#⌈ dash com. ⌋ — “ murmurs in the spaces between. ”

[pontiffv]

tag drop

[loth-wolffe]

Make a Wish

Pairings: none. a lil bit of captain rex x reader if you squint.

Summary: the torrent company prepares something for your birthday<3

Word count: 1,4k not proofread

A/n: So!!! i know I've been dead for the past week, but today's my sweetiepie ana @leia-saveourskins birthday!!!! and she asked me to write a little something for her so I came back from hell bc i can't really say no to mi bb ana. congrats bubs!! i hope you have the most amazing day today and always. hope you like this heheh<3 tqm mucho. mwah mwah mwah

Rex had called you to the hangar, something about Anakin needing some help with something, his words rushed as if he didn't have time and you felt confused, it wasn't like there weren't any more mechanics working at the time, and the General had given you half day off, "as a birthday present," he had told you, after a little hug and a congratulations.

You rushed your steps, hair still slightly wet from the shower you took before and the thought of getting more engine oil on you made you roll your eyes.

This better be good.

Once you got to the hangar door, you found it was closed, frowning, you commed Rex.

"The door is closed."

You hear him coughing, a few murmurs are heard and you never felt more confused in your life, what was going on.

"Yeah, sorry." He mumbled, "Ahsoka locked it by, uh, accident." Rex sounded nervous, and for some reason it made your heart beat faster. Did something happen? If it required for the General, Commander and Captain to be in the room, it must be important, but then again, there's no power in this galaxy that could ever torn them apart.

"Its open now."

It's not long before the door opens before you, and as soon as you step into the room, a chant of "surprise!" is heard, keeping you in place as your brain processes the image before you, tears filling your eyes as soon as it settles in your heart.

Everyone is there, your fellow mechanics, Anakin, Ahsoka, the troopers you had become friends with, even the General of the 212th was there, with big smiles on their faces, a big sign with messy letters in aurebesh that read Happy Birthday colored with the 501st blue hung between two ships, it was almost falling off, but the thought warmed your soul. The "ay" looked incredibly smaller as they run out of space compared to the wide H at the beginning, they all had different styles, and you wondered if they agreed to write one letter per person.

"I–" you started, but words didn't come out, you were left speechless, many emotions running through your mind and your heart that you couldn't pick one to express what you felt.

"Thank you," you whisper, blinking quickly in hopes for the tears to disappear, but they don't, much less when Ahsoka comes for you and holds your hand, leading you towards everyone.

"Ah! it's nothing, the boys insisted we should celebrate." She told you, the mischievous smile she wore told you she was to blame.

"The boys? Snips you couldn't shut up about the surprise party for a week." Anakin said, walking towards you before enveloping in a warm hug, one that lasted longer than the one he gave you a few hours prior. "Happy birthday," he murmured softly in your ear, and you smiled widely.

Anakin hasn't been nothing but nice since you joined the Resolute, times spent at the hangar fixing whatever ship he completely destroyed in his perfect landings, and you were completely past knowing him solely as The General and more as Anakin.

"Thanks, boss."

He chuckled, ruffling your hair before Ahsoka pushed him away.

"Hey, we all want our hugs gramps," she said as she gave you the tightest of hugs, laughing quietly when you hear Anakin huff in annoyance. "Hope we have you many many more years with us."

It took you a while, to be congratulated by everyone, Obi Wan being the first right after Ahsoka, Rex lingering a bit more than most, his cheeks a sweet shade of pink as he stumbles over his words.

"I uh," he scratches the nape of his neck, aware of the line of clones behind him waiting to hug you, "I, I know this isn't much but," his eyes look down to his feet before meeting your eyes, golden eyes filled with nothing but affection, his fingers fumble awkwardly with his belt as he tries to take something from one of the many bags. "I got you this."

He gives you a little bouquet of flowers of your favorite color, already placed in a cup with water to keep them from dying.

"Rex you–" for the second time in the past hour, tears fill your eyes, a lump in your throat makes it hard for the words to be pushed past your lips, "you didn't have to."

"I wanted to." He frowns slightly, looking at the little box in your hands, "like i said, it's not much, but–"

"It's perfect, thank you."

You kiss his cheek, feeling like melting from all the love you're receiving, but mostly because how even now, in the middle of war, between so much death and suffering, they still find a moment to celebrate life, to still be kind, to be thoughtful and caring.

The tips of his ears turn red, and you giggle softly before thanking him again, he nods as he moves for the next person to give you his best wishes, a few give you little kisses on your cheeks, and others give you stiff hugs that made you chuckle.

Jesse is the last one to hug you, along with Hardcase and Fives.

"Happy birthday to not only the best mechanic in the GAR, but to our best friend as well." Jesse says before giving you a bone crushing hug, a loud, breathless laugh leaving your lips as he leaves a very wet kiss on your cheek.

Hardcase doesn't wait for Jesse to leave before he's hugging you too.

"Happy birthday!"

And it's not long before you have all the boys crushing you in the biggest bear hug you've ever had, feeling a bit claustrophobic for a moment but that doesn't stop you from enjoying the moment, your heart swelling with love.

When they all pull away to let you breath, Fives places a hand over your shoulders, walking you towards the Generals and the Commander waited for you.

"We got another surprise for you!"

"Oh really?" You ask, looking at Echo when he places himself on your other side, throwing his arm over your shoulders as well and walking in sync with you and Fives.

"Fives really insisted on it."

You hum, confused once more, but as soon as you meet with the others, you find what they were talking about.

There's a big cake being held by two astromechs, the white frosting perfectly placed under the blue letters that held your name right on the middle, sprinkles of at least eight different colors, one of the corners had way too much yellow and there was a tiny smiley face on another.

"There's no birthday if there's no cake." Fives stated, and everyone agreed.

"We made it, so we're not completely sure if it's good," Tup sheepishly admitted, and you almost melted at the thought.

They were too sweet, incredibly so that your heart couldn't take it.

"Thank you guys, I'm sure it's amazing."

"Oh! you cannot cut it without blowing the candle," Obi Wan spoke, patting his clothes trying to find the candle Anakin made sure he didn't forget.

He placed it on the when he found it, giving you a dashing smile and a wink once he did. R2 was quick to lit it up.

The boys made sure to be loud when singing the happy birthday song, Hardcase and Jesse making their voices as low and loud as they could, making Dogma roll his eyes and Fives laugh for most of the song.

Tears left your eyes a few times, overwhelmed with the affection they all had for you, your cheeks hurting with how wide you were smiling.

"What did you wish for?" Fives asked you at some point, to which you shook your head as you took another bite of cake that –to everyone's surprise,– it was actually good.

"Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Some say that if you say your wish, it won't happen." He scoffs.

"Sounds like bullshit." You laugh loudly, which makes Fives' face break into a smile.

You don't tell him, though, that you didn't wish for anything. Not really, for everything you wanted was right there, with you, the feeling of home, of warmth. Knowing you belonged somewhere, in a family you found all by yourself, surrounded with joy, and love.

They made sure it was your best birthday ever.

[renxamamiya]

Twin Stars

Late birthday present for @lenle-g! It’s been ages since I’ve properly written Thunderbirds fanfic and god it feels good.

A03 | 4.2k

“-and Gordon managed to catch it! You should have been there, John!”

Alan’s excited face as he recounted his recent mission shone brightly through the holovid. Earlier that day International Rescue had received a distress call in one of the National Parks in Thailand, where a couple accidentally collapsed into a previously unknown cave network unearthed by soft mud left from the recent monsoon rain.

John always liked to hear about Alan’s recent escapades down on Earth, the youngest Tracy’s enthusiasm infectious and delightful to hear that John couldn’t help but smile. He knew that for Alan, being part of a mission taking place on the blue, glowing planet below John’s feet was a rarity for Alan, the young boy having to always sit out just in case someone needed help within the reaches of their solar system - something that occurred more commonly as space travel continued to evolve rapidly. The young Tracy, unlike the majority of his brothers, had little opportunity to experience the different places around the World outside their Island home; and John pitied him.

“Well, that’s amazing, Alan,” John said, returning Alan's enthusiastic smile, while reaching for his coffee, taking a sip from his mug, thankful that artificial gravity was even a possibility on Thunderbird Five. Though he was in the rescuing ‘business’ alongside his brothers, he preferred to be out of the action, to be their watchful eye, their guardian angel.

“I mean, it’s better than having to perform system diagnostics on Thunderbird Five,” Alan said smugly, crossing his arms as he looked at John with some sort of smug superiority, “I know you gotta do it but it seems really boring, you sure you can’t let Brains take care of it?”

��I’m fine,” John assured Alan, taking another sip from his mug, “I’ve done this numerous times, and I don’t need to tear Brains from his work. Besides, I have EOS right here with me.”

“You mean your code baby?” Alan laughed, and John rolled his eyes, “I know you hate being around people but I mean, do you really hate people that much that you’d rather be around some computers?”

“I am not just a ‘computer’,” EOS piqued up, her childish voice sounding clear offence to Alan’s little nickname, “And John and I are progressing through the system diagnostic quite well, thank you very much. Ever since I became a member of International Rescue, there have been practically no flaws in the system’s code. Thunderbird Five is impenetrable.”

“For now,” John corrected the AI, “Remember, Havoc managed to install a virus in your software-”

“-Through an illegal and extremely painful form of brute-forcing my code!-”

“- and we need to ensure that our systems have as little vulnerabilities as possible. We can’t take that change. Ever.”

“Which is why I’m glad that I’m not doing any of that.” Alan laughed, trying to introduce humour to the rapidly tense atmosphere between creation and creator. It seemed to work, as John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before remembering that Alan was still on the call.

“Sorry about that, Alan.” John apologised to the younger Tracy, “I didn’t mean for any interruptions during our call.”

“Aww it’s okay, John, I should be the one sorry. After all, I did anger the code baby,” Alan said, causing EOS to blow a raspberry (or play a sound clip of a raspberry) directed towards Alan.

“So, when are you coming down to Earth again?” Alan asks John, his eyes now staring at him with eagerness, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has, but it’s normally busy for us this time of year, isn’t it?” John said, knowing that the change of weather and the encroaching holiday season meant more people being tired as most of the World is shrouded in dark and cold, meaning more opportunity for disaster. Alan’s face fell, disappointed that he would likely be seeing his elder space-loving brother way later than he wanted, and that John was right.

He groaned, crossing his arms on the table before nestling his head on top of them. He hated winter rescue missions, and silently begged for any divine being for there to be no disasters as the winter season encroached across the world. John cringed, suddenly realising what he had done.

“Sorry...” he mumbled.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Alan reassured his brother, swinging his head up from the table, and gave John a smile, “Just make sure you buy me a super cool gift, okay? I won’t accept anything less than a new hoverboard if you’re missing Christmas again.”

“Alan, I’m sure that Brains can build something much better than what you can get on the market.” John pointed out, and Alan groaned.

“Yeah but he’s busy,” he whined, and John rolled his eyes; yet he knew that it was Alan’s excuse to see John again back on Earth, even if it meant that the ginger astronaut was tripping on his own two feet for the entire duration he was there.

“Okay, Alan,” John relented, sighing as he put his coffee down, quickly turning his attention to multiple screens towards the side as to check the progress of his temporarily forgotten system diagnostics, “I’ll look over the possible models. Maybe, if everything quiets down this year, we can take a trip somewhere?”

“Where exactly?” Alan asks, and John smiles at how suddenly excited he looks.

“I don’t know. Other than Ohio to meet up with some friends, I’m leaving the rest up to you.”

“Oh hell yeah!” Alan practically jumps out from his seat, now restless at the prospect of travelling to somewhere different with John. Before he could say anything, John could hear the distinct call announcing dinner from Grandma. He turned to look at John.

“I’ll be back, John,” he informs his brother, “It’s dinner time, and damn I’m suddenly hungry.”

“Well, good luck with Grandma’s cooking,” John said, now feeling pitiful towards Alan as he smiled at his brother.

“Nah, it’s Virge’s turn, thankfully,” Alan said, “He’s making some really nice curry tonight that he found somewhere in Dad’s old cookbooks! Oh god it smells delicious! I gotta dash, John, talk later, bye!”

“Bye, Alan,” John waved just as Alan disconnected the coms. Getting up quickly to pour away the remains of his now cold cup of coffee, he sat back at his workstation, pulling up a message window, and typed requested some time off with Alan from Scott.

***

There was fire everywhere. Heat rumbled in his ears as metal cracked and splintered below his feet, flakes of wiring and globs of plastic dripped ahead of him as he carried his injured brother out from the rapidly collapsing space station, his arm around his neck.

John struggled for breath in his helmet as he helped Alan navigate the flaming remains of the wreckage, the oxygen that the failing life support provided was already being eaten up by greedy flames that continued to roar for more. The two Tracy’s were familiar with the danger around them and practised many times over the course of their careers to make miracle escapes, yet despite their almost divine-like lucky streak, the disappearance of their father for many years have properly ingrained in them that they too could not escape the threat of death.

“John?” Alan murmured as he quietly exited from unconsciousness, the wound from the heavy steel that struck the young astronaut from earlier in the rescue oozed blood, the crimson streaking visibly down his pale face alongside streams of sweat under his helmet.

“Yes, Alan?” John said, trying hard to give his brother a comforting expression as they shuffled through the deteriorating space station, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“-m fine,” Alan grunted as he looked at his brother through half-lidded eyes. Alan was not fine, John having the displeasure of witnessing a beam fall on his brother as they made their escape alongside the other members of the space station. Sharp, steel shrapnel sliced Alan’s skin as the station suddenly exploded, sending the youngest of the two brothers whizzing back, and John considered it a miracle that his baby brother wasn’t now blind in both eyes. “-at happened?”

John’s soft smile faltered as he heard Alan’s speech slur, Alan delirious from his sudden, violent impact onto the floor and the smog that choked his lungs. John had the displeasure to witness Alan’s slip out of consciousness, minutes before he struggled to get Alan’s helmet on as he breathed heavily within his own.

“You got caught in a blast,” he replied shortly, turning his attention to the path before him, “Some metal shrapnel scraped your skin pretty bad. It’s a miracle you only got away with that scratch.”

“Oof,” Alan commented, and John struggled to swallow the urge to scold him right there and then. What Alan did there was reckless, staying seconds longer at that malfunctioning console then John had advised him to, he didn’t need to be the one who had to man the console, he…

John shook the intrusive thoughts as he grunted audibly, mustering the extra energy he needed to push forward, his muscles screaming from the previous aches of having to pry open functionless doors and pushing away obstructing debris. He turned to check on Alan again, his eyes still half-open, unfocused as he kept his gaze looking at the floor before them.

“How far are we to Thunderbird Three?”

“Not far,” John answered, just able to see the airlock they used to board the space station past another set of doors, relieved that the glass has been damaged to the point of shattering thanks to the surrounding heat. He breathed in a deep breath, the air in his helmet stale and hot while the muscles in his legs ached. When he had managed to reach the sanctuary of Thunderbird Five, he had to revise his own exercise routine to work more on his leg muscles, he thought to himself.

“We’re close now, Alan, just hold on tight, okay?” John said. Alan's only response was a grunt of acknowledgement, and John wondered if his words were meant to console his younger brother or himself. They both continued to trudge towards and through the broken glass of the last door dividing them between certain death and salvation, John helping Alan through the jaded glass, anxiety choked him at the idea of even a small bit of glass scratching through the fragile material of Alan’s spacesuit.

“-Mmm we there yet?” Alan said, and John uttered a quick ‘yes’ as he again draped Alan’s arm around him. They were so close. So so close.

“There you are!” one of the astronauts said, and John ignored their impatient glare as he quickly typed Thunderbird Three’s access code, exhaling the tense breath he unconsciously held as the access hatch opened up invitingly. John gestured with a quick nod of his head, an invitation for the scientists to follow him into the rocket before quickly shuffling inside with his brother, heading towards the cockpit.

“Easy does it now,” he muttered, lowering Alan gently into his seat, taking off Alan’s helmet to allow him some semblance of fresh air. Alan gasped deeply, and then coughed as John quickly checked his wound. The gash was noticeable, yes, and he feared that it was too deep to be properly taken care of while in space.

“-m gonna be okay, John,” Alan huffed, and he lightly swatted John’s hand away in annoyance, “You’re as bad as Scott,”

“It’s a good thing that the other astronauts don’t have any injuries,” John thought to himself, annoyed that Alan was acting so childish despite being injured. He reached for the First Aid Kit that was located in a compartment that was snugly under the dashboard, quickly taking out a padded gauze and antiseptic, before disinfecting Alan’s wound, the youngest hissing in response.

“John, we don’t have time for this,” Alan said as he again swatted John’s hand away from him, “We need to go, the station is about to blow,”

“Alan, please I need to take care of it now,” John warned, pouring a small amount of antiseptic onto the gauze before pressing it onto Alan’s head, earning a loud hiss from the boy, reaching for tape in order to hold it in place, “You’re bleeding, and I cannot take the risk of it getting infected,”

Alan replied with nothing, too tired to put up anything other than weak grumbles and hisses as the antiseptic made contact with exposed flesh. John quickly patted the tape down on skin before dashing into his own chair, settling down and making sure he was secure before reaching over the controls, undocking Thunderbird Three from the faltering space station before departing, engines blasting in full throttle to ensure they didn’t blow up alongside the inevitable bomb beside them.

They were a few minutes in their flight back to Earth when Alan’s vision as someone cleared up, his eyes picking up the low rumble of Thunderbird Three’s rockets and the astronauts quietly muttering amongst themselves. He closed his eyes. Over the course of his rescuing career, he learned to appreciate moments of stillness and rest; though the rush of adrenaline of brushing against death was an addictive, thrill-seeking activity he couldn’t get enough of, the aftermath was less pleasant, and he still remembers the numerous injuries he had gotten as consequence for not allowing his body to rest.

He turned to John, his older brother’s expression focused and serious, arms tense as his hands gripped the navigation controls tightly. Alan swore he could hear the fabric strain by how tight John’s grip was, and could see his jaw clench tightly - something he did during high moments of stress and anxiety.

“John, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” John suddenly snapped, looking at with sad, angry eyes. Alan flinched, not used to John’s anger, the middle brother always being calm and detached emotionally to the point of numbness, almost like a machine, always listening and level-headed.

John noticed Alan’s flinching, and suddenly he shrunk with a guilty look on his face.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Alan,” he said, and Alan replied with a nod, “I just… I just thought you’d...”

“Hey, but I’m okay, I just got a bump, that’s all.”

“But it could have been worse.” John emphasised, looking away from his brother’s eyes and onto the scenery of space in front of him, “Even a tear in your suit could have been...”

“John, I’m fine, really.” Alan reassured his brother, and felt less tense as he saw John’s arms relax, “Honestly there’s no point in worrying about what if’s anymore. The mission is pretty much done and we can relax.”

“I know Alan, but I can’t help it.” John admits, swallowing nervously, “It’s a habit. You know how anxious I get, and just seeing you there unconscious… I know you’re more than capable of participating and even leading missions, Alan but… but no matter how many times you’ve been on missions I can’t help but worry.”

“I’m not a baby, John.” Alan fake pouts, and John laughs weakly.

“I know, but you’re my baby brother. That’ll never change.” John said, “and because you’re my baby brother, I don’t think I, or any of our family would stop worrying about you.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it.” Alan mumbles. The two brothers sat there while John continued to navigate them home.

“Hey, John?” Alan piqued up.

“Yes, Alan?”

“Thank you for rescuing me back there.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please, don’t tell Scott.”

“I don’t think that’s non-negotiable.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” John laughed, “If he saw you getting injured in the report before I had the chance to tell him, it’ll be my life on the line next. Unless you can save me, of course.”

“I don’t think even International Rescue can save you from the wrath of Scott going all Mom-Mode.” Alan joked, and John couldn’t resist the urge to let out a humorous, warm chuckle.

***

“John, can you tell me what mom was like?”

John looked up from the tablet he was reading to see Alan’s blue eyes peer into his own, his face half-obscured by shadows cast from the setting tropical sun, blue skies turning a gradient of rich red and orange. He tapped the power button of the tablet off before he put it down on the coffee table in front of him, allowing the spaceman to turn to his youngest brother.

The topic of their mother came up numerous times over the course of Alan growing up. She passed on too early in his life for Alan to remember her, only able to build an image of her in his head through pictures and old recordings that the family had kept safely throughout the years, still only able to daydream holidays with her, memories too young to properly remember the real, organic sound of her delighted laughs echoing in the small rooms of the ranch house they used to live in. John could only pass sympathy to Alan, him feeling as though he took for granted the moments he spent with his mother watching the stars twinkle at night from high, dusty hills, her shared enthusiasm for the stars and space and the beyond now echoed only by the telescope and old fashioned textbooks she silently left behind.

“Sure, Alan,” John replied to his brother’s inquiry, not brave enough to ask him why their mother had again sprung among the forefront of his mind. Alan predictably had a detached relationship with their mother, asking why his brother and father cried with such fervour around the time of her birthday and had looked at them with curiosity when a whiff of perfume from some passing stranger was sometimes all it took to make their eldest brother violently tear up. He felt sad with his mother’s passing, yes, but to him, it was more akin to losing out on something the other brothers shared so strongly. John understood empathised somewhat with this feeling; being the middle child meant that the time spent with his mother was not as fleeting like with Gordon and Alan, yet he was not so close with her as to feel the sizeable hole she left within her passing as she did with Scott and Virgil. A sweet spot he was awarded from the timing of his birth: one that allowed closeness with his mother, but also the distance in grieving when she passed.

“Well, she liked orchids and space, and enjoyed the smell of baked bread and the grass after he had rained-.” he started with practised cadence, the list of what their mom was like rehearsed through the many, many times Alan had repeated the question to him.

“Yeah, I know all of that.” Alan huffed, impatience getting to him from having listened to the same words over and over again, “I wanted to know what she was like when she had me.”

“Why the sudden curiosity?” John asked. Alan shifted in his stance.

“Well...” he said, now looking away at John in embarrassment as he reflexively rubbed the back of his neck, “My friend from my online class, Billy; his mom’s having another child, and that got me thinking...”

“About mom.” John finished, Alan sighed.

“Yeah.”

John grinned, amused at Alan’s sheepish behaviour. He nodded in reply and waited for Alan patiently as the younger brother made his way down the small steps into the circular lounge, sitting on the space next to the seasoned astronaut and waited for John to start with a patient gaze.

“When mom had you...” John started, closing his eyes momentarily to cast himself back into two decades ago, “I remembered there being the four of us at the time, of course. Gordon was always running around causing trouble in the house, mom trying to catch him while she was six months pregnant with you. I remember days where we helped her around the house whenever we could, mom too tired from having to take care of four sons while you were on the way. I uh, also remember some weird foods she had us pick up whenever we went into town with Dad.”

“Like what?”

“Pickled eggs, sometimes Hot Cheetos dipped in ice cream. I remember distinctly mom wanting nothing but imported durian for an entire month.”

Alan almost gagged at the list, John laughing gently at his reaction.

“That’s how I felt as well. Even the mention of durian still makes me a bit sick.”

“Yeah, yikes. Sorry, you had to endure that bro.”

“Unless you had direct control of mom’s cravings, you have nothing to be sorry for, Alan.”

“Well, not that I remember,” Alan said, and John raised an eyebrow, curious as to where this conversation was heading, “Unless of course, my alien baby instincts were controlling her the entire time!”

He positioned his index fingers around his canines, moving them around if they were mandibles as he made absurd sounds that John could do nothing but laugh at how ridiculous Alan was acting. Alan soon joined in, the two of them laughing in amusement before calming down to soft giggles.

“Haha, very funny, Alan,” John said, gathering his composure yet again, Alan grinning proudly at his joke. Silence drifted between them, John looking at his brother carefully as Alan thought of another question to ask him.

“John?”

“Yes, Alan?”

“How did mom react when she was told that she had me?” Alan asked, “I mean, having five boys does sound quite a handful.”

“Actually, mom wanted another son,” John recalled, and Alan looked at him with bewilderment, “You should have seen Dad’s reaction, however. Though he loves you dearly, I remember him hoping that we would have a sister instead. Gordon was especially pleased, as your arrival meant he would have someone to play with when Scott and Virgil were especially busy; Scott was just happy he’d soon have an excuse to get Gordon out of his hair.”

“What about you, John?” Alan asked him, and John shrugged.

“I don’t really remember what I thought,” he admitted, reflexively looking away at Alan for a bit as he tried to recall that particular memory, “I think I was just… indifferent.”

“Indifferent?”

“I think during that time, space was all I cared about, honestly.” he sighed, “I knew mom and dad wanted another child. It wasn’t exactly my place to protest, so I mostly kept quiet during mom’s pregnancy. Gordon was practically bragging to his friends about you, though, and I think both Scott and Virgil were happily anticipating your arrival as well.”

“Yeah…” Alan trailed off, John noticing Alan’s saddened expression.

“Alan.” John cautiously said, “What’s the matter?”

“I dunno.” Alan mumbled, giving John a half-hearted shrug, “I just...”

“What?”

“Dunno… disappointed that you didn’t really react much, I guess?”

“Oh.”

Silence again fell between the two brothers, tense emotions occupied the void left from the previous conversation. John looked away from Alan in embarrassment and shame, and Alan looked away in turn, the idea of staring at his b.

John suddenly chuckled to himself, Alan looked at him curiously.

“Why are you smiling, John?”

“I’ve just remembered something,” John said, looking up from the floor to meet Alan’s stare, “Something you used to do when mom and dad weren’t around.”

“What was it?” Alan asked, and John’s grin grew wider.

“Whenever I had a book out, about the stars, you’d always crawl up to me. Even when you were six or seven months old and Scott was too busy trying to get Gordon out of trouble you’d just sit next to me while I was reading. I think back then you thought I would read you a story there and then.”

“Did you read your science textbook to me when I was a baby?” Alan half-joked.

“Eventually.” John smiled, “You’d never leave me alone otherwise.”

“Haha wow,” Alan said, “Doubt I would have understood anything though.”

“That is true, but you were a diligent student when you weren’t drooling on the pages,” John said, fondly remembering helping an infant Alan trace the constellations in his book with his finger, a memory in which he still remembers fondly.

The two brothers continued to talk about tales from Alan’s infant years as the sun fully set and the moon rose in full, John recounting fond memories of messy dinners and sunny days out, and Alan listened intently, imagining them as his own.

“Hey, you two,” Scott’s said casually towards John and Alan, both of them interrupted by their vacation into nostalgia as they both turned to spot the eldest holding a cup of coffee and looking tired, no doubt still intending to get some work done before heading off into bed, “What are you guys doing?”

“Nothing much, Scott.” John answered before Alan did, “Just talking about some old memories with mom.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late, okay? Alan you need to get up to take that test tomorrow, and John-”

“Yes, Scott. No late-night projects. I understand.”

Scott gave the two of them a satisfied smile before he turned to walk off into the villa, the two brothers watching him until he left.

“You know, with Scotty around, it’s almost like mom never really left,” Alan said smugly, and John couldn’t help but laugh.

[void-tiger]

Shirotember Day 10: Voltron

The Castle shook from the blast, knocking everyone off their feet as the impact caused the great ship’s hull to shudder despite the particle barrier raised firmly in place.

“Particle barrier down to 35%,” Coran reported.

“Greeat,” Lance drawled. “So get another hit and we’re dead.”

“Everyone—“

“—Get to—“

“—your Lions!”

Shiro and the clone glanced at eachother awkwardly. The clone immediately looked away, his cheeks flaming. “...sorry. Force of habit.”

Shiro nodded once in acknowledgement, but let it go. Yet one more thing to sort out later.

The com chimed from a hail. “Ignore it,” Allura snapped.

Pidge snorted. “Don’t have to tell me twice. That witch needs to learn how to take ‘no’ for an answer.” And then launched herself down the hole to the Green Lion’s hangar.

Only Coran, Shiro himself, and the clone remained at the bridge. The clone tugged at his wrist. “Come on,” he said urgently. “Gotta get you into your armor.”

“That’s nice, but one arm, remember?” Shiro said pointedly.

The clone scoffed. “And Hunk piloted in his sleep. Literally. Now shut up and come on!”

They quickly dashed through the corridors until they reached the armory, Shiro silently praying that the Team could hold off their attackers long enough to buy them just a little bit more time. They seemed to know more about why Haggar was apparently shooting them, anyway. And the witch had a big enough gun that they’d probably be needing Voltron.

Once inside the clone quickly grabbed an armful of Black Paladin armor, dumped it at his feet, then dashed back to the cabinet for the rest while Shiro struggled to shuck off his clothes. So far he’d only managed his shoes. The clone blinked, realization dawning on his face, then reached for Shiro and began tugging at his clothes on his right side. Which was...quite frankly embarrassing. But no time for dignity, especially since he didn’t know how long Coran could evade, even with four Lions assisting.

Between the two of them they managed to tug on Shiro’s underarmor and get the harder pieces into place. To his amazement the black undersuit fit snugly around his right stump. No empty sleeve flopping around. Then again, why wouldn’t it? Alteans seemed to take “one size fits all” to the maximum extreme.

“...’ro! Where are you?!” crackled the helmet’s radio.

“Sorry, guys. Wardrobe malfunction. You can make me run extra laps for it, later,” Shiro quipped.

Relieved laughter filtered through the com.

“I’ll hold you to your word, Paladin,” came Allura’s crisp voice.

Shiro rolled his eyes, then met his clone’s. “Thank you,” he said simply.

The clone just shrugged. “They’re your Team,” he said simply. He then pressed something into Shiro’s hand. “And pretty sure that’s yours.”

Shiro looked down. The black bayard.

“Now get the hell outa here before they’re space dust.”

Shiro nodded once, then sprinted out of the room.

.

Shiro stared dully at the zipline. Okay. He really didn’t have time for this. No way would that thing hold him if he tried throwing himself at it one-handed. And all the alternate routes down to the Black Lion’s hangar simply took too long, and the Team needed him now.

The bayard shifted in a flash of purple light, then of its own accord, latched onto his right stump.

“Wha—?!” Shiro reflexively drew his mangled arm to his chest. A new prosthetic. He turned his new wrist, bent the elbow, and flexed the mechanical fingers. “Okay! Let’s do this.”

And threw himself at the zipline.

.

The Black Lion loomed over head, much like she had so long ago when they first laid eyes on eachother. But this time Shiro’s feet stuck to the ground, welded down tight. He needed to move. The Team needed him. He could hear them demanding to know why he hadn’t shown up yet.

MOVE, dammit!

The Black Lion nosed him gingerly through their Bond. He flinched, and felt self-revulsion for doing so.

The hangar doors hissed open. He couldn’t even turn to see who entered through them. His vision darkened as something blocked his view of the Lion. A hand rested on his right shoulder. A strangled snarl tore out of his throat as he flinched away, bayard-hand glowing blacklight-indigo.

“Whoa! Hey, easy! It’s just me!”

The clone. Gyro.

“That’s it,” Gyro said calmly. “Sorry to startle you like that.”

“‘t’s fine,” Shiro gritted out as his lungs remembered how to breathe.

The clone nodded. “You can do this. And your Team needs you now. I know you won’t let them down.”

A shaky sigh escaped him. “What if I get stuck again.”

“Then we get you out. We know how.”

Shiro nodded, his feet finally able to move again. The Black Lion lowered her head and extended the ramp. Legs. Shiro had legs. He practically felt the blood rush into them, pumping to carry him forward. He ran.

“Now get out of here before I change my mind!” Gyro called.

Shiro raised a hand and waved him off. The Black Lion’s mouth clicked shut. Sat his ass down in the pilot’s seat, and placed his hands on the control levers...or, one hand. The bayard flashed again then clattered to the floor. Shiro picked it up and pocketed it.

Right. Gyro insisted that he didn’t need both hands to fly. The Black Lion purred gently through their bond, prompting the memory of their blind dive. Right. He didn’t need his eyes then. He’d looked through the Bond.

Shiro reached through it. The Black Lion leaped into the air, rocketed through the exist shaft, and roared. Shiro couldn’t help but grin.

.

Galra fighters flew in thick swarms, blasting bolts every direction until everything became a chaotic mass of light and drifting fumes and rubble. Sure light needed something to bounce back against or be lost to the vacuum, but in Shiro’s experience the resulting trash nebula from a space-bound dogfight did just fine. For every fighter a Lion’s mouth or tail cannon took down, another hoard of fighters took its place, chasing the Pride until they became scattered into isolation.

Shiro kept his breathing steady, focusing on nudging the Lion the direction he wanted them to go. The Black Lion sent back steady confidence and trust through their bond. It felt...strange, piloting without touching anything. His left hand rested on the other lever, sure, but now knowing that the levers never served as anything other than a tactile conduit...

But he could question that later. Right now he needed to gather his scattered Team. Several fighters headed off Coran in the Castle. The adviser managed to steer the Castle away from a blast originating from a wicked-looking scorpion tail attached to the cruiser, but he could only keep outrunning Haggar and her shiny new toy for so long.

“AGH! I dunno how much more Yellow can take of this!” Hunk snarked.

“Green either! There’re like way too many of these guys!” Pidge yelled. “Oh HELL no! That’s just cheating! You get back here!”

“You bartolian quiznacker! Stay away from my ship!” Allura snarled.

“Uh, Shiro?! Not to rush but—HOLY CROW WHERE’D THAT GUY COME FROM!?!” Lance yelped. “Well I’m sorry, Red! Not my fault you traded armor for speed!”

“Sorry about the wait, guys!” Shiro called into his radio.

“SHIRO!”

He winced as the radio crackled and screamed back feedback as everyone popped their mics at once.

“Try to form up on me. Time we did something about that witch’s new gun!”

“Copy that!”

“Yessir!”

“Acknowledged, Shiro.”

“Roger-roger.”

Two humans groaned while the guilty party laughed, and an altean princess demanded to know the joke. Shiro shook his head in amusement. It felt good to be back. “Everyone stay focused,” he admonished lightly.

Black’s mouth and tail fired at two fighters attempting to drive the Red Lion even further from the rest of the group. They exploded in a blast of sparks and shrapnel as the hits connected.

“Nice shot, Black,” Shiro enthused while patting the dash fondly.

“Wooo! Thanks for the save, Shiro!” Lance crowed in relief.

The Black Lion practically preened.

“Oh. You’re...welcome?”

Why the hell was Lance in Red. Shouldn’t Allura be piloting—

Five pillars of Light in a static gloom. Blue within Red, and Pink within Blue.

—the Void. He remembered now. Somewhat. So a clone hanging around and Keith not being home weren’t the only things that changed.

LATER, he thought again fiercely. He felt Black rumble in concern. “I’m fine,” he insisted through gritted teeth. “Let’s just get to our Team.”

Black nosed him gently but didn’t push it. Gratitude flooded him as he turned his attention back to his Team. Now wasn’t the time to dig into whatever happened there.

The other Lions shook free their tails and quickly fell into formation. A surge of pride for them filled his chest. “Alright, Team! Let’s form Voltron!”

They continued to fly in formation, Shiro reached out with his bonds and...

Nothing happened.

“Uh...nothing’s happening.”

“I don’t feel that Voltron-feeling...”

“You don’t say.”

“I wasn’t a pilot before, is that why?”

“NO!” Shiro said firmly. “I don’t know why things aren’t—SCATTER!”

Haggar’s shiny new toy raked a blast through the spot of space they’d tried forming up just seconds before.

“Okay, that was WAY too close!” Lance giggled nervously.

“What’s the plan, Shiro?” Pidge demanded.

“We keep trying. Take out anyone that gets in your way, but we can’t give up.”

“So basically...don’t get shot. GOT IT.”

“We can do this,” Shiro whispered to himself. “I know we can.” He had to believe. He couldn’t not believe, and—

It was dark. He couldn’t feel anything. Voices murmured, familiar, yet too indistinct to hear clearly, scattered and distorted as if filtering through a foot of water. Maybe he only imagined them. It didn’t matter. He called anyway. He couldn’t hear is own voice in the dark, and neither could they.

—A blast from the witch’s cannon filled his view screen. The Black Lion roared in rage as she plummeted into a nose dive to evade. At this point she was piloting more than he was, simply because his stupid brain picked now of all times to—

“You’re no Paladin! You never were! You only exist because that witch had enough of me left over to make you! And you’re not Shiro!”

“Do you think a monster like you could be a Voltron Paladin!”

“If you truly care about my Team, you’ll tell them where I am. And expose yourself for what you really are, clone.”

—His shoulder’s shook. “...no. I wouldn’t. That’s not me.”

But the sick feeling in Shiro’s gut said otherwise, as did the clone’s hurt and confusion when Shiro suggested he continue going by “Shiro” for the time being and Shiro himself using his own given name, instead. But why would the clone—no, Gyro—insist on...

“Now is not the time, Shirogane!” he snarled as he fought to keep his voice steady “Fall apart later. Not when it’s going to get the Team killed.”

Black tried to send her reassurance, but Shiro couldn’t accept it. He didn’t deserve it. And he couldn’t shake the growing feeling of betrayal he felt towards the Lion herself. But battle wasn’t the time.

“Okay that was WAY too close,” Hunk groaned.

“Wooo. You’re telling me. That laser just took out another ship that tried joining the party,” Lance agreed.

“We’re all here, Shiro,” said Allura. “Ready to Form on your mark.”

“C-copy that, Princess,” Shiro bit out as he fought to keep his voice steady. “Converge on me. Form Voltron!”

He focused on his bonds.

Diving with Black for the first time. Why did she leave him trapped inside? Lance being the first to shake his galran prosthetic, to even interact with it at all. “Lance. Lance, please, you have to listen to me—“ but Shiro couldn’t reach him. Pidge’s forgiveness for him injuring Matt and dragging her away from the wreckage seconds before Myzax blasted it. But Pidge couldn’t hear him. Pidge never noticed the difference between him and a clone. Pidge never tried to find him. Hunk’s steadfast courage and support despite his fear, because he understood better than the rest of them Voltron’s mission. But how well did Shiro know the engineer, anyway. He never checked in on the engineering cadets. He always claimed to be too busy to do much more than supervise the cadet pilots’ lessons. Princess Allura’s faith despite her loss and harrowing grief. Her sharing the same drive to inspire and lead, even at great risk to her health and wellbeing. The Princess never noticed. All the Princess needed was someone to carry on the Black Paladin mantle. WHERE WAS KEITH?

Shiro could feel their bonds be drawn together, but slipping as they tried to grasp, like trying to catch someone covered in oil before they fell. Or trying to force two opposing poles to attract. Desperation choked at him as he poured his quintessence into reaching across, to connect, as he tried not to scream in frustration.

The bonds broke apart yet again as Haggar targeted them yet again, this time scoring a blast on the Green Lion. “PIDGE!!!”

His hand gripped the lever until he was sure his knuckles were white as he urged the Black Lion to fly after the knocked out Green Lion. His sense of urgency increased when Haggar’s vessel locked onto it with a tractor beam.

“Oh no you don’t!” he snarled. The Black Lion’s targeting system locked onto the beam’s generator. “Lance! Fire Red’s tail cannon 45 degrees down angle from your current possition. Take out that tractor beam!”

“Aye-aye, Team Leader!”

Shiro blinked. They still trusted him?

No. Time! He had to get Pidge to safety now. Red’s tail cannon hit its mark. The beam phased out as the generator exploded. “Nice work, Lance!”

“Just all in a day’s work.” Shiro could practically hear the self-satisfied smirk.

“Cover me while I get Pidge.”

The Team communicated their acknowledgement, and took turns calling marks and covering eachother’s blindspots while he dove in with the Black Lion, his Lion’s jaws latching around the Green Lion’s nape.

“Alright. I got Pidge. Pidge?”

Her com remained silent. “C’mon, Pidge, please respond...”

“Paladins! What’s happening?!”

Shiro’s voice. Only, not his voice.

“Haggar got a lucky shot! The Green Lion’s out, and we can’t get a response from Pidge,” Shiro relayed. He took a steadying breath as he and Black dodged yet another hoard of fighters. (Seriously?! Didn’t Haggar ever run out?) “Also...we—I—can’t form Voltron.”

Silence.

Shiro tried not to think about the memory of how Gyro didn’t have any trouble connecting with the Team once he finally flew with Black. (Well, other than needing to borrow Shiro’s quintessence...) His com flared to life.

“Okay, Takashi. I patched the feed so that it’s just us. Well, Coran can hear but that can’t be helped. Now tell me what’s going on,” Gyro demanded.

“We don’t have time for this,” Shiro gritted through his teeth as he and Black swerved to avoid a sudden field of debris.

“MAKE Time,” Gyro snapped. “Because if you don’t they’ll quite literally die Right Now.”

“I can’t trust them, alright?!” Shiro bellowed. “I got trapped for two years because my bonds weren’t strong enough. But we need to form Voltron now!”

“You’re right, you do,” Gyro agreed. “And the second your Team realized where you were they worked tirelessly to get you back out. And it was their bonds with you that did that.”

Shiro quickly blinked away the moisture threatening to obscure his vision. He really didn’t need to deal with spacedust, either.

“They also aren’t the same cadets, anymore. You don’t need to overreach to connect with them—yeah yeah Yes You Did. So just for now give them the befit of the doubt.”

“Pidge still isn’t responding. She probably needs a pod.”

“Yeah? Well I have it on good faith that Power of Friendship makes one helluva drug. Form up and she’ll be fine.”

The transmission ended. “Okay Team,” Shiro called. “We’re gonna give this another shot. Fall in on me.”

“But Pidge’s still not responding,” Hunk pointed out.

“Gyro’s confident that we can Form Up, anyway...and I’m living proof of what Team Voltron can do. And we don’t have another option right now.”

“I agree with Shiro,” Allura interjected. “The theory is sound, and it wouldn’t be the first time we tried something like this.”

“Well, I mean if Allura agrees...”

“Not now with your crush, Lance—HEY, I’M FLYIN’ HERE!”

“Everyone, focus! We’ve got to make this count. And Form Voltron!”

His bonds caught. Pidge and Green still felt week, but he and the others carried them through. Gradually their green quintessence grew from a smoldering ember to a steady flame—Shiro tried not to think how close the smallest Paladin and her Lion truly came to dying. But Gyro’s plan worked.

“I’ll be damned. He really is a Paladin,” Shiro murmured. He’d have to thank his clone—twin?—properly, later. And...definitely apologize. But for right now—

“Great work, Team! Now let’s end this! Form Sword!”

Lance jeered as he and Red sliced through Haggar’s cannon. “Haha! Not so tough now without your fancy little toy, are you!”

Shiro grinned ferally. “Open a com frequency.”

“Okay, but why?” Pidge said weakly.

“Just do it.”

“Whatever. Okay, it’s ready.”

“Hey, Haggar,” Shiro called coldly. “I lived, bitch.”

“Did Shiro just—“

“Yes. Yes he did.”

“...DAMN.”

“Okay you all pay up.”

“Aw quiznack...”

“And if you ever go after me or my family again—“ Allura’s voice shook with cold fury.

“You won’t live to regret it. You thought you were hunting us. We’re now hunting you,” Shiro finished.

“I suggest you run,” Allura commanded. “End transmission.”

The witch shrieked with fury seconds before the transmission ended. The hair on Shiro’s neck prickled. “Pidge! Raise Shield!”

Pidge immediately complied. A surge of sickly fuchsia magic blasted from the ruined remnants of the cannon. Black’s torso twisted, assisted by the Yellow and Blue Lions, and the magic reflected harmlessly off Voltron’s shield to vaporize much of the newly forming trash nebula instead in a blast of blinding light.

When it faded, Haggar’s vessel was nowhere to be seen. Shiro exhaled a sigh of relief. She was gone...for now. The coms chimed again.

“Well all I can say as you humans go, HOT DAMN! (Did I say that right?)”

“You said it alright, old man! You do me proud.”

“LAAANCE!!!”

“Aw, c’mon, Shiro!”

“Turn about is fairplay, Paladin,” Allura chimed in smugly.

“So much for showing a united front,” Shiro grumbled.

“Okay, settle down,” Gyro interjected. “But seriously, Shiro. Did you have to kick the hornet’s nest?”

“She’ll always be back,” Shiro explained wearily. “...whether we’re ready for it or not.”

“And she’s not getting either of you,” Pidge snarled. “Although...we still don’t know why she does.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Shiro said firmly. “But for now, back to the hangars. Pidge, I want you to get checked out in the infirmary. Everyone else, use this time to rest up while the Princess and Coran get us to someplace safe to lie low until we can figure out our next move.”

Voltron disconnected at the clear dismissal. Shiro slumped back into his seat and sighed. Needing to create a battle plan was a welcome distraction. He only hoped necessity proved to be enough of one. His Voltron bonds with his Teammates still felt frayed and atrophied, the end result being Pidge getting hurt. But he just couldn’t face unpacking the why’s and his own guilt over it.

There wasn’t enough time for that, anyway. The war stopped for no one, and the universe needed Voltron.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Second Chance at Forever - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 of this year’s entry for the @dwsecretsanta, my present to @wordsintimeandspace!  Beta’d by the always-kind @stupidsatsuma​.  Extra thanks, cause this chapter needed a major rewrite and she was super helpful!

@doctorroseprompts​ and @timepetalscollective​ as an AU fic

General warnings for: alcohol use, cursing, discussions of sexual activities

Masterlist

AO3

Summary

Once upon a time, a boy and girl met at a bar and fell in love - until he ghosted her.

Five years later Rose Tyler’s best friend Mickey is getting married, and arranges a dinner for her to meet the groomsman she’ll be walking with - unaware that the two already know each other.

John Noble’s not sure how his friend and mentee managed to connive with the Universe to bring the One Who Got Away back into his life; all he knows it carefully built and maintained walls are crashing to the ground with no warning.

“Take me home.”

The movies lied.  In a rom-com, such a declaration would immediately cut to the couple getting hot and heavy, barely making it somewhere private before ripping each other’s clothes off.

This wasn’t a movie.  They still had to gather up their things, Rose complaining as she put her stilettos back on, and make a stop at the toilets before reaching the car.

Instead of passionately snogging each other until they were rudely interrupted by an amused copper like in the movies Donna adored, they merely buckled in and left.  John drove one-handed, the other resting on the seat divider, palm snug to Rose’s.  She was curled up on her side facing him, and every time he glanced her way she was already watching him, a soft, happy smile on her face that brought an echoing one to his.

The ride was silent, heavy with anticipation and excitement, and John had to repeatedly force himself not to speed.

Reluctantly stopping for a red light at a tiny intersection, and only half-seriously considering going through it, John looked at her when she let out a soft giggle.  “What?”

“We’re not going to die if it takes an extra five minutes to get back to mine, but we will if you don’t drive better,” she teased, leaning forward to press her lips to his bicep; even through three layers the touch burned his arm, making his mouth dry with desire.

“You don’t know that.”  He didn’t know which part he was refuting, and he didn’t care.  Rose was looking at him with want, the same desire burning through him, and he felt on top of the world.  He would say anything to make her laugh, make her smile.  She had spent too much time crying over him; he never wanted her to again.

“Pretty sure I do,” she sniggered.  “Light’s green.”

John floored it, the car jumping ahead as she laughed loudly.  Deciding it would be in his best interest to ignore her until they arrived, lest he give in to the desire to park in the next semi-legal parking space he came across and pull her onto his lap, he brought their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before lowering them to rest on his chest over his heart.

She didn’t make a peep for the last ten minutes of the ride, and he expertly parked at the curb with one hand.

“Impressive, eh?” he said smugly, turning the car off before shifting to face her, hopes dashed when he found her sound asleep.  After a moment he pushed his disappointment aside, bringing his free hand up to brush a stray hair away from her mouth before rubbing his thumb against her cheek.  She was adorable.  “Rose,” he called softly, heart melting when she let out a snuffle and leaned closer without waking.  “Sweetheart, we’re home.”

She whined, brow furrowing, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her brow, moving lower to brush against her nose and cheek.  It amazed him, that she was here next to him, part of his life again. He didn’t deserve this second chance, but he would be damned if he squandered it.

“Rose.”

“G’way,” she mumbled, and he gave up.  Picking her purse off the floor he carefully dug out her keys, ignoring the lip gloss, tissues, gum, mobile, and cash, only giving the sealed condom a moment of mourning before snapping the bag shut again and tucking it in his jacket pocket.

Getting out of the car, he took a moment to stretch before going around to Rose’s side.  Her block of flats faced onto a quiet, residential street, and no one was about at the late hour.  Carefully opening her door and getting her unbuckled, he tried one last time to rouse her with little success before scooping her up into his arms.  Kicking the door shut and using the remote to lock the car, he made his way to the front doors.

A doorman held the door for him, though he paid him little attention as he focused on getting Rose inside without a concussion.  “Thanks.”

“What in the stars is this?”

It took a moment for the familiar voice to process, and John almost dropped Rose when he looked up and realized the helpful doorman was none other than his own grandfather.  “What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Wilf replied cheerily, “and with my girl to boot.”

“Your girl?”  John vaguely recalled her having mentioned adoring her doorman like he was her grandfather, and shook his head at the coincidence.  He’d known his grandfather worked as a doorman in a posh block of flats, mostly to get away from John’s mother’s nagging, but he’d never considered Rose could be one of his tenants.  “Of course she is.”

“Martha and her bloke’s rehearsal dinner, eh?  Mickey, I suppose,” his grandfather chattered, standing there blithely as John adjusted his grip on Rose’s dead weight.  “I didn’t know you knew Rose.”

“I didn’t know you did,” John shot back.  “But, and I’d only ever say this when she couldn’t hear me, she’s not exactly a feather.  D’you mind?”  He nodded his head towards the lift call buttons.

“Right, right, course,” Wilf obliged, hitting the up button.  “Now, normally I don’t let strangers in to carry unconscious people up to their flats, but for you I suppose I can make an exception.”

“Thanks,” John rolled his eyes, relieved when the lift dinged, doors opening.

“D’you need help?”

Stepping in the lift, he shook his head and adjusted his grip again.  “No- just, could you hit the button?  I don’t know what floor she’s on.”

Wilf leaned in, pressing the button marked PH before stepping back.  “We’ll be talking about this, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, calling as the doors shut, “And don’t you dare call Donna!”

His voice must have been louder than intended, because Rose shifted a bit in his arms, blinking sleepily.  “Wha’?”

“We’re at your place,” her murmured, “can you stay awake long enough to get inside?”

“We might have to skip foreplay,” she sighed in reply, knees buckling for a moment when he set her on her feet.

They arrived then, and he guided her out into the vestibule.  It was a fairly small space, with a door on either side, a painting of the Jurassic Cliffs and a plant on the opposite wall from the lift.

“Which one?”

Rose gestured vaguely towards the left, and still keeping her pressed against him for support, he managed to get the right key on the first try.  The door swung open, and they shuffled through it together.  Once it was locked behind them he set the keys on the small table by the door before scooping her up once again.

“Bedroom?”

“We could do it on the couch,” she muttered, burying her face in his chest, and John snorted.

“Maybe another night.”

“End of the hall, then.”

He moved carefully through the dark flat.  Floor-to-ceiling windows to the left let in the moonlight, enough to see vague shapes.  It was a large space, sparsely decorated, ending at a long hallway. They passed two doors on either side before coming to the end, where double doors waited.  Opening both, he carried her inside.

“Light?”

“Left.”

He shifted that way and she reached out, moving the slider on the dimmer halfway up.  It was still fairly dark, but he could see enough that he wouldn’t trip and kill them both.

To the left stood a raised king-size bed, headboard against the same wall as the door so as to offer a view out the window.  Once again floor-to-ceiling windows covered the far wall, a breathtaking view hidden behind venetian blinds.  A small sitting area was tucked in the far corner, with a floor lamp and cozy armchair arranged next to a tiny bookshelf.

On the right side of the entryway the wall only extended a few feet before turning, a large dresser nestled between two closed doors.

John led her towards the foot of the bed, where a plush bench waited.  Rose dropped onto it, leaning against the foot of the mattress as she arched her back.  Darting his gaze away from the spectacular view of her chest, he knelt instead in front of her to undo the ankle strap keeping her heels on, discarding them off to the side out of the way.

“You should get ready for bed,” he said gently, shaking Rose’s knee.  “Wake up, babe, just long enough to change.”

“But we were gonna shag,” she whined, struggling to sit up.

He shook his head, standing.  “Not tonight. I don’t want you falling asleep on me.  C’mon.  D’you need help?”

“Please?”

“Just tell me what.”  He bent down to kiss the top of her head, breathing in her strawberry shampoo.

“Dresser, top drawer.  Should be a nightgown,” Rose yawned, waving towards the far wall.  He went dutifully, easing the indicated drawer open to find sleepsets for various seasons, ranging from skimpy nighties to flannel pajamas.  After a moment of hesitation he pulled out one of the silk nighties, bringing it back to her.

“This okay?”

She was on her feet now, bent over as she lowered pantyhose and a tiny scrap of lace.  He swallowed hard at the sight of them, almost missing when she spoke because he was so distracted by his imagination running rampant.

“Yeah, thanks.  Can you get my zip?”

She turned her back to him, and after a moment he got the hint, stepping up close to her.  Unable to help himself he pressed his hips to her bum, pleased when she rocked back against him.  Sweeping her hair out of the way and pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, he undid the hidden hook and slowly lowered the zipper.  It stopped just above her bum, exposing creamy flesh to his view, and he rubbed his knuckles along her spine as he sucked at her neck.  “Done.”

Rose rolled her shoulders, letting the dress drop to the ground, and that easily she was naked in front of him, throwing a coy but sleepy smile over her shoulder.  “Like what you see?”

He pulled her back against him, her hips and back pressed against her front, lips against her shoulder.  “Very much.”  A regretful hum.  “I ought to be going.”

“What?  Why?”

“You should sleep.”

Rose sighed, stepping away and slipping the nightgown over her head before smoothing it over her hips.  “Fair enough, but please stay.”

“I…”  His palms itched to hold her again, to settle on her hips and pull her back against him, but he couldn’t quite trust himself to stop there and so didn’t start at all.  “Is that a good idea?”

“Please?”  She pouted up at him.  “We can just sleep, really, but… I want to sleep in your arms.”

Trust shone in her eyes, no hint of doubt or concern, and swallowing harshly, he agreed before he could think better of it.  “Okay.”

Her face lit, and she darted forward to kiss his cheek, chest pressing against his.  “Loo’s the door on the right, there should be a tee big enough for you in the same drawer if you’re not comfortable in just your pants.”

Then she turned, climbing onto the bed on her hands and knees from the bench, and he dearly wished the nightgown was another inch or two shorter.

How the fuck was he going to survive this night?

Rose drifted awake after the best night of sleep she’d had in years, yawning as she snuggled down into her pillow.

Her moving pillow.

Eyes snapping open, she looked up into the twinkling blue eyes of John.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said softly, and she realized his hand was rubbing up and down her spine over her nightgown.  “Sleep well?”

“Perfect,” she smiled back, memories of the previous evening slowly seeping back.  “Thanks for staying.”

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” he rumbled.  “Best night I’ve had in forever.”

“And we didn’t even shag.”

In a flash he rolled her onto her back, settling their bodies together.  She was surrounded by him, every inch of her pressed against him, and she melted back into the mattress as her thighs cradled his hips.

His head slowly lowered to hers, teasing, lips brushing against every part of her face but her lips until she was squirming below him.

Desire made her limbs heavy, languid as they wrapped around him and pulled him tighter against her.  He was hot and hard against her hip, and she let out a moan when he finally deigned to kiss her.

He hitched her leg higher, kissing her deeper, and she was just reaching for his pants when her phone began to beep.

“Ignore it,” he ordered, mouth moving to her jawline, and she obeyed, until the second time, when she realized it was actually an alarm.

“Hang on,” she mumbled, shoving ineffectually at his shoulders.

John ignored her, kissing his way down her neck, and she was so tempted to just dismiss it before it chimed a third time.

“Seriously, John.”

After a moment he reluctantly rolled off her, spreading across the mattress with a groan while she reached for her purse.  She didn’t remember bringing it into the bedroom, but assumed John must have gotten it in the middle of the night.  Fumbling the mobile out of the purse and setting the condom on the nightstand within easy reach, Rose groaned in disappointment as she read her texts and checked the time.  “Shit.”

“What?”

Rose rolled back to cuddle into his chest, kissing it before laying her head over his heart.

“I promised Martha I’d go to her dress shopping appointment today,” she said apologetically, “and it’s in forty-five minutes.  It’ll take me half that to get there.”

“Skip it,” he suggested hopefully, hand settling on the back of her thigh before sliding up, and she shook her head regretfully.

“I want to- believe me, I want to- but I promised her.”  The hand stopped on her bumcheek.  “Plus, we agreed to wait, remember?”

The why of that agreement escaped Rose at the moment, certain it had been made in a moment of insanity, but John reluctantly let go of her and nudged her away so he could sit up.

“Yeah,” he sighed.  “I know.  And for good reason.”  Despite his amiable words, the heat in his gaze as he studied her suggested he’d rather toss that out the window as well.

“Damn our insistence at doing this right.”

“Oh, baby, I’ll do you right,” he promised darkly, before snorting.  “Wow, that was cheesy.  Right, do you want some breakfast before you go?”

Her stomach rumbled on cue, but she bit her lip in hesitation as she sat up as well, watching as he got out of bed and stretched.  “Doesn’t seem fair?”

“How so?”

Rose climbed down as well, heading for her loo.  “Well, I bring you home with the promise of sex, basically pass out on you, then this morning I’ve got to run off.”

John shrugged, going to her dresser where his clothes sat folded on top and began to dress.  “That’s a relationship,” he said simply.  “It’s not quid pro quo.  I’d be happy to make you breakfast because I lo- care about you.  Any sex we were or weren’t going to have has nothing to do with it.  Plus, I could hear your cat yowling from the bloody moon.”

“In that case, yes please.”  Going up on tiptoe, she kissed him languidly.  “Now, get out of my bedroom before I drag you in the shower.”

“As threats go, that’s not particularly effective,” he mumbled against her lips before pulling away.  “And I suggest if you really want to make that appointment, you lock the door.”

Martha kept one eye on the clock as she waited impatiently.  The boutique was running behind schedule, which was fine because Rose wasn’t there yet anyway.  Checking her mobile for the dozenth time, she resisted the urge to text her.  Sure, last night at the party Rose had been enthusiastic about joining, but maybe she was just being polite?  Or worse, something had happened with John - she’d seen them sneaking out together, hand in hand.

“Martha?”  The saleswoman appeared just as Rose burst through the boutique door, looking around wildly.

“Yes,” Martha, directed at the woman, before waving with relief.  “Rose!  Over here.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Rose blurted, hurrying over to them and settling down next to Tish.  “I got stuck behind an accident about half a mile from here, then parking was a nightmare.  Did you get my text?”

Martha shook her head, and Rose groaned.  “Shit. My mobile died just as I sent it, I’d hoped it had gone through but… today’s just not my lucky day.”

“That hickey on your neck says otherwise,” Tish joked, and Rose’s hand flew to her neck, eyes widening.

“Oh, please tell me you’re kidding.”

The attendant cleared her throat, drawing their attention, and if possible, Rose went pinker.  “Sorry!”

“It’s okay, we were just starting,” Martha smiled brightly, even as she plotted how to get the full story from the woman.  “I’m Martha.”

“Martha, I’m Peggy, I’ll be helping you today.  Why don’t you tell me a little about your wedding?”

They were soon given free reign to wander the sample dresses, and Martha ‘just so happened’ to end up near Rose, looking through the same rack.

“I really am sorry,” her new friend muttered, still blushing.

“It’s okay,” Martha promised, adding as casually as she could, “I didn’t want to get out of bed either.”

Rose made an odd choking noise, and Martha hid her smile with a turn of her head as she pretended to study the beading on a dress.  “I wasn’t- we weren’t- I mean-”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, elbowing the blonde with a wink.  “I think you and John make a great couple, actually.”

The other woman’s mouth opened and closed several times before finally muttering, “Thanks.”

They spent the next minute flipping in silence, before Martha asked, “So, tell the truth – how is he in bed?  When we were students, my friends and I always wondered.  Something about him just screams ‘dynamite’.”

Rose went stock still, and Martha almost checked to make sure she was still breathing.  “Um…”

Martha let her alone, still searching for the perfect dress and pulling out the occasional potential as she waited her out.

“We… haven’t,” her friend eventually muttered.

“What?”

“John and I, we haven’t… yet.  This morning- well, almost- but… no.”

“Really?”  Turning away from a dress, Martha directed her full attention on the blushing woman.  “Not ever?”

Rose dropped her eye, and Martha almost quivered with delight.  She knew it!  Since that dinner where they’d supposedly been introduced, Martha had suspected the two of a previous relationship but hadn’t been able to confirm it.  She, Jack, and Jackie had plotted a set-up, but a miscommunication meant no one was on hand to observe (her word; Mickey’s was ‘spy on’) their interaction, and all were still fully in the dark.  But maybe not for long.

Shifting her stance, Rose bit her lip and glanced around the shop.  “Today’s about you-”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Martha rushed to reassure her, certain if she didn’t spill now she never would.  “Please, I care about you both.”

Something about her earnest expression made Rose nod.  “We were together for about a week and a half five years ago before it ended abruptly.  We hadn’t seen each other since until that dinner with all of us.”

Martha tried her best to control her expression, and keep her tone casual as she replied, “I’d kind of gotten that vibe, but didn’t want to pry.”

Rose rolled her eyes, turning back to the options.  “Well, I should thank you, really, because you put us back in each other’s orbit.  We’re taking it slow this time, but…”

“Slow progress is still progress,” Martha offered, flipping through dresses again, mostly watching Rose as she considered one.

“Yep.  But where fast progress needs to be made is here.  What do you think of this dress?”

“Oooh!”

[wreathedinscales]

@kipsiih​ i included a little shoutout to you at the end, i hope you get it :D

my writer’s block has been SO DAMN BAD with any luck this doesn’t sUck

Crime pays if you do it right, and Wally and Barry are pretty damn good at racing. Iris still thinks the cartoon portrait of them on the racetrack hanging over the fireplace is a bit too much. But it's not like the cops are gonna find them.

The thought clamps in Iris' throat.

A cluster of yellow lightning rushes Wally in front of her. He's understandably confused. Iris has never contacted him or Barry, much less used the spare key they'd sneaked through her mail.

"Wally," she says, "Remember when you said I had a free IOU?"

It'd been just after the particle accelerator explosion, when all the metas were being forced into hiding. Wally's racing had already presented a viable option for him. With their like powers, he'd invited Barry to join him. That'd been their last conversation.

Wally obviously remembers. His face tightens. He's realized Iris isn't here for reconciliation.

"Yeah," he says. The resignation there jams sympathy at Iris' ribs.

She holds firm. "I need to cash in on that favor."

Wally tries for a smile. "What's up?"

"I need an audience with the Don of Central City."

Wally sets her down in a garage hosting two cars, one yellow, one red. Identical lightning bolts adorn their hoods. An attendant is underneath the scarlet, dressed in a greasy jumpsuit and whistling.

Breathing past vertigo, Iris asks, "What do they call you guys?"

She already knows. Wouldn't be a very good journalist if she didn't. But despite whatever's happened between them, Wally's still the brother she hasn't seen in two years.

Wally's chest puffs behind his crossed arms. "Barry's the Flash. And I am Twister."

"No he's not!"

Iris whirls around, and there's Barry's mussed up hair. Not a random attendant at all.

Wally scowls. "I started before you! Why should I be called Kid Flash?"

"'Cause you're young."

"I am literally two years younger than you."

Barry points cheerfully at him. "Still young. Hey, Iris!"

He nearly lifts her off her feet. The workshop muddles in Iris' eyes.

"Long time no see," Barry murmurs.

"She came to get that favor," Wally says.

"Oh." Barry sets her down. His smile's diminished. "Well, uh. I'm guessing it's important if you came here?"

Wally whispers something in his ear. He blinks.

"Are you sure?"

Iris nods.

"But. Why? If it's for a story―"

"It's not."

Barry and Wally glance at each other uncertainly.

Iris huffs. "I get that it's weird. And dangerous. But if what I've heard is true, then you guys are my best shot."

"What have you heard?" Barry asks.

"Probably that you're Cold's main squeeze," Wally says.

Barry squawks. "I am not!"

"Come on, Barry. Everybody knows you think he's cool."

Iris wants to tease him too. Wants to close her eyes for a second and put them all back in their house, with their dad making lasagna while they all fight over what cartoon to watch.

"Guys!" she barks. They jump. "Can you do it or not?"

Another uncertain glance.

Barry blows out a breath. "I can try."

Iris smiles. "Thank you, Barry."

Barry zips to his phone on one of the workbenches.

"Just be prepared," Wally says.

Iris nods. "I am."

"No, I'm not talking about the Don. I mean, yeah, that's huge. But I mean what comes before that."

"...what do you mean?"

In just under an hour, Barry leads the way to the Don's favorite hangout: Saints and Sinners. Place has been lovingly preserved thanks to the new management, or so Iris hears. She's never been inside.

Leonard Snart's leaning against the bar. His long black coat has pointy lapels and everything. Given her research on how dramatic the man is, Iris shouldn't be surprised.

"Barry," he purrs, sauntering over.

"Snart," Barry replies.

They step into each other's space. Snart's smirking like a cartoon villain. Barry's trying to look serious, but his cheeks are dusted red, and when Snart tells him it's "ice to see him," he turns away to try to hide a smile.

Oh. This is what Wally meant.

"And you must be the long-lost sister," Snart says, "Always a pleasure seeing family members only when they need something."

"Len," Barry murmurs.

Snart doesn't stop scrutinizing Iris, but he adds, "But I suppose I can put in a good word with my sister." He looks back at Barry. "That's all I can do."

Barry nods. "Thanks."

Snart shrugs. "I owed you a favor. Consider us square."

Wally scoffs quietly. "For what? Paying for dinner last week?"

Iris suppresses a snort.

Snart puts up a finger. "If my sister doesn't deem you worth her time, though, I'm throwin' you out."

"Even Barry?" Iris asks sardonically. Wally coughs.

Snart's face goes cold. "If my sister told me to kill everyone in this bar, Ms. West, I wouldn't hesitate."

Barry smiles like there's nothing creepy at all about that. "You'd hesitate a little with me."

Snart switches back to his coy smirk. "Don't push your luck."

Barry pecks his lips, a rom-com in the middle of a seedy criminal bar. None of the patrons look over. Probably know better.

As Snart disappears through an EMPLOYEES ONLY door, a big guy at the bar raises a shot glass and calls Wally to a drinking contest. Wally speeds over.

"Don't worry," Barry tells Iris, still blushing, "Mick's good, but speedsters can't get drunk."

"Mick. As in Mick Rory?"

"Yeah, he and Snart are back on. I swear I'm the other man sometimes."

He doesn't look put out by this, as if the idea of Cold going for Heat Wave when he's in the picture really is just a joke. Iris wishes she had something that secure.

Wally and Mick are barely swallowing their second shot before Snart opens the door and signals for Iris.

Lisa Snart, AKA Golden Glider and the Don of Central City, relaxes in her private lounge on a gold chair with a beautiful woman in her lap and whiskey at her lips.

Before Iris opens her mouth, she asks, "Do you know what shame is, Miss West?"

Because Iris literally can't help herself, she asks, "Do you?"

Glider and her lovely companion laugh.

"Oh, darling," Glider says, "you're gonna be fun. But that's not what I asked."

"Yes, I do."

"Are you sure? Because those sweet brothers of yours just never shut up about you or your dear old dad. And now you, mean girl, come in and dash their starry-eyed hopes."

There's a gold shimmer in Glider's eyes. If she doesn't get an honest answer, there's a golden Glock on her glass coffee table and none other than Killer Frost nuzzling her cheek, just waiting for an excuse.

Iris briefly spreads her hands. "And I'm ashamed of that."

"Are you?" Frost says, voice tingling ice in Iris' ears.

"Yes," Iris replies emphatically, "Okay? Yes. Of course I am. They're my brothers, and it's not their fault that they're meta-humans. It shouldn't even be a problem! But we had to push them away so they'd disappear."

Glider looks unimpressed.

"Bad plan, I know," Iris snaps, "I know, Miss Glider. My dad and I had a good thing and we botched it. But I can't fix that right now, because my dad is missing, and I need your help."

Glider swirls her painted nails along the rim of her glass. Her other hand traces the same circle on Frost's stomach.

"What kind of help do you need?" Frost asks.

Iris dares a few more steps into the room, boots edging on the faux-fur rug. "I just need access to a few personnel records. You have eyes all over, the docks included. Whoever's taking all these police officers, they all disappear there. It's the only solid lead I have."

Frost's eyes narrow. "You think we have a rat stealing the clean-up crew?"

"They're cops."

Glider twirls a strand of Frost's white hair. "What's a cop to a mobster?"

"I know some of them are valued employees."

"Oh, how cute. A reporter who actually does her job. But since Lenny was so sweet about getting you in here, I'll let that slide for now. Let's talk price, baby."

Frost stands, white lace dress whispering at her knees. How she'd sat like that in that blue corset alone makes her terrifying. She offers a hand to Glider, who's just as much of a vision in her strapless gold cocktail dress and diamond jewelry. Even her heels are gold, because apparently the Snart siblings operate on their themes.

"What's in it for me?" she simpers. "I can't just hand over my files to a reporter. Not that you'll do anything else with them, of course, but it's the principle of the thing."

"There's one more condition."

Glider raises a perfectly painted eyebrow. "You've already laid quite a hefty request on the table, Miss West."

"I want a secure line to my brothers' phones." Iris swallows. "I'm not―now that I've seen them again, I can't. I can't go back to the last two years. Shouldn't be much more to ask. You have secure lines everywhere."

"How would you know that?" Frost asks.

Iris puts her hand on her hip. "Like you said, Miss Glider. I'm good at my job."

Glider tilts her head. She lets the quiet stew. Frost takes her glass.

"None of us are perfect sisters," she says at last.

"I'm not even a sister," Frost adds.

"I've made my share of mistakes with my brother. You do seem to know a little shame."

Glider approaches, not stopping until she and Iris are practically toe to toe. She smells like pomegranate and a hint of mint.

The Snart siblings don't seem to operate on personal space either.

"What's in it for my Family?" she asks.

Iris...had not expected her to be this beautiful. Blurry photos and mug shots do nothing for her.

"I don't have much money." She might not even have a lawful home after this. "But I can do a couple jobs for you. Get info, spread it, whatever. If Barry and Wally really have talked about me so much, you'll know that I have plenty of readers. As long as what I'm spreading is based on facts."

"Are all of you Wests and Allens so honest?" Frost sneers.

"We get it from our dads," Iris replies.

"Ugh. My father sucked."

Glider smiles. "So did mine. Yours seems like the bee's knees, though."

"I didn't tell Barry or Wally why I'm here. Our dad's a good liar," Iris whispers, "After what he forced himself to tell Barry and Wally―I'd understand if they didn't give you a reason to believe―"

"Are you kidding?" Frost says flatly, "They whine about how much they miss his cooking every time Cold refuses to make dinner."

"Cold cooks?" Iris says, before shaking her head and saying, "But he was. He was horrible to them."

He'd cried for weeks after. Almost drank himself down the drain. Iris doesn't say that.

"Yes, before contacting them and apologizing for―what was it, Lise?"

Glider giggles. "Had to've been an hour at least."

Iris stiffens. "He never told me."

"And we still haven't reached an agreement. I'll admit, I could use someone of your caliber. Considering the sensitivity of the files, I'll assign you to more than a couple. We'll be in touch for at least the next month."

Iris tries not to sound too eager: "I can do that."

"And to even it out," Frost says, showing her sharpest grin, "We'll present a second condition."

Glider looks pleasantly surprised. "Really, dear?"

Frost goes to a glass bar in the back of the lounge and fishes out three bottles. "Really."

"What is it?" Iris asks.

"Coffee," Frost says. "Giuseppi's, Saturday. Say, five?"

Iris looks between them. Frost hands her one of the beers. Both mobsters' scents are seamless together, kissing the fresh beer.

"For a meeting?" Iris says, not at all breathless and completely composed.

"Certainly," Glider says with the same purr her brother had used on Barry. "We'll call it that, Miss West."

Frost lifts her bottle. "A toast to good deals."

"Dad!" Joe's kids cry, shamelessly disregarding the other tied-up cops in the shipping crate.

"Iris? Barry, Wally―how?"

No sooner than the speedsters drag them into the open air than the family's collapsed in a laughing heap.

"Anyone who tries to tattle on the detective will make a pretty sculpture," Glider says. On either side of her, Cold and Frost wiggle icy fingers.

Iris puts on a black sequin dress and a necklace that hugs her throat like a collar. She has a feeling Glider and Frost are into that.

Not that she's been thinking about it. Or how many corsets Frost has.

They'd been very helpful with finding her dad.

The hostess welcomes her like she can afford the restaurant every weekend. "The private table in the back! Follow me."

A few Family members are scattered around the main dining room. Iris is pretty sure she sees Cold and Barry in a both, with Rory across. Rory seems a little too focused on his food.

Any implications of that winks out when Iris is ushered into a curtained off section to find Frost and Glider kissing over red wine.

Glider pulls back. She doesn't even try to look innocent. "Why, Iris West! Don't you look lovely. Please," she stands up, gesturing to the curved seat, "there's room for one more."

That's a double entendre if Iris ever heard one. There's no question what the Don means.

Iris sits. "What are we drinking?"

Frost's white hair recedes to red, ice giving way to controlled warmth. When she places her hand on Iris' arm, she's almost the same temperature.

"Oh, honey," she says, "whatever you want."

Len peeks in. "Sis, we're―oh shit!"

"Iris!" Barry shrieks.

Mick hums. "Nice."

"Okay!" Vibe squeaks from a nearby table, "We'll just tie these things closed!"

Glider laughs lowly in Iris' collarbone. "Thank you, Cisco."

Len's covered his eyes with both hands.

[koltarmi]

Home for the Holidays - Chapter 3

Thank you so much for all of your responses. Here’s the next chapter which becomes a little less fluffier and sweet. It’s also three times longer than my previous two chapters. Why do I like writing sad things.The world may never know.

Oh the bit of French are translated below. Excuse any mistakes, I’m relying on my year-old knowledge of Quebecois French:

“Hello Sébastien! How are you?”

“Very well, miss. Is this the man your grandmother has been talking about?”

Chapter summary:  Anya and Dmitry land in France. Along the way, they learn more about each other’s family and past. 

Can be read on AO3 or below.

Dmitry feels like he would not be surprised if it turned out this was all some elaborate situation he had dreamt up and that sooner or later he would wake up on his lumpy couch in his apartment with a sore back.

A two-week-long vacation in France as his best friend’s pretend boyfriend was a scenario that seemed only plausible in the world of cheesy rom-coms.

Yet here he is, watching over their luggage as Anya chatters away in French with clerk at the car rental desk.

Moments later, Anya returns with a set of car keys in his hands and a grin on her face.

“When did you learn to speak French?” he asks, as she double checks that they have all their luggage.

“Basically from the moment I was born. My parents thought it was important that my sisters, brother and I were fluent in a multitude of languages before we could walk,” she replies, remembering the hours upon hours of French tutoring she had endured.

Dmitry looks at her with surprise. “I thought you were always an only child. How many siblings do you have?”

A solemn look passes Anya’s face that leaves him instantly feeling uneasy. Over the years, he has become familiar with her many expressions from anger and annoyance to unbridled enthusiasm and happiness. This resigned and muted look of sadness on her face is uncharted territory.

“Had,” she murmurs. “I had three older sisters and a little brother. They died with my parents when I was 17.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Anya shakes her head. “It’s alright, you didn’t know. I don’t talk much about my family. It wouldn’t make sense if we’ve dated and you didn’t know. What about you? Any siblings?“

"Nope. Just me. My mom died right after I was born and my dad died when I was about 8. I grew up with my aunt once removed and we haven’t talked since I moved out. I was more of a liability than anything.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“It happened a long time ago,” he replies.

“That doesn’t mean it hurts any less,” Anya says. Her eyes were slightly watery. “Seems neither of us had the ideal family life.”

“Just another thing we share in common besides our distaste of loud frat boys partying until four in the morning.”

“Ugh, we were bonding for a moment,” Anya groans. “Why did you ruin the moment by bringing up Chad?”

Dmitry lets out a laugh. “Hey, we should be thanking him. Isn’t that the story we’re going with? Our mutual annoyance of our rude neighbour finally brought us together and that’s when you fell madly in love with me.”

“I’m no damsel in distress. We fell madly in love with each other together.” Anya smirks and sighs, “Now come on Romeo, we’ve got a hour drive ahead of us.”

In his mind, Anya’s grandmother lived in a small and quaint little cottage on the outskirts of Paris. The gated mansion with a mile-long driveway is, suffice to say, not what he expected.

As Anya parks the car in front of the large double-doors, a couple of uniformed men and women descend upon the car from the small entourage of them standing on the stairs. Once they reach the car, they pop open the trunk and begin unloading the four pieces of luggage they have.

One of the older uniformed men steps forward and Anya greets him with a warm smile.

“Bonjour Sébastien! Comment ça va?”

“Très bien, mademoiselle. Est-ce qu'est l'homme que votre grand-mère a parlé à propos?”

Noting the lost look on Dmitry’s face, she switches back to English.

“Yes, it is. This is Dmitry.” Anya links their hands together. “My boyfriend,” she adds with a dash of bashfulness, playing up the part of the enamoured girlfriend. “Dmitry, this is the house steward, Sébastien Dupont.”

Following Anya’s lead, Sébastien switches to English as well as he offers his hand to Dmitry to shake. “Welcome, monsieur. Mademoiselle, your grandmother waits for you in the parlour.”

Sébastien turns to walk up the large stone steps. Anya tows Dmitry along who openly stares at the imposing mansion in front of them.

Past the double doors, Dmitry is lead through a series of hallways with antiques that cost more than all of his life savings combined and ceilings so high they look like they belong in museums or churches.

They end up in a plush room with a blazing fireplace that’s crackling the logs. As they enter, a stately woman with a head of grey hair stands, her posture exuding a air of dignity and a no-nonsense attitude. As soon as the elder woman spots Anya, a smile stretches across her face, but the heavy tension remains in her stiff spine and shoulders.

“Anastasia, darling,” she says, crossing the room to greet the trio.

Dmitry has just enough time to glance at Anya and mouth ‘Anastasia?’ before her grandmother’s arms envelop her into a tight hug.

“Nana, it’s so good to see you,” she replies. “And it’s just Anya now, remember?”

“Of course, dear. Now introduce me to my future grandson-in-law.”

Anya’s face instantly turns a bright shade of red as she begins to stutter. Seeing her suffer a internal meltdown, Dmitry takes it upon himself to make an introduction.

“Dmitry Sudayev. It’s a pleasure to meet you, m'am.”

“Oh please, call me Maria,” she says, pulling him into a hug as well. “You two must be exhausted from the flight. Sébastien can you show you to your bedroom and you can rest before dinner.”

“Our bedroom?” Anya asks.

“Darling, I’m not so old-fashioned as to believe that you two haven’t shared a bed at least once-”

“Nana!” Anya exclaims as her ears also turn a vibrant shade of red.

Maria continued on as if nothing happened. “It’s your old room, dear. But don’t worry, I had it cleaned and aired out before you two arrived so it looks just like new. I have to finish up the last few details about a charity fundraiser, but I’ll see you soon. We have so much catching up to do.”

Still embarrassed, Anya doesn’t move as Maria kisses her cheek and exits the parlour that has suddenly become a little too warm for Dmitry’s liking.

The bedroom they’re staying in is about as big as his entire apartment. The headboard of a large four poster bed was pushed up against the right wall and their luggage sat at the foot of it. A settee faced a brick fireplace and a pair of glass balcony doors had a view of what looked a snow-covered garden.

Dmitry waits a minute after Sébastien leaves before he turns to Anya, a million questions on the tip of his tongue.

The first word that comes out of his mouth is, “Anastasia?”

With a sheepish look on her face, Anya sheds her coat and throws it across the settee.

“My name is legally Anya Roman, but I changed it when I moved out of my grandma’s home,” she admits. “My name is, or technically my birth name was Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov.”

“I see why,” Dmitry says, unravelling his scarf. “That’s a mouthful.”

A small grin tugs at the corner of Anya’s lips.

“Why does the name Romanov sound so familiar?”

“Both my mother and father came from wealthy families.”

Dmitry gestures at the room and mansion as a whole. “That much is obvious.”

“My father was a politician in Russia before he was…” Anya grits her teeth. “Before he was—before they were…”

An image of a newscast flashes in the recesses of Dmitry’s memory. He had been at a small deli nursing a hot cup of coffee when the owner of the shop turned up the volume of the television.

“The remains of Russian politician, Nikolay Alexandrovich Romanov and his family have been found dead after being reported missing for two months. Investigators have declared their deaths to be foul play. Their youngest daughter, Anastasia Romanov, remains missing.”

“Oh god, Anya. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

A tired look of relief washes over Anya’s face as she is saved the trouble of explaining the fate of her family.

“Again, it’s alright. You didn’t know,” she says, repeating her words at the airport. “When I was finally found, my Nana thought I would be safer if I changed my name and when I moved, I wanted to start afresh. Not as Anastasia, just as Anya. I’m just so used to being known as Anya, I forgot my grandma still sometimes calls me by my birth name.”

Dmitry walks to Anya and wraps his arms around her, unsure of what else to do. She accepts the hug, burying her face into the soft fabric of his coat that carries the faint scent of his cologne.

“Why don’t we take your grandma’s advice and rest before dinner?” Dmitry suggests.

Anya nods.

“I’ll take the couch,” he says, pulling away from the embrace.

Anya furrows her brow and grabs the sleeves of his jacket before he can fully move away. “That’s absolute nonsense, Dmitry. We’re both adults and the bed is big enough for us to share.”

Not wanting to argue, Dmitry takes off his coat and settles on top of the covers as Anya climbs in to the other side of the bed.

Just as he’s about to drift off, he hears Anya voice call his name.

“Dmitry?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she says, turning her head to face him. “For being here.”

Dmitry reaches across the space between them and takes Anya’s small hand in his; a gesture he was becoming far too comfortable with.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

For the first time in his life, Dmitry finds that response to be true as he falls asleep, hand in hand with Anya.