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eebydeebyderby · 3 years ago

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While We Wait Ch. (4/4)

A fic in which Reader grows closer to Egon as the team tackles an unknown supernatural threat. Soft continuation of this one-shot.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

General info:

Egon x fem!Reader, fluff, mostly light-hearted, minor angst, hurt/comfort, slow-burn (sort of)

Chapter info:

Word count: ~4.4k

Content warnings: non life-threatening injuries

@bellamy1998

@katethecolorful

@a-very-salty-dragon

@egonspenglersweetie

@saltedtoast

@leah-halliwell92

Thanks for your patience! I apologize for the hiatus in my writing; my laptop and kidney decided to die within a week of each other.

Damn, you were tired.

The previous night was just a blur for you when you tried to recall it, lying in bed, eyes closed, not yet fully roused to consciousness. Part of you wanted to get up, to look around and see what those strange noises were, what that strange smell was. But, another part wanted nothing more than to stay lying where you were, cozy and completely still. Your mind was in a haze, slow and lethargic, and whatever was causing it felt so, so good.

No. Something was wrong. You tried recalling your last memories, wracking your brain as the events of the night tried unveiling themselves from behind your narcotic stupor, but you got nothing but mental static. You were so tired, too fatigued to even attempt to open your eyes. You wanted to go back to sleep, give into the soft, enchanting call of unconsciousness, but something was stopping you: a voice, deep and reassuring, gradually nudging your mind back into gear. You stirred. Something slipped onto your upturned palm — a hand, warm and calloused, gently pulling you back into the waking world.

Yes. Slowly, slowly, you were coming to — sort of. Your fingers weakly wrapped around the hand in yours. You were lying on your side, curled up beneath a thin blanket. The surrounding noises soon became easy to decipher: a heart monitor, nurses chatting and walking through the halls, the occasional crackle of the intercom speaker — you were in the hospital.

You opened your eyes. Your vision was still adjusting, but you easily recognized Egon through the mild blur, sitting in a chair just a few feet from you. A smile crept across your lips. Yes, his handsome face was a very nice sight to wake up to.

He forced a brief, hollow half-smile in return, his eyes reddened and swollen, his nose rubbed raw. “You’re conscious earlier than anticipated. How are you feeling?” His voice was slightly congested, which went completely over your obscured notice.

“I feel like ass. It’s great. When can I leave?”

“You should be ready for discharge quite soon. The doctors want to keep an observation on you for a few more hours until your pain medication wears off, since they administered quite a bit more than intended. Your weight was measured in pounds but the dosage was calculated with that number being interpreted as kilograms.”

“Hell yeah. I love it. Please never let them do that to me again.” You absentmindedly flexed your fingers into his hand. “What happened?”

He returned the gesture. “The overstimulation of the fractured fibula triggered an abnormally strong response from the parasympathetic system and caused a spell of vasovagal hypotension-induced syncope.”

“Egon, please. You’re very handsome but I’m on drugs. Half the time, I have no idea what you’re saying when I’m sober.”

He was a bit taken aback by the boldness of your comment, but left it alone. “Walking on a broken leg made you faint.” He cleared his throat, his next words slow and hesitant. "What do you, um, remember?"

You shrugged. Pleasantly drowsy was going to be as awake as you'd get. “I got into a catfight with a demon in the woods and woke up in a hospital and I think my leg is broken?”

“What about the events between now and after the altercation? Can you recall?”

“Nope.” You tried sitting up, but then laid back down when a powerful wave of dizziness made you lightheaded. Sleep beckoned your return, but you tried your best to shake off the temptation. “There’s more that happened? Why can’t I remember?”

“The combination of peroneal neuropathological-induced shock and opioids likely blocked the long-term potentiation of memory formation and gave you a temporary case of retrograde amnesia.”

"Yes. Mm-hm. These are words. These are words I understand. Yes, sir.”

He cocked an eyebrow, but stood silent. "You don't remember the drive here, or Winston splinting your leg?" He sounded hopeful, almost relieved.

“No. Bad?”

"Y — ...Well, it was, quite, um…” He cleared his throat. “I'm glad you don't remember, frankly."

You held his large hand up in yours, lightly tracing your fingers along the rough callouses on his palm, across the scrapes and burns and scars on his knuckles in various stages of healing, the large bandage between his index and thumb from his most recent lab accident, soiled with soot and cake dirt. The topic of memory already slipped from your sluggish, clouded thoughts. “You’ve got some big ‘ole man hands, Egon. Very popular with ladies. I’m a ladies.” You intertwined your fingers with his; he returned the gesture by curling his fingers into yours. "Lay down with me?"

His cheeks flushed pink and his hand reflexively tensed in your grip. "I, um,” he stammered, flustered, “ I don't want to breach your comfort."

"I'm the one asking." You scooted over a bit and patted the empty spot next to you.

He awkwardly climbed into the bed with you, jumpsuit and cumbersome boots absolutely filthy, careful not to jostle your leg wrapped in its fresh cast. He settled into a clumsy half-sitting position, his shoulders against the metal headboard.

Once he was situated, you laid your head against his soft belly, your arm lazily wrapped around him. The muscles in his back were already protesting the position he’d taken, but it was something he could ignore for your sake. "Is this okay?"

"Mm-hm. This is nice." Leaning against him, you felt the full rumble of his pleasant voice resonate throughout your entire being. You closed your eyes, feeling your head rise and fall with his breathing. “This could just be the opiates in my system messing with my head,” you said, “but I think I’m getting the impression that something’s off with you, like you’re not feeling well or something.”

He sighed.

"Had a bad night, Spengs?"

"I'd argue that you had a worse night than myself."

"It's not a contest." The morphine-induced drowsiness was digging its tendrils into your mind and clouding your thoughts behind a curtain of bliss, but you were fighting it off the best you could—a losing battle. "I don't want you to be upset," you said, your words becoming slow and slurred as the drugs lulled you back towards unconsciousness. "Yeah, I got hurt. It's par for the course. I went on my own accord. I knew what I was getting into when Peter hired me, that balding menace.

“I get it, though. I hate seeing you get hurt. Every time you come back from a bust all bruised and sore and tired, I feel bad. That gash on your face — I had trouble looking you in the eye for the first few days it was healing. I couldn’t stand seeing it. I felt weird and uncomfortable and frustrated that there was so very little I could do.

"I love you, Spengs. I've loved you so much. I wish I could convince you of how good you are.”

He remained silent, clenching and unclenching his jaw, his heart pounding rapidly. This escaped your notice as the opiates dragged you further and further from lucidity.

You yawned. “Where are the others?”

He cleared his throat, painfully aware of how long he was taking to answer. When he finally managed to summon his voice, his words were strained and hoarse. “They went back to the firestation to clean up. I felt it would be best if I remained here to keep you company.”

You yawned again. “You’re popular with ladies. Janine says she had a huge crush on you for a while before her spaz boyfriend Tully came along.”

“I’m aware. She and I had a discussion about it. It went well.”

Another yawn bubbled in your throat. "I like Janine,” you said thickly, “but Tully triggers my prey drive. When he skitters around I get the urge to chase him down and maul him."

A look of utter confusion crossed his face, but he decided to just dismiss it. Too many thoughts were racing through his head for him to keep track of.

You snickered under your breath and drew closer against him. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Will you stay? I like you here.”

“Yes, of course.”

"You're trapped anyways. You have no choice. You'll have to kill me if you ever want to use your precious daddy long legs again."

"I almost did."

You scoffed, already drifting off to sleep. "Nah. Shut up, Egon, you handsome bastard…"

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☆.｡:*.｡.:*☆ ༓･*˚⁺‧͙

You woke up to a harsh, dull pain throbbing in your lower leg. The pain meds had mostly worn off and you were sobered up.

You kept your head on his belly, feeling it steadily rise and fall in tune with his breathing. He seemed to be dozing, judging by his deep, slow breathing. You were fully awake, but it wouldn’t hurt to lay down for just a bit longer. Oh, it felt so good to be in his arms. You were quite enjoying yourself, despite the harsh ache twinging in your lower leg.

You glanced up at him. He looked exhausted, tense and shaken from the recent chaos of everything, his face smeared with a thin layer of soot and grime, his glasses slightly askew. His position was unnatural and awkward; you were almost certain he’d wake up sore. But, for now, you laid your head back down onto him. Your mind was fully back into working order, and the missing events quickly reorganized themselves in your memory.

****

You jolted back to consciousness with a startled yelp when Winston emptied his ice cold water flask over your face. Egon sank to the ground to keep you from falling when you collapsed against him, and it was in his arms that you awoke.The adrenaline from your fight with the demon completely faded away and was rapidly replaced by a dull, agonizing ache that settled sharply in your leg. Immediately it became too overwhelming and nearly drove you to tears.

Winston drew upon his previous career as a marine corpsman paramedic and immediately took charge, checking your pulse, flashing a light in your eyes, checking you over for any internal and external injuries. Nothing life-threatening, so he turned his attention to your leg. Ray returned from the Ecto-1 with the first-aid kit. Winston used the scissors to cut away the lower half of your pant leg and lightly ran his fingers over your calf, making you almost jump out of Egon's arms from the jolt that shot up your leg when he went over a specific spot. Winston scowled and started prodding the front of your ankle, which you couldn't feel at all. He then tapped your knee, which was perfectly alright, but there was a spreading numbness below it, occasionally replaced with bolts of pain when certain spots were stimulated.

Winston sighed and leaned back a bit. His demeanor was calm, focused, but you easily saw the dread darkening his face.

Peroneal nerve entrapment, he told you. The unaligned fibular bone was compressing the nerve and needed immediate correction to avoid permanent damage. The benefits of a hospital setting were more than an hour away from your current location, so it had to be corrected here, now. You gave Winston permission to do what he believed was best.

Winston delicately positioned his hands just above your ankle, getting himself into position. This was going to really, really hurt, he told you in a pained apologetic voice, so you better brace yourself, and he'd be as fast as he could. It'd be over in just a second. Egon reflexively tightened his grip around you ever so slightly.

In one swift motion, Winston pulled your leg back into alignment and you screamed into Egon's chest, gripping him so tightly that your fingers nearly tore the fabric of his jumpsuit.

You kept your face buried in Egon’s chest, clinging to him as your breath came in short abrupt bursts, gasping between sobs, light-headed and on the verge of passing out. Egon held you tightly in his arms and petted your hair, tried to coach you through breathing techniques as Winston secured a splint around your leg.

Egon carried you back to the Ecto-1 and held onto you through the entire drive to the hospital, doing his best to keep steady and cushion you from the jolts and lurches of the car ride, but it did little to ease the shocks of pain that rattled through your leg with each bump in the road. Fresh tears ran down your face with each harsh shock of the car as you held tightly onto him. Still, there was comfort in the way he held you.

Winston insisted on being the one to take you into the hospital. He was a former paramedic and still kept in-touch with many of his former coworkers in the emergency department, so he could pull some favoritism and push to have you seen first. Winston also urged Ray and Egon to stay outside for a while, take a break and let things process a bit, since they weren’t as accustomed to the mental toll of severe medical emergencies. Reluctantly, Egon handed you over to Winston, who delicately took you in his arms and trotted into the ambulance bay.

The last you saw of the two other boys was Egon sinking onto a bench, trembling, his hand on his forehead. Ray planted a firm, reassuring hand on Egon’s shoulder, even though he himself was badly shaken up.

The emergency orthopedic doctor on-call was very pleasant and explained to you and Winston that she was going to give you some strong muscle relaxers and pain medication to help make you comfortable before your X-rays, which almost immediately knocked you out, since they inadvertently more than doubled your dosage.

That was the last of your memory before waking up with Egon at your bedside, completely blissed out of your mind from the drug mishap and spilling your guts at his feet. But knowing Egon, you thought, he would just dismiss it outright. You’ve said more absurdist things in the past with little reaction from him.

****

Egon stirred and you pulled away from him as he stood up. The first thing he did was groan, muttering something under his breath as he tried stretching away some of the soreness that stiffened his back, yawning and cracking nearly every vertebrae in his spine. “I apologize,” he said with a small, tired smile, taking the chair by the bed, “but that’s about the most distortion my musculoskeletal lumbar tissue can take before it triggers an immuno-inflammatory response.”

You sat up. “Other then your back, how are you feeling? I know the past day has been a bit intense.”

“Well, if I may ask about what you said earlier — ”

Horror shot up the back of your neck. Surely, he wouldn’t take your overdrugged ramblings seriously, right? You groaned, embarrassment burning on your face. “Listen, I am so, so sorry about the things I was on about earlier. I was not in the right state of mind and what I said wasn’t app — ”

“Were those words your genuine feelings?”

“I mean…yeah, but I would’ve preferred to use a more re—"

“I love you, too.”

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning down your spine. “Oh, shit,” you blurted before you could stop yourself, feeling like your chest was about to burst.

He took your hands in his. "YN, resuming what I was saying this morning, I... Well, let me preface this by saying that I believe this is long overdue, and I'd be dishonest if I denied having rehearsed what I'm about to say countless times in my head."

He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath, trying to temper his nervousness.

"You are someone I care deeply, deeply about. The friendship we've developed is something that I consider a primary source of personal contentment. At the same time, a large part of my psyche is often preoccupied with the simultaneous desires and fears of truly expressing the extent of my solicitude when it comes to matters regarding you and, daresay, us.

"It is one of my greatest hidden internal guilts that I was initially opposed to your hiring by Peter. I loathed the idea of another occupant in the lab, that the company of another person would be nearly ever-present in the working day. For that, I apologize. I look upon those extinct feelings with disdain and chagrin, as nowadays I find great delectation in having you as a permanent presence in my everyday life.

"And yet, there is a growing desire for something more explicitly solidified between us two, something deeper. For the longest time I find myself already adjusting my personal heuristics to fit a devotional mindset about you."

His face burned hot as he drained the remainder of his bravery for his next sentence.

"And from this, the only conclusion that can be drawn is that I have fallen in love with you."

You stared up at him, starry-eyed and completely flustered.

With the most delicate of touches he tilted your chin upwards, eyes brimmed with fear, uncertainty, nerves ready to burst. His hand moved from your chin and brushed against the side of your face, gently guiding you forward as he leaned forward, drawing the two of you closer, closer—

“Wait,” you muttered, stopping him just an inch from you. His breath was warm on your face, sending a pleasant chill down your spine. “I haven’t brushed my teeth since yesterday morning and the last thing I ate was pretty strong and I probably taste like halogenated anaesthesia so you probably d — ”

He kissed you.

A giddy warmth bloomed in your chest, making your heart beat wildly, threatening to leap into your throat.

His movements were careful, chaste, still unfamiliar and nervous as the two of you tested the water. Just a few seconds and he pulled back, looking down at you with a soft gaze, trying to gauge your reaction so far.

You burst into a fit of laughter and buried your face into his chest. You wrapped your arms around his torso and pulled yourself tightly against him. No matter how tightly you clung to him, you didn’t feel like you were close enough to him, practically curling up as you tried pressing the entirety of your being against him. He held you in an iron grip, nearly pulling you off the bed. For several minutes you stayed glued to him, relishing his embrace, the unbridled delight of being held in his arms.

Feeling brash, you lifted yourself up and planted a kiss on the bottom of his jaw. A hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he tilted your chin up, smiling down at you with an amatory gleam in his dark, tired eyes. He pressed his lips to yours, bolder this time, gently holding your face in his hands to deepen the kiss, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You seized the lapels of his jumpsuit to pull him closer; he let out a small sound of surprise and responded by tangling his fingers into your hair, igniting the kiss with a stifled grunt, which you eagerly reciprocated.

“Spengler!”

You pulled apart just a split second before Peter was upon Egon, beating him senseless with a large green teddy bear. “Rascal! Scoundrel!”

Egon cowered with his arms over his face, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Peter was relentless, hitting Egon with every word out of his mouth. “Of—course—you—would—wait—until—she—broke—her—leg—before—you—started—chasing—after—her—so—she—couldn’t—run—away! Bad! Bad Spengler!”

He handed you the bear, now horribly misshapen and lumpy, its head lolled to one side. “Ray bought you that at the giftshop.” He tapped your chin. “Feel better, girlie.”

“Gee, thanks.” You motioned for him to come closer. "Come here, Pete. Gotta tell you something."

He leaned in, a smug smile on his face. "Okay, what is it you w—Ow!" he yelped when you gave him a harsh wallop directly on his nose with the battered bear.

“Hey.” Winston walked into the room and yanked the bear from your hands. “YN, girl, beating the shit out of a Class XI demon wasn't enough violence for you today?”

“Peter interrumpió nuestro primer beso.”

“What?!” Winston bristled. “Oh, hell no.” Winston handed you back the bear. “Kick his ass."

Peter, who was groveling in the most theatrical position of fright he could muster, yelped out, "Ray, help! She’s going to kill me!" as Ray walked into the room.

Ray cocked his head. “Just move back a few feet. It’s not like she can run after you.”

“That’s incredibly insensitive, Ray,” Peter said flatly, “and you better hope she doesn’t realize she could still throw things at me.” Peter turned his attention to Egon. “Egon, you only know English and Yiddish, right? Todavía no puedes hablar español, Spengler?"

Ray waved his hand in front of Egon’s face, who remained unresponsive. “I think he’s stuck buffering. We might need to turn him off and back on.”

Peter snickered wickedly and began muttering something under his breath about "turning Egon on" and "YN in the jumpsuit" but was immediately silenced by Ray with a harsh smack to the back of his head.

“Alright, alright, serious now.” Peter turned his attention to you. “There’s a few ground rules that need to be laid down if you’re gonna start shagging up with my forever dearest bestest friend.

“My Spanish is a bit rusty, so listen closely: Egon le encanta abrazar más que a Ray. Asegúrate de que reciba sus pastillas para gusanos corazón cada tres meses. Y a veces trata de comer cosas radiactivas o perforar un agujero en la cabeza 'por ciencias'. No dejes que haga eso.”

You turned to Egon. “You sometimes try to drill holes in your head?”

Your voice broke his torpor and he shrugged. “Evidence for the preternatural benefits of trepanation dates back to paleolithic times.”

"Egon!"

Ray’s face brightened. "Oh! Speaking of archaic social customs, did Peter give you the teddy I bought you?"

"Yep!" You lifted up the bear at your side, its head laying lifeless against its chest. “I love him, Ray.”

Ray gasped and gingerly took the bear from you, holding it like a fragile newborn. “Oh my god Peter, you killed him! How did you manage to break his neck from the elevator to here?!”

Peter crossed his arms indignantly. “I couldn’t have broken his neck. He has no bones.”

“‘Couldn’t have broken his neck’? What do you call this?!” he exclaimed, shaking the bear and making its head rapidly helicopter around.

“I call that collateral damage. Guess what I just saw Spengler doing? Smooching on our little buddy in the middle of this Catholic hospital.”

Ray gasped and whacked Egon across his face with the bear, almost knocking his glasses off. “You actually went through with it!” he beamed. “I’m so proud of you! I always thought you were gonna stay a coward.”

Egon readjusted his glasses, unable to tell whether Ray’s comment was an insult or compliment, and settled for a simple nod.

Peter narrowed his eyes and leaned close towards you, tilting your chin this way and that, scowling a bit. “Have you been crying lately?”

“Um, yes? A demon broke some of my bones.”

"Well, I didn't cry when a demon broke my bones the other day."

Ray bristled. "What? Yes, you did!"

Peter scoffed. "Okay, fine. I might've cried a little."

"You cried a lot!"

Peter threw his hands up. "You know what, Ray? Go break some bones and get back to me on the appropriate amount of crying. Here, let me help you." Peter seized Ray's collar with his uninjured hand and started violently shaking him.

Ray's response was a blank and unintelligible, "Wah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!” as his head bobbed back and forth.

Winston quickly broke them up by smacking Peter with a rolled up magazine. Winston put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight a bit. “On the topic of violence, you were supposed to detain the demon, girlie, not beat the absolute shit out of it. We aren't the NYPD.”

“Wait a second,” Peter said, his face lighting up in his usual crooked smile whenever he came up with a bad idea. “I think they were onto something. We could start offering a deluxe specialty demonic cleansing service! It’d increase our revenue.”

Winston crossed his arms. “And how would that work, exactly?”

“Easy! We do the calls the same way we always do, except on demon calls we bring along YN and give her a baseball bat.”

Winston laughed. “Sounds good to me.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☆.｡:*.｡.:*☆ ༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Ray always made a point to keep the old firehouse elevators in working order in the event that they would ever be needed, so you were able to easily travel around its various floors and lofts with your crutches. After the demons were captured, the calls that came through were incredibly minor and were easily handled with you and Peter staying in-house.

Egon took every opportunity to initiate physical contact with you in any way he could: sidling up to you while you ran electrophoresis tests, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you prepared microscope slides, stealing a kiss on your cheek when he needed to borrow something from your desk.

Egon had his head in your lap as the two of you idled on the squashy couch in the lab, sorting through several messy lab notebooks and charting statistics from your latest longitudinal experiment to be run through an analysis of variance.

You ran your fingers through his thick hair, lightly caressed the sides of his face. He smiled and tilted his head back, setting aside his papers to fully enjoy the attention. You bent down and planted a kiss on his brow. He looked up at you, his dark, tired eyes brimming with adoration. He reached up, gently cupping your face in his large hands, and pulled you in for a light kiss. After a moment he pulled away, delicately stroking your cheek with a calloused thumb.

“I love you,” you muttered.

His mouth split into a wide grin. “Oh, shit,” he said teasingly. He kissed you again. “I love you, too.”

#while we wait #egon spengler #ghostbusters egon #ghostbusters fanfiction #ghostbusters headcanon #ghostbusters #egon x reader #egon spengler x reader #oc #egon #sfw #ghostbusters x reader #@bellamy1998 #@saltedtoast #@leah-halliwell92 #@katethecolorful #@a-very-salty-dragon #@egonspenglersweetie

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egons-twinkie · 3 years ago

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CH. 02: Settling in [Spengler Classics 101]

taglist: @boneless07 @egonspenglersweetie @lunadensmidnightprowl @twinkiethievery

When you first became aware of the insides of your eyelids the following morning (you assume), you had forgotten everything. Well, not forgot–it registered as a very strange pipe dream, nothing more. But when you breathed in that same unfamiliar scent, felt the slight starchy stiffness of the sheets covering your form and the heat of the light streaming in from the now-uncovered window, your whole body seemed to stiffen. You didn’t want to open your eyes and confirm it, but eventually you had to.

“Morning, sunshine,” chirped a dulcet male voice from nearby.

Once you’d rubbed the sleep from them and opened your bleary eyes, you eventually focused on the form of Ray, whom was still clad in the gray sweatpants and white undershirt he had apparently worn to sleep; he was sitting on his bed, wearing his reading glasses, hair still tousled heavily from his rest.

“Hey, Ray,” you mumbled, sitting up.

You didn’t catch the way he grinned when you said his name, or how his heart skipped. You stretched and yawned.

“Whatcha doin’ in bed still? What time is it?” you asked.

“Only ten thirty,” he replied; it was then that you noticed the stack of books sitting on his night stand, scattered across his bed, all laying open. Different novels and tomes, old and new.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and researching what I can on interdimensional rips and rifts in spacetime. Egie and I agreed it’d be best to kill two birds with one stone and just read up here. He, Winston and Pete are out on a bust. How was dinner, speaking of?”

The memory of the evening came rushing back to you, and you felt an unfamiliar warmth in your core: a fluttering, something akin to butterflies but calmer. Fondness, perhaps, for the recollections of the night before. You looked at the wilted chrysanthemums on the nightstand beside you.

“I don’t remember the name of the place, but the garlic bread was orgasmic,” you informed him.

He nodded sagely.

“Sounds like Panucci’s. Nice place. Great food,” he surmised, running a hand through his wild hair, taming it only slightly.

For a moment, as you often liked to do, you simply took in the world around you. The air was warm but not unpleasantly so. It was bright inside the room. Due to the pipe that Ray had been smoking on occasion during his perusal, a shroud of smoke lingered in the room, tinging the air with motes of light and the scent of burnt tobacco. Sweet and spicy and earthy. Ray looked good, you admitted to yourself, sitting there with his legs crossed, perusing the library he’d collected around him. For you, no less. He did look a mess, but managed to make it seem endearing. He just looked…well, snuggly. The films didn’t do him justice, you think to yourself. Being around him made you feel warm, and safe; it was hard to explain, like a calming aura exuded from him. Something that could only be felt when he was nearby. You got lost for a moment, fantasizing spooning the scientist before you, or perhaps being spooned by him. You bet he's warm as a furnace.

“Did he pull any cheap moves on you or did he behave?” he frowned.

He immediately looked like he felt regret at his question, but lightened slightly when you laughed, grateful to be shaken from your trance.

“Well, it’s Peter. What do you think?”

“I should have known,” he groaned, “I’m sorry for leaving you alone with him. He can’t help himself around beautiful women--”

He looked caught all of a sudden, and clamped his mouth shut, burying his nose in a copy of Spates Catalog. Maybe, he seemed to think, if he didn’t blather on to correct his misstep, you wouldn’t point it out. Heat rose to your cheeks nonetheless, only half as red as he was in that instant.

“Ho-how are you feeling?” he stuttered out, forcing casual tones, clearing his throat, never lowering the book for a moment.

You kicked your legs over the edge of the bed, feet not touching the floor. You leaned forward and reached for your toes, reveling in the release as your spine popped and crackled in reply.

“I feel okay,” you grunted, “better than yesterday. This is still wild to me, don’t get me wrong, but I wanna make the best of it all while I'm here.”

It was then that the book came down some, revealing a grin that could put the sun itself to shame in terms of warmth.

“That’s what I want to hear!” he exclaimed, delighted at your perceived optimism.

You couldn’t help but smile back as you laid crossways on the width of the bed, letting your legs dangle still as you stretched your back in the other direction. More crackling caressed your ears as the endorphins flooded your brain; you barely registered the groan of contentment that escaped you very quietly, but Ray certainly took note.

“I’ll bet Egon will want you in the lab later on when they get back, if he doesn’t crash on sight of his bed. Are you hungry in the meantime? I’m real good at scrambled eggs and toast. That’s about the only thing, and none of the toasters since '89 have made it longer than a month without getting blown up or used for an experiment, so it'd be coat hanger toast, but that's my specialty, I’ve been making it since...college...heh…” he trailed off with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ray,” you smiled serenely at him, earning a big, boyish grin in return, “but I don’t wanna put any more on you than I have to. I can feed myself.”

You stood then, taking the hair tie off of your wrist that you forgot was there; a ring of indented flesh, angry and red, throbbed in response to newfound oxygen flow. You ran your fingers through your hair in an effort to work out the knots that had formed in your sleep. Ray’s eyes didn’t leave you as you arched backward to secure your hair. He seemed entranced for a moment, until your eyes found his own mismatched irises, focused on you yet glazed over serenely; he looked away quickly, bashful all of a sudden at being caught.

You wandered over and sat on Egon’s still-unoccupied bed, directly beside Ray’s own.

“I want to earn my keep, too,” you told him, “anything you guys need help with, I’ll do it. Doesn’t matter what. I’m not great at cleaning and I don’t do toilets, but I can for sure cook for you on whatever budget you provide, and I mean whatever. And don’t tell me no,” you warned him mid-sales pitch, catching him as his mouth came open to rebut your offer, which quickly snapped shut again; “I want to do it. I’m not just gonna show up in your universe and bum off of you. I respect y’all too much for that. Plus, all that takeout’ll put you into an early grave and then you’ll be experiencing the job from the other side of the particle beam.”

A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips; you narrowed your eyes at him.

“What’s funny?”

“Y’all,” he quoted, snickering. “You don’t hear that much ‘round these parts.”

“I don’t like your tone,” you narrowed your eyes at him; he immediately took on the appearance of a punished puppy and apologized quickly. You softened like butter on a hot plate.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, “I just think it’s kind of cute is all.”

Once again he took on an expression of immediate regret. You reached across the gap between the beds and nudged his arm gently.

“It’s okay,” you smiled reassuringly at him, “I think you’re cute, so it all works out. Kinda.”

His eyes shot wide open with surprise and what you hoped was delight; it paired nicely with the grin that spread from ear to ear across his rounded face. He really was adorable.

“You do? I mean, I am? I mean, you think so?”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“‘Course, Ray,” you nodded, “you’re the heart of the Ghostbusters, after all, and it’s a title well earned. You’ve got passion."

He couldn’t stop grinning. Something was palpable in the air, though you couldn’t tell what; it was a sort of tension you couldn’t describe, and it didn’t even really feel like tension. It just felt easy, talking to him. Just maybe a little too easy if anything. You didn’t want to stop.

“I guess so,” he agreed with a slight nod of the head, and he reached for the mug of coffee on the nightstand beside him.

“So,” you said after a moment, “is there anything you want me to do right now? I, uh…I need some things, I think. But I don’t want to just ask for money to go get them.”

His mind seemed to run away for a moment, and his eyes glazed over in thought briefly before his head shook just a little, and his gaze found yours again.

“Well, we’ll figure something out, I’m sure. I’ll bring it up to the others when they get back. But in the meantime, we’ll take care of you. What kind of things do you need?”

He set his book down and focused fully on you then, folding his hands politely. You suddenly felt sheepish for some reason.

“Oh, just…basic stuff. Clothes, hygienic personals, that kind of thing. Essentials,” you nodded, only partly to affirm to yourself that you could not simply wear the same pajamas for the indefinite period of time you faced here.

Ray scoffed, giving you a crooked grin.

“Oh, that’s no worry at all. We could go to Macy’s if you want. Or anywhere. You name it, we’ll go,” he assured.

You stood.

“Can I cook you breakfast or anything first? Y’all–-you guys–had a hard night last night, I’m sure,” you corrected yourself, and his face fell slightly; maybe he wasn’t poking fun after all, but after a lifetime of being teased for even the slightest of your twangy mannerisms, you were always wary.

“Nah, unless you’re hungry–I had some Eggos,” he shook his head, figuring his response sufficed, “I’m good for a while.”

He picked up the pipe that sat by the coffee and the pack of matches it sat with, setting a spark to the tobacco stuffed into the bowl and taking a few puffs. He exhaled through his nose and mouth at the same time; smoke poured from him from what seemed to be every facial orifice. It looked kind of neat. He looked up at you. The scattered light caught his eyes, illuminating the blue and golden aspects of them, the depth of the tones; one was like whiskey and one was like the ocean, flecked with green and gold…none of the films, any of them, did those eyes justice. You could have easily gotten lost in those eyes and never found your way back; honestly, you wouldn’t mind.

“Do you want to go now, or later?” he asked, interrupting your focus.

“Anytime is fine,” you shrugged dismissively.

“I know that answer,” Ray said pointedly, shaking the wooden pipe in his hand at you for emphasis, “you don’t have to be coy with me, okay? Speak your mind. It’s 1990. We’re there now.”

You laughed then, earning a smile from him; if only he knew. But hey, a solid timeline has been set: 31 years back, and at least one dimension over.

“Do you want to borrow some clothes to wear out?” He asked, changing the subject; “I have some clean stuff if you wanna…if you don’t mind, I mean…if you wanna–”

“Thanks, Ray, I’d appreciate that a lot,” you interrupted the near-set loop he got close to stuck in, and he nodded, scrambling off the bed, careful not to toss the books.

He got into the dresser on the other side of the bed and dug out a shirt and a pair of pants.

“I, uh…I don’t share underwear,” he informed you, trying to be serious.

“I understand completely. I normally forget 'em, anyway,” you responded plainly, earning an unintentional stare from the man beside you.

Before he could reply, you accepted the clothes from his hands and made your way to the bathroom without instruction or direction. He didn’t respond or call after you, even to be helpful in locating your target... You stunned him. Something about that filled you with an ancient-feeling sort of pride. Powerful.

You quickly changed from your own shirt and pajama pants into Ray’s clothes, a plain white long sleeved undershirt and black sweatpants. They were baggy, but you didn’t mind; you took a moment for yourself to take in the essence of Dr. Ray Stantz. Tobacco, of course, and some simple clean soap, and that same weird electrical smell that haunted Peter’s sheets, but something else too; books. Old books. You took a sobering breath in before emerging back into the bedroom, tightening the strings that cinched the waist of the pants until they sat comfortably snug high on your waist so the pant legs didn’t drag under your feet too much. You already had to roll them up a fair way besides, given the height difference. You'd also taken your hair back down and used the elastic tie to knot the baggy shirt at the waist, tucking it up underneath itself into a crop top style, letting just a little bit of skin peek out between the pants and the shirt. Ray’s face reddened again as his eyes darted over your form in his clothing. You saw him swallow hard, and got the notion you weren't the only one who was feeling that nervous fluttering in their guts. It felt weird to be on the other end of it though–not in a bad way by any means, it just added to the aforementioned sense of accomplishment, but still–it was your turn to be sheepish. You wrung your hands together out of nervous habit.

“Do I look okay?” you asked, not looking at him.

“You look great, I mean, wow, you make sweats look incredible,” he answered genuinely; something you loved about him already is that whatever he may have been feeling, he wore it on his sleeve, in his tone, on his face. You could hear the admiration in his voice. It was just like how he spoke about ghosts. You couldn’t help but feel kind of special to earn that sort of response from the man.

You tucked your hair behind your ear and made your way toward the main room of the upper floor; he followed suit, not bothering to swap his sweats for jeans as he normally would, far too eager to show you his city.

It didn’t take long to get what you needed; you, raised to be frugal, insisted you only go to drug stores and the cheaper of the department stores that he insisted on taking you to. You'd managed to procure a decent bra, a few sets of underwear, a coat, some shirts and pants, shoes, and one nice dress (which he insisted on as well, citing the possibility of a formal event taking place—- “you’d be an honored guest of the Ghostbusters, don’t doubt it for a second!” he’d urged, trying on a pair of black sunglasses and a black trilby hat in a mirror as he’d spoken) as well as the usual hygienic needs, such as deodorant and a toothbrush and such; you were en route back to the firehouse by noon.

Ray had done the same thing Pete had done, eagerly pointing out numerous bust sites and favorite haunts, if you’ll excuse the play on words. You'd continued your escapades in documenting your journey, snagging pictures as you were able. During the shopping trip you managed to procure a disposable camera, and switched to it as soon as you could for the sake of blending in. It served you well already, and Ray was more than happy to pose for pictures, alone, together, whether or not a silly hat was involved–but there was always more goofy enthusiasm when there was a hat. You felt like a classic tourist.

He had stubbornly insisted on carrying the bulk of the bags, though you'd fought him and managed to keep hold of a few. It was almost comical, how stereotypical you looked, exiting the cab at the curb by the firehouse–Ray weighed down by shopping bags, you carrying just a few, albeit very clearly miffed about it. He didn’t want to hear it though, and raced you inside, winning only by quite actually bowling you out of the way of the door. When I say the man dropped everything when he heard you yelp in surprise and come rushing to you, I mean it–the look of guilt and concern riddling his face made you feel bad, for godsakes.

“Are you okay?” he wheedled urgently, helping you up and dusting you off, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You could no longer resist your most primal urges, and snaked your arms around his torso, gripping him tightly. For a moment his whole body tensed but as soon as he realized what was happening, he eagerly gripped you back, almost popping your spine all over again with sheer strength and enthusiasm. You felt your feet lift inches off the ground. Ray loves hugs. Lesson learned.

“What was that for?” he asked, once he set you back down.

“Just being you,” you responded simply, shaking your head with a smile, “you’re a delight and a treasure to be around, and I sincerely hope you’re aware of that.”

That cute, boyish grin returned, coupled with a rapidly-becoming-familiar pinkish tinge in his cheeks, and he scratched his ear.

“Aw, shucks,” he tittered shyly.

You took a step back, entering the firehouse then. He chased after you, still glowing.

“Oh, hey, Janine,” he noticed the redheaded woman sitting behind her desk, filing her nails.

“Good morning, Dr. Stantz,” she replied in her trademark flat Queensite tone, glancing up briefly once before taking a second look at you beside him, in his clothes. One perfectly manicured eyebrow shot up, curious.

“Good morning, Dr. Stantz’s friend,” her tone carried a hint of mischief now, but her face didn’t really change, save for that quirked brow; she blew a gum bubble and popped it with her teeth, setting the emery board file down then.

You set your bags down by the door and wandered over to where she sat, trying to stay calm.

“Hiya, Janine,” you greeted, unable to fight your smile, “it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Y/N.”

She stared uneasily at your extended hand, and glanced back at Ray, who nodded behind you; she accepted it then and gave a light shake.

“Enchante,” she replied flippantly.

Ray cleared his throat and stepped forth.

“Janine, Y/N is living, walking, talking evidence of a parallel universe to ours,” he said, poorly containing the excitement in his tone, “she literally materialized in the firehouse last night! Right here on our home turf! Isn’t that neat?!”

Janine offered a smile, picking up her nail file again.

“That’s really fascinating, Dr. Stantz,” her tone was slightly blasé; he didn’t seem to notice nor care, simply happy to be heard, and carried on upstairs.

You remained behind and continued to look at Janine.

Her hair was sideswept and voluminous, falling slightly past her ears now though still remaining that trademark coppery auburn red, and she had traded her bulky reading glasses for a sleeker pair of red cat-eye specs. Her keen and unique sense of fashion hadn’t changed beyond that; today she wore a black and white houndstooth peplum business suit with her signature red stockings and a set of black kitten pumps.

“You’re even more fabulous in person,” you gushed to her.

The smile she gave now felt more genuine; almost embarrassed. It was cute on her.

“Thank you,” she cooed. “Will you be sticking around for a while? It’d be nice to have a fresh face around here.”

You nodded.

“I think so,” you sighed softly, “Ray was serious. I’m, uh, not from here, or from…now. But they’re working on it. We’ll get it figured out.”

“I’m sure,” she agreed, “you've got the best of the best on it... Are those Dr. Stantz’s pants?”

You glanced down, only remembering just then that you were indeed wearing borrowed clothing, and shrugged.

“Yeah. Shirt, too. Kinda goes with the whole interdimensional time/space rift thing. Didn’t exactly have time to pack a bag.”

She actually laughed then, a real laugh; it was like music. Janine Melnitz was an absolutely enchanting woman, and if Egon didn’t shoot his shot with her soon, you were liable to try.

“You know,” she spoke, “I’m usually very psychic, you see. I think Dr. Stantz likes you.”

You blushed at her words, but waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m sure he’d give anyone in the Five Boroughs the clothes off his back if they asked nicely enough, let’s be honest,” you refuted, “he’s just bein’ nice like Pete was last night too.”

“Oh? What did Dr. Venkman do for you?” She crossed her arms over her chest, raising that eyebrow sky high once again; her tone had inflected that same suspicion everyone seemed to get when Venkman was brought up.

“He took me to, uh…Panucci’s? I think that’s what Ray said he thought it was…?”

“With the garlic bread?” She gasped.

“The best,” you confirmed.

Both eyebrows were raised now in shock.

“I heard my name,” Peter popped up like a prairie dog over the top of the filing cabinets and wooden partition that separated his ‘office’ from Janine’s, and moments later he hopped the swinging wooden gate in one fell hurdle, stabilizing about ten inches from your side.

“Morning, Pete,” you smiled at him, “how’d you sleep?”

“Like shit,” he replied simply, “I think next time we really ought to just take one for the team and spoon like the good Lord intended. How ‘bout you, doll? Have a good roll in my sheets?”

Janine stared between you and him and said nothing. You could tell she was living for this.

“Oh, I slept like a rock. I woke up thinking maybe all this was a dream, you know,” you answered; something about Peter despite all his flippancy and mischief just made you feel like you could tell him anything and he would guard it under pain of death.

He nodded, stroking his chin, looking thoughtful.

“Mhm. Would you like a pinch, perhaps, to confirm or dispel this fascinating theory?”

You swatted at him playfully and he dodged like a gazelle narrowly missing the deadly paw swipe of a lion. He really was quite agile when he wanted to be. It was then he noticed the shopping bags on the hood of the Ecto-1 where you'd left them. Ray had disappeared upstairs, probably to try and find a place to store the things you had purchased. Peter began to dig through the contents of the plastic, and lifted the black unlined lace bra you'd found for a steal on sale in just your size with a low, husky whistle, holding it up to his chest, modeling it.

“This for anyone special?” He asked, looking back at you with a twinkle of mischief in those hooded eyes again; a grin played at the corners of his cherub-like mouth.

“Maybe so, maybe no,” you replied, snatching it from him and stuffing it back into the bag, “it’s no business of yours anyhow.”

He grinned at you. It was then that you registered the volcanic heat radiating from your face; that’s what he was so damn smug about.

“We’ll see,” he simply answered with an innocent smile, "I could wiggle my way into your heart yet—you never know, sunshine."

You rolled your eyes at him fondly and absconded upstairs with your new belongings. Thankfully he didn’t chase after you, but you found yourself colliding directly into Ray’s chest as he was about to venture down the stairs. You stumbled and almost fell backward, but his arms wrapped tightly around you, stabilizing both of you in an instant; he hesitated to release you but did after a brief moment to make sure you were alright and stable. There were a lot of stairs to fall down. He didn't want you hurt.

“Sorry,” you breathed, “Peter caught me and started flirting again.”

“Want me to hit him? I will,” he urged, furrowing his unkempt brows.

You shook your head.

“No, not yet,” you laughed, and the tension in his shoulders slacked; "I'll let you know though."

“Damn,” he hissed, ever so softly. You caught it though, and laughed; the irritation on his face softened as he glanced down at you.

“So, uh, where do you want me to...set up shop?” you asked, changing the subject; he looked at you curiously for a moment before piecing two and two together.

“Oh, uh, we had an extra bed disassembled in the basement. Egon uses it sometimes but he’s always got his actual bed up here when he decides he wants it. The bedroom can technically fit up to six beds, we just never needed the extras...well, ‘til now. He was setting it up in there for you, matter of fact,” he answered, pointing a thumb back toward the bedroom area.

You nodded and wandered in there; Ray continued downstairs to do whatever he’d set out to do. Egon sat on the floor of the bedroom, hunched over a pile of loose materials. A mattress leaned against the wall nearby; he had rearranged the beds and accompanying furniture to accommodate a fifth set, and was in the process of assembling the final bed structure when you entered. The radio was on, playing softly, simply background noise against the silence. He didn’t even notice you walk in, or creep up beside him; you didn’t mean to scare him, but...

“Hey, Dr. Spengler,” you greeted; he jumped two feet in the air easily.

Once he whirled around to see it was just you, he still seemed slightly wary; or, rather, just his usual amount of tension.

“Hello,” he robotically responded.

“How you holding up? Did you sleep?” you inquired.

“Oh, no,” he dismissed, “I’m not allotting myself time to sleep until tomorrow at 4:43AM until 5:12 for the purpose of a study I’ve been running.”

You frowned at him, noting the deep set bags under his dark brown eyes, which seemed to bore holes into you through his round wire framed spectacles. Even sitting down he seemed to loom over all before him.

“That’s not healthy,” you informed him softly, “trust me, there are lots of studies that go to show it. They learn a lot about it between now and the 2020s.”

He made a slight face of doubt, but didn’t rebut your statements.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, flipping the script onto you now.

You frowned slightly.

“Well, I’m okay right now. Just wondering, still…lots of questions.”

“That makes two of us,” he replied, picking up a hex key and bolting a few pieces together; you knelt beside him and silently offered your assistance.

“When I’ve finished here, I’d like you to come with me to the lab. There are tests I’d like to run. Physical, mental, emotional and parapsychic. It may take a while, so I hope your schedule for today is clear.”

Something you loved all your life about Egon was the way he was funny without being obvious about it: he was a very subtle man in many ways, but the look he shot you, that slow spread of a devious half-grin, the nostril flare, the eyebrow quirk: it was all very Spengler Classic. You snorted a little in response.

“For you, Dr. Spengler, my schedule is always clear, whenever you want it to be,” you informed him.

Another Spengler Classic presented then; a faint bashful smile, an aversion of those dark brown eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he uttered softly, returning, still slightly smiling, to screwing the bed together.

You remained seated beside him.

“I appreciate it. And I told Ray earlier, but I wanted to let you know too, I’m willing to do whatever I can to help y’all out. Whatever you need, picking up shifts for Janine so she can get a break, though I’ll admit I have no idea how to be a secretary…or a lab assistant, but I’m willing to learn whatever I can to be as little of an inconvenience to y’all as possible.”

Egon didn’t look up, but looked over briefly at the toolbox beside you; you noted the shape of the heads of the screw he was employing, and provided him with the appropriate driver for the job.

This earned one raised eyebrow, for a brief moment, and a silent ‘thank you’ nod. His long, nimble fingers made quick work of the bolts in question. It was the last leg on the bed frame, and between the two of you, flipping it upright was a breeze. He himself placed the mattress upon the frame, and placed the folded set of sheets he’d apparently had at the ready upon the barren fabric. He took a step back to inspect his work, and after a moment of self-appraisal, he turned to you.

“Thank you for the offer. If Ray didn’t already say it, welcome to the team. We likely won’t have you go on any busts, currently, but I’m sure Janine will be delighted to hear we finally got some relief for her,” he offered a small smile to you and began to gather up the loose tools scattered around into the box, and once that was done, he snapped it shut.

Even the toolbox was white with the No Ghost insignia on the lid. How precious are they, y’all?

You nodded to him and stood, eclipsed by him even at your full height by at least a head and shoulders. The smile he had faded then and his brow furrowed slightly.

“Are those Ray’s clothes?”

You faltered.

“Yeah…Better than nothing, right?” You tittered nervously, but that seemed to quell him decently enough; he shrugged lightly and adjusted his glasses.

“I suppose. Are you ready for the testing? I hope you haven’t eaten anything in the last 12 hours,” he added offhandedly.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, doc,” You sighed; he nodded and you exited together.

You'd left your bags on your bed.

My very own bed in the Ghostbusters firehouse. Holy shit.

It was all you could think about and you practically floated down the steps behind Egon; he seemed not to notice, too focused on the calculator he’d produced from a pocket somewhere and tapped away at with fervor. Janine watched as you followed him around to the set of stairs that led down.

“Janine, please clear my schedule for the day,” he called simply.

“What for?” She inquired.

“I have a battery of tests to run on Y/N,” he replied, already a few steps down the stairwell, voice fading as he went; you hesitated and looked at Janine with doubt, but nodded to confirm his reasoning.

“If I see you again in one piece, it’ll be a miracle,” Janine told you, looking at you over the tops of her glasses with a mixture of warning and concern.

You swallowed hard and descended below with hesitance.

The basement was merely the basement; there was a wooden desk, yes, Egon’s usual workspace, but the main purpose of the room seemed to be storage and containment–specifically, ghost containment. The ginormous canvas that once housed the spirit of Vigo the Scourge of Carpathia and now held a romantic renaissance style portrait of the Ghostbusters half-cloaked in colorful silks in artful poses, surrounding baby Oscar on a cloud, now leaned against the wall. The ‘Fettuccine Edition’, some called it. You admired the ghostly brushstrokes that, as far as this universe was concerned, no human hand ever painted. But there was a masterful capturing of lighting and color, even if perhaps the rippling musculature on the men was a bit exaggerated…

You turned from the painting, meaning to come study it further later on, and wandered to the Ecto-Containment Unit. It was so much bigger and more beautiful in person.

“A whole other world in there,” you uttered, wandering up close to it; Egon flinched slightly when you raised a hand to touch it, likely still traumatized from Walter Peck’s poor decisions and the resulting attempted murder Egon nearly committed that fateful day in 1984.

You stroked the cold red-painted metal surface of the ECU and stared at the blinking lights and switches. The green light shone overhead, and you stared up at it with sheer wonder. You couldn’t imagine ever designing something like this.

“I’m no scientist, but…wow, she’s gorgeous,” you sighed dreamily.

Egon smiled that Spengler Classic cocky smirk, but alas, you missed it.

“Thank you. The ECU was a joint effort between Dr. Stantz and myself.”

“Did you have to use special metals for paranormal conduction and psychokinetic resonance properties?”

You had always wondered, and now seemed like a good time to ask.

Egon blinked at you for a moment, and you turned to look at him; he seemed rather surprised.

“Yes, actually. But the metallurgy has always been more Ray’s area of expertise. I have a layman’s grasp on it but his notes and research on it are stellar. I mainly handled the nuclear and molecular aspects of the prototypes and resulting equipment.”

“Fuckin’ radical,” you gushed, grinning at him.

His ears began to turn pink; his nostrils flared, and that smirk crept across half his face again.

“Thank you,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back.

After a brief moment of awkward tension, he cleared his throat and began to gather items he needed.

“We’ll need to go back upstairs, all my equipment is up there. I just needed my measuring tape and Geiger counter.”

You nodded and pulled away from the ECU, following his long legs up the stairs. You couldn’t help but stare after him for a moment, eyes flickering back to the Fettuccine; you smirked and began treading up the steps.

So far the hardest part of this whole journey has been the amount of stairs you face now. You lived on ground level back home, in a valley. You're gonna have buns of steel by the time you leave.

Hours later, you were laid out across the upstairs dinner table/laboratory desk like a frog set to be dissected, arms crossed burial style over your torso, covered (and I mean covered) in telemetry sticky pads and wires and probes. Your heartbeat sang to you over the monitor beside the desk, and your brainwaves blinked on the monitor below it. In the last 7.5 hours you'd seen a scan of your own brain and bones, witnessed the back of your eyeballs, had blood drawn, done fatigue, stress and standard cognition tests, and so much more. So many questions. So few answers.

Egon placed a hand on your thigh to steady himself as he waved the PKE meter over your body. Neither of you verbally acknowledged the spike in your heart rate when he’d done so, but you're sure he noticed; that ghost of a smirk returned to the corner of his mouth though he seemed to fight it.

“Dr. Spengler,” you blurted out, “I think I need a break.”

“Good idea,” he nodded, and began to gently pull the suction cups and sticky pads off your skin, which was much more exposed than you'd cared for it to be.

His fingers brushed your neck as they'd removed the sticky pads from the top of your ribcage, just below your collarbone, and headed up for the ones on your face, and you shuddered below his touch. It wasn’t necessarily the fact that you'd wanted Egon Spengler since you could recall, though never truly thinking he’d be touching you physically in person ever in your life; your neck was also generally just very sensitive to touch. You hated contact with your neck, mostly. You tended not to wear necklaces or turtlenecks or anything of the sort, you feel like you can’t breathe when you do, but this was perturbing for other much less negative reasons. Okay, it was partly touch starvation. You tried not to look him in the eye.

Once you were fully disengaged from the laboratory equipment, you scooted off the surface of the desk and pulled the hem of your shirt back down where it belonged. It was baggy on you, of course, but you needed your hair tie for, well, your hair. You had been hot and flustered for more than a while.

“Did we learn anything?” you asked, trying very hard to keep your breathing steady; you felt dizzy, standing up for the first time in hours, but steadied yourself with a hand on the table until the passed.

“Nothing conclusive,” Egon sighed, frowning at the clipboard in his hands; “I’d hoped we could find some physical anomaly but you seem perfectly fit, if not a bit hot to the touch.”

Too hot to handle, too cold to hold.

“You’re harboring a lot of psychokinetic energy, though. It’s like you exist on a slightly different frequency from the rest of the world. That’s not surprising, given the course of events so far, but it also tells us nothing about what or who caused this, or how to fix it."

You sighed heavily, and ran your hands through your hair. The crinkling of cellophane tickled your ears, and you looked up; before you was a hand outstretched, offering an individually wrapped Hostess Twinkie. Egon Spengler did not share snacks, save for very particular occasions; now, it seemed to be for consolatory purposes.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, “we’ll figure this out. I give you my word."

You pouted slightly but accepted the sweet, nibbling the end off to tongue the cream out. You had eaten them like that since the start of forever, it was just your preferred method; like licking the cream off an Oreo and eating the cookies after.

Egon watched you like you grew a second head. He averted his eyes when yours flickered to meet them. You proceeded with the disappearance of the remaining sponge cake and once the object in question had been removed from the equation, Egon returned to Earth.

“Thank you.” A nod. “Are you hungry yet?” you asked.

Over the course of the last two hours or so at least, Ray and Peter had wandered in to ask about food a few times each; Egon kept shooing Peter away so he could focus, though he didn’t so heavily object to Ray’s presence, who had often made a point to ask about how you were holding up or suggest a theory.

There was one point he ran out just as suddenly as he had entered; Egon had seen a lot of you today. A lot more than you'd expected so soon. But science was what it was, and in this instance, science was intimate and impersonal at the same time. He made no comments one way or the other, though he’d been red in the face the whole time you had to be partially naked, and there at at one point while your arms were up above your head for one of the spectral scans on the battery of tests to be done, Ray had entered with an enthusiastic “hey, guys, how’s it going” before his eyes landed on yours, then darted downward instinctively, and then immediately he turned and left, beet-red, apologizing repeatedly until he simply could not be heard.

You had laughed at that. Ray was so cute. You were sure he was starving by now.

Winston had gone home earlier; every now and again they’d each get to go to their actual places of living, sleep in their own beds, that sort of thing. You found out he’s married! While you can’t lie, you were rather disappointed to know he was spoken for already (as if you'd ever have the balls to ask him out or make a move or flirt) but it made you very happy to know he was loved by someone. Her name was Tiyah–Tiyah Zeddemore. It had a nice ring to it. They were going to see an opera tonight. Winston was beaming all day before he left, so excited.

Man, it must be nice to have someone love you that hard…

“I could eat,” Egon drew you back from your thoughts, and you looked at him.

“Anything in particular?” you replied, still a little dazed.

He paused to think.

“Do you have a specialty?”

“A few,” you nodded. “Is there anything you don’t like, though?”

He shook his head.

“I’m not picky, for the most part. Though I should tell you, I have an affinity for–”

“--mushrooms, yeah, I know,” you nodded, and he looked puzzled only for an instant, “as a matter of fact, you’ll love the future: you were right. Mushrooms become a huge source of alternative protein and open many, many culinary gateways that were previously shut tight to vegetarian and vegan people, as well as expanding the fields of medicine, nutrition, psychology, and tons of other fascinating aspects. It’s really phenomenal, I think. All that being said…philly cheesesteak or meatball sub?”

He looked delighted, in his own Egon way; his expression changed only slightly, his nostrils flared some, and his eyes twinkled; he smiled, even.

“I’ll never say no to a cheesesteak. Peter and Ray have been waiting longer, though. They’ll probably want a say.”

Not long after, maybe thirty minutes, you and Ray returned from the marketplace around the corner with a large brown paper bag full of the necessary components for the unanimously-chosen Philly cheesesteak.

“I can’t believe Winston’s gonna miss this,” he chattered excitedly, “I can’t wait to see your technique! I wonder how much has changed? Is it even the same sandwich?”

“I think it’s the same, Ray,” Peter chimed in skeptically, watching the pair of you tread upstairs to the kitchenette.

Ray turned only to glower at the man momentarily before scampering up behind you; you hadn’t stopped to listen to them bicker. Once upstairs, you found Egon still in the laboratory section of the living area, but he stopped what he was doing when he heard you approach.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” he greeted in a Spengler Classic fashion, still as monotone as ever; he immediately came forth and took the paper bag from your arms, making quick work of depositing the food on the counter and dragging you and Ray over to his desk.

“I found a similar case in Albin’s Compendium of an instance in 1842 in Pennsylvania. There were remains discovered in a blown-up mining town, and fragments of a bomb that shouldn’t have existed at the time embedded in the bedrock around, and in, the corpses. The negative energy has continued to manifest in the town and the fires in the coal mines below still burn to this day.”

Another Spengler Classic was the strong undercurrents of excitement when he was talking about something horribly morbid. Death, plague, disease, murder, all aspects dark and deadly seemed to bring a mad eagerness forth, whether he realized it or not you were never sure. But he was doing it then; he fought a smile the whole time he spoke and his eyes glimmered with a sick delight. To be fair, the more he talked, the wilder it (and he) got.

“To make matters stranger, once the remains that seemed to be the deliverer of the bomb were pieced together, by evidence of uniform scraps—buttons and such, and equipment alike, it appeared to be a Nazi footsoldier. There’s no plausible explanation as to how this took place, or why, of course.”

You and Ray peered at the open book on the table your body had previously occupied; the yellowing pages showed a sepia-toned old picture of the artifacts mentioned, among fragments of the bomb that indicated its design. It was all definitely World War II era materials, and the swastika-bearing eagle on the warped metal badge in the photograph was unmistakable. Ray and Egon exchanged a meaningful, wordless glance, and then looked at you.

“This is huge,” Ray spoke, his tone low and conspiratorial but he was sheerly elated at the find, “we’re on the right track now, I feel it, Spengler!”

It was then that Peter tapped his way up the stairs. You took that as a good break point to start cooking.

Ray and Egon chattered amongst themselves about his discovery; Peter sat in a chair and watched you sauté the beef, peppers, mushrooms and onions; Ray and Peter didn’t want mushrooms, so you gave the extra to Egon. By the time the provolone cheese, cut thick, had melted on the top, they’d all gathered around to watch it bubble as if it were something magic. It didn’t take ten minutes for them to devour the sandwiches, as well as the potato chips you'd gotten. Another ten minutes did in the cheesecake, and then, all were laid back in overstuffed bliss.

“Cancel the tests,” Peter grunted, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression as he looked at you, “destroy the evidence, we’re keeping you here forever.”

“If only,” Ray commiserated with a forlorn, wistful look at you as well.

Egon was still savoring the last bites of his cheesecake, and so said nothing, but gave a concurring mumble and a nod in your direction; you figured there was a compliment somewhere in there.

“I’ve never been loved like this,” Peter continued, gazing at you lovingly.

You giggled, which surprised even you. Peter looked quite pleased at that.

“Well, get used to it,” you replied pridefully with a wink, and stood, clearing the table.

Thankfully, the guys were fans of disposable tableware; it cut down on dishes, and so all you had to actually wash were the dishes from the cooking. A cutting board, a knife, a sheet pan, a skillet, and a spatula. You had it done in five minutes’ time, and by then, the table had been overtaken once more by books and equipment as it was before the great feast. Stantz and Spengler sat arm-to-arm at the table, sipping cold beers, Ray smoking, sussing out what they could find about that Centralia Crossrip, as they called it. Peter had sat still long enough to smoke a cigarette and drink half a Pabst Blue Ribbon himself before calling it a night. It wasn’t super late, to be honest, but it’d been a while since he’d had a meal that big, or that good.

Once everything was taken care of, you decided a shower was in order. You shambled into the sleeping quarters and to your still unmade bed, past Peter, who was perched upon his own bed, perusing a magazine he’d presumably purloined from Ms. Melnitz. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered up your pajamas, towels, and your bag of hygiene products…you tried not to mind him, but you did glance at him a few brief times; each time, you just barely caught his eyes flickering back to the magazine in his hands. He’d clear his throat, and mumble something about something or other, incoherent. You rolled your eyes and wandered into the showers.

You turned the taps on the farthest shower in the corner of the room, trying to feel out the right temperature. Once it was hot enough for your taste, you stripped to your birthday suit and decided it was worth the battery expenditure to play music on your phone for a short while. Once you were satisfied with the selection (“Higher and Higher” performed by the ineffable Jackie Wilson) you took a deep breath and stepped into the streaming water.

Even this experience felt different. You felt very small, and not just because the shower was huge. You let the water hit your skin, breathed in the steam, began your ritual. You could only hope your skin didn't disagree with the water hardness or having to completely change your entire lineup of soaps and scrubs; you kept as close as you could, save for a few scent choices. Honey vanilla will be your signature scent here. You sang as you scrubbed, enjoying yourself well enough. The next track to play was “New Invention” by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME–exactly like that, yes–and with it the mood changed slightly. You loved this song. It felt very sensual, kind of spooky, generally it tickled your brain in all the right ways. By the time that track ended, you had just rinsed the last of the conditioner out of your hair, and gave your face one last quick scrub with just your hands and the water. You shut off the taps and collected your towel, doing the flip-and-twist wrap technique to secure it atop your head. You made your way to the sink and mirror, wrapping your body in another towel, still dripping wet; steam rolled off the exposed parts of your skin. You suppose you may have run it a little hot. Oops.

You brushed your teeth and toned and moisturized your face to “Flip City” by Glenn Frey.

“Wake me when it’s over, tell me I’m alright,

Tell me it was just a dream, a dream I had last night–

I can hear the spirits now, moving underground

I can feel them closing in, about to drag me down–"

You sang along, drying yourself off more thoroughly now that everything from the neck up was taken care of. As always, the natural moisture retention of the skin made it slightly difficult to pull the black tank top you had chosen for a night shirt over your chest, and it stuck to your back, rolling up on itself instead of simply scooting down like it should have. Lazy and now quite sleepy after a hot shower and all that food, you simply left it half rolled down your midriff; the important bits were covered, you figured. You wore those same comfortable red buffalo plaid pajama pants from your own realm. A comfort from home. Once you were dressed, you turned your phone off and took a brief moment to inspect yourself in the slightly steamy mirror. You looked tame enough. You wandered back into the dormitory, and found Ray and Egon had joined Peter there; they were still discussing findings in scientific dialogue neither you or Pete could keep up with if you tried, but when you walked in, all eyes fell on you. You glanced quickly between the three of them; they all seemed focused, at least for the brief moment your eyes were on them, on your exposed stomach. You crossed your arms over yourself and frowned.

“Y’all act like you’ve never seen a gut before,” you grunted, slinking over to your bed, which was across from Peter’s, placing Ray’s clothes and your wet towels in the laundry bag you had procured. It was undoubted you were flushed red from the heat of the water, yes, but now it was for all sorts of reasons other than that. Particularly the way Egon smirked at you. Well, not at you, necessarily, but while looking at you; when you spoke, however, they all averted their gaze…except Peter, unsurprisingly.

“It’s been longer for some of us than others,” he quipped, amused.

Egon shrunk slightly. Ray blushed a dark pink.

“That's not a crime, you know,” you chuckled at them, tugging the bottom of the shirt down where it would normally have been.

They looked at you normally then. Except for Peter. Of course.

“Say, Y/N, do you have a better half back at home?” Venkman asked innocently enough, sitting up and setting his magazine aside to give you his full attention.

You went to start on making up your bed and found it was already made up neatly. The corners were tucked in and everything. The pillow had even been fluffed. A stuffed toy black bear sat upon the sheets.

“Aw, thanks, guys,” you cooed, beaming at them, “who did this?”

Ray gave a sheepish smile.

“I figured it was the least I could do,” he shrugged, “you know. Hospitality.”

You wandered over and placed a delicate kiss on his forehead. He tensed a little, going red again and grinning widely, only more so when you giggled at his response to the gesture of thanks. You returned to your own bed and sat on the wrinkle-free covers, brushing your hair.

“What did you say, Peter? I’m sorry,” you looked at Venkman passively, who seemed a bit miffed now, if only very minutely; you figure people didn’t ignore him often. They probably didn’t get the choice.

“I asked if there was someone special back home. No ring?” He raised an eyebrow, wiggling his left ring finger in your direction for a moment in emphasis.

Egon stuck his nose deeper into the old suspiciously skin-toned patchwork leather bound compendium he was reading as his ears burned, but Ray made no real effort to hide his interest in your answer. You faltered.

“Oh, well…no,” you frowned, “there was someone but…things didn’t work out.”

Peter scoffed. At first you were offended, but he jumped to his feet with purpose.

“Who,” he demanded, striding the three strides it took to reach your bedside and dropping to one knee before grabbing your hand, “and I mean who in their right mind would give you up? I’ll wait the damn thirty years to punch his lights out myself. Or laugh at him. Up to you, really, dealer’s choice. We could make him go away–”

“Peter, please,” you interrupted, bristling so hard that you all but yanked your hand away, “it’s a sore subject. It’s been a long time but…please. I don’t want to talk about it further. Take the no and run wherever you’ll go with it.”

He frowned, and the room was suddenly rather tense.

“Understood. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Peter said softly, giving your knee a gentle, apologetic pat, standing up.

You grabbed his hand as he turned, and he looked back at you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “I just…sorry.”

“Hey, it’s no skin off my nose,” Peter replied, smiling softly at you; he didn’t seem upset in the least, “I shouldn’t have pried. But I mean what I said. Whoever you end up with one day is one lucky bastard and if they don’t know it by the time they’ve seen you for the very first time, I’ll tell them myself.”

You chuckled; you only realized then that you almost started to cry. You tried not to draw attention to the lump in your throat. Peter ruffled your still-wet hair, gagged dramatically at the wet and cold sensation, wiped his hands all over the back of your shirt. You knocked him over, and he tumbled back onto Winston’s unoccupied bed. You descended into a fit of giggles.

“Give the rest of us a chance, Pete,” Ray pouted from his bed.

Peter looked at him and gave him an expression of a man who knew he was too blessed to exist, but didn’t plan on looking a gift horse in the mouth, if you get his drift. You found yourself rather red in the face.

“I’d fight someone for you,” Ray told you, nodding with conviction, “And I find out anyone hurts you while you’re here and they’ll deal with not just me, but all of us, right, Egie?”

Egon, startled at his being dragged into the conversation, looked up frightfully, but seemed to concur.

“Yo,” he declared deeply, raising a fist partway into the air in solidarity.

You burst into another fit of giggles, fixing your hair and setting your brush under the bed for the time being. You sat cross-legged and looked at the men surrounding you.

“Thanks, guys. I appreciate that more than you know.”

They all mumbled their affirmations. You wanted to hug them each very tightly for a very long time, but boundaries are a thing, so you settled for slipping under your blankets.

“It really took no time at all to grow attached to you,” Egon finally spoke, surprising everyone in the room to some degree or another; “in a way it’s very similar to naming a stray animal you started feeding regularly and the resulting increase of trust and happiness in all parties."

“Except this animal feeds you, Spengie,” Venkman rebutted.

Egon faltered.

“Yes. Quite well. Thank you again.”

You nodded and couldn’t help but laugh. He looked so serious sitting there stick-straight in his bed, in his colorful polka dot pajamas, reading his Necronomicon, you assumed. He returned to his book and, with one hand, managed to open and unwrap a Twinkie, popping it in his mouth in mere moments. Swift fingers, you guessed, all that delicate engineering and whatnot. You try not to think about that for too long.

“What’s on the itinerary for tomorrow?” you asked, looking between the men.

“Well,” Ray considered, “Winston comes back at 6 in the morning for another 48-hour run. Pete’s got his day off starting then too.”

“I’ll be around, though, just for pleasure, not business,” Peter winked.

Ray frowned at him.

“That just means he’s sleeping in and won't go home,” he explained flatly. “Spengler’s going to head to the library to see what else he can dig up. I’ve got to check in on The Occult.”

“Your shop?” you tilted your head involuntarily, like a curious puppy.

Ray grinned at you.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be surprised you knew. Wanna come?”

You nodded; that sunshiny grin got wider. You couldn’t help but smile back at him. Now it was Peter who looked a little pouty. It’s kind of funny to you; it was probably mutual, the amount of attention being received from the opposite sex skyrocketing for all parties save for maybe Peter and Winston in the last 48 hours compared to the last several months, you figure, at least. It had been quite a while for you anyway.

You pursed your lips and watched Ray light up a cigarette, offering the pack to Peter, who accepted; he then reached across and offered it to you.

“Oh, no thanks, I don’t smoke cigarettes. I prefer my herb a little greener,” you mumbled the last bit, politely declining.

Egon perked up like a dog that caught the scent of a sizzling ribeye steak. He didn’t say anything, but you made eye contact, he raised an eyebrow, you nodded a minuscule nod, and that Spengler Classic half-smirk made a brief comeback. You believe you have just made plans to get baked together. There’s no telling till it happens, but you're looking forward to it. Ray and Peter exchanged a look.

“I haven’t done that stuff since college,” Ray thought for a moment, furrowing his brow; “last time, I ate a whole pound of peanut butter fudge and passed out watching Saturday Night Live.”

“Been there, my guy,” you nodded sagely.

“Last time for me was a few months ago with this really gorgeous hippie girl I met on a bust. She remembered me from Columbia. We watched Evil Dead, but I don’t remember any of it.” Peter got a lopsided grin on his face at the thought.

“Last time for me was Tuesday,” Egon chimed in quietly.

The others looked at him with surprise. He averted his gaze bashfully, probably regretting his admission.

“Yesterday, technically,” you sighed.

They all looked at you; Egon’s stare was much less surprised than the other’s.

You stuck your tongue out at Venkman, who looked the most incredulous, and he raised his eyebrows even further.

“Don’t threaten me,” he warned quietly, “I’ll come over there.”

Ray batted Venkman’s head with the Mr. Stay Puft. Pete winced.

—------

THERE IT IS,,, CHAPTER TWOOOO,,, AAAA

i hope y’all enjoy ;w; chapter 3 has not begun yet so there will probably b more time between this and that but i have ~plot ideas~ so this has a track to run on which is more than i can normally say for my brain lmfao

reply if you want on the tag list for ch 3! <3

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