before she rapped at the door. “Dr Hakim? It’s me, Evelyn O’Connell. I apologise for coming over so late, but the matter is important. Would you please let me in?” Nobody answered, and Evelyn came closer to the closed door, looking hesitant. “Dr Hakim? Are you awake at all? I swear this is serious –”

The door opened on her last word, and both she and Alex opened their mouths in surprise.

“The matter must be important indeed, to make you come here at this hour of the night, and with young Alexander, no less,” came the deep, gently lilting voice of Ardeth Bay.

“It’s good to see you, Ardeth,” eventually said Evelyn after she recovered from her surprise. The Medjai leader’s smile mirrored her own.

“It is always good to see you too, no matter the circumstances. Please come in.”

Evelyn did so, followed by Alex who, even if he wasn’t going to admit it, was rather happy to leave the dark streets.

They walked up a flight of narrow stairs to find themselves on the threshold of an old-fashioned door, which Ardeth opened for them before slipping quietly behind them. The first thing Alex did was, as his dad had taught him, to scan the room for ways out and possible dangers. Most of the time, when they were on a dig, Mum and Dad left Alex in the entrance room of a pyramid, where he did not risk heat-stroke. However, upon crossing a threshold, Rick never failed to check out a room before setting a foot in it, something Alex had taken on quickly after seeing what could happen if one was not careful enough in a pyramid.

The room was flooded with warm amber light, quite unlike the cold street lamps, and looked quite cosy with the thick carpet on the floor, the deep armchairs around a low table, and the exposed beams along the ceiling. Sure enough – this was the Cairo Museum curator’s house, after all – an imposing library full of old-looking books covered an entire wall, and further in the room stood a big desk covered in maps, stationary, and an impressive collection of pen holders.

But the comparison with any ordinary house stopped here. There was Ancient Egyptian stuff all over the room, going from framed pieces of parchments hung on the walls, to canopic jars neatly arranged on a chest of drawers, through various-sized statuettes on the bookshelves, and chests around the coffee table like footstools. There was even a small sarcophagus against one wall. Looking at it, and at the various items filling the room, Alex wondered how it was possible that none of these remains had caused any catastrophe at the time of their removal. Like waking up an evil mummy, for example.

Dr Hakim rose from his armchair to greet Evelyn and Alex as Ardeth closed the door behind him. “Good evening, Dr O’Connell, please do take a seat. You are welcome to do so as well, young Master O’Connell.”

“Thanks,” said Alex with a quick, rather uncertain glance at the severe-looking man. He watched as Ardeth sat in the armchair beside him with a slight rustle of black robes. The man caught his gaze, and a small smile pulled at one corner of his lips. Alex slightly relaxed into his armchair. He couldn’t tell why, but this smile somehow always managed to make him feel better, no matter the occasion.

“I’m truly sorry to disturb you at this hour in the evening, Doctor,” his mum was saying to Hakim. “But my husband and my brother have disappeared, and I think it might be linked to the theft of the Diamond of Ahm Shere.”

Alex’s eyes were back on Hakim as he leaned back in his armchair and nodded. “Ah… yes. We are already aware of Messrs O’Connell’ and Carnahan’s disappearance.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘aware’? What happened? Where are they?”

“Evelyn, please,” said Ardeth, and he didn’t so much as flinch as Alex’s mum turned one of her fiercest gazes on him. Alex’s respect for the Medjai leader increased. Even Dad would sometimes be wary of that Look. “Almost everything we know has been gathered this afternoon by word of mouth. We haven’t had time to do anything else yet.”

“When exactly were you planning to tell me?” Evelyn’s voice was edging dangerously close to anger. Alex had more mixed feelings. For the moment, the most prominent was curiosity. He was dying to hear what the two men had to say.

“Just before you knocked on the door, we were discussing the hour in the morning when we could go to your house without waking you up and tell you everything.”

“You could even turn up at midnight, or five, I wouldn’t have minded,” said Evelyn, not much calmer. “Now what do you know, exactly?”

They told her and Alex pretty much the same story Satiah had, up until the point where Rick, Jonathan and Mr Ferguson had driven off in someone else’s. Alex smirked at that. Despite everything his mum said about how a respectable citizen should be law-abiding and honest, his uncle’s little skills had come in handy more often than she cared to admit. Not to mention that she often conveniently forgot that, whenever she entered a tomb, it was because she had broken into it in the first place.

“But if they did escape, why haven’t they returned yet? What happened to them?” The question his mother had just asked had been running in Alex’s mind for a while, and he had a hunch that it had been the same for his mum.

Hakim frowned a little at that, looking grim. “Well, according to eyewitnesses, they drove all the way to Dr Wittgenstein’s excavation camp near Giza, and the car stopped in the middle of the tents.”

“Why would they stop?” Mum’s voice was suddenly much lower.

“The men pursuing them – we do not know who they were, but it appears that they looked quite the professionals – were shooting at them. One must have hit a target.”

Alex’s insides turned abruptly into ice, and his mum’s face went pale. “Oh, my God… You mean…?”

“Nobody was hurt, it seems,” added Ardeth quickly. “But when I went there to investigate a few hours ago, I found that the car had fallen from a height of six or seven feet, and one of the tyres had been perforated by a bullet.”

Evelyn was silent for a minute, long enough for Alex to chime in. “And…” he asked, rather hesitant and uncertain all of a sudden as Hakim’s beady eyes fell on him. “What happened? After they stopped, I mean?”

He was almost afraid to hear the answer. And when Ardeth looked at him with something on his face that was hard to tell, he got not a little bit scared.

“Well,” said Ardeth, shifting his gaze from son to mother, “the man called Ferguson drew a gun and pointed it at Jonathan.”

Silence fell like a slab of solid lead. Alex was vaguely aware that he had his mouth open and was probably looking like an idiot, but he didn’t give a damn right now. Beside him, Mum had also her mouth slightly open, her eyes showing sad surprise. She blinked, then shook her head slowly. “Oh, dear… Something like this had to happen. I saw something like this coming, but…”

“What a jerk!” Alex burst, startling his mother. “Stinking turncoat! We saw him the other day at the bazaar, and he acted all friendly-like, the damn git –”

It was a mark of how shocked his mum had been that she only stopped him there with a sharp “Alex! Language!”

Alex cast her the most sheepish glance he could, still quite angry. The guy had been so nice and funny whenever he’d met him, and that had been all an act? Lousy traitor. Not for the first time, Alex wished he would grow faster. That way he’d be able to punch the wind out of that goddamn two-faced scumbag who had betrayed his uncle and kidnapped his dad.

“I hope Dad punches his head off,” he muttered, and his mother threw a warning glance at him, but nothing else. When he slipped a glance to Ardeth, though, he thought he saw something like amusement flash briefly on his face.

“So Tom Ferguson was working with those men…” Evelyn had recovered from her surprise and was now back to musing out loud, as she often did when she thought about something. “They must have been well organised to set up such a stunt. Who were they? What did they look like?”

“They were described as a handful of Englishmen, dressed in black and wearing felt hats,” answered Ardeth. “About six of them, looking as if they were quite trained for this sort of thing.”

That reminded Alex of some bad guys in some gangster films he’d seen, the ones with the big guns, big scars and smooth, shiny cars. Of course, his mum was never too keen on him seeing those sorts of movies, insisting that it was surely too scary for him. He hadn’t told her yet that some stuff that had happened to him in real life was much, much scarier than everything he had seen on a screen so far.

A silence followed Ardeth’s words, then Evelyn shook her head, frowning. “This doesn’t make any sense. Who would kidnap Rick and Jonathan? Why them?”

“You told us earlier that you thought this had some kind of link with the Diamond of Ahm Shere,” Dr Hakim said, his eyes keener than ever. “This happens to be our opinion as well. What could motivate such an action, unless it be the need for information?”

“Hang on,” interrupted Alex, who had a hard time keeping up with Hakim’s elaborate phrasing. “That means that whoever’s taken Dad and Uncle Jon wanted some information about the diamond, doesn’t it? But if they have the diamond now, what’s the use?”

“This is what we were wondering as well,” said Ardeth with a slight smile of his own, and Alex felt a mix of pride and annoyance that this was not getting them very far.

And then, at this point, Mum’s eyes began to shine with the funny glint that meant things were about to get interesting. “Tell me, Ardeth… Just how far does the link between the Diamond and the Oasis of Ahm Shere go?”

Ardeth and Hakim shared an equally appreciative glance; then the Medjai leader looked at Evelyn, his warm black eyes smiling at her. “So you remember, after all. I might have known.” His eyes took on an intense look, as they did whenever he was telling a story of the ancient times. “The link between the two is powerful. Without the Diamond the Oasis cannot exist. And of course, without the Oasis, the Diamond is pointless, just an ordinary gem.”

“Don’t you need the Bracelet of Anubis to find the Oasis?” Alex piped in, feeling that as long as the Pyramid and especially the Bracelet was being discussed he could have a word in. After all, he was the one who’d got almost killed by it last time. Besides, his mum didn’t seem to mind very much.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” explained Ardeth, apparently ignoring Dr Hakim’s annoyed frown at Alex. “The Bracelet was indeed a guide, a precious one, and as such it was protected fiercely by each succeeding Pharaoh’s best guards.” There he glanced quickly at Evelyn, and Alex remembered what his mum had told him about her past life as Nefertiri, Pharaoh Seti’s daughter. An actual princess from Ancient Egypt, a fighter trained to protect precious artefacts. Alex still had trouble wrapping his head around that. It seemed impossibly cool. “But the Diamond and the Oasis are very intricately linked. For millennia people have believed that the Oasis hid an entire pyramid made of gold, and when the knowledge about the resting place of the Army of Anubis faded from memories, it was what lured many men into seeking the Oasis. You may remember that quite a number of men found their way there, and we saw what became of them.”

While Ardeth talked, Alex picked up a thick paper clip from Hakim’s desk nearby to keep his hands busy as he listened. He always loved exciting stories. That – coupled with his parents’ passion, of course – had been what drew him to Egyptian history.

“Some of these men must have come near enough to see the Diamond gleaming at the top of the pyramid in the distance, but not dared to come closer, thus spreading the word that the whole pyramid was made of gold, inside and out.

“As time passed, history became legend, and the Oasis disappeared from popular memory. However, there were always men foolish or greedy enough to attempt the pursuit of the Oasis of Ahm Shere. Legends involving gold are often those that last longest.

“But nobody ever unveiled the secret of Ahm Shere… until the last Year of the Scorpion, when the Bracelet of Anubis was uncovered by you, Evelyn, and your family. We all know what ensued.”

Alex listened raptly, still fiddling with the paper clip. At Ardeth’s last words, he straightened in his chair and blurted out, “When I was with Imhotep down in that oasis, he told Hafez something about the Bracelet being some sort of key to the Scorpion King… What did he mean by that?”

“Young man, did nobody teach you to listen to your elders and keep quiet whilst they speak?” said Hakim severely. Alex just stared back at him, undeterred. Of course the rules of proper conduct demanded silence from kids. But he had never been one to keep silent when he had a question.

Besides, from the look on his mum’s face, it seemed that she had Thoughts on the matter.

“Dr Hakim,” she said, her voice quite polite and cool – a little too much so, “I have the greatest respect for you and your work, but Alex is my son, and I believe I should be the one to decide whether to tell him off or not if he misbehaves. And I do not think that asking questions that are relevant to this conversation can be considered as misbehaving.”

Wham. Way to go, Mum. Alex refrained from beaming at his mum – perhaps that would have been a little too much. She did not often defend him this fiercely; when she did, it was always very effective.

There was a rather awkward pause, as Hakim stared at Evelyn, his black eyebrows raised in surprise; and as a grinning Alex turned his eyes to Ardeth Bay, he saw that the Medjai, by his own distinctive standards, seemed to be trying hard to force down a smile.

“So,” Alex asked, as if nothing had happened, “what did Imhotep mean?”

“Exactly what he said. Not only was the Bracelet a guide, showing its bearer the way to Ahm Shere by means of visions and clues, it was also the key to revive the Scorpion King.”

“Can the pyramid – and the oasis – exist after the death of the Scorpion King, then?” asked Evelyn, her eyes shining with curiosity again.

“The Scorpion King and his army have been kept five thousand years while the Oasis and the pyramid were never hidden from human eyes,” said Ardeth. “Despite what happened after Rick O’Connell killed the Scorpion King, it is my opinion that the Pyramid is still there as we speak, buried under the sands, dead as a house abandoned by its only master for millennia.”

A heavy silence followed these words. Evelyn had noticed Alex fingering the large paper clip and motioned discreetly at him to put it back where he had picked it up. Alex absently put it in his pocket instead. Nobody would miss one when there were dozens just like it on the desk, and it could always come in handy sometime.

“It doesn’t tell us,” Evelyn said after a little while, frowning, “what the men who have taken my husband and my brother have in mind.”

“No, it does not,” Hakim agreed in his low-pitched, gently accented voice. “Whatever their purpose may be, if they manage to find a way inside the Pyramid, they will find nothing but dead stones – just an empty shell.”

Silence filled the room once more, while Alex’s mind was filled with fresh questions. The one he turned and turned again in his head was what the hell those guys, whoever they may be, had taken Dad and Uncle Jon for. The one he wanted to dwell upon was what these same guys would do if Hakim’s words proved true. No, he definitely didn’t want to think about that.

The two Medjai started to elaborate theories which would explain the weird men’s hidden purpose, while Evelyn kept silent, her face still sombre. Alex looked past Hakim at the window in front of him. The curtains were open, and he could see a patch of ink-black sky, where he looked in vain for stars. Clouds must be darkening the sky and making it impossible to see anything.

It wasn’t lost on Alex that this reflected their current predicament perfectly.

.⅋.

The ground was shaking. Not just shaking, but rattling and rolling too. Rick was aware of regularly bumping against something that felt like a wall, and that made his whole left side hurt from shoulder to hip. Now that was something new. He sure could recall times when he had gone through far worse and not been really bothered by bruises afterwards. Mmh. Guess I’m getting a little old for this shit.

“Um. Are you awake?” came a tentative voice he quickly identified as Jonathan’s.

“More or less,” Rick muttered, rolling onto his right side and trying to get a bit steadier on the ground. Then he noticed the rising heat that he had blissfully been unaware of in his sleep. “What’s the time?”

“Come on now, Rick,” came Jonathan’s voice again behind him, sounding kind of relieved, “that’s hardly the proper question one would usually ask in circumstances like these.”

Yeah, sure. Damn this elaborate phrasing first thing in the morning. But Rick had a hunch that wherever all this crazy stuff was heading to, it was not going to be quite ‘usual’. Hell, he was almost glad to hear the slight touch of sarcasm in his brother-in-law’s voice. How could things get more unusual after that?

“So what would be the proper question, then?” he drawled, opening his eyes to assess their surroundings.

“Why, I might be wrong, of course, but I do think that ‘Where are we?’ would be more accurate.”

Rick sat up and looked at Jonathan. “Well you are wrong. It’s pretty obvious where we are. We’re in some kinda truck, and it’s driving off to God knows where. Oh, and it’s a pretty bad road. But I’m sure you knew that already,” he added with a smirk.

A particularly nasty jolt of the truck followed, as if to back his words. There was a pause, and Rick almost snorted at his brother-in-law’s miffed expression, almost a pout. This was one of those rare times he could observe genuinely close similarities between Evy and Jonathan. Sister and brother were such polar opposites that it was almost easy to forget that the two were siblings at all.

“To answer your first question, old boy,” Jonathan said after a while, a little stiffly, “it’s about half past eight in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I’ve just woken up myself a few minutes ago. And I didn’t want you to get cranky from lack of sleep. You did look like you needed it.”

“I’m never cranky.”

It was Jonathan’s turn to smirk. Rick ignored him and ran a hand in his hair to scratch the back of his head, careful of the lump from the day before. He had just remembered something.

“Hey, there was a woman on the other side of the wall, last night. Said she was Ferguson’s wife.”

Jonathan’s slightly slanted eyes went suddenly as round as saucers. “What, Lizzie? You mean Elizabeth Ferguson was here?!”

“Yep. So it’s true you two knew each other, huh?”

A slight smile somehow made its way on the Englishman’s bemused face. “Y—yes… We used to hang around together at university. With Tom. So,” he added a little too quickly, “what the hell was she doing down there?”

“Well, it seems that whatever Ferguson’s been messing with, it’s pretty serious. She said she’d been taken from her house someplace in England and brought here for guarantee. You know, blackmail. Sounds like she’s really scared for her husband, and that those guys have given her every reason to be.”

“They didn’t… hurt her or anything, did they?” said Jonathan, alarmed. Rick shook his head.

“No, they didn’t. I mean, she thinks they drugged her, because she only started to hear us last night, but otherwise she sounded fine to me.”

Jonathan nodded. “Good.” Then he rested his chin on his knees and fixed a point somewhere near Rick, frowning slightly. “That’s good.” Something flickered over his face, and the frown deepened. “So that was the ‘choice’ he was talking about, then.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

After half a second of thinking, though, Rick knew what he meant. Ferguson did have a choice: betrayal or widowerhood. Tough one. With a very slight wince, Rick realised that if himself had been forced to deliver a former school buddy – or orphanage buddy, as it were – to odd guys to save his wife, he sure as hell would have done it without even thinking.

On the other hand, what Ferguson had done had really been dirty, even with the best excuses. He had manipulated and fooled nearly everybody, gained their relative trust, only to two purposes: getting his hands on the Diamond of Ahm Shere and bringing the two of them to his bosses.

Nearly everybody. Rick felt a surge of pride about his wife – Evy’s misgivings had been justified, and Ferguson had not managed to twist her around his little finger like that – mingled with annoyance. He was none too pleased with himself for not having seen that there was something shifty about that guy too eager to please.

Then something peculiar crossed his mind. “Lizzie? Gee, you guys must’ve been pretty close if you got so familiar with a girl. And I thought you Brits were supposed to be gentlemen.”

Jonathan’s right eyebrow shot up, his face set in marble. “I’ll have you know that there was never anything improper between us, O’Connell, if that’s what you were talking about. And Englishmen are not ‘supposed’ to be gentlemen. They are.”

Rick couldn’t help but grin impishly. “That’s what I meant, kind of. So there was definitely something, then.”

One single brown eyebrow crept up even higher as Jonathan cocked his head forward and said, his voice even, “Pray tell, what exactly makes you say that?”

Rick’s sly grin widened. Despite the bumps and holes in the road, this was getting funnier and funnier. “Because usually, when you speak of somebody ‘belonging to the fairer sex’, as Evy would put it, you brag endlessly for a while and then forget the girl in the following month. You still haven’t forgotten her after several years, so… well, no need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that it’s unusual with you.”

“How very astute,” deadpanned Jonathan, probably painfully aware that his ears were turning a delicate shade of pink.

It was hard enough for Rick to keep a straight face, but as he pictured Evy’s face had she been there to see her brother so embarrassed about a woman, he had to look down and pretend to take a great interest in his shoes to hide his laughter.

When he finally felt safe enough, Rick looked up again, to find a pair of dead serious blue eyes narrowed at him. “I completely fail to see the funny side of this.”

Whoa. One odd thing with Jonathan was that, the more embarrassed he was, the more stuck-up his phrasing would get. Rick eventually cracked and let out a loud guffaw, while his brother-in-law rolled his eyes.

“Oh, bugger off,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth finally pulled in a reluctant grin.

Rick was still in pretty high spirits when the truck slowed to a stop and the back doors were pulled open. Blinding white light rushed in, along with the dust and heat of the outside.

“Gentlemen, I will ask you to get down,” came a smug voice Rick knew only too well. Sure enough, when his sight adjusted to the change in brightness, Oddball Number One was standing in the open doors, his black suit a hole in a rectangle of light. As Jonathan got up behind him, looking uncertain, Rick stared at the newcomer, his eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t say the magic word,” he drawled.

Three gunmen seemed to appear out of thin air behind Number One, and aimed guns at the two of them. Number One smirked. “If you please.”

Rick shrugged and started to make his way down, followed by Jonathan who cast a swift glare in passing at Number One from narrowed blue eyes. The latter looked back at him just as coldly.

To Rick’s surprise, they seemed to be in a town – in Giza, more specifically, as he just had the time to realise before the goons who were holding him at gunpoint made him enter a house very close to where the truck had been parked. He didn’t know this part of the city very well, but he had been there a few times before and had a good memory.

They crossed a couple of rooms, which looked like any local house’s would, then the guys in black made them walk a small flight of stairs down to a sort of basement or cave, which looked a lot like the one they had left earlier.

“Again?!” Rick stared at the four men in disbelief. “You guys never heard of a little something called originality?” Number One stared at him, his eyes narrowed behind his small glasses, and his mouth set.

“And whatever were you expecting, Mr O’Connell?” he asked, his voice just as soft as his eyes were cold. “A stone dungeon? Or a bullet in the back of your neck, perhaps?”

“Ah, I don’t mean to interrupt or anything,” said Jonathan behind Rick, his voice steadier than the American would have thought it to be in circumstances like those, “but if you bothered to keep us alive so far, I reckon it’s not for art’s sake, now, is it?”

Good point. Except that if they keep sending us what they call coffee, we’ll drop dead before we know it.

“Although you seem to have a peculiar conception of art, Mr Carnahan, there is something in what you’re saying,” Number One said, sounding remarkably like a hungry toad that had a fly in sight. “But it’s not for you to know. Now, if you would step in, please.”

No matter how childish it surely was, Rick sorely wanted to stomp on the guy’s feet as he walked in the room – but he restrained himself, thinking instead of the moment when he would get his hands on a gun and have a little fun with him. Or even just punch his teeth in. Oh yeah. No matter how long it would take, this guy would get what was coming to him.

This shiny, warming thought in mind, Rick turned back toward Jonathan and Number One, who was about to close the door with a falsely polite bow of his head.

“Gentlemen, till our next meeting.”

Rick gnashed his teeth. Sarcasm and kidnapping aside, there was something animal-like in him that hated the guy. Something visceral. Like a physical thing.

And then something rather unexpected happened. Or not that unexpected, all things considered.

Jonathan walked a step or two back toward Number One.

“I say, er, What’s-your-name?” he piped up. Rick could see the quiet sort of smirk that was right at home on his brother-in-law’s face, though it looked a little bit subdued right now. “Think you’ve dropped this.”

And he threw a worn leather wallet at Number One, whose expression turned rather dirty as he caught it in mid-air.

Rick grinned widely.

The situation hadn’t changed one iota, the two of them were still as weaponless as they had been twelve hours ago, and he still didn’t fully know why they had been brought there in the first place…

But the look on the guy’s face was hilarious.

.⅋.

Wish we could have seen more of Jon’s skills as a pickpocket in the 2nd film, because honestly, for a dilettante, the bloke is top notch. Stealing from a guy on fire? And later in the midst of being strangled? My hero :P

Also, it’s funny how a decade can change your outlook on things. When I started writing this story, my idea was (as stated in the 2nd chapter) that they were friends, flirted a lot, but it never went that much further. Now, though? Bit different. And I’m like “Okay, readers, what do YOU think happened? What are your headcanons and interpretations?” :3

[dalishbanalras]

Argument

Leather & Lace Romance Week, Day 4: Disagreements & making up

Fandom: Dragon Age ­­­­­Inquisition

Pairing: Solas x Mahariel Lavellan

Rating: Teens

Notes: Mahariel and Solas disagree about what she intends to do with the Grey Wardens.

Read on Ao3

 “On the bright side, it keeps things interesting.”

She quirked a dismissive brow at Dorian before looking back to the bottom of her tankard.

Did she tell him what happened? No. Did she need to? Apparently not. There had been enough occurrences of this same argument as of late. Solas’ point of view about the Grey Wardens was no secret. As for her, she was no fervent protector of the Order. Though, she respected them, and she thought them an asset that, if used carefully, could be valuable. One not to overlook in the current situation.

Her guess, Solas had been pouting over a book since they parted. The Tevinter would have fill in the gaps easily enough to come pester her at the tavern. Despite her silence and her lack of interest for his train of thought, he went on.

“I mean, you two agree on everything or almost. Must become boring. This is spicing things. Both for the actors and the audience, don’t you agree?” She rolled her blue-green eyes and gulped some of her ale.

“Let’s take a minute to picture how little I care that you are enjoying the show.”

At her utter irritation, he mimicked an angry cat, pocking at her shoulder with his claws.

“Meow! Snarky, are we? Alright, let’s just brood and drink in an uneased silence.”

Of course, he managed to do that for less than ten seconds.

She did not get the chance to linger at the tavern long before another meeting called for her attention. Now, she could see one true bright side to her despicable mood. Matters were handled quickly and effectively, the advisors having no particular wish to remain in the same room as her for the time being.

It left her alone to face one alarming report alone in her quarters. One from Stroud, of course. And what they were to expect. She let out a slow breath. You’ve got to be kidding me. It had never sounded like a piece of cake. Having a location should have been good news to her. Kind of. But the only thing she saw is that for the little they knew of this mess, the Veil had to be in a very poor state where they would be heading. Blood magic and demons tended to do that, especially in old buildings that had seen much.

She needed an advice that she was more than reluctant to seek.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. This could not wait. Hopefully, he would still be in the rotunda. Let’s just hope I’m not going downstairs only to restart a fight.

Solas let escape a long sigh. Cole finally gave up on talking to him for now. The spirit had good intentions, but sometimes, he was just not in the mood to take these.

How stubborn could she be? He had no trust in the Grey Wardens. And she had little of that either, that was the worst. So why, in Mythal’s name was she so obstinate in giving them a second chance? They were blinded by an erroneous sense of duty that would lead them to their fall.

But her clan was in Ferelden at the beginning of the Blight. She would not admit it, not even to herself, but that was why she was set in this decision, he was certain of it. Because some part of her remembered all too well the despair brought upon the lands, and the fairytale-like stories of the mighty Grey Wardens who saved Thedas a decade ago.  

It was naïve. Naivety was so unlike her, it drove him mad about the whole situation. Not because she refused to listen to him. In other circumstances, he could find some comfort even in seeing her, a trained assassin, still having this kind of innocence in her.

Though, not here. She would take the blow hard when the Order will disappoint her. And they will. That made him mad to think how she would blame herself for it because she decided to give them a chance.

He shook his head, jaw gritted, trying to focus on the words under his eyes.

He caught her small moment of hesitation as she stepped into the rotunda. His brow quirked. Was it too much to hope that she thought about it and was ready to see his point? Probably. He finished the line calmly before looking up at her. His storm eyes examined her stance and did not fail to see a remnant coldness laced with some reluctance at standing here. His gaze dropped to the papers held tightly in her hand.

“Inquisitor.”

If the title made her cringe on the inside – and it did – she gave nothing away. She gave a curt nod.

“Solas. My apologies for disturbing you at such hour.”

She certainly had no trouble of her own to sound oh so formally detached. He raised slowly from his chair, glancing at the reports.

“What can I do for you?”

She paused before answering. Definitely reluctant to present him the issue. She eventually extended the papers to him without a word. His brows furrowed at the very first lines. He peered at her with disbelief. Was she so eager for them to fight again? She commented, having no need to hear the untold question.

“This is no ideological point of view that I am seeking. I need a practical advice. The Inquisition intends to bring several mages along, and Stroud’s words concern me about how safe it shall be to do so.”

He took a silent breath and slowly nodded. Wise thing to question, he would give her that. He looked back at the report. She leaned against the doorframe, quietly letting him read. From the corner of his eye, he could see her gaze linger over his frescoes. He had to suppress a smile. No matter how often she saw them, she never stopped looking at them that way. With wonder, admiration.

After reading it twice, he sauntered to his desk wistfully. It caught her attention.

“So?” He pursed his lips.

“First tell me. What was your thought?” She ran a hand through her white hair and admitted.

“Asking for templar reinforcement.”  He spun to her with disbelief.

“What?” Her eyes hardened.

“This does not please me more than you. But every mage that is supposed to be there is needed. I have to be there, Hawke has to, and our troops need healers. I do not want to consider the possibility of taking down our own, but we know little of what is going on. If any of us get possessed, they will need to be neutralized.” His fist tensed.

“The Veil will be thin. Their ritual will attract demons. This is not safe, especially for you. They will be drawn to the Anchor.”

“My presence during the attack is no subject for debate.” His brows furrowed. Of course, she was right. The Inquisitor had to be there, he knew that. But that her back-up plan was templars…His scowl suddenly deepened.

“You mentioned Hawke and yourself only.”

“We have to be there. This does not apply to other mages I could possibly bring along. There is no reason to risk it.” She stated evenly without looking at him. He blinked at that. She could not possibly be serious.

“With all due respect, Inquisitor, I do believe that this particular conclusion of yours is obsolete.” She glanced quickly at him.

“No. And this is an order.”

Despite her words, her voice had softened in a way it did not of the all conversation so far. Or of the all day, for that matter. He shook his head and took a step closer.

“Mahariel, there is no way I am not coming.”

“There is. This is dangerous, especially for mages. I am not risking it.”

“And what if something happens? I shall not rely on templars for that matter. Let’s admit one of you get possessed. They will be as quick as to take the mage down. If this is you…” He paused to still his voice, trembling at the very thought. “They will make you a Tranquil to preserve the Anchor.”

She fell silent, averting her gaze. That sounded like the most likely, indeed. His fingers went for her chin, wanting to make her meet his eyes. She dodged the contact and stepped back.

“Your confirmation about the state of the Veil and the demon threat was all I needed. Thank you, Solas. I shall not bother you further.”

She turned for the door. His arm stood in the way before she could make her escape. She bit her bottom lip, feeling his breath near her neck.

“Do not ask me to have you there, Solas.” She whispered. “You just stated the risks. I cannot…”

“This is precisely what I’m asking you. We do disagree on what to do with the Order. If this is a concern, trust that I will not interfere. My opinion is not the one that matters. However, I cannot let you run into that and rely on templars to save the day. They won’t consider options that I am able to provide.”

Her teeth kept worrying over her lip, appraising his words. She turned slowly to face him, finding him as close as his voice and breath had suggested.

“Your opinion does matter. I know you think I am not listening, but I do. You have good points, I won’t question that. But we need manpower. Even now, we cannot match Corypheus’ army with our number.” She offered.

“And I hear you too. The decision is, in any case, yours and only yours to make. But right now, what I want to hear you say is that you will have me accompany you. If possession there is, I can walk the Fade, fight the demon there.”

“I…Did not think about it that way.” She admitted. She took a deep breath. “This has never been about some silly fight, Solas. I do not want to put you in that kind of danger if this can be avoided.” He smiled and brought his hand to her cheek. She leaned into the touch.

“I appreciate the thought, vhenan. But if you cannot avoid that kind of danger yourself, I most certainly rather be there as well.”

Her arms came around his neck and she raised on tiptoe to reach his lips. She breathed the words against his mouth.

“Ma nuvenin.”

[sailorsaigas]

“Substitute Guardian” (a Morgan Lives AU) Chapter 2

Author's Note: Chapter is after the Read More, so as not to clutter folks' dashboards.

A year ago, I wrote the first chapter of an AU fic about Morgan surviving the events of Turn Coat. Well, I know it's been a long time in coming, but here is Chapter Two of that AU, the title of which has been settled on. I only hope you will find this entertaining, and that it might help some of you stave off the boredom of having to continue to wait for Jim to finish Peace Talks. Enjoy. ^_^

Being in Chicago again was...odd.

I wasn't entirely certain how I should feel about my return to the states, having spent the better portion of the last year under house arrest in Edinburgh. The early months saw me hospitalized, recovering in an infirmary bed after pushing my already wounded body too hard apprehending the man who'd framed me for murder. A grueling process of rehabilitation eventually began when my mandatory bed rest order was lifted, though after regaining my previous strength, I continued with physical training as a means of self-improvement and killing time. One might be surprised how utterly boring being confined to a centuries-old castle can be. So I trained - trained and studied like a newly minted apprentice one-hundred and fifty years younger. I had no intention of being bested again by my enemies.

Over the course of my time under lock and key, I had a few brief but important conversations with Harry Dresden, who made it a point not to interact with the Council more than absolutely necessary. I understood that mentality far more easily, now, after having my eyes opened during the events of that last year. We discussed where we stood as associates, swallowed what we could of our pride, and made something of a halfhearted but honest attempt at reconciliation. There was a lot of bad blood there, and neither of us could really get over some twenty years of animosity overnight, but it helped that I'd been made aware of the unfortunate truth. The Black Council, a hidden force seeking to tear apart the wizarding community from within, was real...and it was high time somebody did something about it. And so, despite some reluctance from Ebenezar McCoy, I was brought into the fold of the Gray Council, a nearly treasonous body of our own that sought to prevent the enemy from gaining the upper hand in our shadow war.

Stuck as I had been in Edinburgh, I didn't have much to offer of my previous talent as a Council enforcer, but my copious free time gave me opportunity to put my experience to good use in other ways. I was permitted supervised free range of the hallowed halls, and since the only individuals experienced enough to be trusted to watch me were Wardens I'd had a hand in training, they'd rarely challenge me regarding what I did or where I went. Thus I made my primary purpose one of study and documentation, becoming something of a writer for Dresden’s project, the Paranet. The idea of networking the minor talents of the world so that they'd be educated enough to protect one another had been risky in many ways, but had so far been more than worth the risk. However, their information had been limited primarily to what Dresden and a few of his friends were capable of offering, so I made it my goal to expand upon that.

Such was how it became my job to transcribe my personal knowledge, alongside those of Edinburgh's ancient libraries, to create tools for use by the Paranet. To speak plainly, they were mainly pamphlets with a few illustrations, but Dresden and Anastasia said so earnestly that they could prove invaluable to the lesser talents of the world that I started taking pride in the work. It helped that there was little else to do, of course.

Now I stood back on the streets of Chicago, a free man of a sort, though the Doom still hung above my head. These were my old stomping grounds long before they had been Dresden's, and they'd been my area of responsibility as a Warden up until the war with the Red Court of Vampires. I'd hounded Dresden through these streets as I observed his own probation beneath the Doom, and now the shoe was on the other foot. Dresden, if he yet lived, was a Warden of the Council, while I was the one with a single mistake keeping me from summary decapitation. I'm certain there was a lesson in that, and it was one reason I strived to put aside the more petty and miserable aspects of myself.

Shaking off my reminiscences, I examined the building where I'd be staying for the duration of my time as a mentor to Dresden's young apprentice, Molly Carpenter. I knew the building, of course. Only a few blocks away from the ruins of Dresden's own home, the address on my note had directed me to what had once been a boarding house that had been converted into apartments. During our time trying to prove my innocence, a mortal private investigator had set up an observation post in this very building to stake out Dresden. I don't know when the Council had found the time or money to empty the building and remodel it, but they'd done so. It looked pristine, at least from outside, and I knew nobody lived here anymore from a notation on Ana's scrap of paper. The Council didn't want to risk more collateral damage after whatever destroyed Dresden's place nearly killed several mortal bystanders.

I headed into the building and opened the door to the ground floor apartment, though I had keys to all of them. I wondered if they expected me to house Miss Carpenter here while I trained her? That would be practical, but Ana had mentioned the girl would be at her parent's house, and I imagined she'd be more comfortable there. Undoubtedly so, considering what had apparently transpired over the past 48 hours or so.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, though it had necessary amenities like an ice box and a wood-burning stove. There was one bedroom with a bare twin mattress against a wall, connected to a small bathroom with a standing glass-door shower. A single recliner occupied one corner of the living room near the fireplace, and a small dining table that had no accompanying chairs filled space in the kitchen. On it rested a plain white envelope labeled 'Donald.' Inside the envelope was a crisp stack of bills, the first installment of my new monthly stipend. I noted with a small smirk that it was the same monthly amount I'd be making if I were still serving as a Warden. Though I wasn't a Warden anymore, and likely never would be again, I supposed that my time in-service had earned me something. I'd have preferred my blade to the money. Warden or not, Ana made the sword for me. Practically speaking, nobody else would be remotely capable of wielding it effectively. Sentimentally speaking, it was probably my dearest possession.

Placing the envelope of cash in the pocket of the overcoat I wore with today's ensemble of a well-tailored, tan three-piece suit (why couldn't Dresden see the obvious social benefits of not dressing like a hoodlum?), I decided to set aside all other thoughts in favor of the most immediate concern. I couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to pay a visit to my new apprentice. I stepped outside, hailed a cab, and was shortly on my way.

-----

The house I arrived at looked like something out of a Hallmark card, something I wouldn't have thought possible in this part of Chicago. Complete with finely manicured lawn and white picket fence, it was the absolute model of idealized American suburbia. I could feel a kind of power emanating from within the borders of the property, and I knew immediately that this was indeed the correct residence. Michael Carpenter, Molly's father, was the only living retired Knight of the Sword, an ancient group of warriors who served to maintain the balance between Good and Evil on behalf of God. I could only imagine a retirement package from such an occupation would be graced with ample benefits from the Lord.

I was cautious as I approached the front door of the home, being careful not to offend whatever sort of divine bodyguards might watch over the place. I knocked politely, three times, and awaited a response from within. A woman promptly answered, and I could recognize in her face that this must be Molly's mother, Charity. I could also see in her general stance and demeanor, a woman of fierce physical and mental fortitude. I'd hazard to guess she'd once served as the sparring partner for her husband, and Ana had mentioned to me before my departure that the woman was an accomplished smith, likely as a means of indicating someone from whom I could commission a sword. I bowed my head politely, and introduced myself.

"Mrs. Carpenter, I am Donald Morgan," I spoke. "I am a wizard of the White Council. I am here on the Council's behalf to speak with your daughter, Molly, regarding the disappearance of her mentor, Harry Dresden. And, if necessary, continue her training in our arts in his absence."

Mrs. Carpenter looked at me, her right eyebrow arched upward.

"Morgan?" she asked. "The Warden? Harry spoke of you before. Not nicely, either, I should say."

I sighed. I should have known one of Dresden's friends would know my name and my reputation, colored though it might have been by his own perceptions. I could believe she did not think very highly of the man I once was.

"Former Warden," I explained. "I am no longer a Warden of the White Council, Mrs. Carpenter. After a political incident about a year ago, I was removed from my position and consigned to the Doom of Damocles, much like Molly and Dresden before her. That being the case, Dresden has gone missing, and is presumed dead. The Council has but two options regarding your daughter's future: execute her under the order of the Doom, or send me to mentor her in Dresden's stead. I shall see her through to her graduation into a full wizard of the Council, or merely until Dresden returns."

I held my arms out to the side, palms up in a non-threatening gesture of sincerity. I don't do those much, so I doubt it looked very convincing.

"I'm not here to hurt Molly, Mrs. Carpenter," I said, plainly.

Charity continued to stare at me for a moment, sizing me up, gauging my honesty.

Then, her voice firm, she said, "I won't invite you in. Prove to me that you mean no harm."

I understood her meaning immediately. Wizards, and other supernatural entities, cannot pass through a threshold (the magical barrier that separates a home from the outside world) without giving up a significant portion of their power. Certain creatures, like the Vampires of the Red and Black Courts, cannot pass through a threshold at all without first being invited. The threshold of this home was one of enormous potency, and stepping through it would mean leaving nearly all of my magic at the door, making me incredibly vulnerable. It was a common and reliable practice among those who were 'in-the-know' supernaturally, and I applauded her in my mind for thinking ahead. She was clearly a sharp-minded and no-nonsense woman, and having apprenticed under Anastasia Luccio, that was something I could most certainly respect.

"Very well," I replied, and stepped across through the doorway.

It was an odd sensation, leaving my magic behind me. Stepping through the Carpenter threshold was like stepping through a wall of gelatin and coming out the other side disrobed. I felt diminished and exhausted, as if I'd dived into a pool of ice water. I bowed my head politely in her direction after crossing, and she nodded at me. Had I been one of the few harmful supernatural entities that might have crossed a threshold uninvited without trouble, I'd likely have been pulverized by whatever security force watched over the household if I'd intended harm.

Charity motioned to the staircase with a wave of her hand.

"Molly's sleeping upstairs," she explained. "She was wounded when she went to help Harry at Chichen Itza."

I didn't have many of the facts, but if Dresden had been at Chichen Itza, he'd been at one of the most powerful domains of the Red Court. I could only assume it bore some connection to his supposed demise.

"Would it be a problem if I woke her?" I asked. "It's important we get this settled as soon as possible."

"It won't be a problem, but she's not in any condition to talk for very long," Charity stated, matter-of-factly. "She's heavily medicated, patched up on a helicopter and brought here by some of Dresden's associates afterward."

"Field medicine? Why not a hospital?"

"Her wound wasn't severe, she'd mostly overexerted herself after being wounded on the battlefield."

"Well, I am relieved to hear that she is alright, but I will need to speak with her right away so that she understands what is to be done."

"Alright, then. This way."

Inside a room cramped with sewing equipment, Molly slept soundly in a small bed, an IV in her arm.

Charity gently shook her awake as we entered, saying, "Molly, Morgan from the White Council is here to see you."

I didn't miss how Molly's eyes shot open with fear at the mention of my name. Once again, my old reputation preceded me. Swiftly, Mr's. Carpenter calmed her daughter with soft, gentle words explaining that I wasn't there to hurt her, and that I just needed to inform her of some changes regarding her apprenticeship since Harry was missing. Molly was still groggy from sleep and pain medication, but the initial adrenaline rush had cleared her head enough that she acknowledged her mother's words and nodded at me to proceed.

"Hello again, Miss Carpenter," I began. "Your mother is correct that I'm not here to do you any harm. I can only assume the medicine is to blame for you forgetting I'm no longer a Warden."

I tried to smile to show I was being lighthearted, but I was long out of practice, and Molly got a somewhat sour look on her face. I awkwardly tried to recover momentum.

"Ahem, anyway, I have just been released from house arrest. I'm here because Dresden has gone missing, and is presumed dead. Whatever Dresden and the rest of you did at Chichen Itza has thrown the supernatural world into a frenzy. I couldn't begin to tell you even half the things I've heard, and my situation left me fairly out of the loop to begin with. Whatever it is, the Council is preoccupied with damage control, and wasn't sure what to do with you. After much deliberation, rather than have you executed under the Doom, I was chosen to act as your mentor until such a time as you graduate or Dresden returns. I was already under the Doom, myself, so it is no great loss to the Council, and it spares any needless bloodshed."

I paused to let Molly absorb what I had said, and then continued.

"It will only be a temporary arrangement, of course. Under my tutelage, barring Dresden's return, I imagine it would not take longer than a year or two to get you to full wizard status, in which case you would no longer need a mentor. And, of course, should Harry come back, he will be granted the opportunity to once again take over your training. As it stands, however, none of us has any idea what has become of him."

I looked at Molly sternly, though not bluntly intimidating, trying to put a kind of gentle, grandfatherly rebuke into my demeanor.

"What in the world was Dresden doing on the vampire's boat at the time of his presumed death?" I asked.

Molly let out a huff of indignation. "I should have known the first thing you'd do is be suspicious of Thomas."

"Why shouldn't I be? He is a member of the White Court--"

"He's more than just a White Court vampire," she interrupted. "There's a reason Harry was on the boat, and Thomas' offer to let him use it was made in good faith."

"You're the second person today to tell me that," I responded. I tried giving the girl a small smile. "I guess I'll take your word for it, for now."

"Thomas isn't responsible for Harry's murder," Molly said. "I know that for certain."

"You do?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at the remark. "That implies a great deal. If you know for certain that Thomas Raith isn't involved, do you know who is responsible?"

Molly sighed and shook her head. "No. But whoever did it didn't use magic."

"Captain Luccio was able to confirm as much to me before I came out here. Regardless, such discussion has no bearing on my purpose here. I won't trouble you with more questions. Get some rest, and I'll be back tomorrow so we can go over the details of your training."

Molly nodded, and promptly returned to sleep.

Afterward, Charity saw me to the door and wished me luck getting situated in town. She gave me the number for the house, as well as their cell phones, and told me that if I intended to continue investigating Harry's disappearance it would be good to get in touch with Harry's associates in town. A good place to begin would be with their mutual acquaintance Father Forthill at Saint Mary of the Angels, and Karrin Murphy of the Chicago Police Department, in particular. I thanked her, and made my way out the door.

No sooner had I closed the gate to the front yard behind me than I was very nearly run over by an emerald green stretch limousine that sped up to the curb in front of the Carpenter home. Immediately after parking, the driver walked around to passenger side rear door, opened it, and gestured for me to enter. I knew him for what he was the moment I set eyes upon him, and the voice that beckoned to me from within the limo only confirmed my suspicions.

"La! Mortal magi, always so paranoid," called a beautiful singsong from the dark interior of the vehicle. "You have my word of safe passage for the duration of a conversation, Wizard Morgan. On behalf of my Queen, I must needs speak with thee regarding the matter of Harry Dresden."

I looked from the driver holding open the door, and back to the waiting interior of the car. Stepping into the vehicle would be stupid, even with word of safe passage from one of the Fae. Then again, it was about Dresden. Considering that, I thought to myself: what would Harry Dresden do in this situation? The town, after all, needed someone to fill his boots for a time.

I got into the car.

[friendlyunclej]

An Inventor’s Merit

Prologue      My father was a blacksmith and my mother was a barmaid. My father taught me the value of steel work the moment I was able to carry a hammer, while my mother taught me how to properly deal with people. When I wasn’t pounding away at steel alongside my father, I was seated on a stool at the bar where my mother worked. Day in and day out, I would watch my mother argue with troublesome customers and joke with the kinder souls that wandered in. Sometimes, she’d even console a few broken hearts who would feverishly try to wash away their sorrows in casks of ale, fire water, whiskey, plain water, and, in some extreme cases, a blade which they were too drunk to use properly. Whenever one of the suicidal drunks pulled a weapon, my mother was always the first one to act, usually resulting in scars which never disappeared. Despite the fresh scars, she’d always spend the next few hours talking them down, consoling them until she felt they were safe from themselves. To this day, I’m almost certain that she’s saved more people just by talking than I ever have fighting.      When my mother was working and the bartender had some time, he’d take the chance to talk to me. He was a generous old Halfling who had grown up on a farm and decided to become a bartender once he was able to leave his family’s farm in safe hands. Despite him being a man of almost entirely white hair with some grey the color of clouds at its lightest, he was probably the most lively person in the whole village. He’d always tell me about how his farm was almost always being attacked by orcs and wild animals back in the day. He’d stress about just how much life would have been easier if he had a weapon with the power of a warhammer and the range of a longbow to protect him while he tended to the crops. My father was having me study cannons around the time the bartender mentioned that to me. I believe I was about ten years old when I got the idea to try to design a cannon which someone could hold in a single hand. I never would have guessed that the contraption I was creating would get me noticed by anyone significant, least of all the High Elves in Draturi City.      By the age of 12, I had created my first firearm. I made it with a revolving mechanism that held a projectile and black powder in each of its five cylinders which aligned with a centered barrel. As with any new invention, a proper test was in order. My first firearm was an absolute mess. Whenever I held the gun off center by any angle, the black powder would spill out without me noticing. Whenever I’d try to fire them, a soft flash would come while the projectile sadly rolled out the barrel with no real force behind it. After I remedied that issue, I found that I would pack too much black powder, resulting in an explosion violent enough to set off all five shots at once and sear my hand. One problem lead to another, which lead to another, and continued to lead to another for six months until I finally made it functional enough to demonstrate to my fellow citizens during an annual festival. I showed off my weapon to a small crowd at first, but it quickly grew as more and more were impressed by what many called my “Hand Cannon”. Little did I know that there was a High Elven Baron watching. After three years of negotiations and another year to find proper caretakers, that same Baron and about five of his guards escorted me and my parents to Draturi City. I was to continue building my “hand cannons” for the Draturi soldiers to use in what many people were claiming to be a “War For Baicia”. After a year or two there, I found myself joining the war effort, keeping my invention to myself and using it to help my own friends and I return home. I never expected to use it as awfully as I did.

My Worst Mistake      I had joined the “War For Baicia”, or “The Great War” or “The War to Split the World” or whatever you wish to call it, at the request of the woman I love. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before I joined the war effort anyway. With what I had created, it was either I join the front and keep it to myself or be chained to my workstation as High Elven guards poked, prodded, and rushed me to create enough firearms for their whole army. I opted for the front, seeing as how I’d at least be able to keep some remnants details of my weapons privy while also being able to protect the woman I love and hopefully keep her brother in check. We had even got put on a team alongside a middle-aged Dwarven couple who made great allies and even greater company. The woman was a Hill Dwarf by the name of “Kiera” and she was a Cleric who worshiped the All-Mother with cooking skills that could have started a school if she was so inclined to. Her husband was a Mountain Dwarf by the name of “Bertram” who could tell a joke which could split your side open while beating a demon triple his size into submission. We became a family, despite the awful circumstances. Their light almost made some of the darkest memories disappear for a moment after the war...almost.       By the time we were put on our first mission together, the war was getting darker by the hour. We were sent on missions where we’d be away from a comfortable bed and proper drinks for months at a time in some cases. Many of our birthdays were celebrated face down in mud as we tried our best not to be spotted by droves of Dragonborn and Yuan-Ti. We would be sent to kill high ranking officials, sabotage weaponry and armor, poison rations, and even rescue prisoners. We’d always come back as the five of us with the satisfaction of knowing that what we’ve done saved others, hopefully saved a a few from the other side as well. None of us cared for the war as we all just truly wanted to be home again, drinking side by side and laughing so hard that our sides would cramp so often that it would feel foreign for us not to be bent over in a joyous pain, holding them. Unfortunately, that seemed increasingly distant as children began to fill ranks of both sides of the war. We were livid about this choice, furiously arguing with higher authorities about the unethical use of children to fight a war that not even grown adults want to be a part of anymore. None listened and, soon enough, we found ourselves forced to go on a rescue mission for close to seven children who were captured by Drow Elves who turned into traitors.      The war had moved to the continent of Yi’Mav, making the battlefield unknown to both sides. Despite spending close to a year in its dense forests, lush bogs, and scenic mountains, it always seemed to change unexpectedly and morph to become new. There were stories from fellow squads and even a few prisoners about some people vanishing into thin air, half of the stories saying that they never returned and the other half saying that they returned as “empty vessels”. Apparently, some Drow Elves, with help from Dwarven prisoners and a few monstrosities from Serhya, made a bit of a home in one of the mountain ranges hidden by vines and trees which stretched almost to the clouds above our heads. Kiera, Bertram, Volsen, Antinua, and I trekked for months to the location of the prisoners, lead by a human kid who had barely escaped.      We neared the prison around nightfall and took the next few days to study their guards for a proper opening to sneak in. After a plan was devised and agreed upon, we decided to sleep for the night and wake up before dawn. We properly hid our camp and ourselves before sleeping. Unfortunately, we weren’t hidden well enough as we all awoke in rope and metal binds, staring at the starry sky as we were dragged feet first into the prison. The child’s screams were the loudest while the rest of us tried to plan as calmly as possible.      We were tortured for weeks it seems. If there’s one thing that any person could count on a Drow for, it’s torture. I don’t know if it’s the Underdark or Drow Elves specifically, but they know how to draw out a prisoner’s life so the suffering can last as long as possible. They made us all scream at one point or another. I even saw a red flash in Volsen’s eyes from time to time, but he always managed to suppress it because the kid was chained to him. Our screams always turned into pleading once the kid began to scream. The Drows seemed to enjoy torturing the kid the most out of all of us, seeing as how we all cried for it to stop whenever they switched over to her. It wasn’t until the Drow who was in charge of the torture got bored that the situation turned worse than we could ever imagine.      The Drow who practically acted as a prison warden got bored one day, and wanted to see one of us squirm. However, she knew that we didn’t care what happened to us. We were all more worried about the child. She walked into our dungeon room at the beginning of the day with a sick grin on her face.      “So, you’ve been here for weeks and my men tell me that none of you are giving up any information about the locations of your allies and their strength. You know what that tells me?” she paused as she strolled into the room. “That tells me that I need to put a personal touch on this,” she told us as she sauntered from one side of the room to the other, eyeing each of us tied and hanging on the wall.      Her eyes locked with Volsen’s gaze as she jaunted towards him, saying, “And you seem like you have a darkness in you. I’d love to see if you do.”      She brushed the bottom of his chin as she told her guards to unchain the child while she said, “Would you like to show me, Pale Elf?”      Volsen jerked his chin away from her hand and cursed her in Elvish. She chortled as she exclaimed, “That’s a ‘yes’ if I’ve ever heard one! Take him down from the wall as well but keep his bonds on him. I don’t want him getting too rough too early. Place the child on its knees. Oh, and uh...hand me one of those great axes from the storage.”      Volsen headbutted one of the guards who took him off the wall before being slammed in the lower back by a maul. He grunted in anger as burst back on to his feet to continue fighting before the Drow stopped him.     “Tsk, tsk, tsk...” she clicked at him, holding a blade across the child’s throat. “Play nice and I won’t kill this filthy thing,” she continued, stroking the child’s head like a pet.      Volsen controlled himself and backed off as he asked, “What do you want?”      She gave another disturbing grin as she tossed him a great axe, saying, “I want you to kill this child.”      Volsen simply stepped to the side and let the axe clank against the stone floor as he simply said, “No. I won’t take a child’s life for your sick satisfaction, Drow.”      Playfully pouting, she said, “Awww...well, in that case, I’ll need another life then,” as she motioned to one of her men.      Bertram screamed in pain as a maul shattered his right elbow against the wall, leaving him hanging from a shattered arm.      Volsen screamed, “What do you think you’re doing? Kill me instead, leave them out of this.”      She replied, “Oh, no. I saw something in you that made me interested. Them? They’re boring. If getting that darkness out of you means the lives of a few useless Dwarves and some mundane Elves, well, I’ve killed for less,” as she motioned to the guard again.      This time, Kiera’s voice cried out in agony as the guard drove a spear through her right hip, pinning her against the wall.      Antinua wailed, “This violence isn’t needed, you hag! What are you even gaining from this?”      Without even acknowledging her, the Drow motioned to the guard and said, “Please, do something about that thing’s tongue. It seems like she no longer wants it.”      As the guard passed by me, I spit on him and spouted in Elvish, “You touch her, I’ll be sure to feed you your whore boss, you understand me?”      The guard ran me through with his longsword. I roared in pain as he leaned next to my ear and whispered in Elvish, “You disrespect the Priestess again, and I will take your tongue, worm!”      I headbutted him so hard that he flew back, leaving the longsword in me and the stone behind me. I chuckled as he rushed back up with a dagger pressed against my throat, snarling in anger as blood ran down his nose like a fountain.      With a pleasantly surprised expression, the Drow said, “Hold you dagger! Obviously, he has a fire as well, but it seems to burn for the lady. Give her the dagger instead, my dear.”      The guard chuckled menacingly as he threw the dagger into Antinua’s thigh. She grimaced in pain and I struggled furiously against my bonds and the sword still in my gut, spitting up blood the more I struggled.      Volsen, in a fit of desperation, screamed out, “Wait! I’ll kill the child!”      The Drow’s eyes widened in excitement as the child cried more in fear. She walked away from the child, leaving her in the arms of another guard, and picked up the great axe behind Volsen. She walked back to him and placed the axe firmly in his grasp as she smiled at him, waiting.      Shaking in frustration and disbelief at his own words, Volsen solemnly made his way over to the child, who was now furiously struggling against the guard and begging Volsen to not do it.      Bertram screamed out, “Volsen! She’s a child! We signed up for this, not her! We can take the injuries. You don’t need to do this!”      Kiera pleaded, “Volsen, I know things look dire, but we can make it out of this. All we need is a bit more time to figure a way out. She doesn’t need to die!”      Struggling for breath, I said, “Brother, stay in control. We’ve been through worse. We’re all going to be fine, especially Ant. We can make it through whatever these demon Elves have planned for us. That kid doesn’t need to die.”      After a yelp from the knife being jerked out of her thigh and it now being held firmly against her neck, Antinua said, “Volsen, we’ve been doing all of this to save others and each other this entire time. Not to kill children. Whatever she thinks is in you, it isn’t their. You’re a good person, Volsen.”      Volsen’s trembling stopped for a moment after hearing his sister call out. However, he didn’t turn around as he said, “No, I’m not,” as he swung the axe in a wide arc around him.      The axe swing took off the head of the guard restraining the girl. He followed the swing around and gave a nasty gash across the Drow Priestess’ midsection, knocking her to the floor. The guard by Antinua dropped his dagger as he rushed to his Priestess’ side.      Exhausted and in immense pain, Volsen dropped to his knees with the momentum of the swing. With the momentary distraction, I used all the strength I had to force one of the loose spike holding the chains around my right hand to the wall free and tore the longsword out of my gut. Using my newfound adrenaline, I cut one of Antinua’s bonds while the guard helped the Drow to her feet. They rushed to the beheaded guard’s corpse to take the keys off of him. The child was still stunned by what she had seen and forgot to move away from the body.      “Well, that wasn’t very nice,” the Drow spouted as she picked the keys off of the guard’s corpse, “Just know that what’s about to happen is your fault, High Elf!”      With that last sentence, she pulled a dagger off of the guard’s corpse and swung at the child, splitting her throat open. A crimson splash scored Volsen’s face, who was still trying to catch his breath after exhausting himself with the great axe. He screamed as the Drow and her guard ran out of the room while he tried to scramble for some way to save the child.      Hacking away at my own chains, I bellowed, “Volsen! Grab the axe and cut Kiera down. She may be able to save her.”      Volsen, now trembling again, snapped his vision to me as he heard my request. He desperately forced himself on to his feet and limped over to Kiera, hacking away her chains with the great axe and taking the spear out of her. She wobbled to the child, now lying in a pool of blood with her eyes darting around terrified.      Kiera called out to the All-Mother for the strength to save the child. The goddess seemed to answer for a moment, but it was a few seconds too late. The warmth and glow of the All-Mother enveloped the child, but no life returned to the body.      As Volsen finished destroying the rest of our restraints, he rushed over to Kiera, asking, “What’s wrong? Why isn’t she awake?”      Kiera answered, “I don’t know. She should have returned. Revivify should have brought her back, but she’s just not returning.”      With desperation in his eyes, Volsen’s voice cracked as he said, “N-No, you have to save her! You all said we would be able to save her! You have to save her, Kiera, please!”      With tears in her eyes, Kiera says, “I’m trying, Volsen! Can’t you see that! She just doesn’t seem to want to come back. Bertram, do you have a health potion left?”      Without hesitation, Bertram rushed over and reached into his right pocket with his left arm, wincing at the pain from his mangled right arm. He popped the cork and drenched the child’s neck with the health potion he hid. The neck sealed with no trace of injury and Kiera tried again, still to no success.      I was using some rags to bandage up Antinua’s leg and my side when I saw Volsen furiously pacing the room. I chugged a spare health potion and tossed Bertram the two others I hid.      I called out, “Volsen, I know what you’re thinking and I’m asking you not to, for the sake of all of us.”      Volsen, no responding, asked Kiera, “Is there any change?”      Kiera, wiping away her own tears, yelled back, “No! Nothing! The damn child doesn’t want to come back. I’m trying everything!”      Antinua, now finishing a health potion herself, called out, “Brother, calm down! That hag will pay but we need to rest a bit before we go after her.”      Now stationary and seething with anger, Volsen let out a rabid scream as he began to hack away at the locked door of the chamber we were in.      Kiera placed some healing on Bertram to fix his arm properly while he called to Volsen, saying, “Give us an hour and we’ll tear this entire prison apart together, Volsen. We can’t follow you in this condition. We don’t even have our weapons!”      His warning fell on deaf ears as Volsen continued to hack away at the door until it shattered to pieces in front of him. Antinua and I both called out, “Brother!” as he took a step out of the shattered door. He paused for a second and waited for us to say something else. I huffed and said, “we’ll be following you soon,” as he bolted off to find the Drow Priestess and her guard. I went to the chest I had seen them place our weapons into and tried to hack the lock off. Still a bit weak, Antinua came up behind me after my first two failed attempts and simply stomped the lock off with a furious cry.      She said, “We’re wasting too much time. We’ve got to save him again.”      Kiera, without taking focus off of the child, said, “I’m not giving up on this kid. You two go get Volsen. We’ll be safe here.”      Bertram spoke up with, “Be safe and show no mercy. These bastards don’t deserve it. Once the kid returns to us, we’ll try out best to find the other prisoners and then meet up with you at the entrance where they dragged us past.”      I said, “Agreed, but don’t either of you die on us. I’d hate to have to escape from the Nine Hells as well after saving you.”      Kiera and Bertram both chuckled a bit as they said, “Likewise.”      Ant and I rushed out the door, following the streaks of blood and line bodies through the corridors of the prison as we ran after Volsen. We readily killed anyone left alive in his wake while fixing our armor and weapons appropriately. We made our way to a wide open foyer filled with dozens of enemies, over half of which were already slaughtered. The rest were all focused on a figure in the center, furiously roaring and cutting them to shreds. It was Volsen at the center of the group, skewered by countless weapons which were still hanging freely within his back and chest.      Antinua and I blasted the ten archers raining arrows down on him with ease. Each gunshot echoed in the enormous cave we were in, but the resounding crack of thunder that came from my firearms paled in comparison to Volsen’s roars and his victims’ screams. We began clearing some of the soldiers attacking Volsen when we saw just what kind of dire straits he was truly in. It seemed he had dropped the great axe a while back as he began pulling axes, swords, and spears out of his own back to kill our enemies with. When the battle was over, all of the weapons that were stuck to him were now embedded in a fresh corpse. He fell to his knees as he struggled to breathe. Barely able to breathe without trickles of blood spewing from his countless wounds, he noticed one last person trying to crawl away.      Strenuously gathering himself one last time, Volsen returned to his feat and pulled an axe out of a corpse at his feet as he tiredly dragged his own body to the man. It was the guard from before, but the Drow Priestess was nowhere to be found. As Volsen got to him, he had exhausted the entirety of his rage, but there was still red in his eyes. He fell on the guard as he dug the axe into the man’s right leg. The guard screamed in agony as Volsen dragged him back. Now lying face up and grimacing in pain with a broken left arm and ruined right leg, the guard looked up at Volsen as Antinua and I stood behind him.      Volsen asked, “What kind of a person kills a child?”      The guard chuckled as he said, “Apparently, you, Pale Skin.”      Antinua made vines burst from the ground next to his head and wrap around his neck as she said, “I wouldn’t be laughing now that you’re the one at our mercy.”      I asked, “Where did your Priestess go?”      The guard laughed again, this time strained due to the vines constricting his neck. He answered, “Safe from things that likes of you. You’ll never catch her, but, should she want to later, she’ll be able to destroy each of your lives. I would love to see that.”      I said, “I bet you would,” as I let loose a shot which landed under his right eye and splattered what little brains he had across the stones he was lying on.      All of us panting heavily, Ant and I asked Volsen in unison, “Can you walk?”      Volsen chuckled a bit as he said, “I don’t think so,” as he pointed at the bone protruding from his right calf.      I sheathed the longsword I had and picked up his right side while Ant picked up his left side. Thanks to Volsen’s rampage, there was no enemies left alive to stop us, or try to. Those that tried to stop us, I simply shot to death or Antinua used a Thorn Whip to kill them if she didn’t use Poison Spray. We arrived at the entrance to find Kiera and Bertram watching over about 12 people, excluding the three dead guards. We laid Volsen’s body next to the girl who brought us here.      Looking desperately at the child, Volsen began to say, “Is she sti-”      Kiera, cutting him off, said, “No, she’s alive. Just resting. She actually wanted to go back for you guys after she showed us where the prisoners were held.”      Volsen released a heavy sigh of relief as he said, “Oh, thank the gods. Well, in that case, anyone able to plug all of the holes I’m still bleeding from. I’m starting to get lightheaded.”      On the long trek back, Volsen was constantly haunted, blaming himself for getting the girl killed despite her forgiving him. Ant grew close to the girl instead, showing her tricks with certain Druid spells. The girl seemed disinterested in my weapons, which I honestly couldn’t blame her for that. Druid spells are pretty beautiful, after all.      Despite what we went through in the Drow’s dungeon, we had still saved lives. For Bertram and Kiera, that was plenty enough. Antinua found the one girl we saved as the saving grace of the mission for her. Volsen never talked about it after, or at least tried his best not to. As for me, it’s still probably my worst mistake, letting my guard down for too long or not noticing something which I should have. It’s great that we saved a good number of lives, especially our own, but I still can’t shake the thought that it would have gone better if I had done better. What’s worse is the fact that the war still isn’t over and that I’ve seen our own allies take children prisoner as well.

Epilogue      After the war, we all stayed together as a roaming family, in a way. We worked a few odd jobs to keep gold on hand. Old allies and old enemies created factions within the world. My family and I joined a few for a bit before eventually leaving together. Over a century after the “Great War for the Heart of Yi’Mav” ended, we decided to settle down in a growing town in the forest. With the town of C’Moira now under our protection, I thought the world could only get better. Antinua gave birth to a beautiful daughter after we got married, which we happily parented for 9 years. Volsen stopped trembling for a time, especially after seeing his niece born. Bertram and Kiera opened a tavern, where Bertram tended the bar while Kiera cooked the meals and both kept good care of the rooms they offered paying travelers. The hardships seemed to all be in the past. Unfortunately, the gods had a different plan for me.      Of all the things to break me, I never would’ve thought that Orcs would have had a hand in it. I had faced Undead nightmares, cannibalistic Dragonborns, sadistic Drow Elves and even Demons from the Nine Hells personally seeking a chance to take away everything I hold dear. Instead, it was greyish-green skinned oafs with a hooded figure pulling the strings that turned my entire world into a swirling tornado of regret, anger, self loathing, and a recurring death wish. I drown myself in ale now more than ever, trying desperately to keep those that I’ve lost out of my mind. After I lost Antinua and Val, I couldn’t get that hooded figure out of my mind. Volsen wanted nothing to do with me, and I couldn’t blame him. I was supposed to protect them and they both died in my arms. Since then, I’ve been hunting hooded figures all across the forests of Kalldor. I’ve watched them burn down entire villages and kill countless families absent remorse. These things work either in entire towns worth of each other, or just a single one leading an entire horde of separate underlings. Unfortunately, just as a single gunslinger, I couldn’t do much except clean up after them. Maybe that’s why I shared my secrets with a Half-Elf boy I saw survive the massacre of his village.      I don’t know what the kid’s going to be like later. He could cause the death of a thousand innocent lives or save millions by taking a fraction of lives I have. Either way, I passed my knowledge on to him within a month. What he does with it is his business. I would have spent longer, but, with what I have planned, I can’t be getting attached again. Maybe I already had and that’s why I gave him my hat and the pistol I’ve had since the beginning. Perhaps, if I had the courage to, I would have taken him in and I would have tried to raise him as my own. Sad fact is that I just wouldn’t be able to handle it. With everything I have, I hope he’ll turn out better. I’m sure I’ll meet Hawke again someday, if I’m not already dead. Maybe then we can share a pint of ale. Or maybe he’ll shoot me on sight. I’d be fine with either at this point.

[theonlykwon]

Jimin Is The New Black | “Boring Hetero” | Part Nine

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Slight angst, Smut, Prisonau Rating: M Playlist: http://theonlykwon.tumblr.com/playlist Main Pairing: Vmin Minor Pairings: Namjin, GKook, Yoonseok, Lumin, Baekyeol, Krislay, Kaimin, Markson, Xiuho Synopsis: Yoongi hears the truths from the love of his life, but could another romantic prospect show itself? Namjoon is assigned by the Warden to find an inmate who has been posting...unflattering pictures of a certain body part on the internet, and he gets assistance from his best friends, Mark and Jackson Taehyung overhears something that breaks his heart into a thousand pieces. A/N: Yesterday was the anniversary I started writing this fic :-D I can’t believe I’ve been writing this for a fucking year, I love it so much!!

Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

Joonmyeon felt like today was going to be a completely shit day.

The previous night had been a complete train wreck. Minseok didn't realise he had asked him on a date, and the warden was forced to endure a night with three people he had absolutely nothing in common with, people who he had no desire to spend time with, and an oblivious, adorable, orange haired boy who had no idea about his feelings.

And so, today, the blonde had a deep, dark feeling that it wasn't going to go in his favour. His feeling was confirmed when a picture was suddenly thrown onto his desk. He looked up at the picture of what appears to be a hard cock before looking up at Jessica and her folded arms. Letting out a sigh, he turned back to his computer and continued to type.

"It's always nice to get a visit from you Jessica." He said. Jessica rolled her eyes and picked up the photograph.

"What the fuck is this?" He asked. Joonmyeon sighed and propped his glasses on top of his head.

"Jessica, I know I'm a man, but I don't feel comfortable explaining the male anatomy to you, but it's understandable how you don't know it." He told him, smug smirk on his lips. The woman rolled her eyes. Why this man was promoted to warden of this hell hole?

"I found this on the website named 'PrisonPricks.com' under our institutes name." She told him. Joonmyeon arched an eyebrow.

"I'm not even going to ask how you came across that website." He said. Jessica let out an exasperated sigh before returning to her original point.

"Our inmates are taking pictures of their dicks and posting it online. And you know what that means?" She asked. Joonmyeon blinked as he tried to find the answer to the elders question.

"...that...um..." His voice trailed off, staring at Jessica for some sort of indication of the answer she was looking for. Said woman rolled her eyes.

“It means, Joonmyeon, that they have the means of taking the picture and posting it online. What could give them that ability?” She asked. Joonmyeon blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Jessica rolled her eyes once again; she really didn’t have time for the wardens stupidity right now. She slammed her hands down on the desk.

“PHONES, JOONMYEON! THEY HAVE FUCKING PHONES!” She yelled. The younger brought a finger to his ear to try and lessen the harshness of the womans high pitched scream and closed his eyes.

“WHY DO THE INMATES IN MY PRISON HAVE PHONES? PHONES ARE CONTRABAND!” She yelled. Joonmyeon took a deep breath.

“I don’t know, Jessica.” He replied calmly. Jessica continued to aim her medusa like glare at him. Joonmyeon countered his icy stare with a smile as he sat up in his chair.

“I will deal with it.” He told her. Jessica stood up properly.

"You’d better,” she picked up her Frappechino from the desk, “Or will I have to tell Daddy about your little slip?” Joonmyeon sighed as Jessica sipped her drink.

Her father is the CEO of the company that owns the many different prisons in Seoul. On her twenty fifth birthday, he decided to give his over pampered, spoilt, bratty daughter, who hadn’t worked a day in her life, Bangtan prison. So she was Joonmyeon’s boss, whatever he does is reported directly to Jessica’s father and it means she has complete power over him.

Medusa flashed the warden a wide smile and turned, making her way out of the office.

The blonde sighed and ran a hand down his face. Talking to Jessica was always so difficult. He picked up the explicit picture and began to staring at it intently, as if he would recognise the inmates from his privates.

Who the hell would do such a thing?

“Ahh, my dick looks so awesome in this picture.” Kai said as he stared at his phone at his side. Taemin grinned and draped his arms over his boyfriends shoulders.

“Always looks great baby.” He said. Jimin frowned as he overheard their conversation as they stood in the line for breakfast and grinned as he turned to the two.

“Do I want to be part of this conversation?” He asked. Kai chuckled.

“Aww Jiminie, don't be like that, you know you love my dick.” He told him. Jimin arched an amused eyebrow and turned to the brunette.

“Are you sure? I don’t think I do.” He replied. Taemin pouted.

“Don’t worry baby, Jiminie’s a boring hetero. Your dick is perfect.” He tells him. Kai chuckled and the blonde placed a quick kiss behind his ears. Jimin grinned, shaking his head at the labeling of ‘boring hetero’. It was amazing how none of the security guards had noticed Kai's phone hidden by his side. Siwon usually has a good eagle eye.

Kai frowned. "Hey, weren't you gay once? You used to go out with that hottie Taehyung right?" He asked. Jimin smiled and nodded to the boy, though he'd rather not think about the . Taemin reflected his boyfriends frown.

"Why would anyone purposefully chose to be straight?" He asked. Jimin chuckled, before Taemin began to continue, "Join us Jimin! Join the dark side!"

Kai grinned and turned to grab his boyfriends ass cheeks, eyes not leaving the petite raven haired boy.

"One of us, one of us, one of us." He said as he repeatedly squeezed the blondes ass. Taemin giggled and Jimin just grinned at their usual behaviour as he reached the front of the line and turned to the cafeteria worker serving food.

“Hey Jimin-ah.” Jimin froze as the familiar voice spoke out to him. He didn’t need to look back to know Yoongi was right behind him, most likely staring at his ass. He didn’t want to speak to Yoongi. It was bad enough when he was stealing his stuff and trying to kiss him constantly. But pissing on his bed sheets was the last straw. Jimin finally reached the end of the line and smiled widely to the dinner server.

“Can I have some toast please?” He asked, completely ignoring the man behind him. The arsonist rolled his eyes.

“Don’t ignore me Jimin-ah.” He told him, tone dark. Jimin puffed out his cheeks and tapped a rhythm of his thighs before smiling at the server again.

“And some scrambled eggs please.” He added. The server nodded and piled the food on the raven haired mans plate. Yoongi’s patience was being tested.

“Is this about what happened yesterday?” he asked. Jimin pointed to the carton of orange juice among the apple and cranberry juice. Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry Jimin-ah! I needed to let you know not to hurt me like that.” He told him. Taemin and Kai were just watchng silently, enjoying the drama unfolding and glancing to each other with amused smirks on their faces every so often. Yoongi pouted and wrapped his arms around the boys waist.

“Please forgive me baby. I hate it when you’re mad at me.” He said.

Jimin rolled his eyes, and as the elder placed a kiss on his shoulder, he snapped.

He turned around sharply and forced Yoongi’s arms off of him.

“Yoongi, I’ve had enough. I’ve told you so many times, I don’t want you to touch me, kiss me or even talk to me. I’m done. You are crazy, deluded and I am not your fucking boyfriend! I’m engaged to a beautiful, perfect woman who I love more then the entire world. Do you hear that, I am ENGAGED! I don’t want you. I’m not your boyfriend! I don’t care if you beg me, assault me, stab me, I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I don’t love you, and I never will love you. So stop harassing me! You psychopath!”

By the end of his rant, everybody was quiet. Taemin and Kai stared at the boy with jaws to the ground, as did his group of friends sitting at a table not so far away, everybody else just watched like it was some kind of drama. Except for Jiyong, who sat back trying to hold back his laughter at the entire situation, Jungkook pocking him in the ribs to try and tell him he was a dick for laughing.

Jimin should’ve felt bad about speaking to someone like that, being so harsh to someone who only wanted affection and love, he should’ve felt scared for yelling at someone so dangerous who could easily stab him for ‘disrespecting’ him and rejecting him, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel a tiny bit of remorse for ripping someone’s heart out. Instead, he turned around and grabbed the tray of his breakfast, making his way to the table full of his friends. He sat down with a thud and continued to frown as he began to dig into his breakfast.

The entire room was silent still, and all eyes slowly turned from Jimin to the second most dangerous man in Bangtan. Yoongi blinked a few times, eyes stuck on Park Jimin.

Was this what it feels like to…have your heart break?

Without a word, he raced out of the silent cafeteria and out of sight. The voice began to appear one by one a few moments later, all murmuring, like Yoongi would come in and kill anyone who decided to open their mouths.

“..bit harsh Jimin.” Namjoon told him. Jimin glared up at the blonde.

"I don't care. He deserved it."

Hoseok sighed as he made his way to the sink and began to wash his hands. He had managed to make his way out of the awfully stuffy cafeteria, making his way to the bathroom as an excuse to escape the suffocating atmosphere.

Jimin's outburst was founded, yes, but of course it was very VERY stupid to talk to someone with so much aggression and violent tendencies like that. 

But Jimin was obviously not the smartest person in the prison, he was new, so he could be excused for having such a death wish.

As he checked his light brown hair in the mirror, Hoseok suddenly noticed a sniffling sound behind him. He frowned, the bathroom was empty right now, right? Everybody should've been in the cafeteria. His eyes quickly noticed a man sat in the stall behind him, staring at the tissue in the hands in his lap.

Yoongi looked so...upset. It was rare to see him show this kind of emotion, especially due to another human being. Jimin is the only person the pyromaniac had felt feelings more then aggression towards, and now he was crying over him. Hoseok had no idea how deep Yoongi's feelings for him actually were.

Sighing, he turned and walked over to the boy, kneeling before him and grabbing a dry, untouched tissue from the dispenser.

"Please don't listen to Jimin, he was too harsh." He said in a soothing voice. Yoongi glared at the boy, giving him the look that has fightened many away and struck fear into the hearts of everybody who was on the brunt end. But Hoseok didn't seem to recoil at all, continuing to wipe the tears on his face away.

"I don't need your help." He spat. The younger rolled his eyes.

"Look, you're upset, It's fine, what Jimin said was pretty harsh, but I'm just trying to help you and make you stop crying." He told him. Yoongi pulled his eyes away immediatly, shut up completely.

"...I'm not crying...I don't know what this is..." He mumbled. Hoseok blinked and continued to wipe his eyes. Yoongi ran hand through his black hair, leaning back.

"Why did he say that stuff? What did I do wrong?" he asked. Hoseok sighed.

"Well...you were sweet. I mean, the poem you wrote, the rose, they were nice." he told him. Yoongi blinked, locking eyes once again.

"You think?" He asked. Hoseok smiled brightly and nodded. "How do you know about them?" He asked, frowning. The younger grinned.

"Uhh, I actually...found them when I was...going through Jimin's stuff..." He told him. Yoongi's eyes widened and a grin spread across his face.

"You went through his stuff? Why?" he asked, slightly amused. Hoseok held his hands up in innocence.

"I just thought he had my straighteners! And then I found those things you sent him. They were sweet!" He told him. Yoongi smiled at his lap.

"Really?" he asked. Hoseok grinned and began to wipe the dampness on the elders face once again.

"Of course. But...it's just the...other things...like the...stalking and the...kissing and the...pissing on his bedsheets." He told him. Yoongi sniffed, and Hoseok dabbed at the tear he hadn't even realised had fallen.

"I couldn't help it...I wanted him to love me and I was so angry when he didn't...I'd never really...felt that way before. And when he was nice to me and actually didn't treat me like a freak. Nobody helped me and wanted to be my friend like he did and I got a little...carried away." he said. Hoseok tutted. He sympathised, he really did. He knew what everybody thought of Yoongi, he felt that way himself. But, at the end of the day, we're all human, and we all need somebody to love. Just look at Jungkook and Jiyong.

"I understand, Yoongi, I really do. He was wrong to speak to you the way he did, but maybe the next time you find someone you like, try to be able to tell the difference between the toilet and their bed." He told him. Yoongi chuckled and sniffed once again, he dragged his eyes up and met the youngers eyes. They were a deep brown colour and sparkled, and the wide grin on his face was welcoming and warm, brighter then the sun, and as he stared at it, he felt his heart repairing.

"I don't believe we've spoken before. I'm Yoongi." He replied. Hoseok nodded.

"I'm Hoseok. Jung Hoseok." He replied, taking the elders hand in his. Yoongi smiled, and the brunette pulled his hand back and wiped the elders tears away once again.

"Don't worry, you'll be ok. Everybody has somebody to love. Everything will work out in the end," He stood up and lifted the raven haired boys chin with a hooked finger, "You'll see."

He flashed one more wide smile before turning and walking away.

Yoongi sat in the same place, not moving an inch as the sound of the door closing echoed through the bathroom. Hoseok's touch tingled, and a smile stretched across his face.

"Hoseok-ah." 

Namjoon knocked on the Wardens office door and poked his head round the door without so much as a response. He is met with the sight of the blonde warden with his head lying on the desk, his arms cushioning him.

“Um…Warden Kim?” He asked. Joonmyeon lifted his head, eyes squinted like he had just woken up.

“What?” he asked. Namjoon smiled and wandered into the office, closing the door behind him.

“Um, I’m leaving in a week, and I just wandered what time the van is coming and if I’ll be given some new clothes or something?” He asked. Joonmyeon sat up properly and ran a hand through his gelled hair.

“Ahh, yeah, sure, have a seat.” He replied. Namjoon nodded and sat down opposite the warden. Joonmyeon logged onto his computer.

“Let me find the details.” He said. Namjoon nodded. As Joonmyeon scrolled through his computer, The younger blonde sat awkwardly in the chair, and it wasn’t long till he noticed the picture of a hard cock on the desk. His eyes widened and darted to the Warden. His lips twitched up into a taunting smirk.

“Hot.” He said. Joonmyeon’s eyes widened as he turned to him.

“Excuse me?” He asked. Namjoon looked down at the picture on the desk. The warden followed his eyes to said picture. When he realised, his eyes bulged and he grabbed the picture and screwed it up into a ball. After violently throwing it into his desk bin, he sat down and flattened his gelled hair casually. He cleared his throat and bravely met the inmates eyes. Namjoon’s smirk remained on his face accompanied with an arched eyebrow.

“…It’s not mine.” The warden told him. Namjoon nodded overdramatically.

“Sure, Warden Kim.” He replied. Joonmyeon rolled his eyes.

“My boss brought it in earlier.” He said. Namjoon frowned.

“Why would they do that?” he asked. Joonmyeon sighed. He probably shouldn’t be telling this inmate about the current situation, for all he knows, it could be the blondes wang on that website. But, as he continued to think about it, an idea popped into his mind. An inmate knows what other inmates are thinking, all the nooks and crannies where they could be hiding all the contraband. A confident smile grew on his face as he leaned forward.

“For something you can help me with actually.” He told him. Namjoon frowned suspiciously.

“Ok, Warden Kim, I’m not taking a picture of my dick, my boyfriends dick or anybody elses dick for you.” He told him. Joonmyeon rolled his eyes.

“That’s not what I was going to ask, inmate.” He told him. Namjoon’s eyebrows shot up, a smirk grew on his face.

“That picture was taken by one of the inmates in Bangtan.” Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“Who?” He asked. Joonmyeon leaned back in his chair.

“That’s what I need to find out. Obviously they have one thing they shouldn’t that allows them to take photos and post them online.” He said. Namjoon frowned, looking as lost as when Jessica asked him earlier. The warden rolled his eyes.

“Phones. They have phones, inmate.” He told him. Namjoon nodded.

“And you want me to…” He asked. Joonmyeon smiled.

“I need you to find the phone and any other contraband that has made it into my prison and I also need you to tell me who the phone belongs to, so we can deal with the culprit properly.” He told him. The younger frowned.

“Yeah, but everybody has a phone, how am I supposed to find it?” He asked. Joonmyeon raised his eyebrow.

“Everybody?…does that include you?” He asked. Namjoon blinked.

“You’ll have the phone as soon as possible.” He told him. Joonmyeon smiled and nodded, but then Namjoon remembered something.

"What’s in it for me?” he asked. The warden rolled his eyes.

“Fine, 50,000 in your commissary if you find it and give me a name.” He told him. Namjoon sat back in his chair, shit eating grin on his face.

“Hmm. Bangtan’s a big place. It’ll take me longer. I’ll need more motivation for that.” He said. Joonmyeon rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll give you time off of your sentence for good behaviour.” He said. Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

“How much?” He asked. Running a hand through his hair, Joonmyeon shrugged. It wouldn’t make much of a difference to let someone off when they only have two weeks left in the prison anyway.

“I don’t know. I’ll arrange the van tomorrow if you want.” He said. Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“Tomorrow? Are you serious?” He asked. Joonmyeon nodded.

“If you find the phone and culprit, you’re golden.” He replied.

Without another word, Namjoon jumped up and practically ran out of the office.

Taehyung sighed and sat down in the visitation room. He was meant to be getting a visit from Jonghyun today.

They had spoken on the phone earlier and arranged it, but he had gotten a message telling him he would be late due to the fact he had been doing jobs in Busan the night before. But Taehyung didn’t mind, he knew he wouldn’t be long since the train had just arrived. So, he was sat aimlessly in the visitation room waiting for his friend. As he looked up from the table, he noticed Daehyun and Seulgi making their way into the room.

Both looked uptight and rich, but Seulgi still looked so beautiful. He could see why Jimin fell for her, she looked exactly his type, beautiful, innocent, successful. Everything Taehyung wasn’t.

The two didn’t even spare the blonde a glance as they wandered over and took the seats at the table behind the blonde. Taehyung shook his head. Of course rich, stuck up people wouldn’t notice him. Seulgi sighed.

“I’m so nervous.” She said. Taehyung’s ears pricked up. “Should I tell him?” She asked.

“No. I don’t think he’s ready yet. Jimin’s already going through a lot. You’ve got a whole before you need to tell him.” Daehyun told her. Taehyung frowned as he eavesdropped.

“He should know though. I want to tell him as soon as possible. It is his child” Taehyung’s heart stopped. 

Wait…what? .

“I’m just so nervous about how he’s going to react, he’s got so much on his plate right now, he doesn’t need my pregnancy on him as well” Taehyung blinked, absorbing the new information. Seulgi…was pregnant…with Jimin’s child…

Suddenly, he stood up and turned, walking out of the visitation room with fast footsteps. Jonghyun was on his way, but he couldn’t deal with this right now. He was ten seconds from having a complete breakdown and he didn’t want everybody to see him, especially not Seulgi and Daehyun.

The tears pricked in his eyes and began to stream down his face at a fast pace as soon as he was out of the room, his throat was constricting, making his desperate search for oxygen even harder. His head thumped, making every racing thought hurt more then the last.

 It was over.

There was no way he could win Jimin back now. Seulgi was pregnant, there was a kid involved.

Taehyung had a possibility to hold his own against Seulgi, it was a slim possibility, but it was there. Now, his chances had been cut completely.

Any hope of getting back the love of his life were now 0.

His heart broke more as he spotted Jimin walking towards him, obviously on his way to visitation. It took a moment for the older to notice him, but when he did, a wide smile spread over his face.

“Hey TaeTae.” He greeted cheerfully. Taehyung didn’t look up at him, he couldn’t let him see the tears running down his cheeks. Jimin’s smile dropped immediately as he noticed the tears.

“Tae?” he asked. The blonde didn’t say anything, if he said anything he would’ve cried even more. He walked straight past him. Jimin frowned and watched him until the blonde disappeared around the corner.

“Remind me what happened again?” Namjoon rolled his eyes at Marks question as they sat in the rec room, the eldest boy leaning into Jackson’s chest as their hands were entwined. Namjoon had chosen to tell the two about it in hopes they would help him, but it was more difficult to explain then he thought apparently.

“Somebody’s been taking pictures of their cock and posting it online. The Warden found out and he wants me to find it and then I’m outta here by tomorrow. I need you two to help me.” He explained again. Jackson scoffed.

“And what do we get?” he asked. Namjoon shrugged.

“I’ll put in a good word and get 50,000 in your commissary.” He told him. Jackson and Mark exchanged glances, eyebrows arched, before turning back to the blonde.

“Bit risky, Joon. Everybody has a phone, and I don’t wanna get shanked for taking someones off of them and sending them to solitary.” Jackson told him. Namjoon nodded.

"I know, but if theres anyone I can trust to find this disgusting perpertrator, I know you two are the ones who can help me take him down and put an end to the battle of cockgate." He told them. Mark's eyebrows furrowed as he nodded, trying to work out what he means, but Jackson was all too familiar with Namjoon's cryptic mind, so he just accepted it. Mark shook himself out of his thoughts.

"Ok, we're on board." he said. Jackson nodded, mind taken up by the idea of having more money in his commissary. Namjoon grinned in relief, at least he wouldn't have to search high and low by himself. He sighed and scanned the fellow inmates in the rec room.

"Now, lets gather the suspects." He said. Mark and Jackson joined him in looking through the group of inmates, and their eyes all landed on the same person - Jo.

The hairdresser had just wandered in as they were looking for suspects and managed to capture all three mens attention with his wide smile and perfect hair. The three exchanged glances, all thinking the same thing as a silence came between them.

"...It couldn't be Jo...right?" Mark asked. Jo was always so candid with anything to do with sex, and he was actually very sexually oriented person, telling the guys whenever they would come in to get their hair done of the latest porn he watched or the many men he was talking to on messenger, so...it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think he could be one to do such a thing, could it?

"It's a start." Namjoon replied. The blonde turned to the couple and leaned in. "Ok, heres the plan." He said.

After they quickly discussed the plan, the three stood up, Namjoon going first, Mark and Jackson delaying a little bit before making their way forward. The blonde forced a smile onto his face and held a hand up to the brunette.

"Hey Jo-hyung!" He called. Jo turned to Namjoon and smiled.

"Hey Namjoon, what's up?" he asked. Mark and Jackson made their way past the hairdresser, the latter being too distracted by Namjoon. Unbeknownst to the brunette, the couple stopped right behind him.

"So...I was thinking of getting my hair done. You know, cause I'm getting out in a few days? I want to look my best you know?" He asked. Jo nodded.

"Sure, come round any time and I'll fix you up, k?" he asked. Namjoon nodded, and as he saw Jo was about to leave, he quickly held a hand out.

"Wait, could you give me a rundown of the stuff you do? Just so I can plan what I want?" he asked. The brunette nodded, confusion flashing over his face for a breif moment, but, Namjoon had managed to gain his attention and stop him from leaving.

"Sure, umm, well, I do all the standard stuff, trims, blow drys, I could re-shave the sides of your hair for you as well," behind him, Mark was reaching out to the boys jumpsuits back pockets, where the lump of his phone was very evidently placed, "and we can also give you a complete re stye---"

Suddenly, Jo felt a hand on his ass and turned to see Mark with his hand out, eyes glued to his ass. The red head quickly noticed the elders slightly confused glare and immediatly retracted his hand, displaying a wide grin that came out as the guiltiest look he could have given. Jo looked the boy up and down before turning back to Namjoon.

"I could also bleach your hair blonde again if you would liket." He told him. Namjoon nodded, noticing the way Jackson, more sutibly reached and managed to grab the phone from his back pocket. It's strange how Jackson was a drug dealer, he seemed more suited to the pickpocket proffession.

"Ahh, ok, sounds good." he said. Jo smiled and nodded.

"Ok, so just come down and let me know what you want and I'll do it for you." He told him. Just as he was turning, Jackson had managed to unlock the phone in his hand. Namjoon grabbed his arm once again, causing Jo to sigh and sutibly roll his eyes.

"I was thinking of a purple? Would you think that would suit my skin tone?" he asked. Jo put his hand on his hip and smiled.

"Sure." He said. Namjoon hummed.

"Or like a dark brown? With a perm? Would that be cool?" he gasped, "OR RED?!" 

As Namjoon went through the various colours of the rainbow, Jo giving not so enthusiastic hums and 'yeah's every so often, Jackson and Mark went through the pictures on the elders phone. But, there was not a dick pick in sight (which was kinda  a relief), just many many many many pictures of selcas of himself doing the peace sign in EVERY SINGLE PHOTO!!!

Jackson sighed and looked up, Namjoon glanced to the blonde as he continued to suggest different hairstyles, and the younger shook his head. Namjoon continued to speak until the blonde managed to successfully put the phone back in it's original place in Jo's ass pocket. As soon as Jackson held up both of his thumbs, the blonde immediatly stopped.

"But, I guess we'll see later, thank you for your help Jo-hyung!" He said with a wave. Ignoring the confused expression on the older boys face, Namjoon Mark and Jackson retreated out of the rec room, continuing the search. Jo blinked, bewildered.

"...Ok then?"

Jin sighed and he held Taehyung in his arms. The boy had wept non stop for about three hours. The elder rocked him gently, trying to sooth the blonde who hadn’t been able to say a word due to his frantic crying. Nobody knew what had happened to Taehyung.

One minute, the boy was his usual happy self, bidding them all goodbye with his rectangle grin as he wandered off to visitation, the next he was collapsing into Jin’s arms, enough tears streaming down his face to rival the Atlantic Ocean. He shushed soothingly into his hair, allowing Taehyung to cry his heart out.

“Oh, Taehyung.” The elder said. He had never seen Taehyung like this before. He was completely broken. Jin stroked his hair and placed a kiss on the top of his head. Luckily he had been in this position before, he knew how to deal with people crying their hearts out. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of him when he’s like this. But it had already been three hours and Taehyung had still not calmed down. It was quite the opposite actually. Taehyung’s state had grown worse as the hours went by.

"Can you please tell me whats wrong, darling?" He asked. Taehyung tried to speak, but what he said translated to total nonsense to the elder. 

"Taehyung, I can't understand you. Can you please calm down babe?" He asked. Taehyung sniffed, trying his hardest to keep his tears in long enough to speak. He sat up, turning to the elder, who brushed the hair from his face.

"S-Seul-gi's pre-pregnant with Ji-Jimin's child." He told him. Jin's eyes widened.

"His fiancee is pregnant?" He asked in disbelief. Taehyung sniffed and nodded and suddenly, his breakdown had begun to make sense to the pink haired man. He knew how much Jimin meant to Taehyung, and he knew how much Taehyung meant to Jimin, no matter how much they both tried to deny it to anybody else. The elder sighed.

"I'm so sorry Taehyung, I can't even begin to imagine how you're feeling." He told him. Taehyung burried his head in his hands. You have no idea, Jin hyung. 

Oh how he wished he could get rid of his feelings, how he wished he could just forget ever having fallen in love with Park Jimin. But he just couldn't. Every single time, he found himself going round in circles. He wanted to forget Jimin, he really did. And he really thought he had everything under control the last time he spoke to Jo, he had a game plan, slowly work his way back into the boys life and remind him of how much they meant to each other, but now there was a child, A FUCKING CHILD, involved.

He knew it was selfish, Jimin had always wanted a family, a life where he could just settle down, live a normal life with someone he was completely in love with, and now he was finally getting that, but he didn't want him to have that, at least not with anybody other then him, especially if it's someone Jimin wasn't even sure he was right for, which he had heard from the boys own mouth. Sure, he was high when he said it, but nevertheless He needed Jimin.

As cheesy at it sounds, he was nothing without Park Jimin.

Jin watched Taehyung break back down into floods of tears once again and sighed. This whole thing was such a mess.

"Does Jimin know?" he asked. Taehyung sniffed and lifted his head.

"I d-don't know, the-they were wande-ring whether to t-tell him." He replied. Jin shook his head and leaned forward, pulling the blonde into another hug.

"Please stop crying, Taehyung. Everything seems so messed up now, but things will work itself out. If two people are meant to be together, fate will bring them together again, trust me." he told him. Taehyung clung to the boys jumpsuit and pulled away, wiping his eyes 

"How though? He's gonna have a kid! I can't e-ever get him back now! If he has a family, he won't want to be with me, I can't even give him the family he wants! Seulgi can give him everything and even if he did ever want to be with me again I can't take him away from his wife and kid!" He told him. Jin sighed.

"I know. But, maybe it'll work in your favour in a different way. Maybe this'll give you the ammunition you need finally get over him, find someone who you'll love even more then Jimin? This could open a new future for you where you're not haunted by your ex?" he asked. Taehyung buried his face in the elders shoulder once again.

"But...I don't want to..." 

Mark and Jackson both exchanged glances before making his way into the abandoned bathroom in the east wing of the prison without so much as a warning of their entrance.

As they walked in, he was met with the sight of Daesung and Taeyang playing cards at a table place where the old cubicles used to be before they got taken out, Jiyong was combing his hands through the ebony hair of his teenage other half as Seunghyun stood protectively behind him. Jiyong lazily saluted to the guests.

"Hello you two. How can I help Bangtan's sexiest couple today?" he asked. Jackson chuckled.

"Came for some...treats?" he asked. Jiyong arched an eyebrow, but it was evident by the smirk on his face that he knew exactly what they were talking about.

"Of course, are you having it in or taking away?" he asked. Mark smiled.

"In." He said. Jiyong grinned.

"Perfect. Have a seat my friends." He replied. Jackson nodded in thanks and the two took a seat next to the orange haired man who took the three joints from Seunghyun and passed two to the new guests and kept one for himself. The three didn't waste any time smoking them, letting out satisfied sighs.

"I don't know how you do it Jiyong, but this stuff is soooo good all the time." The blonde said. Jiyong chuckled.

"It's what I'm here for." he said. A silence took over as they just enjoyed the drugs, but Jackson and Mark were also searching his brains for a good way to approach hte subject they wanted so they get the information they were seeking. Jackson squeezed Mark's hand to let him know he has a plan.

Jackson chuckled, catching Jiyongs attention. "You know Mark the other day, I caught him taking a picture of his dick the other day." He said. Mark's eyes widened. So this is your fucking plan?! Jiyong didn't seem phased though, and surprisingly, neither did Jungkook or any of the other guys. 

"Awesome." He replied. Mark made a mental note to kill Jackson as soon as they get out there. Maybe he could get Jungkook to do it for him?

"Have you guys...ever done something like that?" He asked. Jiyong shook his head.

"Nope. Surprisingly. I know Kookie hasn't, he's very shy you know." He replied, grinning at the boy fast asleep in his arms with his face buried in his boyfriends chest.

"Do you know anyone who's done it before?" Jackson asked. Jiyong raised an eyebrow as he turned to the blonde.

"You seem very insistent. Why? You want to see my dick so badly?" He asked. Jackson and Mark's eyes widened simultaneously.

"No! No!" He replied. Jiyong tutted.

"You don't have to act coy Jackson, don't worry." He replied. Jackson gulped nervously, causing Jiyong to chuckle at the reaction.

"Don't worry, I'm only fuckin' with you. You guys are weird though." He replied. Jackson and Mark exchanged glances. Another fruitless endeavour, but, at least they got weed.

This cloud hanging over Taehyung's head hadn't disappeared since his visit to the visitation room, even though his tears were long lost. As he dragged his heavy feet through the halls, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, his mind was racing inside his head, making him feel dizzy and worsening the pounding head ache.

Maybe Jin was right, his plan to try and win him back wouldn't have worked anyway. Even if Jimin was unsure about his pending marriage to Seulgi (which was a extremely unlikely),  it wouldn't matter, he would never leave his kid. 

So what choice did he have? It was over. Done. He had no other choice then to finally get over Jimin.

"Hey Tae!" Taehyung stopped in his tracks and turned to see Jisoo's wide grin as the elder walked over to him. Jisoo smiled, but a confused grin grew over his face as he noticed the blonde's odd behaviour. Well, it was Taehyung, but he was acting stranger then usual.

"You ok? why are you looking at me like that?" He asked. Suddenly, Taehyung grabbed his arm.

"Come with me." He ordered. He didn't wait for a reply before dragging him through the halls, ignoring the raven haired mans questions. He pulled him into the closest bathroom, filled with inmates showering and shitting, and dragged the elder into an empty cubicle. 

Jisoo didn't have time to question his actions before Taehyung locked the door and threw himself on the elders lips, kissing him passionatly. Jisoo's eyes bulged out at the action, but quickly closed them and wrapped his arms around the blondes waist, returning Taehyung's kisses with as much passion as he was given. Taehyung pulled away and began to unzip the raven haired mans jumpsuit. Jisoo was at a loss, everything was moving so fast. He chuckled awkwardly.

"What the fuck is happening?" he asked semi-rhetorically. Taehyung pulled off his jumpsuit before getting to his knees.

"Shhh." he ordered. Jisoo had no time to process anything, and in the time he was taking to try to understand the situation, Taehyung had pulled down his boxers and took the mans dick in his mouth, taking no time to bob his head along his length. 

Jisoo gasped, eyes clamping shut. He groaned, trying to keep up with the blondes pace. He never believed this would happen. Sure, they flirted A LOT, but the last time they spoke about doing something like this, Taehyung had made it clear he had no desire to actually have sex, but now, here he was, being sucked off by the very blonde who had said he's not good at even physical relationships. 

Jisoo's groans and moans only grew louder at Taehyung continued to bob his head, suddenly, the blonde pulled back and Jisoo opened his eyes, only to have Taehyung crashing their lips together once again. Taehyung buried his hands in Jisoos black hair and pulled back to only pull off his own jumpsuit.

"Taehyung, what are you doing?" Jisoo asked as Taehyung took of his boxers and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"Just fuck me."

Four Years Earlier

Hoseok's head pounded, drawing him out of his dreams and pulling him back to reality with each thump. He held his head, groaning at the immense pain and rolled onto his back.

Jesus, how much did I drink last night?

He rubbed his face as he tried to remember the previous night. But all he could remember as he forced his memorys back was the pounding music playing, vibrating through all of Hanbin's house and the thousands of shots being poured down his throat.

He sighed and opened his eyes. But as he did, he jumped up, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

This wasn't his place. The white walls, long, net curtains and grey carpeting, nothing was familiar to him in the slightest. And it definitely wasn't Hanbin's room. So what was he doing here? Where was it?

He scanned the room, panic setting in, taking his mind off of his hangover, until something moved in the bed next him. He turned to see a blonde mop of hair sleeping soundly next to him, bare shoulders on show underneath the satin sheets. Hoseok gulped. I didn't...you know...with this guy...did I?

He wasn't a one night stand kinda person, he had never had a one night stand before, he didn't know how to deal with it. Should I just leave before he wakes up? He was at a total loss.

He looked at his naked chest, and the white satin sheets that was currently covering his lap. He lifted it slightly, and his chest wasn't the only thing naked. He immediatly covered himself back up. As he was turned, staring at the door, wandering if he could reach it in time, the boy shifted once again, this time letting out a small sigh as he rolled onto his back. Hoseok's eyes widened. This boy was gorgeous, with slightly chubby cheeks, flawless pale skin that looked like it would be softer then silk to touch and small, pink, heart shaped lips that looked so kissable. Suddenly, the blondes face contorted into displeasure and he grabbed the side of his head and groaned.

"Oh god..." he groaned and he ran a hand through his messy mop of blonde hair. Hoseok watched him, and it was like everything was going in slow motion as the boy sighed and opened his eyes, immediately taking note of the stranger staring at him in his bed. His eyes widened and he shot up, staring Hoseok dead in the eyes.

"What the...?" His voice trailed off. Hoseok gulped, staring back at the beautiful boy in front of him, who was also VERY naked. He couldn't help but let his eyes trail down to the boys petite, but toned body. The blonde took note of the way the stranger was staring at him and immediately covered himself up with his sheets. Hoseok stared down at his covered lap awkwardly.

"So..." the blonde began, "This is awkward..." 

Hoseok chuckled, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Yeah..." he replied. He looked back up at the boy, locking eyes with him. The stranger gulped.

"...Did we..." his voice trailed off once again. Hoseok exhaled.

"I guess..." he replied, "Hanbin's party was crazier then I can remember then." 

The blonde chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess so..." He said. An awkward silence took over, and the two stared at each other. After what seemed like hours just staring at each other, the two errupted into giggles.

"I'll get you some pills, if you have anything near the hangover I have, then you're gonna need it just as much as I do." he said. Hoseok nodded and rubbed his face, chuckling awkwardly to himself.

"Yeah, thanks." he replied. The blonde turned, preparing to step out of the bed, only to turn back with an cautious expression.

"Umm...I'm kinda naked here, so...do you mind...?" He asked. Hoseok's eyes widened.

"Oh! No! of course I don't!" he replied. He turned around, allowing the blonde to grab a pair of boxers and cover himself up.

"It's safe now." The blonde told him. Hoseok turned around to see the blonde in a his Calvin Klein boxers with a loose black, silk dressing gown slung over his shoulders. He giggled at the way the brunettes jaw dropped and his eyes locked on his body.

"I'll go get you some pills now. And breakfast, if...you would like some?" he asked. Hoseok closed his jaw and dragged his eyes up to the blondes kind smile. Without a second thought, he smiled and nodded.

"Thank you. I could make it if you want, I don't mind." He replied. The blonde waved a dismissive hand and made his way to the door.

"Of course not, I'm making it, you're my guest." he told him. Hoseok grinned at his lap as he scratched the back of his neck. Why was he so smitten with a boy he hardly knew and had a one night stand with? When the brunette thought the gorgeous stranger had disappeared out of the room, the blonde poked his head round the corner.

"By the way, I'm Jinhwan." He told him. Hoseok blinked before processing the boys words.

"I'm Hoseok." he replied. The boy - Jinwhan - grinned and disappeared once again. Hoseok chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. This is the stupidest thing he has ever done, but...he doesn't care.

When he had taken the pills Jinwhan had given him and gotten dressed into the clothes he wore to the party the previous night, he made his way out of the room and follow the humming into the kitchen, where Jinhwan, still wearing just his black dressing gown, was making breakfast for the both of them. Hoseok stopped and admired the boy from behind. The crazy blonde hair and the curves of his petite body, not to mention that nice ass.

"Enjoying the veiw?" Hoseok jumped as the blonde spoke out. Before he could stumble across a plausible excuse for looking at the strangers ass, Jinhwan turned and grinned at him cheekily. Hoseok dropped his gaze and could feel the red staining his face.

Jinhwan brought plates of the breakfast he had made over to the table with a smile.

"Come and have some breakfast." He said. Hoseok smiled and sat next to the blonde.

"Thank you." He said. An awkward silence fell between the two as they began to eat the breakfast that was admittedly delicious to Hoseok, both keeping their heads down, looking at the food on their plates. It was Hoseok who decided to break it.

"Sorry about this by the way, I'm not used to this." He said. Jinhwan shook his head.

"It's fine. I had fun last night...from what I can remember." he replied. Hoseok chuckled, causing the elder to chuckle as well.

"What do you remember?" Hoseok asked before putting some more food in his mouth. Jinhwan hummed.

"I remember drinking shots. A lot of shots. And I remember stumbling to the door and the rest I would tell you, but I'm sure you would blush." He told him. The brunette grinned and stared at his food.

"Don't worry, from what I can remember, you were amazing." he told him. It turns out the blondes theory was correct, because as he made that statement, Hoseok began to blush.

"Called it." he said, giggling. Hoseok chuckled and covered his face with his hands. Jinwhan chuckled. The two continued to talk all morning, even after they had finished their coffee and breakfast. The chemistry was so strong between them, and there were so many sparks flying between them, Jinwhan's house may have caught on fire. Jinwhan was cute and extremely sweet. They both shared the same strange sense of humour and had so much in common. It turns out Jinhwan is actually OLDER then Hoseok. Only by a couple of days, but the blonde didn't miss an opportunity to rub in his face.

But, after a while, Hoseok had to leave, fearing he would outstay his welcome. Jinhwan followed him to the door, giving Hoseok his jacket he had left behind in the living room. Hoseok displayed a sad smile as they stood by the door. 

"Well, thank you for last night and for breakfast this morning and the pills and...company." He said. Jinwhan grinned and unfolded his arms.

"It's cool, thank you for last night as well and I'm glad you stayed for breakfast, I've actually had a good time." He replied. Hoseok chuckled.

"Well, hopefully I see you again." he said. Jinwhan nodded.

"Yeah, I hope so too." He replied. Hoseok watched as the blonde stepped forward and leaned up, placing a soft kiss on his lips. It lasted only  a few seconds, but caused the youngers heart to race in his chest at such a fast pace that he thought he might have had a heart attack.

Jinwhan gave him a sweet smile as they pulled away. Hoseok returned it nervously before giving him a goodbye and turning to the taxi he had called. Jinwhan gave him a cute wave before disappearing back into his house. As the blonde was out of sight, Hoseok couldn't help but grin to himself.

"How was visitation Jimin?" Hoseok asked as they sat down for dinner. The black haired man smiled and picked up some more slop with his chopsticks.

"It went fine. Seulgi's novel idea has been accepted and she needs to bring in the finished book in a few weeks for them. She's really excited." He explained. Hoseok grinned, but Jin wasn't smiling.

"Did she say anything else? Anything else big happening in her life?" He asked. Jimin seemed confused by the elders question, but kept the smile on his face.

"Not really. She bought some strawberry's at the market with Daehyun today." He said. Jin nodded, but was unappeased by the response he got.

"Anything else?" He asked. Jimin's eyebrows knitted before he turned to Hoseok for some help, but he seemed just as confused.

"Since when did you become so interested in Jimin's fiancee hyung? Does Namjoon have competition?" Hoseok asked. Jin shrugged and continued eating his slop.

"Just wandering." He replied nonchalantly. Jimin and Hoseok exchanged glances once again, but lucky for Jin, Namjoon, Mark and Jackson arrived to take the attention off of the pink haired man.

"Hey guys." Namjoon greeted with a smiled. The three greeted the new arrivals.

"Joining us for dinner today you two?" Jin asked the two new arrivals to their group as they sat down.

"We have work to do, so we thought it would be best to stay together." Jackson replied. 

"Well then, thank you for joining us." Jin said. Mark and Jackson both nodded in acknowledgment. Jin had no idea what 'job' they had to do actually was, but what he did know was that it would be best for him not to ask because one, their answer would most likely not make any sense, cause, lets face it, it's Namjoon, Mark and Jackson, and two, because he would be best to have plausible deniability if anything goes wrong, and if Namjoon's involved that is almost always a definite.

Jimin gasped as he noticed a familiar, blonde mop of hair making his way over with his tray of food. He shot up from his seat and ran over to Taehyung, who looked dead on his feet.

"Tae!" The blonde looked up and smiled at Jimin like the raven haired boy hadn't been the ruin of his entire mind.

"Hey ChimChim." He replied. Jimin grabbed the tray and placed it on the table next to them before grabbing the boys hands.

"Are you ok? I wanted to talk to you earlier, are you ok? Why were you crying?" He asked. Taehyung shook his head. He should probably stay away from Jimin now, but he knew the elder wouldn't rest until he found the explination for his breakdown earlier, and, if he was honest, the feeling of Jimin's warm hands on his feels just too nice and wanted to allow himself this privalage, even just for a second.

"I'm fine, I just...freaked out...but I'm good now." He told him. Jimin frowned. When he last saw the blonde, he was in floods of tears, and now he's just miraculously ok? 

"Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it?" He asked. Taehyung shook his head.

"No, I'm good, I just...need to try and deal with some stuff." He replied. Jimin nodded.

"Do you need any help?" he asked. 

"No, this I need to deal with myself." He told him. Jimin smiled.

"Ok, but please remember that I'm always here for you, if you just want to talk, I'm here, if you need help with anything, then I will always be here for you. I just need you to know that. I want to be here for you. We are friends after all, and you mean a lot to me." The only thing Taehyung heard was the word 'friend'.

'We are friends'

He sighed deeply, and forced a smile on his face.

"I know, thank you." He replied. Jimin smiled and brought a hand to Taehyungs face. As he began to stroke the soft cheek with his thumb, smiling warmly as he stared into the blondes eyes, Taehyung almost lost himself, forgetting the vow he had made to himself to finally get over this guy. 

He needed to stop this.

He tore himself away from Jimin's eyes and pulled his hands back, grabbing his tray.

"Yeah, thanks." He said before walking past him coldly and sitting down next to Jin. Jimin watched him, and the confusion written on his face broke the blondes heart, but he remained strong and ate his food like he meant nothing to him. Jimin sighed and made his way back to the table, sitting back down next to Hoseok.

It didn't take Taehyung long to notice. It was like the most obvious thing, how could he not notice the way Mark and Jacksons eyes were glued to him as they whispered to each other. Taehyung blinked at them, mouth full of food. Jackson turned to Namjoon and began to whisper to him.

"Should we suspect Taehyung?" He asked. Namjoon stared at Jackson, and the younger turned to the blonde boy who was looking at them with an arched eyebrow. Namjoon followed Jacksons gaze to the younger. He grinned and leaned his head on his hand.

"Hey Taehyung." He grinned. Taehyung frowned and sat up in his seat properly.

"Yes." He replied cautiously. Namjoon looked down.

"Could we, like...see your dick?" He asked. Taehyung, Jin and Jimin's jaw dropped simultaneously.  Jackson hit the blonde on his arm for asking such a stupid question. 

"Hoseok-ah?" Hoseok turned and smiled at the raven haired man.

"Hey Yoongi." He replied. Sure, he may be a total hypocrite for reprimanding Jimin for being friendly with Yoongi, but after speaking with him earlier, he reminded Hoseok that he was only human that makes mistakes. He didn't treat Jimin right, taking things way too far, but people make mistakes. Yoongi just needed respect.

Jimin, however, had a dropped jaw at the way Hoseok was smiling at the man who harassed and stalked him for WEEKS. Was he FUCKING CRAZY?!

Yoongi stared at the item he had wrapped in a tissue.

"Umm...I brought you some cornbread, I wandered whether you would want it?" He asked. Hoseok blinked in confusion, but a grin stretched across his face.

"Sure! Thank you, that's really sweet!" He replied. Yoongi grinned and gave the brunette the food. Hoseok unwrapped the bread with a grin and began to dig in. Yoongi grinned in pride, seeing Hoseok happy made him happy. Hopefully he didn't screw everything up this time, he was good at that. But as he saw the glare aimed at him from Jimin's eyes, it reminded him: nobody would want him! Hoseok would never fall in love with him, no matter how much time they spent together, no matter how many gifts he gave to him, he would never fall for him. He just wasn't good enough.

Just as Hoseok was about to take a bite, Yoongi snatched it from his hands.

"Actually, it's a stupid idea, you don't want it, I'll just throw it away." he said. Hoseok blinked and watched the elder walk to the bin and throw it away before walking out of the cafeteria. He looked at his empty hands and pouted.

"...But...I like cornbread." he said. Jimin scoffed.

"Why would you want it? He's a fucking psychopath." He said. Hoseok rolled his eyes.

"What happened to 'he's really sweet when you get to know him'?" He asked. Jimin leaned forward.

"He stalked me and used my bed as his personal urinal is what happened!" He replied. Hoseok rolled his eyes and pouted as he folded his arms. Jimin shook his head.

"That man is fucking crazy and if you have any braincells, then I suggest you fucking stay away from him." He told him before stuffing his face with food. Hoseok sighed and stared at the door Yoongi had exited from. 

Namjoon kept his eyes on his unsuspecting prey from the distance, observing him, taking notes.

This was his last chance, and he thought he had finally hit the jackpot. He had worn himself out with asking almost every likely suspect in this mysterious case and his latest target was the most likely suspect. If not, he was totally out of ideas.

Baekhyun remained unaware of his impending doom, just listening to Tinashe and reading the latest Cosmo magazine while chewing on a red vine that was wrapped around his finger.

Namjoon slowly and silently began to make his way to the oblivious blonde. He leaned on the bars of the cell, keeping his hands in his jacket pocket as he smiled to the boy, showing off his gorgeous dimples that could charm anyone.

"Hey Baekhyun-hyung." He greeted. Baehyun looked up and smiled, taking out his earphone.

"Hey Namjoon-ah." he replied. Namjoon nodded and Baekhyun turned his attention back to the article explaining how to make your skin silky smooth with mayonnaise. Silence taking over, Namjoon looked the boy up and down. He needed a way to approach this, subtly and carefully.

He chuckled to himself. "Ahh, I took the best picture of my dick today." he said. Baekhyun frowned as he looked back up at the boy. His eyes flickered from the innocent seeming grin on the youngers face before glancing down to his crotch, and back up again.

"...Good...for you?" he replied cautiously before returning to his magazine. Namjoon internally screamed, this is ridiculous, he had never been so embarrassed in his life, but he needed to find information.

"Have you...taken a picture of your dick before?" He asked. Baekhyun looked up, mid red vine chew. After staring at the blonde's forced, seemingly innocent smile, he swallowed and let out a sigh and he sat up.

"Namjoon, do you want me to suck your dick?" He asked. Namjoon's eyes went wide.

"No! I was...I was just wandering whether you had before." He said. Baekhyun chuckled.

"You're asking a prostitute whether he's taken a picture of his dick before?" He asked. Namjoon nodded in thought.

"Good point. But...recently?" He asked. Baekhyun shook his head and sat back.

"Nope. Not since I was thrown in Bangtan." He replied. Namjoon sighed. He was officially screwed.

"Ok, thanks Baek, sorry for you freaking you out." He said. Baekhyun nodded and returned to Tinashe and Cosmo. Namjoon ran a hand through his hair and turned, making his way away from the cell. Mark and Jackson made his way over to him.

"Any luck?" Mark asked. Namjoon shook his head.

"Nope. I was so sure as well! How about you guys?" He asked. Jackson shook his head.

"No. Nobody has done it or knows anyone who has." he replied. Mark sighed and unraveled the picture of the mystery dick, scrunched up by Joonmyeon's embarrassment earlier.

"Ok, so if it's not Jo, Jiyong, Mino, Kris, Yukwon, Jisoo, Sehun, Key OR Baekhyun, then who the HELL is it?! At least someone has to have this dick!" he said. Namjoon shook his head. This was hopeless.

"Why do you guys have a picture of Kai's dick?" The three turned to the blonde felon chewing his red vines. Jacksons eyes widened.

"Kai?" he asked. Baekhyun nodded.

"Yep, definitely, I'd recognise it anywhere. He and Taeminie are regulars." He replied. The three processed the information and slowly turned to each other.

Had they just found their culprit?

Kai  blinked at the bright light in his face that contrasted the darkness that surrounded him. He had no idea where he was or why he was here, only that Namjoon, Jackson and Mark were all staring at him intensely.

"What the fuck is happening?" He asked. Jackson stepped forward, observing Kai's face at a close proximity with furrowed eyebrows. He turned to the other two.

"Shall we begin?" He asked. Namjoon nodded, arms folded. Kai couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the groups attempts at being intimidating.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" He asked. Namjoon stepped forward, unraveling the picture that was all too familiar to the tanned boy.

"You remember this?" He asked. Kai grinned arrogantly.

"Impressed?" He asked. Jackson scoffed. 

"This little stunt of yours nearly got all of us caught." He told him. Kai frowned.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"The warden found this online and he has gotten us to try and find the person responsible, and I believe we just have." He told him. Kai's cocky smirk returned to his face.

"What was the warden looking at to have come across me?" He asked. Namjoon shrugged.

"I have no idea, I think he's a pervert or something," He replied, "But that’s not the point. By posting this online under our name, you nearly exposed Jiyongs operation, and also all the inmates who have gotten contraband from him. We were all nearly screwed." 

Kai chuckled, "Don't you think you're being a tad over dramatic?" he asked. Jackson grinned, but he looked anything but amused.

"Over dramatic? I suppose the warden was also being over dramatic when he found it. Thank god he asked us instead of the guards to find the culprit. You have put us all in danger." He told him. Namjoon stepped forward and leaned closer to him, so there was little space in between them, placing his hands on the arm rests of the chair Kai sat in.

"For your actions, there shall be consequences." He told him. Suddenly, the light wavered behind them and Namjoon rolled his eyes.

"For god sake Mark, keep the light still!" He yelled. Mark frowned, holding up his IPhone above him on torch mode, most likely to recreate the interrogation vibe but failing immediately.

"I'm sorry! My arm is starting to hurt!" He exclaimed. The blonde stood up properly, turning to the elder and putting his hands on his hips.

"Great, the atmosphere is completely ruined!" He whined. Suddenly, the light flicked on, reveling that they were currently in the south wing bathroom. Namjoon groaned as he facepalmed.

"Seriously! Can you not!?" He yelled. Jiyong held his hands up. 

"Sorry! I didn't know you guys were being all CSI in here, some people gotta pee you know!" He replied as he walked over to the urinal.

"Now he's not gonna take us seriously!" he said. Kai grinned and folded his arms.

"Don't worry, I didn't before." He replied. Namjoon glared at him, but it wasn't enough to wipe the boys smirk off of his face.

"Hush you." Mark said, pointing a stern finger at him. Jackson sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"What now boss?" He asked. Namjoon sighed.

"I don't know, we take him to Joonmyeon?" He asked. Jackson shook his head.

"If we do that, he'll be sent to solitary." He said.

"Yeah, but he asked for the phone and the culprit and I won't be able to leave tomorrow and we won’t get our rewards." He said. Mark sighed.

"You know what it's like in solitary, Joon, we can't send him there." He said. Jiyong wandered over, his interest officially peaked by the conversation taking place between them.

"What's going on?" He asked. Namjoon glared at Kai.

"Albert Einstein here decided it would be a good idea to take a picture of his cock and post it online under our name. It got found by the warden and he asked us to bring him the culprit and the phone, giving us pretty good rewards in return, if he give Kai to the warden, he'll be thrown in solitary, but if we don't bring him Kai and just give him the phone, we won't get our rewards." He explained.

Jiyong nodded as he took in the information, and after a sufficient amount of contemplation, he ended the silence between them with a quick, "Send him to solitary." 

The three jaws dropped at the same time.

"We can't do that hyung! Do you know what it's like down there?" He asked. Jiyong rolled his eyes.

"No, Mark, I don't know what it's like in solitary." He replied. Mark gulped and nodded. Jiyong scanned the tanned boy in the chair, who had his arms crossed like a scolded child. "And if he's stupid enough to commit such a stupid act, risking my whole operation and not to mention every bit of contraband I have ever given you guys, don't you think time in solitary is an apt punishment for his stupidity?" He asked. Jackson shrugged.

"He has a point." He replied. Kai chuckled.

"I'm not going to solitary." He told them. The four watched silently as Jiyong slowly and lazily dragged his feet over to the younger and, in one swift movement, he brought his hand up and slapped the boys cheek, making a loud sound that echoed through the empty bathroom just as the four gasps did. Before anyone could say anything, Jiyong was grabbing Kai's brown hair and pulling his head back.

"You gave up all your rights to have a say in this situation when you took a picture of your cock and posted it online for the entire world to see," He growled, "you shall take the punishment for your stupidity and thank me for it. Stop being a pussy and take you punishment like a fucking man or the last joint you had will be the last one you ever have. I. Can. Burn. You." 

With that, he let go of his hair and turned back to the gauping men.

"You gonna take him to Joonmyeon or shall I?" He asked.

The three all jumped into action and grabbed the brunette, who didn't even bother to fight back anymore, and scrambled out of the room. Jiyong smirked to himself.

"I've still got it." He said.

Words could not describe how Joonmyeon felt as he placed the phone in front of Jessica. The brunette stared down at it with a dropped jaw. Joonmyeon smirked as he grabbed the Starbucks coffee cup sat on his desk and drank his latte smugly.

"I...you...how the hell?" Joonmyeon chuckled at the woman stumbling across her words.

"Looks like I'm not as bad at my job as you so claim," He smiled up at her, "what were you gonna tell Mr Jung again?" 

Jessica forced her gauping mouth shut and forced a sickly sweet smile on her face.

"And the culprit?" She asked.

"Already in solitary." He replied. Jessica nodded.

"Impressive. I want all the information you can get, or I really will have something to say to my father." She replied. Joonmyeon stood up from his seat and buttoned up his suit jacket.

"Of couse, I have my best men gathering information as we speak. Now, if you'll excuse me, it appears all this sloothing has had me working overtime." He told her. He grabbed his latte and make his way out of his office.

As he walked out of the prison, he couldn't get the perfect image of Jessica's dumbfounded face out of his head. This was the best day ever. 

He reached his car and unlocked it, but as he looked up, he couldn't help but notice the familiar mop of orange hair. But instead of being happy, he actually began to reconsider whether this was the best day, or the worst day, especially when Minseok leaned in and kissed his male companion on the lips passionately, kiss being returned immediately as their lips came together.

"Minseok?" Joonmyeon called out. The guard pulled back from the kiss, noticing his boss staring at him.

"Oh! Hello Sir--oh---Joonmyeon." He corrected with a giggle. He turned to the man stood next to him with black middle parted hair, a cheeky smile on his face and the most prominent cheekbones Joonmyeon had ever seen on a person. 

"This is my boyfriend, Jongdae."

Yep, the worst day of his life.

Jin knew better then this. He knew he was being stupid. He knew he would regret doing this.

But what other choice did he have?

When Namjoon came to him telling him that he only had one day left in Bangtan before he left to go live his life without him, he cracked. He knew it was bad, but he had no idea what he would do without the blonde.

He barged into Jiyong's hideout, not even knocking before coming face to face with the orange haired man.

Jiyong had his arm around Jungkook, whispering something (probably dirty) into his ear, but his attention was drawn away as the pink haired man stormed into the room, his face was the most uncaring, stoic poker face Jiyong and Jungkook had ever seen before. The orange haired man's lips twitched into one of his signature smirks and he looked their guest up and down.

"Well well well, look whats the cats dragged in," He said, bringing the cigarette to his lips, "How can I help you gorgeous?" 

Jin didn't wait a second to answer. Maybe he should've. If he had, maybe then he would've thought for a second, reconsidered the weight of what he was about to request. Maybe he would've realised what his actions would lead to. But, he didn't. He didn't wait for a second.

"I need you to get me something."