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arrowflier · 3 years ago

Note

Lovely Arrow, a random plot bunny appeared and I just know you could do it justice: what if Franny has some friends over at Mickey and Ian's place when she's older and one of them is new to the group and wants to learn a little more about her uncles? And Franny starts waxing poetic about how they're made for each other and complement each other so well and both Ian and Mickey overhear and it makes them tear up a little. Just a thought 😋🥰

Evie, thank you! I've decided that Franny's friends love her uncles almost as much as she does, so that's kind of where this went.

---

“Why are we here again?” Tiffany asks as they crowd onto the stoop of the little southside worker’s cottage. Franny doesn’t bother to answer as she knocks on the door, but one of the other girls takes pity.

“It’s her Uncle’s house,” Susan says. “Jesus, Tiff, pay attention.”

Well, not too much pity. There was a reason she’d never been invited before, after all.

“Yikes, Suze,” Tiffany mutters with a frown. “I just meant why weren’t we at her actual house.”

“Because my actual house is loud as shit,” Franny finally chimes in, not even looking back. “My mom gets lonely so we live with like three other families, it’s a nightmare for schoolwork.”

“You’d have known that if you paid any attention,” Susan adds, and they all ignore Tiffany’s pout.

It doesn’t last long anyway, because the door creaks open not a moment later.

“Hey Fran,” Ian says from the other side. His hair is longer than usual right now, and looks windswept—or like someone had been carding hands through it all morning. His shirt was tight-fitting and a little too short, like it didn’t belong to him, and the socks on his feet didn’t match.

“Hey Uncle Ian,” Franny greets, then gestures to her friends. “It still cool if we take over the living room for a bit? This group paper is a beast.”

“Of course,” Ian agrees with a wide smile. “Anything to help my favorite niece.” He opens the door wider to let them in.

“Nice to see you all again,” he says as they start to file inside. “John, Rachel,” he greets them individually. “Susan, that new haircut is fantastic, I told you it would be.”

“Thanks, Mr. Gallagher,” Susan says with a grin, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

Ian grimaces at her, playfully.

"Ian, please," he begs. "I've never met a Mr. Gallagher I didn't want to punch."

Susan giggles, and moves inside.

“I don’t think I’ve met you,” Ian says with a thoughtful frown when it's Tiffany's turn, and Franny jumps in with an introduction.

“Uncle Ian, this is Tiff,” she says. “She got put with us for the project.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ian says, and holds out a hand.

Tiffany takes it, and when Ian lets go, her hand just hovers there.

“Make yourselves at home,” Ian says as he closes the door behind them. “I’ll be in the other room if you need anything, but—

“Try not to need anything,” they all chorus, with the exception of Tiffany.

“Good kids,” Ian laughs, and then he’s gone, disappearing through the archway that leads through to the rest of the house.

They settle quickly. John and Rachel take the love seat, as they’re always wont to do, sitting just a little too close. Rachel giggles as their knees brush, and Franny rolls her eyes at John’s blush.

She takes her own usual spot next to Susan on the floor, notebooks spread out across the ottoman, and startles when Tiffany suddenly appears on her other side.

“Dude,” Tiffany hisses, poking Franny in the shoulder. “Your uncle is so hot.”

Franny frowns, staring down at the wrinkle Tiffany left on her sleeve.

“Yeah,” she says idly as she smooths it. “So I’ve heard.”

“I mean I mean I always thought red hair looked weird--no offence," she tacks on hastily, "but it really works for him."

Franny focuses on arranging her things to avoid smacking Tiffany in the face.

"Does he have a girlfriend?” Tiffany asks, biting her lip. She toys with the ends of her over-crimped hair, bright nail polish flashing between blonde strands.

“No,” Franny answers, and doesn’t give Tiffany any time to think about that before adding, “he has a husband.”

Tiffany pouts, shimmery pink lips sticking out comically. Franny exchanges a look with Susan, who mimics the expression in a way that has Franny trying to swallow her laughter.

“So not fair,” Tiffany whines beside them, crossing her arms. “Why are all the cute ones taken?”

“Hey!” John protests from across the room, but they all ignore him except for Rachel, who hits him with her three-ring binder.

“Mickey would probably kill you for looking at him,” Susan chimes in, “so you should probably keep your eyes to yourself anyway.”

“Yeah,” Rachel agrees, even as she rubs John’s arm in apology. “He’s been to jail, you know.”

“Ew,” Tiffany says, wrinkling her nose. “There’s no way he deserves someone like Ian, then.”

Franny grips her pencil too tightly. Susan sends her a warning look, but she ignores it.

“Actually,” she says casually, hiding her irritation, “they’re perfect for each other.”

Tiffany‘s brow wrinkles.

“No way,” she disagrees. “You Uncle seems so sweet, he deserves someone nice at least.”

Franny’s pencil snaps.

“Shit, she’s done it now,” John mutters.

“Uncle Mickey is nice,” Franny grits out between clenched teeth. “He’s a hell of a lot nicer than you, actually.”

“Franny—” Rachel tries to interrupt, but Susan cuts in over her.

“She’s not wrong,” Susan says. “You’re in the man’s home, Tiff, have a little tact.”

“Besides,” John speaks up, “Mickey is great. He helped me with my math homework last week.”

“Come on!” Tiffany cries. “There’s no way some ex-con should be married to that hunk out there.”

“Ian’s an ex-con too, though,” Susan says. “Right, Fran?”

Franny smiles.

“That’s right,” she confirms gleefully. “They were in jail together, actually.”

Tiffany pales.

“No way,” she mumbles, but they aren’t done.

“Yeah, it’s the most romantic story!” Rachel all but squeals. “Mickey wasn’t even in the country, but he heard Ian needed him and he came right back!”

“They’d been together for like, years already,” John contributes. “High school sweethearts or something like that.”

Rachel latches onto him at that, and he flushes again.

“And they take such good care of each other,” Susan adds. “Last time I was here Ian wasn’t feeling too good, and Mickey made us all be quiet so he could sleep. Then I helped him make some soup, ‘cause he isn’t good at that stuff.”

Tiffany is biting her lip again, staring at them each in turn.

“But Ian seems so—”

“In love with his husband?” Franny cuts her off dryly. “Sounds right to me.”

The others all agree, but Franny isn’t done.

“My Uncles have the best relationship I’ve ever seen,” Franny continues, “and I was a little kid for most of it. So if you think they’re gonna care what some random kid their niece hangs out with thinks about their marriage…” she trails off.

Tiffany’s eyes are downcast.

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” she mutters, then looks up through her eyelashes. “Sorry.”

Silence, broken by Franny’s tired sigh.

“It’s okay, I guess,” she says. Then she hands Tiffany her notebook. “Here, you can write the introduction.”

——-

Behind a half-closed door down the hall, Mickey stands quietly, eyes wide. He startles when the door creaks open an extra inch, Ian slipping inside.

Ian’s eyes are soft when they fall on his face, and Mickey blinks hurriedly to hide the wetness in his own.

“You heard all that, I take it?” Ian whispers, and Mickey nods.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Kind of hard not to, those kids are fucking banshees.”

Ian laughs, soft and quiet.

“Banshees that love you,” he says, stepping closer. “As they should,” he adds when Mickey lets him wrap strong arms around him.

“Sounds like one of ‘em loves you more,” Mickey mumbles into Ian’s chest, and it shakes as Ian huffs.

“She’ll learn,” he says, holding Mickey tighter. “They all do eventually.”

“That I’m the better husband?” Mickey jokes, even as he rubs his face into the fabric of his own shirt over Ian’s broad chest.

“That we’re best together,” Ian corrects, and Mickey smiles.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, pressing a kiss to Ian’s sternum.

“Yeah, we really are.”

#hope this counts!#I couldn't let go of the idea that teenage girls everywhere would find their story ridiculously romantic #and defend it to the death lol #daily speedwrite #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #franny gallagher #fanfic

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mishervellous · 3 years ago

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Can we see how Iggy reacts to Mickey going to prison and Ian doing what he does?

anon really looked at protective!Iggy 1 and protective!Iggy 2 and said this trilogy is ending in violence

sorry if this is angsty!! hope you like it though 💙

(cw: mentions of 6x01 lmao)

It’s weird that whenever he’s within the walls of a prison, Iggy feels at home.

The feeling goes both ways, of course: it feels like home both in, and out of the can. Making his way through the gates, and corridors people greet him, fist bump him; in prison, a Milkovich is the belle of the ball.

Thick glass that has been there ever since Iggy can remember separates him from a still empty seat. It’s after a couple of minutes of fidgeting with the old receiver that they bring him in.

Iggy is taken aback. His brother is looking up towards his guard, scoffing, and it’s clear to Iggy that he’s giving them attitude even without being able to hear him. It gives Iggy time to school his expression back to a nonchalant one. When Mickey takes the receiver in his hand, Iggy brings his own to his ear.

“‘Sup Jimmy felon.” He smirks. Mickey rolls his eyes. “What do they serve in here these days, laxatives? You look like shit.”

Mickey flips him off. It’s even worse than Iggy has made it seem: Mickey looks scaringly thin, paler than the walls behind him, and with a droopy face like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Iggy can tell he’s trying his hardest to still keep a harsh front on, but his blue eyes give him away—they always do. Iggy wants to ask him if he’s crossed the wrong people while being here, if the goons running this place are giving the inmates hell for some reason.

He doesn’t. Instead, when the silence keeps stretching on, Iggy drums his fingers on the shiny surface of the table. “You made any good deals? Some new connections?”

Mickey sniffs, scratching his nose. “Nah, man. Been laying low.”

Iggy nods. He doesn’t know the details of Mickey’s case, or the exact circumstances that led to his arrest. He just knows that his brother will spend the next eight years in this shithole, and that if he looks like this after only a couple of months, Iggy’s worried how he’ll end up next.

“Everything good?” Mickey asks.

“Yeah, same shitty neighborhood with the same shitty people.” And then, because he knows it must be on Mickey’s mind—why Mickey really asked—, he adds, “Haven’t seen Red in a while.”

Mickey’s demeanor changes at that. His grip on the receiver tightens, and his jaw clenches. The shift makes Iggy frown.

Maybe he’s just sad ‘cause he doesn’t get to see him as often. So he presses on.

“He come visit you yet?”

A sardonic lift of his lips, a strong exhale from his nose. No eye contact. Mickey’s jaw clenches, and unclenches. He ignores Iggy’s question. “Stay out of trouble, dickhead. If I see you in here I’ll beat your ass.”

Iggy wants to ask, wants to know why he’s gotten so tense, and moody at the mere mention of Ian. If Ian’s the reason why he currently looks like a zombie.

But Iggy just smirks, trying to keep the uncomfortable foreboding in his stomach at bay, and gets flipped off by his brother when he says, “Aight, mom. Do me a favor too—eat a fucking sandwich.”

***

Gallagher turns the corner to North Wallace at around midnight, and Iggy watches him saunter down the street with his hands in his pockets.

He takes one last drag of his smoke, flicking the butt into the Gallagher’s disheveled front yard, and approaching the only street light illuminating the block. The redhead looks fine—fit, with a nice color to his freckled face. It makes Iggy’s fists clench.

“Yo, Gallagher.” Iggy leans on the rusted fencing, crossing his arms. Gallagher stops dead in his tracks, and Iggy can see some tension building in his shoulders. “Long time no see.”

Gallagher just nods his chin his way, his lips drawn in a tight line. “Iggy.” He takes the steps of the porch two at a time, leaving Iggy to stand behind.

“C’mon, let’s catch up. How’s life going?” There’s bitterness in the tone of his own voice, Iggy can hear it. Gallagher can too. So much so that he sighs before turning around, his green eyes cold as they stare from the top of the stairs.

“What do you want, Iggy?”

“Honestly?” Iggy chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. He scratches his chin. “Beat your fucking ass, but I can’t. Turns out you have some powerful friends in the higher-ups.”

Gallagher shakes his head. He even has the gall to look angry. “Fuck you.”

“Is that what you do with motherfuckers that gave it all up for your sorry ass?” Gallagher looks away, moves his head like he’s been slapped. His face is hard. “Leave them in the dust? Do you have any fucking idea what Mickey would’ve done for you if it was you stuck in there for eight years?”

When Gallagher was the pale, thin one, with broken eyes, and no fight left in him, his brother was there for him. When there was no pieces left to pick up but dust, Mickey was right fucking there to treasure his cold ashes.

How can Gallagher forget about what Mickey Milkovich did for him when even Iggy can’t?

Iggy watches the front door slam shut. There’s no time to dwell in the hatred he feels for this ungrateful sack of shit, not when there are pieces for him to pick up on the other side now.

***

I don’t care if you read this letter. I know you’re in contact with Mickey. you know where Mickey is. just get this to him. please.

Mickey

I’m so fucking sorry. I feel like I made the worst mistake of my life. you were right, you’re always right-I should’ve gotten in the fucking car. I miss you so fucking much. it hurts so bad cause I know you’re gone. you’re not here with me I’m not there with you. please let me know you’re okay. I’ll take a fuck you over one more week of silence any day.

you’re the love of my life. I’m sorry it took so long for me to understand the things you were saying that day on the porch. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you help me. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you love me the way you wanted. I’d do anything to be with you right now, no matter the circumstances. I know we could beat the odds again.

I love you. I love you

Ian

Mickey has a brilliant smirk on his face when he makes his way over to their table, two pints of beer in hands. He looks weird with a touch more color to his skin. “Looking good, gringo.” Iggy says with a smirk of his own. Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, pasty bitch.”

Texas is treating Iggy good these days, better than Chicago ever could. He gets to spend his time in this hot fucking weather, with tan chicks everywhere, and cowboy boots deemed a socially acceptable footwear.

And he gets to spend more time with Mickey. Since his brother crossed the border all those months ago they see each other pretty regularly, here at this seedy bar on the Mexican side of the frontier. They trade stories, shoot the shit. Mickey asks about Chicago whenever Iggy goes back to Illinois from time to time, and Iggy tells him about the cold, the shitty food, the same old, same old.

Iggy just got back from a trip to Chicago, and Mickey knows it. He’s fidgeting with the wooden coaster a little too much, something clearly on his mind.

“You hear anything from Ian?”

Svetlana gave him that piece of paper just before Iggy left; told him that the redhead looked like shit, banging on her door at two in the morning, and to bring the letter to Mickey so Gallagher would stop bothering her, and waking her son up.

Good fucking riddance.

Shifting in his seat, he feels the shards of paper crinkle in the pocket of his jeans.

“Nah. But Svet says hi.”

If the disappointed look on Mickey’s face stings a little, it doesn’t matter. Iggy has seen his little brother scrape the bottom of the barrel time, and time again because of Ian Gallagher. He won’t let it happen again.

And he’s right: in the end, Mickey does relax—it just takes him a couple of beers to.

It’s better this way. Iggy knows it’s better this way.

#shameless #gallavich #iggy milkovich #i’m sowwyyyy #angsty stuff up in here #my writing #ask #thanks for the prompt 🌺#gallavich fanfiction

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yeah-all-of-it · 3 years ago

Text

“Hey, sleepyhead! Get up! Busy day!” Ian calls from the bathroom.

He hears a grumpy, incoherent groan come from somewhere underneath the pile of blankets on the bed. After he finishes fixing his hair, he walks over to the bed. He perches himself gently on the edge, slowly sliding his hand underneath the bright white, high thread count duvet, a housewarming gift they had treated themselves to several months ago along with a new mattress and some sheets. After having to bang in walk-in coolers and dugouts and sleep on old mattresses and prison bunks for years, they wanted their bed to be a haven.

He has to feel around but Ian finally finds the waistband of Mickey’s boxers, and slips his hand in. This elicits a more pleasant groan from the pile of blankets.

Ian leans down and whispers softly, “We don’t have time now since someone decided to sleep in so long, but if you get up now, I promise I’ll make it worth your while later.”

“Ugh, fine,” Mickey grumbles, throwing off the covers and rolling out of bed. He stumbles to the bathroom, still half asleep, and shuts the door. Ian continues getting ready as he hears Mickey’s usual morning ritual; taking a piss, washing his face, brushing his teeth. He emerges from the bathroom several minutes later, decidedly more alert, and stops dead in his tracks.

There, standing in front of the full length mirror affixed to the back of the bedroom door, is his husband. He is dressed in a navy blue suit that looks like it was crafted just for his body. A slim fit jacket that enhances his broad shoulders and hugs his muscular arms. Slim leg trousers that show off his perfect ass, still deliciously thick from a few remaining quarantine pounds. Underneath the jacket is a crisp white dress shirt with a burgundy tie, and he has a pair of wing tips the color of caramel on his feet. He has put some gel in his red hair, not losing his curls, but styling them a bit more than normal. In short, he looks fucking incredible.

Once Mickey is able to breathe again, he manages to get out a flirty, “Hey there, Mr. Milkovich,” while very blatantly panning his eyes up and down Ian’s body.

Ian glances up at his husband, standing there in nothing but his ratty boxers, and grins at him.

“See somethin’ you like?” Ian inquires.

Mickey nods his head and smiles that million watt smile of his.

“C’mere.”

Mickey does as instructed and saunters over to Ian, who wraps Mickey tight in his arms and presses a kiss onto his mouth, gently sucking on Mickey’s lower lip. He lets his hands wander aimlessly all over Mickey’s bare back and Mickey melts into him with a soft “hmmmm”.

“Okay okay okay,” Mickey finally interjects, and pulls away. “You’re turnin’ me the fuck on and unless you want that fancy fuckin’ suit ripped off’a you right now, we gotta stop.”

Ian steps back and holds up both hands in mock surrender.

He then walks over to the dresser to grab his wallet and phone. “Mick, you got about forty five minutes to get ready before we have to leave.” He kisses Mickey on the cheek and steps out of the bedroom door, yelling from the hallway, “I’ll brew some coffee and we can take it with us. Lip will kill me if we’re late for his wedding.”

Forty minutes later, Mickey walks out into the living room where Ian is waiting on the sofa, playing some stupid game on his phone. He has poured two travel mugs of coffee that are in front of him on the coffee table. He looks up when he hears Mickey enter the room.

Mickey has on a modern dark gray suit, black dress shirt, black tie, and black wing tips. He’s gelled his jet black hair and it harkens back to years ago, when he was younger and wore his hair gelled every day. His brushed white gold wedding band gleams in the sunlight coming in from the window as he reaches up to adjust his tie. His bright blue eyes pop against the dark color of the suit. Ian sets his phone down and stands up slowly, unable to take his eyes off of his husband.

“Hell-o, Mr. Gallagher,” Ian purrs, while strutting up to Mickey, placing his hands on either side of his freshly shaven face. He slides his hands down Mickey’s arms and buries his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply. He smells of shampoo and Irish Spring soap, fresh from the shower, not yet tainted by the scent of cigarette smoke. He kisses Mickey’s neck gently, sighs, and reluctantly pulls away.

“We have to leave right now if we plan on being at the church by noon for the first round of pictures,” Ian states, double checking his watch.

“Alright, well let’s get goin’, GQ,” Mickey says with a sly grin and a quick raise of his eyebrows, grabbing his coffee on the way out.

Ian’s close behind and smacks Mickey on the ass before closing the door behind them.

———

“You’re early! I’m so fuckin’ proud!” Lip exclaims as the Gallagher-Milkoviches walk into the church.

He steps up to Ian and gives him a tight hug with a firm pat on the back; actually shakes Mickey’s hand. “Hey, you shitheads clean up pretty nice!”

Ian and Mickey both give him synchronized middle fingers.

“Uncle Mickey! Uncle Ian!” Franny yells and runs up to them, jumping into Mickey’s arms. She’s wearing a burgundy sparkly dress with a poofy tulle skirt and gold Doc Martens.

“Hey, kid!” Mickey says sweetly, swinging the tiny girl into the air, causing her to squeal with delight.

“Franny, you look beautiful!” Ian says to her once Mickey has set her down. “I love your dress!”

“It’s like the one I wore when you married Uncle Mickey!” she chirps cheerfully.

“It sure is!” Ian exclaims, giving her a big hug.

“Hey, Lip, where’s the newest little Gallagher?” Ian inquires. “Gotta get some snuggles in before things get busy.”

“She’s right over here, man. Tami’s got her. She’s gotta go get dressed anyway. Come on.”

Ian walks with Lip over to Tami, who is holding a snuggly baby in her arms, dressed in a soft cotton burgundy colored dress and a white cardigan, with little gold moccasins on her feet. Tami gives Ian a big hug and passes the baby off to him before heading elsewhere to put her gown on.

“Hey, there Sophie Gallagher. Uncle Ian missed you!” he coos. “I can’t believe you are three whole months old! And your mommy and daddy are getting married today!”

He glances up and sees Mickey standing off to the side, looking at Ian holding the baby with nothing but love in his eyes. Ian can’t wait to have kids with Mickey, but there is no pressure. They’ll get there one day. Right now they’re just enjoying being husbands and uncles. Mickey’s still nervous around babies, but Franny and Fred adore him.

“Okay okay, my turn!” Debbie interjects. She carefully takes Sophie from Ian and goes to sit down.

Ian spots Fred and heads over to him. “Freddie, my man, what’s up!” he says and picks up the toddler in the matching tiny blue suit who wraps his arms around Ian’s neck, saying, “Hewwo, Uncle Een!” in his sweet little voice. “Where’s Uncle Mickey?”

“He’s right over there. You wanna go tickle him?” Ian asks playfully.

“Yeah! Wet’s go!” They run over and wrap Mickey in a big bear hug. The tough guy can’t help but melt into a big puddle around his nieces and nephew.

“Hey, buddy!” Mickey exclaims, laughing at Fred’s small fingers tickling his sides.

Typical Gallagher chaos is happening. Liam is trying fruitlessly to convince Franny to go potty before things start. Debbie and Lip are arguing about something, as usual. Carl can’t find his suit jacket.

“Alright, we’ve gotta get this show on the road, people!” the photographer yells over the noise.

The photographer attempts to line up the bridesmaids - a couple of Tami’s childhood friends, Debbie, and Cami as the maid of honor, all dressed in burgundy chiffon floor length gowns. Debbie continues to gripe at Lip from her spot in line.

He then tries to get all the boys to line up - Ian, who is the best man, Brad, Carl, and Liam the groomsmen. The photographer has to shoot Ian a look as he puts Carl in a headlock when they are supposed to be lining up.

“Sorry!” Ian yells, straightening his suit and stepping into place.

Rounding up Franny and Fred and getting them to stand still proves to be easier than getting the adults to cooperate.

Mickey just sits back and watches the Gallagher shitshow with a huge grin on his face.

———

“You ready to do this, big brother?” Ian asks while standing in the hallway behind the sanctuary. The faint sound of people finding their seats and conversing quietly fills the air around them.

“Absolutely. Tami’s a good woman, ya know? She calls me on my bullshit, which is something I really need. She’s fuckin’ beautiful and she’s an amazing mom to Fred and Sophie. I’m really fuckin’ lucky, man,” Lip says, and Ian thinks he sees tears forming in Lip’s eyes. “I love her.”

Ian just smiles. “Soft motherfucker,” he jokes quietly and wraps his big brother in a hug, squeezing the back of his neck.

They hear the wedding march begin and know it’s their cue to step out into the sanctuary.

As they stand at the front of the church, the doors open and reveal Tami on the arm of her father, wearing a white beaded gown. It’s strapless and form fitting til it gets to the bottom where it fans out. She has her long blonde hair pulled up into a soft chignon, wispy hairs around her face, no veil. Simple. Lovely. She has a radiant smile on her face as she looks at her husband to be.

They begin to recite their vows and Ian notices they have chosen traditional vows. The same ones he and Mickey said to each other almost two years before.

“I Phillip, take you, Tami...”

“I Tami, take you, Phillip...”

“In sickness and in health...”

Ian can’t help but find Mickey in the crowd, locking eyes with him.

“For richer or poorer...”

Mickey softly smiles at Ian, and Ian just knows that sensitive asshole’s eyes are tearing up.

“Til death do us part.”

Ian is smiling at his husband like an idiot now, unable to take his gaze off of him. He can’t help but think of the day when they said those same beautiful words to each other, meaning them with their whole hearts. They had already been through most of it; sickness, poverty, better and worse. And they had made it. Making those promises that day just cemented that they would always go through those inevitable things together.

It was the best day of Ian’s life. The beginning of their forever. No more forced separations. No more goodbyes. No more lonely nights, wondering if the other is safe and okay. He has to fight back tears; this is Lip and Tami’s day after all.

Lost in thought, he’s startled back to the present by applause as Lip dips Tami for a kiss that’s a little too hot for church. This elicits a standing ovation and whoops and whistles from the guests. Ian can’t help but cheer and clap for his brother and his new wife.

———

After another hour of pictures, these including the bride and groom, they all head to the reception hall.

It’s decorated with white and burgundy linen tablecloths and elaborate floral centerpieces. There are Edison bulb strings hanging from the ceiling. A DJ is spinning beside the parquet dance floor, disco lights flashing away. There is a large table full of chafing dishes and a three tired cake on a separate round table.

“Man, the Tamiettis really went all out,” Mickey says to Ian, grabbing a carrot stick off one of the veggie platters with his fingers, sticking it into the bowl of dip, and shoving it into his mouth.

“Like you have room to talk, Mr. Gold- chiavaris-with-the-white-cushions,” Ian jokes, to which Mickey responds with a light hearted “fuck off”.

After filling their starving bellies with meatballs, chicken wings, finger sandwiches, and cake, the Gallaghers take to the dance floor. They know how to party and they’re not about to let this amazing night with music, free food, and an open bar go to waste.

The whole family is dancing to YMCA, a wedding reception staple, when the end of it fades into a slow song. Ian and Mickey lock eyes. Ian raises a quizzical eyebrow and Mickey nods, almost imperceptibly. Ian slowly walks over to him, gently grips his hips, and pulls him in close. Mickey snakes his arms around Ian’s waist and grasps his hands together at Ian’s lower back. Ian slides his hands up Mickey’s arms and wraps them around his shoulders. They sway slowly to the music, bodies pressed together so closely they can feel each other’s hearts thrumming in their chests. Mickey nuzzles his face into Ian’s neck as Ian rubs his hand on the back of Mickey’s head. They are intoxicated by each other, the romance of the day, and the few Old Styles they’ve shared from the bar.

“Hey, Ian?” Mickey inquires, a little muffled, not bothering to move his face from its place in Ian’s neck.

“Yeah, Mick?” Ian questions, talking into Mickey’s hair.

He hesitates for a second, like he’s trying to think of the right words. “Maybe... maybe it’s the beer, or… or just this day, or maybe being married to your ass is making me fuckin’ soft...” he drifts off.

“Out with it, Mick,” Ian sighs calmly.

“It’s just... I love you. So fuckin’ much. I feel like I don’t say it enough, man,” Mickey finally confesses.

Ian stops swaying, pulls back, and tenderly holds Mickey’s head in his hands. Looks him directly in the eyes. “Mickey. Listen to me. No, you don’t say it very much. But you don’t need to. Because you show me every fuckin’ day. And that’s so much more important and meaningful to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean… you got me to stop wallowing on the couch when I lost my job, paid enough attention that you knew where that could lead. Stopped it before it got bad. Checked in with me. Don’t know where I’d be, ya know mentally, if it wasn’t for you. Worrying about me and shit. Fuck, I probably would have fallen through the cracks years ago without you. And… and you created a job for me so we could work together. You planned a surprise anniversary party for me. You moved to the fuckin’ Westside because I wanted to. You agreed to buy a duvet, for fuck’s sake, and helped me pick it out,” Ian laughs.

“Okay, yeah, I guess I am a pretty amazing husband. You really fuckin’ lucked out, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, damn straight I did,” Ian smiles and pulls his husband back into his arms, thinking the matter settled.

There’s a short beat before Mickey says, so quietly Ian almost doesn’t hear it, “I fuckin’ lucked out, too, ya know.”

“Ya did?” Ian asks casually, expecting a snarky answer. Another slow song has begun so they stay where they are, in each other’s arms on the dance floor.

“Yeah, man. Like… like with my fuckin’ dad?” Mickey begins.

Okay, not where Ian was expecting this conversation to go.

“You… you found nurses for him and shit… and kept trying when they… didn’t work out.” Mickey keeps pausing, like the conversation is making him uncomfortable, but he can’t stop. “He was an evil prick that didn’t fuckin’ deserve our help… but you helped anyway… for me, ya know? ‘Cause it was important to me.

“And then… when he…” Mickey sniffs uncomfortably, reaches up and scratches his nose with his thumb. “…you just let me cry for like, 4 days. Didn’t make fun of me. And you held me. But you didn’t let me forget what a monster he was, no matter how hard I tried to only remember the good shit.”

“Mick, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about all this, not here anyway —,” Ian begins but Mickey interrupts him.

“No, I wanna… I spent so much of my life never saying what I fuckin’ feel and I want to tell you right now how I fuckin’ feel,” Mickey declares, determined but still so tender.

Ian just nods for him to continue.

“Look, all the shit with my dad is in the past. But I’ll never forget the way you were …just, there for me. Through all of it. It just… it meant a lot to me. It meant everything to me, man. I just… sorry, all this wedding shit has me all fuckin’ emotional and I just needed to let it out. Tell you what you mean to me, that’s all.” He clenches his eyes shut, and squeezes the bridge of his nose with his fingers, only briefly. “Just… don’t fuckin’ get used to it, okay?”

Mickey grins after that last statement, relieving some of the tense emotion of the last several minutes.

Ian smiles back and replies sarcastically, “Wasn’t planning on it, softie.”

“You’re a fuckin’ dick,” Mickey laughs and draws Ian in close, starts to sway to the music again.

“Hey, Mick?” Ian whispers into Mickey’s ear as the song finishes. “I love you too,” and he feels Mickey’s smile light up against his skin.

Ian and Mickey dance and drink the rest of the evening away, celebrating not only Lip and Tami, but also the freedom they’ve found in being so emotionally vulnerable with one another. There is a lightness that comes after getting things off their chests, sharing their unfiltered feelings with one another. This might not have been the ideal occasion to share such heavy stuff, but Ian doesn’t want Mickey to ever be scared again to just blurt out how he fuckin’ feels every minute.

———

They aren’t completely wasted, but are definitely drunk enough that they shouldn’t be driving home. They grab an Uber and Carl, who has an early shift the next morning and quit drinking around 9, drives the ambulance to the Gallagher house where they’ll pick it up later.

Feeling no pain, they laugh and joke and sing like when they were just drunk teenagers, arms tangled around each other, up the elevator and down the hall. It’s nearly 1am and they aren’t exactly being quiet. Their neighbor across the hall, an older eccentric lady named Rhonda, pokes her head out to see what the commotion is, catching the two men pressed up against the wall outside her door in the middle of a steamy kiss.

They finally notice her presence, break apart and Ian blurts out, “Heyyyy, Ms. Rhonda! So sorry to bother you!” as their cheeks turn bright red. They’re not embarrassed that she caught them making out in the hallway, they’re embarrassed because this isn’t the first time she’s caught them making out in the hallway.

“Oh, you beautiful boys are no bother!” she laughs. “Wish I had someone to throw me against a wall and kiss me like that. Shew! You two crazy kids have a great night; god love ya!” and retreats back into her apartment with a friendly smile and a wave.

They laugh, bid her good night, and decide they should probably go inside their apartment before they encounter one of their less friendly neighbors. Ian fumbles around with the key for what feels like an eternity before finally getting the door open. They stumble through the door, slamming it shut loudly behind them, Ian reaching up to lock the deadbolt.

He stops as soon as he throws the keys onto the entry table.

“In case I haven’t told you yet, Mick, you look hot as fuck in that suit. But…,” he steps closer to Mickey. “I think it’ll look even better on our bedroom floor,” Ian teases.

“‘Ey, you look pretty fuckin’ hot yourself,” Mickey responds, biting his lip.

They just stare at each other for a moment, appreciating the sight before them. Suits and ties and dressy shit don’t happen around here that often.

“S’you remember your promise from this morning, right? That if I got outta bed, you’d make it worth my while later?” Mickey asks playfully.

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s fuckin’ later, Gallagher. Time to pay up,” Mickey declares with a flirty grin.

Ian doesn’t even hesitate. Grabs Mickey around the waist and pushes him back toward their bedroom, to their bed with the cloud mattress and the bright white duvet, to their haven.

ETA: Check out Ian, Mickey, and Rhonda’s friendship origin story here!

#I wrote my first fic!#well not my first but this was the first one that I felt wasn’t too garbage to share #please be kind #this is so far out of my comfort zone and I can’t believe I’m actually sharing this for other people to read #gallavich fic #ian and mickey #3.5k #post season 11 #sorry it doesn’t have a title

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wh0lemilk0vich · 3 years ago

Note

Prompt: coworkers i&m. Ian asks chubby (200 pounds) mickey to pretend to be his bf for christmas because he lied to his family that he is in a serious relationship. They have to share a tiny bed at the gallagher house and the gallaghers bully mickey and critisize him for his body and ian gets mad. Then one night they have sex and become a real couple after a while.(denial of feelings) No fat kink or chaser ian, just the fact that mickey is chubby and ian likes him for who he is.

This is my attempt at a start to a ficlet. I'll come back to it in a bit, but it's always hard for me to follow through 🙈 shorter drabbles are usually my bag on tumblr

"Fuck off, I'm not doing it, Gallagher."

"Please Mickey," Ian plead, "Please, I promise it'll just be for a couple of days. I just need to get my family off my back. They think all I do is party and fuck random dudes every night."

"But you do party and fuck random dudes every night."

"Well they all think we've been dating for the last six months."

"Fucking hell, Red," Mickey whined, long-suffering, "just because we're a couple of 'mo's doesn't make us a fucking couple."

"Please, Mickey, I'll cover your shifts, I'll buy you lunch for a month, I just really fucking need this. We're practically work husbands anyway. Who got me my meds when I had my low episode? Who beat up that creep that kept leering at me at the bar? You know my fucking coffee order and the code to my apartment, Mickey!"

"Well somebody had to water your plants when you were on that fucking trip. You were just gonna let them wilt like some fucking psychopath. No offense."

"If I pretend to be offended at that neurodivergence crack, will you agree to come with me?"

"For fuck's sake Gallagher. Fine. I'll do it, but when we get back, you're telling them I broke up with you!"

Ian was all smiles then and picked up his stocky foul-mouthed coworker in a tight, spinning hug.

"You're the best! Don't worry, I'll make sure to play up how heartbroken I am."

"And I'm holding you to that lunch thing, but you may live to regret it." Mickey said teasing. He'd always been a bit thicker, heavier. His mom used to say he was 'big boned' the classic fat kid defense. Basically, he grew up and never seemed to lose the baby fat, he was soft around the edges, with a boyish face. He compensated for his self-consciousness by being brash, loud, getting into fights, used to be a bully, and that Napoleonic defense mechanism seemed to stick in adulthood.

Now, Ian wanted them to pretend to be dating and he didn't know what to do with that. It made him feel weird. Vaguely...sad? Cause of course when Mickey started temping at the office Ian worked at he thought the redhead was hot, but probably straight. Then he found out Ian was gay after a run in at the local gay bar, when Ian had run over drunk off his ass, happy to see Mickey and proceeded to talk his ear off about how hot the guy he was going to be taking home was. So yeah, after a little time Mickey's schoolboy crush fizzled out as he realized Ian was out of his league. He had to content himself with being the big lug's friend.

Ian was overjoyed. Finally, he could have one holiday where he didn't feel like the black sheep, the family fuck up. His siblings were starting to settle down, have kids. He had a nephew and a niece, and he was treated like the crazy, coked up, club kid guncle. It was the fact that the label kinda fit that hurt him the most, but he was still young, he didn't want to settle down and lose the life he knew. It was fun. It was. Or that's what he told himself. He was hot and he had really good sex with other hot guys. Not really all the time, but enough. Enough that he was getting a reputation among his family. When he got a home STI test from his older brother last Christmas, he knew he had to shut down their shit somehow.

Thank God he had Mickey. It was honestly perfect, Mickey knew basically everything about Ian, he was an open book and his coworker really seemed to commit a lot of the things he'd tell him to memory. He'd show up with a coffee for Ian just how he took it, or an extra pastry. He could always seem to tell when Ian's moods were switching and helped him stay on top of stuff when he needed to get his meds adjusted. He even helped him get home when his phone was on one percent battery and he wanted to skip out on the guy who'd taken him home from the bar. Legit got him an Uber and everything. Ian didn't know what he'd do without his work husband.

*****

"The fuck kind of name is 'Lip'?" Mickey asked, skeptically, as Ian wove his car through the south Chicago backstreets.

"Short for Phillip, Mikhailo." Ian teased.

"Hey, I told you that in confidence! Fuck, why are there so many of you, fuckers breed like rabbits. They all gingers like your freckled ass?"

"Hey, that gorgeous freckled bubble-butt to you. And you're one to talk, Casper the friendly ghost. So pale you're almost see-through. And no, we're not all ginger. Just me and Debs. Fiona's the oldest and she's basically our mom. Then after Lip and me there's Carl. last thing I heard he's still a meter maid. The youngest is Liam."

"Then who's Franny and Freddy?" Mickey asked, trying to get all the relationships straight.

"Franny is Debbie's kid. Freddy is Lip and Tammi's."

"Fucking Gallaghers" Mickey sighed as they pulled up in front of a not entirely rundown looking house.

It reminded him a lot of where he grew up. They probably weren't even that far, but Mickey was a bit older than Ian and they didn't seem to run in the same circles. He grabbed his bag and followed Ian up the steps to the house.

*****

Ian couldn't even make it to the top step of the porch stairs before his older sister was tossing the door wide open to pull him into a tight bear hug, kissing his cheek wet and loud.

"Well look who decided to show up! Get in here baby-face. Where's the hubby? Oh! Ohh." She said catching sight of the guy following Ian. She knew her brother had a type and that was usually jock types, gym types, Adonises... This was just unexpected.

"Fi, this is my boyfriend, Mickey," Ian said with a smile, slinging a long arm across Mickey's shoulders, pressing a tame kiss to his head, so proud of himself for his plan seeming to work.

Mickey smiled, tight-lipped and nervous, accepting a wary hug from the tall brunette.

"Hi, nice to meet you, this one's told me a lot about you." Mickey said, elbowing Ian.

"Well we're just excited to meet you," Fiona said, covering for the fact that she had not anticipated someone...shaped like Mickey. "There's not much room at the inn, so you boys are going to have to share Ian's bunk. There's not really anywhere else I can put you. I hope that's ok..." She trailed off leading them into the house.

Lip was the next to welcome Ian, giving him a quick hug and pulling him to the side conspiratorially.

"So, that's the guy, huh?" Lip asked.

"Yep that's my Mickey!" Ian shot back with a genuine smile.

"He's a big'un, huh? What's he like a buck ninety? 200? Don't take him to the gym with you, muscles?"

The conversation made Ian pause a bit. He'd never thought of Mickey as especially big. Like yeah, he wasn't skinny, but he pulled off his size. He just looked right. Ian didn't know why Lip's comment sat so weird with him, but he just tried to ignore it.

"You should see how much he can bench. I mean the guy's built like a brick shit house. You wouldn't believe the ass on him, Lip, I mean-" he really tried to lay it on, teasing his brother, only to get cut off exactly how he was anticipating.

"Yeah yeah I get it, trust me I can see it from here. As long as you're happy." Lip said patting his brother on the back, and just going off for a beer.

*****

Ian took Mickey upstairs to let them get settled before dinner. Following Mickey up the stairs, Ian really started to take stock of his good friend's body. Yeah, so he was a bit chubby. His clothes were all on the right side of snug, accentuating his curve of his ass, his plump bouncy belly, thick thighs, wide soft hips, softened handfuls of pecs. Screw Lip, Mickey looked good...Mickey looked more than good...

"Yo, Red!" Mickey shook Ian out of his reverie, "we really supposed to share a twin bed? I mean I don't know if you've seen me lately, but I'm most certainly not twin size." He said worrying his plush lower lip with his bunny teeth.

Ian blushed slightly at the implication, but just waved his concerns away "We'll make it work. It's just for one night, ok? It's not like we're gonna fu- I mean you know...it's just...sleeping. We'll just have to squeeze tight." Ian was picturing the spacial relations in his head wondering how they'd fit so much...boy on that little bed. But that was an issue for later.

They stood there in an a slight awkward silence before hearing Fiona call them down to get ready for dinner and open up stocking gifts. An apparent tradition for the Gallaghers, usually small joke gifts.

#gallavich fanfic #chubby mickey milkovich

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clarissa--evans · 3 years ago

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(Crystal Reed, 35, she/her) CLARISSA EVANS! i heard you’re working as a/an BUSINESS OWNER at UNION MARKET - do you like it? it’s pretty rad that you’re from MCLEAN, VIRGINA and that you’ve been here for TWO YEARS, now. damn, time flies! i can tell that you’re a bit IMPLUSIVE, EMPATHTIC, and BRAVE, which means you’re probably fitting in around here just fine. you got that whole LOST SOUL SERACHING, READING LATE AT NIGHT TO ESCAPE REALITY, IT’S NEVER TOO LATE FOR A GLASS OF RED WINE, JADED BUT SOMEHOW STLL A HOPELESS ROMANTIC, TRYING TO HIDE BEHIND A MASK BUT EVERYONE SEES THROUGH IT thing going on and it sorta reminds me of I COULD USE A LOVE SONG by MAREN MORRIS. i hope i’ll be seeing you more down the shore! (Marie, EST, 26, she/her, none) tw: death, car accident, adultery, miscarriage

Hi Guys! This is a condensed version of Clarissa’s bio! Her detailed history is found here!

- Clarissa Elizabeth Evans was born in McLean, VA to a very wealthy and very well known family.

- Her mother was the founder of Evans Events: a prestigious and sought after event planning company. Most of the clients vary from A-list celebrities to government officials. Her father is CEO of one of the biggest investment corporations in the nation.

- She has an older brother, Aiden, and a younger sister, Alexandra.

- Clarissa is married to Cillian. They have been together for 13 years, and of that, married for 6. She took Cillian’s name and changed it to Gallagher

- 4 years ago, Clarissa’s parents were killed by a drunk driver.

- That same week, Clarissa walked in and caught Cillian sleeping with her best friend. She ran away from him after that and settled in a small town in Georgia. They were separated for year after that, each living their own lives.

- The night she caught Cillian, Clarissa had found out she was pregnant. But when she caught him , Clarissa kept the pregnant to herself. During her second trimester, Clarissa had a miscarriage. Still being new to town, she didn’t confide in anyone and didn’t tell Cillian.

- A year later, Cillian came to where she was staying, looking for her. Chris wanted to try again, Clarissa turned him down. Fear of their past, her secret miscarriage, and of his rejection for who she truly was, fueling the decision. They divorced and Clarissa moved again and landed in Asbury. When she moved, she changed her name back to her maiden name.

- Though she comes from a well off family, she never liked the lifestyle she was born into. She prefers the simpler life and that has always caused her to be at odds in her family. Since she left McLean, she has only recently started to reconnect with her siblings.

- Clarissa still keeps her past and her linage a bit a secret, preferring for people to get to know her as a person rather than the money and power that comes with her family name.

- Clarissa’s biggest motivator for leaving everything behind was to find who she was. Who she was outside of wealth and status and the woman her mother had spent years grooming her to become. She had lost who she really is and finally grown into herself.

- In the last couple of years, Clarissa finally started stepping up and taking over her mother’s prominent and highly sought out event planning business. It’s a little, not fully taking over but it was something. She looks forward to growing into that role now that she’ comfortable with who she has found herself to be.

Extras

- Clarissa is a bookworm through and through. Reading is her passion and she has more books than she can store in her home. - Clarissa is a award-winning dressage rider. She currently boards her horse about 2 hours from Asbury. His name is Cinnamon. - Red wine is the way to her heart. - Clarissa is very jaded towards love but even though she’s closed off to it; there is no denying she is a romantic at heart. - Clarissa does not touch her families wealth. She’s only done so a handful of occasions and prefers to live off her own hard work. - Her mother is Native America and part of her self discovery was trying to dive into that and what that means for her. It’s been a slow process but she’s getting there. Her mother never taught her much of it.

#asburyintro #tw: death #Tw: miscarriage #tw: adultery #tw: divorce #intro

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prettyyoungandbored · 4 years ago

Text

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Seven

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: This chapter contains description of a heavy panic attack. Please read at your own risk.

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Author’s Note: A chunk of dialogue in this chapter comes from the movie and has been expanded on to fit the storyline.

“And when exactly is your mother planning to visit us?” Monsignor O’Malley inquired as he followed Demetria.

Demetria snapped a photo of the hallway before looking over her shoulder. “Most likely next month. Once I send her the photos , she’ll work on drafts and whenever she comes, we can all sit down and discuss how to go about the process.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I have her business card with me because she sometimes does work in Gotham City.”

She pulled out her wallet from her purse and handed Monsignor O’Malley the thing off white card. “She’ll be happy to answer any of your questions and or concerns.”

He smiled as he took the card. “This is awfully generous of you, Ms. Gallagher. We can’t tell you how grateful we are.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she waved her hand. “Both Bruce and I want to make sure you, the sisters, and the boys are taken care of with whatever you need.” She paused. “How are the boys doing?”

“They’re wonderful.”

“Oh good! I was actually wondering if I could go say ‘hi’ or-.”

“Unfortunately the boys are on a field trip with the sisters.”

Demetria nodded understandingly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Absolutely.” Then an idea hit her. “Do the nuns teach the boys?”

“Some do. We’ve been thinking about incorporating more schooling into the boys schedules, but we’re a little short staffed and not all the nuns feel comfortable teaching certain subjects.”

“I’d love to step in,” Demetria offered.

Monsignor O’Malley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it you would teach?”

“I’m excellent at English. All levels. I was a TA my senior year of high school. I even minored in it in college.”

Monsignor O’Malley nodded his head, impressed. “Well, if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule-.”

“I don’t have one,” she laughed.

He chuckled. “Then I suppose it’s something we can try out. Are you free next week?”

Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!’ I would love that!”

Before she could say more, the sound of her phone ringing cut her off. She gave Monsignor O’Malley an apologetic smile as she dug into her bag. “Excuse me one second.”

She glanced down to see it was a reminder that she had to start getting ready for the fundraiser.

“Please excuse me, but I’ve got to head out,” Demetria said. “Remember, if you have any questions, you have my number as well as my mom’s.”

“Of course. I also look forward to discussing you working here.”

“I do as well.”

The two shook hands and Demetria headed out of the orphanage.

She had taken Bruce’s Cadillac XLR, seeing as it was the only semi-low-key-looking car he owned and the only one she didn’t get anxious driving. She wished he had owned something a little less glamorous for trips like this, hating how it made her look, but it was what it was.

As she she opened the driver’s side door, she noticed a photographer snapping her from the distance. The two stared at each for a moment, acknowledging just what was going on. She exhaled softly, mentally reminding herself to keep it together.

Since her essay was published, the media outlets had backed off a bit. The Gotham Times were still insistent of doing a piece on her and published one on her, but it turned out to be a dud as no one close to her would speak to them with the exception of her former News Director and the Head Booker, her other boss. It also helped that a local mob boss was mysteriously killed and the news decided to fixate on that.

She gave him a quick, tired smile before she slid inside and closed the door, driving off.

===================================================

Back at the Wayne Penthouse, Bruce adjusted the cuffs of his pristine white dress shirt as he made his way down the stairs.

Alfred wrapped up his conversation with the party planners and turned his attention to Bruce.

“I think your fundraiser will be a great success,” Alfred remarked.

“Why do you think I want to hold a party for Harvey Dent?” Bruce questioned, almost annoyed at the thought of it.

“I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham’s underbelly to try to impress Miss Gallagher.”

“Very droll, very wrong,” Bruce responded, glancing up for a brief moment.

Alfred looked over his shoulder for a moment, noticing the party planners were not in the room. “Have you considered telling Miss Gallagher what it is you’re doing at night?” Alfred inquired in a voice low enough for Bruce to hear him.

Bruce glanced up. It wasn’t the first time this conversation came up between the two. “Soon.”

“Before or after you say ‘I do’?”

“When the time is right.”

“Perhaps she should truly know what she’s getting herself into.”

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “What are you implying, Alfred?”

“Miss Gallagher has given you every ounce of herself.”

“Who says I-.”

Bruce’s attention was caught by the low sound of the television. He looked over to find GCN airing what appeared to be a figure of Batman, hanging with a rope around it’s neck on a building. The lower third read “BATMAN DEAD?”

Demetria walked down the stairs and into the living room, tightening the belt on her cozy white bathrobe when she saw Bruce and Alfred staring at the tv. Curious, her eyes darted to the tv when she saw the lower third.

Her blood ran cold with disbelief and shock, heart dropping into her stomach.

The camera cut back to GCN anchor, Mike Engel.

“Be aware, the image is disturbing,” he warned.

The camera then cut to a man dressed in a cheap Batman getup, his plump cheeks spilling out of the cowl. He was sat on the floor of what looked like the back kitchen area of a butcher shop with a silver cart and a large pieces of animal meat hanging behind the victim. He had his hands tied behind them, his face lowered to the game.

“Tell them your name,” the camera man said in a menacing, sing-song voice.

“Brian Douglas,” the fake Batman answered weakly.

“Are you the real Batman?” There was a childish, teasing tone in the voice behind the camera to a point where it was menacing. It was almost as if whoever it was took immense pleasure in this man’s torture.

“No.” Brian was barely hanging on.

“No?” the voice repeated back, almost in a whine to mimic Brian’s pain.

“No.”

“No?” The voice giggled. An arm reached over and pulled the cowl off Brian. “Then why do you dress up like him?” The camera pulled back, the arm dangling the cowl in front of Brian. The voice laughed a stomach curdling “Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Because he’s a symbol...that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you,” Brian retorted with a slight bit of courage in his weak tone.

“Yeah. You do, Brian.” The hand grabbed the side of Brian’s face, the camera coming in close. “You really do.”

The hand pulled the top of Brian’s head as the man whimpered. The hand turned back and stroked Brian’s cheek. “Oh, shh shh shh.”

Demetria shook her head, her stomach growing weak. Bruce’s eyes fixated on the TV, his expression stone cold with eyes colored in disbelief.

“So,” the voice continued on, “you think the Batman's helped Gotham? Hmm?”

Brian didn’t respond.

“LOOK AT ME!”

The roaring voice caused Demetria to jump back, her hand slapping on her mouth.

The camera swung around to reveal the person behind the voice, the sight causing Demetria to yelp, “Jesus Christ!”

The red smeared smile was complimented by his chalk-white foundation and accentuated the long scars on the sides of his face. Two lazily painted black eyeshadow covered his eyes and he revealed his dark yellow teeth.

“You see, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in.”

It was something behind the clown that Demetria recognized. A memory popped up in her mind, her jaw dropping at the realization.

“Oh, and everyday he doesn’t, people will die. Starting tonight. I’m a man of my word.”

As the camera switched around, the man let out a menacing cackle as Brian screamed in the background. Demetria, overcome with her realization and the man’s grim promise, hurried up the stairs, Bruce and Alfred watching her. Bruce turned off the television and glanced at Alfred who shot him a look. He gave the old man a nod, indicating the message was received.

In their bedroom, Demetria grabbed a notebook from her nightstand as well as a pen. She began writing hurriedly, her cursive handwriting slightly smudged from the pen. Upon finishing, she ripped the page from her notebook and folded it. She reached back into the drawer, grabbing an empty envelope and shoving the folded paper in there. She licked the envelope, sealing tightly with her fingers and placed it back into the drawer.

Just as she went to close the drawer, she heard the door unlock and grabbed her anti-anxiety meds.

Bruce entered the room.

“Everything ok?” he asked, gentle concern laced in his tone.

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just that video was, uh, pretty overwhelming to watch. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

He eyed the pilll bottle in her hand. “You know you should probably put that in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. I’m just used to putting them in nightstand drawer. But considering we’re having a bunch of random people over, I guess you’re right.” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “Should I leave some viagra in a little bowl for our older guests trying to impress their much younger dates?”

He sat beside her on the bed, smirking at her. “I don’t have any because I don’t need it.”

She hummed, patting his leg. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He pulled her close, his breath hitting her lips. “Not funny.”

“Oh, but it is. It really is.”

She gave him a chaste kiss, nuzzling her nose against his. “You think maybe we should cancel this party? I mean, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“We’re going to be fine,” Bruce reassured.

She sighed, realizing there was no point in changing his mind. “Then I guess I better continue getting ready.”

He chuckled. “Well, don’t get too excited, sweetheart.”

“It’s just...” she stepped back, “I don’t know.” Her fingers toyed the robed belt. “I figured you’d cancel the party and we could spend the night in here...” She continued to move back toward the bathroom area, throwing off the robe to reveal her naked body to him. “And I’d let you do whatever you want to me. But since you won’t cancel it...” She shrugged. “Oh well.”

Bruce could feel his pants grow a little tight and he was ready to have her pay the price. His hungry eyes stayed on her, like a lion ready to pounce on it’s prey. “You get back here. Right. Now.”

She shook her head. “I have to get ready.” She pointed to the tent in his pants. “I suggest you take care of that situation before you leave this room.”

She grabbed the robe from the floor and closed the door behind her, locking it so Bruce wouldn’t try anything.

She exhaled and ran a hand through her damp hair. She wasn’t sure how long this party would last, but she had to make sure Batman got her letter.

==================================================

Bruce waited outside near the helicopter landing pad, his hands in his pockets. He watched as the navy blue sky took over the sunset, but once he turned his head, his breath was taken away by an even more beautiful sight.

Demetria walked out on to the helicopter landing pad, her black hair in an updo with long, curled strands of hair framing her face. Her navy blue gown was strapless with a subtle reverse sweetheart neckline, and hugged her small curves just right before flowing out on to the floor. Her makeup stayed on the subtle side with her eyeliner and mascara accentuating her warm, emerald green eyes and her Goldilocks lips were the perfect shade of pink.

“Is it too much?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. She put a hand on her stomach, feeling the knot inside tightening. Her face fell into a panic. “Oh shit, it is, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his thumb grazing her cheek as he smiled at her adoringly. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

Color filled her cheeks as her pink lips curved into a bashful smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Wayne.”

His lips gently crashed on to hers as he cradled the side of her face. For a moment, as they relished in their kiss, the world was still and time froze. Neither of them could remember the last time they shared such a moment, but they truly savored it while they still could.

Bruce pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his lips hovering over hers. “For the record, you still owe me from before.”

She hummed against his lips. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

He smirked at her. “You’re lucky I like you. C’mon, let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, leading her onto the helicopter. The pilot helped her up first, Bruce following right after. As the two sat in the back, Demetria turned to him. “What’s the point of doing this again?”

He took her hand once again. “Grand entrances are fun. Plus, wait til’ you see the view from above.”

He felt her latch on to his arm as the sound of the choppers roared in. Soon enough, the helicopter began rising, the weight of the ground lifting. As it took off into Gotham City, Demetria watched the twinkling city below her.

As childish as it seemed, Demetria felt like Jasmine did on that magic carpet with Aladdin. Seeing Gotham from a bird’s eye view, the city looked beautiful and peaceful.

Bruce relished in watching his fiancé’s amazement, hoping he could make her feel this way for the rest of their lives.

She looked over at him. “You were right. This is incredible.”

She scooted closer to him, leaning back on his shoulder as she continued to look out the window. Bruce pressed a kiss to her temple, reaching his hand over to hers on her lap, clasping them.

Both stayed in the moment, wishing they could stay like this forever.

But once the helicopter scoured every inch part of Gotham, it was time to descend back onto the landing pad.

Bruce helped Demetria off the helicopter. Her eyes shifted to the once empty ballroom which was now filled with a large crowd inside staring at her. Her chest grew heavy, palms sweating.

“They’re staring at us,” she told Bruce.

He took her hand. “They see how you beautiful you look”. He gave it squeeze. “Remember, I’ve got you.”

She nodded and exhaled softly as the two made their way inside.

She followed him as the door opened to the gala room. All eyes stayed on them. She flashed a closed mouth smile at partygoers until her eyes met Harvey’s. It wasn’t until his familiar, warm smile that hers became more genuine and honest.

“Sorry we’re late,” Bruce announced. “Glad you started without us!” He let go of Demetria’s hand, clapping his together. “Where's Rachel?!”

Demetria eye’s turned to Rachel, who cringed slightly.

Bruce motioned to her. “Rachel Dawes- my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say... ‘the guy from those god-awful campaign commercials? 'I Believe in Harvey Dent?' Nice slogan, Harvey.”

As the crowd chuckled, Demetria’s smile faltered even more. She was thrown off by the Bruce that was speaking. It was like the second his hand left hers, he’d become another man. He’d become like everyone else in the crowd - pompous and slightly arrogance.

He’s putting on a show for them, she thought to herself. This is not the real him.

“Certainly caught Rachel's attention,” Bruce went on. “But then I started paying attention to Harvey, and all he's been doing as our new D.A., and you know what? I believe in Harvey Dent. On his watch, Gotham can feel a little safer. A little more optimistic. But what he’s done for Gotham isn’t just the only good thing Harvey Dent has done.”

He then shifted his tone and his gaze, now looking at Demetria who’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“Harvey convinced his good friend from college, Demetria Gallagher, to move to Gotham,” Bruce continued, smiling at her. “It’s because of Harvey and Rachel that I was introduced to the love of my life.”

The crowd let out a collective “aw” as Demetria gave him a small smile.

“I spent years thinking I’d never find the ‘one’.” He turned back to the crowd. “I figured if I’m never gonna find her, why not have some fun? And I did.”

The crowd laughed. Demetria rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Then I ran into Rachel having a lunch with this beautiful woman and I couldn’t help myself. I asked her three times to have dinner with me.” Bruce shifted his attention to Demetria, taking her hand in his. “While I will never know who or what convinced you to say ‘yes’, all I know is that from the moment I left that dinner, I knew this witty, kind, beautiful woman was who I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Demetria, to say you are my heart and my soul is simply not enough. There will never be enough words or adjectives or uses of symbolism to describe how much you mean to me and how happy you make me. I love you more than anything.”

The crowd, once again, “awed” as he pecked Demetria’s cheek. He then grabbed two glasses of champagne off the server’s tray, handing one to Demetria. He then turned back to the crowd, raising his glass. “To-.”

“I just want to say something really quickly,” Demetria spoke up, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If that’s, ok?”

Bruce smiled, her sudden burst of confidence bringing him pride. “By all means.”

She turned to the crowd. “You all know Harvey as your DA, but I know him as my confidant, my greatest friend, and above all, my family. He’s also my get out of jail free card, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Everyone laughed as Harvey shook his head. Demetria turned to her best friend, her smile fading a bit.

“Harvey, you’re selflessness and dedication to making Gotham City a safer one for its citizens is not just admirable, but also inspirational. You fight for the voiceless, the scared, and for those who want to make their home a better place. You’re one of the reasons Gotham has a brighter future.”

“So get out your checkbooks and let's make sure that he stays right where all of Gotham wants him,” Bruce toasted. “All except Gotham's criminals, of course. To the face of Gotham's bright future- Harvey Dent.”

Everyone toasted and took a sip of their champagne.

As the crowd went back to their party, Bruce turned to Demetria.

“I’m going to go outside for a bit,” he told her, pecking her cheek. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She opened her mouth to protest but it was too late - he’d wandered off. She sighed, wondering how he could he just leave her to fend for herself at their first gala together. She took a sip of her champagne, giving up and giving in to the situation at hand.

“You’re a very lucky woman,” an elderly woman marveled. “And quite adorable. I bet Martha would’ve loved you.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind,” Demetria remarked. “Were you a friend of hers?”

“We were both on the chair for many charities. Such a wonderful woman. If you’re interested, I would love to bring you aboard some of them and get you acquainted.”

“I would love that! I’m actually working with the boy’s home and helping them with renovations and whatnot.”

“How wonderful!”

“I’ve also expressed interest in helping them with schooling and whatnot.”

The gleam in the woman’s eyes softened. “Oh...really, now?”

“Yeah, I would love to do some teaching.”

“She’s going to do a fantastic job,” Harvey remarked, chiming in. He threw his hand around Demetria’s shoulders. “Those kids are going to be well looked after thanks to her.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the woman agreed before walking off.

Demetria turned to Harvey. “I think she realized I wasn’t one of them.”

“Who cares?” he shrugged. “But forgetting that, you’re seriously going to become a teacher?”

“I brought it up to Monsignor O’Malley about the possibility of teaching English. Besides, it would give me something to do that I actually like. You know, talking to them about novels and what it means to express yourself in your writing.”

“That’s fantastic!” Harvey remarked. “You would be perfect for that.”

“I hope so. How are you handling this...whatever it is?”

He sighed. “I’m...just here. How about you?”

“I wanna go into my bedroom and go under the covers and wait til’ everyone leaves.”

“Well for what it’s worth, you look beautiful tonight.”

“I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“Bruce is very lucky.”

“Yeah, he should be. But he decided to give up on the party.”

Harvey furrowed his eyebrows as Demetria motioned her head to the outside. He then turned his head, the two watching Bruce and Rachel engage in what appeared to be an intense conversation.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Demetria wondered aloud.

He quickly glanced over and took a look sip of his champagne. “Probably nothing.”

Her lips curved into a smirk as she eyed Harvey. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re getting defensive.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“After that heartfelt speech I gave, that’s the thanks I get?”

“It was alright.”

She punched him in the shoulder, causing him to cringe. “Asshole. I gave a beautiful speech.”

He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, hopefully it will be just a nice ad one you’ll give at my wedding.”

Her eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up. You proposed to Rachel?”

“Not yet. I’m planning to.”

Her mouth hung open as she leaned in close. “Holy shit, dude! When?!”

“Well first there are some things I gotta-.”

“So you two are friends, yes?” another female guest inquired, cutting him off. Her arm was linked with a man who looked at least 20 years older than she did.

Harvey and Demetria turned to her. “We most certainly are,” Demetria agreed, pinching his cheek.

“So how long ago did you two date?” one man remarked, chuckling.

Harvey and Demetria’s eyes went wide.

“We never have,” Harvey answered.

The man elbowed Harvey, laughing. “Aw, c’mon son. It’s alright.”

“He’s basically my brother,” Demetria said.

The man shook his head as he and his concerned date turned away. Demetria and Harvey turned to each other.

“Oh my god these people suck,” she giggled to Harvey. “At least they’ll fund you.”

“Yeah, I could give a shit,” he retorted.

“Mind if I steal him for a bit?” Rachel asked, chiming in.

“By all means,” Demetria motioned.

Harvey and Rachel went off when Demetria noticed Bruce still standing outside. She made her way out.

“Doing ok there?”

Bruce turned to her, smiling. “So far, so good.”

“I love you but you’re not the best liar,” she chuckled, her fingers gently combing his hair. “Babe, if you want to leave, say the word and we’ll sneak out. We can go anywhere.”

“Tempting,” he remarked, smirking. “Where do you propose we go?”

She cocked her head back, shoulders shrugging. “Anywhere. We could literally get in a car and go anywhere we want.” She paused. “Anywhere you want.”

Bruce’s body turned to face her, giving her his full undivided attention. She set her glass down on the railing.

“While I think it’s sweet that you threw this for Harvey, I don’t want to be alone in a room with people I don’t know let alone give a shit about. I would rather be with you in the middle of nowhere where we don’t have to pretend we’re people that we’re not.”

His smile faltered, his eyes going to the ground. Demeteria shoulders tightened, fear creeping into her now uneasy stomach.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What did I do?”

He shook his head. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s...” He sighed. “I never want to keep anything from you.”

“What have you been keeping from me?” she questioned, her voice low

He scanned the area as well as the inside of the ballroom. Realizing he wasn’t the safest, let alone most secure place, he leaned closer toward her. “I’ll go in the bedroom and grab a couple things. Go tell Alfred we’re heading out. We’ll meet at the elevator, alright?”

“Bruce-.”

He kissed her cheek and made his way inside. Bruce pushed through the crowd, fielding attempts of conversation from partygoers. She threw her hands up in defeat as an annoyed exhale left her mouth.

“At least we’re leaving,” she muttered under her breath.

========================================================

In their bedroom, Bruce grabbed a set of keys for one of the cars from his safe in their closet. Realizing it was probably best to bring her anxiety med, he went into the medicine cabinet only to find it wasn’t there.

He then remembered her saying she always kept it in the drawer in her nightside table.

Figuring she put it back, he went over to it and opened the drawer and there it was. When he pulled it out, he noticed an envelope underneath with ‘For Batman’ written on it.

He quickly glanced back at the door to make sure the door was closed. He then set down the bag and opened the envelope to find a handwritten letter.

My Night Friend ,

There’s something you need to know about that viral video of the copycat.

I recognize the kitchen in the video. It’s the Fatted Calf on East 28th. A guy I briefly saw in college worked there and I hung out with him in the kitchen while he was closing up the shop.

What people don’t know is that there’s a secret room. The guy told me the owner had it made to be used as a bomb shelter back in the day. It’s located right beside the freezer. If you can get into the boss’ office, there’s a special key inside a safe that can open the door. The Joker may be taking shelter in there.

Take what you will with this information. I hope it serves you well.

Sincerely,

Your Rooftop Friend

Bruce’s couldn’t believe what he was reading. His fiancé, the love of his life, was helping the Batman. The severity of the situation as well as time the huge piece of information made him realize he needed to get both of them out of the penthouse and into the Batcave. He could explain everything to her there.

Shoving the letter into the bag, he zipped it up and made his way to the door when something on the security camera screen made him stop.

It was The Joker followed by some henchmen.

He threw the bag in the closet hurriedly, closing the door, and made his way to the party. Seeing Harvey Dent close by talking to Rachel, he figured he’d had enough time to get Harvey to safety and then grab Demetria.

He came up behind Harvey, putting Harvey in a headlock as Rachel’s eyes widened in fear.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaimed.

“They’re coming for him,” Bruce said, using his Batman voice. “Go grab her and get yourselves to safety.”

========================================================

Demetria spotted Alfred near the wall area. She made her way over, catching the old man’s attention.

“There you Miss Gallagher,” he greeted. “Are you having fun?”

“I feel like a zoo animal. I’ve had more people stare at me than actually talk to me. Anyway, Bruce and I are heading out.”

Alfred chuckled. “You and Master Wayne are a truly perfect fit.”

She eyed the room before leaning closer toward Alfred. “Alfred, he said he had something he’d been meaning to tell me. Any idea what it could be?”

Just then, the sound of a single gunshot silence the room. Everyone turned, including Demetria and Alfred, to see The Joker, the man from the video, enter the ballroom with his posse of men behind him wearing clown masks.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted in a sing-song voice.

His posse pointed guns at the crowd, a silent order to step back. The crowd formed a circle around The Joker.

Alfred, who was a few rows behind the crowd, stood in front of Demetria.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to her.

She watched from behind his shoulder.

The sound of tray hitting the ground, broke the silence. The Joker looked back for a moment before turning back to the crowd.

“We are...tonight’s entertainment.” He grabbed a piece of shrimp from a table, stuffing it into his mouth. He looked around. “Only one question - where is Harvey Dent?”

He eyed around, pointing the gun at a group of women before ripping one of their glasses of champagne from their hands and taking a swig of it. He set back on the table and began questioning those he passed, occasionally grabbing at them.

“You know where Harvey is? Do you know who he is?”

He squeezed one guy’s cheek. “Do you know where Harvey is? I need to talk to him about something. Something little.”

He went up to an old white man. “You know I’ll settle for his loved ones.”

Meanwhile, Demetria felt someone grab her hand. She turned to find Rachel.

“We need to get you out of here,” Rachel whispered.

Demetria went to follow Rachel when she felt someone grab her hand.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, sweetcheeks?” one of the masked men retorted.

He grabbed Demetria, despite her attempts to break free. Her heart rate quickened, stomach growing weak as the man pushed her in front of the crowd.

“Hey boss!” He called out. “It’s her!”

The Joker turned to her, his fixation on her making her blood run cold. She stood frozen and helpless. He got into her face. “So this is the future Mrs. Wayne. You’re also Harvey Dent’s best friend.”

He grabbed Demetria’s face, cradling it forcefully.

“Harvey is your best friend, isn’t he? Your buddy ol pal?” He let out a vicious cackle. “Possibly an old lover? An unrequited love? Either way, you’re somewhat of an asset to him.”

She moved her eyes, looking around as the crowd watched her in fear.

“C'mere, look at me.”

She whimpered, closing her eyes.

He tightened his grip on her hair “LOOK AT ME!”

She yelped, opening her eyes as tears filled to the brim.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh shh, shh, shh,” he hushed her teasingly. “Well you look upset.” He asked, pointing to scars on his mouth with his knife. “Is it these? Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got ‘em?”

She didn’t have time to answer, at least he didn’t bother to give her a chance to. She went to move her head when he grabbed her again. “Hey, look at me.”

She stopped moving, her eyes on him. “So, I had a wife, who was beautiful...like you, who tells me I worry too much, who tells me I oughta smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks.”

She squirmed when The Joker pulled her back. “One day they carve her face. And we got no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just want to see her smile again. Hmm? I just wanted to let her know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this to myself. ”

She squeaked, frightened as he put the knife to his scars.

“And you know what? She can't stand the sight of me! She leaves! Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling!”

He pulled her back, took the knife, and slashed her forearm, the sharp stinging, sensation causing her to let out a blood curdling scream. She collapsed onto the ground, blood spilling down her arm and onto the marble floor.

Demetria couldn’t move, her body frozen, mind unable to process what had just happened. She opened her mouth to speak, her chest stinging in pain and her head growing lightheaded as the Joker stepped on her bleeding arm.

“Please help me,” she begged in between her hyperventilating. “Please...I’m...I can’t...help!”

“Why doesn’t Harvey Dent come save his best friend?!” The Joker called out.

“Let her go!”

Rachel made her way. The Joker stomped on Demetria’s arm one last time.

Alfred rushed to her side. “Deep breaths, Miss,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.”

“Alfred...I’m gonna....don’t let me...”

“You’re going to be alright.”

“Step back!” one of the masked henchman ordered, pointing a gun at Alfred.

Alfred held up his hands stepping back from Demetria. The henchman walked away as Demetria continued to hyperventilate.

She was going to die in front of everyone. Her vision became blurry, her breath uncontrollable. She watched in what she thought would be her final moments Batman attack The Joker.

In and out of blackness, she heard glass shatter followed by footsteps.

Tears strolled down her face as she struggled to breathe, trying to hold on to whatever breath she had left, her body shivering. Alfred rushed to her once again.

“Don’t just stand there!” he cried out. “Someone call a bloody ambulance!”

He gave Demetria his hand, which she held onto tightly.

“Stay with me,” he told her. “Stay with me.”

But she wasn’t sure how long she could last. Between the chest pains and the pains from her wound and the light-headedness, she was barely holding on.

How badly she wanted to see Bruce....and how could he leave her like this?

__________________________________________________________________

Dress:

Hair/Makeup:

#bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne imagine #batman #batman imagine #batman fanfic #the dark knight #the dark knight fanfiction #the joker #christian bale #christian bale x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bale!batman

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Riding High

Ch 5: Ad Nauseam

Chapter Summary: It’s Mary’s first day at school, and it doesn’t go according to plan… Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: So from here on in we dive into the GIFTED main story line so this contains SPOILERS for the film. If you haven’t seen it please be aware of that before you read on. As a Lawyer I know how long the types of cases depicted in GIFTED can take, so for that reason I’ll be spreading the storyline over a number of Months, because I find that realistic and it also fits with how I want the story to go so…just roll with it!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 4

September 2017

“Hey! Come on.” Frank sighed, knocking on the door that led into his bedroom where Mary was getting changed “Come on let’s move”.

“No” came the sullen reply

“Let me see.” he said a little more gently.

“No.”

“Come on, I made you a special breakfast.” Frank tried.

“You can't cook.” Mary replied, a snort in her voice. With a deep sigh Frank decided enough was enough.

“Hey, Mary, open up.” his voice was sterner and a few seconds later the door opened and Mary looked up at him. She was dressed in her new red summer dress with a white collar and blue and white flowers patterned all over it. She wore a filthy scowl on her face which Frank was trying really hard not to laugh at.

“You look beautiful.” he told her.

“I look like Disney character.” She seethed as she stormed past him. Frank watched her pass as the door to the room shut, gave a sigh and then followed her to the kitchen. She sat at the table, pulling the bowl of cereal to her as Frank set about making her lunch.

“Where's the special?” Mary suddenly said.

“What?” Frank asked, reaching up for a piece of kitchen roll to wipe a knife clean.

“You said you made me special breakfast.”

Frank leaned over and with his left hand turned the box of Special K round so Mary could see it. She rolled her eyes and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Frank ignored her until she spoke again, her voice pleading.

“Please, don't make me go. You can keep home schooling me.”

“I've taught you everything I know” Frank replied, smearing peanut butter onto the bread in front of him.

“But I don't want to go.”

“Well... I don't want to go to work, but I do.” Frank shrugged as he fixed the sandwich together and reached for a zip-press bag to place it in.

“You don't go to work. You fix boats on the dock.”

“Okay, it's poor example.” he said, pulling the top of the bag open. “But you are still going.”

“But what about Fred?” Mary asked as Frank shimmied the sandwich into the bag and sealed it

“What about him?” Frank sighed

“You won't take care of him. You don't like cats.”

Well, she had him there. He really didn’t like cats. But Frank was ok. Frank wasn’t really a cat, he was more of a dog…

“I don't like two-eyed cats” Frank shrugged in reply “Fred is as you know, monocular.”

“Who's gonna throw him his ping pong ball?” Mary tried again.

“Fred's gonna be fine, no more argument, okay?” Frank sighed, looking at her as he pulled another sandwich bag from the box for his own. “We've discussed this ad nauseam.”

“What's an nauseam?” Mary frowned.

“You don't know?” Frank turned to look at her, leaning against the kitchen unit. “Looks like someone needs school.” Mary looked at him, an utterly filthy scowl on her face and he stared back. She sighed and turned back to her breakfast, hand propping her face up as her elbow rest on the table. Frank stood watching her whilst he threw some bread in the toaster. He felt bad, he really did but this was for the best. She needed to be normal. He felt his phone buzzing in his back pocket and, wiping his hands on his dirty work jeans, he pulled it out, smiling as he read the text from Fliss.

“Good luck with the whole School thing this morning. If she kicks off tell her no riding lesson on Saturday. Give me a call or swing by if you need me xx”

“I don’t need good luck I need a miracle, and a drink. Is 8am on a Monday too early for a beer?” he replied.

“Well, it’s afternoon somewhere in the world Sailor ;-) “

Gave a chuckle as he put his phone back in his pocket and looked at Mary who was watching him, a knowing look on her face.

“What?”

“I know that was Fliss.” she said.

“How?”

“Because you’re smiling, the way you always do when she messages you.” “Well we’re friends…we like talking to one another. Something you might understand after you make some at school.” She scowled at him again and he ignored her, shoving the last bit of his breakfast into his mouth before he looked at the clock.

“Finish up, it’s nearly time to go.”

With a grumble Mary ate another mouthful before she slid off her chair. Frank packed her lunch into her rucksack before he handed it to her. With another scowl she place her arms through the straps and then together they walked out of their home.

“Just remember that today, those kids in your class, they’ve probably haven’t learnt even half as much as you.” Frank said, looking at her as they walked down the path. “So try not to show off ok?” “I can’t even use what I do know?” “No I’m not saying that, just, don’t make it so obvious ok? It will make people ask questions about why you know so many things and...” “AM I not supposed to know them?”

“Honestly, no, you’re seven.” Frank shrugged. “But you’re smart, you know this.”

She remained quiet for a second before she sighed “Ok, I promise I won’t show off.”

They reach the end of the path and then walked across the grassy area between two of the other prefabs just in time for the bus to pull to a stop.

Frank watched Mary as she stood looking at it as the doors swung open.

“This is gonna be fun.” He said, watching the back of her head “You're gonna meet kids today that you’re gonna borrow money from for the rest of your life.”

She didn’t reply

“Come on.” he urged gently, gesturing her forward with his right arm, his tone somewhat softer. He watched her climb up the staps, his hands falling to his hips as he tried to think of something encouraging to say. “You’re gonna be great.”

She paused and looked back at him, her expression soft.

“You know, just...” He gave her a thumbs up, “I don't know. Try bein' a kid.”

Mary looked down as the school bus doors shut and Frank sighed. He watched her take a seat as the bus pulled off and then turned to head back to the house. He was running through his day in his head, he had a boat he needed to have a look at but didn’t think it was a major fix, few parts that type of thing. He could swing by Sandybrook later on, maybe, see if Fliss was free for an hour for lunch…

There was a rapping on a window and he stopped dead at the end of the path looking up. His eyes locking with Roberta’s as she gazed at him from out of her window. With a sigh of frustration he turned to his left and continued back towards his home another way.

“Frank! Frank, I know you hear me.” He let out an inward groan as he rolled his eyes, ignoring her completely. He walked in the door to his kitchen, shut it and then snapped the lock across to make a point. The point being ‘piss off and leave me alone’. He knew that making the point was, however, pointless because she’d just fucking unlock the door and walk in anyway. Like she always did. He grabbed the toast that had popped up whilst he had been out and threw it on a plate.

“Frank!” There was a juggle of the door handle and he turned to look at Roberta as she pulled out a set of keys.

Ignoring her completely he grabbed a mug and poured some coffee into it.

“There's still time for you to undo this nonsense. Go get in your car and go get that child.”

“Are you technically allowed to use these keys whenever you want?” He said to her, a little sarcastically as he passed her the mug. She took it from him

“How you can stand there...acting all calm and all of that making light out of this?” she asked as he took a bit of his toast “Now, go get her back before it's too late.”

“She gotta go out in the world.” Frank said as he began to tidy up the kitchen, placing the breakfast and lunch making items away “She has no friend her age, no social skills. She doesn’t know how to be a kid.”

Roberta merely watched him as he sighed and turned to face her, leaning his hip against the counter. “Two nights ago she told me that even if Germany bails out the Euro, there could still be worldwide depression.” He shook his head “I was staring at the celling for three hours.” he finished softly

Roberta wrinkled her nose a little and looked down at the floor as she shook her head softly. “I'm so worried.” she said gently, her voice cracking and it was then that Frank noticed her eyes were filling with tears. He knew she cared for Mary, she cared for him too even if she showed that less. And he got it, he did, he got exactly what she was worried about because hell, he felt the same. If people spotted Mary’s potential and then started digging it was going to cause a whole heap of ramifications. But he had to balance out the need to keep her ‘talents’ hidden and for her to have a normal life. He saw so many parallels between Mary and Diane, and frankly it scared the shit out of him. His mother had been overbearing, insisted that they were both home schooled, but when their Father had died Frank had rebelled. He’d gone out, fallen in with a BMX riding, trouble making crowd (well, as much trouble as eight year olds could make…toilet papering houses, throwing stones at cars, that type of thing) basically stuck the middle finger up at his mother who had in the end conceded and he’d gone to school. But Diane…well, she’d been smothered and grown up so isolated with no social skills.

No, he wasn’t, he couldn’t let that happen to Mary.

He let out a sigh “Come on, Roberta. If you start crying, I will have to pretend to start crying.”

He watched as she nodded sadly.

“Hey.”

She looked up at him as he spoke.

“You know there's something you could be overlookin’.” he smiled “This could work out.”

“Maybe.” she agreed, with a slight nod and a smile “But if anybody takes that baby away...I'll smother you in yo sleep.” she warned him, her southern accent becoming stronger as she issued the threat “Morning, Fred.” she said to the cat who was led on the table. His tail swished as she rather viciously grabbed at her keys before she left the house.

With his fucking mug.

The sun was already warm and it wasn’t even 9 when Frank reached the dock, the rays bouncing off the crystal blue surface of the water. As he walked he applied a slight smearing of sunscreen to his neck, he knew that bore the brunt of the sun when he was outside and not in the lock up. Fliss had commented it on it the other day, and he had admitted to her that when he’d gotten out of the shower the other day he noticed he was definitely sporting some amusing tan lines, both round the collar of his T-shirts and where the arms finished. It was always the same thought. Fliss had laughed, rolled up her sleeves to show him the same and pointed out it was why she spent as much time as she could on her days off by the pool trying to even it out.

Lying by the pool on a day off… Frank mused to himself, now there was a thought.

Whilst his mind was on Fliss, he pulled his phone out and dialed her number.

“Hey Frankie boy.” she greeted him “Did you manage to get her on the bus without a gun or…” Frank chuckled “It was surprisingly less trouble than I thought but…”

“You’re doing the right thing.” she assured him, and he had to smile at the fact she knew what he was pondering.

“Roberta doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Yeah, well, she’s worried but that doesn’t make her right.” Fliss said “Look, Mary is a kid. She needs to just, oh I dunno, live like a kid. You’ve done the right thing for both of you, Frank.”

“Thanks Fliss.” he smiled to himself “Think I just needed to hear that.” “Any time, look I gotta go, my 9 am is here.” “Ok, well, I thought if the invite was open I could swing by at lunch. I’ll grab us a sandwich on the way?”

“Sounds great.” Fliss said, “Just message me later.” “Sure, have a good morning Cowgirl.” She laughed “You too Sailor.”

He tucked the phone back in his pocketed and continued to head down the gangway, nodding to a few people before he hopped onto the white speed-boat he was working on, pulling the dust cover off the stripped down engine.

**** Two hours. It was a whole two hours before he got a phone call telling him to head into the school. He strode back to the house, quickly washed his hands and threw on a blue and red plaid button down over his grubby white t-shirt before he headed to go get the pain-in-the-ass.

After a number of apologies, Frank walked out of the Principal’s office with a groan. Mary skipped ahead of him, examining something in a cabinet but he placed his hand on her head and turned it in the direction she needed to walk. He pushed open the double doors, letting her go in front of him.

One hand between her shoulder he steered her away from the entrance to the school and was fishing in his pocket for his keys when he heard a voice behind him.

“Excuse me?”

He turned to see a slim, quite pretty brunette in a green and white dress hurrying towards him.

“Hi.” she said, raising her hand in greeting.

“Look it's my teacher.” Mary rolled her eyes as Frank slowed down. “Probably wants to remind me what one plus one is.”

“Go to the car, okay?” he said, gently guiding her away with his hand.

“Hi” he repeated

“Hi.” Frank replied, removing his glasses and taking her extended hand in greeting.

“Sorry to yell at you and then chase you down.” she apologised.

“It's okay. Mary's teacher?” he asked, releasing her hand.

“Yes. I'm Bonnie Stevenson”

“Frank. How are you?” he said, and then before giving her chance to apologise he sighed “Sorry about today. She got little overexcited.” he gestured to the car as Mary climbed in “It's just first day jitters.”

“Sure, yeah.” Bonnie nodded, turning to look at Mary

“We are running a little bit late actually, so we gotta get going.” Frank said, late for what he had no idea, he hadn’t made that bit up yet.

“Okay, I don't even wanna talk about that.” Bonnie shook her head “I will keep you just a minute”

“Okay.”

“I think your daughter...I think Mary might be gifted.”

Shit.

“What?” Frank feigned surprise, quite well too so it seemed.

“Yeah, today in math, she answered some really, really complicated equations and…”

“Oh, no, no, no…” Frank held his hand out to stop her as she was gesticulating fastly with her own as she continued to speak. “No, that's...it's not gifted.”

“difficult questions that a seven year old would...”

“It's Trachtenberg.” Frank cut her off easily, he could deflect this.

“I’m sorry…” Bonnie laughed, folding her arms, looking at him, puzzled.

“Jakow Trachtenberg.” Frank nodded. “Spent seven years in a concentration camp. Developed a system to rapidly solve problems.” he gestured with the hand holding his keys “It's the Trachtenberg method.”

“But she’s…I mean...she's seven though.” Bonnie said, smiling slightly, her tone still surprised.

“I learned it when I was eight.” he said, smiling “Do I look gifted to you?”

Bonnie looked him up and down and dropped her head, smiling.

“It kinda went out of note since the invention of the calculator.” Frank continued, backing away from her as he spoke, “But I can still win a drink at the bar using it.” he smiled, opening his sunglasses out. “Sorry for today. Won't happen again.”

“Okay.” Bonnie nodded as Frank slid on his shades.

“Nice to meet you…Bonnie.” he said, remembering her name.

“Frank.” Bonnie nodded again.

He drove them home in silence. His only words being an instruction for her to go change into something suitable for an afternoon at the docks before he stepped into the kitchen and remembered his lunch arrangements. With a curse he pulled his phone out and gave Fliss a quick call.

**** Fliss’ morning had been fairly busy as well. She’d given two private lessons, worked one of her horses, mucked half the block out as it was a Monday, which meant that Ellis had the day off so she mucked in, and was now going through the bookings for the week. She’d been inundated this week with requests that she couldn’t accommodate, but was contemplating putting another lesson on to satisfy the demand. Bill had told her not to be stupid, she was already teaching 6 days a week and needed to let her staff shoulder some of the responsibility before she burnt out.

“Joanne?” she called. Joanna walked in and looked at Fliss.

“How do you fancy over for me completely on a Sunday?” she asked.

“Me?” Joanne frowned.

“Yeah.” Fliss nodded “You open up, close and can run a couple of Classes. You have your teaching qualifications. I can supervise the first two weeks or so and if you’re happy after that then you can take the day completely, take 20% of the earnings as an extra. What do you say?”

“Fliss, I’d, well, I don’t know what to say!” Joanne grinned “Yeah, yeah I’d love to!”

“Good.” Fliss smiled “There’s a list of clients here, you can call back after lunch and offer them a time slot to suit you on Sunday, have a think about a lesson plan for groups and then…” “Thanks Fliss. “ Joanne smiled “This means a lot.” “You’ve earned it.” Fliss smiled “You’ve been a perfect head groom these last 6 months. Keep going and…well, we’ll see where we end up!”

Joanne beamed and nodded, heading back out onto the yard.

Fliss took a deep breath. She had spent so much of her life not in control of her career or home life, doing as she was told by John, when she was told to do it or suffer the consequences of a beating, that she had gone the complete opposite way when she had taken grasp of her own life. Her business was run by her with military precision. Bill did the books for her, but other than that she arranged everything. She was a control freak, she knew that so stepping away 1 day a week might seem like a little step to other people but to her it was a huge one. Bill had reminded her the other night that the idea had been that eventually Fliss would have a manager running the place for her which meant she could turn up to provided lessons and ride when needed. She was a long way off that yet though, but this one day off was a little progress.

Her phone started ringing and she reached over to pick it up, smiling when she saw the number.

“Two calls before noon!” Fliss grinned “I’m honoured”

“Unfortunately I’m calling to cancel lunch.” Frank sighed.

Fliss was surprised she felt disappointed. “Oh, it’s no issue.” She said, pulling a face. “Is everything alright.

“No.” he replied bluntly.

“Mary?”

“How did you guess?” he gave a low chuckle.

“She’s normally your source of your trouble. What has she done?”

“Apparently she stood up in class, and shouted at the principal to, and I quote ‘get on your phone and call Frank and tell him to get me out of here.’ I mean…”

Fliss bit back a laugh. It shouldn’t be funny, but she could picture Mary’s angry face and her arms folded across her chest. Despite her best attempts an amused snort escaped her.

“It’s not funny.” Frank deadpanned

“I know, I’m sorry but…“ Fliss cleared he throat, forcing herself to become serious.

“You now I wasn’t a perfect kid but I’m pretty sure I never got thrown out before lunchtime on my first day.” Frank sighed.

“She’s not been thrown out…just told to go home early” Fliss countered

“Well I brushed it off as first day excitement but the teacher was digging into how smart she is and…”

“Look, try not to worry.” Fliss soothed, sensing the tone of panic in his voice “Just try talking to Mary You always get the best out of her when you explain things to her.”

“Yeah, look, I better go…I need to get back to the boat yard.”

“No problem. Take care, and, just…well, listen to her Frank.”

“Yeah, bye Fliss.”

Fliss placed her phone down on her desk, and bit her lip. The morning had started off reasonably well too. She knew Frank well enough now to know that his frustration with Mary was born out of simply wanting the absolute best for her, and he was completely focused on making that happen even if Mary was not happy about it.

Fliss tapped her nails absentmindedly on the desk, trying to think of ways she could help. But other than talk to Mary, as she had encouraged Frank to do, she was stumped.

Nope, Fliss didn’t envy Frank one bit.

*****

“For the record, I didn't wanna go to the stupid school in the first place.” Mary rambled on as she perched on a cool box, blue sun hat perched on her face as Frank finally finished his work on the engine, screwing the cover back on “And the boy in the front row acts inappropriately for someone who's a child.”

“Sorry. I'm still passively aggressively ignoring you.” he said without looking up.

“Other kids answer questions, they don't get in trouble.” Mary continued to protest.

“You didn't get in trouble for answering the questions.” Frank looked at her, still turning the screw driver, his voice taking on a tone of exasperation. “You yelled at the principal.”

Mary looked at him, shrugging.

“All right, you know what? You're gonna find this interesting.” he said, stepping back slightly, tossing the screwdriver onto one of the seats as he made his way to the cockpit of the boat “So I googled" first graders who yelled at the principal". And statistically you will never believe how many kids do it.”

He started working his way through the checks as Mary answered

“How many?”

“None.” he shot back over his shoulder as he fired up the boat, revving it slightly. He heard Mary’s footsteps as she ran down the side of the boat and stopped.

“Frank, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.” she said leaning over the edge to look at him.

“Yeah, right.” he said, shaking his head before he turned to look at her “You can't show off like that in school.”

“I know.”

“You promised you wouldn't then the first day...”

“I know, I screwed up.”

Frank looked at her, he could see she was genuinely contrite. Her head was dropped slightly. He watched her for a moment before he nodded and looked back out of the water before she spoke again.

“Do you think this boat needs a test ride?”

He looked back at her as she grinned up at him, the gap where her two top teeth had fallen out serving as a reminder as to just how young she damned well was. Like he could ever forget that, mind. Frank looked down and shoved his glasses back as they slipped down his nose and with a sigh he gave in, the way he normally did when she pulled those puppy dog eyes on him.

“Go get, Fred.”

She smiled and jumped up.

“Don't run!” he called after her, watching as she slowed to a walk for a few strides, before running anyway. He shook his head, smiling to himself at her blatant disregard for his order.

She appeared a little while later and Frank got her settled in the seat of the boat with a life vest and a blanket covering her legs, it could get a little nippy on the water for Mary, not that it bothered him.

“Ready?” he asked

She gave him a thumbs up and he pulled the boat out of the spot and headed slowly out of the harbour. Once on the open water he sped up, relishing the feel of the wind in his hair. He felt at peace on the water, something about it soothed his soul. He drove them to a stretch of beach they knew and loved, a quiet one and he drove the boat into the shallow water before he shucked off his shoes and socks, rolled his jeans up and jumped down, pushing it up onto the sand.

“Alright short stack…” he smiled as Mary grinned and stood up. She shucked off her life vest and he lifted her out of the boat before passing Fred over. He hopped back in, grabbed the parasol and a fold out chair, passing her a bucket and spade, all of which he had thrown on the boat whilst she’d headed off to get Fred, before they made their way up the beach.

Mary soon set off, digging about in the sand and collecting shells, like a normal kid her age should do and Frank settled down to watch her, occasionally glancing out into the ocean, spotting every so often the ripple of the resident pod of dolphins as they broke surface lazily. Mary was splashing around in the shallow pools on the beach, Fred by her side before she looked up and came running towards him, jumping on his knee as the birds flew down to inspect what the tide had washed in.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah.” she smiled, shifting around to get comfortable. “Fred loves to watch the sandpipers.”

Fred gave a meow as if to confirm what she was saying and Frank looked down at the cat as it lounged in the shade.

“He thinks he'd like to catch one, but he'd regret it.” she continued “Fred's not a killer. He's a lover.”

She gave a sigh and leaned back into him, her back resting against his chest and Frank moved his arms as she took his left hand in both of hers, gently looking at his palm and playing with his fingers.

“Would my mom want me to go to this school?” she asked.

“I can only guess.” Frank replied, honestly “But I will tell you that she would have wanted you to have friends.”

“Idiot friends?” Mary said, almost groaning.

“She'd want you to have compassion for others.” Frank tilted his head so he was looking down at the side of her face “Like a cat can have for a sandpiper.”

Mary paused and shifted slightly, looking down a little “But what if they don't like me?” she asked softly.

And God, if that didn’t break his heart! He swallowed and took a moment, before he looked at her.

Then they're idiots.” he said simply, and in his mind it was the truth.

Mary didn’t reply, instead she leaned back, her head on his shoulder and Frank gently wrapped his arms further around her, patting her stomach gently. They both sat in silence for a bit, Mary gently tickling the back of his hands with her own. He was just thinking about telling her they really should get back, when he felt her sit up.

“Hey, is that Fliss?”

Frank frowned and looked at her, “Where?”

“There, look.” He followed where she was pointing and squinted slightly. There was a woman riding a chestnut horse a little further down the beach, and it certainly looked like Fliss.

“Hang on…” Frank pulled out his phone. He dialled Fliss and as he watched he saw the woman pause and reach into her boot to retriever her phone.

“Hey…” she greeted him.

“Turn to your left.”

There was a pause and then as she did so the two of the waved. Fliss laughed.

“Be right there…”

She placed the phone back in her boot and then kicked the horse into a gallop. It sped over the sand, kicking up spray as it went and Mary giggled and jumped off Frank’s knee as she approached.

“Hi!” she beamed down at them as she pulled the horse to a stop. Frank stood up and smiled at her. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Had to take the speedboat for a test drive.” Frank shrugged.

“Test sail.” Fliss countered.

“Whatever.” Frank rolled his eyes as Mary was busy stroking Heidi’s face. “What about you?”

“Oh had a spare afternoon so decide to load her majesty up and come down here.” she smiled “It’s nice and quiet. Sometimes I see the dolphins too.” Frank noticed the way her face lit up as she said that, and he smiled.

“They’re even better up close.” Mary grinned.

“Well, one day maybe I’ll get the chance” Fliss smiled.

“I still owe you a ride.” Frank smiled and she grinned.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Fliss grinned, “And speaking of rides…” she looked at Mary and gestured to the horse.

Frank took a deep breath “seriously?”

“Come on.” Fliss said “She’ll be safe, I trust this horse with my life.” Mary, suddenly realising what was being said looked to Frank, her eyes sparkling.

“Fine…” Frank sighed, shaking his head “But drop her and I’ll kill you.”

“What do you take me for?” Fliss scoffed, removing her hat and handing it to Mary. Once she was seated in front of her Fliss held her tightly, one arm around her waist, the other in the reins and told Mary to hang on. She set off slowly at first and then with a grin kicked the horse on into a slow canter, and steered towards the sea.

“Shit…” Frank muttered, his heart in his mouth as the both cantered through the waves, the spray kicking up behind them. He could hear Mary’s shouting and laughing as it echoed up the beach. They went a little distance away before Fliss slowed down to a walk, Heidi continuing along her path steadily.

“So, I hear school wasn’t great?” Fliss said as they turned and made their way back at a slower pace.

“No.” Mary shrugged “Frank got mad.”

“Did you apologise?”

“Yeah…its ok now.” Mary shrugged “I just didn’t like it. And I don’t think they liked me.” Fliss took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you a secret, when I first started riding, the other kids didn’t like me either.” “Really?” Mary turned to face her as they wandered back, gently swaying with the horses motions.

“Nope, I came from a different back ground to them. We weren’t rich, I mean my mum and dad have money now but we didn’t always.”

“So what happened?” “I kept going.” Fliss said gently “And then I met a friend, a girl called Charlotte. She was the same. Her family sold all their belongings so she could pursue her dream.”

Heidi slowed to a stop by Frank but Fliss continued to talk “And we became good friends, and we worked hard. She did dressage, I did show-jumping. And we both grew up together, and encouraged each other, and we made the teams.”

“Are you still friends now?” “Yeah, I still talk to her now, I don’t see her as much but…” Fliss took a deep breath, the thought of the past still a bit painful. “The point is Mary, if you go in thinking that everyone is against you then believe me, it will seem that way. Maybe you should think about having an open mind and giving this a go, yeah?”

Franks eyes were hidden behind his glasses and at that moment he was kind of glad, because for some reason, there was a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes as he had observed his niece and Fliss together, the woman simply talking to Mary.

Mary pondered for a moment before she sighed “I suppose…”

Fliss smiled “Good, you’ll be glad you did.”

Mary shrugged “Maybe. Hey, you know what ad nauseam means?”

Fliss frowned and looked up as Frank gave a laugh “It means indefinitely, never ending…forever, why?” she looked at Mary. “Oh, something Frank said I’d learn at school but I didn’t.” she shrugged “But now I know, thanks.” “You’re welcome.” Fliss chuckled, as Frank helped her down. She watched her run off to pick up her cat.

“Thank you.” Frank said gently, turning to look up at Fliss.

“What for?”

“Talking to her, the way you always do. I don’t know how you do it Lissy, but you make her listen.”

“Don’t worry too much about her.” Fliss smiled “I know it’s easy for me to say but, well you always said today would be a challenge. See how she goes tomorrow.”

Frank smiled and rubbed at the back of his neck before he took a deep breath, suddenly making a decision. “I err, don’t suppose you wanna come for a drink on Friday? I’m only going to Fergs but…”

“I thought Fridays were your nights, you know where you sat at a bar, alone, all broody and mysterious.” Fliss grinned down at him.

Frank shook his head, a crooked smile spreading on his face “Yeah well, maybe I fancy a bit of company this week.”

Fliss looked at him for a moment, considering what he had said before she smiled “Ok, I got lessons until 6:30 but I can meet you there later on?”

Frank smiled “Great, it’s a date.”

Fliss arched her eyebrow and Frank inwardly cursed “I mean, not a date, but, you know, a…”

“You’re cute when you get flustered.” Fliss teased, cutting him off with a laugh “Don’t worry, Sailor, I know what you mean.”

With that she turned the horse back the way she had come and winking at Frank called to Mary. “Hey, you know when you asked if Heidi could still go really fast?”

Mary nodded.

“Well watch this.”

And with that Fliss gave the horse a gentle nudge and it erupted into a ridiculously fast gallop back down the beach. Fliss’ whoops echoed in the air as she looked back waving, and Mary ran a little way after her laughing and waving back.

****

Fliss was right. The next morning they had a little fuss but nothing drastic. Mary came home with a note about Wednesday being show and tell. Mary wanted to take Fred. So they bundled him into a cardboard box. Frank waited patiently outside until Mary was escorted back out by a classroom assistant to hand the cat back over.

“Enjoy that?” he said.

Mary nodded.

“I was talking to Fred.” Frank teased. Mary narrowed her eyes and he laughed. “I’ll see you later ok?”

She came home a lot happier, talking to him about how the kids had asked her questions about Fred that she had answered and Frank couldn’t help but smile as she rambled on and on. Later, when he called Fliss he couldn’t stop himself from talking either and Fliss had been led on her bed, smiling at his voice as he continued to gush about his niece. Thursday and Friday passed much the same, which was why when Friday night came Frank was in a reasonably good mood, and ready to buy Fliss all the damned beer she wanted.

Fliss, however, was in a flap. Her lesson had overrun and now she had changed her outfit 3 times, finally settling on a light blue cotton knee length, sleeveless dress and brown sandals, leaving her hair loose and her make up light. She hadn’t been out with her friends for, well, not since moving here. Sure, she’d been out with her parents and their friends but this felt different. And she was nervous.

“You look nice.” Her dad looked up as she walked into their living room. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, you sure you don’t mind dropping me?” she looked at him, “I can get a cab?”

“Don’t be daft.” Bill said, picking up his keys.

“Have a nice time, Honey!” her mum called.

Bill could tell Fliss was nervous so he made idle chit chat on the drive down to the main strip of bars and eventually pulled up outside Fergs.

“Just have fun.” he looked at her, squeezing her hand gently “And if you need me, call.”

“Thanks dad.” she smiled, kissing his cheek before she let herself out of the range rover and headed into the bar.

She glanced around for a second, looking for Frank and spotted him at a table talking to a dark haired woman, with a pretty face. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she really wanted to interrupt and was debating running back out to catch Bill when Frank looked up and saw her. Flashing her that smile that could melt her on the spot he waved her over.

"Thought you were gonna stand me up!" he grinned at her as she took a seat. "Sorry, my last lesson over ran." She answered before she smiled politely at the dark haired woman. "Hi..." "Oh, Fliss this is Bonnie, Mary's teacher." Frank introduced them. "Nice to meet you." Fliss smiled. The woman gave her a smile back and stood up speaking to her as she did so “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time Frank and don’t want to eat into your date." "Oh this isn’t a date..." Fliss protested at the same time Frank shook his head "We're not..." he gestured between himself and Fliss with his hands "Fliss is Mary's riding instructor" "She horse rides?" Bonnie said, an air of surprise in her tone. "The idea was it would hopefully teach her social skills." Frank snorted. "Clearly hasn’t worked.." "Oh don't be so hard on her." Fliss jumped to the girls defence. "She's a good kid." "I bet it’s easier when you're trying to teach them something they actually want to learn, or in Mary's case teaching her something she doesn’t know." Bonnie said and Fliss laughed. "She’s actually one of the easier kids I have." She replied and Frank smiled at her comment "mind you, none of the kids give me any hassle really, it’s the adults that are hard work."

“Oh my god tell me about it.” Bonnie groaned “I dread Teacher-Parent evenings, honestly, some of them are so obtuse.” "I can imagine." Fliss grinned

"Anyway I better..." Bonnie gestured over her shoulder. "See you later Frank, and nice to meet you Fliss" "You too." Fliss nodded to he as Frank waved his hand in goodbye.

“What you drinking cowgirl?” he asked, standing up “I’ll go get em in.”

Fliss asked for a beer and sat down as he went to place their order. A few minutes later he was back, sliding the bud over to her.

“Thanks…” she took a huge drink. “I err, didn’t interrupt anything before did I?"

"No, not really." Frank shook his head "Not really?" "She errr...found out about Diane." Frank said. "Oh." Fliss frowned. "How? I mean..." "When I picked Mary up on Monday she was asking me about her background on account of her being so smart. I tried to fob her off, saying I had taught her a system, you know for arithmetic but she didn’t buy it. Apparently she’s been giving Mary a few more advanced equations to do…”

Fliss looked down as he slid the paper on the table over to him. It contained a number of formulas and algebra problems which Fliss could see Mary had completed.

“As you can see, she aced them. And then Bonnie googled the system I mentioned, and then me and up popped Diane.”

“So did you tell her the truth?” Fliss asked looking up at him, sliding the paper back.

“What option did I have?” He shrugged, folding it and shoving it in his pocket. “She came down here to call me out so I figured honesty was the best…what?" He asked when he noticed Fliss was frowning. "She came down here on a Friday night to find you?" Fliss snorted

Frank shrugged “That’s what she said.”

"How she know you'd be here?" "I'm here most Fridays...not that hard to find." "Maybe you should think about varying your routine, Sailor" Fliss grinned “And you should definitely think about varying this shirt.”

Frank glanced down at his bright yellow palm tree print Hawaiian shirt

“What’s wrong with it?” he pouted.

“What’s right with it more like.”

“Well I’m not one for corporatism.” Frank shrugged “I like to think I’m an individual.”

“Yeah, well I’m not sure planet Earth could deal with two of you.” Fliss shot back. “I can only just about cope with one…”

Frank paused before he looked at her, shaking his head with a snort as his mouth curled up at one corner “Well that’s just fucking rude.”

“Made you smile though.” Fliss grinned at him.

Frank looked at her for a moment before he felt his face split further into a grin as he looked at her. “Yeah, yeah you do…I mean did.”

**** Chapter 6

#riding high #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic

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thevioletjones · 4 years ago

Note

Congrats on the kudos, u deserve it! I did not undestand if I'm supposed to choose one of the lines for the prompt or if I have to combine two or more lines lol. But if it is to choose only one: number 5. If more than one: 5 and 45. *---*

Thank you! I used both. Great inspiration, actually. It spun out of control! 😀

Prompt 2: “How much of that did you hear?” + “Why are you helping me?”

Interloper

“Jesus, Iggy, I’m gonna fuckin’ murder you myself one of these days,” Mickey threatened in exasperation.

They were both leaning over, hands on knees, gasping for air, just having run full-speed for at least twelve blocks. The pillars beneath the L tracks were now providing the mild seclusion they needed to wait out a cursory police search of the area.

“Ain’t my fault!” Iggy exclaimed defensively.

Mickey’s face scrunched up to a degree that only his dumbest family members could make it reach. “Yes it fuckin’ was! Who else’s fault would it be?”

He’d always kind of wondered how he was the only one in his crap-ass family to be gifted with at least half a brain. Well, him and his younger sister, Mandy. She was alright. Skanky and crazy, but not a total idiot. He couldn’t say the same for his brothers, male cousins, father, uncle, etcetera. Mickey couldn’t even get his begrudgingly favorite brother to follow a simple goddamn plan that would’ve kept them out of trouble when they were out committing crimes. He was just gonna have to start doing everything himself. Safety in numbers didn’t apply when the other member of your team seemed to have been lobotomized when no one was paying attention. It was probably all the meth. Mickey was smart enough to stay away from that particular bullshit. Didn’t want to become a scabby, denture-wearing, toothpick skinny, low-life with no mind left to lose. He was content to stick to coke and weed like a normal person.

“That old bitch came outta nowhere! Self-defense!”

“It ain’t self-defense if you’re robbin’ the joint, numbnuts! We’re lucky you fuckin’ missed!”

If he had it his way, Mickey wouldn’t be doing these petty robberies anymore. He much preferred bigger jobs, like gun and drug running. But times were tough, and he had to do what he had to do. He’d even considered getting a legit job for once in his life, but the skills he possessed weren’t exactly easily adaptable to the straight and narrow path. Being a criminal was how he was raised, and all he knew. It brought heat, but it was still a comfortable fit. Living without the constant presence of major risk would probably feel so foreign as to drive him crazier than a meth addiction in the long run.

The job Mickey’d lined up involved hitting up a few different borderline upmarket stores that’d opened up in their neck of the woods since the gentrifiers had set upon The Yards, then selling the goods to a guy he knew in the online black market trade. Not as lucrative as heavy metal and funny powder, but a decent payday nonetheless. Except fuckface over here who had to ruin everything by getting trigger-happy on Main while they were attempting to heist merchandise from location number two of three. If the pigs nabbed either one of them, they’d be going down for at least five to ten. Years. Mickey was done donating years to the prison industrial complex. The most he could afford was months at best.

“When’d you turn into such a giant asshole?” asked Iggy. “Oh, nevermind, probly when you started gettin’ it railed on the reg.”

A giant smile stretched across his perpetually dirty face, causing Mickey’s eyebrows to lift dangerously high on his forehead. Occasionally, his dumber-than-rocks older brother managed to think up some admittedly clever asides. Mickey didn’t know whether to punch him or give him daps.

Before he could decide, however, he heard a distinct little snicker from the other side of the large concrete column they were leaning on, raising his hackles to invisibly join his eyebrows in their heightened incredulity.

Mickey hastily rounded the pillar and grabbed the giggler by the shirt collar, hauling him to their side and pinning him next to Iggy with his forearm. He looked into the guy’s eyes, and finally registered who it was. He kinda sorta knew him from around town. Used to hang out with his sister back in high school. He was a lot scrawnier then. This version of the dude could probably hold his own with Mickey in a fight. He’d built some definite muscle.

“How much of that did you hear, asshole?” Mickey demanded, seeing Iggy flash the gun in his waistband in his periphery.

This idiot didn’t look as rattled as he should be, though. He just shrugged his shoulders.

“Considering I was here first, I guess… all of it?”

He was wearing an annoying little smirk, his green-blue eyes shining bright, and his red hair distracting Mickey as much as the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had a stupidly ultra-defined chin, and Mickey immediately hated it. His chin hadn’t looked like that when he was a 15-year-old pipsqueak.

“Wipe that smile off your face, bitch,” ordered Mickey, pressing his arm harder against the guy’s pale throat. “You think this is fuckin’ funny? You know who we are?”

The guy shrugged again, like this was all a casual conversation on the corner. “Mickey.” He glanced at his dumb, blonde, curlicue brother. “And Iggy, right? I used to hang out with Mandy all the time. Have a good memory.”

“Yeah? Well I remember your goofy ass too, Gallagher. I know where you live and I know who your family is, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your big mouth shut or I’ll pick ‘em off one by one and save you for last. Got it?”

The dude snorted, and Mickey wondered if he was some kind of crazy tweaker with no sense of propriety or self-preservation.

“You outta your goddamn mind or somethin’?” Mickey added. “I ain’t jokin’.”

“Look, Gallaghers don’t snitch, alright?” He held his hands up placatingly. “I promise not to say shit to anyone. It’s none of my business, and I really don’t care. That good enough for you?”

Mickey loosened his hold, but sized him up all the while. “Maybe. But it’s possible you need a little lesson to remember it good. Wouldn't want you to forget about the consequences of you breakin’ your word.”

The dude winced and shoved Mickey off. “I don’t need a fucking beatdown, Mickey. I get it.”

“Ohhhh,” Mickey singsonged derisively, meeting Iggy’s gaze. “He gets it.” He thumbed his eyebrow. “Guess I’m just s’posed to believe you, huh?”

“That would be ideal, yeah.”

Mickey had to give it to him; he almost cracked a smile. The kid had balls. Most people around their neighborhood cowered before a Milkovich like spring lambs. Still, he lived by a code, and letting some rando walk away unscathed when he had dirt on him just didn’t fit the rules.

He cocked his fist back to knock it into tall, pale, and red’s pearly white teeth, just as the stunted siren of a cop car rang out very close by. Their collective heads all snapped toward the sound, and after sharing a meaningful look between brothers, Iggy took off running once again, without a word.

Normally, Mickey would’ve followed hot on his heels, but some unknown force was keeping his useless feet stuck to the dirty ground, eyes watching as Gingerballs glanced around the column at the flashing lights, taking a very long look that wasn’t suspicious at all.

Before he could react outwardly, Mickey was pulled against a hard body, Gallagher’s warm breath sending a shiver down his spine as he whispered, “Be cool. I got you.”

Suddenly, big hands were caressing Mickey’s back, and despite a part of him not minding in the least, the rest of him stiffened considerably.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he rasped out, hearing the telltale slam of a car door, and attempting to pull away. But a strong grip held him close, spinning him around so that he was the one up against the concrete now.

“Saving your thug ass. I know this guy, okay? Just chill and follow my lead.”

Okay, what the hell was this surreal turn of events? Gallagher was bold as shit, cradling Mickey all gay like. Sure, Iggy had made a fag joke earlier, kicking off this whole… whatever it was, but still. This guy had no way of knowing it was based in reality. Did he?

And had Gallagher really been gay this whole time? How had Mickey never sniffed this scorching information out?

“What’s going on here, boys?”

The copper rounded the corner, genuinely swinging his nightstick like a cartoon character, and Mickey had to suppress a deep roll of his eyes.

“Milkovich?” Mr. CPD continued, extreme disbelief coloring his voice.

Mickey was abruptly reminded that he was currently stuck between a rock and a hard body, and nothing about their entanglement screamed anything other than gay, gay, super-fucking-gay. Not that Mickey hadn’t come to accept who he was and what he liked, but he didn’t go around spreading the truth all over town either. This could seriously damage his carefully crafted reputation.

“Tony!” Ian interjected, sparing him from having to invent some lame excuse, and the cop’s eyes snapped to him instead.

“Ian?” His tone was still dripping with astonishment.

“Yeah! What's up? How you been?”

Mickey shot him an ‘are you goddamn serious right now?’ look, and Ian just squeezed his hip in tacit reply.

“Uhhh… gooood? Care to explain whatever…” he waved his stick between them, “this is?”

Ian laughed and he figured the dude truly was a nutcase. Mickey was going to jail for sure.

“Um, well,” answered Ian, suddenly playing it very meek and demure, “Mickey and I were just… you know…”

“You and… Mickey?”

“Not fucking or anything! Just... hanging out?”

“Hanging out.”

“Yeah, you know how it is. I’m tryin’ to convince Mick here to come home with me, but he’s being squirrelly.” He shook his head and shrugged. “South Side guys.”

“What the fuck?” Mickey whispered harshly, completely taken aback.

Ian just squeezed him tightly again, which was not helping his whole brain scramble situation.

“Huh,” said Tony, a tone of acceptance seeping in. “Mickey Milkovich, eh? Wow.”

“Come on, Tony. I don’t have to tell you this is all a big secret, do I?” replied Ian.

“And blondie who ran away like there was a damn fire? Did he flee a threesome?”

Mickey frowned and fake-wretched, finally speaking up. “Fuck no, man. That was my dumbass brother. He don’t like cops.”

“Uh huh. And you and your brother didn’t happen to be getting into trouble about 15 minutes ago, did you?”

“No sir,” Mickey said with a mock salute.

Ian kicked at his foot in warning.

“He’s been with me since like 3 o’clock, Tone. Scout’s honor.”

Officer Tony eyed them both with a look of skepticism, but didn’t contradict Ian’s word. The CB sounded from the open window of the black and white, with some cop-speak crackling over the airwaves.

“Stay put,” said Tony, eyes lingering longer on Mickey’s than Ian’s. “Both of you.”

He retreated to answer the radio call, and Mickey let out a deep whoosh of air.

“Goddamn, Gallagher. You’re spinnin’ quite a yarn here.”

“Yep,” Ian agreed. “A big gay yarn.”

“How the fuck did you know—”

“That you’re gay? Well, I heard Iggy make that joke, obviously. Pretty specific bottom joke to make if you weren’t actually into it. Plus, I always had my suspicions.”

Mickey scoffed. “Yeah fuckin’ right!”

“I did!”

“Whatever. Why are you helping me?”

“Out of the kindness of my heart?”

“Try again.”

“I don’t know. Why not? Makes us even or something. Now you know I won’t rat you out. About any of it. I wouldn’t out someone like that, and I don’t give a shit about the illegal crap you’re wrapped up in. Tony Markovich is like turbo gay too. Used to bang my sister, I think, but he came out a couple years ago. He won’t let it slip about you. He’s not a total bastard just cuz he’s a cop, ya know?”

Mickey bit his lip in contemplation. Gallagher seemed pretty genuine. Still didn’t much make sense in his brain, but whatever.

“Fine. But you know what’s gonna happen if—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, kick my ass, kill my family, got it.”

“You’re a cocky little shit, ain’t you?”

Ian smirked again, and it was pretty sexy, actually. “Maybe.”

He had the gall to push against Mickey more fully, pressing the bottom halves of their bodies closer together.

Mickey gasped. “Gonna have to ask you again… what the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“You wanna go out sometime?”

Mickey cackled in his face. “You’re off your fuckin’ rocker for sure.”

“Am not! I can tell you want me.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Cocky little shit doesn’t even begin to cover it, does it?”

“Come onnnn,” Ian prodded.

“Do I look like I date, Gallagher?”

“A date can be whatever we want it to be, Milkovich. I’m easy.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

“Okay,” Tony interrupted, coming back into view. “Get the hell outta here. You wanna bang, do it indoors somewhere, or I’ll have to arrest you for public indecency or worse. And Milkovich… if I find any evidence of what I’m sure you know I’m talking about, I’ll be paying your ass a visit real soon.”

Mickey let the eyeroll loose then, withholding a flip of his middle finger, and deadpanning instead, “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, officer.”

Tony sighed loudly. “Whatever.”

“Thanks, Tony!” Ian cried at his retreating back.

“You always kiss cop ass like that? Cuz that’s not the way to get into my pants, Red.”

Ian just grinned, finally pulling his body away as he looked around. “You gonna follow me home or what?”

Mickey wanted to tell him to go fuck himself and swagger away like a badass. But was he not a thirsty man being propositioned by a hot guy who just randomly saved his ass from a trip to the slammer?

He at least feigned protest, huffing and puffing as he kicked at the dirt. “Goddamn it, Gallagher, you drive a hard bargain.”

Ian’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, as Mickey added, “Lead the way, weirdo.”

#ian x mickey #fanfic #gallavich #fanfiction #asks #answers

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littlespoonevan · 5 years ago

Text

pick me up and take me home again

Ahh so I’ve been planning to write this for ages and I finally decided to start it - very ironically - about an hour before the 10x06 deleted scenes dropped lmao. So here’s some outsider pov on mickey and ian’s relationship as everyone reacts to mickey being released from prison and back in the gallagher house!

title comes from 400 lux by lorde

I hope you like it :)

Liam first remembers hearing Mickey’s name when Ian disappears right before Monica dies. He wasn’t supposed to hear, he doesn’t think, since Lip and Fiona had been whisper-yelling at each other. But Fiona had said “When does Ian ever think things through when Mickey’s involved?” and it’d made him curious.

“Who’s Mickey?”

He remembers how they’d both abruptly cut off, turning to stare at him like they were both at a loss for words until Fiona had finally said Mickey used to be Ian’s boyfriend when Liam was a toddler.

Liam had wracked his brain after that, trying to picture him but he could only remember vague snatches of a person. Ian had come home a couple of days later anyway, looking sad even though no one had told him about Monica yet. When they’d been in their room that night Liam had climbed up onto Ian’s bed and said he couldn’t remember who Mickey was and then immediately regretted it when Ian had looked like he was about to cry.

But he’d smiled a little after a moment and took out his phone, scrolling for a second before he’d handed it to Liam. The person in the picture with Ian had looked familiar in the same way you recognise an actor in a movie sometimes but have no idea why. He was pale with black hair and shorter than Ian and he was grinning in the picture with Ian’s arm around his neck, flipping the camera off.

“He looks familiar,” Liam had offered because Ian still looked sad and Ian’s smile had gotten a little brighter then.

He doesn’t hear Mickey’s name again until the day after Ian goes to prison when Lip gets off the phone with him and announces with a disbelieving laugh that Mickey is Ian’s cellmate.

“How the hell did that happen?” Fiona had asked, eyes wide with surprise, and Carl had been the one to answer.

“Mickey’s gone to jail for Ian before,” he’d said like it was obvious. “He loves him.”

Liam has never actually seen Mickey in person – at least, not that he can remember – so he doesn’t exactly expect it when he goes into the kitchen one evening and finds his brother at the stove with his arms wrapped around someone decidedly shorter than him with black hair. It has to be Mickey.

Liam watches from the living room entryway for a minute. Ian’s grinning in a way he hasn’t since he’s come home, hands on Mickey’s hips, and Mickey’s leaning against the counter, rubbing his hands over Ian’s arms and looking up at him with a smirk.

“Still can’t fucking believe you’re standin’ in front of me,” Ian says quietly but still loud enough for Liam to hear. “Missed you,” he adds, kissing Mickey’s lips and then the side of his face.

Liam raises his eyebrows – he’s never seen Ian like this. He’d met Trevor and he’d been nice enough but Ian had never been…in love around him.

Mickey laughs, draping his arms over Ian’s shoulders and loosely linking his fingers together at the back of Ian’s neck. He looks like he’s about to reply when his eyes catch on Liam standing in the doorway and he pauses. His eyes flick to Ian again and it’s enough to make Ian turn around.

Ian smiles when he notices Liam but Liam doesn’t miss the fact that his cheeks are red. “Hey buddy! We were just gonna make some food. Have you eaten yet?”

Liam shakes his head, ambling into the kitchen and hauling himself up into one of the seats at the breakfast bar.

“Mac and cheese good with you?” Ian asks him and Liam nods absently, watching Mickey. There’s the vaguest sense of recognition in the back of his mind, flashes of memories he can’t really grasp.

“You’re Mickey,” he says without preamble and Mickey huffs out a laugh, looking from Ian to him.

“Yeah,” he replies. “You’ve gotten big, kid.”

It’s weird that Mickey can remember him so clearly but he can’t do the same.

Ian’s grinning as he listens to their little exchange, dumping the box of macaroni into the pot. “Liam doesn’t really remember much from before,” he explains and Mickey raises an eyebrow at Liam as if looking for confirmation.

“Probably for the best,” he snorts.

“Ian showed me a picture,” Liam supplies.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asks, cutting an extremely amused look at Ian. “When was this?”

“When he went to visit you that time,” Liam says, blinking in confusion when both Ian and Mickey freeze. He doesn’t really understand why – especially why Ian looks like a deer caught in the headlights. When the silence gets awkward, Mickey clears his throat.

“He did, huh?” he says softly and Liam hopes Ian doesn’t think he’s being subtle when his hand wraps around Mickey to squeeze his hip as he pretends to still pay attention to the boiling pasta.

Liam nods uncertainly. “Yeah. He was all sad ‘cause he missed you.”

It’s the right thing to say because Mickey gets a quiet smile on his face and his hand settles over Ian’s on his hip.

“He’s missed you since he came home too,” Liam adds as a further attempt at damage control, making Ian groan and give him a look.

“Oh my god, Liam,” he says long-sufferingly but Mickey laughs.

“Y’know what, kid, you were always my favourite Gallagher,” Mickey tells him with a smirk, shoving Ian when he tries to elbow him in the ribs.

And Liam finds himself smiling, if not for the fact that his brother is so happy then for the sense of familiarity he feels right now. A lot of people come through this house but not many slot into their lives so comfortably. He can feel the fact that Mickey has a place here though, even if he can’t remember it.

He thinks he might like having him around.

Tami is just getting used to the madness that is the Gallagher house when Ian’s convict boyfriend suddenly shows up out of the blue one day, walking around like he’s always been there. And she doesn’t actually think she’s being unreasonable when she says she doesn’t want a criminal around her baby.

“You know Ian was in prison too, right?” Lip points out later that night when she voices her concerns.

“Jesus Christ, he set a van on fire he didn’t murder anyone,” she says dismissively, keeping her voice pitched low so she doesn’t disturb Freddie in her arms.

“Mickey didn’t either,” Lip says, expression thoughtful. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Tami widens her eyes at him in an attempt to convey the full effect of her incredulity without yelling at him. “Are you serious right now?” she hisses.

Lip holds his hands up in surrender, leaning back against the wall their bed is pushed against. “Hey, if anyone in this family’s hated Mickey it’s me but he’s not so bad now. Plus, he and Ian actually know how to take care of a baby so they’ll come in handy as babysitters. Way more reliable than Carl.”

She doesn’t even want to know why they know how to take care of a baby, ignoring Lip’s attempts to coax her onto the bed with gentle hands on her hips. She sits down on her side of the bed of her own accord, careful not to jostle Fred, and shoots Lip a glare she thinks makes very clear just what she’ll do to his balls if anything happens to her baby.

If the way Lip’s eyes widen marginally is anything to go by, she’s made her point.

It’s a couple of hours later when she’s up with Fred for his late-night feed that she hears voices. Opening their bedroom door as quietly as possible, she slips out onto the landing and recognises Ian’s and – who she guesses is Mickey’s – voices. When she hears them coming up the stairs she panics, quickly stepping into the bathroom and pushing the door shut until it’s just shy of closing. There’s still a sliver of light where she can make out Ian and Mickey coming to a stop outside Carl’s bedroom that she guesses is theirs now too.

“Can’t wait to share your fuckin’ single bed that barely fits one grown adult again,” Mickey is saying, one arm slung around Ian’s neck as he looks up at him, a cocky tilt to his mouth.

Ian lets out a quiet laugh and Tami sees his hands sliding over Mickey’s sides. “I mean it’s an upgrade from our last setup.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey retorts, gaze flicking between Ian’s eyes and his mouth. “Say that again when I punch you for hogging all the fuckin’ blankets.”

Tami can’t see Ian’s face really but she can hear the smirk in his voice. “You say that like you don’t use me as your own personal blanket, Milkovich.”

“Yeah, well I don’t got a choice, do I?” Mickey says. “Like I said, you fucking steal the blankets.” He finishes his sentence with a swift jab at Ian’s ribs but Ian only laughs, backing him up against the wall next to the bedroom door and drawing him into a kiss.

And it’s…unexpected, really. Just how weirdly playful and affectionate they are. They sound like a real couple and she knows they are but they sound fucking married or on their way there, at least.

“Come on, I’m beat,” Ian is saying then, stepping away from Mickey until only their hands are connected. “Let’s go to bed.”

Mickey smiles at him and it’s such a contrast to the grimace she’d seen him wearing earlier she wonders how she’s even looking at the same person.

She doesn’t realise they’re coming towards the bathroom until it’s too late and she curses under her breath, making for the door and opening it just before they reach it.

Ian stops short and Mickey bumps into his back. “Tami,” Ian says, sounding confused but still polite.

“I was just giving Fred his feed,” she says, forcing her voice to sound casual. “Didn’t wanna wake Lip.”

Ian nods vaguely and they stand there in awkward silence for a beat too long before Ian seems to remember Mickey at his back. He turns to look between him and Tami. “Hey, have you two met or-?”

“We’ve met,” Mickey replies and she expects some hostility there but Mickey doesn’t seem to be able to help the curve of his mouth when he meets Ian’s gaze.

“Cool,” Ian says and his smile brightens again as he looks at Tami. “Mick’s my boyfriend,” he explains unnecessarily.

Tami flashes them a smile at that and finds she’s not faking it. “I better put this little guy down again,” she says, nodding to Fred in her arms. “Night, guys.”

She returns to the quiet of her and Lip’s bedroom and carefully deposits Fred in his crib, silently thanking him for not blowing her cover earlier.

She’s certainly feeling enlightened after that little encounter.

Carl’s always had faith in Ian and Mickey.

He might be dumb about a lot of things but he knew what he was talking about when it came to those two. He remembers asking Ian years ago if he loved Mickey and Ian had said he liked how he smelled. Carl didn’t really get it at the time but he remembers cuddling with Bonnie not long after that and sort of just breathing her in and feeling this weird calm settle over him.

That’s when he knew Ian knew what the fuck he was talking about when it came to love.

And that the only reason he knew any of that was because of what he had with Mickey.

So he’s always known they’d end up together – even when everyone else didn’t.

He’d say he’s annoyed about having to share a room with them but they’re being surprisingly tame right now – he figures he’d made the right decision giving the bedroom a wide berth all day until he absolutely had to go to bed.

Besides, it’s not like he’s not used to it from the old days.

They’re only talking now, whispering back and forth, and Carl knows he shouldn’t be listening but he can’t really fucking help it when they’re in his room.

“Man, are we ever gonna fuckin’ sleep in a bed that actually fits both of us?” Mickey asks quietly and Carl can hear the soft laugh Ian lets out.

“We had it pretty sweet at your place for those few months,” Ian replies.

Mickey makes some kind of unintelligible noise and then, “You think if we report Terry to the cops on some bogus charges we could move back?”

Ian laughs again, louder this time but still attempting to keep his voice down, Carl thinks. “I’m gonna get us our own place one day and buy the biggest fucking bed, I swear to god.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asks, sounding amused, and then there’s the distinct noise of lips smacking together.

Weirdly, it makes Carl want to smile.

“Mhm,” Ian hums. “A king-size or a queen-size, whichever one’s bigger. I can’t remember.”

Mickey breathes out a noise that sounds like a laugh and Carl hears the covers shift. “You makin’ plans again?”

“You don’t want to come live with me in our own private space with a big bed?” Ian asks in that shit-eating voice Carl knows all too well from when Ian decides to be a pain in the ass. “Fine. I’ll go sleep in the big bed all by myself. Think I’ll get one of those memory foam mattresses.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey replies and Carl’s not sure but he sounds like he’s smiling. “How’re you plannin’ on paying for all of this, hotshot?”

“It’s a goal to work towards,” Ian says affably and Mickey hums before there’s more kissing noises.

And Carl is really fucking happy for them, if he’s being honest. He knows he doesn’t know all the ins and outs of their relationship but comparing this conversation to the tentative, quick conversations they used to have before with Mickey on the floor and Ian in his bed, it’s just really clear that they’ve finally got shit figured out.

He’s pretty sure no one else deserves it more.

Debbie’s always sort of been secretly rooting for Ian and Mickey.

Call it the hopeless romantic in her or that gene inside her that’s so desperate to cultivate anything approximating family but she’s always thought Ian found a home in Mickey. More importantly, she’s always thought Mickey found the same in him – which can’t really be said for any of the other Gallagher siblings’ relationships.

Still, she doesn’t really expect to see them like this.

She gets home from work the day after Mickey is released from prison and finds them on the couch. Ian’s wedged into the corner, back pressed into the spot where the armrest meets the back cushion, and Mickey’s leaning back against his chest, both of their legs propped up on the coffee table.

They offer her a, “Hey,” when she comes into the living room.

“Hey,” she replies amusedly. She’s pondered a lot of things about their relationship but she never thought Mickey would be the little spoon, regardless of their height difference.

But he looks ridiculously content in Ian’s arms, with Ian trailing his fingers up and down his arm while his other arm overlaps with Mickey’s across Mickey’s stomach.

“Whatcha watching?” she asks, perching on the edge of the armchair and trying not to stare too much at how comfortable they look.

“Some gameshow thing,” Ian replies, suggesting they probably hadn’t really been paying attention to it all that much.

She nods in acknowledgement, eyes on the screen for a minute until Mickey’s voice pulls her attention.

“What a fucking idiot,” he exclaims. “The answer is obviously C. Who let this fuckin’ clown on the show?”

She huffs a laugh and then has to bite back a squeal when she realises Ian’s stifling his own laugh by pressing his smile into Mickey’s hair.

And they’re just. So fucking cute.

And she doesn’t think they were ever really allowed to be that before. They’re probably long overdue a honeymoon phase that lasts at least a year. She decides to leave them be then, let them enjoy their own little bubble for a while.

But she thinks from now on, when she wants relationship advice, Ian and Mickey are gonna be her go-to.

The thing is, Lip knew about Ian and Mickey long before anyone else did.

Carl and Debbie – and even Fiona – only knew when it counted. When Mickey was there, sleeping on their floor and then Ian’s bed and convincing Ian to go to the hospital and then to take his meds. They only knew when Mickey was too worried about Ian to worry about what everyone else saw.

They never saw the bad shit. The way Ian withdrew into himself more and more when Mickey got engaged. The fucking bruises and Ian’s tears and Ian’s heartbreak and Lip knows, rationally, that most of that shit wasn’t Mickey’s fault. That he was as much a victim as Ian was. But when Lip’s little brother and best friend in the world is getting his heart ripped to shreds Lip doesn’t feel all that sympathetic.

Thing is though, he forgave Mickey for that a long time ago.

Like he said, when it counted, Mickey was there. And Lip would have to be fucking blind not to believe Mickey didn’t love Ian after all that, would have to be the stupidest person on the planet not to think every fibre of Mickey’s being was devoted to Ian.

So he knows they love each other. He knows that.

But he’s never really seen them actually be a couple before.

He’s in the kitchen, making up Fred’s bottle for him and Mickey and Ian are over by the washer and dryer, ostensibly washing the clothes Sandy dropped over from the Milkovich house. But really, Mickey’s sitting on the dryer with Ian standing between his legs and Lip is so fucking glad for once that he’s running on about three hours sleep because he doesn’t have the brain capacity to pay attention to how disgustingly soft they’re being.

They’re laughing about something, hands roaming all over each other’s torsos and Lip wonders idly if Mickey’s smile is really that bright or if he’s become so sleep-deprived that he’s started hallucinating.

“You still need to give me your list for Costco,” Ian is saying and what the actual fuck? Are they talking about groceries?

“Uh, well, soap and shampoo at least,” Mickey says sarcastically. “Even though you’ll probably conveniently forget it so I keep using yours.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Ian snorts and Lip’s too curious not to look over as he sees Mickey give Ian a sceptical look.

“You think I don’t know about your little scent fetish?” Mickey says and Lip wants to bleach his brain. He hastily returns his attention to the bottle.

Ian splutters for a second before he laughs. “It’s not a fucking fetish, oh my god.”

“Uh huh,” Mickey retorts. “You think I don’t notice you fuckin’ inhaling my neck when we’re spooning?”

Okay, Lip has officially stumbled into a parallel universe where Mickey Milkovich is in his kitchen talking about spooning with his brother.

“I think I can control myself enough to let you use your own shampoo,” Ian scoffs and then, as far as Lip can tell, fucking proves Mickey’s point by dipping in to kiss the crook of Mickey’s neck. Or smell it, probably. Jesus, Lip needs to go.

Mickey starts laughing but it very quickly turns into a sharp inhale and Lip doesn’t stick around for anything else, just grabs the bottle and hightails up the back staircase to get Freddie from upstairs, right as he hears the dryer knock against the wall.

And despite the probable desecration of their family kitchen happening right now, he thinks it’s about time those two caught a break.

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #my fics #hoping the read more will be okay since it's not an ask #sorry this got long skajdhf

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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Whumptober, Day 6: “Stop, Please!”

CW: Intimate whumper, creepy whumper, abusive relationship (of a sort), slavery, degrading language, hand whump, blood, threats of death, shock collar

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission

“We could move here.” Savvie points, and the end of her fingernail - perfectly manicured into a rounded tip, polished to high shine - taps against her laptop’s screen. “See, Jax? This is gorgeous scenery, isn’t it? Just for the summers, of course. I’d buy us an apartment to stay in in the winter.”

She shifts, her shoulder resting lightly against his where they sit on her bed, whiling away the afternoon. These are her favorite days, the ones where she finishes her practice time early and they have a couple of hours to spend just being together, here in her room, with the view of the woods that ring her home a beautiful backdrop out the window.

His eyes flicker over the image of what seems like a quaint little cottage situated just a few feet from a river, surrounded by beautifully green trees on every side. “Where… where is it, Miss Savvie?”

His voice is a little hoarse, but that’s his own fault. He’d had some sort of issue the night before, but she’d handled that, and only the occasional involuntary shudder of his muscles gives away that he’s still feeling the effects of the shocks.

She’d discovered, a few weeks ago, that she could set the remote on a timer, and she’d kept that knowledge a secret, waiting until he did something worth disciplining him for. Last night, after his attitude problem, she’d sent him to his room to sleep, set his shock collar to go off for just a couple of seconds at high intensity every hour and fifteen minutes all night long, and gone to bed herself.

He must have screamed - he had nearly no voice left by morning, and every sip of his coffee clearly hurt him, even as she insisted he finish every single drop. His room is so well-soundproofed that Savvie never heard a thing. Besides, it doesn’t matter.

What matters isn’t whether or not he’s got a teensy sore throat - what matters is that today he’s much better behaved, and Savvie doesn’t mind those circles under his eyes since she knows she was the one to cause them.

“Russia.” She breathes the word like it’s made of magic, reaching over to take his hand. He doesn’t pull away, but his fingers twitch against hers. If she were any less herself, she might realize it’s because he wants to pull away, but is stopping himself. “This is in the country. I’d get us an apartment in Moscow, too.”

His hands have always been rough and calloused, skin worn red and raw by cleaning chemicals. When he’s good, he gets to wear gloves when he cleans. When he’s not, well, somehow those gloves go missing, and the work still has to be done.

She’s kinder to his hands, these days, though. Not that she minds them feeling a little rough.

She lifts his right hand up, and he stares steadily at the little house on the screen while she presses a kiss over the platinum band he wears on his ring finger. Ready to move to the left, once she’s certain. Once they’re safe.

Once she takes him so far away his fucking father can’t ever, ever find him and steal him away from her again. Once no one can brainwash him and make him think he doesn’t love her, doesn’t want to be with her forever, for life. She’ll never have to watch him say hateful, hurtful things on the stand.

Never, ever again. She just has to keep him hidden so far away that no one can find him, until they think he’s dead, until no one is looking, until they know he’ll never come home because his home is by her side, for the rest of her life, where he belongs.

Whether he wants to be there or not.

His eyes scan the real estate listing, empty of emotion. It’s all written in Cyrillic, it might as well be hieroglyphs to him. But the photos tell him enough. It’s a little vacation home for a millionaire, tucked away in the woods. Subtly luxurious, on the inside, with old-fashioned wood-beam detailing but pre-furnished with the biggest, fluffiest-looking bed. Maybe even bigger than her bed here.

It looks like it had to be built inside the room, just to fit.

“Why-...” His voice catches, and he winces. When she leans over to nestle her head into the crook of his shoulder, she feels him go tense and then carefully, slowly, methodically relax. “Why Russia? France is… probably warmer.”

“You don’t speak Russian,” Savvie says, dreamily, trailing her fingertips along the back of his hand, tracing the blue of the veins she can see beneath his skin. His fingers twitch again, but she ignores that. She’s going to be the only person who sees him cry, sees his faint, soft little smile. The only person who sees him bleed.

“I don’t speak any other languages, Miss Savvie,” he replies, and she wonders if he’s lying to her, then decides he wouldn’t dare.

“The cottage in the summer,” She murmurs, “and an apartment for the winter. My parents had some friends who own a building in Moscow, full of families just like mine.”

He swallows, hard, staring at the screen like he could light it on fire with his mind, if only he could try hard enough. “Like… yours, Miss Savvie?”

He doesn’t talk much, any longer. Did he used to speak more, the first time? She feels like he spoke more, before. Ever since she made it clear that she wouldn’t settle for less than all of him, he’d gone more quiet, more reserved. Even this was more talking than he did, mostly, now.

Not that she minds. He’s as gorgeous quiet as he ever is when she can drag enough words out of him to call it a conversation.

“Like mine. Which means they have people just like you.”

He nods slowly, his face a perfect mask of emptiness. His body shakes, suddenly - and then he’s still again.

“Aftershocks?” She slides an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“Yes, Miss Savvie.”

“Hm. You deserved it, you know.”

There’s a pause - minute, barely a fraction of a second. “Yes, Miss Savvie.”

“I liked Russia,” She muses, reaching out to click through the photos of the little summer home. One single big bed, for the two of them, just how it should be. The perfect place for them to start all over, somewhere new. “They’re good to classical musicians.”

“What about your ankle… tag?” He glances over at her, and Savvie frowns, shifting uncomfortably so her skirt will cover up the ugly black band she wears around her left ankle, with a box attached that has a small red light on the top. She’s worn it for long enough she barely feels it, unless he draws attention to it, or she thinks about all the places she cannot go, because of him.

Because of his hateful fucking lies he told on the stand, with his father sitting there glaring at her when she tried to tell Jax it wasn’t his fault for being stolen - they called it rescued - and she would make sure he didn’t have to be alone for long.

She didn’t want to be alone, either.

“One day, I’ll get it off,” She says, closing her eyes briefly. “When it’s time to go, Isaac will tell me, and we’ll take off the stupid thing and you and I will be gone before anyone comes here to see what happened. One day, no more ankle bracelet and no more parole. I’ll board Isaac’s plane and you’ll go with me, and we’ll be together forever, in Russia.”

“Miss Savvie-”

Her hand suddenly gripped back onto his, tightening, as she felt the fear of losing him twist up around her heart again. “They’ll never find you,” She says, but it’s vicious, words spat out with furious, all-consuming conviction. “Never, Jax. Not your father, not the fucking police, not detectives not any-fucking-one in the whole fucking world will find you where I’ll take you.”

“M-Miss Savvie, my hand-”

“You’ll be safe.” She drags his hand up against her chest, over her heart, holding it with both of hers now, squeezing as tightly as she can until she can feel the bones grind together in her grip. “You’ll be with me, far away from anyone who could take you away, and you won’t be able to leave me, not ever.”

“I w-wouldn’t-... Miss S-Savvie, please stop, m-my hand-”

“You won’t ever fucking leave me.” She takes in a deep breath, lets it out in shaky little exhales, and lets him go. He jerks back from her, staring down with slightly wide eyes, and she looks, too.

His hand is reddened from being squeezed so tightly, his fingers splayed open. There are little red crescents dug into his palms, new wounds on old scars, where he sometimes keeps his hands in fists, a nervous habit, he says, nothing more.

Now, there are red marks on the back of his hand, not crescents, but inch-long trails over those same blueish purple veins - blood welling up under the skin where her nails pressed so deeply, so firmly, that they broke the skin as she dragged them down the back of his hand. He rubs at his palm, making the ring he’s wearing glint in the light, and the shine is a reminder, just like the black shock collar he wears around his neck, that he’ll always wear, until she can trust him.

“I would never hurt you,” She says, and even she can’t escape the incongruity of the words when compared to the beads of blood she can see where she’s already done just that, the sore throat that keeps him hoarse and half-whispering after a night spent in screaming pain locked in his room where she could hurt him without having to see or hear it happen. “But if you leave me-... if you try-”

“I w-won’t, Miss Savvie,” He answers quickly, maybe too quickly, his shoulders hunched, staring down at his hand, still.

“If you leave me,” Savvie says, voice flat and sincere, “I’ll make sure Isaac kills your father, and your mother, and your mother’s fucking dogs and I’ll make you watch every single one of them die… but I’ll never, ever let him kill you. Go wash your hand.”

He’s up and in the bathroom before she even finishes her sentence. The door closes behind him, not quite a slam, not quite careful, either. She listens but he doesn’t try to lock her out. He knows better. Last time he tried to lock a door she made him regret it.

She takes deep breaths, centering herself slowly. In through her nose, out through her mouth. In through her nose, out through her mouth. In through her nose…

She clicks through the photos of the little vacation home again. The house tucked away in the woods, the beautiful design, the riverbank and the huge custom-made bed. She imagines Jax, ring on his left ring finger now, making her breakfast. She imagines him wearing a beautiful leather collar instead of the ugly black shock collar. Once she thought he wouldn't wear one, one day - but in her daydreams, he always is.

Maybe she just can’t even imagine him without one, now.

She imagines him saying, I love you, Savvie. She imagines him somewhere where he can never, ever be rescued stolen away from her, ever again.

By the time he comes back from the bathroom, his hand wrapped in gauze, aftershocks running over his skin worse than before, she’s happy again, gesturing him back into bed with her. In a bright, cheerful voice, she asks, “Want to watch a movie?”

He stares at her, blank-faced, before he does… something that’s sort of a nod but also not really a response at all, and climbs back in beside her.

Russia, she thinks, as she settles back in, feeling him tense and relax when she snuggles up against him, arms around his waist. He’ll be happy, really happy, there, where there will be only the two of them, forever and ever.

He’ll be happy, once he really understands that no one else but her will ever see him alive again.

---

Tagging: @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @moose-teeth, @eatyourdamnpears, @whump-tr0pes, @orchidscript, @whumpiary

#whumptober 2020 #no. 6 #please stop #intimate whumper #lady whumper #other people's ocs #whump #shock collar #death threats #captivity #slavery whump #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #hand whump #whumptober2020

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pcttrailsidereader · 3 years ago

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Part 2 - Profile of Will 'Akuna' Robinson

Part 1 posted on Sunday, November 14. This is an article originally featured on ESPN. As was noted in the Introduction to Part 1, Akuna also contributed a story to Crossing Paths: A Pacific Crest Trailside Reader, an anthology of stories from the PCT that the Mountaineers Books will be releasing in March, 2022.

By Matt Gallagher

AKUNA PROVES A bona fide celebrity in the Goat Rocks. Hiking is a fairly insular community, prone to celebrities who mean everything to the initiated -- like CrossFit stars. He doesn't bask in it, nor does he run from it; it's just become a fixture of his trail life. Strangers take selfies with him, eager to post to their social media accounts. His DMs fill with queries of when he'll pass through. ("Having a girlfriend make those happen more, somehow," he says.) A hiker asks that Akuna attend his engagement proposal on the nearby Timber Trail in Oregon, to be there as some sort of high cleric of the life. Once, as we're taking a snack break, Akuna's mere presence causes a potentially relationship-ending argument between a young thru-hiking couple.

"That was him!" the woman says down the trail but not out of earshot. "That was Akuna!"

"It was not," we hear the man say, ever certain. "I can't believe you would think that."

It's hard not to laugh, so we do. The subtext in the argument may've been because Akuna's Black.

"I'm a unicorn in this world," he says, estimating that thru-hiking is "at least" 95% white, an assessment that seems accurate during my minor trail sampling. (A 2018 survey conducted by The Trek, specifically about Appalachian Trail hikers, supports that figure.)

This discrepancy, and Akuna's growing public profile, has led to him becoming a sort of ambassador for people of color in hiking and the greater recreational outdoors community. He considers himself a helper and carries himself like a leader, even if it happened more out of necessity than choice. When he speaks to hikers of color, or aspiring ones, he tells them one of the biggest hurdles is "getting over your own barrier of disbelief." The rest, he says, is easy.

That "rest," though -- the not infrequent Confederate flags in some trail towns, the not infrequent-enough racist jokes told when people think he's around the bend -- still happens. The trail may be the trail, but it's still America, too. Just this spring, a notorious leader in the political extremist group the Proud Boys was seen hiking the Appalachian Trail. Most thru-hikers are good people, Akuna stresses. But he's been a Black man his entire life. He knows what stares to steer clear of.

He dresses "strategically," his hiking clothes bright and cheery, never matching blues or reds for fear some country hunter panics that the Crips or Bloods have come for the holler. He speaks loud and clear, something ingrained in him young by Willie Senior. Unlike a lot of those on the trail, he abides by local and state laws with marijuana, despite its positive effects for his PTS.

"Not worth it," he says. "I don't blend in out here, I know that."

Of course, Akuna's more than a Black thru-hiker: He's an excellent one. He made it about 1,600 miles on his maiden PCT voyage in 2016 before a knee injury returned with wrath. The trail taught him then, he says, to listen to his body. But somewhere in the misery of the Sierras, that year changed something in him, and for the better. He flew home a man renewed.

"My best friend said, 'Dude, it's so good to see you back,'" Akuna recalls. "He didn't mean Louisiana. He meant in spirit. He said I was smiling more, joking more, loving life again. He was right."

Akuna returned to the southern terminus of the PCT the next spring. His pack was lighter, his trail knowledge deeper, and he'd found a fitting brace for his most troublesome knee. He did the whole thing this time, all 2,650 miles. Other hikers kept mentioning the Appalachian (2,190 miles), so he did that the next year. Then came the Continental Divide (3,100 miles), which traverses the Rocky Mountains, in 2019.

All three major trails conquered -- less than four years since he'd stumbled across "Wild" in the self-made prison of his own room. Overseen and facilitated by the American Long-Distance Hiking Association-West, just 525 people have ever completed it. Akuna's feat came one year after the first recorded Black woman, Elsye 'Chardonnay' Walker, accomplished the same.

Each of the trails took Akuna roughly five months to complete. At 6-feet tall -- a former point guard who first dunked at age 12 -- his rapid ascension to thru-hiking's pantheon defies the norm. The competitive parts of thru-hiking skew Generation Z-young, and most new arrivals to the trail don't come with Akuna's unique blend of desperation and military training. Be inspired by Akuna, certainly, but don't try to be him.

Only months after his accomplishment, the COVID-19 pandemic arrived and stayed twice as long, disrupting best laid plans across the globe. Akuna debated hiking through it but decided it wasn't worth the risk, both for his own health and that of the small communities that line the various trails and don't always have access to immediate, top-notch medical care.

He stayed in Louisiana during the pandemic, which came with its own trepidations. "Would I revert back to who I was?" he asks now. "That was a big fear." He didn't.

His isolation was different this time. Instead of bringing his world, darkness and all, to the trail, he brought lessons from the trail home, day-hiking through nearby marshes, exploring his native state in ways he never had.

Still, it wasn't until he got back to the show and hiked the Tahoe Rim Trail with his girlfriend Dawn in July 2021 that he felt right again.

"Getting back out there was like reentering life, you know?" he says at Shoe Lake, words that resonate well beyond the trail. "I'd already been given a second chance. I know how important it is to enjoy that, to appreciate that."

MODERN AMERICAN SCHOLARSHIP and understanding what we now call "post-traumatic stress" owes a great deal to clinical psychiatrist Jonathan Shay, who's widely credited with naming and spreading the concept of "moral injury," an affliction not unique to war veterans, of course, though still one often associated with them in post-9/11 America.

Not to oversimplify Shay's books "Achilles in Vietnam" and "Odysseus in America," which blend cognitive and mental health research, therapy experiences with veterans of the Vietnam War, and contemporary analysis of ancient Greek literature, but it's all been done, for centuries. This is something that's given me comfort over the years, both as a person and as a combat vet navigating his own way through life in the afterwar. It's all been done.

For example, take thru-hiking. One of the godfathers of the Appalachian Trail, perhaps the first man to thru-hike its entirety, was a man named Earl Shaffer. Shaffer served in the Pacific with the signal corps during World War II, then returned home to his native rural Pennsylvania, decades before the Greatest Generation mythology congealed. A 1947 War Department survey reported that 1 in 5 World War II vets were "completely hostile" to civilians -- and the resentment wasn't one-sided, either. Some Americans saw the G.I. Bill, which revolutionized education legislation, as a societal bane. The Saturday Evening Post tapped into that dread in 1946 when it asked, "Are We Making a Bum of G.I. Joe?"

Like many of his generation, Shaffer felt aimless, adrift. He missed his best childhood friend, killed at Iwo Jima. So he took to the trail in 1948, to walk the war and the army "out of my system." He kept hiking until he passed away in 2002, only four years after he'd walked the full Appalachian Trail again at the age of 79.

Akuna hikes in this tradition, though he's hardly alone. "There's a lot of vets that hike," he says. "It's not a coincidence ...veteran or not, the majority of people coming out here are working on something."

It's not normal to leave behind society for six months to test one's own limitations, I think. It's an open rejection of normal.

How does Akuna recognize other military veterans on the trail? It's all in the little details. "We walk like we march," he says, monitoring my navigation down a ridgeline. "There's physically a kick-step." A couple times, he's seen men and women field-strip a cigarette. "When they do that, I don't even need to ask."

Not unlike the army, being a good trail leader sometimes means being a good follower, Akuna says. He pushes groups to be as democratic as possible, something domineering young men occasionally bristle at. If and when his background comes up, Akuna addresses stereotypes head-on: "I want them to know," he says, "I won't go Full Metal Jacket on you. I'm a pretty chill guy."

Despite his own mixed experiences with VA healthcare efforts, he tells younger vets to seek medical treatment there, as a baseline, if nothing else. He's learned the hard way to "embrace the fight," that his PTS is not unlike his wrist and knees, a chronic thing that's just part of his body and being now, not something to be vanquished but tamed.

Helping newer hikers adapt to the life is one of his favorite things, figuring out which equipment works best for them, how many miles a day they should aim for. Still, "you can keep things to yourself," he admits. "Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes I go off by myself because that's where I need to be in that moment."

"People get that out here," he continues. "If you need to, you're allowed to be dark."

With Kabul falling but the forever war we both served in enduring, talk turns to the world. We're not in a VFW beer hall but at the shores of Shoe Lake, soaking up sun, listening to the sounds of a breaking day. The three of us talk love, God, war, country.

"America doesn't care about veterans, not in that hard, meaningful way," Akuna says, the sweet tang of his Black & Mild floating through the air. "If it did, would Afghanistan have lasted this long? It cares about active-duty because that's when we're young, fit, healthy, can't ask any of those messy questions ... it's sad, man, the only time we're united is when we're at war.

"People have lost a sense of community, and I get that, I get what that lack of connection can do." He means his own journey, going from the shared purpose of the military to the screaming isolation of trapping himself in his room in Southeast Louisiana. "Thru-hiking has that community and it's why I love it so much. People need to know they belong to something."

He says things like this, sometimes -- a lot, actually. My notebook becomes full of eminently-quotable lines Akuna tosses about with the freedom of a man who's doing something he cherishes. A standout: "They say you're a thru-hiker when you finish a trail. I disagree. I think it's as soon as you get out here. Because you've already done the hard part."

Out of gratitude, manners, humility, or something else, Akuna tends to reference the trail as an active force that intervened on his behalf. It's an object, stunning and vitalizing, yes, but a physical place cultivated and stomped into being by humans.

Akuna wasn't saved by happenstance. He made a choice. He saved himself.

Robinson dresses strategically, favoring bright colors; hiking's demographic skews overwhelmingly white. "I don't blend in out here, I know that," says Robinson. "I'm a unicorn in this world."

AKUNA BELIEVES THAT every thru-hiker needs a call, something that belongs to them and them alone and identifies them to others. It's, at once, greeting and statement, a strident claim that ruptures the stillness of the trail but disturbs nothing permanently.

His goes: "Ai-eeeeeeeee!!!" Equal parts Cajun yowl and Peter Pan crow, fittingly his.

He asks us to deliver ours atop the Goat Rocks. Andy, the photographer, bellows from deep within his soul. I shout "Olly olly oxen free." It's stupid but fun as hell.

Akuna's call finds utility our second morning out. A classic Northwest mist has cast Shoe Lake into in a heavy, dank gray. Visibility extends no further than ten feet, and the three of us hike up to a ridgeline to wait out the haze for photographs. While Andy scouts out some locations and I snack, Akuna stares down into the void, in the direction of our campsite.

"Ai-eeeee!" he shouts into the misty void. "Ai-eeeeeeeee!!!"

I think he's just playing around. Ten seconds or so later, a voice calls back. "Which way?"

Akuna guides a pair of thru-hikers up the correct path. I have no idea how he saw them through the gray but he did, and as the wanderers pass by, one looks grateful and the other embarrassed.

"How'd you see them?" I ask later. "That was some superpower s---."

Akuna smiles and winks. "Heard 'em first."

Robinson advocates for hiking as therapy. "People have lost a sense of community, and [I] get what that lack of connection can do," he says."Thru-hiking has that community and it's why I love it so much. People need to know they belong to something."

OUR LAST MORNING on the PCT crackles with high-summer luster. "A good day to be an outdoors model," Akuna jokes. We even come across a herd of mountain goats sunbathing along a rocky slope, seeing us out of the wilderness that carries their name.

We've earned our trail names, Andy and me. He's Billy Goat from all his climbing and hopping for shots. I'm Sir Doodle. "I figured out you'd been an officer pretty quick," Akuna says.

To the northeast, dark smoke plumes scar the sky, the inimitable marker of a distant forest fire. Smoke on the horizon -- a bit too explicit a symbol for returning to the world. Akuna's got plans for what's next. First, Louisiana, to catch up with his family and tutor up his nieces. Then the 800-mile Arizona Trail in the fall, followed by a day-hike event in Huntsville, Alabama, to raise money for a local veterans' home and welcome people of color to hiking.

Next year, he's aiming to be at the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, if and when another Black hiker completes their own Triple Crown attempt. Beyond that? New Zealand's Te Araroa Trail is on his bucket list. There's the Jordan Trail in the Middle East, the Great Wall of China, over 5,000 miles long, which would take roughly a year and a half to hike ...

More places to begin again.

We finish our hike and head to the Kracker Barrel gas station at White Pass. Laundry costs $10 a load, showers are $5 for thirty minutes. So goes the free market. Dozens of self-proclaimed "hiker trash" have gathered at the picnic tables outside, some coming off-trail to resupply, others prepping to get back on. Boxes full of old shoes, flashlights, freeze-dried food packets and spare fuel line the side of the building, communal grab-bags for those in want or need. Akuna spots MacGyver in his rainbow foam clogs and sits down to shoot the breeze.

In the coming hours we'll learn that Hurricane Ida's inbound and for real. Akuna's flight to Louisiana gets canceled because of it. He'll fly to inland Texas to visit Dawn instead.

On the shuttle to the airport, I ask Akuna about that. He smiles.

"It's cool," he says. "I've taken the long way back before."

#Will 'Akuna' Robinson #BIPOC #PSTD #Goat Rocks #white pawn cookie #Triple Crown

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

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Riding High Ch 5: Ad Nauseam

Chapter Summary: It’s Mary’s first day at school, and it doesn’t go according to plan…

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: So from here on in we dive into the GIFTED main story line so this contains SPOILERS for the film. If you haven’t seen it please be aware of that before you read on. As a Lawyer I know how long the types of cases depicted in GIFTED can take, and I also know how fast they can be too. So for that reason I’ll be spreading the storyline over couple of months, because I find that realistic and it also fits with how I want the story to go so…just roll with it!

This is also HEAVILY Frank’s POV at the moment, as probably most of the next few bits will be but it is a fic about him in the main! As always I’m a ho for a REBLOG and COMMENT!

Chapter Song: The Wind by Cat Stevens

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

September 2017

“Hey! Come on.” Frank sighed, knocking on the door that led into his bedroom where Mary was getting changed “Come on let’s move”

“No” came the sullen reply

“Let me see.” he said a little more gently.

“No.”

“Come on, I made you a special breakfast.” Frank tried again, although why he had no idea. Bribery didn’t work unless it involved a visit to Fliss or the horses.

“You can’t cook.” Mary replied, a snort in her voice. With a deep sigh Frank decided enough was enough.

“You look beautiful.” he told her.

“I look like a Disney character.” She seethed as she stormed past him. Frank watched her pass as the door to the room shut, gave a sigh and then followed her to the kitchen. She sat at the table, pulling the bowl of cereal to her as Frank set about making her lunch.

“Where’s the special?” Mary suddenly said.

“What?” Frank asked, reaching up for a piece of kitchen roll to wipe a knife clean.

“You said you made me a special breakfast.”

“Please, don’t make me go. You can keep home schooling me.”

“I’ve taught you everything I know” Frank replied, smearing peanut butter onto the bread in front of him.

“But I don’t want to go.”

“Well… I don’t want to go to work, but I do.” Frank shrugged as he fixed the sandwich together and reached for a zip-press bag to place it in.

“You don’t go to work. You fix boats on the dock.”

“Okay, it’s a poor example..” he said, pulling the top of the bag open. “But you are still going.”

“But… but what about Fred?” Mary asked as Frank shimmied the sandwich into the bag and sealed it

“What about him?” Frank sighed

“You won’t take care of him. You don’t like cats.”

Well, she had him there. He really didn’t like cats. But Frank was ok. Frank wasn’t really a cat, he was more of a dog…

“I don’t like two-eyed cats” Frank shrugged in reply “Fred is as you know, monocular.”

“Who’s gonna throw him his ping pong ball?” Mary tried again.

“Fred’s gonna be fine, no more argument, okay?” Frank sighed, looking at her as he pulled another sandwich bag from the box for his own. “We’ve discussed this ad nauseam.”

“What’s an nauseam?” Mary frowned.

“You don’t know?” Frank turned to look at her, leaning against the kitchen unit. “Looks like someone needs school.” Mary looked at him, an utterly filthy scowl on her face and he stared back. She sighed and turned back to her breakfast, hand propping her face up as her elbow rest on the table. Frank stood watching her whilst he threw some bread in the toaster. He felt bad, he really did but this was for the best. She needed to be normal. He felt his phone buzzing in his back pocket and, wiping his hands on his dirty work jeans, he pulled it out, smiling as he read the text from Fliss.

“Good luck with the whole School thing this morning. If she kicks off tell her no riding lesson on Saturday. Give me a call or swing by if you need me xx”

“I don’t need good luck I need a miracle, and a drink. Is 8am on a Monday too early for a beer?” he replied.

“Well, it’s afternoon somewhere in the world Sailor ;-) “

He gave a chuckle as he put his phone back in his pocket and looked at Mary who was watching him, a knowing look on her face.

“What?”

“I know that was Fliss.” she said.

“How?”

“Because you’re smiling, the way you always do when she messages you.” “Well we’re friends…we like talking to one another. Something you might understand after you make some at school…” She scowled at him again and he ignored her looking up at the clock.

“Finish up, it’s nearly time to go.”

“Just remember that today, those kids in your class, they probably haven’t learnt even half as much as you.” Frank said, looking at her as they walked down the path. “So try not to show off ok?” “I can’t even use what I do know?” “No I’m not saying that, just…don’t make it so obvious ok? It will make people ask questions about why you know so many things and…” “AM I not supposed to know them?”

“Honestly, no, you’re 7.” Frank shrugged “but you’re smart, you know this.”

She remained quiet for a second before she sighed “Ok, I promise I won’t show off.”

They reach the end of the path and then walked across the grassy area between two of the other pre-fabs just in time for the bus to pull to a stop.

Frank watched Mary as she stood looking at it as the doors swung open.

“This is gonna be fun.” He said, watching the back of her head “You’re gonna meet kids today that you’re gonna borrow money from for the rest of your life.”

She didn’t reply

“Come on.” he said, gently gesturing her forward with his right arm, his tone somewhat softer. He watched her climb up the steps, his hands falling to his hips as he tried to think of something encouraging to say. “You’re gonna be great.”

She paused and looked back at him, her expression soft.

“You know, just…” he gave her a thumbs up “I don’t know. Try bein’ a kid.”

“Frank!” There was a juggle of the door handle and he turned to look at Roberta as she pulled out a set of keys.

Ignoring her completely he grabbed a mug and poured some coffee into it.

“There’s still time for you to undo this nonsense. Go get in your car and go get that child.”

“Are you technically allowed to use these keys whenever you want?” He said to her, a little sarcastically as he passed her the mug. She took it from him

“How you can stand there…acting all calm and all of that making light out of this?” she asked as he took a bite of his toast “Now, go get her back before it’s too late.”

“She gotta go out in the world.” Frank said as he began to tidy up the kitchen, placing the breakfast and lunch making items away “She has no friends her age, no social skills. She doesn’t know how to be a kid.”

Roberta merely watched him as he sighed and turned to face her, leaning his hip against the counter. “Two nights ago she told me that even if Germany bails out the Euro, there could still be worldwide recession.” He shook his head “I was staring at the celling for three hours.” he finished softly

Roberta wrinkled her nose a little and looked down at the floor as she shook her head softly. “I’m so worried.” she said gently, her voice cracking and it was then that Frank noticed her eyes were filling with tears. He knew she cared for Mary, she cared for him too even if she showed that less. And he got it, he did, he got exactly what she was worried about because hell, he felt the same. If people spotted Mary’s potential and then started digging it was going to cause a whole heap of ramifications. But he had to balance out the need to keep her ‘talents’ hidden and for her to have a normal life. He saw so many parallels between Mary and Diane, and frankly it scared the shit out of him. His mother had been overbearing, insisted that they were both home schooled, but when their Father had died Frank had rebelled. He’d gone out, fallen in with a BMX riding, trouble making crowd (well, as much trouble as 8 year olds could make…toilet papering houses, throwing stones at cars, that type of thing) basically stuck the middle finger up at his mother who had in the end conceded and he’d gone to school. But Diane…well, she’d been smothered and grown up so isolated with no social skills.

No, he couldn’t let that happen to Mary.

He let out a sigh “Come on, Roberta. If you start crying, I will have to pretend to start crying.”

He watched as she nodded sadly.

“Hey.”

She looked up at him as he spoke.

“You know there’s something you could be overlookin’.” he smiled “This could work out.”

“Maybe.” she agreed, with a slight nod and a smile “But if anybody takes that baby away…I’ll smother you in yo sleep.” she warned him, her southern accent becoming stronger as she issued the threat “Morning, Fred.” she said to the cat who was led on the table. His tail swished as she rather viciously grabbed at her keys before she left the house.

With his fucking mug.

The sun was already warm and it wasn’t even 9 when Frank reached the dock, the rays bouncing off the crystal blue surface of the water. As he walked he applied a slight smearing of sunscreen to his neck, he knew that bore the brunt of the sun when he was outside and not in the lock up. Fliss had commented it on it the other day, and he had admitted to her that when he’d gotten out of the shower he had noticed he was definitely sporting some amusing tan lines, both round the collar of his T-shirts and where the arms finished. It was always the same though. Fliss had laughed, rolled up her sleeves to show him the same and pointed out it was why she spent as much time as she could on her days off by the pool trying to even it out.

Lying by the pool on a day off… Frank mused to himself, now there was a thought.

Whilst his mind was on Fliss, he pulled his phone out and dialed her number.

“Hey Frankie boy.” she greeted him “Did you manage to get her on the bus without a gun or…” Frank chuckled “It was surprisingly less trouble than I thought but…”

“You’re doing the right thing Frank.” she replied, and he had to smile at the fact she knew what he was pondering.

“Roberta doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Yeah, well, she’s worried but that doesn’t make her right.” Fliss said “Look, Mary is a kid. She needs to just, oh I dunno, live like a kid. You’ve done it now anyway so, well, just see how it goes, that’s all you can do.”

“Sounds great.” Fliss said, “Just message me later.” “Sure, have a good morning Cowgirl.” She laughed “You too Sailor.”

After a number of apologies, Frank walked out of the Principal’s office with a groan. Mary skipped ahead of him, examining something in a cabinet but he placedd his hand on her head and turned it in the direction she needed to walk. He pushed oen the double doors, letting her go in front of him.

One hand between her shoulder he steered her away from the entrance to the school and was fishing in his pocket for his keys when he heard a voice behind him.

“Excuse me?”

He turned to see a slim, quite pretty, brunette in a green and white dress hurrying towards him.

“Hi.” she said, raising her hand in greeting.

“Look it’s my teacher.” Mary said with a roll of her eyes as Frank slowed down. “Probably wants to remind me what one plus one is.”

“Go to the car, okay?” he said, gently guiding her away with his hand.

“Hi” he repeated

“Hi.” Frank replied, removing his glasses and taking her extended hand in greeting.

“Sorry to yell at you and then chase you down.” she apologised.

“It’s okay. Mary’s teacher?” he asked, releasing her hand.

“Yes. I’m Bonnie Stevenson”

“Sure, yeah.” Bonnie nodded, turning to look at Mary

“We are running a little bit late actually, so we gotta get going.” Frank said, late for what he had no idea, he hadn’t made that bit up yet.

“Okay, I don’t even wanna talk about that.” Bonnie shook her head “I will keep you just a minute”

“Okay.”

“I think your daughter…I think Mary might be gifted.”

Shit.

“What?” Frank feigned surprise, quite well too so it seemed.

“Yeah, today in math, she answered some really…really…”

“Oh, no, no, no…” he said, holding his hand out to stop her as she was gesticulating rapidly with her own as she continued to speak. “No, that’s…it’s not gifted.”

“Difficult questions that a seven year old would…”

“It’s Trachtenberg.” Frank cut her off easily, he could deflect this.

“I’m sorry…” Bonnie laughed, folding her arms, looking at him, puzzled.

“Jakow Trachtenberg.” Frank nodded. “Spent seven years in a concentration camp. Developed a system to rapidly solve problems.” he gestured with the hand holding his keys “ It’s the Trachtenberg method.”

“But she’s…I mean… She’s seven though.” Bonnie said, smiling slightly, her tone still surprised.

“I learned it when I was eight.” he said, smiling “Do I look gifted to you?”

Bonnie looked him up and down and dropped her head, smiling.

“It kinda went out of note since the invention of the calculator…” Frank continued, backing away from her as he spoke, “But… I can still win a drink at the bar using it.” he smiled, opening his sunglasses out. “Sorry for today. Won’t happen again.”

“Okay.” Bonnie nodded as Frank slid on his shades.

“Nice to meet you…Bonnie.” he said, remembering her name.

“Frank.” Bonnie nodded again.

**** Fliss’ morning had been fairly busy as well. She’d given 2 private lessons, worked one of her horses, mucked half the block out as it was a Monday, which meant that Ellis had the day off so she mucked in, and was now going through the bookings for the week. She’d been inundated this week with requests that she couldn’t accommodate, but was contemplating putting another lesson on to satisfy the demand. Bill had told her not to be stupid, she was already teaching 6 days a week and needed to let her staff shoulder some of the responsibility before she burnt out.

“Joanne?” she called. Joanna walked in and looked at Fliss.

“How do you fancy taking over for me completely on a Sunday?” she asked.

“Me?” Joanne frowned.

“Yeah.” Fliss nodded “You open up, close and can run a couple of Classes. You have your teaching qualifications…I can supervise the first 2 weeks or so and if you’re happy after that then…you can take the day completely, take 20% of the earnings as an extra. What do you say?”

“Fliss, I’d…well, I don’t know what to say!” Joanne grinned “Yeah, yeah I’d love to!”

Joanne beamed and nodded, heading back out onto the yard.

Her phone started ringing and she reached over to pick it up, smiling when she saw the number.

“2 calls before noon!” Fliss grinned “I’m honoured”

“Unfortunately I’m calling to cancel lunch.” Frank sighed.

Fliss was surprised she felt disappointed. “Oh, it’s no issue.” she said, pulling a face “is everything alright.

“No.” he replied bluntly.

“Mary?”

“How did you guess?” he gave a low chuckle.

“She’s normally your source of your trouble. What has she done?”

“Apparently she stood up in class, and shouted at the principal to, and I quote “get on your phone and call Frank and tell him to get me out of here.””

Fliss bit back a laugh. It shouldn’t be funny, but she could picture Mary’s angry face and her arms folded across her chest. Despite her best attempts an amused snort escaped her.

“It’s not funny” Frank deadpanned

“I know, I’m sorry but… “ Fliss cleared he throat, forcing herself to become serious.

“You now I wasn’t a perfect kid but I’m pretty sure I never got thrown out before lunchtime on my first day.” Frank sighed.

“She’s not been thrown out…just told to go home early” Fliss countered

“Well I brushed it off as first day excitement but…the teacher was digging into how smart she is and…”

“Look, try not to worry.” Fliss said, sensing the tone of panic in his voice “Just try talking to Mary You always get the best out of her when you explain things to her.”

“Yeah, look, I better go…I need to get back to the boat yard.”

“No problem. Take care, and…just…well, listen to her Frank.”

“Yeah, bye Fliss.”

Fliss tapped her nails absentmindedly on the desk, trying to think of ways she could help. But other than talk to Mary, as she had encouraged Frank to do, she was stumped.

Nope, Fliss didn’t envy Frank one bit.

*****

“For the record, I didn’t wanna go to the stupid school in the first place.” Mary rambled on as she perched on a cool box, blue sun hat perched on her face as Frank finally finished his work on the engine, screwing the cover back on “And the boy in the front row acts inappropriately for someone who’s a child.”

“Sorry. I’m still passively aggressively ignoring you.” he said without looking up.

“Other kids answer questions, they don’t get in trouble.” Mary continued to protest.

“You didn’t get in trouble for answering the questions.” Frank looked at her, still turning the screw driver, his voice taking on a tone of exasperation. “You yelled at the principal.”

Mary looked at him, shrugging.

“All right, you know what? You’re gonna find this interesting.” he said, stepping back slightly, tossing the screwdriver onto one of the seats as he made his way to the cockpit of the boat “So I googled" first graders who yelled at the principal". And statistically you will never believe how many kids do it.”

He started working his way through the checks as Mary answered

“How many?”

“None.” he shot back over his shoulder as he fired up the boat, revving it slightly. He heard Mary’s footsteps as she ran down the side of the boat and stopped.

“Frank, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” she said leaning over the edge to look at him.

“Yeah, right.” he said, shaking his head before he turned to look at her “You can’t show off like that in school.”

“I know.”

“You promised you wouldn’t then the first day…”

“I know, I screwed up.”

Frank looked at her, he could see she was genuinely contrite. Her head was dropped slightly. He watched her for a moment before he nodded and looked back out of the water before she spoke again.

“Do you think this boat needs a test ride?”

“Go get, Fred.”

She smiled and jumped up.

“Don’t run!” he called after her, watching as she slowed to a walk for a few strides, before running anyway. He shook his head, smiling to himself at her blatant disregard for his order.

“Ready?” he asked

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah.” she smiled, shifting around to get comfortable. “Fred loves to watch the sandpipers.”

Fred gave a meow as if to confirm what she was saying and Frank looked down at the cat as it lounged in the shade.

“He thinks he’d like to catch one, but he’d regret it.” she continued “Fred’s not a killer. He’s a lover.”

“Would my mom want me to go to this school?” she asked.

“I can only guess.” Frank replied, honestly “But I will tell you that, she would have wanted you to have friends.”

“Idiot friends?” Mary said, almost groaning.

“She’d want you to have compassion for others.” Frank said, tilting his head so he was looking down at the side of her face “Like a cat can have for a sandpiper.”

Mary paused and shifted slightly, looking down a little “But what if they don’t like me?” she asked softly.

And God, if that didn’t break his heart! He swallowed and took a moment, before he looked at her.

“Then they’re idiots.” he said simply, and in his mind it was the truth.

“Hey…is that Fliss?”

Frank frowned and looked at her, “Where?”

“There, look…” He followed where she was pointing and squinted slightly. There was a woman riding a chestnut horse a little further down the beach, and it certainly looked like Fliss.

“Hang on…” Frank said, pulling out his phone. He dialled Fliss and as he watched he saw the woman pause and reach into her boot to retrieve her phone.

“Hey…” she greeted him.

“Turn to your left…” he said.

There was a pause and then as she did so the two of the waved. Fliss laughed.

“Hang on…”

She placed the phone back in her boot and then kicked the horse into a gallop. It sped over the sand, kicking up spray as it went and Mary giggled and jumped off Frank’s knee as she approached.

“Hi!” she beamed down at them as she pulled the horse to a stop. Frank stood up and smiled at her. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Had to take the speedboat for a test drive.” Frank shrugged.

“Test sail.” Fliss countered.

“Whatever.” Frank rolled his eyes as Mary was busy stroking Heidi’s face. “What about you?”

“Oh had a spare hour so decide to load her majesty up and come down here.” she smiled “It’s nice and quiet. Sometimes I see the dolphins too.” Frank noticed the way her face lit up as she said that, and he smiled.

“They’re even better up close.” Mary grinned.

“Well, one day maybe I’ll get the chance” Fliss smiled.

“I still owe you a ride.” Frank smiled and she grinned.

“I’ll hold you to that…” Fliss said, “And speaking of rides…”

Frank took a deep breath “seriously?”

“Come on…” Fliss said “She’ll be safe, I trust this horse with my life.”

Mary, suddenly realising what was being said looked to Frank, her eyes sparkling.

“Fine…” Frank sighed, shaking his head “But drop her and I’ll kill you.”

“Shit…” Frank muttered, his heart in his mouth as the both cantered through the waves, the spray kicking up behind them. He could hear Mary’s shouting and laughing as it echoed up the beach. They went a little distance away before Katie slowed down to a walk, Heidi continuing along her path steadily.

“So, I hear school wasn’t great?” Katie said as they turned and made their way back at a slower pace.

“No.” Mary shrugged “Frank got mad.”

“Did you apologise?”

“Yeah…its ok now.” Mary shrugged “I just didn’t like it. And I don’t think they liked me.” Fliss took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you a secret…when I first started riding, the other kids didn’t like me either.” “Really?” Mary turned to face her as they wandered back, gently swaying with the horses motions.

“Nope, I came from a different back ground to them. We weren’t rich, I mean my mum and dad have money now but that was only after Bill opened the business.”

“Are you still friends now?” “Yeah, I still talk to her, I don’t see her as much but…” Fliss took a deep breath, the thought of the past still a bit painful. “The point is Mary, if you go in thinking that everyone is against you then believe me, it will seem that way. Maybe you should think about having an open mind and giving this a go, yeah?”

Mary pondered for a moment before she sighed “I suppose…”

Fliss smiled “Good, you’ll be glad you did.”

Mary shrugged “Maybe. Hey, you know what ad nauseam means?”

Fliss frowned and looked up as Frank gave a laugh “It means indefinitely, never ending…forever, why?” she looked at Mary. “Oh, something Frank said I’d learn at school but I didn’t…” she shrugged “But now I know, thanks.” “You’re welcome…” Fliss chuckled, as Frank helped her down. She watched her run off to pick up her cat.

“Thank you.” Frank said gently, turning to look up at Fliss.

“What for?”

“Talking to her, the way you always do. I don’t know how you do it Lissy, but you make her listen.”

“Don’t worry too much about her.” Fliss smiled “I know it’s easy for me to say but, well you always said today would be a challenge. See how she goes tomorrow.”

“I thought Fridays were your nights, you know where you sat at a bar, alone, all broody and mysterious…” Fliss grinned down at him.

Frank shook his head, a crooked smile spreading on his face “Yeah well, maybe I fancy a bit of company this week…”

Fliss looked at him for a moment, considering what he had said before she smiled “Ok, I got lessons until 6:30 but I can meet you there later on?”

Frank smiled “Great, it’s a date.”

Fliss arched her eyebrow and Frank inwardly cursed “I mean, not a date, but…you know, a…”

“You’re cute when you get flustered.” Fliss teased, cutting him off with a laugh “Don’t worry sailor, I know what you mean.”

With that she turned the horse back the way she had come and winking at Frank called to Mary. “Hey, you know when you asked how fast Heidi could go?”

Mary nodded.

“Well watch this…”

****

Fliss was right. The next morning they had a little fuss but nothing drastic. Mary came home with a note about Wednesday being show and tell and she wanted to take Fred. So they bundled him into a cardboard box. Frank waited patiently outside until Mary was escorted back out by a classroom assistant to hand the cat back over.

“Enjoy that?” he said.

Mary nodded.

“I was talking to Fred.” Frank teased. Mary narrowed her eyes and he laughed. “I’ll see you later ok?”

“You look nice.” Her dad looked up as she walked into their living room. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, you sure you don’t mind dropping me?” she looked at him, “I can get a cab?”

“Don’t be daft…” Bill said, picking up his keys.

“Have a nice time honey!” her mum called.

Bill could tell she was nervous so he made idle chit chat on the drive down to the main strip of bars and eventually pulled up outside Fergs.

“Just have fun.” he said to her gently “And if you need me, call.”

“Thanks dad.” she smiled, kissing his cheek before she let herself out of the range rover and headed into the bar.

“Thought you were gonna stand me up!” he grinned at her as she took a seat. “Sorry, my last lesson over ran.” She answered before she smiled politely at the dark haired woman. “Hi…” “Oh, Fliss this is Bonnie, Mary’s teacher.” Frank introduced them. “Nice to meet you.” Fliss smiled. The woman gave her a smile back and stood up speaking to her as she did so “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time Frank and I don’t want to eat into your date.“ “Oh this isn’t a date…” Fliss protested at the same time Frank shook his head “We’re not…” he gestured between himself and Fliss with his hands “Fliss is Mary’s riding instructor” “She horse rides?” Bonnie said, an air of surprise in her tone. “The idea was it would hopefully teach her social skills before School.” Frank snorted “clearly didn’t work..” “Oh don’t be so hard in her.” Fliss jumped to the girls defence “she’s a good kid.” “I bet its easier when you’re trying to teach them something they actually want to learn…or in Mary’s case teaching her something she doesn’t know….” Bonnie said and Fliss laughed. “She’s actually one of the easier kids I have.” She said and Frank smiled at her comment “mind you, none of the kids give me any hassle really, its the adults that are hard work.”

“Oh my god tell me about it…” Bonnie groaned “I dread Teacher-Parent evenings, honestly, some of them are so obtuse…” “I can imagine.” Fliss grinned

“Anyway I better…” Bonnie gestured over her shoulder “see you later Frank, and nice to meet you Fliss” “You too.” Fliss nodded to he as Frank waved his hand in goodbye.

“What you drinking cowgirl?” he asked, standing up “I’ll go get em in.”

FLiss asked for a beer and sat down as he went to place their order. A frew minutes latger he was back, sliding the bud over to her.

“Thanks…” she took a huge drink. “I err, didnt interrupt anything before did I?“

“No, not really.” Frank shook his head “Not really?” “She errr…found out about Diane.” Frank said. “Oh.” Fliss frowned “how? I mean…” “When I picked Mary up on Monday she was asking me about her background om account of her being so smart. I tried to fob her off, saying I had taught her a system, you know for arithmetic but she didn’t buy it. Apparently she’s been giving Mary a few more advanced equations to do…”

Fliss looked down as he slid the paper on the table over to him. It contained a number of formulas and algebra problems which Fliss could see Mary had completed.

“As you can see, she aced them. And then Bonnie googled the system I mentioned, and then me and…up popped Diane” he shrugged .

“So did you tell her the truth?” Fliss asked looking up at him, sliding the paper back.

“What option did I have” he shrugged, folding it and shoving it in his pocket. “She came down here to call me out so I figured honesty was the best…what?“ He asked when he noticed Fliss was frowning. "She came down here on a Friday night to find you?” Fliss snorted

Frank shrugged “That’s what she said.”

“How she know you’d be here?” “I’m here most Fridays…not that hard to find.” “Maybe you should think about varying your routine Sailor” Fliss grinned “And you should definitely think about varying this shirt.”

Frank glanced down at his bright yellow palm tree print Hawaiian shirt

“What’s wrong with it?” he pouted.

“What’s right with it more like…”

“Well I’m not one for corporatism.” Frank shrugged “I like to think I’m an individual.”

“To be fair I’m not sure planet Earth could deal with two of you.” Fliss shot back. “I can only just about cope with one…”

Frank paused before he looked at her, shaking his head with a snort as his mouth curled up at one corner “Well that’s just fucking rude.”

“Made you smile though.” Fliss grinned at him.

Frank looked at her for a moment before he felt his face split further into a grin as he looked at her. “Yeah, yeah you do…I mean did.”

He saw her cheeks flush in that adorable way they did, and he decided to save her from further embarrassment by changing the subject. It wasn’t long before they settled into an easy conversation and the events of the previous week and all worries about Mary flew completely from Frank’s mind. @the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @official-and-unstable-satan @icanfeelastormbrewing @pagesoflauren

#frank adler x ofc #frank adler #gifted #gifted fan fic

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nat-roman0ff · 5 years ago

Text

v. the last 45 seconds of your life

a series of blurbs // a certain time and place

(read the full series in my masterlist!)

v. the last 45 seconds of your life

the one where everything comes to a screeching halt.

wc: 3,273

warnings: unironic love of oasis, some bad words, & that feeling when your heart breaks

---

“Oh my god please don’t tell me he’s singing Champagne Supernova, again?” She groans as those familiar first notes blare through the speakers.

Shawn shrugs and turns his attention back to Brian who is taking his spot on the dingy little stage in the dingy little karaoke bar Shawn had brought the lot of them to.

“This is really what you wanted to do before you go back on tour?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest, “Karaoke?”

He snakes his arm behind her shoulders and pulls her closer, “yes, karaoke. But I also wanted to spend some time with my two best friends before leaving again.”

She steps on his foot, marring the white of his Adidas, “but Brian is going with you, dickweed. I’m the only one who gets to stay behind.” She crunches her heel into his foot a little more.

Shawn winces and puts his head on her shoulder, “only by your own choice,” he singsongs, “I’ve given you more than enough chances to come with us.”

“I have a job,” she starts.

“That you hate,” he finishes.

“I have responsibilities.”

“Masturbation and remembering to water your plants aren’t responsibilities.”

“I have an apartment.”

“...that sucks.”

“Hey!” She jabs his ribs with her elbow, this only causes Shawn to squeeze her tighter and more into him. He feels this weird sense of instant calm when their bodies are pressed together. It can be in any stage (although he was partial to when they were horizontal), no matter what, when, or under whatever circumstances, they just fit together.

“I have a life here,” she begins, her voice more somber, softer. She’s trying to put him at ease, “I can’t just pick up and leave that to be able to hang out with you all the time.”

Shawn lets go. He has to constantly remind himself that he’s the one that’s in love with her. She’s right, she does have her own life at home in Toronto. He wishes so terribly that he can whisk her away for all his own but he also realizes how incredibly selfish that is. Someone like her needs to be shared with the world, the world needs someone like her. She doesn’t get to be his world.

“However that doesn’t mean you can’t, like, fly me out to all these really cool places,” she eases the sudden tension and turns to him.

Shawn’s face is drawn and she knows that look. It’s the one that makes her believe he feels the same way she does, the one that gives her the tiniest glimmer of hope at the end of this tunnel, that all this wading around in bullshit isn’t just for sport.

“Yeah,” is all he can manage, “I’m gonna get a drink I’ll be right back.”

Except he doesn’t go to the bar to order a drink. Shawn diverts past Old Man Mellino in the corner bar stool and heads straight for the bathroom. By the time he reaches the stall he’s already crying. He’s thankful he’s alone, because Shawn has always been a loud and ugly cryer. It just sort of all bubbles up in his chest and he ends up choking on air. His chest and heart feel like they’re caving in, and he can feel every single hairline fracture in his heart just before it shatters once and for all.

How could he expect her to give it all up for him when he doesn’t even have the balls to tell her how he feels? How could he expect her to put her life on hold just to be with him. It’s simple - he can’t.

It takes Shawn a good ten minutes before his hands stop shaking. He wipes away the smear of tears on his face with the backs of his hands. He feels like a child, sitting in a bathroom stall and crying. This was like third grade all over again. But he couldn’t help it anymore. It was almost becoming intolerable to be around her without her knowing the truth, but in the same breath he couldn’t bare to not be around her. He’d usually been confident with girls and his feelings, if they didn’t feel the same way or just wanted an easy fuck he’d get over it with a pint of ice cream and move on.

She was different (but aren’t they always?).

Shawn’s feelings for her were catastrophic. It scared him every day of his goddamn life. He never thought in his mere twenty years of existence that he could ever be so hopelessly hopeless for someone. His emotions manifested physically for her. He felt pain when she was away and a lightness that nothing else could ever measure up to when she was around.

The days were getting harder, the tides seem to crash harder and time felt like it was running out. He was exhausted, and not from the months of travelling or touring. It was her, it was this big gaping hole in his chest that was her. It was this secret that he’d been carrying with him for almost two years now that ate him up at an excruciatingly quickening pace.

Her rejection was his greatest fear; the response of “I love you too, but I just don’t love you in that way”. He knows it would gnaw at him for a lifetime, because he’d spent a lifetime trying to find her. Shawn didn’t believe that your missing pieces would be filled by another human being, he believed that certain people were brought into your life to help you mend those broken pieces. She did that for him, in all the ways he couldn’t even place but knew existed. He couldn’t explain it; he felt whole with her, and not because she completed him but because she helped fix what had been broken.

It’s been some time now and Shawn supposes he should get off his ass and go back out there. He leaves the stall and looks at his sorry face in the dirty bathroom mirror. He looks worse for wear, with his eyes all puffy and red, cheeks blotchy and the collar of his shirt damp from cleaning up his face. The bathroom door opens and Old Man Mellino stumbles to the sink beside Shawn. He smells like well liquor and adult diapers.

“Those are woman tears,” he slurs, his breath toxic with booze.

Shawn furrows his brows, “excuse me?”

The old man slings an arm around Shawn’s shoulders, “the tears you cry over a woman. Recognize them anywhere. What’s this dame done to yah?”

Shawn recockens if this guy gets any closer he’ll barf from the stench, “nothing, that’s the problem,” he says, wanting to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible.

“Does she know how you feel?” Mellino mutters.

Silence.

He chuckles, “I’ll take that as a no then. Look at you! Young, bright, handsome, the whole world ahead of yah! What’d yah got to lose?”

Shawn shrugs, “her.”

“Now you look at me, boy,” he grabs Shawn’s shoulders and turns his body to face him, “I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes in my years and if there’s one thing I’ll always do over and over again, it’s telling the woman that you love just that. Nothing more, and nothing less. You don’t have to be showy or make some grand romantic gesture. Just be honest, be you.”

Shawn sighs, but not too deeply as the reek of the old man is really starting to burn his nostrils, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well I am. Now go get her!” He says, slapping Shawn’s ass and then stepping into one of the stalls.

Shawn leaves with a new found confidence. He guesses he has about forty-five more seconds before it wears off so he plows through the crowd and back to her. She spots him immediately and waves her hand over towards him.

“HeyI’veGottaTalkToYou,” he says quickly in one breath.

She laughs, “yeah? What’s the rush? And where are our drinks?”

“No time, ran to the bathroom -”

“Was it the Taco Bell we had for lunch? I know sometimes it upsets your tummy.”

Twenty more seconds.

“No I just really need to tell you something,” Shawn blurts.

His heart is racing, and he’s almost sure he’s going to pass out. The ringing in his ears is so loud it almost drowns out Brian’s sloppy rendition of Wonderwall.

Ten more seconds.

“Damn, okay. Sounds serious. Did you have an epiphany while on the shitter?”

Five more seconds.

“No, I just. I really have to tell you something important.”

Shawn’s vision blurs and all he can see is her.

“Well, get on with it then if it’s so important.”

Three.

Two.

He takes a deep breath.

One.

“I’m in love you.”

---

She’s pretty sure if she has to listen to Brian sing another Oasis song she’s going to scream. Liam and Noel Gallagher do not deserve such disrespect.

“Get off the stage, loser!” Someone yells, and she has to stifle her laughter by biting her bottom lip.

Shawn’s acting weird tonight, she thinks. Well, weirder than usual. He’s distant but clingy; won’t talk to her but won’t bloody let go of her either. He’s never usually this way before he leaves for tour. It’s the last leg at barely two months. It’s not the longest they’ve ever been apart, not by a long shot. She watches him walk away and disappear into the sea of people crowding the bar area. She turns back to Brian on the stage, who is full on air guitaring along to Champagne Supernova, and even throwing on his best Northern accent to sing along with.

She has this gnawing feeling in her stomach. This sort of nauseous anxiety that builds and builds the longer that time passes. She can feel it in her heart too, in the way that it rapidly beats and causes her to miss a breath or two. It’s not a panic attack, at least not the ones she’s used to. Her hands get clammy and she scans the room over and over for Shawn but doesn’t see him.

Brian finally finishes his song with a round of boos and hops off the stage and towards her.

“What’s got you so sweaty?” He asks, dabbing at the clammy skin at her hairline and wiping her sweat on his jeans.

She shakes out her arms and hands, “I don’t know - I just have this weird feeling?”

Brian raises an eyebrow, “o...kay. Do you mind elaborating? I’m not Shawn, I can’t read your mind.”

She glares, “forget it.”

He grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her a little, “tell meeeee!”

“It’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

She eyes him.

“Sorry, force of habit,” Brian replies, “But seriously, what’s got you so shaken up?” He puts a reassuring hand on her arm.

She thinks about all the ways she can list out what’s got her going;

It started this morning when she woke up in Shawn’s arms and accidentally on purpose snuck a glance at his phone. There was a text from some LA model with the message ‘excited to see you this week!’. She’d wiggled out and stalked off to the bathroom, making sure to slam the door on her way out.

Then Shawn suggested they go out for breakfast instead of staying in like usual on Sunday mornings. They had a tradition of making waffles in her Death Star (despite never actually seeing any of the Star Wars movies) waffle maker and eating almost an entire pound of bacon between the two of them. It was always one of her favorite days of the week. When they’d gotten to the Diner, she counted exactly fifty words spoken to her the entire time, despite the fact he played footsies with her throughout their meal. He just stared blankly at his phone. She wondered if he was talking to some LA model.

By the time afternoon hit she had been sufficiently annoyed with Shawn. She kept tripping over his feet when they walked around the city and bumping into him, once even spilling her coffee on her new shoes. They weren’t in sync like they usually were. Something was catastrophically off.

At dinner with friends he was just as weird and distant, and she spent most of the time chatting and laughing with Brian while Shawn still stayed glued to goddamn phone. She was past the point where it annoyed her and was well on her way to just being plain old pissed off. It wasn’t that she was jealous about another girl (she was) or cared if they were screwing around (they weren’t), she just hated feeling like there was something he wasn’t telling her. Which is fucking rich consindering the secret she’s been holding from him.

It didn’t take her long to realize after they met that Shawn was going to be that person for her. She tried to tell herself that she would feel this for someone else one day, that maybe if she packed it down for long enough it would go away. And sometimes it did, she didn’t spend every waking moment of her life weeping about being in love with Shawn. She had mostly good days, days where she thought about him fondly and missed his warmth. Most of her time was spent avoiding diving in any deeper, sitting at just the edge and sometimes dangling her feet to test the waters. They were always too cold to dive in.

“It’s nothing, really Bri. Just getting emotional about him leaving again, that’s all,” she sighs, “about both of you leaving, actually. What’s a girl to do with herself?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Brian raises an eyebrow.

She shakes her head, “absolutely not.”

He swings an arm around her, “whatever you’re feeling, just let it go.”

She supposes she takes too much time to think about it and it makes her heart race. She knows full and well that she’d never be able to live the same lifestyle Shawn will. She’s the here and now and it’s convenient. She’ll never be the one who goes to premieres and parties and events with him. He’ll save that for some LA model. She’s accepted that a long time ago - that she’ll never fit in with his lifestyle. She’ll only ever be the here and now.

Letting go is such a hard concept. It sounds so fucking easy but is so fucking not. It’s not like dropping a coin into a fountain, it’ll come in waves and some days will be better and easier than others. Letting go is something you have to do slowly, but once you make the decision to do it you can’t go back, you just can’t.

She’s so tired of the emotional push and pull; the fullness of feeling so fucking amazing when she’s with him, almost immediately followed by the emptiness of longing and wanting something she’ll never have. Her emotions are a constant change of the tides rolling in and out and her sea is tired. It’s self induced, too. She has no one to blame but herself for feeling this way and she’s pretty sure she’s finally accepted that at this point. She doesn’t hold any ill-tidings for Shawn for not feeling the same way she does. He’s never once used her, or put his needs in front of her own. She supposes that’s why this whole letting go thing is so fucking hard. That plus literally everything else about Shawn’s personality that screams at her to stay, to keep maybe-ing, makes it so fucking hard to let go.

“Thanks Brian,” she hugs him tight, “I’ll work on it.”

He gives her a squeeze, “wow, for once I actually said the right thing.”

She slaps his chest, “just something I think I needed to hear someone say out loud.”

“I’m going to pretend I know what that means and go pick out another song.”

“Please don’t make it an Oasis one!” She yells after him.

“No promises!”

She laughs to herself and sighs, picking at her thumbnail. She knows going into this head strong that it’s going to be a hard one. She knows that it’s going to take days, weeks and maybe even months of pain before she reaches the other side of that tunnel of letting go. Him being away will help, it means he won’t randomly show up on her doorstep late at night with a box of cupcakes and a sappy look on his face, it means she won’t get text messages all day long at work of him complaining about how bored he was. She was thankful for the upcoming distance in her quest of ridding herself of the feelings.

She didn’t want to find it in someone else. No, that wouldn’t be fair. Because what she felt was real, that much she knew, and she didn’t want to dishonor that by trying to project those feelings onto another person. She looks around the bar and spots all the couples and for the first time in a long time her heart doesn’t sink, instead, it’s relieved. She doesn’t feel the tugging weight of longing to have that with Shawn, at least in this one fleeting moment.

The music starts and Brian is singing Wonderwall. She groans, and continues to wait for Shawn to come back. She spots him and waves a hand for him to come over. He looks...stressed. And her heart sinks when she sees the red rimming his eyes and just knows he’s been crying. That’s the thing about her, she just always knows. She also knows he doesn’t like when she calls him out on such things, so she lets it be.

“HeyI’veGottaTalkToYou,” Shawn states in a single breath.

She chuckles, “yeah?” She can see his breath coming out in small pants, “What’s the rush? And where are our drinks?”

He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear something out of it, “no time, ran to the bathroom -”

“Was it the Taco Bell we had for lunch? I know sometimes it upsets your tummy,” she interrupts, placing a hand on his abdomen, she can feel the muscles clench beneath her palm.

He clenches his fists and she starts to worry, “no I just really need to tell you something.”

Shawn is pale and for someone who is already only two shades darker than an eggshell, that’s saying something. His pupils are blown out wide and he’s visibly shaking, but trying to hide it by clenching and unclenching his fists. She’s never seen him this way before and she’s terrified of what he’s about to say.

“Damn, okay. Sounds serious,” she says as calmly as she can, trying to dampen her own rising nerves, “did you have an epiphany while on the shitter?”

“No, I just. I really have to tell you something important.”

She can feel her heart in her throat. It’s amazing, she thinks, for as out of tune as they’ve been all day, now is the moment that they realign. She places her hand over his heart and feels it beat along with hers - perfect synchrony once again. But she drops her palm and remembers let go, let go, let go.

“Well, get on with it then if it’s so important.”

Something flashes in his eyes and his pupils contract just to blow out again and she swears she’s watching his entire existence flash before his eyes as he takes a final breath and finally fucking works up the strength to say;

“I’m in love you.”

---

and she’s done! i hope everyone enjoyed this lil ride on my first shawn series. i doooooo have a sequel planned if it’s wanted, let me know! :)

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