#'oh whoops sent it to (right number wrong street)' we can try to sort that out

[dammitradar]

I've seen the FedEx truck, the UPS truck, and the USPS van all zooming around the neighborhood in the past half hour and meanwhile, I'm just

Pakige??

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

part iii

cw: brief, non-graphic mention of injury and medical assistance

~

September

Only blue talk and love

Remember

How we knew love was here to stay

Summer hadn’t truly felt over until Remus saw Regulus standing in the airport, bags checked for New York and backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Well,” Regulus said, shifting a little between his feet. “Here goes.”

Remus laughed. “It’s going to be amazing, Reg.”

“Maybe. Hopefully.”

“It will,” Sirius said. “But if you need anything we’re…what? A four hour drive?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, you can call.”

Regulus huffed out a laugh. “You two sound like worried parents.”

Sirius laughed, too. “I’m just glad we know what those sound like now.”

Regulus’ expression shifted, tightening. He nodded, seemed to hang in hesitation for a moment, and then walked forward two steps and threw his arms around Sirius. Sirius froze, too, with his hands in his pockets, and then wrapped his little brother up tight.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Remus heard Regulus murmur softly. “I don’t really think you left me there. With them.”

Sirius made an indistinguishable sound, and Remus took a step back, giving them space and not sure if he was fighting tears or a smile. He used to just think about how he could kill Sirius and Regulus’ parents if he had the chance, but now, seeing how far the brothers had come, he wasn’t sure they were worth the time at all.

“Come home sometimes, okay?” Sirius said. “D’accord?”

“Ouais,” Regulus said.

They pulled apart slowly, both a little bright-eyed. Sirius laughed wetly, wiping his face.

“And make good friends.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s supposed to be good choices.”

Sirius reached out for Remus’ hand. “Good friends are good choices.”

“Ah,” Regulus hitched his pack farther up his shoulder. “Of course.”

“Call when you get there, too,” Remus cut in. “My mom would definitely want me to say that.”

Regulus waved them off. “Okay, that’s enough parenting. I’m going now.”

Sirius held Remus’ hand tight as they watched Regulus go through security and then disappear with a wave, sliding his headphones on. He let out a long, unsteady breath.

“Merde.”

“Love ya,” Remus smiled, reaching up to wipe a tear from Sirius’ cheek.

Sirius glanced down at him. “He’s going to be fine.”

“He is,” Remus nodded.

“He forgives me.”

“No,” Remus said. “He told you that you never did anything wrong.”

Sirius let out another tearful laugh, sniffing. “Right. You’re right.”

Remus pushed up on his toes to kiss his cheek. “Wanna get dinner?”

“Ouais. That sounds perfect.”

They wandered the summer soft streets, cooled by the evening and by approaching September. Remus was torn between being ready to let summer go, and never wanting it to end at the same time.

~

It’s good to hear a packed Hogwarts Stadium again, huh, Dean? Even if just for a preseason game against our New York Rangers neighbors.

Right, Lee? I love this post-summer feeling, and I know our Lions do, too. Especially excited to see what our new talent has to offer. This’ll be fan’s first glimpse at Lupin and Reyes, our two…well, I suppose rookie wouldn’t be quite as perfect a word for Lupin as it is for Reyes. We’re used to Lupin’s face around here, huh.

That we are. Not used to seeing what is rumored to be some very quick feet on him, though. As far as testing went, that is.

Right, the bike test. As well as strength. Who knows. This could be building up to a very interesting season.

Remus stared up at the TV mounted on the wall as he peddled slowly on the stationary bike, keeping his legs warm. He felt bizarre, and had been dodging any type of media to avoid having to talk about it. He was dreading post-game. Every time he tried to think of something to say, his mind went blank.

I’m happy to be here.

I never thought I would be here.

The other half of his brain was trying to compute that it wouldn’t just be the preseason, practice scrimmages he was used to. It wouldn’t just been his team, his friends, out there. Not that it would be a full fledged game, either. No one looked to crushing blows during a preseason game. It was about getting warm. Remus was thankful for it. He didn’t know how he was going to feel when he put his jersey on. When he stepped out onto the ice. He had been nervous enough for the fitness testing.

“You’re literally the fastest guy here,” Finn had said after he’d gotten off of the bike—with the highest score. It had made him feel better, but he knew he wouldn’t really be settled until until coach called his name from the line card.

“Loops,” Logan said, swinging onto the bike beside him. “I keep running into you.”

Remus smiled. “Looks like we having similar warm-up routines.”

“Apparemment,” Logan nodded, turning up the resistance. “Nervous?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Logan nodded, but stayed quiet and Remus was thankful. Everyone tried to talk him out of it, Sirius included, and he loved them for that, but at the same time, this was nice, too.

“Me too, sort of,” Logan said, and they traded a smile before looking back up at the Gryffindor pre-game show.

“All right,” Coach Arthur Weasley clapped his hands and gestured to the side of the room where the assistant coaches and staff were standing. The whole locker room was flooded with energy of all kinds—nervous, excited—and it flowed through those not in uniform, too. “We all know Moody. We all know our coaches. Mason, Alexandra, and Dan. We all know our PTs—should I say new PTs—“ there were some laughs. “Lars and Layla.”

“Double-Ls,” Thomas whooped.

Layla gave two thumbs up, and Lars remained stoic, arms crossed. He hadn’t said much since arriving aside from the occasional wise-cracking joke delivered without a trace of a smile.

“Who’s captain serious now, eh?” Thomas leaned in to whisper, and Remus suppressed a smile, glancing at Sirius—who was wearing an almost equally focused expression on his face, completely still where he sat a few stalls down, past Thomas and James. Remus glanced around the locker room, down the crescent-shaped row. Kasey and Leo, on opposite ends, were both geared up. Finn and Leo were sharing AirPods. Remus knew Kasey had worked hard over the summer, rehabbing his thigh, strengthening and increasing flexibility. He knew Leo was happy to be his back-up, but part of him wondered what Leo thought about all the games he had played in the play-offs, only to be placed right back on the bench now. It happened to a lot of guys—some were called up for injury, only to be sent right back down to the farm team when injuries healed. But Remus thought it was different for goalies. He hoped Coach wouldn’t leave Leo sitting on the bench for too long.

“Who’s calling first line?” Coach asked, and held the card out to Sirius. “Cap?”

Remus didn’t realize until the cheers broke out that he could be loud with the rest of them, and gave his stall a few bangs as Sirius rose, hat keeping his hair back. His eyes found Remus’ briefly once had turned towards them with the card, and Remus’ breath caught at his beaming grin.

“Okay, boys, first line,” Sirius said. “We’ve got Pots.”

Clap.

“Tremzy.”

Thomas drum-rolled his stall.

Sirius smiled. “Myself.”

Finn put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

“And on D, Olli and Timmy.”

While the boys burst into chatter again, Remus watched Sirius hand the card back to Coach, and caught his eye again, raising an eyebrow. Sirius held up Thomas’ number, and Jackson’s. Remus nodded to himself. That could be the third or fourth line, and he’d played well with both of them in scrimmages. It made sense. He could work with that.

And it meant he’d get to watch Sirius out there. At least that wouldn’t change.

“All right,” Coach laughed, putting his glasses back on and turning towards the other coaches. “Get dressed, get dressed.”

Remus had sat in his stall quite a few times by now. For his promo-pictures at the beginning of the summer—the first time he had slipped his jersey on, too, right over his suit and tie. But sitting in it now, strapping his pads over his bare chest before a game, a game where he would be up against other NHL players…that was different.

“You’re one of those?” Thomas snorted, flicking Remus’ bare ribs. “Doesn’t the velcro scratch?”

Remus laughed. “Can’t break old habits.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Or is now the perfect time to make new ones.”

“Not after a year like the last,” Remus said.

“Oh,” Thomas whistled, yanking the laces of his skates tight. “You’re that superstitious.”

“I try not to be,” Remus stood. “But playing again…seems to bring it out in me.”

Remus turned to step into his pants, adjusting the pads and his jock until everything fit together comfortably. He eyed his jersey, the number six hanging proudly on a hanger, and he smiled to himself but turned to his skates next. The jersey sent his heart leaping into his throat. He’d save it for last.

“Let’s go boys,” Pascal called, standing by the door to bump fists and pat helmets on their way out.

Remus laced up his skates, pulling them tight over his taped up socks, and then, finally, removed his jersey from its hook. He didn’t waste time staring down at it. That would just make him overthink and, hopefully, he’d have many times to put this jersey on again.

It slid over his shoulder pads, he tucked in the back, and grabbed his helmet.

“I like that Loops is just over there grinning to himself,” Finn snorted as he left for the tunnel.

Remus shrugged, eyes finding Sirius. He already looked like his mind was on the ice, even for such a low stakes game.

“You know,” Remus said as the team started to file down the tunnel. “I used to go last.”

Sirius’ intense eyes lightened into a softer gray. He shifted from one skate to another. “Oh? I don’t know if I knew that.”

Remus tilted his head, smile playing at one corner of his mouth. “Well? What are we gonna do?”

Sirius just stared at him. “I… I go last.”

Remus let out his laughter, leaning up to tap their helmets together. He vaguely heard a camera flash go off, and smiled. He wanted that picture.

“You should have seen your face, baby,” he whispered, and grabbed his stick from the rack before catching up to James.

He heard Sirius splutter out a laugh—and there was definitely some relief in there—and follow.

The sounds of the crowd in Hogwarts stadium only grew louder. Remus could feel Sirius close behind him.

“Ready, mon loup?” he asked quietly, just before the tunnel opened up to the lights.

Remus didn’t know if Sirius heard his yes over the roar of the team’s entry into a sea of red and gold, but then feet were on the ice he was doing a lap, the Rangers at the other end.

On opening night, Remus knew he would be taking this lap alone, along with Cole. A rookie’s first official NHL game. It felt surreal to think about. He couldn’t knock the feeling that he was too old for that—but he knew plenty of guys did it at his age. You didn’t have to be eighteen.

He picked up a puck and headed towards the goal, trying to decide if it would help to block out the noise, or let it overtake him. The boys were dialed in. Remus glanced over at Sirius, feeling strangely bare without him by his side. But he was over by center ice, tracing the Lion printed there—as usual. Remus didn’t want to seem favored. He didn’t want to seem clingy. They weren’t a couple out here, he knew that. They were teammates.

He shot at Kasey, who caught his puck in his glove, and began the wrap-around again before pushing backwards around the outside of the goal, as he always used to. He’d done his routine a few times at the beginning of practices, but it was nothing compared to being surrounded by a crowd—a bigger crowd than he’d ever actually played in front of before.

Kasey tapped a puck at him once he reached his first post, and he laughed, shooting it back until a sign waving at the glass caught his eye. It was held by a kid, maybe around Julian’s age.

I want a signed stick the ReMOST, Lupin!

Remus laughed at the kid’s wide eyes when he saw that he was looking, and gave him a thumbs up the best he could with his gloves on before holding up his stick.

“One second,” he called over the crowd.

When he got to the bench, Sirius was there stretching, holding out an already uncapped sharpie.

And looks like Lupin’s heading over to sign that young man a stick. I bet that’s a good feeling after—oh! Black’s got a pen ready for him.

Remus shoved a glove under his arm and took it. “You saw the sign?”

“I got the kid down to the glass,” Sirius grinned.

“I love you,” Remus said as he scribbled his signature, complete with the jersey number that players always included.

It took two tries to get the stick successfully over the glass, but for the look on the boy’s face, Remus would have tried twenty.

“Feels good, eh?” James said once the horn blew for warmups and they were settled onto the bench.

“Too good,” Remus said.

“First line,” Coach called, slapping his calling card against his palm. “12, 10, 7, let’s go. Olli, Tims, on D.”

Sirius sent him a quick smile, and Remus spun his stick in front of him. “Let’s go, Captain.”

Sirius snorted, rolling his eyes as he pushed away from the boards towards center ice, where Zibanejad was waiting.

Good to see that sort of…what would you call it, Dean, from Black?

Light energy, I think, Lee. Sirius is well known around the league for his intensity.

Right. Nice to see Lupin getting a smile out of him before what is most probably a season that holds more pressure than usual for the Lions, after a Cup year.

One of Black’s coaches once said in an interview that the only thing Sirius feels after scoring a goal is pressure to score another. Ha, sounds about right.

Remus all but held his breath when the ref dropped the puck. Sirius stole it back for James who nicked it over to Logan. Logan sped it into the neutral zone, narrowly avoiding Lafrenière.

“Bulky kid,” Finn said from beside Remus.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Logan?”

“Well—yeah, but nah, Lafrenière,” Finn nodded. “Built like a tree, what is he, nineteen? Crazy. I didn’t look like that when I was nineteen.”

“Well,” Remus said as the whistle blew for an icing on the Rangers. “People are comparing him to Crosby.”

“Kuny,” Coach called. “Lupin, Nado.”

Remus’ initial thought was surprise. The shock of being put out with the second line carried him somewhat numbly over the boards beside Evgeni and Jackson. He didn’t have time to look at Sirius take his place on the bench.

“Hey,” Evgeni said, drawing them in with a glove over his mouth so the Rangers filing out of their bench couldn’t read their lips. “I take Lindgren. Loops, go fast, okay? Nado get you puck.”

“Fox,” Jackson warned.

“Sergei take care,” Evgeni said like it was obvious, and loomed towards the face-off circle.

“Left side,” Remus said to Jackson before they parted. “I’ll try to shake Kravtsov.”

“Nice,” Jackson nodded.

Remus and Kravtsov shared a nod as they lined up shoulder to shoulder on the centerline.

“Welcome to the NHL,” Kravtsov said with a slight smile.

“Thanks,” Remus replied.

Kravtsov was so young. All of these guys were so young.

He couldn’t help feeling like time had been stolen from him.

Have you ever seen this many Russian players in one NHL game, Dean? Pretty nice to see. And here’s Lupin’s first shift. Let’s go.

The puck dropped and Remus gave Kravtsov a shove, spinning out and around him. His heart seemed to press the sound out of his ears until all he could hear was his own breathing. Evgeni won the face off.

“Kuns!” Jackson shouted, and Evgeni passed it to him deep in their own zone. It drew Fox forward, just as Remus knew it was meant to, but Sergei was there for Jackson to derail the puck. Fox was forced to turn around, Kravtsov was made to press forward for a pass, and it left Remus free to shoot into their defense zone. Strome tried to cross him, but Remus spun around him. Sergei and Jackson tried to get it to him, but it left the zone. Remus swore as he pushed hard to touch up the neutral zone.

“6, 58, 86, off, Reyes, O’Hara, LeBlanc, on!”

Remus pulled back to the bench, sending Cole a nod as he hopped over the boards for his first NHL shift. Remus’ shift had been thirty seconds that felt like ten, but he was breathing hard. Finn followed Cole with a tap to his back, promptly stole the puck from Chytil, and slapped it into the corner of the Rangers’ goal.

Remus had barely taken a drink of water when the goal horn blared Gryffindor’s roar filled Hogwarts Stadium.

He punched Sirius’ side, who had his arms raised. Sirius laughed from beside him as they settled onto the bench beside each other.

“Ouch,” Sirius rubbed his padding.

“I don’t know, I got excited,” Remus laughed.

They held his gloves out for Finn to tap as he came down the line, the goal song blaring, the crowd chanting along to the catchy drumbeat.

“Nice solo, Harz,” Remus called, and Finn grinned.

“Thanks, Rookie.”

It remained pretty even through the first and second. Panarin had three good chances, the fourth sailing past Kasey’s glove. Sirius scored a dirty wrap-around just before the second’s buzzer, and Remus didn’t think he’d ever like anything more than getting the full force of Sirius’ smile as he tapped gloves down the bench line. No sooner had the final face-off of the period set up than were Evgeni and Lindgren going at it, hands gripping the back of each other’s jerseys as they dropped their gloves. Gryffindor would start the third one man up.

Remus filed back down the tunnel towards the locker room, smiling at Layla as he dropped his gloves in the bucket she was holding to be dried. He felt warm, his muscles used and a little sore. He longed for an ice bath, but he wanted to use them more too. It was the most familiar feeling in the word. He smiled against it as he sat down in his stall, laughing lightly at the way Evgeni threw a wet towel over his head.

“Not skate enough over the summer,” Evgeni groaned.

Remus looked up when a shadow fell over him and was greeted by two hands on his cheeks and a warm, familiar kiss.

“J’adore,” Sirius said.

Remus laughed, holding his wrists where his pulse still high from the game.

“Nice goal.”

“Good to be back,” James said as he pushed his jersey over his head. “Crowd sounds amazing. How you doing, Reyes?”

Cole looked up from where he was re-taping his socks. “The crowd is amazing.”

Remus felt a slap on the back from Evgeni, towel around his neck now. “Good shift, rookie.”

“Kuns,” Remus sighed, and Evgeni just laughed teasingly.

Remus felt Sirius’ eyes on him throughout the entire intermission. He knew he was curious, and had been for months, about Remus’ game routine. He’d asked and asked over the summer, but that was the thing with Remus’ superstitions—he couldn’t talk about them.

Remus took two fresh sticks from his rack and sat back down. He began wrapping it steadily.

“Of course your tape job is perfect,” Thomas sighed, shaking his head. “Of course, of course.”

Remus laughed, ripping the tape with his teeth.

“Speak for yourself,” Jackson grinned, giving his stick a twirl, the tape warped and hurried.

Remus snorted. “All I see is a fucking candy cane.”

Power play. Lindgren went into the box, slamming the door a little too hard on his way.

“Black,” Coach called as the crowd shuffled into their seats, armed with food, and Remus had been expecting that. “Tremzy, Lupin, Fox, Sunny.”

Remus blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that.

Remus hopped the boards beside Sirius, and the stadium seemed to get louder. Sirius knocked their shoulders together, and Remus didn’t doubt the cameras were on them and he tried to control his expression. He didn’t want to look too pleased, or too dopy at the feeling of skating side by side with Sirius in front of a crowd.

I think this is the moment many of us have been waiting for, Dean.

You bet! I didn’t expect it to come so soon. Coach Weasley is trying out lots of different line combos tonight. What’s pre-season for? I hear Lupin’s played on the power play a few times in practice.

Sirius put his glove up by his mouth, holding his mouth guard.

“Try the double pass?” he said quickly.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Sirius bent down across from Zibanejad and the rest of the Rangers penalty kill unit.

It happened fast. Remus was used to seeing this from the bench—but maybe that was a good thing. He saw the ice as if through a wide lens, Sirius passed to Logan, and then it was on Remus’ stick to carry up. Remus blew out a breath, pushing his legs hard ahead of Panarin. He needed to get ahead, needed to stay parallel with Sirius. He felt Panarin scrape at his heels, but then Sirius was calling his name.

Shesterkin was still up and on his feet, reading to dive whichever way.

“Loup,” Sirius called, and it was as though it was only the two of them in the basement rink. Only the crowd was different, and absolutely roaring. 

Remus snapped the puck to Sirius, who passed it right back. Shesterkin went down when Remus pulled his stick back in a fake, only for him to give it back to Sirius to tap into wide open net.

Remus’ hands shot up, and the crowd screamed. Sirius all but slammed into him, wrapping him up tight against the boards.

“Re,” Sirius laughed through he words, pressing their helmets together. “Mon loup, mon loup—”

Logan crashed into them next, followed by Adam and Henrik. Remus found himself in the center of elated shouts, the fans pounding hands on the glass from the other side.

“Merde, it sounds like the playoffs,” Logan shouted, pressing a hand to Remus’ helmet.

Remus could only laugh, giddy, high on it all.

What a goal! Well, Lee, I don’t think we’re going to have to wait long to see this young man’s first regular season point.

~

“He fell for it,” Remus said for the tenth time as he handed Sirius the last of their dinner dishes. “Shesterkin fell for it.”

Sirius laughed and slid the dishes into the sink and turned, placing slightly damp hands on Remus’ cheeks.

“You are amazing,” he said, accent heavy and laced with a need that Remus had felt stirring in himself since getting off the ice. They’d been on the ice together today. They’d built a goal together, scored. Igor Shesterkin had fallen for their fake-out.

“I was so happy today,” Sirius whispered.

Remus closed his eyes, caught between the feeling of Sirius’ body colliding with his own in celebration, and the feeling of his warm hands here, now.

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted,” Remus said softly, and opened his eyes, hands against Sirius’ chest.

What a terrifying, wonderful sentence.

Sirius just leaned in to kiss him, mouth tender and insistent. It was the same fire he had on the ice, leading Remus in a way that made his insides warm and his toes curl. Remus let Sirius guide him slowly up the stairs, and he relished in the way they stopped on the landing, on a half-way stair, just to be closer again, Remus’ mouth on his neck, Sirius’ against his temple. The hallway was dark, lit only by the nightlight they kept plugged in near their feet. It cast Sirius in warm angles as Remus tugged his shirt off and dropped it right there in the hallway.

“I’m not saying I’m not going to miss Regulus,” Remus said as Sirius bent to mouth gently against his neck. “But I’m not saying I’m not going to enjoy being able to undress you wherever I want now that we have the house to ourselves.”

Sirius’ laugh was soft, a little breathless. “Name your room, I’ll be there.”

Remus laughed, too. “Bedroom. Nice, soft bed.”

Sirius walked Remus backwards through the door, hands on his hips. “How do you feel? That was quite the race with Kreider in the second.”

“Good,” Remus nodded, but let Sirius’ strong hands dig into the muscles of his shoulders and back. He sighed into it, resting his cheek against his chest. “But I won’t say no to that.”

Sirius kissed Remus’ temple and worked his shirt over his head. He lay him down on the mattress and Remus closed his eyes at the feeling of Sirius’ lips against his neck, and then his shoulder.

Sirius kissed over the scar that Greyback had torn from Remus’ body all those years ago at their shared college, keeping Remus from a career in the NHL—at least until now.

“I wonder what he thinks,” Remus wondered aloud, and he didn’t have to explain himself for Sirius to know what he meant. Remus wound his fingers into Sirius dark hair as he looked up at him.

“Me too,” Sirius admitted. “And then I see red and have to stop thinking about it.”

Remus half-smiled. “Yeah…I felt bad at lunch those few weeks ago. With Cole. I really think he thought he said something wrong, and I wish I could explain but it’s still…it’s still like this weird secret, you know? Like people could find out if they really looked but no one has? And I don’t really want to bring it up but at the same time I know Fenrir has already spread lies. Saying it was a car crash or…who knows what. Sorry.” Remus pressed a hand to his face. “God, I’m completely killing the mood.”

“Re, hey,” Sirius pushed himself up onto his forearm, falling to the side and keeping their legs tangled.

“And it’s such a good mood, I just was thinking aloud.”

“You’re not. Talk to me. You can talk to me whenever.”

Remus ran his thumb over Sirius’ bottom lip. “Okay…yeah, I know that.”

“This was a big day,” Sirius said. “Huge for you. Of course you would be thinking about him. I used to think about my parents every time I stepped on the ice, even after things were getting better. I think…I think its just time. It takes time.”

“It was strange today,” Remus finally admitted. “I couldn’t…I didn’t know how close to you I could be. Out there, I mean. I’m your boyfriend, you’re mine, but we’re also teammates. There’s so much debate, about my place on the team and if you did something to get me there…I don’t know. I don’t want someone to accuse you of favoritism. You don’t deserve that.”

“We’re both,” Sirius said. “We’ll always be both. You’ll always be the boy I love. You’ll always be my teammate.” Sirius shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if we’re on the ice or not. And I don’t care if someone thinks I favor you. We both know I don’t. Not like that.”

Remus made a soft sound and pulled Sirius further on top of him, making him smile. “Love you.”

Sirius let Remus press slow kisses to his lips. “This mood feels pretty good to me.”

Remus just hushed him, tucking a hand into his waistband.

Sirius kissed him until Remus’ cheeks were hot and his cock was aching, pressed up against his sweatpants. Remus could still hear the Lions’ crowd rushing in his ears. Sirius’ palm cupped him and pushed his sweatpants down. They were both flushed and pink. Remus wanted to see those colors together.

He pulled Sirius’ hips against his own, discarding clothing until it was all bare skin. Remus ran his hands over the hard curves of his back. He had to squeeze his eyes shut, hooking his arms beneath Sirius’, holding onto his shoulders.

Their mouths found each other messily, dragging and half open in gasps.

“Sirius,” Remus breathed, voice higher than usual.

The adrenaline that Remus had thought had faded with the game only seemed to thrum brighter. Remus couldn’t help the smile the crossed his face, brows drawn together at the feeling of Sirius rutting against him.

Remus pressed his ankle gently to the back of Sirius’ knee and rolled them, drawing breathless laughs from both their mouths that he sealed away to keep like a love letter. It was soft mouths and hard hands, clutching each other closer, getting the most out of the warm friction. Remus swallowed Sirius’ gasps. His orgasm built up below his spine and Sirius seemed to read his mind. He reached between them with a hand, brushing a thumb at his base, pressing up. Remus’ hips stuttered and he fell apart, shoving hard against Sirius’ tight fist.

Sirius followed at the hot streak of Remus’ come between them, and they lay there, panting, foreheads together. Remus eased their hips back together, both of them letting out a soft moan, then a laugh, as the spent cocks brushed, drawing out the last tendrils of their orgasms.

“That feels good,” Sirius mumbled, head sunken back against the pillows.

Remus rolled his hips slowly, bringing them down, and then pulled his head up. He pushed Sirius’ sweaty hair back from his cheek and kissed it. 

“Communicate to score,” Sirius mumbled.

Remus laughed hard, squeezing his eyes shut, and dropped his face into his neck to catch his breath.

“It’s true,” Sirius said, running a warm palm up and down Remus’ back. “That article we looked at.”

They’d given in and read some press over dinner, laughing at some of the more excitable writers, and grinning at each other at the more serious ones.

Magnetism, one wrote. Feels like we’ve got some mind-readers on this team, a real Crosby-Malkin, Kane-Toews one-two-punch.

“Well,” Remus said, folding his arms across Sirius’ chest. “What am I thinking now?”

Sirius pressed his lips together, pretending to think. “Is it…how to get out of golf with James and the Cubs before the ring ceremony on Tuesday?”

Remus snorted. “Well, that’s definitely on my list. But nope.” He leaned in, brushing their mouths together. “That’s not it.”

Sirius grinned, and Remus sunk into how thick and sated his accent sounded. “Is it…will my handsome boyfriend please run me a bath and make me tea?”

Remus laughed into their next kiss. “Wow, that writer was right.”

~

It looks…maybe like a twisted knee? What do you think, Dean? Walker is definitely not making a move to get up—oh, there’s the medic. One of the Lions’ new staff members as, of course, someone had to take Lupin’s place. Ah, Walker is pointing to his foot now.

Man, is that a grimace if I ever saw one.

It sure is, Dean.

Here comes O’Hara to help out his teammate.

They were in Madison Square Garden, the Rangers giving them one hell of a re-match. Logan skated a close perimeter towards where Thomas had gone down, just between a line change.

“Shit,” Finn skated to a stop beside him. “It’s fucking pre-season. Did you see what happened?”

Logan shook his head. “Not really. Think it was just a bad fall. Strome looks sorry.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re not jumping him right now.”

Logan’s mouth quirked up. “I have no interest in jumping Strome, thanks.” His eyes found Leo on the bench. With his hat flipped backwards, the intensity, the worry in of his blue eyes cut a clear path to Thomas.

“T,” Finn said, skating closer. “Need a hand to the room?”

Thomas winced as he made it to one knee. “Yeah, man, thanks.”

~

Thomas stared up at the dark ceiling from the padded PT table, listening to the game continue on the TV mounted to the corner of the ceiling. There was the X-ray pushed to the corner, his results pinned up on the light screen. Fracture. Minor, but it’d take weeks to heal. He’d miss the beginning of the season. He’d be in a suit when they lifted the Stanley Cup champion banner in the stadium. He missed Noelle.

The light flicked on so suddenly Thomas flinched.

“Walker,” said an unfamiliar voice. It was accented—Swedish, he thought. Thomas squinted at the speaker. He was tall, and dressed in the staff jacket he’d come to associate with Remus. Right. Lars.

“I…hey,” Thomas said. His eyes went to Layla, who gave a wave as she slipped in behind the man. “Hey, man, Lars, right?”

Lars gave a short nod. “Nice to meet you. So, you probably know the drill by now. Couple weeks. Aspirin will be fine for pain management.”

“Right,” Thomas nodded.

“We’ve got a boot for you here, but I’d take everything to a doctor, just for a second opinion. I’ll recommend someone,” he shrugged. “That was an unlucky hit. I’m sorry.”

Thomas blinked. He didn’t know someone could seem sweetly uninterested. He smiled hesitantly. “Thanks.”

Thomas snapped a picture of the boot once he strapped it on and sent it out complete with a frowning emoji.

He had just opened the door to the locker room, accompanied by his new crutches and to meet his victorious team, when his phone began to ring with a Facetime.

“T,” Noelle’s voice gasped. She was beautiful, her hair curling around her face. “Baby, I saw.”

“It’s not too bad,” Thomas said beneath the noise as the locker room filled up. “You look like you’re about to go somewhere, I can call back, I just wanted to…”

I’m just sad about it. It sounded lame in his own ears.

He cleared his throat. “Logan, say hi to your sister.”

Logan poked his head into the frame and stuck his tongue out, then left.

“Lolo!” Noelle shouted for the locker room to hear, and Logan groaned.

“Lolo,” Kasey imitated, grinning, and Logan shoved his mask down over his face.

“How is it?” Finn asked, wrapping an arm around him. “Hi, Noelle.”

“Fractured. Couple weeks.”

“Damn,” Finn sighed. “Sorry, T. That was an—”

“unlucky hit,” Thomas laughed. “Preach.”

“Hey, baby, we’re all heading to grab some food, but call you tonight?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He tried not to feel lonely as the screen went dark. He was in a room surrounded by people. People he loved.

It crept in anyway.

[quickeningheart]

Twenty-Three

   “So … lemme get this straight.” Alley sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, lips pursed, arms crossed, one foot tapping against the cabinet door below her as she stared Stoker down. “You want me to march into that snake pit completely unarmed, all by my lonesome, and hand him a bunch of fake plans. And then expect me to waltz on out again with all of my body parts still intact?”

    “You don't have to waltz. Walking's just fine,” Stoker teased, chuckling at her dirty look. “You won’t be by yourself,” he added patiently. “Charley’ll bug you. I’ll be listenin’ in, and if anything goes wrong, I’ll go straight in and bust you out of there.”

    “How come we don’t get to go in and bust her out?” Vinnie whined.

    “Because I’d like to get her out with all her body parts still intact,” he deadpanned. “I doubt that’ll happen if I let you three anywhere near the tower.”

    Alley huffed an exasperated sigh. “I don’t see what could possibly go wrong with this idea,” she exclaimed sarcastically. “Except for … well, everything.”

    Stoker chuckled. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

    “How do you know he’ll even do what he says and sort my records out?” she complained. “What if I give him these plans and he just turns around and shoots me on the spot?”

    “Ain’t his style. He’ll do what he says, ‘cause I’m guessin’ he might be keepin’ you in his sights. If he thinks you pulled this off, he might consider makin’ you a permanent mole an’ have you do other jobs for him in the future.”

    Her jaw dropped. “Oh, swell. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life being blackmailed by this jackass?”

    “Nah.” Stoker waved off her concern. “He might proposition a legitimate job. I’m sure he’ll make offers you can’t refuse.”

    Modo released a derisive snort. “Ol’ Lard Butt does have a pretty way with words when he wants somethin’,” the big mouse grumbled, fingering his bionic arm and earning a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Charley.

    Alley pursed her lips, recalling the conversation in the limo. “He did try pretty hard to convince me how rich and influential he is,” she muttered.

    “There. You see?”

    “But I am not going to be his mole.”

    “Aw, why not?” Charley teased. “Sounds like a fun time. Hey, you could act as a double agent!”

    “Yeah, our own, personal James Bomb,” Throttle put in, grinning.

    Alley clapped her hands, face brightening. “Hey! You know what would also be fun? Dunking me in a bucket of chum and tossing me into a tank of hungry sharks!”

    “Awwoooo! Now you’re speakin’ my language!” Vinnie exclaimed, giving her a hearty clap on the back that sent her straight off the counter and onto the floor with a startled yelp. “Eh … whoops.” He offered a sheepish grin, using his tail to pick her up. “Dunno my own strength.”

    Alley just glared, limping to a safer corner of the kitchen.

    “So? Will you do it?” Stoker asked, catching her hand as she passed and smiling up at her. “Think of it this way. Not only will you help save your own planet, you’ll also help finally put an end to the decades-long war on Mars. You’ll be a hero.”

    “I don’t want to be a hero,” she grumbled, fidgeting. “Besides, even if this does work, as soon as Limburger figures out the plans aren’t real, what’s to stop him from trying to pull the same crap all over again? Or come up with some new way to ruin my life?”

    “Because he’d know then that even blackmail won’t make you turn against your friends and family,” Charley replied firmly. “He’s not one to waste time and money on a scheme that he doesn’t believe is a hundred percent foolproof.” She stopped to consider, smirking. “Even if he does turn out to be wrong a hundred percent of the time, thanks to my boys here.”

    There were cheers and the clinking of root beer bottles all around. Alley proceeded to look unimpressed.

    “And if it makes you feel better, the plans you’ll be handing over won’t be fake anyway,” Stoker said, grinning slyly.

    She blinked at him. “What, I’m gonna give him the real thing?”

    “Well … sort of.” He tapped the pages on the table. “I’ll be making a few … tweaks to these, and handing over the new set. All it takes is a minor change here and there, and my Regenerator can be turned into something else entirely. If the Plutarkians succeed in building it, it won’t create. It will destroy.” His smile was grim and hard. “It’ll have the power to set off a chain reaction that could cripple their entire planet, and hopefully turn the tide of this war, possibly end it for good.”

    “You���ll do to them what they did to Mars,” Throttle guessed.

    He nodded. “That’s the idea. If it works. There’s a chance they’ll actually study the plans closely enough to figure out the discrepancies and realize they’ve been altered, but my hopes are the Plutarkians are desperate enough for resources that they’ll cobble something together in haste and test it without double-checking.”

    “What if they cobble and test without double-checking here?” Alley asked.

    Stoker hesitated, frowning. “Hmmm. Suppose that’s always a possibility,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “His pet mad scientist probably wouldn’t be able to resist tinkering around with the plans…” He leaned back with a shrug, linking his hands behind his head. “Guess you’ll just have to convince Limburger that it’d be more beneficial for him to take it straight to Plutark.”

    “Oh, sure! Piece of cake!” Alley threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t know anything about anything about these guys!”

    “From what I know of them, getting promoted is a definite life goal,” Charley said thoughtfully. “The higher up the ladder, the better, and they’ll step all over each other to get there.” She nodded at the plans. “A tinker toy like this would probably earn Limburger a boot straight up to the top rung and all the benefits that come with it. All you gotta do is drop a hint here and there… He’ll be all over that bait like stink on a dung heap.”

    Alley slumped. “What happened to just handing him the plans and walking out?”

    “So, there’ll be a little negotiating in between,” Stoker teased, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture.

    She huffed a sigh, raising her hands in defeat. “Well, seems like it’s all been decided,” she grumbled. “Just point me in the direction of the firing squad, and we’re good to go.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Three hours later, Alley couldn’t help thinking she’d have been better off facing a firing squad. “I still fail to see,” she called over the roar of Stoker’s motorcycle, “how you talked me into getting onto this thing. It did try to kill me, you know!”

    He turned to her with a grin, plopping a spare helmet over her head. She recognized it as the one she’d worn when Throttle had taken her out, and a twinge of guilt shot through her. She shoved it aside, annoyed with herself. After all, it wasn’t like she and Throttle were dating or anything. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to avoid her for most of the day. She felt just a little peeved about that. What happened between them had been just as much his fault as hers, she thought grouchily. Why was he even mad about it, anyway?

    A husky chuckle piped into her ear, distracting her. “My girl here didn’t try to kill you.” Stoker sounded far too innocent. “She was just playin’, that's all.”

    Alley rapped on the back of his helmet with her knuckles. “Do I look that gullible to you?”

    Another laugh answered her. “She’ll behave herself, I promise. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.” His bionic tail coiled around her waist. It was surprisingly warm, but a lot harder than Throttle’s tail had been, the metal links pressing uncomfortably into her sides.

    She shifted. “Don’t hold on so tight. You’re gonna suffocate me,” she complained.

    “Sorry, honey. Hard to tell sometimes.” The links loosened a bit. “Better?”

    “Yeah.” She moved closer, slipping her arms around his chest as he roared out of the garage. “So, explain again exactly how taking a ride with you fits in with the plan?”

    “Your original job was to weasel information outta me without my knowledge, right?” he reminded her. “Turn my head with your ‘feminine wiles’?”

    “I guess…” she muttered, wishing she’d kept that part of Limburger’s harebrained scheme a secret. It had been embarrassing enough to admit it, especially with all the guys sitting right there, looking way too amused by the idea. And of course Stoker wasn’t about to let it go.

    “Well, it’d look pretty suspicious if you showed up at the tower with all the info he’s lookin’ for just like that,” he continued. “We need to take our time. I figure if we want to pull this off, we’d better give Limburger a show. He’s probably keepin’ tabs on us both. He sees you ridin’ around with me, he’ll be more likely to take you at your word when you finally show up and hand over the plans.”

    She harrumphed. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to get me alone with you?” she accused.

    He chortled, clearly amused. “Well … there is that,” came the sly response, and she retaliated with a hard pinch to his ribcage and a yank on his fur that made him yelp and jump in surprise. His torso shook as he laughed. “Best we save that kind of play for later,” he teased, far too amused for her liking. “This is only the first date.”

    Alley groaned and thumped her head against his back.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   They rode around the city for two hours, indulging in the age-old tradition of sightseeing, and Alley had to admit it was kind of enjoyable. She hadn’t really had a chance to explore downtown Chicago, and at night the view was exceptional, with everything lit up and glowing like a fairyland. Stoker seemed to know exactly where he was going, and she wondered how often he had been through the city to be able to navigate so easily. He drove slowly, giving her ample time to look, and eventually parked the bike, where they continued on foot.

    He led her on a walk through the streets, along the waterfront, and through a number of parks, waiting patiently whenever she paused at points of interest to snap pictures with her phone. They eventually reached a large lake with a well-lit, cobblestone path. Ordering her to take a rest, he headed for a nearby street vendor to order her a soft pretzel. The vendor did a triple-take at first sight of the large, talking mouse, but otherwise didn’t react as he intoned the amount owed and handed over the food.

    Alley mumbled a thank you when Stoker sat on the wooden bench beside her and handed over the pretzel. She watched the vendor watch them, casting furtive glances in their direction as he turned hotdogs on a spit. “I can’t believe he's not reacting,” she whispered. “Did he not notice the mousy features and antenna?”

    Stoker chuffed a short laugh. “Humans are funny that way. When confronted with the strange and unexpected, they tend to concoct rationalizations to explain it away. Maybe I’m from a late-night party or one of those costume conventions or somethin’.” He leaned in to snag a bite of her pretzel at the same moment she was about to take one, making her blink, her cheeks warming at his proximity. He winked as he sat back, chewing thoughtfully. "Of course," he continued after he'd swallowed, "pretty sure that guy’s one of Limbuger's spies."

    Alley started. "How do you reckon that?"

    He hummed. "Made brief contact when I paid him. Got a sense of unease but not a whole lotta shock. Also.” He tapped his nose. "Got a real faint whiff of Plutarkian, which means he’s been in touch recently.”

    Alley shifted uneasily. “How recently?” she muttered, glancing around.

    Stoker reached down to squeeze her hand resting on the bench between them, offering a reassuring smile. “Don't worry. It ain't that surprisin', really. Limbuger's probably got stool pigeons all over this city, keepin' an eye on things for 'im."

    Alley's appetite was suddenly gone. She sighed, handing him the rest of the pretzel. "He’s that influential? How can people work for a guy like that? Don't they realize what he's trying to do?”

    Stoker shrugged. “Money and blackmail will buy almost anyone. He's got a lot of influence in the upper-class.”

    “And by upper-class, you mean the cops and stuff, right?”

    “Sure. But not just them. Take a look. Downtown Chi Town. Gorgeous, right? But the further out you get, the worse it is. Goin' from glitz to condemned in just a few miles of pavement.”

    “Yeah. And?”

    He scratched his chin, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Well, if you think about it, the whole setup's a lot like one of those medieval kingdoms,” he explained. “All the wealth and power presides in the center of the kingdom, within the highest walls. The royalty, the aristocrats and lords … all of the ones who hold the power over everyone else all live there. Outside those walls is everyone else. The commoners who depend on the overlords for their livelihoods, who don't get much of a say in what goes on, or much knowledge that anything does go on. Even if their king is a black-hearted bastard that would sell out the entire kingdom to an enemy for a quick buck, they might not realize that until it's too late.”

    Alley thought it over, nodding slowly. “That … makes a lot of sense,” she murmured. “And lemme guess. Limburger is the king of Chi Town?” She gazed at the towering skyscraper in the distance, with two large Ls emblazoned on the side. “And that's his castle.”

    “Yep.” Stoker nodded, looking disgusted. “That ain't far off. To most of the city, he's a friggin' saint. Take a look at some o' those charity lists sometime. His name appears on almost all of 'em. But don't be fooled; they ain't donations, they're bribes, and they're what goes a long way to keepin' everyone with any influence under his thumb, and all his secrets safe.”

    Alley eyeballed the vendor again, who continued to watch them discreetly even as he served up food to two more pedestrians. The more she found out about her foe, the more uneasy she became. “So, if he really has eyes and ears all over the place, how do we know he hasn’t already figured out this is just a setup?"

    "We don't. But I figure since nobody's come roarin' up and opened fire on us yet, it’s safe to believe he still thinks you’re on his side. As long as we keep up the charade, of course."

    She glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “And just how long are we supposed to keep up the charade? I mean, we drag this out too much and he's eventually gonna realize something’s up.”

    “What, you’re not havin' fun? Guess I need to step up my game a bit. Gotta impress the lady,” he teased.

    “…I kinda think you're missing my point.”

    He chuckled, getting to his feet and offering a hand. She reached to take it, allowing him to pull her up and lead her further along the cobbled path surrounding the lake.

    They approached a large gazebo that was strung with twinkling fairy lights. A number well-dressed couples were dancing inside, with more mingling on the lawn, talking and laughing with food and wine in hand. Most likely a late wedding reception, Alley mused, watching them. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the crowd parted in the gazebo, and she caught a glimpse of white satin and lace. Strains of music reached her ears from the small orchestra playing on a makeshift bandstand, as a dark-haired man in a sleek black tuxedo crooned into a microphone.

    “Care for a dance?” Stoker asked, nudging her.

    She shot him a droll look and crossed her arms. “I dunno, Stoke. I don't usually make a habit of crashing other people's parties. It's generally considered impolite.”

    “Aw, they won't even know we're here,” he scoffed, moving closer to the gazebo. She huffed and followed him off the lit path, into deeper shadows cast by the trees. His eyes gleamed as he smiled down at her. “Don't worry, honey. I promise not to complain when you step on my feet.”

     “Uh, excuse me, sir, but I think it's your big clodhoppers we gotta be worryin' about,” she sniffed with a haughty toss of her hair.

    He laughed. “Well, seems like there's only one way to solve this disagreement, eh?” He held out his hand in invitation, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

    She hesitated, then rolled her eyes and accepted it. “Oh, why not? Lead the way, Astaire.”

    “Who?”

    An unexpected laugh bubbled out of her as he spun her into an easy dance, just as the band kicked into an upbeat version of Van Morrison's Moondance. “Fred Astaire is an old time actor. One of the greats. Not surprised you never heard of him, though. He never starred in a James Bomb movie,” she teased.

    Stoker laughed and spun her out, then in again, catching her effortlessly. Alley had to admit that she was impressed. His dancing was definitely better than she'd expected, and so far her feet remained untrampled. She couldn't say that about the last guy she'd danced with. Chaz might've been handsome, but he'd been born with two left feet, which she'd discovered the hard way at her senior prom. “I’m amazed,” she commented as the song wound down and the next began. “Looks like you’re not just talk, after all.”

     “Hush,” he scolded lightly, slowing their pace. “I’m tryin’ t’ listen.”

    She tilted her head, realizing that the new song was a cover of Bon Jovi’s You Had Me from Hello. She closed her eyes and Stoker pulled her closer, and the dark-haired singer crooned into his microphone:

    When we walk into a crowded room it's like we're all alone     Everybody tries to kidnap your attention     You just smile and steal the show

    You come to me and take my hand     We start dancin' slow     You put your lips up to my ear and whisper way down low

    From the first time I saw you it felt like coming home     If I never told you I just want you to know     You had me from hello

    Alley had heard this song dozens of times, but had never paid such close attention to the lyrics before. The melody was lovely, the words soft, romantic, sensual… It was the perfect song for a pair of newlyweds. Or two would-be lovers dancing in the shadows.

    Her heart kicked in her chest, and she was suddenly aware. Of his breath soft on her neck. Of his hands firm at her waist. Of her arms looped loosely around his shoulders, fingers buried in his soft mane, and bodies pressed so closely together that she could feel him breathing.

    H-he isn't the one I should be doing this with, she realized, uneasy. She removed her arms and slowly stepped away, gaze lowered.

    Stoker let her go, but she could feel his eyes on her; she knew that he'd sensed something, but to his credit, he didn't push the issue. “Um, w-we should probably get back to the garage soon,” she mumbled, unable to meet his knowing gaze. “I'm sure we gave Limburger enough eye candy for one night.”

    “Sure, honey. Let's go home,” he replied easily.

    When she chanced a peek at him, his expression was carefully neutral, but he reached out to snag her hand, threading their fingers together as they walked. His palm flush to hers was warm, a bit calloused, his grip firm and comforting. And she couldn't seem to make herself shake it off the entire walk back to the bike. She told herself it was strictly for appearance's sake, desperately ignoring the warm, fluttery butterflies swarming her belly.

    She was afraid to admit that she knew better.

Next

*You Had Me from Hello (c) Bon Jovi. 

[bucky-at-bedtime]

One Hell of a Mission (2/3)

Summary: You and Bucky escape to Wakanda for a weekend off, but are called in for a mission - unaware of how terribly wrong the mission will go, the two of you head back to New York, only to get caught up in an intricate plan to get a few of ‘The Avengers’ killed.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Injuries and blood and slight panic attack oh dear also a cliffhanger whoops

Words: 5582

A/n: IM SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER BUT ALSO I WORKED SO HARD ON THIS CHAPTER PLS ENJOY

(Also this fic is kind of a happy birthday fic to @movie-dates-and-choccy-shakes so Happy Birthday bby, I love you and enjoy the angst xx)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three - Masterlist

When you arrived back in New York, Bucky’s metal arm attached and your relaxed state of mine left in Wakanda, Steve and Sam were waiting to debrief you on the mission. You were thrown in pretty much immediately - helping with research and evidence until you had enough to start the mission. Monday morning rolled around, and after an almost sleepless weekend of gathering information, the four of you suited up and piled into a van. Steve and Sam sat in the front whilst you and Bucky sat across from each other in the back.

“I talked to Tony,” he mumbled, reaching across to grasp your hand in his and running his thumb across your knuckles. “Once this mission is all sorted, we’re going back to Wakanda.”

“Yeah,” you answered, watching his hands entangle with your own. “How long d’you reckon we’ll get this time? 3 days?” You knew you sounded bitter, but you couldn’t help it. The last few months had been tough and all you wanted was some time off with your boyfriend.

“He promised a month. At least.” his fingers continued to play idly with your and you couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of a month in Wakanda with him.

Moments later, the van pulled up outside a warehouse, and you all made your way out of the van. In response to a series of threats and dodgy activity, the team had done some research into a rising gang on the streets of New York. Tony had dug up surveillance footage of criminal activity in a warehouse in the city and all the evidence pointed to that being their base of operations. That’s why you, Bucky, Sam and Steve were sent to a warehouse on the edge of the city.

But, something felt off. but when you arrived, the place was empty. It seemed like it had been empty for a while, but all of the evidence was pointing here. How could you’ve been so wrong?

The building creaked and groaned around you, old bones of the abandoned building settling and rusted metal creaking in the daylight. Dust seemed to cover every surface and the air was stale, indicating months, if not years of vacancy. You felt a shiver go through your spine - like something was out of place, just a little bit wrong. The four of you decided to take a look around, just in case, and you followed Bucky down some stairs whilst Sam and Steve searched the ground floor.

The metal stairs creaked in protest as Bucky slowly descended them, You kept a hand on the gun strapped to your waist, ready to fight your way out of any sticky situation, but Bucky looked relaxed in front of you. He trusted the abandoned appearance of the building and was almost positive they weren’t going to be in any fights whilst they were here.

He looked over his shoulder, assessing your clenched jaw and the hand on your weapon. “You okay?” His eyebrow was raised in confusion, and he turned back to check another room, hand moving towards his gun. What were you seeing that he didn’t?

“Yeah. I don’t know,” you murmured, looking over your own shoulder, paranoid. “Something just feels… off about this place.”

You could hear Sam and Steve’s footsteps on the floor above you and there was the faint echo of Sam’s laughter as they searched their section, evidently more comfortable than you. You shook your head, trying to dispel the heaviness in your chest.

‘Hey, we’re done up here, you got anything?”  

Bucky lifted his metal fingers to press on the comms, doing one final sweep of the room you were in before responding.

‘Nah, all empty. I thought we had footage here?’

You began to wander in the opposite direction, towards the stairs and past a few industrial shelving units, all of them covered in as much dust as the rest of the place.

‘Yeah, so did I’ You heard Steve mumble through your earpiece. ‘Meet us outside, I’m gonna give Tony a call.’

‘Aye aye, captain.’ you mumbled, and Bucky followed you back towards the metal stairs.

You’d done a sweep of the entire place and come up with nothing, but your stomach still felt heavy with anxiety. You tried to brush it off, convince yourself that nothing was here, but the feeling persisted.

You’d be happy to get out of this place.

You reached the stairs, reaching out to grab the railing and jog up the rusted metal, but you froze in place when you heard something. A quiet ringing resounded quietly throughout the maze of empty rooms and you tilted your head, trying to get an idea of what it was.

“You hear that?” You asked Bucky without turning around, noticing that he had also stopped walking.

“Yeah,” he whispered in response, turning to view the cement walls.

You groaned quietly. “Is it a phone? Is there seriously a phone ringing right now?” you mumbled. “I swear I was just starting to believe we weren’t gonna get shot at today.”

“C’mon, we have to check this out.” he pulled his gun from its holster and started walking towards the noise. You let out a huff, but followed after him.

“Of course we do.” you murmured to yourself, pulling your own gun.

Suddenly, the basement seemed a whole lot darker than before as the two of you searched for the source of the phone call.

“Got something,” Bucky said gruffly, pointing to a door you hadn’t bothered to look behind. “Handle doesn’t have any dust on it. Ringing is coming from inside.”

You felt your stomach drop. You knew something was wrong in this place, and you were pretty sure you were walking right into some sort of disaster. You watched as Bucky pushed the door open with his foot, gun pointed into the room in case someone was in there, but neither of you was expecting this.

Behind the door, a man sat slumped in an old wooden chair. His wrists were tied to the arms of the chair and his ankles were tied to the wooden legs. His head was bowed down his shoulders hung limp. You rushed forward whilst Bucky’s eyes studied each corner of the small room. The walls were splattered with blood and a big dark stain had collected underneath the man in the chair, more blood dripped into the drain below him. Shelves had been knocked to the ground and a multitude of weapons and torture devices scattered the damp ground. When you pressed your fingers to the guy's neck, there was no pulse.

At that moment, the phone started ringing again, and you flinched slightly at its volume, cursing under your breath. The breast pocket of the dead man’s shirt was lit up from the light of a phone screen. You cursed again, hesitating to reach forward and pull it from his pocket.

“Blocked number,” you said, raising your eyes to find Bucky’s and silently asking him what to do.

“Answer it, put it on speaker.”

You nodded, pressing a few buttons and holding the phone out between you and Bucky.

‘I assume I’ve reached the Avengers?’ A voice rang out, followed by a deep chuckle.

Neither of you responded to the deep voice, rather waiting for them to continue.

‘Well, this was all too easy,’ the voice was sinister and low, full of bad intentions. You looked up, worried eyes connecting with Bucky’s frustrated ones.

‘You should’ve left us alone.’ There was a crackling noise, signalling he had hung up, and you only got a brief glance around the room before the chaos began.

Boom.

You didn’t have any time to react, the walls came tumbling in before either of you could do anything. The last thing you remembered before rubble smacked into the side of your head, knocking you out, was Bucky screaming your name.

Outside the building, Steve and Sam had been thrown to the ground with the force of the explosion, but Steve was up quickly, pulling out his phone to contact the team. Sam groaned from his position on the ground, his ears ringing as he tried to blink away the dust in his eyes, his fingers grappling with the hard ground ah her tried to pull himself up.

‘Bucky?” Steve’s voice was filled with panic, desperation lining his words. “Bucky, Y/n, can you hear me? C’mon, pal, you have to be in there.”

Sam finally looked up to find Steve with his fingers pressed to the comms, his other hand pressed to his forehead as he looked at the rubble that remained of the warehouse. His muscles were tense under the suit and he was breathing heavily, covered in cement dust.

“Y/n? Please, Y/n. Someone respond.”

Sam scrambled up from the ground, his ears still ringing as he attempted to sprint towards the rubble.

“Sam! No, stop! That entire area is unstable - we move one thing and tonnes could fall in on them.”

Sam halted at the edge of the smoking rubble, both of his hands rubbing the top of his head as he felt tears well up in his eyes.

“Do you think they’re alive in there?” The words came out shakily, quiet, but Steve could still hear them - it was the same question he had been repeatedly asking himself.

“They have to be.”

A groan escaped Bucky’s lips as he returned to consciousness. His throat was lined with dust and he struggled to clear it with a cough.

The room had collapsed around them, but the room they were in had managed to stay slightly in-tact, only half-collapsed. There was a large, heavy rock that had fallen on his chest and ribs, sending an ache through his entire torso every time he breathed.

Luckily, his metal arm was free, and he used it to push the block of cement off of him, groaning as it rolled across his body. He managed to easily brush off the rest of the rubble, groggily standing up and searching the room for you. His back was slouched underneath the crumbling ceiling and he squinted to see through the darkness.

He soon spotted you and rushed to get across the room.

“Y/n, doll, hey c’mon.” His hands were on your face, brushing away as much dust as he could from your face. He took the chance to search the room, looking for a way out and coming up with nothing. He pulled a torch out from one of his pockets, shining it across your body.

He watched as your eyes fluttered open, a series of coughs immediately escaping your mouth. Every breath you took sent a sharp pain through your body and your eyes felt as if they had been glued shut.

“B- Buck-” you broke off into another coughing fit, trying to sit up. When you were unable to move, you realised something was very wrong. “Buck, I think– I think something’s wrong.” your voice was barely a whisper.

“Building collapsed with the explosion, Y/n, my phone’s destroyed and there doesn’t seem to be a way up and out.” He explained, brushing some dust off your face. “The others know where down here. They’ll get us out.”

“No, Buck, My-my leg I think… fuck- something is wrong,” you spluttered, your loud coughs echoing throughout the collapsed room.

“Wait let me- let me get this off you.” He lifted a slab of cement off of your leg and few smaller rocks from your torso, discovering what it was that you were talking about. “Fuck,” he hissed, eyes on your right leg.

Your eyes travelled down your own thigh and your breath caught in your throat. You felt tears brim in your eyes as pain rippled through your body.

There was a segment of some sort of metal piping sticking up, a few inches above your knee. “Oh fuck, that doesn’t look good.” You threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as the pain rolled through you.

“Alright, doll, you’re gonna be okay, we’ll be okay.” He murmured. His hands were suspended in the air just above the wound, his eyes wide as he tried to figure out what to do. “Can you get to your phone?”

You attempted to breathe steady breaths and searched through your pockets, quickly finding your phone, luckily unbroken.

He quickly unlocked it, his hands shaking violently as he swiped through and attempted to call Steve. “Fuck, no signal,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. He was still kneeling in front of you, but your eyes hadn’t left the pole sticking out of your thigh and the blood escaping around it. You were positive you had a few broken ribs and every breath was a challenge.

“Bucky… I- I think I’m gonna die,” you whispered, finally looking up into his eyes. He stared down at you, a crease between his brows his eyes filled with panic and worry.

“No, no. Y/n, please don’t say that. I’m gonna get you out of here. Alive. We’ll go back to Wakanda as soon as we’re out of here.”

He helped you sit up, propping you against the wall behind you. He stood up, using the torch to search through what was left of the room.

“How long ‘til we run out of oxygen down here?” You croaked, knowing that the pile of rubble above you was cutting off the majority of your air supply.

“Long enough.”

A parade of Tony’s tech team with tools and tablets arrived in a matter of minutes, along with Tony himself. The site was suddenly buzzing with activity - different people testing different things and discussing the explosion with each other. Tony was trying to sort out their next step with Steve and Sam.

“They were -they were searching the basement,” Steve confirmed to Tony and a few members of his team, running his hands through his hair.

“We don’t know what happened,” Sam continued, shaking his head and running his hands across his face. He glanced over at Steve, whose frown hadn’t left his face since the building went down.

“That’s over 200 tonnes of rubble on top of them -  we need to shut off water and gas” one of the guys holding some sort of tablet muttered. He was tapping away on the screen, never looking up at any of them.

“Already done,” Tony demanded, walking towards the rubble. “Let’s focus on getting them out of there.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we need to know if this is a rescue or recovery.” Tablet-guy stated, finally looking up from his screen, only to see the incredulous faces of all three Avengers.

“It’s a rescue.” Steve interrupted, frown permanent on his face. “Bucky is alive down there, he has to be - and he won’t let her die.”

“Ok, it’s missed your vitals, but I gotta take it out,” Bucky mumbled, hands hovering over the piping sticking out of your leg.

You groaned loudly at his words, attempting to twist your body to get a better look. He held you still and started to tear away the material around the wound, leaving the skin around the thin piping clear.

“I have to, sweetheart. If I leave it in it could get infected - and we won’t make it out of here if sepsis sets in.” He took one more look before standing up, head crouched underneath the collapsed roof.

You watched as he lifted another large slab of cement with his metal arm, revealing a collapsed shelf that used to be filled with bottles of cleaning liquid, now scattered across the ground. He crouched down, reading the front of a few bottles before finally picking one up and walking back towards you.

“Oh god, what is that?” You squeezed your eyes shut, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“It has peroxide in it. I can disinfect the wound.”

When you opened your eyes again, he was crouched next to you, the bottle of cleaning liquid on the floor beside some duct tape, eyebrows pulled together in concern.

You let out some more shaky breaths, staring up into his eyes that were still surrounded by white cement dust.

“This is… it’s gonna be really painful. Like, really really painful. God, I wish I could take your place, doll.”

You swallowed, but nodded your head along with his words. “I gotta stay conscious, don’t I?” you asked timidly, swallowing once again when he nodded his head.

He tore away some of the material of his pants, holding it at the ready to apply pressure to the wound and then shot you another cautious look. His hands were still shaking slightly as he gripped the end of the metal, sending a mild jolt of pain through your leg. He twisted of the cap with one hand and your arm up to your mouth, biting into the material of your sleeve.

Finally, he pulled up, swiftly removing the inch and a half of metal that had been embedded in your thigh. You body jolted in pain and you bit down harder on the material, gritting your teeth. Your head stretched back and the veins in your neck popped with your strain. He poured the liquid over the hole in your leg, and you let out a guttural scream into your arm, squeezing your eyes shut as a few tears escaped down the side of your face, leaving clean stripes in the coat of cement dust.

Waves of pain tore through your body - it felt like you were going to throw up and pass out at the same time as your muscles tensed. You felt the acid rise in your throat, swallowing to keep it down before continuing your scream of pain. You vision spotted with white and you blinked repeatedly, feeling your entire body shake.

“Alright, doll, stay with me, c’mon,” he mumbled, shoving the torn material into the hole and applying pressure. “Stay with me, Y/n, need you here, alright?”

You brought your own hand up on top of the wound, replacing his and applying pressure as he picked up the duct tape and tore off a few strips. The scream had stopped and the pain from the peroxide started to fade. You were left with an ache similar to that of a bullet wound and you tried to let out a few steady breaths.

“That’s it, baby, keep the pressure on it, you can do this,” he continued to mumble, sticking the duct tape over the material in your wound in an ‘X’ shape. “There ya go.”

He looked back up at your face and his heart dropped at the sight of how pale you were. He knew he had to get you out of here alive. He knew he had to see you smile again, to hear your laugh and feel you in his arms again. He pictured you, wrapped in the orange bed sheets from his place in Wakanda and let out a shaky breath. He placed a blood-stained hand on your knee, trying to make you feel how much he loved you through his fingertips.

Above ground, Scott had arrived and was carefully stepping through the rubble with Sam, headphones connected to a device that amplified any sounds coming from inside the destruction.

Sorrow seemed to fill the dusty air above the rubble, Sam too stressed to talk and Steve and Tony too distracted for their usual banter. People had begun work, filling into stable sections to try and get access to the two trapped, but so far, no luck.

“What if they’re already dead?” Sam wondered out loud, frowning down at the shards of cement and lifting a rock with his shoe. “Somebody set them up - we should be finding out who.”

“You’re right.” Scott agreed, looking up to meet Sam’s outraged gaze, “not about them being dead - there’s no way, Barens is too stubborn. But we should be finding the guy that did this.”

Sam nodded numbly, and both of them made their way off the site, ready to take down the people who did this to their friends.

Meanwhile, Bucky had helped you sit up, running his thumbs across your cheeks to wipe away the tear stains and nodding to himself when he assessed that you were mostly okay. You were now sat on some piled-up rubble, while Bucky yelled for help, knowing that above ground they would be looking for signs of life.

It felt like days had passed in the darkness of this room and you were gently humming to yourself in an attempt to distract from the pain in your leg. In reality, only an hour had passed.

“Bucky, we’re- we’re too blocked off. They aren’t going to hear us,” you mumbled, forcing him to take a break from the yelling.

“They’re gonna find us, we’re gonna get out of here, and we’re gonna get you fixed up.” He was adamant, and his voice sounded more gravelly than usual, masked by a layer of dust - You realised it was how he sounded when he woke up in the morning.

“Y’know I always thought I would die in a fight,” you continued. “Doing something heroic, y’know?” you scoffed, letting your head fall back against the cement behind you. “I’m gonna run out of air in a hole in the ground. Or bleed out. Or starve.”

He finally turned towards you, his brow creased in a mixture of frustration and worry. Your voice was monotonous, a signal that you were giving up, and Bucky wouldn’t allow that.

“Listen to me,” he started, falling onto his knees in front of you again, pulling your hands into his and forcing you to look down at him. “They’re going to find us. Stop talking about dying because I- I can’t.” His head dropped onto your knee, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t die,” he mumbled into your leg.

“Bucky, look at me.” You shook your head lightly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “I’ve got a hole in my leg, I can hardly move - even if you could find a way out of this literal hellhole, it’s not likely that I’m coming with you.”

He lifted his head again, eyes wet with oncoming tears as he shook his head back at you. His fingers tightened around your hands as he searched your eyes for any sign of hope or optimism. He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth before speaking. “I’m not leaving you here. I’m not leaving you down here and you’re crazy if you think I am.”

“Buck–”

You stopped speaking when you heard a vibration from beside you. Both of you turned to where your phone was face-down beside you, eyes wide with shock. You reached over and flipped it, only to see Steve’s name flashing across the screen.

“Steve- Steve’s calling… oh my god-” You fumbled to answer the phone, putting it on speaker immediately. Bucky was still on his knees in front of you and you held the phone between the two of you, one hand still enclosed in his.

“Steve?” Bucky questioned, excited to hear his best friend’s voice. He looked up at you, brow still creased with worry, but eyes filled with hope as Steve spoke.

“Bucky? Are you okay? Is Y/n okay?”

“I’m okay! Steve, I’m here too, I’m okay.” You felt your throat clogging up with tears as you spoke. “We’re okay.”

You could hear his shaky breaths through the phone and you could picture the look of relief on his face.

“How’d you get onto us? There was no signal?”

“One of Tony’s gadgets - boosted the signal. Where are you guys?”

“We were in a- uh a maintenance room in the basement - there was a guy tied to a chair down here - tortured. His phone rang-” you broke into a cough before continuing “-and the voice on the other line said our names. He said “This was all too easy,” and then, whe– when he hung up, the whole place exploded.” You rushed the words out, trying to give him as much information as possible. Bucky reached forward and took the phone from your hand, standing up as tall as he could in the small room.

“Steve, wait, Y/n is hurt - pretty bad.” he glanced at your shaking leg and the blood that had started to seep out onto the cloth. “She’s losing a lot of blood, probably a few broken ribs. You need to get us out of here.”

“We’re trying Buck - the rubble - it’s all extremely unstable. They make a wrong move and everything will collapse onto you.”

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, turned grey from all the dust. “Steve - we’re running out of oxygen down here.”

“How long does she have?”

“Steve-”

“Bucky. How long?” He interrupted, needing an answer.

“An hour. Two at most.”

When the words left his mouth it felt like a bullet hitting your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut and felt a shiver run down your spine. For a moment, you allowed the fear to consume you and your blood ran cold with it. The collapsing room felt as if it was closing in on you and it already felt like you were out of oxygen - like every breath you took was just dust and your lungs were filling with it, overflowing with it.

You drew in a shaky, painful breath and brought your hands up to your face, blocking out the walls that were suddenly closing in. You were suddenly wondering if your ears had filled with dust too, as you could no longer hear the phone call - the sound of your echoing heartbeat filled your head.

And then you felt the chill of Bucky’s hand on your neck and jaw. It shocked you back into reality and air rushed into your lungs - the dust was still there, but it no longer consumed you. You pulled your hands away from your face and gripped his metal forearm. Your eyes opened, immediately finding his. The blue was a distraction - tricking your brain into ignoring the claustrophobia as your eyes tunnelled on his and the walls were no longer closing in.

“Darlin’, stay with me,” he murmured, his thumb swiping across your jaw, “stay with me, c’mon.”

His eyes never left yours as he spoke, allowing you to come back to the moment without rushing you. “Think about the weekend, alright? Think about Wakanda and the goats - what’re the goat’s names? Can you tell me their names?”

“Uh…” you swallowed thickly, briefly shutting your eyes and thinking back to the weekend you had spent in Wakanda with him.”Uhm, there was… there was Izz- Izzy. And Junior - you named them after the- the Howling Commandos.”

“That’s it, a few more,” he prompted, pushing the hair from your face.

“Oh god, uhh- Rebel and Pinky and um–” you paused opening your eyes again to look at his, filled with worry and encouragement. You weren’t sure if it was because you were delusional or because of the blood-loss, but you felt a giggle bubble in your throat as you remembered the last name, but it came out as more of a cough. “Dum-dum.” you finished, letting out a chuckle, “you named a goat Dum-Dum, you- you huge fucking dork.”

“There she is.” he pressed his forehead to yours a slight smile on his lips at your words. “That’s my girl.”

He stayed with you until your hands stopped shaking, asking you more questions to help you focus. Within a few moments, your hands had stopped shaking and he pulled away, standing up and surveying the room around you.

“Alright, I’m getting us out of here.”

“Buck, Steve said if we move anything, it could all collapse.” You huffed, struggling to stand us.

“Well, I can’t just sit here and watch you die.” He turned back to you, directing you to sit back down.

You squeezed your eyes shut again at his words.

“I’m sorry… I just… I have to do something.” he mumbled, carefully examining the wall of rubble to your left.

There were a few moments of silence as Bucky carefully moved some rubble, careful not to cause any collapse. He’d moved further into the opposite side of the room and as he moved each block of cement, you could feel your heart speeding up.

“I’m gonna blow it up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m gonna blow it up - a contained explosion. I just need something to contain it,” he pointed at a hollow metal cylinder of some sort on the other side of the room as you continued to gape at him, “and some sort of explosive.”

“Are you being serious? Oh god, you’re being serious.”

“Trust me - I know what I’m doing. Worst case scenario, everything collapses on us and we die.”

“Great. Honestly - fantastic.” You shook your head in disbelief, mumbling the sarcastic words under your breath as he picked up the container.

He flipped open one of the many pockets in his vest, pulling out a grenade and carefully beginning to disassemble it.  “Hold this.” He passed the metal cylinder to you.

“I don’t want to hold anything,” you mumbled, staring at him with apprehension.

“Just hold it.”

You took it from him and held it as still as possible as he emptied the contents into it. The sound of shaky breaths filled the air and your eyes flickered up to watch him. His forehead was creased in concentration, lips pursed as he held the metal between his flesh fingers.

“Ok,” he stated. You could tell he was trying to sound confident but the way he was avoiding eye contact told you that he was far from it. “Stay here, I'm gonna- I’m gonna light this. Seeing as the explosion has direction - and we’ll be behind it - we should be okay.”

You don’t respond, eyes still traced on the explosives in his hands as he moved across the room. His hair was matted with dust and sweat and if you looked close enough, you could see his hands shaking. He slotted the cannister up between some cracks in the cement, attempting to find the perfect position.

“Bucky- Bucky wait.” He turned to watch you struggle to stand up and you stumbled in his direction, a hand over your wounded leg. “Just- please just wait a second.”

He walked back towards you, his arms outstretched, ready to catch you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you in close. You buried your face into his neck, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes and inhaling deeply. You could feel the blood rushing to your leg and dizziness hit you for a moment but you squeezed your eyes shut and took a few deep breaths, ignoring the nausea.

“Is this gonna work?” you asked quietly, eyes still closed.

The room was already warm but his body heat filled you with comfort and soothed your frantic heart. The sound of your breathing filled the air and you felt his fingers run down your spine. The two of you were covered in dust and blood and sweat, tangled together in the middle of a collapsed maintenance room, buried under tonnes of rubble and cement. Two days ago you tangled together in a bed on a quiet cottage in Wakanda. You wished you had stayed.

“I don’t know.” His lips pressed to the top of your head and he closed his eyes, trying to remember what it felt like in that bed, with you in his arms, the sun shining through the window. With his eyes shut, this could almost feel the same.

He lifted his head when you started to pull away and his hands found your face. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe a tear from under your eyes and you saw his eyes shining with his own tears. You pulled yourself up, avoiding putting any pressure on your leg and pressing your lips to his.

It was a desperate kiss - an unspoken promise that it wouldn’t be your last.

You pulled away and he helped you stumble back to your seat before repositioning the explosive pole.

“I love you.”

You swallowed and squeezed your eyes shut. “I love you too.”

“Tony - we know where they are now, how have we not started digging them out?” Steve walked towards the man in question, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as dust still covered his hair and beard.

“There was a stability problem. My team is getting it sorted now, we should have them out in 2 hours.” Tony didn’t look up from his tablet, directing his team and controlling different machines throughout the rubble with the touch of his fingers.

“We don’t have two hours Tony - Y/n isn’t going to make it that long.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, his forehead creased with frustration.

Tony looked up, sensing Steve’s distress and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, she will Steve. She has to. Bucky will find a way to keep her alive.”

“Tony, what if he-” Steve was cut off when a loud bang filled the already-destroyed site, a cloud of dust escaping the cracks in the ground. Tony’s tech team scattered away from the explosion, but Tony and Steve raced towards it.

“Hey! Get over here - we need a medic!” Tony called, desperately trying to see through the smoke.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three - Masterlist

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[splattershotsundae]

Better Eight Than Never --- Chapter 20: Pipe Dream

Jill tapped her foot impatiently as she leaned against the rim of a small fountain outside Arowana mall. They’d been waiting for almost 20 minutes, and she was beginning to worry that they’d missed her when Stacey walked out through the double doors and into the sunlight, her team right behind her.

”There she is!” Jill said, then frantically waved. “Stacey! Stacey!”

Stacey seemed taken aback, quickly turning to her squad. “Hey, I gotta deal with this, we can chill tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, of course!” The Aerospray RG known as Agatha said, punching Stacey in her arm. “See you tomorrow when we win the tournament!”

“Byyyyeee!” Bobby chimed, skipping as he headed off to the train station.

Finally Tyson whispered in Stacey’s ear before following the others, casting an uneasy glance back.

“Okay, what’s up?” Stacey asked, stepping forward to meet the Sundaes, setting her splatling down at her feet. “Something tells me this isn’t just a chance encounter. Where is she?”

“She’s in here.” Bato said, pulling the backpack off of his shoulder. “She’s developed a fever, she couldn’t run this morning.”

Stacey peered into the bag. “Run?”

“Yeeeeah.” Jill nodded, flashing a sheepish smile. “Have you gotten any messages from 1&2 today? Stuff’s gone… wrong.”

Stacey glanced around. “We can’t talk about this here!” She hissed. “I live nearby, come on.” She scooped up her splatling, then started down the street, nodding her head a little as she walked.

Jill gave Simon a bit of an awkward smile, then followed after her, trying to seem cheerful, all the while feeling dread gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She popped an extra root beer barrel she’d looted from Bato into her mouth, letting the flavor reassure her.

“Well, here we are.”

Stacey’s apartment complex stood before them… and it wasn’t what you’d consider ‘good’ either. A few buildings that looked almost like four-story motels stood before them, ramshackle and worn. One of the doors on the third floor was covered with a tarp and caution tape.

“… It looks lovely!” Jill said, biting her lip at her obvious lie.

“Thanks-” Stacey said. “-but you can be honest you know.”

“You really live here?” Simon muttered. “You’re so renowned.”

“We manage.” Stacey said, leading up the stairs to the second floor, and hefting her splatling with one arm to open the door to her apartment. “Make yourselves at home while I get my gear on.” She said, beckoning the others to come in. “My dad’s not going to be home for a few more hours.”

Jill strode in and took off her boots, taking note of a kitchen immediately on the right, and a living room straight ahead. There was an old sofa that had seen better days, as well as an armchair off to the side, a coffee table in front of them that was covered in newpapers and dirty dishes. A potted plant stood in a corner by the window, near doodles and art from years past that were taped to the wall. A few framed pictures rested on the entertainment center, around a rather nice LED TV. There were two doors to the left, and one door to the right, which Stacey entered. She guessed that was probably her room.

A moment later Stacey came back in, zipping up her agent vest. “Can you close the curtains?” She asked.

Simon nodded and complied, plunging the room into mostly darkness.

“Now… I don’t want… ‘Hachi’ listening to us, so she can use my C-pod.” She said, holding it up along with her headphones.

Bato nodded and set the backpack down, letting Hachi out. She took the headphones gingerly and slipped them on, but once she started listening her tentacles began to coil around the earpieces and she began to relax.

“Alright.” Stacey nodded. “Now we can talk.”

Jill nodded and took a deep breath. "Ok, well, I sort of visited the plaza this morning, because we were supposed to go greet with the sisters, but there was a delay. So instead, I talked to Toda, and we agreed we'd meet up at Humu mall and have some fun. But when I got on the train this suspicious guy fallowed me, and I quickly realized he was an octo guy.--”

“What sort of octo guy?” Stacey interrupted.

“Well he… had lots of scars, was tall, buff, tentacles tied back with plants and had a mask that had lots of little lines like this?” Jill said, holding her finger horizontally and tapping four times down her face.

“Shit.” Stacey cursed. “Orion… Okay, what else?”

“Well… I texted Toda, asking for him to come and help, and he called me and I tried to give as casual of info as possible, but he caught on and when I was going to try to leave the train he grabbed my arm and made me hang up. We rode for one more stop and got off, and I got a small chance to text Toda and tell him I was ok, and he said he'd come look for me, and the Octo took me to this creepy old abandoned store and shot me in the arm with the same sort of thing Marie was shot with and used my phone to text the others and-" She had to gasp for air at the rate she was talking, feeling a little light-headed. "-He started to hold me hostage in exchange for Hachi when Toda burst in and tried to save me but ended up getting captured instead, and the octo, Orion, had Hachi's mask and he said to give it to her so she could send this official not-dead thing and-"

"Wait, you didn't let her do that, did you?" Stacey asked. "Please tell me you didn't even let her know you had it..."

Jill’s ears pulled back. “Whoops...”

Stacey began to rub the bridge of her nose.

Bato cast a brief irritated glance at Hachi, who was now sitting on the couch. “We were told that she couldn't tell them anything by just sending that one form... and I needed to use the mask to try and get the bullet out of Jill's arm without it blowing up, and I couldn't do that without her giving me access to it."

“But she lied.” Simon added.

Stacey groaned. “They have a tracking feature in those masks, they know where she sent that message from, they could have followed you here!”

Bato ran a hand over his tentacles, grimacing himself. "... That's not the only issue." He said. "When she sent the form, she also told them the sisters' identities... and that the four of us have met Yuri, which is apparently pretty important to them."

“You guys really have my work cut out for me, don’t you?” Stacey asked, slumping into the armchair, looking exhausted already… Jill realized that this made a lot of sense, she’d been fighting all day already, and now she was beginning to feel a bit guilty for bugging her… but they hadn’t exactly had a choice. "They had to have raided the warehouse. 1&2 could have gone to check if an alarm had been set off, who knows where they are now...” Stacey continued, trying not to look distraught as she pulled out her squid-shaped communicator and sent out a message.

Jill swallowed. “Do you think they’re okay?”

“No idea...” Stacey said. “But continue.”

“… So they took Toda away… and they want us to go to the old factory tomorrow to trade Hachi for him...” Jill said.

“But that's not soon enough." Simon said. "Toda got some messages out, they're hurting him.’It’s bad’, is how he put it."

Bato nodded solemnly. "He managed to tell us where they're keeping him, or at least a vague description; Hachi says that she knows where it is, and how to get in... and so we're planning on going to get him. That's the other reason why we came to find you, we need your help."

“And you really actually trust her with that?” Stacey asked.

“No” “Not at all” “Not in the slightest” The sundaes all said at about the same time.

"They have safe houses all over the city." Stacey said. "She could be luring us into a trap. No, she's definitely luring us into a trap."

“Oh!” Jill said. “Simon was thinking about ways to bind her, maybe--”

“It’s not going to be enough.” Stacey interjected. “Octolings are escape artists by nature, their tentacles can fit into much smaller spaces than you’d think they could. Remember when she unlocked the handcuffs?”

Simon huffed. “Yes.”

Bato sighed and folded his arms. "You're right, there is most likely a trap, but we don't really have a choice; there's very little chance that they would really let Toda go tomorrow, especially now that they know about our involvement with Yuri. If we don't try to find him..."

"It's very unsettling, knowing what they're probably looking into..." Stacey said slowly.

"You're telling me." Simon muttered.

"But you're right, they're not going to let him go.” Stacey admitted. “And we risk them finding out something new every minute he's there. I'm not saying he'd spill, but there are other things they'd want... It may not be a question of getting him back tomorrow, as much as him living through today." She looked down at her phone was she got a message on her communicator. “… They got Callie.”

Jill gasped, hand flying up to her mouth. “Oh no…”

“Captured right? Not dead?” Simon asked hurriedly.

“Captured.” Stacey nodded. “Marie’s going after her…” She took a deep breath, then stood up. “Okay, we should get going, the sooner I help you, the sooner I can help find her. This is Marie’s number...” She said, writing it down on a post-it note and then handing it to Jill. “Text her if something happens.” “Wait, give me your number too!” Jill said. “In case something happens later!”

Stacey nodded and wrote down on a separate post-it. “Simon, can you get the duct tape? It’s in the kitchen.”

Simon nodded. “To tie up her tentacles with?” They asked.

“Yep.” Stacey said, while writing something which appeared to be a note to her father.

Bato held up the decepticon backpack. “Hachi, time to go… Hachi?” He lightly tapped her shoulder when he got no response, causing her to go into a defensive position. “Whoa! It’s okay!” He quickly reassured.

Hachi slowly lowered her hands. ��… IS THERE A WAY TO TURN THIS DOWN!?” She shouted.

Jill squeaked, then giggled. That was actually rather cute.

Bato reached over to help her turn the volume down. “Can you get back in the bag?”

“… Fine...” Hachi huffed, transforming and slipping back into the bag.

“Alright, I think we’re ready to go.” Bato said, shouldering the backpack.

Stacey nodded and stepped outside, headed toward the stairs. “Alright, so how many octolings are at this place, do you know?”

"Toda said there were two around there that he knew about, soon to be three; one of them is the one that was at the underpass." Bato said.

“Another elite...” Stacey murmured. “We’re going to have to be very careful.”

"What does that mean?" Jill asked.

“Elites are well… elite. Their tentacles are black and they wear kelp.” Stacey explained. “They’re some of the best in the military. The one from the underpass is Oz. He’s cunning, and loves trying to blow people up.”

“What about the other one? Orion?” Jill asked.

Stacey paused. “He’s merciless on the battlefield, you can’t overpower him. He’s stopped dozens of my operations, and put me near the brink of death on several occasions… I ended up having to take his eye, even then I only barely made it out alive. If he’s there… then our best plan is to get in, grab Toda, and get out… But this last person… they have to be equal or better in skill… this is more than just a squabble over a zapfish.”

“A zapfish?” Simon asked, eyebrow raised.

“It’s a long story.” Stacey said. “A long long story...”

"Two elites, and most likely a third..." Bato frowned. "What is so important about ‘him’, and us having known him, that's so important to them?"

Stacey stopped and turned to look at three of them. “I want you to think about this for a second. What would happen if you replicated this process?”

Jill gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. “OH.” She said. “No… No nono…”

Simon rested one end of their roller on the ground, hands trembling. “I… I-I can’t stop to think about this, we need Toda, now.”

“Agreed.” Stacey said. “Every second they have Toda the closer they get to being able to do this again. Let’s move.”

The train ride was…. Uneventful. This almost made Jill happy, aside from the fact that it gave her more of a chance to think about what had gone wrong, and how much her arm still hurt. At least she was pretty sure it would heal in a few days… Bato seemed just fine. But she’d kept her hand on her weapon the entire walk over to the hardware store. “Okay… this is the last place I saw him...” She said, ears drooped. “There was a smoke bomb, so I didn’t see exactly where they went...”

“Alright.” Stacey said. “Let out Hachi.”

Bato nodded and set the backpack on the ground before opening up the sides, and a moment afterward Hachi slipped out, changing form and rubbing her eyes tiredly.

“Put my headphones around your neck.” Stacey said, then took out the duct tape. She proceeded to take the front tentacles and bring them around to the back, using the tape to tie them together, from the tips upward, and then finally taped them down to the back of her shirt. She then wrapped the back tentacles under the front ones and repeated the process on the front. “There. That’s the best way I’ve come up with to secure tentacles. Let’s get your wrists for good measure...” She added, finishing up with the taping.

Hachi scowled and attempted to move her tentacles, but really just succeeded in moving her shirt.

“… It works a little better when they’re wearing armor, but what can you do?” Stacey shrugged.

“It’s still not bad.” Bato said, nodding a little.

“I guess you can lead the way now, Hachi.” Jill said, trying her hardest not to feel bad for Her. Of course, she was mad at her too… But this had to be stressful for her.

Hachi gave a little huff, then crossed the street and ducked into an alleyway.

“I almost wish we could tie up her feet too...” Bato said quietly as he began to follow. “She has a pretty mean kick.”

“How mean?” Jill asked, tilting her head slightly at the question.

"Mean enough that she gave me a pretty good bruise when she got me in the chest yesterday." He replied.

"Is that how she distracted you so she could try to get away?" Jill asked.

"No..." Bato replied, looking a little sheepish. "That was after she got out of the building."  

"Then how did she do it?" Jill asked, frowning in confusion.

Bato sort of glanced away, his ears starting to change color. "She, um, pretty much just said to look behind me. And I did." He muttered. "I really don't know what I was thinking."

Hachi burst with laughter, leaning against the wall of the alley from the severity of it, and Jill found herself unable to hold back a snort. “Really?” She asked.

The rest of Bato's face was starting to follow his ears' example. "I wish I was." He muttered, looking pretty embarrassed.

"I'm sorry." Jill said, trying to hold back more laughter. "I shouldn't think that's funny."

He shrugged, smiling a little himself, though his face was still flushed. "I suppose that isn't the worst way I could've goofed up."

“Ahem.” Stacey interjected. “We need to keep going.”

“Sorry…!” Jill giggled, then glanced at Hachi, who was struggling to shake off a wave of coughing. “… But shouldn’t we wait for her to catch her breath?”

“The less breath she has, the fewer ideas she’ll be able to come up with.” Simon pointed out, pulling their scarf so far up their face that it covered the bottom of their goggles a little.

“That’s one point.” Stacey said, then walked over to her to help her stand up straight. “Let’s keep moving.”

“Hey Stacey?” Simon asked.

“Call me Agent 3 out here.” She replied.

“Agent 3, what exactly is your plan of attack?” They continued.

"If there's any chance at stealth, take it, if not, we make due." She replied.

“That’s it?” Jill asked, frowning.

“It’s not like I know the layout.” She said. “We’re lucky we have a way to get here at all.”

“Wait, what’s that?” Simon asked, pointing up ahead.

Jill leaned to see, then gave a short gasp as she saw a teal-colored hat laying on the ground.  “That’s Toda’s!”

Bato swallowed, then stepped forward, scooping the squidvader cap off the ground. “… He’d never just leave this here...”

“There’s a trail of ink.” Stacey said, following the smears up to a wall. “… He must have tried to escape. On the bright side… we’re here.”

“Are you sure?” Jill asked, frowning. “Toda said something about a winking brick. I don’t see that.”

Stacey turned and looked at the opposite wall. “… This?” She asked, pointing at a brick. “That’s not a winking face. That’s a worn interpretation of the octoling flag. This is the place.”

“Give me my mask.” Hachi said. “Then I’ll open the door.”

“One thing first.” Stacey said, pulling out the duct tape and placing a piece over Hachi’s mouth. “Just so you don’t blow our cover.”

“Mmph!” Hachi protested.

“I’ll help you get it on.” Bato said, slipping Toda’s hat into his pocket in exchange for the mask, and began to help Hachi get it on. It looked awfully tight, now that it had to go over her tentacles, but it still fit regardless.

Jill drew her Splattershot Pro, taking a deep breath as she felt its comforting weight in her hands. But what was she going to do with it? If she attacked the octolings with it… they’d splat and die… she couldn’t do that… What could she do? She’d just get in the way.

She didn’t have much time to make a plan though, as Hachi leaned forward and opened the door. Stacey darted inside, splatling whirring, and she followed her inside.

The room was quiet… it felt a little too quiet, and as the doors slid shut behind them, it got rather dark. This place was too small to be undetected… maybe this was the wrong place?

As a bomb rolled into their midst, she realized that it was instead an ambush. “GET DOWN!” She shrieked, diving to the side to avoid the explosion of purple, her gun skittering out of her grasp. The room became a flurry of movement, Stacey was firing her splatling at a corner, and then a table, Hachi was ripping her duct tape gag off her mouth and screaming, and Simon was grabbed from behind, a glint of a metal blade showing against their neck.

“Simon!” Jill yelped, scrambling to grab her Splattershot Pro.

“Nobody move!” Orion said firmly. “Or else this wimp dies.”

Jill froze, hand on her gun’s grip. It wasn’t fair… It wasn’t fair… She just had to watch as Hachi bit the tape off her wrists and then grabbed Bato’s brush from him, and as Oswald came out from under the table and put a gun to Stacey’s head.

“All of you drop your weapons and show your hands.” Orion said.

Jill hesitated, then let go of her gun and stood up, fingers trembling as she put up her hands. Simon’s roller fell to the ground, and Stacey set down her heavy splatling gingerly.

“This is your fault isn’t it?” Bato hissed angrily to Hachi. “You told them we were outside.”

“What did you expect?” Hachi asked. She had a point.

“’Ey, siren.” Oz said, raising a containment tank. “Best be gettin’ in ‘ere, eh?”

Stacey gave a sigh before squidding and letting herself be contained in the tiny tank.

Everything had went so wrong so quickly… Jill glanced at the table next to her as if it would hold an answer to this predicament. There was a metal pipe… She’d just need an opening… Which Simon would then provide. They headbutted Orion in the chin, then grabbed the knife from him and started keeping him at arms length.

“Go Simon!” Jill shouted, then grabbed the pipe and some random object off of the table, shoving the latter at Bato. “Take this!” She said, charging at Oswald. “These are wire cutters!” Bato yelped.

Jill felt a twinge of guilt, but had no choice but to keep going, yelping as Oz pulled out a strange splattershot and began to fire at her. She squidded and jumped under the table, only just avoiding sticking in Stacey’s ink. She waited a split second before bouncing out and swinging the pipe at Oswald. “FOR TODA!”

“Woah!” Oz said, stepping to the side and grabbing Jill’s tentacle. “Heh, gotcha girlie!”

Jill squeaked, then swung the pipe at Oz’s knee, then turned and bashed him in the head, knocking him to the ground. She snatched the gun from him and tossed the pipe to the side, letting the gun’s tank fill with her ink before pointing it at Oz. “Gotcha, boyo.” She huffed, trying to keep her voice from shaking. That had been intense… She looked up and cringed when she saw that Orion had pinned Simon to the ground and had them in a similar position to Oswald, a gun pointed at their head and a foot on their chest. She and Orion made eye contact, then quickly glanced at Bato, who had somehow managed to get Hachi at brushpoint.

“Ha!” Jill exclaimed triumphantly. “It’s 2-1, let go of my sibling!”

“Not quite, Missy…” Oz grunted, putting his finger on a button on the top of the containment tank that held Stacey. “Tha tank’ll flood wit ink if I press this button. Ya don’t want tha, do ya?”

“… O-Okay, 2-2...” Jill squeaked.

“We’ll just have to compromise.” Orion huffed. “You let go of Ozzy, then I’ll let go of this brat-” He dug his heel into Simon’s chest. “-as well. We’ll each keep one prisoner.”

Hachi squeaked, her jaw quivering.

Jill glanced at Simon, then at Bato, finally she looked down at Stacey. Was she… going to have to leave her to be taken underground? If it meant saving Simon...

Stacey’s gaze was firm, and determined, she gave as big of a nod as she could manage.

Jill felt a surge of guilt. “I-I’m sorry.” She whispered, then lowered the gun and stepped away from Oswald.

Orion kept true to his word, and let Simon up, but kept his gun trained on them as he began to limp back toward the door.

Oswald hopped to his feet, flashing a bit of a grin, and began to back toward the door, but his expression seemed… forced. In fact as he stepped through the door his expression changed to a frown. “… Wai, wha ‘bout--”

The doors slammed shut.

Toda and Bato are Knitter’s characters

Simon, Jill, Hachi, Orion, Oz and Stacey are Shuckle’s characters

Splatoon belongs to Nintendo

Please consider liking or reblogging if you enjoyed, it’s nice to know we’re doing things right.

Shuckle has a patreon if you would like to provide additional support!

[<PREV] [INDEX] [NEXT>]

[sailorrrvenus]

I Set Up a Sting Operation and Caught the Thief Who Stole My Camera

Like many professional photographers, my main camera is a bit of a beast. A Fuji X-T2, usually with a big lens, and always with a battery grip on it. It’s a bit big to go traveling with, and although it’s not as big as my Nikon D600 and grip that I used to use, it still warrants the travel/side-arm camera I bought in the D600 days.

That camera is a delightful little $1,300 Fuji X100T from 2014, which I purchased with a tele-conversion lens (TCL-X100) to bring the 35mm equivalent FOV up to 50mm (my preferred focal length).

I take that X100T everywhere with me. Across the city, across the province, across the country, or across the world, it’s been from Berlin to Spain to Florida to Mexico to small little towns in the interior of my province. Frankly, it sort of blurs into the background of my life, and just goes everywhere with me, so when I did a short 4-hour drive to visit a friend in early October, and of course my trusty X100T came with me.

The Fujifilm X100T

The Burglary

Upon our arrival in the small town of 90,000 we were visiting on a warm Friday evening, my friend Tyrone and I stopped at a restaurant for some beers and a burger. We are from a big, relatively safe city nearby, so we thought nothing of leaving all our things that we’d traveled with inside the trusty black SUV that Tyrone drives. It’s got an alarm, it’s parked right in front of the restaurant, and we’re right in downtown in a well-lit area, what could go wrong?

We returned to the truck after dinner, and shortly after driving away I noticed that my new BlackBerry KeyTwo was missing… Had I dropped it when I got out of the car earlier this evening? We returned to the street we had parked on, and I searched everywhere… no luck. I checked Find My Device, and it showed the same spot- either the device wasn’t checking in, or someone had picked it up and turned it off. Well, phone gone. Ok, sh**ty, but probably my fault, but it’s a work phone so not the end of the world.

The next morning, I get a call from Tyrone asking if I saw his backpack or perhaps brought it in with me (we were staying at two different places). Nope, hadn’t seen it, are you sure you brought it? He was certain — he had gotten something from it when we made a pit-stop on our way out here the previous afternoon.

Uh oh. The thought finally sank in that someone had stolen my phone, and his backpack, which had his iPad, work laptop, and some expensive jeans in it.

We started researching how hard it was to jimmy his model of car — apparently not that hard. This wasn’t good… then it struck me: my camera! I quickly searched the car, and the sinking realization set in that after we had returned back to the spot we were parked yesterday, I had put sunglasses into the exact space my camera had previously occupied in his car’s console… we had been burgled.

The count came up to: Tyrone’s backpack (worth about $80), some assorted socks, underwear, and T-shirts (cumulatively about $60), his jeans (in the $300 range), his iPad, his work laptop, my work blackberry, and my camera… all told, about 6 grand worth of stuff.

Saturday afternoon now, after the Friday night theft, Tyrone phoned in the police report and logged it all in as much detail as we could. Our day was pretty listless after that until that evening, when Tyrone got a call from the local police saying they had recovered his backpack and with it a bunch of our stuff. iPad, work laptop, and work blackberry, all found with a guy that was hanging around another guy at a Tim Hortons who apparently was waving a gun around. Sadly, no jeans, and no camera.

We returned home, I unhappy, and he only marginally better — he loved those jeans, and I certainly don’t need to say how much it sucks to have your camera stolen, even if it is just your travel camera.

The Search

The next month was spent scouring craigslist for any mention of a Fuji camera. In fact, the town was small enough that I could show ‘all for sale’ on craigslist and just scan through the newly added items to see if I recognized my camera among them. No luck.

Having effectively given up, and realizing my camera was probably being used and enjoyed, I began searching for something new. Something small — a Fuji, no doubt, but something older-ish (and thus cheaper), and with interchangeable lenses so it could share lenses with my X-T2.

I exhausted craigslist’s options pretty quickly and thought maybe Kijiji (a craigslist competitor) would have some different options. I popped open Kijiji, and hit Photo + Video, before realizing that I was on the entire province Kijiji, not localized to my city. Whoops! I scrolled a bit to try to change that, but before I did, something caught my eye: my camera.

Oh, it was mine, alright — I could tell from a first glance. That absurd tele-converter lens with a bulbous piece of round glass sticking out the front, the dust and specks in all the right places. Yep, that’s my baby!

A crop of the photo in the Kijiji listing.

To say I freaked out is a bit of an understatement. I sent the link to some friends, and all agreed that the timing was too perfect — it had been listed about a week and a half after the theft. However, the oddest part was not the timing but the fact that the camera was described as having a “fisheye lens”! Anyone who knows the X100 series of cameras knows that there are two screw-on lens attachments for this camera, and two only: a tele-conversion lens and a wide-conversion lens. The wide looks quite normal, and the tele looks like a goddamn fisheye!

The Fujifilm Tele Conversion lens.

I sent a text to my new friend, whom I’ll call Mark. I was casual, checking in to see if the camera was still available. I explained I was busy with family stuff that day (not wanting to reveal I was traveling cities for it), but that I could come by the next afternoon. He said someone else was coming by that evening to look. Oh really? Your post has been up for 2 weeks and as soon as I ask, someone else is coming to look? Sure.

I offered a case of cheap beer if he held it for me, saying it was for my girlfriend’s birthday and the price was good enough to throw that in. He agreed.

I told Tyrone, we planned our trip, and the next morning we set out.

On our way back to this lovely little town, we gave our friends at the local Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) detachment a call and asked for some assistance.

“Yeah we can’t really do much — we can advise you not to go to meet the person but our presence in a squad car is probably going to spook them. You’re on your own!” That’s more or less the gist of the conversation I had. It ended with me passing on the phone number of the person I was communicating with, in the off chance that it was in their system.

30 minutes after my conversation with the RCMP, we got a ring back. Turns out that some people are stupid enough to continue using the same phone number for multiple illicit activities, and this character was known to police and was known to be dangerous. Remember that guy with the gun from before? Yeah, perhaps the same guy…

We became a bit nervous, but the police immediately said they would like to help set up a sting. And so, a plan was put in motion. I would continue communicating with the seller, we were to arrange a public meet-up spot, and we would communicate with the police when the seller had arrived.

The sting was set for 5 pm at the tables in front of a local, not-too-busy McDonalds. The air was a dry cold, and it was already dark out… a perfect night for revenge. Tyrone and I pulled up a few minutes early, and little ways away, in his black SUV, hoping the seller wouldn’t recognize it as the car the camera was stolen from a month prior.

We waited for about 10 minutes before a 20-something guy dressed as how the seller had described himself pulled up to the tables from the other side on an expensive mountain bike. I texted my officer friend that he was there, and a ghost car that had been sitting a little further from us started to silently drift forward.

The car approached the seating area, with our sticky-fingered friend sitting casually on a table, with his bike just off to the side. Suddenly the area was lit in red and blue as the ghost car lit up and two officers popped out, guns drawn, and demanded that Mark freeze and that he was under arrest.

I’ll tell you what: Mark did no such thing. He bolted, alright. Gone around the corner, with an officer on foot giving chase, the other whipping the car around, and suddenly two squad cars appearing out of nowhere and flying off in the same direction.

We fired up Tyrone’s truck and hauled off in the same direction, a quick corner later and we saw a great sight: three squad cars with their lights ablaze, standing in front of them were a half-dozen officers, many with guns that were certainly larger than would be necessary for this situation. And at the very front, pressed up against the side of a dingy motel, while a woman looked on from a nearby doorway.

Our dear friend Mark had come all this way to so kindly return my camera to me.

Thanks, Mark!

About the author: Mr. Greenshirt, who wishes to remain anonymous, is a photographer based in Canada. The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author.

source https://petapixel.com/2018/11/16/i-set-up-a-sting-operation-to-catch-the-thief-who-stole-my-camera/

[pauldeckerus]

I Set Up a Sting Operation and Caught the Thief Who Stole My Camera

Like many professional photographers, my main camera is a bit of a beast. A Fuji X-T2, usually with a big lens, and always with a battery grip on it. It’s a bit big to go traveling with, and although it’s not as big as my Nikon D600 and grip that I used to use, it still warrants the travel/side-arm camera I bought in the D600 days.

That camera is a delightful little $1,300 Fuji X100T from 2014, which I purchased with a tele-conversion lens (TCL-X100) to bring the 35mm equivalent FOV up to 50mm (my preferred focal length).

I take that X100T everywhere with me. Across the city, across the province, across the country, or across the world, it’s been from Berlin to Spain to Florida to Mexico to small little towns in the interior of my province. Frankly, it sort of blurs into the background of my life, and just goes everywhere with me, so when I did a short 4-hour drive to visit a friend in early October, and of course my trusty X100T came with me.

The Fujifilm X100T

The Burglary

Upon our arrival in the small town of 90,000 we were visiting on a warm Friday evening, my friend Tyrone and I stopped at a restaurant for some beers and a burger. We are from a big, relatively safe city nearby, so we thought nothing of leaving all our things that we’d traveled with inside the trusty black SUV that Tyrone drives. It’s got an alarm, it’s parked right in front of the restaurant, and we’re right in downtown in a well-lit area, what could go wrong?

We returned to the truck after dinner, and shortly after driving away I noticed that my new BlackBerry KeyTwo was missing… Had I dropped it when I got out of the car earlier this evening? We returned to the street we had parked on, and I searched everywhere… no luck. I checked Find My Device, and it showed the same spot- either the device wasn’t checking in, or someone had picked it up and turned it off. Well, phone gone. Ok, sh**ty, but probably my fault, but it’s a work phone so not the end of the world.

The next morning, I get a call from Tyrone asking if I saw his backpack or perhaps brought it in with me (we were staying at two different places). Nope, hadn’t seen it, are you sure you brought it? He was certain — he had gotten something from it when we made a pit-stop on our way out here the previous afternoon.

Uh oh. The thought finally sank in that someone had stolen my phone, and his backpack, which had his iPad, work laptop, and some expensive jeans in it.

We started researching how hard it was to jimmy his model of car — apparently not that hard. This wasn’t good… then it struck me: my camera! I quickly searched the car, and the sinking realization set in that after we had returned back to the spot we were parked yesterday, I had put sunglasses into the exact space my camera had previously occupied in his car’s console… we had been burgled.

The count came up to: Tyrone’s backpack (worth about $80), some assorted socks, underwear, and T-shirts (cumulatively about $60), his jeans (in the $300 range), his iPad, his work laptop, my work blackberry, and my camera… all told, about 6 grand worth of stuff.

Saturday afternoon now, after the Friday night theft, Tyrone phoned in the police report and logged it all in as much detail as we could. Our day was pretty listless after that until that evening, when Tyrone got a call from the local police saying they had recovered his backpack and with it a bunch of our stuff. iPad, work laptop, and work blackberry, all found with a guy that was hanging around another guy at a Tim Hortons who apparently was waving a gun around. Sadly, no jeans, and no camera.

We returned home, I unhappy, and he only marginally better — he loved those jeans, and I certainly don’t need to say how much it sucks to have your camera stolen, even if it is just your travel camera.

The Search

The next month was spent scouring craigslist for any mention of a Fuji camera. In fact, the town was small enough that I could show ‘all for sale’ on craigslist and just scan through the newly added items to see if I recognized my camera among them. No luck.

Having effectively given up, and realizing my camera was probably being used and enjoyed, I began searching for something new. Something small — a Fuji, no doubt, but something older-ish (and thus cheaper), and with interchangeable lenses so it could share lenses with my X-T2.

I exhausted craigslist’s options pretty quickly and thought maybe Kijiji (a craigslist competitor) would have some different options. I popped open Kijiji, and hit Photo + Video, before realizing that I was on the entire province Kijiji, not localized to my city. Whoops! I scrolled a bit to try to change that, but before I did, something caught my eye: my camera.

Oh, it was mine, alright — I could tell from a first glance. That absurd tele-converter lens with a bulbous piece of round glass sticking out the front, the dust and specks in all the right places. Yep, that’s my baby!

A crop of the photo in the Kijiji listing.

To say I freaked out is a bit of an understatement. I sent the link to some friends, and all agreed that the timing was too perfect — it had been listed about a week and a half after the theft. However, the oddest part was not the timing but the fact that the camera was described as having a “fisheye lens”! Anyone who knows the X100 series of cameras knows that there are two screw-on lens attachments for this camera, and two only: a tele-conversion lens and a wide-conversion lens. The wide looks quite normal, and the tele looks like a goddamn fisheye!

The Fujifilm Tele Conversion lens.

I sent a text to my new friend, whom I’ll call Mark. I was casual, checking in to see if the camera was still available. I explained I was busy with family stuff that day (not wanting to reveal I was traveling cities for it), but that I could come by the next afternoon. He said someone else was coming by that evening to look. Oh really? Your post has been up for 2 weeks and as soon as I ask, someone else is coming to look? Sure.

I offered a case of cheap beer if he held it for me, saying it was for my girlfriend’s birthday and the price was good enough to throw that in. He agreed.

I told Tyrone, we planned our trip, and the next morning we set out.

On our way back to this lovely little town, we gave our friends at the local Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) detachment a call and asked for some assistance.

“Yeah we can’t really do much — we can advise you not to go to meet the person but our presence in a squad car is probably going to spook them. You’re on your own!” That’s more or less the gist of the conversation I had. It ended with me passing on the phone number of the person I was communicating with, in the off chance that it was in their system.

30 minutes after my conversation with the RCMP, we got a ring back. Turns out that some people are stupid enough to continue using the same phone number for multiple illicit activities, and this character was known to police and was known to be dangerous. Remember that guy with the gun from before? Yeah, perhaps the same guy…

We became a bit nervous, but the police immediately said they would like to help set up a sting. And so, a plan was put in motion. I would continue communicating with the seller, we were to arrange a public meet-up spot, and we would communicate with the police when the seller had arrived.

The sting was set for 5 pm at the tables in front of a local, not-too-busy McDonalds. The air was a dry cold, and it was already dark out… a perfect night for revenge. Tyrone and I pulled up a few minutes early, and little ways away, in his black SUV, hoping the seller wouldn’t recognize it as the car the camera was stolen from a month prior.

We waited for about 10 minutes before a 20-something guy dressed as how the seller had described himself pulled up to the tables from the other side on an expensive mountain bike. I texted my officer friend that he was there, and a ghost car that had been sitting a little further from us started to silently drift forward.

The car approached the seating area, with our sticky-fingered friend sitting casually on a table, with his bike just off to the side. Suddenly the area was lit in red and blue as the ghost car lit up and two officers popped out, guns drawn, and demanded that Mark freeze and that he was under arrest.

I’ll tell you what: Mark did no such thing. He bolted, alright. Gone around the corner, with an officer on foot giving chase, the other whipping the car around, and suddenly two squad cars appearing out of nowhere and flying off in the same direction.

We fired up Tyrone’s truck and hauled off in the same direction, a quick corner later and we saw a great sight: three squad cars with their lights ablaze, standing in front of them were a half-dozen officers, many with guns that were certainly larger than would be necessary for this situation. And at the very front, pressed up against the side of a dingy motel, while a woman looked on from a nearby doorway.

Our dear friend Mark had come all this way to so kindly return my camera to me.

Thanks, Mark!

About the author: Mr. Greenshirt, who wishes to remain anonymous, is a photographer based in Canada. The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author.

from Photography News https://petapixel.com/2018/11/16/i-set-up-a-sting-operation-to-catch-the-thief-who-stole-my-camera/