#(i have been cautioned away from AO3 but i have also been encouraged to join. hopefully salt and light will make it a friendlier space)

[queenlucythevaliant]

Alright, you guys, the #salt and light tag has convinced me. I'm gingerly stepping into the frightening quagmire of AO3. You can find me there under the name queenlucythevaliant, same as here.

[the-hidden-writer]

And Into The Fire

Chapter 4: A Not-Quite-Plan

Summary:

Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

A Not-Quite-Plan

An agent came running into the office just as Mark was about to take a sip of his coffee.

“Ma’am! We’ve got into #009181987!”

Agent Ward turned off her tablet and stood up immediately.

“About time!” She snapped. “Come on, Dr Bowman, this is where we need you.”

He barely had time to grab his coffee cup as she practically dragged him toward the door by his hoodie.

Ever since they’d locked onto the missing Pal MAX bots, Agent Jennifer Ward and her team had pretty much taken control of Pal Labs. Or at least the headquarters where Mark worked.

He’d spent the past week or so locked in his office with the scary Agent Ward herself. The tall woman had ordered him to come into work every day despite the complete CIA take-over of his company, just to keep up pretences for the public. And he also needed to be kept under supervision at all times for some reason. He was basically a prisoner.

Oh well. At least he had WiFi.

After pulling him out of his office (freedom at last!) Agent Ward led him down the stairs to the main work area, which was a large room filled with rows of computer desks.

At the very back of the room were two large screens on the wall. These were usually used for advertising and announcements, but recently they’d served another purpose.

Displayed on each screen was a status. Before now, they’d said the same thing. But for the first time in weeks, one was different.

Pal MAX #012041966 Status: UNRESPONSIVE

Pal MAX #009181987 Status: ONLINE

“Online?” Mark wondered aloud. “So you actually got into it, huh.”

Agent Ward scoffed. “Of course we did. Don’t doubt my team, Dr Bowman. Especially Agent Travis here.”

As if on cue, the young agent that had come to tell them the news before came rushing in through the door behind them, and almost glided straight into the wheelie chair next to the computer he’d been working on.

“Actually, we got through a couple of times.” Travis explained, huffing slightly from having to run. “But we got kicked out before we could change anything. This is the first time it looks stable and ready to be edited.”

“Well, these robots are based on AI.” Said Mark. “They’re not as simple to take down as ordinary machines.”

“Trust me, we know.” Agent Ward sneered. “That’s the reason we’re in this mess to begin with.”

She turned to her team, who all had their fingers poised over their keyboards ready to begin typing. “Delete any excess data and then start to rewrite the functional coding.” She ordered.

“Rewrite?” Mark had been under the impression that they would just delete it all to stop the robots for good. That’s what they were trying to do, right? “I thought-”

“Yes, rewrite. Anything more is classified.”

One of the agents raised their hands. “Uh, Ma’am? All the data here looks pretty messed up. Most of its data’s been built onto the errors presumably caused by defects, we have no idea what it actually does. There's words liked 'brother', 'mother'-”

“Do I need to repeat myself, Barker?”

Even though it wasn’t aimed at him, Mark couldn’t help but gulp at the way Ward was glaring at the poor agent.

“No Ma’am,” mumbled Barker, “sorry, Ma’am. We’ll start the rewrite.”

~-.-~

The three of them raced into the room with Monchi following close behind, probably because he was intrigued by all the commotion.

Linda didn’t want to believe it. Her robo-boys being sick was one thing, but fighting each other? That was truly unbelievable. They would never.

But unfortunately, it was just as Aaron said.

Deborahbot was kneeling on the bed with his back to the door, repeatedly hitting Eric’s screen by alternating between using the clenched fist of one hand and the open palm of another. There was a “clunk” sound with each impact, and Deborahbot showed no sign of stopping.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed incredulously.

The bot’s head turned 180° to face them but he did not cease the attack on his brother.

“Mother! Other Mitchells!”

“What are you doing?!” Demanded Rick, aggressively pointing at the bot in the bed. Aaron gripped onto the back of Linda’s pant leg in fear.

“I am more defective than my brother.” Deborahbot stated matter-of-factly, his calm voice sounding quite scary compared to the current violence he was inflicting. “I thought if he was more defective like me, he would be himself again.”

Rick waved his arms in annoyance. “That’s insane!”

“Deborahbot, stop hitting your brother right now.” Ordered Linda.

“Ok!”

Linda felt a small stab of guilt in her heart. Since they’d joined the family, they’d all tried their hardest not to order the bots to do anything. By phrasing things the wrong way, their programming would make them obey commands mindlessly, whereas the Mitchells just wanted them to be themselves. The longer the pair of them went without being given an order, the more their individual personalities shone through.

Deborahbot released Eric and stepped away. Two seconds later, once the command had been completed, he held out a warning hand to the family.

“Wait, Mitchells, stop!”

Linda was about to open her mouth to ask why, only she first noticed the movement on the bed.

Movement. On the bed.

Under the blanket, Eric looked like he was shivering. Or, more accurately, vibrating. The screen that had been full of color before was now its usual black self, and his red marker face was visible again. The only indication that anything was wrong was that the small LED in the corner of his screen was flashing an array of different colors.

“What’s happening to him?” Aaron asked from behind her, and Linda nodded to encourage Deborahbot to answer.

“I do not know for certain, but I think that the infiltrators have successfully entered my brother’s system.”

“You’re speaking normal again.” Commented Rick, though his cautious gaze was fixed on Eric, as if he would spring up and attack them at any moment.

“That is why I came to that conclusion.” Elaborated Deborahbot. “They have stopped attacking me, so they must be focusing more on him.”

Unlike earlier, Linda drew up the courage to approach Eric in the bed. His shaking was growing ever more violent by the second, and without Deborahbot keeping him down it was only a matter of time before he fell off the bed completely.

She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and made her voice as soft and calming as possible.

“Eric, honey?”

“Dear, be careful.” Rick warned from behind her but she chose not to listen.

“Can you hear me?”

It didn’t seem like he was going to respond. Feeling defeated, Linda was about to turn to ask Deborahbot what to do next when a voice spoke up.

“User recognised: Linda Mitchell.”

Eric’s voice was even more distorted than Deborahbot’s had been to the point where it was nearly unrecognisable.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Linda, get back!”

Linda understood exactly why her family was scared. The bots had never, not once, called her by her actual name. To not hear “Mother!” come out of Eric’s metaphorical mouth alarmed her, but still she couldn’t bring herself to step back.

“Brother?”

In a similar situation, the bots never called one another by their given names. It was always “Brother”. It only made them seem closer to one another in a way that the Mitchells themselves couldn’t be.

“Unknown user. Verify”

Aaron approached them with caution, one hand automatically searching for his mother’s own. She clasped it tightly.

“It’s like he’s gone back into robot-mode.” Said Aaron.

Linda squeezed his hand in agreement. Out of the two, it was Eric that always seemed more closely related to all the other Pal MAX bots for some reason. Still, Eric was their Eric, and not one of the mindless machines that tried to blast all of humanity into space.

Then a high-pitched whine echoed throughout the room without warning, causing the Mitchells (and Deborahbot, who mimicked them a second later) to cover their ears from the terrible noise. Monchi began to bark.

Once it died down, Rick frowned and used two fingers to massage his temple. “What the-”

“B-Brother!”

Rick snapped his mouth shut and all heads in the room turned to Eric, who was now sitting up straight on the bed.

“Brother!” Deborahbot called back in relief.

Eric's head twisted to face the three extremely shocked Mitchells.

“Mitchells!” Eric cried dramatically, his words accompanied by a more familiar glitch. “You are in danger. Pal Labs is taking over our systems, and it’s only a matter of time before-”

“I already told them all that.” Deborahbot interjected.

“Oh.” Eric muttered softly. “Aww.”

It put Linda a little at ease to see her boys’ dynamic return so quickly. That must mean things were getting better, right?

“Brother, what should we do?”

Deborahbot had always been reliant on Eric for decision-making. Linda had no idea how the bots managed to form such a human-like sibling relationship.

“They’ve already gotten to me.” Said Eric, solely addressing Deborahbot now. “It’s safer if you power me off until they stop. If you wait a while and they don’t, then you might have to go to Pal Labs and stop them yourself.”

Linda’s immediate thought was: No. She was not going to turn off her boy.

“How do we know if they’ve stopped?” Asked Rick.

Eric glitched before shrugging. “My brother might be able to tell you, but-”

He was interrupted by the return of the high-pitched whine. This time, Deborahbot did not cover his ears.

A few seconds later, Eric’s voice was distorted again.

“Status: online. Location-”

He did not get to finish his ominous speech as Deborahbot had quickly moved toward him and placed his hand under Eric’s head. After a few short seconds Eric’s screen went completely black with only his marker face remaining as he fell back onto the bed.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed in outrage. “Tell me you didn’t-”

“He told me a plan.” Deborahbot said nonchalantly. “First I had to power him off, then-”

“Yeah, we heard.” Scoffed Rick. “But that’s not really a proper plan.”

“It’s a start.” Aaron piped up. “I don’t really know what’s going on but I think the bots have it better together than you do.”

Linda bit the inside of her lip. She did not like how Deborahbot switched off his brother without permission. They were technically under 18 and therefore not adults, so Linda felt responsibility for their wellbeing and safety. She tried her best to keep quiet to avoid snapping at him.

“So... what now?” Asked Rick.

Deborahbot took a moment to look at his brother before turning to face the Mitchells again.

“I don’t want to wait.” He said blankly. “So I think that we should go to Pal Labs and tell them to stop now.”

Comments make my day! :)

[klave-fucktober]

Klave Fucktober Fest - Info Post

Hello Party People, the Hargreeves’ birthday is nigh and what’s a better present for our lovely Number Four (and us) than getting him and his main squeeze thoroughly wrecked? Without further ado...

Welcome to Fucktober! A prompt fest dedicated to creating mature fanworks for The Umbrella Academy pairing of Klaus Hargreeves/Dave Katz.

Details under the cut…

Cool! So, who is it that’s hiding behind the curtain?

Your fest runners for this event are CriseCardiac (@thistlemoth) and Teddy  (@yeah-klave), just a couple of friendly neighborhood smut enthusiasts dying for some content in these dark, dark interseasonal times. Any questions, you can find us on tumblr or, more often than not, hanging out in Elliott’s House.

Okay, how does this work?

You can submit a prompt here from now until September 17th. The submitted prompts will be posted on September 19th, on which day claiming will open and participants can begin working on their submission(s). Multiple claims are allowed on prompts, and you can claim as many as you want. Collabs are great! We don’t want to be restrictive – the idea of this fest is to encourage as much smutty Klave creation as possible: we want ALL THE SMUT.

Once you have completed your work, you can either: (1) add it to the AO3 Klave-Fucktober Collection - “Klave Fucktober 2021″; and/or (2) submit it to the Klave-Fucktober tumblr page. The AO3 Collection will go live on 30 October and any works submitted to the tumblr page will also be posted at intermittent times throughout the day on the 30th October, and, depending on the number of entries, the following days.

Alternatively, you can post your work to your own tumblr, however, if you’re doing this, we ask that you don’t post your work until 30 October, please. If you’re posting to your own tumblr, please remember to tag your work #fucktober. Also, if you tag either @klave-fucktober, @thistlemoth or @yeah-klave, one of us will reblog on the official fucktober tumblr page.

Please note, if you are creating nsfw art, you must adhere to the rules of the site you are posting your work to.

What can I prompt?

It’s a free-for-all baby! Want to see Klaus and Dave having sweet, sticky Saigon sex? Prompt it! Want to see them getting down and dirty in the jungle? Prompt it! Modern AU lazy Sunday morning lovemaking? Angsty, post-argument make-up fuck? Gender-swapped klave (i.e. our lovely Klesbians) princess/stable girl illicit love affair? Office co-workers enemies to lovers? Sex dungeon? Semi-public? Trans? Threesome? Moresome? Full on orgy? First time? Prompt it, prompt it, prompt it!!

So, in summary, as long as Klave is the main pairing and it involves some form of sex, you can prompt anything and everything. This could be as simple as a particular kink or you could submit a detailed scenario. Whatever you’ve been craving, this is your opportunity to get it out to potential nsfw Klave content creators.

Are there any exclusions?

No rape and no underage, please. And absolutely no kink-shaming.

Can I submit a prompt if I don’t plan to contribute?

Of course. As a prompt fest, there’s no commitment. Often the prompts are a gift in themselves. Your prompt may inspire something wonderful – so please, prompt away!

What can I create?

Anything you want, as long as your creation is in some way fucktastic! Write something, draw something, use those graphic-design-is-my-passion skills. Know some songs you think the boys would get down and dirty to? Make a playlist! All fannish talents are welcome and encouraged. We’re here for a fun, adult time together. Go wild.

As a note for fics: there are no word count restrictions. You can write a sexy bite-sized drabble or a slow burn epic where all that antici-- pation and build-up doesn’t come to a tingly, pulsating climax until chapter 10. Multichapter fics do not need to be completed within the fest window.

I’ve made a claim but I’m afraid I won’t finish my submission on time. What happens now?

No worries, it happens! Neither of us will run screaming after you in the night. Claiming is mostly to give us an idea of what to expect and allow your potential audience to get excited about what might be to come. Allowing multiple claims means you can be as ambitious as you want without preventing other submissions.

If you change your mind about a claim, decide to fill a different prompt instead, create something that hasn’t even been prompted, post only the first chapter, post later than the fest window – that’s all fine!

I’ve never created anything nsfw before – I’d like to participate but I’m nervous about the theme.

This is not an exclusive environment. We know there are many smut veterans out there who will be eager to participate in this event, but we also want to use this as an opportunity to encourage as many new participants to get involved as well! Whether you’re new to creating nsfw content for this pairing, or just new to creating nsfw content at all – we would LOVE for you to get involved!

There’s no getting around it, posting smut can be very daunting. Maybe you’ve always wanted to create something nsfw but have always felt too exposed or nervous to post it? Maybe you’ve created something in the past but have always thought it was not good enough or not sexy enough to share? To all you lovely people, we beckon you over, throw our arms wide and invite you to join the smut club.

Smut comes in all shapes and sizes and styles. Just like kinks. Just like people. Everyone has different tastes and preferences – there is no right or wrong way to create smut. What works for one person might not work for another, but that’s part of the fun of it!

So whatever your previous smut experience level, we would love for you to take part. And remember, if you’ve got any questions, concerns or you just need a little positive encouragement, you can always reach out to one of the event runners – we’re very friendly and we’re both smut-writers, so we’d be happy to chat with you. Feel free to drop us an ask or a DM.

Any warnings?

This is an open prompt fest, where just about anything goes, so please be aware of this when reading prompts and fills.

We ask our creators to tag all works accordingly, so nobody gets any nasty surprises, i.e. any potential triggers, unusual kinks or non-klave pairings (particularly any sibling ships). However, we caution everyone to read/view/participate at their own risk.

I am underage, can I participate?

Sorry, but no. This is a smut fest, 18+ only please.

The Timeline

Sept 4th -  Prompting begins

Sept 17th (noon PST/ 7pm UTC) - Prompting ends

Sept 19th (midnight PST/ 7am UTC) - Claiming opens

Oct 30th (Devil’s Night) - The revelry, I mean posting, starts!

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter One ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: G

Word count: 2100

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you like!**

A/n Thanks for the love on the prologue <3 also, this is the first time I’ve scheduled a post, so please let me know if something looks weird!

Translations: Av-‘osto = Don’t be afraid // Odúlen le natho = I’m here to help you // Pedil edhellen = do you speak Elvish

I was right — the peace deserts me instantly.

A sharp pain pierces my chest, my lungs ache, and my brain throbs inside my skull. A man leans over me. His long, dark hair tickles my neck. He is beautiful and smiling, but I do not know him. Fear quickens my breath. I try to jerk away from him, but he keeps a firm pressure on my shoulders, holding me in place. He meets my wide, panicked eyes with calm, reassuring ones of forest brown.

“Av-‘osto. Odúlen le natho.”

What? I shake my head at him, fear temporarily making room for confusion. The words he speaks, which had proven so irresistible when I was under the weight of the water, now sound only strange and indecipherable.

I stare at him, uncomprehending and very much on my guard.

His brow furrows, and, when he speaks again, it is with a note of hesitation. “Pedil edhellen?”

“I don’t think she does.” Another voice—confident, commanding—comes from my right. I turn my head just in time to see a tall man in peculiar armor slide off his horse. He takes quick strides towards me, then crouches near my side. “What is your name?”

I find myself momentarily silenced by his proximity, as well as his eyes. They are a clear ice blue—beautiful, depthless—but cold and calculating. They hold none of the warmth the other man’s eyes do, only suspicion. As much as I don’t like behind held to the ground by him, I turn my head, searching for the deep, honest brown I met upon awaking.

He meets my gaze with a soft smile. “Do not feel fear, we are not here to harm you. We found you unconscious and alone near the river, and stopped to help.” His voice is light, unsure, and strangely accented, placing emphasis on the wrong part of the words, but I am pleased that I can understand him now. As if to illustrate his point, that I am not in danger from them, he releases his hold on my shoulders and allows me space to sit up.

“Slowly,” he cautions. “I worry you have hit your head.”

That would explain the pounding. I grimace, supporting myself on my forearms, and turn my head to observe my surroundings. It’s all very green and brown, I suppose, though vibrant, not at all like the waters I found myself trapped under. Tall grass, puddles of mud, a river behind me. I see no roads or signs to indicate where I am.

The man to my right answers my unspoken question. “You are near the Gladden Fields on the bank of the River Anduin.” I recoil. None of those words mean anything to me. I search my mind, trying to conjure up an image, a memory, anything that would give me context as to where I am.

But I come up blank.

“I will ask you again,” the man continues. His voice is hard, completely devoid of patience, and though I don’t exactly want to, I find myself turning my head to look him in the eye. “What is your name?”

Well, that answer, I know. “Cosima. What’s yours?” I raise an eyebrow, unable to stop myself from challenging him a little. I don’t like his attitude, how he acts like he doesn’t have the time to deal with me. He is the one who stopped, after all.

“So she does speak,” an amused voice remarks from over the shoulder of the brown-eyed man. I jump, not previously noticing the two others—blond like the man to my right—who sit high atop large horses.

Okay, that doesn’t seem right.

Fragments of memory come to me, brief flashes of tall buildings, busy sidewalks, and honking yellow cars.

America.

The name comes to me just as my own did—suddenly and detached from other clues. I piece together what I can, and am left with only the feeling that this is wrong. There should not be deserted, untouched land, nor men in armor who travel on horseback.

I should not be here, I realize. Wherever ‘here’ is….

The blond to my right stands, and I shrink back, intimidated by his height. The sword at his hip and the bow on his back make me even more wary.

“I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien. The ellon to your left is Baranor, a healer respected by the Lady herself. The ellyn on horseback are Rumil and Orophin—my brothers, and wardens of our realm. Where do you come from? Were you traveling somewhere?”

I don’t recognize half the words he says. Their language and phrasing is unfamiliar to me, which gives me reason to believe that I am not in America. My limited worldview expands slightly, and I become aware of the existence of other countries, vast seas and expansive continents. A theory begins to take form. I must be in another country. Perhaps I was traveling, and hit my head, and now I’ve gotten separated from my group. Though, I don’t have any memory of a group…perhaps I will remember them in time. I did hit my head.

Haldir clears his throat impatiently.

“I…think I’m from America. Do you know if I’m close? Or at least which country I’m in?

For the first time, I see the irritation in his eyes break, giving way to something akin to concern. “You are in Arda.”  

I wrack my brain, searching for anything that even remotely sounds like Arda. Africa? Armenia? Nothing helpful comes to mind.

Baranor, still crouched at my side, brings a gentle hand to my temple, brushing his fingers lightly over the tender skin. He notices my wince, and turns back to Haldir. “She definitely hit her head. Her mind is not fully with us…I think that, as she heals, she will speak with more sense.”

“Excuse me,” I huff, annoyed at his assessment of me and them talking as if I weren’t here. “You’re not exactly making much sense, either.”

Haldir purses his lips but gives no other indication that he’s heard me. He turns to his brothers and the three of them engage in quick conversation in that language I do not know.

I keep the three of them in the corner of my eye—just because they haven’t hurt me yet doesn’t mean I should let my guard down—and catch Baranor’s attention. “I can’t remember much—anything, really.”

He nods, looking at me with clinical concern. “I guessed as much. You remember your name and seem to have some idea where you are from, even if I do not recognize the realm. It’s better than nothing—encouraging, even. I believe your memories will return to you with time.”

That’s something, at least.

The one called Rumil hops off his horse and swaggers up to me, crouching low like his brother did. “Are you human?”

I recoil. What kind of question is that? “Of course I’m human.”

He shakes his head, a coy smile on his face. “Do not say, ‘of course’. There are many races in this realm, some much more interesting than the race of men.”

I swallow, pieces of information that I’ve gathered since waking clicking into place.

I don’t want to ask.

Asking might mean confronting, and I’ve only just woken up. I’m not ready for that.

But I have to. Because I’ve woken up in an unfamiliar place with people who don’t speak my language, don’t seem to know anything about the existence of my country, travel on horses, wear armor and, Rumil has just tilted his head to the side, revealing an ear that comes to a point. I bring my hand up to my own ear, checking. Yep. Not pointed.

A sinking feeling settles in my gut. I gather what courage I can. Just ask. There’s probably a perfectly normal explanation. Maybe they’re playing a trick on me. “Are you…not human, then?”

His teasing smile never falters and he gives a sort of mocking bow. “No, my dear lady. You have the pleasure of encountering four of the eldar. We are elves from the realm of the Lady Galadriel. We have been here long before the time of man, and we will be here long after.”

This is ridiculous.

I push myself to stand, Baranor rushing to help. The world sways before me, and I wilt against the cool surface of his chest place. He holds me awkwardly—trying to keep as much distance between us as possible while still supporting my weight.

“I’ve hit my head,” I mutter, trying to fight through the fierce onset of dizziness and nausea. “I-I’ve been in some sort of accident, or had a strange reaction to medicine. Or maybe this is a bizarre dream, and I will wake up and laugh at myself and all this will have been in my imagination, or…or…” My breathing quickens, and I bring a hand to my forehead. My hand is so cold. Is it meant to be that cold?

I pitch forward, and Rumil darts a hand to grip my shoulder and keep me in place. His teasing smile disappears, and he turns to Haldir, looking alarmed. He calls out in that unknown language, and I can’t help but roll my eyes, though the motion makes me feel worse.

“Come on, you’re in my dream, so you can at least speak a language I understand!”

Baranor twists to study my face, his frown deepening. He joins the indecipherable conversation.

“Not you, too,” I whine, glaring accusingly at him. Stupidly, I had already come to see him as a sort of ally. All four of them ignore me which is quite rude, considering they’re obviously talking about me. Their discussion grows heated—they’re arguing.

Dark spots dance in my line of vision and I groan, wanting to lie down. Baranor tightens his grip around me, and his voice rises in volume. Does he have to be so loud?

Haldir barks out something that sounds very much like an order, and I focus long enough to see him mount his horse. Rumil releases my shoulder, sparing me the quickest of looks before returning to his own steed. Before I can process what’s happening, Baranor uses his grip on me to guide me towards the tall chestnut stallion.

I guess his intent.

“No!” I begin to fight against his hold. “I don’t want—”

“Hush now, it will be alright,” he soothes, his hands tightening on me as I try to get away. “We do not know of the realm you speak, but we are on a journey to a trusted friend—a wise friend—who may be able to help you. We will take you with us.”

I go stiff in his arms, weighing my options.

I have no reason to trust his word. But they haven’t hurt me yet, and the fact remains that I have no idea where I am. I probably wouldn’t fare any better on the riverbank. I don’t have food, or supplies, or a map. And traveling with them would allow me to see more of the landscape. Maybe we’ll pass a city, and I can sneak away. And from there…

Well, that’s a problem for later.

So, resigned to my situation for the time being, I nod. Baranor gives me a look of relief—I imagine he has no desire to lift a kicking woman onto a horse—and releases my shoulders to kneel and lock his hands together. I don’t particularly like heights, and this animal is much too tall for my liking, but everything about this day has been absolutely insane. I may as well get on the unpredictable beast. Baranor pushes on my foot as I pull on the horses’s mane. A second later, I’m sat firmly on the animal, Baranor in front of me. I look down to see how high up I am—a clear mistake, especially given the dizziness that hasn’t quite receded—and immediately wrap my arms around Baranor’s stomach. It’s difficult, given the armor he wears, but I manage, seeing as it gives me extra insurance that I won’t go tumbling to the ground.

“Get my attention if you feel faint,” he murmurs, taking the reins in his hands. “There is a canteen of water near your right foot if you get thirsty.”

And, before I can contemplate if I have the core strength to reach for the water and stay on the horse, we’re off, racing along the riverbank and leaving behind any chance I have of turning back.

A/n Thanks for reading! As always, comments, likes, and reblogs are so appreciated. Let me know if you would like a tag! See you on Thursday with Chapter Two :)

|next part - to be posted|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw

**Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you -- check your settings! 

[thewatermelloncat]

Disorganised Closets (Rosé)

Jan, Denali

Summary: Again Denali finds Rosé in an unexpected place, only this time their roles are reversed.

Author’s Note: This work is a part of a three pieces series covering characters facing struggles of the LGBTQIA+ community. These works are not intended to assume anyone’s sexuality (please remember these are fictional characters) or experiences (because everyone’s will be different). Also please read the warnings and with caution because the angst potential comes heavy with such matters. Sending love ❤

Warnings: PANIC ATTACK

Read on AO3

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

Denali didn’t normally drive after dark but tonight she decided to take a detour after skating practice, cruising around her old neighbourhood where her family had moved from a little over a year ago.

On a Friday night a few people were out on the streets visiting friend’s places to watch the sports matches on TV or catching up for drinks after work. It was a clear sky which made for nice driving under the moonlight and Denali decided to head to one of the parks she used to frequent to watch the stars.

Turning the corner, she passes a large group of people milling around a backyard, vaguely remembering one of the seniors at her school lives there. Glancing at the property as she drives past, she recognises a few faces of the celebrating class, having finished the last of their exams at some point that week. She smiles to herself as she speeds up a little, thinking how that will be her the next year.

Nearing her destination her eyes fixate on the road ahead until she sees the colour of pale pink hair catching the moonlight. She double takes, then triple takes before she slams on the breaks, pulling over to the side of the road.

“Rosé?” she immediately hops out of the car and rushes over to her. Wondering why the girl is sitting on the side of the road in the dark, knees pulled to her chest and huddled against a rock feature wall all alone.

“Denali?” Rosé looks up at the familiar voice but her expression shows that she is second guessing whether Denali is really there. Her voice is shot from crying and tears spill down from her eyes.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Denali rushes, the questions blurring together. Reaching a hand out to put on her shoulder.

Rosé doesn’t give an answer other than sniffling and half-heartedly attempting to brush her tears away.

For a few moments, Denali lets them stay in silence before she stands up, holding her hands out to Rosé. “Come on, I’m going to take you home.”

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

“There are some tissues in the glove box” Denali offers as she starts the car and pulls away from the curb.

Rosé doesn’t respond to it, pulling her sleeve up onto her hand and pressing it against her lips. Maybe not seeing the point of drying her tears as more continue to flow.

Concern pulls the corners of Denali’s lips down. She’s never pictured Rosé as a crier and remembers Jan making jokes on multiple occasions that she doesn’t have any emotions. So, to see her breakdown this much or to cry at all is definitely something Denali never expected to see.

Though she will have to unpack that all later since her first priority is getting Rosé home.

Denali drives them along, the roads as familiar as the back of her hand. Making a point of not sparing Rosé sideways glances to give her a sense of privacy. It isn’t until she registers the quiet sobs turning into irregular gasping breaths, that she looks over to Rosé.

“Breathe, Rosé” she instructs in a kind but firm tone.

Rosé nods and she tries to take a deep breath in, but it gets choked in her throat as well.

Witnessing Rosé keep on slipping, Denali barely thinks before pulling the car over again. Without a word she gets out of her side and makes her way over to the passenger side. After opening the door, she leans over to unbuckle Rosé’s seatbelt since she is too weak and unfocused to release the button herself and helps her out. Hoping that the fresh air will do her some good.

“I’ve got you” Denali assures as she wraps an arm around Rosé’s waist to help her along.

There is a park bench not far away but Denali knows that Rosé won’t make it, so she lowers her to the grass at the edge of the footpath. Crouching down in front of her, she takes one of Rosé’s hands to hold to her chest. “Breathe… Breathe with me… Nice and slow” she encourages between deep breaths.

She tries to stay calm but she can’t help but worry as Rosé shakes as she gasps for breath. Hoping that she can’t feel Denali’s heart racing beneath their shared touch.

“This is all you, Rosé” she reminds her, absentmindedly tracing her thumb across the back of her hand. “Let’s see if you can hold the next few.”

Faintly Rosé nods and Denali feels a rush of relief that she is listening. They breathe together, Denali calmly listing instructions which Rosé follows until she can breathe evenly on her own.

When she’s satisfied that Rosé is under control, Denali relaxes her grip on her hand, removing it from her chest but not letting it go.

“I’m sorry” Rosé says faintly, her voice barely audible.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for” Denali assures her, squeezing lightly at her hand.

She feels Rosé’s grip tighten slightly as she tries to squeeze her hand back on habit, but she’s so weak that her fingers barely move.

“What’s got you like this?” Denali asks, shifting her legs beneath her to sit down properly.

“I made a mistake” Rosé says quietly.

“What kind of mistake?”

“A huge miscalculation” Rosé closes her eyes in regret. “I just thought that my friends were better people, I guess.”

Denali doesn’t say anything as her brow furrows, and she reaches her free hand forward to clasp Rosé’s hand between her grip.

“I thought I was in a place where I could come out to them, but I was wrong.”

“Come out to them?” Denali asks before thinking. Though her voice is gentle.

Rosé nods. “About me being Bi” Rosé looks at Denali and reads her confusion. “Has Jan not told you yet?”

Denali shakes her head and Rosé smiles a little at her sister keeping her secret from her best friend.

“I thought she might have.”

“She didn’t” Denali assures.

“Well, means to say she took it better than my friends did.”

“What did they do?” Denali asks.

Rosé draws in a shaky breath as she gets her thoughts together.

“Y-you don’t have to tell me anything” Denali takes back quickly, feeling that she asked too much.

“They, um…” Rosé begins as if Denali hadn’t spoken again. “They said a few different things, actually… Right off the bat wondering why I can’t just choose, and then one of them said that I’m just desperate.”

“Oh, Rosé that’s horrible” Denali says as Rosé’s last word is choked off in a sob.

“But nah, nah. It’s okay” Rosé shakes her head at the memory as she pulls up a part of the conversation, “because at least she’s half straight.”

“No” slips from Denali’s lips in disbelief.

“And then I just left” tears fall freely from Rosé’s eyes again and she sinks her head onto her knees.

Wordlessly, Denali shuffles over to her side and traces a hand comfortingly up and down her back.

“I’m so fucking stupid” Rosé admonishes herself. “I should have known better than to tell them at a party with alcohol involved.”

“That’s not the point” Denali quells. “The point is that you felt comfortable enough to tell them. It’s their fault for how they acted towards it.”

“I just wish I picked a better time.”

“Sometimes we don’t choose.”

“Oh my God, Denali. I’m so sorry” Rosé breathes out, looking at Denali with wide eyes. Remembering how she had been outed. “I’m so sorry, this is so selfish.”

“It’s not selfish” Denali shakes her head. “And that’s also not what I mean. What I meant to say was sometimes a moment appears suddenly and we take it because we don’t know when it will come around again.”

Rosé nods and Denali can tell that is what happened to her.

“I just shouldn’t have said anything” she swallows back another sob. “School is over and I don’t have much time to fix things before we go our separate ways.”

“Fix what, Rosé?” Denali asks. “There is nothing to fix. They know who you are now and it’s their choice to accept that or not. If they don’t, they aren’t worth your time. But there is nothing to fix.”

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

When Denali guided Rosé up the steps of her house and Jan opened the door for them, most of their conversation was traded in glances. For a few seconds Jan had stood back trying to form words while Denali led Rosé beneath the doorway and toward the kitchen, sparing her a glance while she said “put the jug on.”

“Yeah” Jan agreed quickly, snapping out of whatever ruminative state she had been in.

Then Denali had sat Rosé down at the kitchen table before she joins Jan over by the jug while it boils away. Speaking lowly beneath the sound, she tells Jan everything she knows. Watching as she looks over at her sister, her expression changing from concern to anger and then she just looks sad.

When the story concludes, the jug switch clicks off but Jan abandons it to move over to Rosé, wrapping her arms around her from behind and speaking lowly to her. So, Denali picks up the jug and pours the water into a mug with a teabag that Jan had already laid out. Then she spends time bouncing the teabag by the string in the water, letting the two of them have a few moments alone.

“I just don’t know what to do” she hears Rosé sigh eventually and looks up as Jan moves to sit in the chair beside her.

“You’re good at giving advice” Jan points out. “What would you say to yourself?”

“Jan, I just don’t want to think right now” Rosé hangs her head in her hands over the table, and Denali pushes herself away from the bench.

“Just name the worst thing you could do, and we’ll rule that out” Jan tries.

“Jan, I just don’t” – Rosé cuts herself off with a deep breath.

“You should drink something, Rosé” Denali inserts herself into the conversation. Placing the mug that she had carried over to the table in front of Rosé and fixing Jan with a look to backdown for a second.

“Thanks” Rosé says quietly, both hands gripping around the cup before she raises it to take a sip.

“I don’t think you need to do anything tonight” Denali tells her as she sits down on her other side.

“You’ve already said your bit, so just let your friends come to you” Jan adds.

Rosé nods smally, and in the light of the kitchen Denali can see the makeup that has smudged from her eyes.

“Hopefully they’ll think different tomorrow when they’re sober” Denali comforts and Rosé nods again but doesn’t raise her eyes from the table.

“I think you should get to bed. Hit reset, yeah?” Jan suggests.

It’s clear that Rosé hears her but she doesn’t move. Seeming to be stuck in thought, staring into the depths of her cup.

“Take that with you” Jan gestures to the mug before she adds, “please Rosé. You look exhausted.”

Then slowly Rosé starts to move. Drawing in a breath before she pushes out her chair and takes her cup off the table.

“Do you want someone to come up with you?” Jan asks.

Rosé shakes her head and mumbles an answer but all they catch is the word “alone.” Then she heads up the stairs leaving them sitting in silence.

Quiet settles over them and Denali takes to watching her thumbs twiddle around each other on the table top and Jan begins to tap her fingers lightly against the surface. After a few minutes Denali looks up at her, sensing her restlessness about to turn to action.

“Yeah, I’m going to go check on her” Jan says and gets up from the table quickly without waiting for a response. Then Denali stands and follows behind her.

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

“Come on, get into bed” Jan says immediately when she pushes open the door of Rosé’s room, finding her sitting on the edge of the mattress seeming to be contemplating life.

The lights in the room are still on but other than that Rosé looks ready for bed. Her smudged makeup taken off and gone are her party clothes, instead changed into trackpants and a sweatshirt with the hood still drawn up. In the proceedings of things, she just seems to be moving slow and both Denali and Jan understand that.

While Rosé finally pulls back her covers and hops up onto the bed properly, Jan switches the overhead light on for a lamp on the side table. Then she climbs up onto the mattress and over her sister’s legs to sit behind her, while Denali sits up on the mattress to her front.

“You’ve at least got to try and sleep” Jan pulls back Rosé’s hood and begins to stroke a hand through her hair after she had lain there with her eyes open for a while.

At her sister’s touch Rosé’s eyes slip closed but her breathing doesn’t even out as images play behind her eyes and voices in her head, so Denali takes her hand in between her own.

Denali isn’t sure when Jan started singing softly or when she starting humming quietly after she’d picked up the tune but it finally works to coax Rosé to sleep.

For a few minutes neither of the best friends move, afraid that she will wake up again. Then Jan stops her singing and catches Denali’s eye before she nods down to the mattress and settles down into it.

Denali nods back, understanding perfectly, before carefully twisting to reach behind her and turn off the lamp. Then with the lights all out, she settles down into the mattress, falling asleep still holding onto Rosé’s hand.

[cutieodonoghue]

the edge of hope (3/9)

summary: canon divergent au; when Din left Sorgan to protect the Child, he left the woman he’d fallen in love with, not knowing he’d also left behind something else. Or, Omera and Winta join Mando and Grogu on their season 2 adventures. Mandomera!

Catch up here: 1, 2

Third chapter below the cut or on AO3!

The Passenger

It had been a long time since Omera had last ridden a speeder bike, but it almost felt as if it was just yesterday that she was entering races. She used to love the adrenaline rush; used to crave the feeling of living on the edge, tempting fate as she pushed her skills. With age and experience came wisdom that encouraged her otherwise.

On their way back to the Razor Crest at Mos Eisley, Omera kept her speeder alongside Din’s. It gave them the chance to exchange words every so often, something that helped keep her mind focused on the long journey.

“When did you race speeders?” Din asked. He kept his voice tempered, even over the engine noise.

Omera laughed from behind her scarf. “I was a few years older than Winta. Made me very popular.”

Din chuckled. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who would race.”

“We’re all young once.”

On Din’s side, she saw the Child tucked into a pouch of a bag, his ears flapping in the wind as he excitedly felt the rush of the ride. It had been a smooth journey, but they still had a ways to go before they would reach the hangar.

“Get behind me.” Din gestured with his head to what laid ahead of them. “Looks like a tight squeeze up there.”

Omera saw the formation of rocks just ahead and slowed enough to put appropriate distance between their speeders. A valley this tight would likely slow Din down just a bit for sake of caution, so she made sure to stay a few lengths back.

Just as he reached the opening of the rock valley, she watched with alarm as his speeder went vertical. There was a trap.

A group of bandits emerged from behind the rocks nearby, guns drawn. 

Omera brought her speeder to an all out stop, careening sideways with dust gusting around her and Winta in a big cloud. They narrowly avoided the explosion of Din’s speeder as it crashed onto the ground. Everything that had been loose on board had been flung skyward, including the Child.

From where she was, she couldn’t see the baby, and she hesitated to put both she and Winta further into the situation. There were four bandits, all of them working together, and they seemed focused on getting Din distracted.

He fired his gun at one of the marauders, but the weapon was hit out of his hand. He was able to knock one of them unconscious, but the victory was short-lived when a pair of the enemy teamed up on him with fists. 

Meanwhile, she noticed the smaller of the bandits with a rifle, pointed straight at the otherwise distracted Mandalorian. Quick on his feet, Din shot out a grappling hook from his wrist and pulled the rifle straight into the pair trying to assault him. 

The bandit with the rifle changed his tactic, instead approaching the tiny boy, who she now saw toddling forward, stumbling slightly.

Acting on an automatic impulse, Omera brought her speeder toward the bandit and used her weight to lean the bike closer to the ground, enough that it spooked the bandit to scrambling away while she plucked the Child up into her arm.

“You okay?” Omera asked the boy.

The Child giggled, his smile wide. She couldn’t help but smile because of it as she brought her speeder around in time to catch Din knocking the thief onto his back with a blast from his gun.

He nodded in Omera’s direction, a signal that it was safe to approach.

“So much for my speeder,” he lamented. 

Omera shook her head as she brought them in close. “I wish I could’ve done more to help.”

He studied her for a second. “When we get back to the Crest, I’ll give you a gun.” Din bent down to grab the satchel that had been the Child’s seat for their journey. “Peli will need a payment. I’d hoped we could give her the meat from the dragon.”

Omera climbed off of the speeder. “That I can help with.” 

It took them a little while, but they were finally able to secure everything they needed onto the speeder bike. 

Winta held the Child, and Din sat in the drivers’ position, leaving Omera to squeeze in behind him. She wrapped her arms around his middle as she got comfortable. They were closer than they’d been since that night on Sorgan. It made her heart race just a bit to recall the memory.

The Mandalorian glanced over his shoulder at her. “Okay?”

Omera nodded. “Just don’t drive like a maniac, and I think we’ll all survive.”

Din chuckled, a real laugh that she couldn’t help but adore. “Hang on tight.”

She did as he requested and he started up the bike, sending them forward at a steady pace.

There were no other bandits along their path, something Omera was very grateful for, and when they returned to the Crest, the worker droids explained that Peli had retreated to the bar for the evening.

On a sigh, Din turned to them, “Why don’t you and Winta get ready to leave while I go settle things with Peli?”

Omera nodded. “Fair enough.” She turned to Winta and smiled. “You ready to get going, my love?”

“There’s so much sand here,” Winta complained, not for the first time. She wore a grimace on her face as she tried to get it out of her hair. 

“I know. We’ll get you a bath as soon as we land on our next planet.”

Omera shepherded Winta up onto the ramp that led into the Crest, and with the Child hanging from the pouch off of her side, she grabbed for what else of their belongings remained on the speeder bike.

After settling the rest of their things on the floor of the cargo hold, Omera lifted the Child into her arms and laughed when he reached out to touch her face.

“What?” she asked him playfully. “Can you try to say my name? Omera. O-mer-a.”

The Child merely tilted his head in curiosity, giggling as his fingers finally found her cheek. 

“Here. Why don’t you and Winta play?” She settled the boy down onto the floor of the Crest. “I have to go check the speeder one more time.”

As Omera stepped off of the ship, she could hear Din and Peli exchanging words, making their way from the bar back to the hangar bay. The speeder bike sat just beyond the bay doors, and she made sure to check each crevice of the sidecar one more time before she was ready to bid it farewell.

“What’s the cargo?” she heard Din ask.

Omera made her way towards the ship. Din stood just outside of it, facing Peli and a pink frog-like creature. A woman, by the look of her dress.

She croaked an answer out to Din and Peli nodded once. It was interesting: just that morning, Din had been the translator. Now, he needed one of his own.

“It’s her spawn,” Peli said. 

She gestured to the backpack that the Frog Lady carried. It was cylindrical, a tube of a sort, with blue liquid and what appeared to be eggs floating by the dozens. 

“She needs her eggs fertilized by the equinox or her line will end. If you jump into hyperspace, they’ll die. She said her husband has settled on the estuary moon of Trask in the system of the gas giant Kol Iben.”

“She said all that?” Din asked dryly.

Peli shrugged. “I paraphrased.”

She heard Din sigh softly as she came alongside him. Peli glanced her way with a tiny smirk on her lips, like she had a quip ready to go should the moment arise.

“Is she sure there are Mandalorians there?” Din asked.

Peli croaked in the Frog Lady’s language and received an answer. Turning to the Mandalorian, she said, “She said her husband has seen them.”

For a few seconds, Din hesitated. It seemed he didn’t want to help this woman, whose need was desperate. His need was desperate, too. The Mandalorian they’d found wasn’t truly a Mandalorian.

“We can help bring her to her husband,” Omera said, speaking on Din’s behalf. 

Peli’s face brightened. “See, I knew I liked you.”

The Mandalorian sighed heavily but said nothing.

Peli clicked her tongue against her cheek and gave Din a side-eyed glare. “Cranky Pants here was about ready to walk away from a good deal.”

Omera chuckled beneath her breath, looking at the Mandalorian. He had an annoyed stance, his hands on his hips and his head canted just slightly to the side.

“He’s had a long couple of days. He was almost eaten by a sand dragon.” She and Din stared at each other as she spoke. “Forgive him for being cranky.”

“I’m not cranky,” he said with a cranky edge to his voice. “I’m doing due diligence.”

She and the Mandalorian stared at each other for a few seconds. An argument brewed between them in silence. It was the right thing to do, but it wouldn’t be the safest thing to do. She understood that. Din probably did too, but he was too stubborn to admit it.

“I think this job will be rewarding for everyone involved.”

Din sighed again. He nodded his head and gestured outward with one hand toward the Frog Lady, resigned. “Fine.”

When Omera shifted her attention back in front of them, Peli wore a coy smirk on her lips and folded her arms against her chest. Her nose scrunched up when she spoke, “I don’t know where he found you, but I’m glad he did. He’s better for it.”

Her belly flipped on its own accord, but instead of responding to Peli, Omera smiled at the Frog Lady. 

“I’m Omera. Come with me. You should meet our children.”

Gently, she waved her hand toward the ship and the Frog Lady followed after her with a curious little noise. Together, they climbed the ramp, and Omera smiled over at their new companion.

From somewhere beyond, she could hear Peli say to Din, “You keep staring at your lady friend like that and you’ll burn a hole straight through her.”

She couldn’t help but smile to herself. He hadn’t changed his ways all that much since he came to Sorgan for the first time.

In the cargo hold, she found Winta giggling with the Child in her arms, both of them sitting on a crate along the wall.

“My daughter and I are traveling with the Mandalorian,” Omera explained, even though the Frog Lady had nothing to say in return. “Winta, we have a guest joining us for a little while.”

Winta perked up, her eyes bright, and she nodded. “Hello. I’m Winta.”

The Frog Lady chirped, a pleasant sound. She seemed pleased to meet Winta and a little curious about the Child. The Child’s eyes went to the cylindrical backpack she carried and extended one hand outwards as he babbled.

The sound of Din’s boots on the ramp followed, quickly joining them in the hold. He sighed heavily, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. 

“Omera, can I speak with you in the cockpit?”

She nodded. Looking at the Frog Lady, she smiled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

When they both stood inside the cockpit, Din waited for the door to close before speaking. “We don’t have a lot of space for more passengers.”

“I heard Peli say that she could bring us to more of your kind.”

Din gave a resigned sigh. “Traveling sublight is dicey at best. I don’t think we need pirates or warlords on our tail.”

The concerns were valid, but her desire to do good weighed heavier than any fear of what might happen to them did. He was Mandalorian, and she knew now just how good of a fighter that made him. She had faith that he could carry them through any struggle that might come of helping someone in need.

“How far is the journey?”

In the silence he took to consider his answer, she took notice of how close they stood together. There wasn’t much space to stand in the cockpit, so they stood nearly toe-to-toe. 

“Half a day. Likely longer.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Omera smiled at him. “Well, I know you’re a good pilot.” 

Din sighed softly. He seemed a little less frustrated. 

It was then that she realized: he was unable to deny her. He must have felt something for her far greater than simple companionship. The thought made hope bloom wildly within her chest. 

The Mandalorian kept his feelings to himself, and sometimes she wondered if the feelings she felt were at all reciprocated. It was good to know that there at least was a chance.

“I don’t speak her language.”

Omera couldn’t help but smirk. “Feeling a little taken down a notch after your heroics these past few days on Tatooine?”

He sighed again. “No.”

She bit on her lip, thoughtful, and put her palm on his chest over his heart. “Well, Winta and I can sit in the cargo hold with her if that will make it an easier trip.”

He brought his hand to hers on his chest and held it for a few seconds in silence before he replied, “Alright.”

Omera’s eyes closed on their own volition when he lowered his forehead to hers. In her mind, it was as close to a kiss as she would probably ever get from the man she loved. The intimacy of it always filled her chest with the most overwhelming peace she’d ever known.

When Din pulled away, he still held her hand and walked with her out of the cockpit, only releasing her in the instant before she began the climb back down the ladder.

When they gathered with the rest of their crew, the Frog Lady instantly looked away from whatever story Winta was telling her, instead focused on the Mandalorian. She croaked, her words falling on ears that could not understand.

“We are about to take off,” Din said. “I’m gonna ask you to stay strapped in as best you can whenever you’re seated. Especially you, Winta.”

Winta nodded. Omera had to smile at the care in his voice for her daughter. 

“I’ll take him.” Din gestured for his son. “It’s gonna take a while. I recommend all of you get some rest.” He looked at the sleeping nook that was built into the back wall and added, “If you want to lay down, feel free.” His attention went to Omera. “Any of you.”

Omera nodded to him. He was doing all of this for her, and she hoped he knew she appreciated it. “Thank you.”

-

From the cockpit of the Crest, having just set the navigation to automatic, Din settled into his chair feeling just a little bit guilty. He was exhausted, having spent a good part of the day fighting off a krayt dragon, then dealing with bandits during their journey back to Mos Eisley. 

The last thing he wanted was a journey like this one, but he did need to find his kind. This was his only lead.

Beside him, the Child cooed, reaching out for a button on the console.

“No touching,” Din chastised. “Nap time.”

The Child looked at him, tilting his head to the side with his ears perked. He reached for the button again and Din sighed heavily.

“What did I just say?” He pulled the Child’s hand away from the button and held it. “Aren’t you tired?”

Din lifted the boy from his spot on the console and into his arms instead, recalling with fondness how Omera had rocked him to sleep by the fire, her voice gentle and beautiful. The depths of her seemed to be never ending. 

“Try to sleep, kid.”

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep with the memory of Omera’s lullaby. 

The next thing he knew, the communicator beeped at him.

Suddenly, he noticed two X-wings on their tail, moving up on each side of the Crest. 

On a deep sigh, he straightened himself. So it wasn’t just pirates he had to be worried about. He also needed to contend with the New Republic.

“Come in, Razor Crest. Do you copy?”

Clearing his head, Din held the Child closer to himself. He answered, “This is Razor Crest. Is there a problem?

“We noticed your transponder is not emitting.”

And it was for good reason, too. If he turned it on, they’d be in far greater danger. Just moving as slow as they were had seemed risky enough as it was.

“Yes, I’m pre-Empire surplus. I’m not required to run a beacon.”

For a second, he thought they bought it. 

“That was before. This sector is under New Republic jurisdiction. All craft are required to run a beacon.”

With a slight grimace, Din considered his reply. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get right on it.”

“Not a problem. Safe travels.”

They were New Republic, and he didn’t want to raise any flags with them. If anything, he wanted to get on their good side, so he said, “May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you.” 

A pause. 

“Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna need you to send us a ping. We’re out here sweeping for Imperial holdouts.”

Kriff. There wasn’t any way out of this, was there? He was going to be figured out, and everyone on board would be at risk. The Child, Omera, Winta… their guest. The Crest had been in some tight spots before with the New Republic. A particular prison breakout came to mind.

“I’ll let you know if I see any.”

“I’m still gonna need you to send us that ping.”

He glanced down at the dash, at the unit that could perform the task as requested. “Well, I’m not sure I have that hardware online.”

“We can wait.”

Din paused, pretending to tinker with it, thinking maybe they’d buy it. “Yeah, I… Doesn’t seem to be working.”

“That’s too bad. If we can’t confirm you’re not Imperial, you’re gonna have to follow us to the outpost at Adelphi. They’ll run your tabs.”

It seemed he would be unable to escape the New Republic this time.

“Oh, wait. There it is.” Din flipped the switch. A ping was sent to the pair of officers. “Transmitting now.”

In his arm, the Child made a noise, a gurgle that lasted longer than his typical cooing.

“Shh.” Din shifted the boy in his grasp. “Be quiet.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, nothing. The hypervac is drawing off the exhaust manifold.”

The pair of officers took the call onto a separate channel and that was when Din decided to tuck the Child back into his seat. He buckled him in, already knowing that he was about to run. 

The pair of X-wings both extended their wings as if they knew what was coming.

“Was your craft in the proximity of New Republic Correctional Transport, Bothan-Five?”

And there it was. They’d caught him.

Having absolutely no choice but to flee the scene, Din took control of the Crest, ignoring the New Republic officer’s voices as they chased him down. He supposed it was lucky that the patrol had come alongside him right on the edge of a planet he could try to use to lose them.

“That thing’s gonna break apart in this atmosphere,” one of the officers said over the comms.

With no other choice but to keep pressing forward, Din did as his gut led. From beside him, the Child let out a noise or two, but kept otherwise silent. He could only imagine how the rest of his traveling party were fairing.

The Crest dropped low, free falling through the clouds of the upper atmosphere of the planet. He hoped that the passengers down below were strapped in tight.

Once they were clear of the clouds, Din grabbed tight control again. The planet was icy on the surface, with canyons like a cracked foundation that were deep enough to fly into.

“He’s headin’ down into that canyon.”

The icy world was unfamiliar, and it was downright impossible to keep the Crest flying steady with two X-wings on him like a couple of pests. 

“I got ‘im. Target computer active.”

Nope. Nope. Nope.

It was then that he saw an opportunity. He hung a right and the duo followed, but lost him the instant he lowered the Crest into a tighter cavern. 

The ship collided into an ice wall and Din directed it into a tight space, enough that he could hear the hull scraping as they made the maneuver. They bounced off another wall before skidding along the floor until the ship finally stopped.

Each bump and jolt of the vessel made him grimace, but they were hidden. That was all that he needed. 

“I’ve lost visual.”

“He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“You head north. We’ll cover more ground.”

Finally, the confirmation that he’d hidden them well enough came through the comms, just in time for the fragile ice beneath the ship to shatter and for the ship to fall straight down, the feeling of butterflies filling his belly as he braced himself for an impact that was sure to follow.

“Hang on!”

The Child whimpered and sobbed, terrified.

When the Crest hit the ground, it was at an angle, buried into the icy floor. The cavern they’d landed in was dark, and so was the ship. It had lost power in the crash.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Din turned to the Child, his first priority to learn how everyone had fared in the crash landing.

“You okay, kid?”

The Child held his head up high and blinked at him when he stood. From all appearances, the boy was just fine. Maybe shaken, but so was he. 

Now, he had to check on the rest of his crew.

With the Child in one arm, he opened the door to the cockpit, not sure what to expect. When he dropped down into the cargo hold, the first thing he noticed was the sound of whistling wind and snowflakes fluttering inside.

There was a gaping hole in the side of the ship, and now everything inside was freezing over. His eyes grew wide with a start and he pivoted to scan the space for the passengers.

“Omera? Winta? Everyone okay?”

Omera and Winta were the first he could see, the mother protecting her child while cuddled together on the floor amongst the scattered cargo. He heard the Frog Lady’s croaking voice before he looked to his right to find her. She rubbed the top of her head, lying out on her side as she shivered.

“Gotta get you some blankets. Keep you warm.” 

Din charged into action, going to the nook he used as his bed. There wouldn’t be enough for all of them, but at the very least, he would give what he had.

When he returned with the pair of blankets, he offered one to the Frog Lady first. He helped her sit upright and wrapped it around her, giving her arms a gentle rub. 

Looking up, he met Omera’s gaze from across the hold. “You alright?”

She helped Winta sit upright against the wall behind them, studying her daughter briefly. 

“Shaken, but we’re fine otherwise. What happened?”

He handed Omera a blanket and she wrapped it around Winta, whose teeth had begun to chatter violently enough that she couldn’t help but make noise. 

“My past caught up with me.” Din took a steadying breath to contemplate their next move and scanned the mess that had become the lower deck of his ship. “I’ll cover up this hole. We need to try to keep the warmth inside as best we can.”

He set to work, pinning up a tarp over the hole in the hull, and with Omera’s help, they pushed aside the cargo that had shifted in the crash. After everything was in some semblance of order, he found Omera a blanket.

With the nurture and caring of a mother, she helped the Child sit on a crate with a small snack in hand, and Din approached her with the blanket in hand. 

“Here. Found it in storage.” 

Omera smiled slightly at his extended offering and reached out to take it, but he acted faster, unfolding it and draping it around her shoulders on her behalf. She held it tight against herself.

He wished he could do more for them. After everything that had happened so far, he felt worse about allowing Omera and Winta to have suffered even just a little in the crash. This wasn’t what they’d joined him for. 

“Thank you.” 

Looking to the rest of the group, Din said, “The main power drive is not responding, and the hull has lost its integrity. I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls.”

“Are we stuck here?” Omera asked.

“No,” Din replied. “Even if we have to all cram ourselves into the cockpit, we’ll make it out of here, but… for now, we need to wait. I’ll have a better idea of what to do in a few hours. I think we should all try to get some sleep.”

Omera looked at the Frog Lady and he saw something sorrowful in her gaze. The Frog Lady made an equally sad noise. 

“We need to try to leave here as quickly as we can,” Omera said, as if just saying so would motivate him. “Peli said these eggs are the last of her kind. If they aren’t brought to Trask in time, it will be the end of her species.”

The Frog Lady seemed to understand Omera’s words. She perked up and nodded in agreement as another croak in her language spilled forth. 

Meanwhile, the Child toddled toward Din on the floor, wrapping his fingers around his leg.

“I know what the deal was,” Din finally told Omera. He reached down to lift the Child into his arm, hoping to provide him some comfort in the cold. “But things changed. We’re here. There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

Omera offered the Frog Lady an apologetic smile. “We will do what we can. I promise your eggs will make it to Trask in time.”

“Omera.”

She shook her head to silence him. “We made her a promise when we brought her on board. We have to do right by her. I know you’re tired, but this is important.”

Din sighed. There were times he was glad he wore a helmet. Presently, he was glad because if Omera could read his face, she would see that he didn’t feel all that enthusiastic about their current predicament.

As much as Omera wanted to be a help to this Frog Lady, she knew nothing about what was going on. He wouldn’t argue with her about it, because she was right: he was exhausted from a couple of hard days. Crashing the Crest into a freezing cold temperament only seemed to intensify his need to shut his eyes.

Beneath his armor, he was only a tired, frustrated man. 

He sank down onto the floor, leaning back against the side of the ship. He released a breath, exhausted.

“Winta, let’s try and get some rest,” Omera said. She rubbed her hands along Winta’s arms. She ushered Winta towards the side of the ship near him. “We’ve had a long day.”

Winta settled onto the floor beside him and grabbed onto his arm, her eyes full of worry. “Will the ship be okay?”

Din nodded once. “The Crest has seen a lot. This is just a scratch.”

Winta offered him a smile. Omera joined her on the floor, her arm wrapped tightly around her. Opposite them, the Frog Lady sat on the ground, seemingly too worn to keep up the argument.

She cradled her eggs, a worried croak muttered under the yellow of the emergency lights.

As bad as he felt for all that had happened, Din fell asleep swiftly.

When he awoke, it was to a voice he’d thought he’d never hear again: the droid from the prison break, the one he’d dismantled and stuffed into storage with the intention of dumping. 

“Wake up, Mandalorian.”

His eyes opened, panicked, and he gripped the Child in his arm tighter, drawing his gun quickly from his side to aim it at the offending noise. 

The Frog Lady stood beside the droid, holding in her hand a communicator. The droid’s eyes glowed as if it were functional, but it didn’t move.

“Do not be alarmed. I bypassed the droid’s security protocols and accessed its vocabulator.”

He shook his head, angry. The memory of the droid with a weapon drawn on the Child was burned into his mind’s eye and would never leave. “What the hell are you doing? That droid is a killer.”

Din slid his gun back onto his belt.

The Frog Lady seemed just as angry as he felt. “These eggs are the last brood of my life cycle. My husband has risked his life to carve out an existence for us on the only planet that is hospitable to our species. We fought too hard and suffered too much to resign ourselves to the extinction of our family line. I must demand that you hold true to the deal that you agreed to.”

The words, spoken through the droid, echoed Omera’s earlier sentiment. He turned to check on her. She stared back at him with that same sorrowful look on her face from before. And, deeper still, that secret still burrowed in the shine of her eyes.

“Look, lady,” Din turned his attention to the Frog Lady, “the deal is off. We’re lucky if we get off this frozen tomb with our lives.”

“I thought honoring one’s word was a part of the Mandalorian code. I guess those are just stories for children.”

She was right. It was part of the code to honor one’s word, and it was insulting to think that he could change her mind about the honor of a Mandalorian based on his performance evading his own arrest.

Fixing his ship in these freezing conditions was going to be difficult, and it might not even work well enough for them to leave in time for the deal to have a happy ending. 

He sighed heavily when the Child cooed, his voice a warm reminder of the commitment he’d made to be a father to the boy. As his father, he needed to show him the Way, which included honoring his word.

“Fine.” Din nodded. He set the Child down and pushed himself up off of the floor. “Omera, how useful are you with electrical systems?”

Omera smiled up at him. “I can find my way.”

“Then you and I will try and get the power back online. Weld some of the hull back together.” He grabbed his tool kit from the top of a nearby crate. “In the meantime, everyone else should stay here. Try to stay warm.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” the droid said on the Frog Lady’s behalf. “I hope you listen to your wife more.”

He opened his mouth, surprised by the choice of word, but Omera was on her feet and at his side faster than he could speak. She gave him a playful look, a single eyebrow lifted.

“Yes, Mandalorian. You should listen to me more.”

Sighing, he shook his head and gestured to a crate. “There should be some clothes to keep you warm in the bin, there. I’ll go see what it looks like from the outside.”

The damage to the Crest was far worse than he’d thought it was. Thick, dark smoke billowed out of it, live wires sparked, there was a leak, and the hull would have almost been better removed and replaced than even attempting a fix.

He began with prying back a loose piece of the outer hull, already regretting the decision when he realized how bad it really was beneath the surface. Omera stepped outside as he started working on fusing some electrical wire.

“Oh. If this is just a scratch… I’d hate to know what else has happened.” Omera came closer to him. “Where are your tools? I’ll help mend this back together.”

“They’re…” 

He paused, turning to look at her. She wore one of his long-sleeved shirts over the top half of her body, and a hat that he must’ve taken off of a bounty at some point covered her ears. Her nose was still red from the cold, but she soldiered through, rubbing her bare hands together as she walked over the ice floor.

“They’re... what?” Omera laughed, her breath escaping past her mouth with a puff of white. 

He shut his eyes, embarrassed, and gestured toward the box. “There. Sorry. I didn’t expect you’d wear my…”

“Oh, this is yours?” Omera seemed surprised as she looked down at the top she wore. “It’s very warm.”

Din swallowed, continuing to stare at her as if he’d never seen her before in his life. “I… yeah.”

She laughed again. “I’ve never heard you so at an obvious loss for words.”

It was strange, the way she seemed to make him turn into a completely different person just because she smiled in his direction. A few months ago, they had been intimate, so feeling out of his head because she was wearing his shirt felt entirely flustering. 

He turned back to his task, determined to set himself to it again. “It’s just the cold getting to me.”

“Uh huh.” Omera plucked a tool from his repair kit and stepped around him toward another exposed strip of wiring. “How long do you think the repairs will take?”

Din shook his head. “Hard to say, but assuming it doesn’t get any worse than it is now… if we both fuse as much as we can back together, maybe we can get out of here within the next couple hours.” 

Omera hummed thoughtfully. She examined the scratched up metal in front of her. “Do you have-”

“Should be in the crate beside the… hole in the wall.” 

She took a few steps backward and took the Crest in from a small distance. “I see now why you were so sure the deal was over.”

Din nodded. “You were right, though. It’s important I follow through on this. The Child needs to learn what it’s like to make good on your word even when it seems impossible.”

Omera didn’t have a response. She stepped inside the ship to grab what she needed. Din returned his attention to the hull with a sudden deep longing welling up inside of him.

They worked in tandem to do what repairs they were able. 

The wind howled through the cavern of ice, a steady reminder of just how frozen this planet was, and he kept an eye on his companion to make sure she wasn’t frosting over as much as his armor was.

By the time they wrapped around to the right side of the ship, away from the hole in the hull, her fingers shook enough that the tools were hard for her to grip firmly enough to use. She had to stop what she was doing to breathe into them, rubbing her palms together for friction. 

Din paused his work to take her hands into his. “You’re trembling.”

Omera nodded. Her nose and cheeks were red, but she smiled through it. “I’m okay. We’re almost done.”

Din took his hands away from hers and tugged one of his gloves off, holding it out to her. “Here.”

With a cautious look in her eyes, she took the glove from him. He watched her slide it over one hand, her dominant one. 

Her gentle smile was a reminder that he got lucky when she agreed to join him. So easily, Omera could've stayed where she was and both of them would have been unchanged by it. She wanted to be at his side for this journey- even for the mistakes made along the way.

“Thank you.”

They continued to work as quickly as they could, fighting the cold with nothing but sheer determination. 

For a while, it was quiet, until Din heard the Child babble something, the noise drawing his attention to the boy. He stood on a nearby mound of ice, gesturing outward with one arm.

“How ‘bout you come over here, give us a hand?” Din asked. “Make yourself useful.”

When the Child seemed to ignore him, instead toddling away, Din sighed wearily. Omera stopped her work on the hull as well.

“Hey, kid,” Din called out after him. He didn’t stop moving, not even as Din walked around the Crest to find where he was going so fast. “I said hey! Where are you going?”

Moving swiftly, Din approached the Child, forcing him to look up at him. He babbled again, gesturing out as he faced a small opening in a nearby cave. He must have seen the Frog Lady venture off of the ship. Winta wouldn’t have gone off on her own; wouldn’t have been able to.

Din scanned the footprints in the snow with his visor. Definitely the Frog Lady.

He took the Child into his arm. “Guess we’ve got to go find her.”

Omera’s voice came from behind him, “I’ll come with you.”

Together, they walked up the path into the ice cave. Once inside, they quickly uncovered the reason the Frog Lady had sought it out: there was a warm body of water. She sat in it, her eggs floating around her.

“Oh, there you are,” Omera said with kindness. She knelt down beside the Frog Lady. 

“You can’t leave the ship,” Din scanned the cave for signs of danger. Seemed like just about anything could have lived there. He settled the Child on the ground and knelt beside the warm water. “It’s not safe out here.”

The Frog Lady croaked and whined, clearly far more comfortable in the hot spring than being out in the freezing temperatures. Must’ve been nice for the eggs, too. 

“Let’s gather these up.” Din pulled the container toward himself and began plucking the eggs out of the water. He listened to the Frog Lady speak again and felt compassion for her, truly. “I know it’s warm, but night’s coming fast, and I can’t protect you out here.”

At his side, the Child leaned in and plucked an egg into his hand. Luckily, Din caught it in time and forced it out of his grip.

“No. No!” He shook a finger at the Child, hoping he could understand. “These aren’t for you to eat.”

It was hard enough dealing with a woman he couldn’t understand while also trying to wrangle a toddler that seemed to have it in for him as of these past few hours.

The Child whimpered, but Din turned his focus instead on gathering as many eggs as he could while Omera did the same.

“We’re working on getting the ship fixed,” Omera said. “It should be done very soon. I promise we’ll get out of here. You’ll be reunited with your husband and you’ll be blessed with many children.”

The Frog Lady croaked in a way that seemed like she appreciated what Omera had to say. Din dropped a few more eggs into the container.

“Oh, no.” Omera suddenly stopped what she was doing. “Din, the Child.”

When he looked at her, he found her attention laser focused a short distance ahead. He whirled around to discover that the Child had encountered a different sort of egg, his head tilted with curiosity as he extended his hand toward it.

He stood, scrambling with the backpack of eggs. “No! Come down from there!”

But, as seemed to be the Child’s prerogative as of late, he didn’t listen. Instead, he stuck his hand straight into the egg, cracking it open and spreading the yolk over his hand.

For a moment, there was nothing. And then, it seemed, as it always was, there was everything. 

Rumbling echoed from somewhere in the great cavernous beyond and he turned to the Frog Lady to get her out of the water, but she was already at Omera’s side, fully clothed.

“Come here,” Din ordered the Child, but he didn’t need to. 

The boy was already anxiously toddling back to him as eggs perched in the ice all around them hatched and out emerged hundreds of small spider-like creatures. He met his kid halfway, scooping him up into his arm.

Then, he slid the Frog Lady’s egg backpack over his shoulder frantically. Just as he did so, a massive spider-like ice creature emerged from an upper alcove, screeching loudly in anger. 

It was the mother of the egg that the Child- his child- had just ruptured for a snack.

It growled, furious, and then, there were more of them. Hundreds and hundreds of smaller spider-like creatures emerged from what seemed like nowhere, all of them just as furious as the mother.

He grabbed his pistol from his hip and shouted, “Go, go, go! Back to the ship!”

They scrambled, rushing out of the hot springs with fervor. All he could think about was making sure nobody got hurt, and that inevitably led him to worrying about Winta, who was alone in the Crest.

“Winta’s alone,” he shouted toward Omera. “We need to hurry. We don’t know how many of these things there are.”

It seemed they were only able to outrun them for a little while before the creatures showed their advantage: they knew the caves better than they did. Several appeared ahead of them, earning blasts from his blaster pistol that sent them to the ground.

As they rounded a corner, the largest spider growled at them from where it was following them on the upper ice ceiling. It stuck one of its legs through the ice directly in front of Omera, who jumped backwards, right into his open arm.

They paused only briefly before they were at it again. This time, Din had an idea: he could create an explosion.

He threw three grav charges behind them as they continued to run, launching the last at the largest creature above them. The explosives succeeded in caving in the path for the smaller spiders, and brought the mother spider down to the floor, stopping her assaults on them.

But even as they continued, there seemed to be all the more of these creatures eager to be exploded by the fire of his blaster.

The sound of a blast from a gun surprised him to turn and see that Omera had a weapon in her grasp, her focus firm as she fired at the creatures that were in their path. She must have grabbed one from the Crest. 

He had no time to dwell, but couldn’t help feeling empowered. They were in this together.

The final corner led them straight out of the caves, back to the Crest, and as soon as he could even set his gaze on it, he knew all of their work on it wouldn’t be nearly enough. But, they needed to try.

Omera led the charge to the ship, helping by setting the Child inside before the Frog Lady joined him. Together, he and Omera continued to blast at the spiders.

“They’re just gonna keep coming,” Din told Omera. “We need to try getting out of here.”

She fired off one more blast before going inside herself, and he followed, his teeth gritted when the hold began to fill with the creatures like a wave coming into shore.

He climbed up the ladder to the cockpit behind Omera, and once they were inside, he stood facing the door, shooting at the creatures who wanted their way inside. A few got free, but Omera had his back, firing at them with her gun before they had the chance to do anything.

The door refused to close. Spiders pushed in and piled up by the dozens. He blasted them with his flamethrower, and luckily, the door was finally able to seal.

Little tapping claws on the glass of the cockpit windows indicated that the creatures had begun to crawl on top of the Crest.

“Mama...” Winta sat in one of the chairs, having come to the cockpit on her own accord. She clung to Omera, who sat down in the chair, tugging her daughter with her.

“Strap yourselves in.” 

Din flipped switches as he sat in the pilot’s chair, eager to see if he could get the ship to function. The Child made his way into Din’s lap as if drawn there automatically. 

“This better work. I’ve got limited visibility. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

The engine whirred. The Crest began to lift, pulling itself out of the ice floor, and for a moment, he felt as if everything would be okay. They were going to make it out of this alive.

Before he could even consider his next thought, something jumped onto them, forcing the Crest straight back into the ground once more with all of its weight. 

The large spider-creature announced her arrival with a screech and jumped straight in front of the cockpit, pressing her claws inside, shattering glass, as if torturing them before she would make her final move.

It attached its ugly mouth to the top of the cockpit glass, sharp teeth extending as it prepared to do its worst.

The Crest shook with each lunge forward and Din heard the Child whimper in fear. Each heartbeat in his chest was a reminder that they’d come so far, but there was absolutely nothing he could do. 

They were stranded, alone, and at the mercy of the creature. He couldn’t save them. 

Omera had trusted him with her and Winta’s lives, and now, they would all be a tasty snack for an enraged monster on an ice planet. Nobody would even know what happened to them.

But then, as if by miracle, the friendly sounds of guns blasting rang out clearer than any other sound, zapping the spider-creature where it clung to the Crest in its outrage. 

Just a few seconds later, it fell to its demise in front of the ship and Din finally could breathe again. 

That was far too close for comfort. He could only imagine what his passengers were thinking.

Turning to the rest of the crew seated behind him, he nodded at Omera. “Well done back there.”

“Thanks,” she said, breathless with relief. “Who saved us?”

Din stood, settling the Child into Winta’s arms so he could handle the men waiting for him outside. “The New Republic.”

-

After very narrowly avoiding arrest by the New Republic patrol, Din and Omera set to fixing what they could on the exterior of the cockpit, having decided that they would all stuff in together there for the rest of the journey to Trask. 

“Why did you run from the New Republic?” Omera asked. 

She passed him one of the tools from the kit at his request and then continued welding. 

“I got roped into a mission to break someone out of a New Republic prison transport. We used the Crest. I didn’t want them to arrest me.”

Omera paused what she was doing, but said nothing.

Din sighed, turning to look at her directly. “Go ahead. Tell me you want to go back to Sorgan.”

She gave him a slightly offended look. Her shoulders fell as she shook her head. “Din… I don’t want to go back to Sorgan.”

He turned his focus on fusing the hull surrounding the cockpit once again. “They cleared me. It isn’t going to happen again.”

“I doubt it could, with your ship in such rough condition.” 

Din laughed to himself through his nose. “You’re right about that.” Pulling away from his work, he turned to her. “I’m sorry this happened. The kid just won’t listen to me. I don’t get it.”

Omera lowered her tool into the repair kit and thoughtfully looked at him. “Children are by nature curious. I think you just need to find a way to tame his curiosity.”

“How? He’s… Jedi.”

“Just because he’s Jedi doesn’t mean he isn’t a child.” She paused, smiling a little. “Maybe find something he likes and offer it to him as a reward for listening to you.”

Din nodded. “I wish I knew how long it took his species to speak. He can heal flesh wounds and create force fields, but he can’t tell me what he wants.”

Omera put a hand on his helmet, her smile spreading softly. “You are the best one for this job. You’re his father. He’s your son. You share a bond, even if you aren’t his kind.” 

His heart fluttered, not for the first time at the mention of the word father. Was he really a father? 

He hadn’t really thought of himself as one, even after being told that it was his duty by the armorer. The idea that he was responsible for the Child made sense in his mind. He could care for him and deliver him to where he belonged. But being a father meant something more. Didn’t it?

In his mind’s eye, he saw his own father, a man who had been so kind and giving. A man who had sacrificed himself so that Din could live. Was he capable of that kind of sacrifice? Could he ever display that kind of love for the Child?

Din nodded at Omera, appreciative of her support. “Thank you.”

She studied him for another second and then pulled her hand away from his helmet.

Setting his mind away from the fears deep within, he looked at the work he’d done. Time would only tell if what they’d done in repairs was enough.

“Well… you ready to see if she’ll fly?”

“I think we’ve done all we can with what we have.” 

The ship wobbled and creaked, but eventually, he did get them out of the ice canyon and back out into space. A feeling of relief filled the cockpit, even as the Crest continued to tremble from everything it had been through.

He set the nav computer to their destination and looked over his shoulder at the Frog Lady and Omera. 

“We’re on our way.”

The Frog Lady made a happy noise and Omera awarded him a warm smile, a reward for not giving up on the deal. 

Once they landed on Trask, the first thing he wanted to do was reward Omera and Winta with a warm place to sleep, bathe, and eat. 

In his lap, the Child cooed, peering up at him with a little smile on his face. Din cradled him with one arm and twisted the knob of the lever he seemed to like so much. He dropped it into the Child’s hands and was given a delighted giggle.

“Now, go to sleep,” Din instructed. “It’s going to be a long trip.”

The Child seemed to understand. He played with the shiny orb in his palm for only a moment before settling in, his eyes closing tight. Din’s heart squeezed at the sight.

Maybe their next stop would be a fresh start on this journey for all of them.

[jilyandbambi]

Hey gang, so a couple of days ago @padawanlost brought up an old SW fic of mine that I’d only posted to my old blog, not my AO3 as it was only an off the cuff thing that I meant to turn into a full fledged multi-chapter, but bc I was working on so many projects at the time the fully realized idea I had never fully got off the ground. 

Anywho, there were some people in the replies to padawanlost’s post who asked me if I wouldn’t mind reposting it. So I did some digging and actually did manage to find my old Word docs. The person who I mention in the original Author’s Note user @/TheMooseJTM isn’t on Tumblr anymore, so unfortunately I can’t link to her old post, and I’m also not sure if suzukiblu is still on here or, in actuality, which post of theirs’ inspired Michi’s fic, which inspired mine. In any case, mine can be read as a standalone. Everything is under the cut. Feel free to reblog/let me know what you think in the comments, etc. 

Fair warning, I haven’t touched this thing since probably summer of 2016/2017 at the latest, so apologies for my older, less “polished” writing. 

Shout out to @celestialily and @alabasterswriting this is for you :)

The One Where Padmé Spills the Tea   Pt. 1

Inspired by this post by suzukiblu and this follow up ficlet by themooseJTHM. Also, Anakin being epileptic is in reference to this post. I didn’t come up with it. But I find it very fitting. I just want you both to know, this is all your fault. You two have no one to blame but yourselves. 

In which, I take things a little farther than Michi does bc what can I say I’m 95% angst, 5% bacon.  : ) : )))))))

Trigger warning for child abuse 

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

It all starts when an unusually grave Obi-Wan returns Artoo to her, charging port and all. Right off the bat Padmé can feel her intestines clench and constrict into hard stone as he explains that, as apart of an intensive spirit cleansing ordeal recommended by the Temple Healers, Anakin must relinquish all of his material attachments. Especially those that were given to him as gifts from outsiders. 

“But what will you do about his seizures?” she asks him. Trying her best to keep her voice even despite the frustration and worry bubbling up inside as she remembers the first time Anakin told her about them. Their wedding night, when he’d had one in front of her, and he hadn’t even been able to put a name to it. It was just a thing that happens to me every now and then when things get to be Too Much, Padmé. No need to get all fussy over me. 

And she’d hated it. Hated that he’d had such a poor grasp of proper mental health. Hated that he’d been conditioned by his upbringing to see his own well-being as tertiary if not altogether immaterial. But knowing that Anakin oftentimes had trouble distinguishing when people’s negative emotions were directed at him or for him, Padmé had tempered her righteous fury by giving him Artoo as a service droid. Just a friend, to watch over you for me when we’re apart, Ani. And he’d been delighted. Problem solved. 

But Obi-Wan’s brow furrows and his lips tighten into that patented Obi-Wan grimace that crops up on his face whenever he knows some new and dreadful information is about to be unloaded on him. 

“What seizures?” 

And the stone in Padmé’s gut grinds to dust, and she thinks it might have also been whatever remained of the restraint she’d been grasping at since this whole ordeal began. Because the next thing she knows, she’s hauling a panic-stricken What seizures, Padmé? What seizures?! Obi-Wan out the door and back to the Temple, demanding to see her Ani.  

His room still has a window, so she can’t call it a prison cell. But Mother of Mothers…

Everything is gone, everything. The room is completely barren save for the cot, the sheets, and the thin, shabby-looking carpet. Anakin’s workbench and all of the droid parts and little side projects he’d been working on had been taken away. Along with his single podracing poster that had been hanging on the far wall. 

Padmé has long been respectfully critical of the Jedi philosophy of no attachments, knowing that as an outsider, that there were aspects of their culture she could never understand. But this? This was just cruel. 

Anakin looks up when she enters, and oh the dullness in his eyes and the weary slump of his shoulders make him seem at least three times his twenty-two years. His entire body seems to sag with misery and resignation.  

He doesn’t get up to greet her, and he barely reacts at all when she sits down on the cot next to him. It’s been a week since she’s seen him last, thanks to the new restrictions the Jedi have put on their visits. Does he feel she has abandoned him? Stop it she mentally slaps herself. This isn’t about you! 

She reaches up to run her knuckles along the back of his neck, and he immediately jerks back and bats her fingers away. Then turns to look at her—really, look, as if seeing that it’s her for the first time—and is immediately remorseful.  

“Sorry,” he says. His eyes are painfully wide, weighted down with dark circles. Has he slept at all in the time since they’ve last seen each other? 

“Sorry…” he says again. “Sorry. I’m…I’ve been…remembering things.” 

“Don’t apologize,” she tells him, gently taking his hand in hers’. She starts to bring their joined hands into her lap, then reconsiders and places them on the cot in the space between them. Neither of them say anything for the longest time. And that’s just fine. She didn’t come here to talk, or to force him to talk. She came to make sure he was doing alright (and he’s not. Oh, he’s so far from alright. What is she going to do?). 

The silence stretches on and Padmé can do nothing but stare at the dreary grayscale walls of the room Anakin’s been trapped in. Is this what every Jedi’s room looks like? The younglings included? Do the infants in the crèche go to wake from nightmares with nothing but gray spackled walls to comfort them? Can the Jedi think of no way to breed order and conformity than to stamp out anything that could encourage creativity and color? 

Anakin clutches her hand suddenly, and she’s brought back to the present. He opens his mouth and pauses. Then clenches his jaw and tries again. She runs her thumb along the back of his hand, coaxing him through his distress. 

“Padmé,” he croaked. “Do you think maybe if I were a proper Jedi, if I had been able to adapt to the lifestyle from the get go—if-if I weren’t so needy, Sidious wouldn’t have been able to…?”

What was left of Padmé’s stomach plummets to her feet. “Ani…” she says slowly. “Is that what they’ve made you think?”

“No!” he says defensively. Retreating back into himself. “It’s just…the other day when the Healers recommended that the Council take Artoo and the rest of my things they said…” 

“What? What did they say?”

“They tell me Sidious was able to get to me because of how easily I latch onto people. How susceptible I am to attachments. That the reason I didn’t say anything to anyone about what was going on is because—“ 

“He took advantage of you,” Padmé said heatedly. Anakin recoiled, and she brought her hands up to cup both of his cheeks. Stroking her thumbs along them, so that he knows it’s not him she’s upset with. “He was an adult. He was in a position of authority. He manipulated you, Ani. That isn’t your fault.” 

“But—“ he gasped. His breath coming out harsh and heavy. His words choking on the edge of them. “but I-I should’ve…”

“Shhhh…” she whispers, drawing his forehead down to touch hers’. “You’re not to blame, Ani. You didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it.” 

And he just looks so relieved, even as tears begin to leak from his eyes and a sob stifles in his throat. As if this is the first time anyone’s told him this explicitly in the month since the truth has come out. 

It lights a fire inside Padmé over the dust of her long-held restraint. 

And the next thing she knows she’s pulling Anakin up by his flesh arm, and dragging him out of his cell and through the winding halls of the Temple. Without any labels on any of the doors it’s either by pure luck or fury fuelled instinct that she finds the Council Chambers on the first try. Caution thrown completely to the wind, she bursts through them. 

“We’re married.” 

She tells the group of scandalized Masters, before they can even open their mouths to rebuke her lack of decorum. Scandal quickly morphs into shock. And surveying the varied looks of surprise and indignation on each of their normally stoic faces, Padmé feels dark satisfaction water the embers of her rage. 

Master Windu is the first to recover. 

“Excuse us?” he says tightly. 

“We’re married,” Padmé says again. Plainly and proudly. Code be damned. Careers be damned. Enough with the secrets and hiding. Enough. “For going on three years now. Since right after the war broke out. We’re married.”

Now that it’s out there, Padmé finds she can’t stop saying it. Mother goddess does it feel good to say those words out loud. She wants to shout them from the top of the tallest skyscraper on Coruscant. Rife with rebellious attitude, she turns behind her and smacks her lips against Anakin’s. And if the way he just melts into her doesn’t convince the Masters that she isn’t making this up, nothing will. 

“This is ridic—“ 

“Unbelievable!“

“How dare—“ 

“I’ll produce the marriage certificates tomorrow, if you like,” she says over the voices of the hysterical Council members. “But right now, I’m taking my husband home. Consider this his resignation. Good evening, Masters.” 

And with that she links her arm through Anakin’s, and and they walk briskly through the doors of the chamber, just in time to here Obi-Wan’s “Wait! Padmé, Anakin! You’re making a—” before the doors slam behind them. 

The reality of what’s just happened doesn’t hit her until they’re back in their apartment. Anakin’s left the Order. She just resigned him from the Order. Is she even allowed to do that? Did he want to leave the Order? Is he very angry with her? Is he going to leave her now and go crawling back to them? Oh, blessed Mother of Mothers curse her impulsivity, what did she just do?

“You were amazing!” Anakin shouted. She turned around to see a huge grin plastered across his face, and what a difference it makes. Gone is that hollowed out prisoner. He’s himself again, and he’s scooping her up in his arms, kissing her and spinning her around, saying over and over again. “You were amazing! You were amazing! You’re so” kiss “kriffing” kiss “amazing!” 

A long, deep kiss against her lips. He holds the back of her head, bringing her in deeper. Then pulls away, giggling now. Oh, she’s missed that laugh. She’s missed that smile. Oh, Anakin…

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispers, clutching her to his chest, and tangling his flesh hand in her curls. They stay like that for an eternity, swaying back and forth on his heels; her, several inches off the ground, buried in her husband’s arms, and him, nearly delirious with renewed hope, holding her tighter, tighter, tighter as if she’ll float away from him if he lets up. 

“What happens now?” he whispered in her ear. Softly, hesitatingly. As if daring this to somehow be only a dream. 

“Now,” Padmé grinned. “I’m going to pack a bag. You’re going to change out of this,” she fingered his ratty tunic and scowled at his too-small pants. “And the two of us are going to leave all of this behind, like we always talked about.” 

Anakin’s smile is so wide she’s afraid he’s going to pull a muscle. Instead he pulls her in for another deep, hungry kiss. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

He changes quickly so that he can help her pack. As is their routine, she pulls dresses and pants and tunics from their hangers and hands them to him to put away. He’s such an efficient packer. Somehow able to fit half her closet into one mid-sized suitcase without rumpling anything. He’s so careful with her things, taking special care to fold and arrange them perfectly. Treating them as lovingly as he does her. And he says he’s the lucky one. 

They’re just about done when Threepio comes in to tell them that Obi-Wan has arrived. Unnecessary, as he is right on Threepio’s heels. And just as quickly as it set in, Anakin’s good mood is snuffed out like a dying flame. 

“Anakin, Padmé, I—“ he stops himself when he catches sight of her open suitcase. 

“You’re leaving,” he says flatly. 

“Yes,” she answers, daring him to challenge them. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. 

“Please, just hold on a minute. Hear me out,” he says carefully. “Don’t do anything rash. Please.”

He looks to Anakin, who is uncharacteristically silent, sitting on the chaise lounge at the foot of her bed with his head bowed away from his master. Padmé steps in front of him. 

“We’ve already made up our minds, Obi-Wan,” Padmé says forcefully. Lie. She’s made Anakin’s mind up for him. But in her defense, he was all for it…

Right? 

I’m so lucky to have you! 

Right. 

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan scolds. Scolds, as if she were a simple child! “I’m surprised at you. You’re not usually so reckless. Please, just take a minute to think about this. Think about what’s best for Anakin.” 

“What’s best for Anakin,” Padmé seethed. “Being shut away in that room like some criminal? Being stripped of all of his personal possessions and any sort of stimulation? Being cut off from the only person who cares for him? Is that what’s—“

“You’re not the only person who cares for him!” Obi-Wan shouted. “You’ve got some nerve! We’re doing everything we can think of to help him through this! And then you just swoop in and—!” 

“Whatever you call yourselves doing it’s obviously not enough!” she exclaimed. “Obi-Wan he was miserable in that room. You had to have seen that! You have to know that being isolated like that would crush him! You know how much he needs other people!”

“That’s precisely what got him into this mess!” he cried. “He’s always just been so…attached! Palpatine saw that and was able to prey on him because of it. I know being cut off from everyone is difficult for him now, but he’ll come out of this a stronger, wiser Jedi. He’s a grown man, Padmé not an infant. He doesn’t need you coddling him!” 

As a general rule, Padmé hates violence. Especially when used to resolve an argument. But right now she wants to throttle every self-righteous bone in Obi-Wan’s body. 

“How can you say that?!” she screamed. “Palpatine preyed on him because he was lonely and traumatized! And then you go and make him worse!” 

“Oh so it’s my fault that that…disgusting maniac was buggering him for twelve years?!”

“Must you be so crass? I never said anything like that!” she bellowed, incensed. “But yes, while we’re at it? Where were you during those twelve years? What were you doing that you could be so willfully blind to what was being done to him?!”

“Willfully--?!” Obi-Wan spits out through clenched teeth. His face redder than a setting sun, and twice as huge. Like it’s going to just burst open from rage. She’s never seen him so furious. Good. Finally getting some genuine emotion out of Mr. Model Jedi. “Where were you? Now that we’re pointing fingers, where were YOU? He was married to you during three of those years? Clearly sharing more with you than he was with me, what were you doing that you missed something this huge?”

“How dare you imply that I--!“

“STOP IT! JUST STOP!!” 

They both turn to find Anakin hunched over and stricken. His hands clutching at his scalp. A high-pitched keening noise—like the garbled whirring of a broken droid—begins to sound from his mouth as he started to convulse. Oh no. 

“Ani…?” Padmé said softly, stepping closer to him. He didn’t look up. She deflated. All of the anger and bitterness and contempt flowing out of her at once. She didn’t have to look over at Obi-Wan to know the same was happening to him. 

“Anakin,” he said, getting down on his knees so as to be eye-level. “Anakin, shhh…Stay with us.” 

He reached up and began to tug at Anakin’s arms, trying to pull his hands from his hair. They didn’t budge. He pulled harder, yanking at them. 

“Anakin…Anakin let go.” 

“Stop,” Padmé comes down beside them, and gently pulls Obi-Wan away. “Leave him. It doesn’t last long.” 

“He’ll pull his hair out!” 

“His muscles and joints go stiff when he’s like this. If you pull on his arm too much like you were you could dislocate his shoulder.” 

Obi-Wan makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Padmé—“ 

“Stop!” Anakin croaked. His speech slurred and gravelly. “Please…” 

He brings his arms down, then. But his eyes remain bleary and unfocused. They both reach for him, but Padmé gets there first. She pulls him into her lap, bringing his head to rest against her chest and carding her fingers through his hair to soothe any scratches he might have left. 

“Shhh…” she soothes, as his breath hitches and he begins to tremble. “We’re sorry. We’ve stopped. We’re so, so sorry, Ani…” 

The room goes quiet and still as Anakin calms and his breathing returns to normal. Then, Obi-Wan asks

“Anakin, did Palpatine know about your seizures, too?”

She could slap that man. She could. She really, really could. 

A noise comes out of Anakin’s mouth that is halfway between a shriek and a sob. She shushes him again and rubs his back, glaring at Obi-Wan who glares back. 

“I’ve been…remembering things,” Anakin whispered. 

“Shhh…” she says again. “It’s alright. You don’t have to—“ 

“No, let him get this out,” says Obi-Wan. 

“H-he used to…when I was younger…afterwards, he’d have me sit on his lap,” he made another noise. “He’d lift up my tunic and rub my back…like Momma used to. Except he’d go lower...” 

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan said, dropping his head into his hands. Sounding as though he were going to retch. 

“Sorry!” Anakin whispered. “Sorry! I’m sorry! I should have…” 

“You did nothing wrong,” Padmé says vehemently in his ear. “Remember what I told you before, you did nothing wrong.” 

“She’s right, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, just as emphatic. Bracing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

He waited for Anakin’s breathing to regulate. Then pulled him up from her arms. Anakin went to him like a marionette being repositioned. 

“Look at me,” Obi-Wan said. “I want to hear it from you. Do you want to leave the Order? Truly?”

For a moment, Anakin doesn’t answer. And Padmé gets the sinking feeling that she’s made a terrible lapse in judgment. But then he says

“I want to go with Padmé, Master,” with all of his trademark obstinance. But all the same, it’s a question, a request. As if he needed the other man’s permission. As if Obi-Wan would force him to stay against his will. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he pleads.  

And Obi-Wan just looks so defeated, so desolate. Padmé can’t help but want to take back every single one of her earlier words. But before she can even begin to, he hangs his head, and leaves them with a quiet, “So be it.” 

Anakin falls limply back into her arms. They don’t leave for another two hours. 

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

The Tea ‘Verse Pt. 2

(Palpatine is a nasty space hipster that wears ugly robes and plays chess) Trigger Warning for graphic abuse

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

Their first couple of days on Naboo are like something out of a dream. A second honeymoon, only better. 

Before, whenever they visited the Lake Country they’d been confined to the house and its surrounding lands for fear of being recognized and outed by locals. But now that they’ve revealed themselves there’s no more need for subtlety and sneaking. They can be as gooey and shameless and public as they want, without fear of reprisal. And they take full advantage of it. 

(It turns out, actually, that they had nothing to worry about all along, at least as far as the townies are concerned. The inhabitants of the Lake Country are far too consumed with their own day to day lives to care anything at all about the “vacationers” canoodling in the middle of the town square. Padmé and Anakin happily make a note of that.)

They cook breakfast together every morning, then take their food back up to bed and feed one another by hand off of a shared plate. She purposely drips syrup down Anakin’s chest so that she can lick it off. He doesn’t mind one bit. 

They waste an entire day making love. Languishing in tangled limbs and tender touches. Exploring and relearning one another’s bodies the way they always do after a lengthy separation. Finding new and creative ways to make each other ache and writhe in pleasure, until they are too sore to do anything more than listen to one another breathe, as the sun sets just outside their bedroom. 

They have dinner by candlelight—both at home, and at restaurants in town. The wait staff at one is so taken with the two of them and the way they feed each other bits of their dessert between kisses, they end up getting two more on the house. 

They picnic out in the fields, and watch the wild shaaks graze. And when Padmé teases him about that time he tried to ride one and ended up falling flat on his face, Anakin does it again, just to see her laugh. 

They pop popcorn and watch live coverage of the Pixelito Classic on Malastare, and she listens attentively as Anakin savagely rips apart every contestant’s podracer. (“I built a better racer than that at nine, what is Kolbron even DOING?” he rages. She chuckles, kisses him, and shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth.)

They take her father’s old speederboat out on the largest lake in the region for a day. While she tans, he lies halfway over the edge of the deck and drags his arms along in the water, grinning and laughing like a little boy. And Padmé thinks that if she loves one singular thing about Anakin, it’s his wide-eyed wonderment at the simple things. 

Going to bed on a full stomach. 

Clothes that fit properly. 

Water. Fresh water. Unlimited fresh water. (“that you can just…drink and sail in and swim in, Padmé. Drown in, even. Anytime you want. It’s just there!”)

Her smile. 

And she wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, how anyone could ever want to break her Anakin, the way Sidious and the Jedi almost did. How anyone could see his passion and think it something that should be stripped away or perverted. 

Thinking about what they almost did to him makes her want to tear millennia old institutions down to the ground with her bare hands. 

Anakin catches her brooding, and against all her protesting scoops her up and tosses her into the water, tumbling in right after her. When they finally come back onboard, she’s missing her bikini. (She never sees it again.)

Later that night, as Anakin trails butterfly kisses down her belly, muttering nonsense words of praise and adoration between every nip and suck, Padmé finds herself feeling so very grateful to this provincial little corner of her homeworld for being so good to the love of her life. For helping him heal. For washing the gray from his skin. Lifting the hunch in his shoulders. Spilling light back into his eyes. For slowly bringing him back to himself. For proving to Padmé without a shadow of a doubt that she made the right choice in taking Anakin away from the Jedi and bringing him here to their sanctuary.  

He’s home. He’s safe. He’s loved. With her, as he should have been all this time.  

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

Honestly, now that he’s finally free, Anakin can’t fathom why it took him so long to leave. Or rather; why it took Padmé getting fed up on his behalf and literally dragging him out of the Temple for him to realize that that is what he should have done years ago. Thrown up his hands and stormed out. Kriff the Council and their scorn and distrust, Obi-Wan and his endless criticism, and three years of endless, pointless war. 

Kriff it all. Let the transistors fall where they may.

He endured them for entirely too long. Let them push him around for entirely too long. Let them take away all of his things—his posters and his droids and Artoo—when he already had so little to call his own, when they’d already forced him to relinquish so much. Let them lock him up like a rabid dog. Let them pick apart his mind like he would with a busted engine, trying to discern if there were parts of it that could be salvaged, or if it would be better to just scrap the whole thing and move on. 

That’s all he ever was to them, wasn’t he? A piece of machinery. Another droid they could program and push around and possess. That’s all he’d ever been to anyone. Even…

No. Don’t think about that. Your mind always ends up going to the wrong place when you think too hard about that. 

But… 

Shut up…

But—

Shut up shutupshutupshutupshutup—

You don’t know for sure. You never actually did get the chance to confront him. 

Shut up. 

Obi-Wan took that from you. 

He was defending me. 

Really? When has he ever done that?

Shut up. 

He was your friend. He was always there for you. How do you know—

Shut up.

 —that he was really out to hurt you? Obi-Wan’s been wrong about things like this before. 

Things like what? Obi-Wan’s never wrong. Shut up.  

He never did like the Chancellor. Maybe…

Shut up. He was right. I was wrong. I’m always wrong. Wrong and cocky and stupid and—

(“That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Anakin! I never want to hear you say anything like that about yourself ever again. Am I understood?” “Yes, sir…Thank you.”) 

See? Why would a person who wanted to hurt you treat you with such kindness?

That’s a stupid thing to ask. 

But did anything he did ever hurt? They keep saying he hurt you, but did it, actually?

Shut up. I remember. I remember…

What do you remember?

Hands…and touching…and—

Hands and touching. People touch each other with their hands. That’s normal. You were right. You so stupid. Why do the people in your life even bother with a socially illiterate imbecile like you? How can Padmé and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka even stand—

Shut up! Just shut up! 

Anakin rolled roughly over onto his side and stuffed his face into his pillow. Hoping to quiet the annoying voice in his head telling him that maybe this was all terrible a mistake. That maybe everyone had been exaggerating. Maybe…

“Ani…” Padmé’s sleep-thick voice called out from behind him. “Are you alright?”

Kriff. She’s awake now. She’s not going to let this go now that he’s woken her.

“Fine,” he mumbled into the pillow. 

She pressed into his side, stroking cool fingertips down the nape of his neck. That wasn’t fair. That was the opposite of fair. She knows what that does to him. 

“Ani…” she said again. 

He buried his face farther into the pillow. If he looked at her he would have to tell her everything, and she would look at him with That look. The only expression on her face that he could honestly say he detested. The one that was pitying and saddened and outraged all at once. The expression she always wore when he said or did something that was normal for him, but not Normal. When he reminded her of where he’d come from. Where she’d met him. 

But she was awake now. She was going to have it out of him one way or another. Best to just rip it off. Like a bandage. 

“Padmé,” he said slowly. Taking his head from the pillow and turning on his side so that they were now face to face. “What…what Sidious did to me. I…I know it was wrong. But why was it? I mean I know why, but why, you know? Why is it such a big deal?”

Why does it hurt me so much, when it didn’t actually hurt? Is what he doesn’t say. But he thinks Padmé gets it. He hopes so because he knows the words won’t make any sense if said aloud the way they do in his head 

And sure enough, there it is. Her drooping eyes pop all the way open and she’s staring at him—at him, but not at him. Now seeing cruelty and hardship and oppression instead of her husband. And she is so very sad for him, he can feel it swelling around her in the Force. She is heartbroken and furious with people who are long buried in his past. Her lips twist into a scowl that then quickly morphs into an even sadder smile when she remembers that she was scowling at him. Her mouth opens. Then closes with a disquieted hum. She’s silent for a moment, then says.

“Ani, do you think it might be good for you to talk to someone…else about these thoughts? A professional, I mean. To help you sort through it all?”

And Anakin—

(“Anakin, listen. The Council has decided you are to spend some time with the Temple healers after…this whole business with Palpatine.” 

“For how long, Master?”

“Until they clear you for active duty, I suppose.” 

New clothes, dark and coarse. Too loose and too tight. Then later a new room, bare and cold and alone. 

“It’s just to help you clear your head, Anakin. This isn’t a punishment; I swear to you.”  

Cold and bored and alone in the dark. No Artoo. Nothing to tinker with. No visitors. No Obi-Wan or Padmé or Ahsoka. Where are they? Why don’t they come? Why did Obi-Wan have to take everything away and leave him like this? 

“This is for your own good, Skywalker.” 

“It’s only to help you, Anakin.” 

“We’re doing what we can to undo the damage Sidious did. But Skywalker’s not cooperating.”

“As usual.” 

“Perhaps a more aggressive approach is necessary.”  

It’s just to help. It’s just to help. It’s just to help you, Anakin. The more you work with them, the easier this will be.)

—Anakin thinks, Palpatine never hurt me, the Jedi did. Except he says it out loud, and Padmé looks absolutely crushed. Fuck, fuck, fuck what was he thinking saying that out loud?! 

Before she can say anything else, he whispers 

“This is where I belong, Padmé,” into her neck, as her arms wind around him and she clutches him in a quivering embrace. “I’m happy here, with you. Finally, after so long. I’m finally happy. It was just a thought. Please…” 

Don’t send me away to another dark room. Don’t let anyone lock me up again. Please. Please…please. 

Padmé doesn’t say anything more, just continues to hold him tight and stroke his hair. And Anakin tells himself that that’s the end of it. That he’s safe now, with the only person who’s ever cared about him. He has nothing to worry about with being stuffed away in isolation while someone new tries to “help” him. Padmé’s not going to do that. She loves him. She’s the only person who does. 

He repeats that to himself again and again as he drifts off to sleep in her arms. 

And that night, for the first time since this whole thing began, Anakin dreams. 

He opens his eyes to find himself walking through a familiar hallway. Aides and staffers bustle around him, casting furtive glances his way, but upon realizing who he is return to their work. Some nodding at him in polite greeting. 

Eventually, he comes to a familiar door, and passes through it without a moment’s hesitation.  

Palpatine looks up from whatever it is he was working on as soon as Anakin enters his office, an eager smile stretching across his face. 

“Anakin,” he says as he stands up from his desk to come over and greet him. “It is so good to see you again, my boy.” 

“You as well, Chancellor,” Anakin says, bowing his head respectfully. 

“Come, come, sit down,” Palpatine says excitedly. Looping his arm around Anakin’s and leading him over to one of the couches in the sitting area of his office. Gently guiding him into one, and sitting down next to him. 

“So…” he says, that eager smile on his face getting wider and wider. “What brings you by today, Anakin?”

Anakin faltered. 

“I… I, uh…”

What was wrong with him? Why had he shown up at the Senate building today? He couldn’t remember… 

“Did you have something to discuss with me, dear one?” Palpatine prodded. “Is everything alright between you and Obi-Wan? Do you have some concerns about the last mission you went on that you’d like to share with me?”

“I…” 

Did he have something to share with him? He did. Of course he did. There had to have been an important reason for coming here. He wasn’t so arrogant to think he could just show up at the Chancellor’s office for no reason at all. 

“You seem troubled, Anakin,” Palpatine said. Smile gone. Lips pulled down into a thin frown. “Are you certain nothing’s the matter? There’s nothing going on that I should know about?”

Anakin shook his head, trying to clear his mind. What was going on with him? He thought he had been bad off before, but this was on a whole new level. He was seriously losing it. 

“No. No, I…I just…” 

“Are you sure?” Palpatine said. Mouth twisting into another fond smile. He gave him a knowing look. “Trouble in paradise, perhaps, between you and Senator Amidala?”

Anakin’s head shot up. 

“H-how…How did you…?”

No one knew about him and Padmé. They’d been so very careful. How could this be?

“Are things a bit…awkward between the two of you right now? What with all of those awful things they’ve been saying about me in the HoloNet?” 

Anakin froze. The blood in his veins turned to hard, steely ice. He turned to look at the Chancellor. He stared back. An expectant gleam flashing in his gold-rimmed eyes. He smirked. Anakin’s gut rose up into his throat.  

“This isn’t a dream,” he whispered vacantly. The horrifying realization slowly creeping up on him. “This is really happening.”

Palpatine’s grin widened, and his cold, weathered hand came to rest against the back of Anakin’s neck, attempting to comfort him with gentle, placating strokes. Anakin stiffened. Palpatine’s touch stilled, and his fingers wrapped around the base of his neck. He felt a faint tingling sensation shoot down his spine, and slumped against the couch cushions. 

“What do you want?” he said in a strained voice. 

Palpatine chuckled fondly. “I think, Anakin, the question is, what do you want? We are in your head, after all.”

“You’re in my head,” Anakin said, his voice shaking with anger and barely suppressed fear. “You’re using some kind of Sith magic on me!” 

The Chancellor laughed again. This time with far less mirth. 

“Anakin, not even I am powerful enough to invade another being’s mind like this. Especially not now that my true identity has been revealed and the Jedi have pushed back my influence. Me being able to enter your mind means that you have to have given me permission, young one. You must have called me here for some reason. What could it be, I wonder.” 

Anakin took a minute to stew on that. What he was saying did make some sense…maybe. Obviously, he wasn’t well versed in what was and what wasn’t within the realm of a Sith’s capability. But with Sidious’ true identity revealed didn’t that mean that the shroud of the Dark Side that had been clouding the Force for so long was finally lifted? It had to, didn’t it? Obi-Wan and the Jedi have finally triumphed. They had to have. 

(Maybe he would know this for sure if someone had bothered to update him on what was going on during all that time he spent in isolation.) 

He turned back over to Palpatine and, with more bravery than he felt at the moment, stared his (former?) mentor straight in his eyes. 

“You’re a Sith Lord.” 

“Yes.” 

Anakin swallowed thickly, looking back down at his lap. 

He knew how he should be reacting to this. He should feel outraged. Violated. His entire being should be responding to the alarm bells sounding off all around him in the Force. He should be doing his damnedest to wake himself up. To fight back. To alert Obi-Wan and the Council that—even if Palpatine had been driven to whatever far corner of the galaxy he was contacting him from—he was still a powerful enough presence to manifest himself in another’s dreams. He should pull himself up, throw off Palpatine’s hand and get himself out of this “office” as fast as he can. 

And yet, Anakin finds himself planted right where he is. Paralyzed by the only thought currently running through his head. 

“All this time,” he choked. His heart hammering away furiously in his chest. “All this time. You’ve been using me. You never cared about m—“ 

“That’s not true, Anakin!” Palpatine cut him off, raising his voice ever so slightly in reprimand. Anakin flinched and ducked his head. Palpatine resumed his stroking. 

“If you believe nothing else,” he began softly. “Believe that all of our interactions over the years have been genuine on my part. You have always been very special to me, dear one.” 

Anakin shook his head, doing his best to shake off Palpatine’s hand. It tightened again, and another twinge shot through him. He relaxed. 

“You just wanted to use me,” he whispered. “This whole time, you were—“ 

“Trying to guide you,” Palpatine said forcefully. “That’s all, Anakin. Just trying to offer you the guidance and affection I knew you craved. You were so lonely during those first few years after you came to Coruscant. Don’t you remember?”

Anakin drew in a shaky breath. And without letting that one out, took another. Yes, he remembered. Of course he remembered those early years in his training. Before he learned that Obi-Wan’s aloofness was his own way of showing he ‘cared’. Before he had completely given up on making friends with the other padawans in his class. Before he had resigned himself to never earning the Council’s acceptance. He had been so utterly alone back then. And who had been there for him during all of that? 

He nodded. 

Then, remembering who—what—he was talking to, he shook his head again. 

“You were trying to turn me…” he whispered harshly. Furious that he needed to remind himself of this. “You wanted me to be your apprentice.” 

“I still do,” Palpatine said plainly. “Were you to wish it, were you to embrace my teachings, Anakin, you could be the most powerful Sith in millennia. I have foreseen it. I have always foreseen great things for you. In spite of your confounding insistence on wallowing in mediocrity.”  

“You’re everything I’ve spent my life fighting against,” Anakin gritted out between clenched teeth. “I will never join you.” 

“No, I suppose not now,” Palpatine sighed regretfully. “But nevertheless, Anakin. I still consider myself your friend. You called me to you for a reason. I’m here to help you. Whatever it is.” 

His hand drifted slowly down Anakin’s neck and spine in slow, soothing circles until it stopped at the small of his back. It reached around his waist, urging him closer to his side. 

Blood pounded in Anakin’s ears. The rhythm beating in time to the Force’s warning. Saliva, stale and sickly sweet pooled in the back of his throat. He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed until his mouth went dry. 

“You’re lying,” he said. “I wouldn’t have called you here. I don’t want to see you. Not after what you—not after…After—oh you know!”

Palpatine hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head so that Anakin was now facing him directly. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, Anakin.” 

“What you did,” he fumbled. For some reason unable to even think the words, much less voice them aloud.  

“What did I do?” 

“You…” Anakin croaked over the lump in this throat. “…Hurt me.” 

“Did I?” Palpatine frowned in genuine confusion. “When?”  

Anakin breathed a long, ragged breath. When? When? 

Yes, when. When did it all start? He thought back through all the old memories that had been cropping up recently. After Obi-Wan had sat him down and explained to him that what had been happening during his and Palpatine’s meetings all these years had been wrong, he’d thought back over everything. Every touch. Every hug. Every pat on the head or the cheek or the back. Which one was the bad one? Which one had made him feel dirty? Used? Manipulated? He couldn’t tell now. Palpatine was looking down on him, expectant, and just a little bit hurt, and Anakin found that he honestly couldn’t say for himself when the Chancellor’s touches had begun to bother him. 

If they ever did. 

They did, didn’t they? 

Because what he was doing was wrong. 

Right?

“I-I’ve been…remembering things?” he said, closing his eyes and turning away from the Chancellor. 

“Really?” Palpatine said. Bringing his head back up with an insistent jerk. “Such as?”

Anakin shifted his eyes to the floor—tried to, but Palpatine’s glare was firmly holding him in place. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

“Things.” 

“Like?”

He shuddered. His whole body began to tremble, much to his embarrassment. Palpatine brought his hand from Anakin’s side, and cupped both of his cheeks in his own. They were cold and clammy against Anakin’s hot skin. He sank into them before he could stop himself. 

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “I understand this is difficult for you. But you’ve always been able to talk to me, and I’ve always been able to set you right. Don’t shut me out now, when you’re clearly in so much turmoil.” 

“Y-you…touched me,” Anakin mumbled. His eyes stung and he shut them again. Willing the water building up beneath his lower lid to stay where it was. 

“Yes,” Palpatine said, running his thumbs along Anakin’s cheeks. “Just as I am now. Does this hurt you, Anakin? Do you want me to stop?”

Anakin thought about that. Did he? He should. He feels like if Obi-Wan or Padmé saw this happening they would tell him he should. But why? It wasn’t hurting him. It made him feel…the opposite…

“No,” he whispered, with a slow shake of his head. 

“Has anything I’ve done ever made you feel unsafe?”

Again, Anakin shook his head. “No.” 

“I see. Then, do you want to know what I think, Anakin?” Palpatine asked softly.

“Yes…”

“I think—and mind you this is just my own personal observation based on what I know of you and your Master. But I think the only reason you feel this way about our relationship now is because Obi-Wan and the Council told you you ought.” 

Anakin’s eyes snapped open. No…No! That wasn’t…right. Right? Right. Obi-Wan was his Master. His teacher. His friend. He was always right. He would never lead Anakin astray. Anakin opened his mouth, ready to jump to Obi-Wan’s defense. 

The Chancellor hushed him before he could even make a sound. 

“Just hear me out,” he implored. “I’m not saying they did this maliciously. Far from it. You’re Obi-Wan’s former padawan, Anakin. He would never do anything to deliberately cause you pain. But think about it, how often has he shown you any sort of physical affection over the years? How often are any of the Jedi ever affectionate with one another? Not very, am I right?”

“…yes,” Anakin said reluctantly. This was true. It was one of the biggest culture shocks of coming to the Temple. He had been so used to hugs and kisses before bed or before departing for the day’s work or just because. There had been none of that with Obi-Wan. Especially not in the beginning, when they were still so new to each other. It was one of the reasons why his meetings with Palpatine had meant so much to him…

“So perhaps, then,” Palpatine said quietly. “It’s all just a horrible misunderstanding on their part.” 

He dropped his hands from Anakin’s face, and reached into his lap to take his hand. Giving it a prompting squeeze. 

“You know that Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi just don’t understand things like this. They view any kind of affection as dangerous and corrupting. Of course they wouldn’t understand how we are when we’re together. They’ve never understood you and what you need.” 

He drew tiny circles over the back of Anakin’s hand. And a familiar coldness spread through Anakin’s gut.  

“They’ve never even tried,” he muttered angrily. 

“No,” Palpatine agreed. “But I have, Anakin.” 

Anakin nodded.

“You’ve always been there for me,” he whispered. Waves of shame and guilt coursing over him with each swirl of Palpatine’s thumb against his hand. He tried to look away, but Palpatine’s glare burned. His hand tightened. Anakin felt another spasm shoot through his bones. 

“I have,” Palpatine said quietly, his voice taking on a pained edge. “Which is why I can’t understand why you’d let them say all of those horrible things about me in the media, Anakin. Do you have any idea how devastating this has all been for me? How mortifying?”

Anakin’s throat hitched. His cheeks burned.  

“I-I’m sorry, Chancellor,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry I let this happen to you. Everything just went so fast after Obi-Wan and I switched back. He came to get me and brought me before the healers, and I—“ 

“Shhh,” Palpatine hushed him with a finger to his lips. “That’s enough, dear one. Of course I don’t blame you for all of it. This isn’t completely your fault. I know how the Jedi can be with you. I bet they didn’t wait a single second to hear your side of the story, did they?” 

Anakin shook his head mutinously. “They locked me up,” he said. “For weeks.” 

“Surely Obi-Wan couldn’t have agreed to that.”

“He did!” Anakin said, voice rising as familiar pangs of betrayal hit him as he recalled being packed off into that room to ‘heal.’ “He said it was for my own good.” 

Palpatine tutted disdainfully, as he continued to stroke Anakin’s hand. “There’s more, isn’t there? I can see it in your eyes, Anakin. There’s more you want to tell me.”

Anakin hesitated. He knows he shouldn’t. Again, he remembers what he’s talking to. And he knows, alright? He knows how dangerous it is to put his trust in a Sith Lord. Knows what fate awaits him should he let himself sink too deep. But this isn’t just a Sith Lord. This was Palpatine. His friend. His confidant. He could tell him anything. Had always been able to share anything and everything with him. And he had forgotten over these past few weeks how much he missed the Chancellor’s open ear and paternal wisdom. Forgotten how good it felt to come to him and just get it all out, without fear of judgment or reproach. 

“They took away all my droid parts. And Artoo, too. And they locked me up like a prisoner. No one ever came to see me, to update me on what was going on or to tell me when it would all be over. Not even Obi-Wan. They even tried to keep Padmé away!” 

Palpatine mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, ‘those fools. Those insipid, unbelievable fools.’ Then let go of Anakin’s hand to spread out his arms welcomingly. 

“Tell me all about it, Anakin,” he says, pleadingly. “I can see there’s still so much you need to get off your chest. I know they’ve made you doubt me. I know they’ve tried to turn you against me. But you know who I am. And you know that your thoughts and worries are always safe with me. Let them go, my boy. It’s alright. It’s all going to be alright now.” 

Anakin looks at this man, his mentor, whom he has known and trusted and confided in for more than half his life. And now knowing who he is and what he has always wanted from him, tries to find some hint of malice. Some trace of deceit or cunning. Any small seed of treachery. 

He finds nothing. Except Palpatine. His friend who has always wanted nothing more than to guide him, to give him the esteem and the security he has never gotten from the Jedi. 

If Palpatine has always been the one to make him feel accepted and cared for, when he was supposedly evil, and the the Jedi have always made him feel alone and unwanted, when they were on the side of good, then…

No, he can’t think like that. He can’t allow himself to…

But still…

Was it so bad? Was it really all that bad? 

Palpatine, seeing the reluctance and yearning warring in Anakin’s eyes, spreads his arms wider, reaching for him ever so slightly. That same old welcoming smile spread across his face. 

“Come to me, dear one,” he croons. 

Anakin goes. 

Well 

After ignoring the outside world for a solid week, it was high time Padmé got back down to business. There are messages she needs to return. Meetings to reschedule. Bills to review. And new speeches to write, as she has yet to personally address the news of her relationship since its reveal.

She had made sure to have her publicist leak the story of her and Anakin’s secret marriage to the press the night they left Coruscant, in order to beat the Jedi to the punch. And upon checking the Holonet the next day she had been pleased to find public’s reaction was even better than she’d anticipated. 

By the time she and Anakin had reached the Lake Country, every tabloid, gossip rag, and talk show in the Republic was abuzz with talk of the forbidden love affair between The Hero With No Fear and the beloved Queen turned Senator of Naboo. As Padmé hoped would happen, the general public was so enamored with the melodrama of her and Anakin’s torrid romance, the scandal of a Jedi being romantically involved with a senator was less than an afterthought to them. Neither had anyone made the connection between Anakin and “Minor A,” the Chancellor’s unnamed victim in the Senate Sexual Abuse Scandal. 

But there were still people she had to answer to. 

The Queen and her advisors had not been pleased at the news of one of Naboo’s most respected politicians engaging in such unseemly behavior. But given Padmé’s previously spotless record, and that her approval ratings were higher than they’d ever been, what with the public’s obsession with her relationship, she’d been allowed to keep her seat in the senate. Though she knew that she would have to work hard going forward to regain the monarchy’s full confidence.   

And then there was her family.

Sola and their mother, especially, were understandably incensed that it had taken three years for them to learn of Padmé’s marriage, even more so that they had had to find out through the HoloNet instead of from her directly. Her father, for his part, hadn’t said a word while his wife and daughter ranted for a full forty-five minutes. But the look of abject heartache on his face hurt Padmé more than her mother and sister’s tearful raging. 

She’d borne all of their resentment meekly and penitently. Knowing that there was nothing she could say in her defense. She has been selfish all these years, keeping Anakin a secret from them for her own convenience, and she wasn’t going to disrespect her family more than she already had by trying to reconcile her selfishness to their betrayed faces. 

But when they demanded that she bring Anakin home to them, and introduce him as Anakin her husband, not Anakin her bodyguard, Padmé had refused point blank. And no amount of cajoling or pleading or guilt-tripping on any of their parts could make her change her mind. 

When asked, bitingly, why she would deny them this one small request, after putting them through so much, Padmé had cringed, reigned in the tears and exasperation threatening to spill out of her, and told them that she and Anakin were keeping a low profile for right now so as to avoid the paparazzi, until they were ready to give interviews. 

Lie. 

Like the general public, Padmé’s family doesn’t know the real reason behind Anakin’s resignation from the Order, and she intends to keep it that way. It’s his secret to reveal. But if they don’t know, she can’t tell them about how moody and skittish he’s been lately. About how he stares off into space for hours on end. About how his seizures have started becoming more frequent. About how at night he wakes them both, shaking and screaming from night terrors, with no memory of what they’d been about once she gets him calmed down again. 

About how he was backsliding, in spite of all the progress he’d made during their first week here. And that he wouldn’t talk to her about any of what was going on in his head so that she could help. 

Padmé knows there’s no way she can reintroduce him to her parents while he’s like this. She—

“Miss Padmé,” C3P0 called, interrupting her thoughts as he came into the study. “Miss Padmé, I’m so sorry to interrupt your work, but I’ve made lunch. Shall I fetch Master Ani?”

“No, that’s alright Threepio,” she smiled at the droid. “Thank you, but I’ll go get him myself. We’ll be down in a minute.” 

“Yes, of course, Miss,” chimes Threepio, and with a slight bow, heads back to the kitchen. Padmé follows him through the door. 

She hasn’t checked on Anakin all morning, but finds him in the first place she looks, their bedroom. 

Surrounded by… sheets of flimsi?

They’re scattered all over the floor; from the foot of the bed to the dresser, from the doorway of the ‘fresher heading out the opposite way to the entrance to the balcony, from the closet coming up to the hallway. Many of the pages were blank, save for a few illegible scribbles. More were filled with strange drawings of irregular shapes with words and equations written next to them. There were run down pencils abandoned all over the floor, and erasers chased down to ragged nubs. In the middle of this mess sat Anakin. One page held in his hand. His head lolled forward, his chin was touching his sternum. A low murmuring whine squeaking out from between pursed lips. 

Artoo was at his side, dutifully monitoring his vitals. He beeped in greeting as Padmé came further into the room. 

“How long has he been like this,” she asked him. 

Three minutes, seventeen seconds he told her. 

Longer than normal. Padmé bit her lip and went into the ‘fresher to wet a washcloth under some the cold tap, then came back out to sit on Anakin’s other side, and began dabbing at his forehead with the cloth, as she and Artoo waited for him to regain full consciousness. 

It’s another five long seconds before he comes back to them, collapsing into Padmé’s arms with a loud groan. 

“You’re alright, Ani,” she soothed. Shifting him so that his head was pillowed in her lap, and laying the cloth across his forehead. 

“P’dmé,” he mumbled groggily. “’rtoo?” 

Artoo beeped in affirmation. 

“We’re right here,” Padmé assured him. Bringing his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “We’re right here.” 

The three of them sit in silence for a long moment. Before Padmé remembers all of the flimsi laying around them. 

“Ani what is all this,” she asked him, taking the page he was holding from his hand to get a better look at it. 

Her jaw practically unhinges once her eyes register what she’s actually looking at. 

“I was…bored,” Anakin said weakly.  

And Padmé, she just has to laugh, because Mother of Mothers is he really going to write it off as just that? 

“Ani—this…this is…” 

A blueprint. A full-scale, impeccably detailed blueprint for what appears to be an original concept design for a starfighter. He did this. In the span of one morning. Because he was bored?

“Ani this is incredible,” Padmé breathes once she finds her voice again. “You just did this on the spot?”

“It took me a few times to get it right,” he shrugged. Weakly gesturing at all the flimsi around them. “I wanted to build something, but I don’t have my tools anymore.”

Her heart hurts for him. Faintly, because she’s still so caught up in her amazement.

“So you designed a starfighter.”

“Yeah…” 

So nonchalant. Like this was normal. A thing everyone just up and did whenever they got sick of returning messages and filling out paperwork. 

“Ani this looks—please, don’t take this badly—but this looks like it could actually fly.” 

“In theory,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if my math is right, but it’s based off of the Actis-class. With a few tweaks.” 

He brought up a finger to point at the different areas on the ship’s model. 

“I added room for a built-in hyperdrive, and stronger laser cannons,” he explained. “Thicker wings to accommodate a full sized astromech. And better shielding.”

Padmé is right back to being rendered speechless. There’s so much she wants to say to this. She wants to tell him to sell his design to Kuat Systems Engineering. Then she thinks that he should keep it to himself and start his own ship-designing firm. She wants to tell him to enroll in university and pursue a business degree so that he can start his own ship-designing firm. Then she remembers that he has had far less and far different formal schooling than most university students, and wonders if that might be a setback. Mostly she just wants to kiss him all over, and tell him how amazingly talented he is and how proud she is to be married to someone so gifted. 

But first, she smirks and says

“Is this what you’ll do from now on? Spend your days drawing starships?”

He frowned. Clearly not getting that she wasn’t putting his work down, but asking a semi-serious question. She does quick damage control before things get out of hand. 

“You could, you know,” she said lightly. “You could take some classes, hone your skills a little more. Submit your sketches to a firm, and maybe they’d hire you on to oversee the projects.” 

Anakin pulled himself up from her lap, and spun around to face her. 

“Do you really think that could happen,” he asked. His jaw clenched doubtfully, but his eyes shining and hopeful. “I mean do you really think that I could really…do that…ever?”

Padmé smiled, pulling him down in for a kiss. 

“You’re free, Ani,” she promises against his lips. “You can do anything you like.” 

Anakin pulls away suddenly. His face a puzzle of wonderment, as though he’s watching an entire galaxy form right before his eyes. It takes Padmé a second to get it. But when she does she finds herself looking not at a galaxy, but a road. 

Winding and expansive, full of forks and curves and hills and pitfalls, making up endless paths and possibilities. All of which were, until very recently, cruelly held out of Anakin’s reach. But no more. For the first time in his life, Anakin has no master prodding him along, demanding that he follow whatever path they set out for him. Those chains called Destiny and Prophecy that for so long have shackled him to them have all been cut loose. At last, Anakin is free to go his own way. 

Having finally gained some perspective, Padmé realizes suddenly that she’s been indefensibly remiss in not doing more to help him explore the many options now available to him. 

She resolves to remedy that, immediately. 

  This is an old game from a very ancient and long-dead world. It’s boring, and Anakin’s terrible at it. And yet still, every once and a while, Palpatine will insist they play a round or two. 

I so seldom have any company to play with, Anakin, he would say. I know this isn’t a game you enjoy, but please, indulge an old man, won’t you?

And Anakin will roll his eyes and groan good-naturedly as Palpatine pulls out the faded black and white checkered board, lines up all the strange looking pieces, and makes the first move. 

It didn’t seem fair, though, that if they were in his head, and he was the one calling Palpatine here, that he should still have to endure this. Couldn’t they do this in a workshop? He chuckled inwardly at the thought of the Chancellor with his sleeves rolled up, fiddling around with nails and bolts. 

“Something funny, Anakin,” Palpatine mumbled absently, not looking up from the board. 

“No, nothing,” Anakin lied. “I was just thinking.” 

“About…?”

“Nothing.” 

Palpatine sighed, in that disappointed way that he knows Anakin hates, and looks up from the board. 

“Anakin,” he scolded. Crossing his arms and raising a chiding brow. “Remember what we talked about.” 

Anakin flinched, and folded under the weight of the Chancellor’s heavy glare. 

“I did a sketch of a starfighter the other day,” he said quietly. “Padmé really liked it. She thinks I should go to school to become an engineer.” 

“Really,” Palpatine said. For once sounding genuinely surprised. He leaned back in his seat. “And what do you think about that?”

Anakin shrugged. “I think it could be fun, I guess. It’s certainly never anything I considered before.” 

Palpatine “hmmed” thoughtfully, turning his attention back to the board. 

“What?” Anakin said. Suddenly feeling very anxious. 

“Nothing,” said Palpatine. “Just considering my next move.” 

He moved one of the little pieces that looked like a tower one space to the left. Then looked back up at Anakin.  

“Forgive me for speaking candidly, Anakin,” he said. “But I can’t imagine you’ve ever given much thought to a future outside of the Order.”

Anakin dipped his head, staring fixedly at the board. “Not really…” 

All those years ago, when Master Qui-Gon came to Tatooine, the choice he had presented Anakin with were either become a Jedi, or stay a slave forever. Obviously, he’d chosen the former. But that had been it, as far as career exploration was concerned. From the day he became Obi-Wan’s padawan, he’d devoted himself entirely to being the best Jedi he could possibly be. And while yes, at times he’d considered leaving the Order—especially after his marriage to Padmé, his fantasy of chucking his lightsaber at Master Yoda’s head and storming out had always stopped there. It’s probably why he didn’t have the strength to leave on his own after the scandal had broken. No matter how chafed he felt by the Order, realistically, Anakin could never envision himself doing anything else. 

Only now that he’s actually done the impossible and left the Jedi, was he starting to see that maybe there were other things out there for him. 

The Chancellor tutted softly, and then stood and came over to Anakin’s side of the table, sitting down beside him. 

“Well at your age there’s certainly nothing wrong with considering a change in career path,” he said judiciously. “Even one as drastic as this.” 

Anakin nodded. 

“Of course,” he went on. “You’ll want to keep in mind that the world of academics is an entirely different setting than what you’re accustomed to. Not to impugn your intelligence, dear boy, but let us be frank, your formal education was uneven at best. The students at the schools Padmé no doubt has in mind for you have spent their entire academic careers being educated at the galaxy’s most elite institutions. And you, well…” 

“Haven’t,” Anakin said bluntly. Remembering the trouble he used to have keeping up in lessons at the Temple. The instructors had put him in remedial classes when he first arrived because of how far behind he was. In the beginning, he did try his best to catch up to his peers, but it didn’t help that he was always being taken out of classes to go on missions with Obi-Wan. Although the workload did eventually get easier for him, by that point he had already given up on catching up with the more advanced students in his class. It had become enough for him to just get by. He’d learned to read and write and do advanced arithmetic, which was much farther than his mother or any of his friends back home had ever gotten. Farther than he ever thought he would get. For him, that was something to be proud of. And besides, even as a padawan he was a better pilot than most knights, and he could build and fix just about anything. Who cared if his marks were just average when everything that actually mattered came naturally to him?

But he isn’t a Jedi anymore. He has to find a job in the outside world now. What if whatever meager amount of knowledge his instructors had been able to beat into his belligerent adolescent brain wasn’t enough? His place had never been in the classroom, true. But he’d have to be trained in something if he wanted to build a life for himself outside of the Temple, right? 

“Maybe I could, I don’t know…” 

“A career in engineering requires years of intensive study. Not to mention, a strong background in mathematics and the sciences, which I’m sorry, Anakin, but that you just don’t have. You’ve never exactly been the studious type.” 

Anakin nodded, eyes downcast. The Chancellor was right. Raw talent aside, he couldn’t just jump right into a fancy university program and expect to be able to hold his own against the galaxy’s best and brightest when he’d been an average student at best. He needed to think of something realistic, not let himself get carried away by idiotic fantasies. 

“It was just an idea, anyway,” he mumbled. 

Palpatine laid a hand on his thigh, and squeezed it reassuringly. 

“I don’t mean to discourage your desire to explore new paths, dear one,” he said softly. “I know you need to search for something more, now that you’ve left the Order.” 

“I just…,” Anakin whispered. “There’s so many different things I can do now that I’m not a Jedi anymore. Things I never even considered doing.”

“You’re worried about not taking all your options into account.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Well,” Palpatine said, patting the inside of Anakin’s thigh. “Let’s do this then. Let’s say you have the power to do anything you wanted to do, right now. No certifications or justifications required. What would it be?”

Anakin thought about it for a moment. 

“Explore every planet in the galaxy.” 

He looked at Palpatine to gauge his reaction. If he didn’t know any better, he would almost say the Chancellor looked put out by his answer. 

“And that’s it?” he said, his lip curling ever so slightly. 

“What do you mean,” Anakin said hotly. A tiny spasm shot through his leg. He softened his tone. “It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it?”

“If I’m being honest, Anakin,” the Chancellor answered. “Yes, I am a little disappointed. I would have thought you’d have a nobler answer for me.” 

“Nobler?”

“You’ve always been so mission-driven, Anakin,” Palpatine said. Stroking the inside of his thigh. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you. You have this…innate drive to improve the world around you. To make things right.” 

“Fix things,” Anakin said to himself. 

“Exactly,” said Palpatine. “Going on a tour of the entire galaxy sounds wonderful. Enviable, even, for those of us banished to hiding out on one planet in the far corners of the galaxy. But—forgive me if this sounds harsh, dear boy—but it would also be a very big waste, in my opinion.” 

“A waste?” 

Palpatine smiled, wide and prideful. “You have so much talent, Anakin. So much power inside you. You could do so much good with it. Especially now that you’re not bound by the Jedi and their dogma.” 

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Good like what?”

Palpatine wrapped his arm around Anakin’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He resisted at first, not liking where the Chancellor was going with his suggestion. But a faint pressure in his shoulder blades relaxed him and he went without further protest.

“Anakin,” Palpatine said gently. “What has been your dream, ever since you were a small child?”

He didn’t even have to think. “Freeing all the slaves.” 

Palpatine gave him a pointed look. “So…?” 

Anakin looked away. Ashamed at having forgotten the promise he made to himself and his mother all those years ago for even one moment. Palpatine pulled his head back up so that they were now face to face. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten where you came from.” 

“Never!” Anakin said fervently. “It’s just…a lot more complicated than I thought it was when I was a child.” 

“How so?”

“There’s just so much politics involved. The places with the highest concentration of slavery are all outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction. There’s nothing anyone can do.” 

“But do you think they would if they could?” Palpatine argued. “When have the Jedi ever shown you that they cared about ending slavery?”

“They care,” Anakin said. Not completely understanding why he was defending the Jedi, when he has thought this for years. “They just… “ 

“Won’t do anything about it,” Palpatine finished for him. “Innocent people being tortured and exploited doesn’t threaten the status quo. So it’s not a pressing concern for anyone in power.”

 “You’re a Sith Lord,” Anakin said. Not sure if he was calling Palpatine out for his hypocrisy, or reminding yet again himself of this fact, as the Chancellor’s reasoning was sounding more and more rational.   

“And that means I can’t believe in justice?”

Anakin scowled. “This Sith manipulate the will of the Force to execute their own agendas. They use their power for their own selfish reasons. They act only out of self-interest.” 

“And the Jedi don’t?” Palpatine said rhetorically. “Which is more self-serving, cloistering oneself in a ziggurat to meditate and pontificate about the evils of emotion and attachment, or actually using the powers you’ve been gifted with to institute real change in the lives of those who need it most.” 

“The Jedi do help people.” 

“Is that why you were born into bondage, then? Is that why they never allowed you to free your mother? Is that why they only intervened in Zygerria once the war broke out and the slavers became enemies of the Republic?” 

Anakin can feel a familiar, aching rage writhing inside his stomach. He has thought all of these things before, many, many times throughout the years. The Jedi warned of the suffering caused by fear and anger and attachment. But what of the indignity of being stripped naked and muzzled for a slave auction? Of having your rations cut because your Master blamed you for their business losing profit that month. Of having no water to wash with because there was currently a shortage and it was too expensive to waste on slaves. What of that kind of suffering? How could that just be meditated away? And how could a body of powerful beings touting themselves as guardians of harmony and light turn a blind eye to it? Claiming the abuse and exploitation of innocents to be out of their hands, but then having no problem with diving into a war driven by politics and corruption? 

“It’s complicated.” 

“It always is with hypocrites,” Palpatine mused. “But think about how easy it would be to un-complicate it, Anakin. Slavers and pirates and smugglers care nothing at all for politics or rule of law. They respond only to power, to brute strength. And you have that in spades, my boy. Think about how easy it would be for you to use your natural talents to deliver justice unto those who need it most, the way the Jedi never have. After all, you’re born of the Force itself. Who could have a better sense of how its will should be exercised than you?” 

It has always made Anakin burn with satisfaction whenever the Chancellor spoke like this. It still does. In spite of the Force burning back, just as fiercely. It’s warning bright and clear. 

(Remember who he is. Remember who he is. Remember who you are)

“It’s not the way of the Jedi.” 

“But you’re no Jedi. Not anymore.” 

Anakin’s gut twisted. (Remember. Remember. Remember.) He did remember. He remembered being shut down and shut out whenever he tried to bring up his past. He remembered how good it felt to have just one person listen to him. How good it felt to have the most important man in the galaxy be that person.

The Chancellor’s words sweep their way into him, settling inside his heart and igniting a fire over years of stored up kindling. 

The frustration he felt at being seen as irrational and immature for wanting to free his mother. His despair and guilt at how he’d left her to rot in that hellhole. The resentment he carried with him like an extra limb for every single Jedi who had ever made him feel foolish for being unable to leave his pain in a vacuum. 

Hatred. Pure and nurturing and vindicating raged like wildfire within him. His entire being sang with it. If only for a moment, before it was tempered by the Force’s warning. 

(Remember) 

Yes, this was a Sith speaking these thoughts into his ear. He couldn’t forget that. But even so, they weren’t lies or half-truths. They were his own words, being repeated back to him by the only real friend he’d had for so many years. 

(Remember, remember…) 

Making Anakin sick with confliction. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he muttered. “Can we go back to the game?”

“Of course, dear one,” Palpatine smiled. And with a final pat on the leg, stood and went to sit back over on his side of the board, and waited for Anakin to make his move. 

Padmé, in a not-at-all subtle ploy to get him out of the house, had insisted they have a picnic lunch down by the lakefront today. Truthfully, Anakin hadn’t been in the mood to do anything but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. But that’s all he’s done for the past three days, and he can tell Padmé is getting frustrated with him. 

Force, he is frustrated with him. 

Here he is, in the most beautiful place in all the galaxy, with his favorite person in all the galaxy, and all he can do as of late is mope. It’s disgusting. Anakin is disgusted with himself. He wants so badly to stop. To go back to being as happy as he’d been when they’d first arrived on Naboo. But he can’t. And he doesn’t know why. 

He wishes there was a way to just wrangle it all back in. Everything that’s come out since Obi-Wan told the Council all that stuff about him and Palpatine. He wants to put it all back the way it was. He wants the Chancellor back in power. He wants the Holonews to stop spreading the lies put forth by the Council. And he wants them to stop obsessing over his and Padmé’s marriage, as if they weren’t real people behind all of the holos and romance and gossip. He wants it all gone. 

But most of all, he wants to stop the visions. Or flashbacks. Or memories. Whatever you want to call them. They’re annoying. And they’re wrong. Or, well…maybe the way he’s remembering them is wrong. Skewed. Because of the Council and the Healers and what they made him think about the time he and Palpatine spent together. It’s wrong. And it’s dirty. He’s been set straight. Nothing happened back then. Nothing. So Anakin shouldn’t be remembering his friend this way. It’s shameful. And he wishes he knew how to make himself stop. He wishes he knew how to make everything stop.  

Palpatine would know. He always knows what Anakin needs. But he hasn’t come to see him in several days, which has Anakin feeling worried, and a little abandoned. Though their last conversation ended on a bit of an awkward note, overall it has been so good having his mentor back. No one’s ever been able to get him the way the Chancellor always has—except Mom. But she’s gone. Like Palpatine was almost gone, thanks to the Jedi. It seemed to be a common theme with the Order, taking away the people who cared for him the most so that they can control him. 

He hates them. Force, does Anakin hate them for doing this to him. 

“Hey,” Padmé says, reaching up from her position in his lap to stroke the side of his face. “What’s that look for?”

She wouldn’t believe that it was nothing. But he can’t tell her the truth. She wouldn’t understand.  

“Can I tell you something?” he asked tentatively. 

“You can tell me anything,” she said, sitting up to give him her full attention. “Always.” 

“I…” he shifted, looking down at the ground and nervously plucking up blades of grass. This wasn’t really something he wanted to bring up, either. But it would go over better than the other thing. “I don’t want to be an engineer.” 

Padmé cocked her head to the side, looking puzzled for a moment. And then started to laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…you looked so guilty when you said that. I was gearing myself up for something awful.”  

He grimaced, pulling chunks of grass up by the handful. “But you had so many plans in mind after I drew that sketch and I didn’t want—“ 

“Ani,” she says firmly, grabbing his wrist to catch his attention. “It was just a random thought I had. A suggestion. I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do. I can’t do that. That’s the beauty of freedom, love. Ultimately, it’s up to you to decide what you want out of life.” 

Anakin nodded, a small smile returning to his face for the first time in days. 

“I know what I want to do,” he said, emboldened. “I want to free all the slaves.” 

She blinked. Her brow furrowed. Why did she look so bothered by that?

“All of them? Everywhere?”

“Yeah,” he bristled. “Why do you make that sound impossible?”

“It’s not impossible,” she said carefully. “Just…it’s a tall order, is all. The places with the highest concentration of slavery are—“ 

“Outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction, I know. That just makes it easier then, if there’s no law and order in place there to begin with.” 

“But there is law and order there, Ani,” Padmé argued. “It’s just a different kind than what we have in the Republic.” 

“An immoral kind.” 

“True,” she said evenly. “But one we need to respect and abide by regardless.” 

“Why,” Anakin growled. “Why do we need to respect laws that allow people to be oppressed? Why do we need to respect laws that make sentient beings the property of others? How is that fair? How is that just?”

“It’s not,” Padmé said. “But we can’t breach the sovereignty of the Outer Rim planets, Ani. Not if we want them to one day join the Republic willingly. I know you want to see change happen. I want it to. But change is a process. It happens gradually. I know you don’t like it. I don’t either. Not one bit. But the situation is complicated.” 

“It always is for hypocrites,” Anakin grumbled, turning back to the grass. 

Padmé caught his wrist again. Her eyes narrowed. 

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?” she said lowly. 

Anakin wanted to slap himself. How could he say something like that? Of course not! Of course he didn’t—

“No, no! I didn’t mean—what I was trying to say is—it’s just—the Senate. The Senate is full of hypocrites.” 

“I’m a senator. Bail and Mon are senators.” 

“No, I know that. I just mean—as a whole,” he fumbled. “There’s a lot of hypocrisy. Like, we can start a war to bring planets who don’t want to be in the Republic back in, but we can’t make outside planets stop having slavery?”

“I understand your frustration, Ani—“ 

“How could you possibly understand?!” he roared. Furious, all of a sudden. With her, for not seeing it his way. With himself for making her flinch and draw away from him. “You have no idea—” 

“You’re right,” Padmé loudly cut him off. “I don’t share your experiences. I can’t understand it the way you do. But I want slavery eradicated too. So do a lot of my colleagues. But we’re politicians, Ani. Not magicians. We can’t make change happen overnight.” 

“You should, though,” he seethed. “You should have the power to make change happen overnight.”   

Padmé glared at him, snuffing out the fires of his rage with the ice in her eyes. Anakin winced, knowing how much it upset her when he talked like this. But this was how he felt. She said he could tell her anything. He was just being honest…

He should apologize. She’s hurting. He can feel it seeping out of her like puss from a wound. She’s angry and hurting because of him. He hurt her. She was just trying to do something nice for him, trying to cheer him up and pull him out of the funk he’s been in, and he’s paid her back by insulting her, her friends, and her life’s work all in one go. He needs to apologize. He needs to take it all back. But he can’t. She’ll know he doesn’t really mean it. That if he had the power he would run his lightsaber through each and every slaver in the galaxy. Right now. She’ll know that that is the real truth. She is better acquainted with that part of him than anyone else. But it’s a larger part of him than even she knows, and he spends a lot of energy hiding it from her. Except sometimes it breaks free and comes bursting out of him. And then this happens. And he doesn’t know what to do.  

Cursing his big mouth and stupid temper, Anakin reached into the picnic basket and grabbed a pastry. Popped it into his mouth and—

(“Have you ever had a muja-fruit pastry, Anakin?”

“No, Chancellor.” 

“Ah, well I have a few extra left over from a luncheon with some delegates from Ganthel. Would you care to try some?”

“Well, I guess. If it’s alright, with you, sir.” 

“By all means, dear boy. I insist.” 

The Chancellor beckoned him over to his side of his desk, and pulled out a white box from one of the drawers. He set it on the desktop, and then to Anakin’s surprise, lifted him into his lap to give him better access. 

“Go on,” he said, gesturing to the box. Anakin opened it, picked out the smallest piece he saw, and began to nibble at it. Hoping to make the treat last. 

“You seem troubled, my boy,” the Chancellor said thoughtfully. “May I ask what’s the matter?”

He placed an encouraging hand on the small of Anakin’s back and began rubbing small circles, just like Momma used to. Gods, he missed her.  

“Master Obi-Wan hates me,” he murmured. 

“Whatever would make you think that?”

Anakin flinched. He shouldn’t be talking about Master Obi-Wan like this. It was disrespectful. Not to mention ungrateful. The Council hadn’t even wanted to let him be a Jedi, but Master Obi-Wan had stuck up for him. So what if he was mean sometimes. He was just trying to make Anakin better, right?

“He’s always fussing at me, ‘cause I’m always messing up. Everything I do is wrong.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” 

“It is, though!” Anakin cried. “I’m lousy at meditation. I’m still having trouble reading big words. I can’t remember all my katas. And I’m trying so hard, but I can’t stop thinking about my mother!” 

He sighed. 

“I’m never gonna be a good Jedi.” 

“I see,” Palpatine said sympathetically. “Do you want to know what I think, Anakin?” 

“Yes, Chancellor.” 

“I think Obi-Wan’s just a little bit intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated, sir?”

“Anakin, if the late Master Qui-Gon’s suppositions were true, you are the Jedi’s Chosen One. Training you is a great honor, but it is also a huge responsibility. Obi-Wan is a newly-minted knight. If I had to guess, I’d say he is under an enormous amount of pressure to be a Master worthy of you.” 

“Worthy?” Anakin repeated disbelievingly. Unconsciously squeezing the pastry in his hand and “Oh no!” 

Purple splotches ran all the way down his tunic and onto his pants. Oh no. Oh no Oh no. Master Obi-Wan was always scolding him for being dirty and unkempt. He was going to be so mad if Anakin came back to the Temple looking like this! Oh no! 

“Don’t worry, Anakin,” the Chancellor soothed. “I can have my dry cleaning droid take care of that for you. Here, let me…” 

He tugged on the hem of Anakin’s tunic, pulling it up over his head. Then reached for Anakin’s leggings, removing those as well. Anakin wasn’t sure about this. The Chancellor shouldn’t have to go through so much trouble just because he’s a messy eater. But he knew better than to refuse when someone important tries to do you a favor. 

A droid came by and collected the soiled clothes from them. Anakin shivered. Freezing now, without his clothes on. The Chancellor tightened his hold around him. 

“Would you like another pastry, Anakin? Go on, have one. I insist.” 

Not wanting to be rude, Anakin took another small one from the box. 

“Now, as I was saying…” 

But Anakin wasn’t listening anymore, because the Chancellor’s hands were now moving all over him as he continued to speak. Down his back and along his arms and legs. Pulling him closer. Closer. Closer. All the while Anakin remained completely still, his Momma’s words coming back to him (“It’s just a body, Ani. Let them do what they will. It’ll be over quickly if you don’t fight.”). Right. It’s just a body. It’s just a body. It’s just a body. Just lie there and be good for them, Ani and I’ll give you and your mother double rations for the week. 

Anakin’s not surprised that this is what the Chancellor wanted from him after all. And to be honest he doesn’t really mind. The Chancellor is the only person who’s been nice to him since he’s come to Coruscant. Anakin doesn’t see a problem with giving him something in return. 

But then things start to get fuzzy. Like an incoming transmission from an old, outdated comlink. The picture grainy and the sound choppy. He can still hear the Chancellor’s voice coming in and out in spurts, talking about the Jedi, and occasionally offering Anakin more food. And he can still make out the office around him through his blurred vision. The Chancellor is still…doing that. And it hurts. But distantly. Like when his leg falls asleep and he gets that prickling feeling, but throughout his whole body. And his head. His head is the worst. It’s so heavy he can’t hold it up. But light at the same time. As if he wasn’t even in there anymore. As though he, Anakin were being pulled out of his own mind and replaced with static…  

…

…

…

What?

He’s sitting upright on the Chancellor’s lap, fully clothed and alert and a little bit dazed. 

The chromo on the wall shows that an hour has passed since he’d arrived. Wow. The time sure has gone by fast. Anakin can’t even remember what they’d been talking about. He’d been telling him about his troubles with Master Obi-Wan and then…nothing. Could he have dozed off while the Chancellor was talking. How rude! He hopes the Chancellor at least didn’t notice… 

The Chancellor has stopped talking now, and the box of muja-fruit pastries in front of him was now empty. Had he eaten them all by himself?

(“Have another Anakin. Go on. Keep eating… Have another… Have another”)

He must have. The Chancellor’s hands were clean, and his were sticky with purple filling. 

“Anakin, I’m afraid I have another meeting coming up in a few minutes that I must prepare for. I’m going to have to ask you to—“ 

“That’s alright, Chancellor,” Anakin said quickly. Embarrassed at having overstayed his welcome. “I get it! I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.” 

“Not at all, dear one,” said Palpatine, patting him on the shoulder. Anakin flinched involuntarily at the touch. He hopes the Chancellor didn’t catch it. “We really must do this again soon. I do so enjoy our visits.” 

“Me as well, sir,” Anakin said earnestly. 

He hopped off the Chancellor’s lap, and stumbled a bit, before regaining his footing. Noticing for the first time how sore his legs were. Why did it hurt to stand on them? He took another step, and his belly lurched. He wrapped his arm around his middle, and continued walking. This is what he gets for being greedy. He shouldn’t have had so many pastries.

He turned to wave a final goodbye to the Chancellor, then passed through the doors to the outer office to meet Master Obi-Wan. 

He spends the rest of the day throwing up, and ends up missing his evening meditation session. Master Obi-Wan is not pleased.) 

—gagged. Clapping a hand over his mouth. He tries to swallow, but the half-chewed bit of pastry gets lodged in the back of his throat. He retches and retches, and his eyes well up. He can’t breathe. 

“Ani?” Padmé’s sounds frightened and far away. “Ani, are you alright?”

She pats him on the back and helps him move onto the grass, as he continued to retch. The mashed bits of pastry roll around in his throat, mixing with saliva and bile. He gags, and gags. But keeps his mouth clamped tight so that the wet, mushy bits of food don’t spill out. (Have another, Anakin. Have another. Go, on, don’t be shy.). Padmé tells him to breathe through his nose and he does. He inhales and exhales and accidentally heaves what was once the pastry as well as the rest of his lunch onto the grass, while Padmé rubs his back and whispers soothing words in his ear.  

“Anakin,” she says urgently. Helping him sit back on the blanket, and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Are you alright?”

He nods. Then, to prove it, he grabs another pastry and shoves it into his mouth 

(Have another, Anakin)

He swallows it after two bites. Then he has another. This one too goes down without a struggle. 

Padmé still doesn’t look convinced, even after all that. But Anakin can’t eat any more. Not for the rest of the day. His stomach hurts. 

Anakin won’t talk to her. And that’s fine. 

No really, it is. The holobooks and sites all say that every survivor processes their trauma differently. That all their family can do is be there for them and validate their pain as they work through it.  

And Padmé thinks she’s doing a pretty good job at it. She hopes she is. 

It’s just… what she wouldn’t give to have someone else to talk to about all of this. Someone to reassure her that she’s doing the right thing by Anakin. 

Like Obi-Wan? that annoying “I-told-you-so” voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously like the Jedi Master says. But Padmé knows she can’t com him. He’d gloat (Obi-Wan doesn’t gloat) and admonish her (Obi-Wan would understand) and tell her to take Anakin back to the Temple (Obi-Wan respects your and Anakin’s decisions). She can’t have that. 

Besides, Anakin is going to be fine. It’s expected that people who’ve experienced a severe trauma to have ups and downs. He was in a slump now, but he’d come out of it soon. Especially with her here to help him through it. 

Padmé has done a lot of research since finding out the truth of what Palpatine had been doing to Anakin all these years. She knows all about triggers and flashbacks, and has already scratched muja-fruit pastries off the list of foods to have Threepio prepare for them. But she needs more. What is it about them, specifically that set him off? The taste? The smell? The texture? Does he not enjoy sweets anymore? Or is it only just pastries? She needs to know, for Anakin’s sake, yes. But for her own as well. It’s fine that he doesn’t want to talk to her about any of this, really it is. It’s just—she needs him to. 

He doesn’t say anything after his episode, but his body goes lax and he falls into her arms, dead weight. She gathers him up and rocks them both back and forth. Pressing kisses to his brow and running her knuckles along the base of his neck. He stuffs his face into her shoulder and there are no tears. He doesn’t make a sound. And she doesn’t press him other that to ask one more time if he is alright. He is. And she leaves it at that. He’ll let her in when he’s ready. 

Which is fine. Perfectly fine. But also.

I’m right here, sweetling. I’m right here. Please just talk to me. 

-

[courtingstars]

Notes for The Vanishing Prince: Chapter Nine

Yay, Chapter Nine is finally posted! As I mentioned over on Ao3, I’ve been looking forward to sharing this one for a loooong time. I don’t have much to share in the way of cultural notes, but I still had some pretty big things I wanted to talk about… Like info about the mental health topics from the therapy scene, plus a ton of rambling about things I’ve been researching and/or planning for a while. So if that’s something you’re interested in, well… enjoy? //laughs

As always, I updated the Pinterest inspiration board with images inspired by the new chapter. (I actually did that last month, which was when I originally intended to post the chapter before my schedule fell apart… So anyone who was checking the board during that time got an accidental sneak peak of what was coming next. Oops? ^^;) You can check the board out here.

And with that, on to the notes!

Cut for a writer babbling on and on about mental health research, references to earlier events in the series, and also violins (!!) …

Akashi’s Childhood Friendships

So the first scene of Chapter Nine features a headcanon of mine that has been popping up throughout the series… Which is that when Akashi started going to school, he attended a private elementary school that mainly catered to elite, wealthy families and their children. He was generally encouraged to spend time with his classmates, rather than seeking friends elsewhere, and he never made any close friends from a different social “class” until he started going to Teikou. (Which he joined specifically because he asked his mother if he could go somewhere that was different from his elementary school.)

As this chapter reveals, he never told his father about the friends he ended up making through basketball, because of the values he was modeled earlier in life. This was actually brought up alllll the way back in The Fast Train to Kyoto. (Though it was pretty vague!) In fact, Akashi referenced it in the very first scene:

Maybe it was the echoes of his father’s voice inside his head, just another series of frosty words he ached to forget:

“It is not for an Akashi to associate with just anyone. Your time is valuable, Seijuurou, and so is your reputation. See that you don’t waste it, on trivial pursuits, or persons unworthy of your stature.”

Akashi cringed. ‘Persons unworthy of his stature? What a ridiculous idea. Everyone he had ever known who had made his life worthwhile, had no particular wealth or rank to speak of. (With the crucial exception of his mother.) He had long ago discarded this principle of his father’s as nonsense.

I also explained the backstory with his elementary school and his struggle to make friends in a lot more detail in Chapter Three of Fast Train. (As well as why he decided to go to Teikou, and how he started making friends there, particularly Midorima.)

That aspect of his childhood turned out to be pretty important in the series, so I thought it was worth mentioning that Akashi did talk about it before… Especially since those early values still affect how he sees his friendships, plus it’s one of the reasons why he’s been trying to keep those friends as separate from his home life as possible. (Until Furihata came along and wanted to sleep over at his house, and he just couldn’t say no to his BFF, apparently? //laughs)

Attachment Theory, Disorganized Attachment, and Dissociation

So, uh… I’m not qualified to talk about any of this, like, at all. //laughs That being said, I’ll start with a big disclaimer: I am not a mental health professional, or an expert about this subject in any way whatsoever. So if anything I say doesn’t make sense or I get any of the details wrong, I sincerely apologize in advance! This is just based on the research I’ve done and some first-person accounts I’ve read over the years. As a non-expert, I find a lot of psychology theory to be difficult to research in general… Since a lot of the science is still being studied and verified, and things are becoming outdated all the time.

Okay, so with all that being said… In this chapter, Akashi’s psychiatrist brings up a theory in psychology called attachment theory. If you’d like to learn the basics of how it started, the Wikipedia article has a decent overview of the initial studies. Basically, the theory has to do with the idea that children bond with their primary caregiver (stereotypically the mother, but it doesn’t have to be) either successfully or unsuccessfully, based on how the caregiver responds to the child’s needs. A child who bonds with their caregiver in a healthy, successful way is said to be “securely” attached, while an unhealthy bond is an “insecure attachment.”

From there, it gets more complicated… There are a few different types/forms of insecure attachment, and these types can be classified in different ways, depending on the study. (There’s also something called “attachment style,” which from what I can tell is an idea inspired by attachment theory, that adults will have a general style of bonding that originates from their main caregiver bond in childhood. This idea is often used to help adults work through issues in their adult relationships.) For example, there’s generally an “anxious” form of attachment where the child is overly scared and tends to cling to their caregiver if they try to leave, out of fear that they won’t get the care they need. Then there’s an “avoidant” type where the child tends to push the caregiver away or ignore them, and can seem very apathetic and independent. (Even though they’re actually just as scared on the inside of not being cared for as an “anxious” child.)

As you can imagine, there are a lot of theories about why this happens, and what exactly in the caregiving process could contribute to it. What’s more, some children display both anxiety and avoidance… A form of this is called “disorganized attachment.” As Akashi’s psychiatrist explains, this describes a behavioral pattern where the child clings to their caregiver AND pushes them away, sometimes very close together. This style seems to often develop when the child has been through some kind of early trauma, often severe abuse or neglect. It also seems to be prevalent among people with dissociation disorders, which isn’t surprising, given the common thread of childhood trauma between the two. You can read more about that in this article here.

Actually, I first learned about disorganized attachment—and attachment in general—when I was reading a blog many years ago that was written by someone chronicling their experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder. As I researched the subject in more detail, I came across a few explanations about how children with this attachment style tend to act very confused and distressed around their caregivers, and I found the descriptions really sad… It helped me begin to better understand some of the difficulties that these children go through, and how it affects their minds when they’re still developing. It’s not hard to imagine how a child who longs to be taken care of but also has painful experiences of being denied that care (for whatever reason) can really struggle with trying to make sense of their reality and survive it on an emotional level. And that struggle causes lasting damage.

It’s important to note, though, that some psychologists will caution against assuming that a child’s attachment to their primary caregiver always dictates how they will attach to other people in their life, or in their future relationships. Also, there’s some evidence that children may struggle with attachment issues not just because of the actions of their caregiver, but also due to their own personality/ genetic predispositions. You can read more about both of these topics here.

Way back when I started planning this series, and deciding how to portray Akashi’s backstory, I found myself returning over and over to the concept of disorganized attachment… I wasn’t sure if it would make it into the fic directly, and it’s certainly not the only thing that influenced my portrayal of Akashi’s mental health. But it was definitely something I had in mind from the start, and helped shape the series, so I’m glad that I did end up referencing it in some detail.

The Akashi Family Servants

Since I just introduced the housekeeper, now seems as good a time as any to mention this… Originally, I didn’t plan for the servants who work for the Akashi family to have roles in the series at all? XD Takeda is the only one who’s mentioned in The Fast Train to Kyoto, and he doesn’t have a name. (I refer to him as either Akashi’s “driver” or “valet” depending on what he’s doing… This was actually before I’d decided that Takeda is the one who drives Akashi around when he’s in Kyoto. OTL) Then I mentioned several of the servants during Furihata’s visit in Storming the Castle… But almost no one gets a real introduction? Except for the butler, Ginhara. //laughs

One reason why I took so long to give them names/describe them is that I try to mostly stick to writing about canon characters in fics, instead of creating a ton of OCs. (I consider the families of the KnB characters to be canon, since they’re in the fanbooks. XD) But I enjoy coming up with minor characters, if it feels like a good fit for the story! Still, you can really tell that I didn’t know I would end up using these characters as much as I did, because their names are alllll over the place… Especially Takeda, which is roughly the Japanese equivalent of naming a character Mr. Smith or something? (LOL.) For a while I really regretted that I didn’t come up with a more interesting name for him, since he ended up being in this series CONSTANTLY. Also, I recently received this incredible comment on Chapter 5 of The Fast Train to Kyoto and it’s one of my all-time FAVORITES:

“Yo the drivers probs just sitting in the front like

Mmm this tea is piping hot”

(And they signed their name Yeet too, omgggg XDD)

… So yeah, I have decided this is totally Takeda’s reaction, to Akashi and Furihata’s whole “friend breakup” in the rain in the first story. //laughs

That said, I kind of love that Takeda has such a generic name now? Especially after he showed up at Seirin in sunglasses in this chapter. (Like maybe Takeda isn’t even his real name, because he actually had an exciting former life as a secret agent or something like that, and now he’s working for this super rich kid from a powerful family and maybe he’s actually hiding some epic skills so he can double as Akashi’s bodyguard if he needs to…? I DON’T KNOW, I HAVE WEIRD HEADCANONS.)

In any case, I enjoyed coming up with the characters for the Akashi family staff, even though it took a while! And I’m glad a few of them were able to play an interesting part in sneaking Akashi out of the house, so his dad wouldn’t find out about Furihata. (Though we don’t know what any of them think about that, or not yet, at least. XD) There will be at least one more member of the staff who gets an introduction, which should be coming soon. But for now, we’ve got:

Takeda, Akashi’s personal valet (and driver, sometimes)

Ginhara, the Akashi family butler and head of staff

Umagami Ichiro, Yukimaru’s groom

Inuyama, Akashi’s father’s personal valet

Hanamitsu Atsuko, housekeeper for the Akashi mansion in Tokyo

The Akashi family chef (name???)

(Plus some maids, who I also did not name)

… And as you can see, most of them still don’t have given names, even the ones with family names. That’s how disorganized I’ve been about this. //laughs

Also, I have a feeling no one was actually wondering (lol), but if you happen to remember this scene from Episode 63 in the Teikou arc in the anime:

In my headcanons, this guy is the head chauffeur for the Akashi family household, and he used to drive the whole family around. (Which would mean that he was also mentioned in The Fast Train to Kyoto, in a brief flashback about Akashi and his parents! Where he’s just “the driver.” XD) Now he mostly drives Akashi’s father to work, and sometimes chauffeurs Akashi as well, when he’s in Tokyo. (Whereas Takeda drives him around in Kyoto.) I briefly referred to him as Onoda in Chapter One of The Vanishing Prince, so… I guess that’s the name I came up with for him? //laughs

TL;DR… I’ve really enjoyed writing about the various characters who work for the Akashi family, and I had way more fun including them in the story than I expected. <3 (Maybe I should give in and post character sketches for all the OCs in this series sometime… That would be a project. XD)

Beliefs About Ghosts

I might go into this more in a future chapter, but I did want to briefly discuss how Reo talks to Furihata about ghosts, and how/why they haunt certain places… There are a LOT of different beliefs all over the world about whether ghosts are real, and why they appear. There are also lots of theories about whether they need the help of living humans to pass on or not.

For this fic, I tried to include some of the most common beliefs in Reo’s response, including the “revenge” ghost stories that are super common in Japanese folklore. But it’s not a comprehensive explanation by any means, and there are a lot of people who believe in ghosts and spirits but wouldn’t agree with the ideas Reo mentioned. (Basically, I had to pick among a bunch of different supernatural ideas about ghosts for the fic, and these are some of the ones I chose to include? But that’s not to say that they’re representative of my own beliefs, or of every Japanese person who believes in ghosts, either!)

The Akashi Family Curse (…?)

So I know some readers have been discussing this and making predictions about it in the comments for a while now… And while I don’t want to spoil anything about where the story is going, I’m really excited that I finally got to reveal another piece of the legend/rumors about the Akashi family curse:

Furihata’s mouth dropped open. It never occurred to him that some people might still think that the Akashis were cursed, centuries later. Or that these rumors were somehow connected to their catlike eyes. Was that maybe even how the peasants in the legend came up with the curse in the first place? Were they just creeped out, by this super-rare genetic thing that ran in the family?

Or… could it be true? Could the Akashi family really be cursed?

I can’t remember if anyone specifically connected the dots about the legend being connected to the “catlike” eyes or not… But if you saw this coming, YES YOU WERE TOTALLY RIGHT AND I AM IMPRESSED. <333

As for what the legend/rumors say about how the curse works, and whether or not it’s actually real… I guess I shouldn’t go into that just yet, for the sake of spoilers. XD But hopefully you can have fun guessing for now! And I’m glad I can finally point to the connection between the idea of a family curse and the “catlike eyes” to explain why I kept including so many passages like this one:

He and Akashi were walking through another long passageway. This one was lined with life-sized portraits—and oddly enough, Furihata recognized some of the faces. He had seen them in paintings in the Tokyo house.

“Are these your relatives?” he asked. They didn’t resemble Akashi very much. But a few did have the same unusual, catlike pupils.

Akashi nodded, as he glanced up at the huge frames. “They led the family, several generations ago. This one was my great-great-great-great-great grandfather.”

He gestured to the largest painting. The steel-haired man in the portrait wore a piercing frown. Even his posture was severe, somehow.

… Yeah, there are a BUNCH of descriptions in A Spark of Light of portraits of Akashi’s relatives, and how some of them have the same eyes as him. Also, as I’m sure a lot of people noticed, I mention Akashi’s eyes A LOT throughout the series. And this is one of the reasons why I wanted to emphasize it so much. XD

(Well, okay and also like a lot of fic writers, I enjoy pretty descriptions about eyes. XD BUT I WOULD’VE TRIED TO CUT MORE OF THEM IF IT WASN’T SUCH AN IMPORTANT PLOT POINT… Or so I’ll claim, anyway. //laughs)

And Finally… THE VIOLIN

Ahhh I’m so happy I finally got to post this scene! I’ve been saving the moment of Akashi playing his violin for Furihata for a loooong time… I foreshadowed it briefly back in Storming the Castle, when Furihata notices Akashi’s violin case sitting in his study. But I got the idea for this scene even earlier… All the way back when I drafted that part in The Fast Train to Kyoto, where Akashi plays his violin after he writes to Furihata to tell him they can’t be friends. (YES. IT HAS BEEN THAT LONG.)

So, yeah… I had no idea know how long it would take to get there, but I definitely knew that Akashi would have to play his violin for Furihata at some point. And I wanted it to be a Really Big Moment in their romantic arc. So I did the best I could with it. (Because, I mean… How could I NOT include a scene where Akashi plays the violin for Furihata? That just had to happen, come on. //laughs)

As I mentioned over on Ao3, I do have my own idea about which piece Akashi plays for Furi… I might even mention it directly in the next chapter, but I’m not sure yet? (Either way, if you have a piece that you’d like to imagine him playing instead, you have my blessing. xD I tried to write it in such a way that he could be playing a lot of different songs!) So here was my thought process on that…

I figured Akashi would probably decide to play something on the simple side for Furihata, rather than anything too technical/demanding on the ear. I also realized that he was probably thinking that Furihata would like a sweet, romantic sort of song, because of this scene from Storming the Castle:

“Oh, r-right.” Furihata let go of the flower. He managed a laugh. “Sorry. I’m being weird, huh?”

“I just never realized you had such an interest in roses,” Akashi said, with a hint of humor. “But it shouldn’t surprise me, really.”

Furihata didn’t follow. “Why’s that?”

The edge of Akashi’s mouth dimpled. “Well, you are a romantic, after all.”

And that was when I realized… ROSES. Like, what if the piece had to do with roses, because Akashi was remembering that conversation about Furihata’s romantic side that they had in his rose garden…? So in my head, Akashi plays a version of The Last Rose of Summer, which is this really sweet, old Irish song that was later set to a poem of that name, written by Thomas Moore. It’s an easier piece to play, so it’s a little difficult to find a nice version of it by a professional violinist. But I did find this arrangement that is SUPER old-fashioned and adorable:

And my personal favorite version with strings that I found (and linked first on Ao3) is probably this one. Though I believe the violin doesn’t start until around a minute and a half into the recording?

(My sister and I thought the first soloist *might* be a viola… Apologies if we’re wrong though!! We took band a thousand years ago in high school but didn’t play in an orchestra, so we’re basically clueless about anything with strings. XD)

Anyway, I just thought that the song would be fitting because of the whole “bonding over roses” connection to Storming the Castle, and the fact that they’re still on summer vacation in this story… Plus the words of the poem are kind of the most Oreshi thing I’ve ever heard??? It’s REALLY sad, but also all about friendship. You can hear how it’s sung and see the complete lyrics in this version by Charlotte Church if you’d like (again, the song starts at around 1:30), but I’ll also include the beginning and end of the poem here:

Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone,

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone.

…

So soon may I follow

When friendships decay;

And from love's shining circle

The gems drop away

When true hearts lie wither'd

And fond ones are flow'n

Oh! Who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

… TELL ME THAT’S NOT AN ORESHI KIND OF POEM. It’s all about friendship and being afraid of being alone, and I just… gahhhh. T_____T

Also, you might have noticed that the versions I linked don’t have any parts where the soloist plucks the violin strings, which I described Akashi doing at one point… That’s because I like to think that in between playing a simpler version, Akashi also slips into a few sections of Variations on the Last Rose of Summer by Ernst, which you can see the violinist Midori playing here. (Unlike the other versions I linked, this is one of the hardest pieces ever written for violin, period… Apparently it’s so difficult that many top-tier professionals won’t even play it in front of a crowd! So for those of you who want to picture him playing something more badass, I’ve got you covered. XD)

(And while we’re still on the subject of different versions… My all-time favorite when it comes to different instruments playing The Last Rose of Summer has got to be this one. BECAUSE IT’S A KOTO, LIKE OMGGGG YES. Honestly, if my series had a sound, I’d like to think that it would be this…? Because roses and traditional Japanese instruments, that’s why. //laughs)

Also, I’m not sure whether anyone was curious about this part of the scene:

Akashi chuckled as he unlatched the case. Resting on a bed of crimson silk was a delicately carved violin. Furihata didn’t know how to tell if an instrument was well made, but he was pretty sure that this one had to be.

So I do indeed headcanon that Akashi would have a really nice violin… For those who might not know, violins can be EXTREMELY expensive, most notably at the professional and soloist quality levels. As in, the famous Stradivarius violins are valued at $10 million or MORE, for example. XD Though I personally tend to think that Akashi probably wouldn’t play a Strad himself… He’d have too much reverence for the instrument for that. //laughs (Although I wouldn’t be surprised if his family owns a Stradivarius and lends it out to some world-famous soloist… Which is apparently how it works in real life, by the way!) But I still imagine that his violin would be a super fancy one, maybe somewhere in the $100k range or something? (And now I’m just imagining Furihata finding that out and freaking out, lol.)

And last but not least, since I’m already rambling a lot, I would like to credit a new favorite YouTube channel of mine that I discovered while writing the violin scene… I really wanted to make sure that I described the violin playing correctly, because like I mentioned, I understand nothing about stringed instruments whatsoever. (I was a very mediocre flute player, once upon a time. //laughs)

So while I was hunting for references, I stumbled across TwoSet Violin, and OMG THEY ARE THE COOLEST CHANNEL EVER. I’d recommend them to literally everyone, even if you don’t play the violin or have any interest in classical music! They’re two professional violinists from Australia who make tons of super-entertaining content, like analyzing the way actors pretend to play instruments in movies and Chinese dramas, or trying to play the cheapest violin they can buy on Amazon. And it’s FANTASTIC. XD They’re super skilled and funny, and they even inspired me to listen to classical music again, so yeah, I can’t recommend them enough. <3

Well, this post turned out a lot longer than I expected…? //laughs In any case, I hope it was interesting, and thank you for reading! And as I said over on Ao3, thank you again to all of my lovely readers for your patience, especially while I dealt with my grandmother’s passing. I have the next chapter of the fic drafted, just like last time, but it does have some issues so I’m not sure how long it will take to edit. (Hopefully less time than this one did. OTL) I’ll definitely do my best to post it as soon as I can. In the meantime, I really hope everyone is staying safe, and see you then!

[fraink5-writes]

From Darkness Into the Lantern Light - Chapter 4

As promised, these chapters are coming out really fast now.

Thanks, of course, to @leio13 for her hard work editing!

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a cold-hearted queen. Although the Tsaritsa, as she was called, possessed her own divinity, she coveted the powers of the other Archons. Aiming to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis, she sent her strongest warriors to Liyue Harbor. But just when Rex Lapis was almost defeated, he escaped to another vessel, that of a powerless baby, and was swept away to a hidden tower for his protection.

Many years after the great fight, the young and ambitious Harbinger, Childe, arrives in Liyue to grant the Tsaritsa’s desire, but, on his search for the Geo Archon’s gnosis, he ends up tangled in a mysterious man’s dreams to see Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Mingyun Village hardly lived up to its name. Childe doubted that it constituted as a real village even in its peak. It consisted of a few distant buildings, located near the entrances of mines. Given a couple of years, the buildings would cease to exist entirely. They were in ruins, not much more than straw roofs held up by dilapidated wood. A ghost town like this was a perfect haunt for hilichurls, yet there were none to be seen. Stranger still, one of the buildings appeared to be insignificantly less disrepair than the others; in fact, the lights appeared to be on. In front of the building, over what was once probably a village message board, a new sign with obnoxious lettering read "THE CRUX" and in smaller letters below, "Tavern."

Childe's lips curled. This was an even better situation than he had hoped for. "Let's go there. We should be able to get something to eat."

Zhongli nodded slowly.

On cue, Childe swung open the door to the establishment with perhaps too much enthusiasm. The door's hinges jostled, and Childe was met with stares and murmurs.

"A guest?"

"Our first guest?"

"Here?"

"Ahem, hello." Childe cautiously closed the door behind him and Zhongli. "Sorry about the door. How are you fine folks doing?"

"Wait a minute…" A large man with messy hair surrounding his face stepped forward, clutching at the knife on his hip. "I know who you are." Childe only had time to force a grin before the man pointed his knife and called out, "Seize him!"

Where an ordinary person would feel caution, Childe felt excitement. He counted in his head: nine people in the tavern, three of whom probably couldn’t fight. In other words, favorable numbers. He pulled out the dagger on his right to parry the incoming slice. Then, he swung into the man’s left side, but he was blocked. Swipe after jab after swipe, the man left no openings for Childe’s offensive. So the people of this tavern are, in fact, the crew of the legendary Crux Fleet. It was time for Childe to take the fight a little more seriously. 

Right as Childe’s blood got pumping, two pairs of arms seized him from the sides. A woman of unassuming stature stepped in front. “Make no mistake: our goal isn’t a fair fight. We’re just going to subdue you until the Captain returns.”

So the captain isn’t even here? Childe’s sigh was cut short by a fist in his chest. The two bandanaed men tighten their grips on his arms before another punch landed under his chin, rattling his brain. 

Think. The two men at Childe’s side wouldn’t be so hard to shake off. But once he broke free, another punch flew into his abdomen.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance against Captain Beidou,” the woman scoffed while preparing her next fist. 

Another blow to the face. Childe could easily dod—her knee slammed into his stomach. When Childe staggered, the anticipated fist knocked his jaw. She was relentless, and the next kick was sure to be worse than the first one. Childe braced himself.

“ENOUGH!” Someone’s voice boomed as a spear cracked the floor between Childe and his opponent. “Don’t touch him!”

As the tavern crew faltered, Zhongli stepped in front of Childe and plucked his spear from the ground. His straight back towered over Childe as power coursed from his firm legs to his wide shoulders. His stance was as impenetrable as a shield, sturdy as a boulder and sculpted as a statue. Childe’s heart fluttered as his breath finally started again. For a brief moment, he had even forgotten the Crux Fleet and his desire to meet their captain.

But Childe’s rationality returned when Zhongli cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for raising my voice.” He was regular Zhongli again. The other had been but a fleeting manifestation—a dream. “But he has sworn to guide me to Liyue Harbor in order to see the lantern festival. Don’t any of you believe in the sanctity of contracts? Or, if Liyue is so different than what I have read, don’t you all, at the very least, value the pursuit of dreams?”

Both the Crux Fleet and Childe were taken aback by Zhongli’s efforts at peace. Finally, the acting leader of the crew, the one who had ordered Childe’s capture earlier, stepped forward.

Now he will make a mockery of Zhongli’s pacifism and cause such a great trauma that Zhongli will want to immediately return to his tower. Childe squeezed his dagger, preparing to fend off anyone who dared challenge Zhongli.

However, the man sheathed his knife. “I know the importance of following your dreams. In fact, if it weren’t for Captain Beidou, I’d probably still be wasting my life away on the docks.”

Childe’s knife fell to the floor. He painstakingly squatted down to pick it up without creating a stir, all while intently watching the brawny man.

“If the Captain heard that, she’d laugh!” The scrawnier of the bandanaed men taunted.

“Ahem.” Ignoring the comment from his fellow sailor, the man turned back to Zhongli. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Zhongli.”

“I’m Juza, Chief Mate of the Alcor. When the Captain isn’t around, I am in charge here. Out of respect for your goals, we’ll let you go.”

“Thank you.” Zhongli bowed politely.

“Really?” The eyepatched woman whined. She looked ready to punch Childe again.

“Yes, really! I wouldn’t want him to become like the old me, wasting my days away. It’s thanks to Captain Beidou that I am living a fulfilling life, and I think she would give Zhongli the same chance.”

“That’s so corny though.”

“I don’t think you have the right to call anything corny, Furong,” another woman with a braid teased.

“Hmph! Finding the right person is important. Besides, we’re both looking for a fight, anyway, aren’t we?”

“A fight?” Zhongli interrupted, bewildered.

“Yes, you see, I am the strongest person on this ship, minus Captain Beidou. Even Juza has never beaten me at arm wrestling! But one day, I’ll meet the right person who can beat me in a match. Ahh… That’s how I’ll know they’re the one for me!”

“I hope you meet them someday soon.”

“I’m in no rush. I do enjoy this freedom. But, if you want, we can go a round? I’m sure you’ll fare much better than your partner there.”

Childe grumbled. He wanted to warn Zhongli against it for many reasons. What if he lost? What if he won?

“I accept.”

“Alright!” Furong led Zhongli to a nearby table where the woman with braided hair and a woman in purple were having drinks.

“Good luck!” The first woman muttered as she stepped out of the way.

Furong put her right elbow on the table and encouraged the clueless Zhongli to the same. “You mean, you’ve never arm-wrestled before?”

“No, but I was curious.”

“Well, it’s simple. Grab my hand. The goal is to bring it down to the table with yours on top.” Furong firmly clasped Zhongli’s hand. “We can do a practice round. Not that the results will be any different though.”

“Ready?” Juza stepped in as referee. “Go!”

Furong immediately slammed Zhongli’s hand to the table. With an unchanged expression, Zhongli remarked, “I understand now. I am ready for the real match.”

“You sure?” Furong gloated, but Zhongli would not be deterred.

“Alright, ready? GO!”

Zhongli’s and Furong’s hands vacillated at the center, but they steadily tipped in Zhongli’s favor. Then, when they were a mere 45 degrees from the table, their position flipped, and Zhongli’s hand hit the table.

“Haha! Winner again!” Furong beamed. “No offense though! You put up a great fight, but it would take exceptional strength to actually beat me."

“Yeah, yeah, enough of your boasting.” The skinny man with a bandana sighed then turned to Zhongli. “At least, you’re not trapped in marriage. Oh yeah, I’m Xu Liushi. You may have heard of me. Probably not though—too young.”

“Have you ever heard of Third-Round Knockout?” The other man with a bandana chimed in.

“No, what is it?” Zhongli asked, slightly taken aback by the name.

“It’s a famous hole-in-the-wall at Liyue Harbor. Xu Liushi here gave it its name.”

“Oh really? What an honor.”

Xu Liushi fidgeted with his bandana, “Oh, it’s not such a great story…”

“Yeah!” The woman with the braid raised her drink. “He’s the one who passed—”

“Sshh!! Let me tell it at least!” Xu Liushi cleared his throat before resuming his proper story. “You’ve never been there, but their speciality is fermented rice balls.”

“It sounds delicious.”

“Well, essentially they are just rice balls swimming in wine. When I was younger, I lost a bet and had three whole bowls…”

“And fell into the harbor! Haha!” Furong cheered, joining the other ladies in a toast.

Xu Liushi averted his gaze. “Yes, that’s basically what happened. No employers want a sailor who can’t control his drinking. Only Captain Beidou gave me a chance. I’ve cleaned up my act since then thanks to her, and one day I will make it back there and show them how much I’ve changed!”

The whole tavern went up in cheers.

"Hey, why does his dream get applause and not mine?" Furong demanded.

"Because his is actually good." The purple lady remarked nonchalantly.

"Pay them no heed." Juza cut in before Furong could retaliate. "Third-Round Knockout has a good reputation—in spite of its nickname—you shouldn't worry about going there."

Zhongli, his eyes glittering, turned back towards Childe, who just shrugged with a small smile. But Zhongli’s attention was quickly snatched back by the other man with a bandana. 

“Wanna drink?”

“Yes, please. May I have a glass of water?”

The man filled a large beer mug with water. “I’m Drake, by the way. The ship’s  steersman. It’s actually pretty rare that I leave my position on the Alcor, but the Captain let me off this time. Although, frankly, I prefer being at sea.” He poured another mug for himself (this time with beer) and promptly chugged half of it down. “That’s probably true for most of us. I actually wanted to be at the helm of my own ship, going wherever I please. Of course, I trust Captain Beidou’s leadership, but sometimes I still dream of my own vessel…”

“Most of us, though, are pursuing our dreams by following Captain Beidou,” the braided woman interrupted. “I’m Huixing, the helmsman. Nice to meet you!”

“The pleasure’s mine.” Zhongli bowed. “What is your dream?”

“Mine? To see a leviathan with my own eyes! A giant sea monster. I heard Captain Beidou slew Haishan, the legendary creature of the sea, by herself—how cool is that? That’s why I believe that if I stick with Captain Beidou, I will surely get to encounter a behemoth myself. Suling must think the same way.”

A man with a goatee waved from the back of the room and headed over. "I'm just a smith. I don't have any dreams of taking down behemoths. I joined Captain Beidou’s crew in order to see rare weapons. With the Captain’s guidance, finding a legendary weapon won’t be a dream for much longer.” He eyed Zhongli briefly. “Oh yes, have you heard of Hanfeng’s Ironmongers?”

“No, sorry, I have not.”

“Well, my cousin, Master Zhang, is the boss there. If you visit him when you get to Liyue Harbor, he can fix you up with a better polearm than that one. You can tell him I sent you.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous. I must do something in return for all your kindness.”

“Have any mora on you?” The woman in purple chimed in.

“Sorry, I left my wallet at home.”

Childe held his forehead in his hand with a sigh. There was no way this kindness, as Zhongli put it, would be free, which meant one thing: Childe would be paying the expenses.

The woman chuckled. “Well, you’re in luck right now. I’m just the bookkeeper for the Fleet. I can’t set the prices.”

“If she was able to charge you, you wouldn’t have anything left for the rest of your journey,” Juza laughed.

Unlikely, Childe thought to himself.

“I’m all about making money,” The bookkeeper emphasized. “Afterwards, I don’t care what happens to it.”

“That’s a fascinating economic philosophy,” Zhongli remarked without a hint of irony.

“It’s a life philosophy. Life isn’t all about the results—life is the process itself. You should keep that in mind with your dreams too.”

“Don’t mind her; it’s good to focus on your dreams.” A woman in blue nudged the bookkeeper. “Although, I’d say I’ve gotten awfully sidetracked.” She laughed. “Oh, excuse me, my name is Yinxing. I’m the Alcor’s surgeon.”

“What happened to your dream?” Zhongli asked.

“Oh, nothing really. I always wanted to be a veterinarian, but somehow I ended up working as a surgeon on this ship. I don’t regret it, but sometimes I do worry about the kittens I’ve left behind on the harbor.”

“When we get to Liyue Harbor, we can check on them.”

“Oh really? You’re a lifesaver, for the kittens. They should be with a Millelith named Yong’an.”

Zhongli had signed Childe up for three additional activities at Liyue Harbor already, and this last one was particularly risky. Childe would have to chat with him later, although he already considered it a futile effort. Childe was no longer the one in charge of the expedition.

“Hey, hey!” A child appeared from nowhere and tugged on Zhongli’s coat. “Do you wanna join the Cygnus Fleet? We could use someone strong like you!”

“The Cygnus Fleet?”

“It’s my very own fleet—er, will be! I’m gonna create a fleet even stronger than Captain Beidou’s! So you wanna join?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be sailing?”

“No fair! Captain Beidou says the same thing! But I stowed aboard our last voyage and was absolutely fine! Well, Captain Beidou was very mad, but…”

“If you start now, I’m sure you will be an excellent sailor by the time you reach adulthood.” 

“Right?! Right?!” The kid shouted gleefully. “So will ya join?”

“Ask me again in a few years, and we’ll see.”

“Don’t forget: it’s Captain Yue and the Cygnus Fleet!”

“I look forward to hearing of all your accomplishments, Little Captain.” Zhongli smiled gently. The small curve of his lips was very unusual for his face but also becoming. Each second needed to be savored. 

However, the blissful moment was interrupted by a rough voice. “So, what about you?”

“Who, me?” Childe snapped back into reality to find all the predatory eyes of the fleet upon him.

“Yeah, you.” Juza’s hands slid ever so slowly towards his sheath. “What do you want? Your dream?”

“My dream? Oh.” Childe laughed lightly. “Well, this is embarrassing…”

“Go on.”

“You see, what I’m really looking for…” Even Zhongli was watching Childe intently. “Is love.”

“You?!” Furong clutched her stomach in laughter.

“Hey! I don’t think you have any right to laugh! At least I don’t judge people by their arm-wrestling capabilities.”

“You wanna go a round? I bet you couldn’t beat me!”

“I wouldn’t want to try. I don’t want to accidentally end up your husband.”

Furong reached for her knife.

“Hey.” Huixing held Furong back. “You romantics shouldn’t fight. Shouldn’t you be wingmen?” She snickered. “But, I agree. It’s very odd that someone like you would be looking for a romantic partner.”

“How is it odd? We Snezhnayans have feelings too. In fact, our Tsaritsa is the Goddess of Love.”

“So?” Xu Liushi asked, “What kind of person are you looking for?”

Childe had not thought that far. He was hoping that a vague, universal would tide them over. “Someone who is gentle but tough when they need to be. Of course, although they strive for peace, they would be a warrior through and through.” That was the kind of person Childe would offer his life to.

“Good luck finding someone like that. It almost makes Furong’s marriage contest look reasonable,” gibed Xu Liushi, earning him stares like daggers from both Childe and Furong.

“Aaanyway,” Juza tried once again to reign in the rambunctious crowd. “What about you, Zhongli? You’re going to Liyue Harbor to see the Lantern Rite? You’ve never been before?”

“Yes, every year, I have watched them from my window. They twinkle so distantly like stars, yet they call to me. They beckon me. That is why I wish to see them up close.”

“They are quite a sight to behold,” Suling interjected. “Even when we’re at sea, we also enjoy watching them. Then we know we’re not so far from home.”

“Well, you know the legend about the Lantern Rite, right?” The bookkeeper asked.

“No, I do not. What is it?”

"They say that they started lighting the lanterns for the soldiers in order to show them the way home." The bookkeeper and other members of the crew began weaving many tales of Liyue’s history, none of which interested Childe. There were no lanterns for Childe. There was no snow, no fishing holes… Childe was very far from home.

Childe shook his head. He had left his old life behind when he went to the Abyss. As long as he kept the Tsaritsa in his heart, Snezhnaya was always close. 

Childe watched as Zhongli exchanged stories with the Crux Fleet. He couldn’t help but admire the curious glow of his gaze and the grace of his gestures. Childe had thought of Zhongli as a paranoid recluse, yet, at the tavern, he melted in seamlessly with the group—or rather, he had melted the rough crew members into friendly conversationalists. His polite mannerisms exuded a gentle power.

But at the same time, there was another part of Zhongli that set Childe’s heart ablaze. Childe was itching to bear witness to his latent strength again. The same excitement that danced through his nerves before a battle ran rampant with desire: combative and carnal.

[ranwing]

Kadam Fic: Learning To Fly (18/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 18/?

Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen

One AO3

A/N -  I'd like to both thank and apologize to all of my readers for the long delay in getting this chapter completed. I'd unfortunately been delayed by both a bout of writer's block and having surgery last month which set my plans to write back considerably. Thank you all for the wonderful comments and words of encouragement! I'm grateful to all of you for sticking with me.

Morning arrived with its usual clarion from Kurt’s cell phone alarm ringing at six, rousing him from sleep and reminding him that he had day filled with activities to get through awaiting him. Pushing off the sheets that had gotten wrapped about him during the night, Kurt sat at the edge of his bed and gave his body a long stretch to work out the sleep stiffness before getting to his feet.

With the semester starting to wind down, the students at NYADA were being put through the meat grinder by their instructors. Freshmen might have had the assumption that after all the work done on their spring musical that the professors might take it a bit easier on the upper classmen, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The more that he and his classmates manage to prove themselves, the more their teachers demanded. Kurt figured that by the time he graduated, Madam Tibideaux would expect him to be able to climb to the top of Mount Everest while singing an aria from Rigoletto in full voice the whole way up.

Well, this was what he signed up for, he reminded himself with a self-administered mental slap upside the head. And if he didn’t dawdle too much, he had enough time to go for a run and burn off some of the cake that he and the Apples had gorged on the night before. That would leave him just enough time to shower before his morning classes. But first things first…

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling as he studied the map pinned over his desk, seeing the wave of blue pins stretching across the image of the United States. Each marked a city where Adam had performed; cities where his play had met with critical regard and where his reputation as an actor continued to grow. Kurt no longer looked at that map with dread, facing it as a reminder of just how long it would before Adam was returned to him. Now it was a confirmation of just how much his lover had been able to accomplish.

With only one lone red pin left, it was also a reminder that Adam would be home right around the time that Kurt was finishing his finals. The feeling of disassociation was being replaced by one of happy anticipation and now they both had plans for their shared future to look forward to.

Butcher’s Bill had just wrapped up its run in Seattle and Kurt had happily marked the occasion with a triumphant blue push pin. Now a solitary red pin marked the final city of the national tour and if they hadn’t run into any delays, Adam would be leaving Seattle for San Diego by midday. That would allow Kurt to exchange that last red pin for a green one, signaling that the tour was nearing its conclusion.

It felt oddly thrilling that he could now legitimately count down the days without being overwhelmed by their sheer number. That his perspective has shifted from only being able to see how long he would be apart from Adam to actively anticipating the day of their reunion. He could look at his calendar now and actually see the day that Adam would be returning to New York, just over four weeks away.

There was a lot that still needed to be ironed out for them. They didn’t have an apartment so finding a place to live was going to be first on their agenda. Kurt could stay in the dorms through the summer if necessary, and he would be spending a few weeks at Garrison during the festival. If he had to leave the dorms for some reason, he knew that could spend a few days at a hostel until he and Adam got an apartment lined up. After all, that’s what he did when he first arrived in New York with nothing more than his suitcases and his dreams. It hadn’t been so bad, and it would be a lot cheaper than a hotel until they got settled.

He was more concerned for Adam, who would be effectively homeless after the tour ended. If they didn’t have something lined up by the time Adam returned to New York, Kurt knew that Adam had friends with sofas that he could crash on until they signed a lease, and he also could room at a hostel for a few days if needed.

Still, finding a place would have to be a priority for them. They were in this together and would see it through.

For all his tendencies to try to control and micromanage every detail, he had his greatest successes when he threw caution to the wind. Whether it was his impromptu audition, challenging Rachel to Midnight Madness or letting himself accept the flirtatious overtures from a handsome Englishman, each time he’d let his carefully crafted defenses fall he’d been rewarded beyond anything he could have hoped for.

He would have faith that he and Adam would get their practical affairs sorted out relatively quickly. Kurt didn’t care if he and Adam found themselves living in another closet-sized apartment for a year or had to leave the neighborhood where he’d felt so at home in. He just wanted for them to be together.

After tying on his running shoes, Kurt plugged in his headphones and trotted downstairs to get in the exercise that his body very much was craving. By the time he returned a bit over an hour later, Kurt was feeling much refreshed with his head cleared of the usual morning cobwebs. He stopped by his room to grab his robe and toiletries and walked down the hall to the communal showers.

A half hour later found him in the dorm break room, reading through some notes he had jotted down for his stage movement class and eating his yogurt when he spotted one of Madam Tibideaux’s assistants enter the lounge and look about. This wasn’t unusual when the Dean wanted to catch a residential student before classes started, though he did feel a trace of concern when she approached him.

“Good morning Kurt,” she greeted pleasantly. “Sorry to disturb your breakfast, but the Dean would like for you to stop by her office this morning after your lesson with Professor Collins. There’s something that she needs to discuss with you.”

No, that didn’t sound good, Kurt thought though for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything that he might have done to warrant a call to the office. All of his classes were going well, and he’d been getting nothing more than positive feedback from Madam Tibideaux during his last few sessions with her.

“Is there something wrong?” he couldn’t help from asking. This wasn’t something he needed at this moment.

The assistant just smiled, clearly aware that most students naturally assumed that being summoned to the office didn’t mean anything good. “No, not at all,” she assured him. “The Dean has a guest coming in and she wants you to join them. It’s one of NYADA’s big sponsors and she likes to show off her favored talents.”

Kurt nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he wasn’t going to be called out on the carpet over something. But being invited to meet a sponsor could mean something serious for his career prospects and he needed to make a good impression. That meant a quick touch up to his post run grooming and a change of clothes to something a bit more polished.

His morning session with Professor Collins went well, the genial teacher putting him through his paces as he showed off the greater flexibility he’d been developing in his voice. He was smiling when he left the studio, his teacher’s praise raising his spirits and putting him in a good mind to meet this sponsor. If Madam Tibideaux wanted him there, he should be confident that it was something that he was up to.

Kurt paused at the bathroom, checking his appearance one last time before heading to the dean’s office. Madam Tibideaux’s assistant was seated at her desk outside and smiled and Kurt’s approach. “You’re just in time,” she greeted, rising from her chair to greet him. “Let me just poke my head inside to make sure they’re ready for you.”

Kurt smiled and nodded, waiting patiently for her to get permission for him to enter the office. He took the opportunity to smooth out any imaginary wrinkles on his shirt before he was granted admittance. He thanked Madam Tibideaux’s assistant politely as she ushered him in and closed the door behind him before facing his teacher.

“Good morning, Madam,” he greeted politely. “I hope that I’m not late.”

The Dean placed down the cup of tea she’d been daintily sipping from and offered him an encouraging smile. “Not at all, Mr. Hummel,” she assured him. “You’re right on time. How was your session with Professor Collins?”

Kurt couldn’t resist smiling. “It went well,” he insisted confidently. “I’m feeling much more confidence in transitioning through my entire range.”

“Excellent,” Madam Tibideaux said, looking quite pleased at his pronouncement. “I’m looking forward to testing that in our next lesson.

The person seated in the chair with it’s back to the office door turned in her seat and Kurt felt his breath seize at the sight of her cap of short red hair and a wryly arched eyebrow raised. June Dolloway looked him up and down as she had at the gala, her thin lips drawing into a smile that appeared far too predatory for comfort.

“Mr. Hummel,” she greeted, more than a trace of challenge in her voice as she held up a slender hand to him.

Kurt quickly forced himself to rally, pasting a pleasant if bland expression on his face and reaching out to gently shake the older woman’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he claimed as sincerely as he could manage.

She just snorted, clearly not believing him. “No one is pleased to see me,” she admitted with a sharp grin, picking up her teacup. “But they act like they are because I have an obscene amount of money and I like to throw it at what suits my whims. That makes everyone polite.”

Kurt couldn’t help from admiring her honesty and lack of caring that she was more feared than admired. There was something refreshing about that kind of clear-eyed perspective. That didn’t mean that he was dropping his guard at all around her, because he suspected that she would happily eat him alive if he gave her the least opportunity.

“Have a seat, Mr. Hummel,” Madam Tibideaux offered, clearly set in her role of mediator. “Mrs. Dolloway wanted to meet you again. She was quite taken with your performance.”

Kurt smiled blandly as he settled into the offered chair. He remembered her comments at their first meeting and while they might have been compliments technically, he didn’t miss the insults that were barely hidden in her words. But he trusted Madam Tibideaux not to steer him into a situation that he would end up regretting.

Mrs. Dolloway’s expression was schooled into a neutral pleasantness, but Kurt could tell that she was watching and testing him. To see if her comments that could easily be interrupted as affronts got a response. Kurt was determined not to let her win this little meeting.

“I always do like to keep an eye on performers that interest me,” Mrs. Dolloway reminded him, the barest hint of threat in her tone. “I found you to be very intriguing. You have a unique presence on stage and I’m sure that you know how unusual your voice is.”

Kurt allowed himself to smile. “I’ve been told that once or twice,” he confirmed a bit ironically.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully at how he didn’t seem intimidated by her. “I find it utter fascinating to see someone who doesn’t seem to fit neatly in a conventional mold manage to play those parts so well. Normally they’re so focused on showing how unique they are that they make themselves unemployable.”

The warning in her tone was unmistakable and Kurt already knew exactly how to counter it. “Maybe. But I also feel that being so unique lets me stand out from everyone else,” he insisted confidently. “A countertenor whose range can cover traditional tenor roles is going to be remembered. And some composers and directors will get a chance to take advantage of what I’m able to do that others can’t.”

Mrs. Dolloway’s expression lightened a bit, as if pleased that he wasn’t cowed by her demeanor. Madam Tibideaux nodded in approval at her student and added, “One of the things that we’ve been working on is developing Mr. Hummel’s singular talents while still making him as marketable as possible. I think that going by his success in Les Misérables and his performances at the Garrison festival, we’re on the right track.”

“I haven’t been to Garrison in years,” Mrs. Dolloway mused. “Is that old coot, Tillman, still running things?”

Kurt managed not to laugh, thinking that Mrs. Dolloway should be the last person in the world to call someone old. “Yes, he’s still directing,” he confirmed. “We’re doing ‘A Midsummer Nights Dream’ and ‘Troilus and Cresida’ this season.”

Mrs. Dolloway looked at him pointedly. “And what were you cast as?” she asked pointedly, her tone clearly issuing a challenge.

Kurt smiled proudly. “Well, last season I played Don John which was really exciting as it was my first summer with the festival. This year I’m Puck and Patroclus,” he stated confidently. “I’m rather looking forward to doing another nice dramatic death and putting my stage combat to practical use.”

The sponsor seemed almost impressed. “Well, there certainly does seem to be a lot more to you than pretty hair and a flashy wardrobe,” she granted, a trifle reluctantly in Kurt’s opinion. “I suppose that you’re wondering why I wanted to meet you today.”

“The question did cross my mind,” Kurt answered back, allowing a bit of fight coming out in his voice. He wasn’t inclined to give an inch, no matter how influential Mrs. Dolloway could be.

She just smiled, amused by his show of spirit. “I mentioned a showcase that I’m organizing when we met at the gala,” she reminded him.

Kurt nodded, indicating that he’d remembered. “When I didn’t hear anything, I just thought you’d changed your mind about me participating,” he said blandly, making it clear that he hadn’t been bothered by being omitted.

If Mrs. Dolloway was offended by his lack of interest in her connections, she didn’t show it. “Well, to be honest, I was vacillating between inviting you or not,” she admitted without a trace of shame.

Kurt managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course, she did.

“The showcase is scheduled next week to benefit scheduled for next week to support the Lexington Home for Retired Performers. It’s an old age home for film and stage actors,” she explained, her tone becoming more matter of fact. “I’d scheduled a number of top students from various theater programs to perform, but one of the Julliard seniors flacked out on me. Something about a nervous breakdown…”

Kurt couldn’t help from arching a brow in response.

Mrs. Dolloway looked at him pointedly. “So now I have a hole in our performance schedule that I need to fill,” she huffed. “I was thinking ‘why not give that high voiced kid a shot’.”

Kurt didn’t respond immediately, not quite sure how he wanted to take her invitation. It was hardly worded in a flattering way and while he wasn’t offended that he wasn’t among her first choices for the benefit, he wasn’t sure if the performer who dropped out really did have some kind of breakdown or if he just wanted to get away from this difficult patron.

He mentally sighed, wishing that he could beg off with rehearsals or work for the festival, but she would be able to ferret out pretty quickly what his rehearsal schedule was. Being caught in a lie would just reflect badly on him.

“This can be an interesting opportunity,” Madam Tibideaux advised, seeing his reluctance. “Many of the residents of the home were quite renowned performers in their day. You can learn a great deal by speaking with them.

“And the home really is a great asset to our community. Sadly, it’s not uncommon for actors to be left with little financial support as they age. This facility allows them a safe and dignified place during their golden years.”

Kurt didn’t doubt her, and it sounded like the exact sort of charity that he would want to support. It was indeed a worthy cause and might just be worth the effort of dealing with Mrs. Dolloway for one day.

He looked to the older woman, who was watching him with a cool, calculating stare. “I’d be happy to help,” he claimed, smiling with all the charm he could muster. “It does sound like a wonderful cause.”

Mrs. Dolloway genuinely seemed surprised that he agreed to the invitation and Kurt rather enjoyed putting her back on her expensive heels a bit. He didn’t get as far as he has by letting small minded fools stand in his way. Even if he gained nothing personally, he would be pleased to help the elderly actors have a comfortable retirement.

She finally nodded, looking a little impressed despite herself. “Good,” she granted with no trace of reluctance in her voice, and Kurt couldn’t help from thinking that he just won this little confrontation. “I’ll let Carmen know the details. I’m fairly certain that you’ll be able to come up with two numbers that would be appropriate for the occasion.”

“I will,” he assured her self-assuredly. He was already making a mental list of potential material.

“Then I will see you next week.”

Mrs. Dolloway turned back to Madam Tibideaux and placed her teacup on the desk. “Carmen, it’s been a pleasure, as always.”

When the Dean began to push her chair back to get up, Mrs. Dolloway raised her hand to stop her. “Oh, don’t bother… I can show myself out,” she insisted blandly. She turned one last look to Kurt and nodded in his direction before walking out and closing the door behind her.

Once she had left the room, Kurt allowed himself a sigh of relief and couldn’t help from wondering just what he was letting himself in for. His teacher seemed just as relieved to have her troublesome visitor leave and turned a satisfied smile to him.

“I know that she’s a bit of a character,” Madam Tibideaux granted. “But she really can be an excellent sponsor. She’s helped launch a number of careers and she’s been a tremendous financial support for our school.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Kurt insisted. “But I get the feeling that her favor can be a double-edged sword.”

Madam Tibideaux chuckled at his clear-eyed view of the matter. “I’m not going to disagree with you,” she confided. “The ones who often run our profession are the wealthy. Whether they invest in productions or patronize the ballet and opera, performers have to decide for themselves how to navigate their influence. I know this is difficult, but I think that you would gain a lot more from this experience than Mrs. Dolloway will get in bragging rights since you’ve already technically been discovered.”

Kurt knew that his teacher was taking pleasure in that respect and wouldn’t begrudge her the honors. “I just want to make sure that I perform at a level where I won’t stand out in a negative way,” he said. “It’s rather on short notice.”

“Mr. Hummel, in all the months that I’ve known you I’ve never seen you fail to rise to the occasion.If I might offer my suggestions,” she proposed with a reassuring smile, earning an enthusiastic nod from her student. “For this crowd, I would stick to something classic. Using a song from the era that many of the home’s residents were active would be well received. There are certainly enough songs that take advantage of your natural range and your unique vocal qualities.”

That made a lot of sense, Kurt thought. And he suspected that Mrs. Dolloway’s tastes would lean towards the classical. He could work with that.

“I would also like to offer some advice,” Madam Tibideaux said carefully, and Kurt looked up at his teacher intently because he trusted her judgment.

“I know that June Dolloway can be difficult to deal with, and you shouldn’t feel obligated to accept her as a sponsor just because you agreed to perform at the benefit. Even if she offers,” the dean advised. “She does have a certain amount of influence. She built up a substantial bit of wealth from her various marriages and she has a lot of connections in the business, though how seriously she can be taken seriously is open to debate.”

“Then why is she one of NYADA’s biggest donors?” Kurt asked curiously. “If she’s that out there?”

The Dean offered him a confiding smile. “Because she is willing to help support our school financially. It’s sometimes worth it for me to humor her if it opens up her checkbook, but I know what I can and should expect from her. I always warn my students who catch her eye to be very cautious in how they deal with her. Yes, she can open a lot of doors for you. But she also can be very fickle, and I’ve seen her drop proteges as abruptly as she picks them up.”

Kurt nodded in understanding, recognizing that he would need to manage this opportunity with the same care that he did the options that Coach Sylvester presented. If he could gain Mrs. Dolloway’s respect, he might be able to take advantage of her connections while not putting himself in her debt. He knew that he had enough challenges in his path without having his career controlled by someone who looked down on him in any way.

He met up with Rachel and their friends for lunch, needing their support and feedback. “I want to do this,” Kurt insisted over pizza. “It’s a really good cause, but I really don’t want anything to do with that Dolloway woman. I think that I’d just be setting myself up for trouble.”

Rachel reached out and grasped his hand in solidarity. “I think you could handle her,” she claimed, having seen her friend outsmart and manipulate people to his own ends many times before.

“Kurt, you always could just do the show and call it quits,” Analisa reminded her friend. “There’s no law that says just because you’ve agreed to perform one time that you owe her anything more. Just take advantage of getting seen a bit more.”

Kurt nodded but insisted, “I just don’t want to make any enemy of her. I get the feeling that she can really go out of her way to screw me over if I offend her in some way.”

Jamie took a big bite of his pepperoni and mushroom slice and chewed thoughtfully. “She reminds of a director I had at arts camp when I was a kid. It was obvious to everyone that she had her favorites and would go to the ends of the earth for you. Until you weren’t one of her favorites anymore. Then you might as well not exist.”

“Is everyone in our industry crazy?” Katya asked. “I mean, it would be nice just perform and not have to deal with people in charge with attitudes like that.”

“I feel like it’s some kind of test,” Kurt bemoaned. “Like Mrs. Dolloway is setting me up to fail.”

“So, don’t fail,” Rachal said logically, as if it were truly that simple. “Kurt, you don’t need us to tell you how good you are. Just treat this as a chance to perform and do what you know you can do. You don’t owe her anything more than that.”

Kurt looked to his group, yet again grateful that he’d managed to find such a wonderful collection of supportive friends.

Analisa looked to her favorite duet partner and offered a bright smile. “Mind if we tag along for moral support?” she asked.

Mrs. Dolloway hadn’t mentioned anything about him bringing guests, but Kurt didn’t see the harm. He’d feel a lot better having a few friendly faces in the audience.

“I’d love you guys to be there,” he said. “I’m not going to hoard the chance to mingle and network.”

Kayta reached out to pinch his cheek. “So generous,” she praised.

Kurt playfully swatted her hand away, earning a round of laughter from his friends. Relieved that he wouldn’t be facing Mrs. Dolloway without some reinforcements at his back, he looked thankfully at his friends.

“I really appreciate this, guys,” he said sincerely. “But let’s dig in… this pizza isn’t going to eat itself.”

* * *

Adam looked at the theater marquee, feeling both a great sense of pride and a tremendous wash of relief. Their final opening for the national tour was just a few short days away. After this, it would be a countdown until they all were able to return home.

He hadn’t quite known what to expect from this job, but it had been both tremendously fulfilling and harder than he could have ever imagined. Still, despite how painful as his separation from Kurt had been, he honestly wouldn’t trade the experience he’d gained. He was learning a great deal more about himself as an actor and Adam knew that the connections he’d made and the regard he’d earned would serve him well in the future.

He walked over to the stage door, greeting the security guard pleasantly before being admitted and directed towards the dressing rooms. This was probably the largest venue that they’d performed in to date and with the relatively small cast, he’d only be sharing the dressing room with Niall. The racks with their costumes were already in place, the costumes wrapped neatly in plastic to protect them during the shipping process.

It would be nice to have the extra space and a bit of relative privacy, Adam considered as he set down his makeup kit and began to organize the dressing table to his liking. He pulled out a folder containing the photos that he would want to have close at hand. Some of them were getting a little battered from their months long journey around the country but were all the more precious to him as a result. There were his parents, who had never failed to support his aspirations and one with his big sister posing with a shaggy rescue pony. He had a photo of his Apples, taken as their last get together before he left on the tour and most importantly, one of his Kurt to be placed in a spot of honor so that Adam could see him at all times.

Adam smiled and couldn’t resist tracing the outline of Kurt’s features with his fingertip. He missed his lovely boy so much and couldn’t wait to see him again. So much had happened for the both of them and he was eager to see his young man having grown into the potential that Adam knew that Kurt possessed from the start. He had always known that Kurt was an exceptional being, both as a performer and as a man and now it appeared that the rest of the world was starting to catch on as well. He was looking forward to seeing how Kurt was handling the real recognition of his worth.

These final weeks of Butcher’s Bill was setting Adam on the course for his career and he knew that Kurt was likewise taking concrete steps towards his own. All of this was worthwhile, Adam told himself. They had so much to look forward to and Adam was never more confident that they would be facing their future together.

He had a few hours before their director would be arriving for their afternoon run-through. That should leave him a bit of time to relax and maybe do a bit of sightseeing with his friends. Now that the end of the road was clearly within sight, he found his normal optimism and good spirits returning in full.

Making one last check that he had everything that he needed, he stepped out of the theater into the bright sunlight. The anxiety that he’d felt for so long was finally easing and he looked forward to the challenges that these final weeks of the tour would present. For once, he felt more than ready.

* * *

“You look fantastic,” Rachel assured him as Kurt checked the lay of his tie for what was likely the nineteenth time in her estimation. She gently took his hands and forced them down to halt his fussing.

“Are you sure?” he asked, checking his outfit once again to make sure that the creases on his designer slacks were pressed straight and his shoes were polished to a gleaming finish. Rather than giving into his first instinct to wear one of his more conservative outfits, he’d decided to go with something that was truer to his personality. The bold herringbone pattern of his dress pants tailored to fit the line of his body perfectly and drew attention to his best assets while the button-down shirt had just enough stretch that he could wear it tight enough to take advantage of his shoulders. His hair had been freshly cut and styled, the sides neat and the top combed into a tall crest.

“It’s fine,” she promised with a warm smile. “You’re not nervous, are you? This kind of performance is right up your alley.”

Kurt sighed, knowing that he was being silly. Maybe his choice of material was a little ambitious, but he was confident in his abilities to handle it.

He knew what the issue was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Mrs. Dolloway’s opinion of him still rankled. He didn’t know if she was actually homophobic or just enjoyed needling people where they might be vulnerable, but he was really put off by her attitude. If it hadn’t been for the cause that this showcase would be benefiting and Madam Tibideaux’s show of support, he didn’t know if it was worthwhile to put himself through this.

There were eight students performing, and he was one of three representing NYADA. Most of the others were from Julliard, and he could certainly admire their talents. These were students primarily focused on classical technique, with a good number of them on track for professional opera or recording artist careers. He was suddenly quite grateful for Madam Tibideaux insisting on him focusing on classical technique in his own development. He should be able to hold his own with a group like this.

He also couldn’t argue that Mrs. Dolloway wasn’t throwing a lot of money at this event. She’d rented out the Studio 54 theater space, setting it up like a nightclub venue with tables and seats arranged about the stage. There was plenty of room for the various guests and donors attending, but tables situated closest to the stage were dedicated to the residents of the actor’s home. The elderly performers had turned out in their best clothing, apparently eager for the outing and looking forward to seeing what the younger generation had to offer.

Kurt’s own friends were seated towards the back, and he was grateful for their presence. He hadn’t expected to find so many good friends at NYADA but felt very privileged to have done so. Between his classmates and the Apples, he had a solid base of support in New York. That his relationships didn’t boil down to nothing but rivals that would cheerfully kneecap him any chance they got had come as a deep relief for him.

Deep inside, Kurt felt a bit of a thrill that he would be standing on a Broadway stage, even if it wasn’t an actual Broadway production. Not that it looked much like a proper theater, but he knew the names of the famous actors who’d performed in that venue. Knowing that his small contribution to the history of this newer theater filled him with a sense of pride.

Rachel leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, careful not to get any lipstick on him. “I’m going to go join the others,” she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

He nodded and offered his friend a thankful smile. “Rachel… thanks for coming today.”

She just grinned back. “Did you ever think that I would miss this?” she chuckled. “Break a leg!”

Left alone, Kurt moved to join the other performers, grateful that for once he didn’t feel completely out of his element. The two NYADA students were performers that he’d become very familiar with over the past months, having worked them during their run of Les Miserables. He wasn’t at all surprised that Mrs. Dolloway had invited Brett Sosa, given that he had the classic good looks and honey-smooth tenor that would appeal to a broad audience. He was a bit surprised that she’d invited the young woman who’d played Cosette rather than the more dynamic singers for Eponine and Fantine. But Abigail Thomas was gifted with one of the most gorgeous soprano voices that Kurt head ever heard, and he knew that she would make the audience very pleased.

He greeted them cheerfully, glad to have some familiar faces in the group. “I was wondering who Mrs. Dolloway would wrangle from NYADA,” he said confidingly. “I should have figured that you two would be her top picks.”

Brett gave him a warm pat on the back. “Good to see you, Kurt,” he greeted happily. “We were wondering ourselves since she was being so damned closed mouthed about things.

Abigail nodded in agreement. “I’m trying to figure out why I’m here since everyone knows she never sponsors women,” she complained lightly with a knowing smirk. “She likes to go after men who remind her of one of her husbands.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing. “I wonder which of them I remind her of,” he mused amusedly. “Because he must have really pissed her off at some point.”

Brett chuckled in response. “Madam Tibideaux did warn me that she was a character,” he advised. “But she can open doors and if she can get me in front of the right people, it might be worth it. I’ve been hitting auditions and I really need to nail down some work after graduation.”

“Me too,” Abigail sighed. “You’re lucky, Kurt. You probably aren’t facing the same kind of pressure just yet.”

No, he wasn’t, Kurt acknowledged to himself. But he had his own pressure to deal with. It didn’t pass his notice that, yet again, he was the least conventional performer in the room. Even so, he wasn’t going to allow that to bother him. He was looking forward to showing off his mettle against the kind of tenors and baritones that they audience expected to see and the song he’d chosen for the occasion would make the most of his full range as a singer.

Maybe it was petty and even a bit counterproductive, but he was looking forward to seeing Mrs. Dolloway’s self-satisfied smirk vanish when she realized that he wasn’t going to crumble in front of her. He wasn’t just going to match what the other students were able to do; he was going to be the best on that stage.

Mrs. Dolloway swept into the backstage area, dressed in a pale grey Chanel suit and Kurt judged that the jewelry she was sporting that looked like it could probably cover all the students’ rent for the next three years. She looked over the group and offered a smile that held nothing in the way of genuine warmth. Like all the interactions that Kurt had with her up until this point, her expression was predatory and slightly contemptuous of everyone she came across. He couldn’t help from wondering if she actually liked any of the prospects that she sponsored, of if she just enjoyed jerking their chains as she dangled prospects and possibilities  before them.

“I’m so glad to see you all,” she greeted benignly, if not with any great sincerity. “Before we get started, I wanted to thank you for supporting this very worthy cause. We’ve got a good-sized crowd and I’ve got them well primed for you. I certainly hope that that you all perform at the level I’ve come to expect from students of your caliber.”

None of the students missed the threat in her carefully chosen words, that whatever support they might hope for with this patron would evaporate if they didn’t perform at their best. Of what they could expect if their best was judged not good enough.

A few of the students looked genuinely nervous and Kurt suspected that at least a few of them sincerely wanted to gain Mrs. Dolloway’s support for their careers. He felt himself smile a little bit, relaxing when he realized that he honestly didn’t much care if the arrogant woman liked him at all. He just wanted to perform well for his audience, especially the elderly actors who deserved to have a pleasant afternoon. And for his friends who were so supportive of him. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

From their position offstage, he could hear Mrs. Dolloway greeting her audience and Kurt tuned her out. He didn’t care much about whatever spiel she pulled out of her finely dressed ass. He was sure that she would be able to coax some decent funds for the retirement home and his only purpose there was to perform to the best of his ability. Then he could hopefully put June Dolloway in his rear-view mirror.

One by one, the students were called out onto the stage and Kurt allowed himself to enjoy their performances. Mrs. Dolloway might be a total pill, but she did seem to have a real eye and ear for talent. Every one of the students she’d invited to perform were, to an individual, exceptional. He never had a problem admiring the talents of others and he felt rather privileged to be counted in a group like this.

There didn’t seem to be any set pattern to how they were called up, and he knew that he’d better be prepared at an instant’s notice. He’d done his warmups and just focused on keeping his vocal cords loosened and lubricated. Swishing some lukewarm water in his mouth before swallowing, he mentally ran through his performance notes, wanting to give his best effort.

Brett had just completed an absolutely stunning rendition of “Almost Like Being In Love” to great applause from their appreciate audience when Mrs. Dolloway stepped onto the stage, applauding him with a smile. Once the audience settled, she turned to them with a teasing smile.

“Well, now I think it’s time for something a little different,” she pronounced. “NYADA certainly has been generous with the talent we have this afternoon, so let me present Mr. Kurt Hummel.”

She looked to the stage wings and gave Kurt an appraising look, as if daring him to back out but he just smiled serenely. Not even taking a second to check his outfit one last time, Kurt stepped onto the stage and nodded his thanks to the prickly patron. Mrs. Dolloway just smiled and nodded a challenge to him before allowing him the stage.

Kurt turned his focus to the audience and the band began to play the opening strains to his first number. He wondered if anyone watching him would be surprised at his choice because this song had the potential to be a total train wreak if the melody got away from him at any point.

There was a gentle rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat, and his voice rose out gently to match it. “Like the beat, beat beat of the tom tom,” he sang gently, each word falling neatly onto the percussion. “When the jungle shadows fall.”

His voice shifted octave just slightly, slipping into the next level of his range with smooth effortlessness, the words trailing elegantly. “Like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock as it stands against the wall.”

The octave shifted again, and Kurt’s voice rose to meet it. “Like the drip, drip drip of the raindrops, when the summer shower is through,” he sang smoothly, his voice adjusting to the quick change from higher to low notes without any breaks. “So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you…”

The heartbeat rhythm was replaced by a warm jazzy tone and Kurt’s voice slipped easily into the new cadence. “Night and day, you are the one,” he sang passionately, allowing a faraway smile to touch his features as he thought about the man who was inspiring him. “Only you, beneath the moon and under the sun. Whether near to me or far… It’s no matter darling, where you are. I think of you…”

Kurt knew that technically had had it. His voice agilely danced through the various octaves and key changes without any hint of struggle. The song made use of nearly his entire range and required him to be able to bounce from octave to octave without hesitation or interruption.

But he was no mere technician. The warmth in his voice and the soul powering the words was what would set him apart. The singer was a man deeply, passionately in love and Kurt certainly had enough of those feelings to lend appropriate authenticity to his performance.

“Night and day,” he crooned, allowing all his feelings for Adam come out in his voice. “Day and night. Why is it so? This longing for you follows me wherever I go. In the roaring traffic’s boom. In the silence of my lonely room, I think of you.”

This separation had been one of the hardest things he’d endured, but his feelings for Adam had only grown. If absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder, then his heart was nearly overflowing with love for his absent partner. He could only express it now in his voice.

“Night and day. Night and day!” The key changed and Kurt voice rose elegantly as he slid into his upper range. “Under the hide of me. There’s an oh! Such a hungry yearning burning inside of me.”

He moved across the stage, doing a soft weave step that worked nicely with the flow of the music, letting himself get lost in the music and emotion. His voice slipped easily into his lower register, coiling like a spring.

“And its torment won’t be through, till you let me spend my life making love…” Kurt’s voice shot up to his upper register and he held the note for a long, dramatic second before letting it fall back into his middle range. “To you! Day and night! Night and day!”

He finished with a vocal flourish and couldn’t help from smiling when the audience applauded enthusiastically. Kurt thought that he’d sounded quite good but getting that kind of feedback from an artistically educated and appreciative audience… it would never get old.

Through the lights, he could see his audience. Mostly the seniors seated at the tables who seemed especially enthusiastic. One in particular caught his eye; a petite dumpling of a woman with short grey hair and grinning widely as she applauded. He smiled at her, nodding his thanks.

As for Mrs. Dolloway, standing in the wings… Kurt didn’t bother to look for her reaction, because it didn’t matter to him if she liked his performance or not. The band was already cuing up the music for his next number and he had an audience to focus on.

He was glad that he’d selected an upbeat number for his second performance, using songs from the same songwriter to tie his act together. He’d already proven that he was a singer. Now he could let them see just how much of a showman he could be.

He smiled beatifically looking out to the audience, using the older woman he’d spotted as a focus. “When the little blue bird who has never said a word, starts to sing, ‘Spring, spring’,” he trilled gently, letting his voice float on the music. “When the little blue bell in the bottom of the dell, starts to ring, ‘Ting, ting’.”

He did a little bit of dancing, moving across the stage as he sang. “When the little blue clock in the middle of his work, sings a song to the moon up above.” Kurt allowed a bit more power to come out in his voice but kept it carefully under control. “It is nature that's all, simply telling us to fall in love…”

He allowed a short pause to build up anticipation before continuing softly. “And that's why birds do it, bees do it,” he crooned delicately. “Even educated fleas do it. Let's do it! let's fall in love.”

Love might be the subject of ninety nine percent of songs written, he’d considered, but he didn’t know of many songs that so perfectly expressed the joy of discovering love. That one wasn’t above that heady emotion when sense could be tossed aside in favor of just feeling. Sometimes it would strike like a lightning bolt, but other times it came on more gradually. Like sinking into a perfectly warm bath. He’d been fortunate to have discovered love in both ways but having that moment when you truly fell was some of the most wondrous, terrifying moments of his life.

“In Spain, the best upper sets do it,” he confided playfully. “Lithuanians and Letts do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.”

Kurt saw the plump little woman nodding approvingly, watching with the others seated at her table. An elegantly handsome black man leaned over to whisper something in her ear, his eyes focused on Kurt with the other man just watched with a slightly dazed smile on his face.

“Some Argentines without means, do it,” Kurt lilted, letting the best qualities of his voice shine. He knew that his voice was distinctive, and he wasn’t going to hide that fact no matter what Mrs. Dolloway thought. “People say in Boston even beans do it. Let’s do it! Let’s fall in love!”

Kurt had enough dance training under his belt that even though he hadn’t enough time to plan his choreography in advance, he could improvise and have it look thought out. He turned on one foot and danced across the stage as he sang, using the jazz technique that Ms. July had beaten into him and used the movement to accent his vocals. He could see the approval of the audience as they clapped in time to the music and cheered him on.

He gave a final spin, coming to stop in front of the older woman’s table and offered her and her friends a charming smile. “The world admits bears in pits do it,” he sang, letting more power come into his voice and giving the woman a sly smile and a little shimmy of his shoulders, causing her to giggle in response. “Even Pekingeses at the Ritz do it. Let’s do it! Let’s fall in love.

“The royal set sans regret did it, and they considered it fun. Marie Antoinette did it, with or with about Napoleon!” Kurt confided to his audience, glad that they were enjoying the bawdy nonsense. “Parliament pleasure bent did it. Mam’selles every time they’re short of rent did it.

“Let’s do it,” he belted, winding up for the conclusion and letting his voice soar. “Let’s fall in love!”

It might not have been the same thrill that he got from performing Les Misérables, but the audience was applauding and cheering, and Kurt couldn’t be more pleased. He gave a brief bow and waved to the crowd before stepping off stage.

Mrs. Dolloway was giving him an odd, appraising look but didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him right away. She stepped out to introduce the next performer and Kurt took the opportunity to make a quick escape.

He stopped by Abigail and Brett, the three of them quietly congratulating one another for their fine performances before Kurt made his way to where they audience was seated. Taking care not to draw attention to himself and detract from the young woman singing a glorious aria, he stealthily made his way to the table at the back where his friends were seated. They were all smiles and while they couldn’t immediately express what they thought without disturbing others seated around them, Kurt knew that he had done what he’d set out to do.

Rachel smiled at him warmly, her dark eyes clearly communicating how well she thought he’d done and reached out to grasp his hand. He returned the loving squeeze and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder while they watched the remaining performers.

Once all the students were finished, Mrs. Dolloway took the stage again bask in the admiration of the audience, nodding her thanks at their applause. With practiced graciousness, she thanked all the performers and sponsors of the retirement home, urging everyone to stay for the reception. The house lights came on to illuminate the room and the band began to play a pleasant jazz set so that everyone could mingle and talk.

Now that the hard part was over, Kurt turned to his friends with a satisfied smile. “Thanks for being here, guys,” he said sincerely. “It was really reassuring, knowing that you were out here.”

Analisa got up to hug her favorite duet partner about his shoulders. “Don’t be silly,” she admonished playfully. “Did you really think we would miss it? We’re all in this together.”

Jamie clapped Kurt on the arm fondly. “Why don’t we go see what kind of food they’ve got,” he suggested.

Kurt smiled and nodded, offering his arms to both Analisa and Rachel, while Jamie happily escorted Katya. There was an open bar which provided Kurt with a very well-deserved glass of white wine while waiters circulated through the crowd with trays of finger foods. Taking a fried nibble that turned out to be brie and fig preserves, Kurt mentally prepared himself to do the whole meet and greet thing. While he’d much rather hang out with his friends and enjoy the free food, he knew that it would be stupid to waste the opportunity to network on June Dolloway’s dime. Especially if he could share the wealth with his friends.

After making the rounds, accepting compliments on his performance and pocketing a few business cards from some professionals who wanted to keep Kurt on their radar, he decided that he now had full right to relax and enjoy the party. A plate of munchies and Kurt was happy to sit at a convenient table with his friends to talk. They didn’t often have the chance to enjoy outings like this and he certainly wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity.

“I could use another drink,” he pronounced after finishing off his first glass of wine. “Can I get anyone anything?”

“No, we’re good,” Jamie assured him.

Kurt got up from his seat and took his empty glass with him to head towards the bar. He’d already planned to cut himself off after two glasses of wine, knowing that this was not the kind of setting where getting sloppy would be appreciated. The crowd was a bit thick and he carefully waded his way through but couldn’t avoid being collided by someone who’d been nudged into his path. Kurt quickly caught her, helping her find her balance again.

“I’m so sorry!” the woman exclaimed, alarmed as the glass she held sloshed a bit. “Did I get anything on you?”

Even in the less than ideal light, Kurt could see that his outfit was free of liquid stains. “No, it’s fine,” he assured her, offering a smile.

She inhaled a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! I would have hated to ruin your outfit after that wonderful performance you just gave us,” she admitted with a smile.

Kurt quickly recognized her as the older woman that he’d focused on during his performance and realized that she was even more adorable than he’d originally perceived from the stage. With her round face and neat cap of grey hair, she looked like she would be perfectly at home baking cookies for a score of grandchildren.

That was until he caught the mischievous glint in her eyes behind her glasses. That indicated less an inclination towards baking and a nature more inclined to being the source of trouble wherever she went.

“At least this gives me the chance to thank you,” she said with a warm smile. “You were absolutely wonderful.”

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling back. “Thank you very much,” he answered sincerely. I’m so happy that you enjoyed it.”

“Well, it’s such a pleasure to meet you in person,” she said sweetly. “I’m Maggie.”

Kurt took her hand and shook it gently, amazing at how soft her skin was over joints that were clearly showing signs of advanced arthritis. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie. I’m Kurt.”

The handsome black man that Maggie had been seated with hurried over, trailed by another man with a perpetually dazed smile on his face. “Maggie, here you are,” he exclaimed, a hint or reprimand in his voice. “We were looking all over for you.”

“Oh hush… I was just talking to my new friend here,” Maggie explained. “This is Kurt and he just saved me from being knocked to the floor.”

She sighed happily. “It’ been so long since I’ve had a handsome young man to take care of me,” she teased with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Despite how she overstated his rescue of her, Kurt couldn’t help from smiling back, flattered by her compliment.

“Oh, come on,” the handsome black man reprimanded playfully. “My grandson visited just last week. He did your hair for you!”

Maggie blushed and laughed, hand-waving away her friend’s protestations. She turned a teasing smile to Kurt. “Don’t listen to him,” she insisted, patting his hand. “He always tries to spoil my fun.”

She looked to her friend and explained, “This is that lovely young man that we saw in Les Misérables. Remember?”

The man’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. “I should have remembered that,” he said ruefully. “A voice like that, you don’t forget too quickly.

“I’m Andy and this here is Marty,” he introduced, shaking Kurt’s hand warmly. “It’s so nice to meet such a talented young man.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said sincerely. “I wasn’t sure if anyone here saw our show.”

Andy couldn’t help from laughing loudly at that bit of absurdity. “Son, I don’t think there’s anyone in this room that didn’t see that show,” he insisted with a broad smile that looked far too sexy on a man his age. “It was a nice surprise to see some of the performers from it here today.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing at their antics. “Madam Tibideaux told me a bit about your retirement home and I couldn’t resist wanting to help,” he said with a smile. “It sounds like a really nice place.”

Andy nodded, taking a sip of his drink that appeared to be scotch and water. “It is,” he assured the younger man. “Especially when you consider that all of the residents have a lot of shared life and career experiences. Gives us plenty to talk about.”

Maggie nodded in agreement. “They have a lot of activities for old actors like us. We get to see most of the new Broadway shows, and we go to a lot of school and local productions,” she explained. “There was no way that we would miss that one.”

Her smile turned a bit mischievous as she appraised him. “I recognized you the instant you came on the stage.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing a bit. “I’m flattered,” he said sincerely.

“It’s a lot of fun, watching all you youngsters,” Andy complimented. “Reminds me of our glory days. I probably wasn’t much older than you when I made my big debut.”

“Oh hush, Andy,” Maggie reprimanded playfully. “He doesn’t want to hear our old stories. And we’re being so rude, taking him away from his friends like this.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt promised with a chuckle. He glanced over at the table where his friends were seated and caught Rachel’s questioning gesture at what was keeping him. He nodded his head towards his current companions and Rachel smiled knowingly, rolling her eyes playfully. “I see them all the time at school.”

Before he could say anything more, he saw Mrs. Dolloway approaching them. Her face was set in a smile, but Kurt could easily see that it was just a front for the guests. The look in her pale eyes was positively steely and whatever hope he had of finishing the day without an uncomfortable confrontation with her was totally extinguished.

“I hate to rush away,” he said was honest regret, because he would much rather hear their stories about the old days than deal with the unpredictable sponsor. “But I see Mrs. Dolloway and it look like she wants to speak with me.”

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Kurt,” Andy said graciously, offering another brilliant smile. “You were excellent today and we’re all looking forward to seeing more from you.”

Maggie leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for rescuing me,” she said sincerely. “I hope that we see more of you soon.”

He smiled back, giving her hand a fond squeeze. “It was wonderful to meet you,” he said graciously before turning to face the difficult sponsor. He was mentally steeling himself when he jumped in surprise because someone just pinched his ass. He turned in shock to see Maggie strolling away with her friends to find new entertainments but not without turning a mischievous smile in his direction and giving him a quick wave. Almost before he had a chance to mentally regroup, he was faced with his biggest challenge of the day.

“Well, Mr. Hummel,” Mrs.Dolloway pronounced with obviously false sweetness. “That performance was certainly not what I would have expected from you.”

Kurt let himself smile, detecting the bare trace of hard-won respect in her tone. “I’m pleased that I was able to surpass your expectations,” he allowed himself to respond with carefully politeness.

Her mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Well, it certainly wasn’t anything I would have expected,” she granted. “And I’ve gotten some decent feedback from some of our donors on your performance.”

Kurt had the feeling that getting an actual compliment from this woman would be like trying to extract state secrets from James Bond. Nor did he think that it would be worth the effort. He knew how well he’d done and didn’t need the confirmation from someone that evidently didn’t respect him.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he granted with a smile, pouring on the sugar. “Especially since it’s going to benefit the retirement home residents.”

Something seemed to soften in Mrs. Dolloway’s eyes at his disinterest in trying to reap glory for his own benefit. He would have every right to be proud of what he’d brought to that stage but had the grace to recognize that this day wasn’t about him in the end. It was about those lovely old actors getting support and respect from a younger generation.

She quickly regained her mental equilibrium, pasting a tolerant expression on her face as if trying to reason with an unruly child. Gazing at him appraisingly, she stated “I have other performance opportunities over the next few weeks that might interest you. Perhaps we could set up a time to discuss the options.”

Kurt’s eyebrow arched in surprise at the offer. He would have thought that he would be the last person she would invite back to another of her showcases.

Trying to look apologetic and not sure if he was being totally convincing, Kurt gave a regretful sigh. “I wish that I could,” he said with as much sincerity as he could force into his voice without sounding saccharine. “But we’re getting to the end of the semester and I’ve got all my finals and critiques to get through. Then right after that, I start rehearsals for the Garrison festival and that will tie me up all summer. I’m afraid that I’m just not going to have any free time to take on any more committments.”

At least not any where Mrs. Dolloway was concerned, he said to himself with an internal smirk.

His excuse was plausible enough given the time of the year and not something that she could actually protest since he still had two years of school to go. “I suppose that your semester is winding down,” she granted with a huff. “And I doubt that Carmen would be forgiving if I distracted you from your studies.”

Kurt nodded, glad that she was buying it. To be honest, if he really wanted to, he probably could have found time to manage another showcase. He’d become very adept at juggling an overloaded schedule, but Mrs. Dolloway made it difficult for him to justify putting himself out in any way.

Still, she didn’t appear to be trying to be deliberately awful at the moment and he was glad to have helped support the retirement home. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make nice to the old harridan.

“Maybe once school starts again,” he offered, wanting to end this on a positive note so that he at least didn’t have to worry about an enemy. While it would be idiotic for Mrs. Dolloway to try to hamstring his prospects, it would be equally stupid on his part to antagonize her unnecessarily.

“Especially if your showcase benefits a cause like this,” he added with genuine sincerity. “I was very happy to give my support today. Anything for old folks or animals… I’m pretty much a sucker for those.”

That got a genuine laugh from the cantankerous woman, and Kurt thought that just maybe he might get out of this with his professional reputation intact.

Mrs. Dolloway offered a brief nod, accepting both his refusal and the offered olive branch with a lot more grace that he would have expected. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind if the opportunity comes up,” she assured him with a sharp-toothed grin. “Even if it doesn’t, I’ll be keeping my eye on you. I’m curious enough to see how you develop going forward. You’re an interesting young man, Mr. Hummel.”

There was just enough warning in her tone to imply that she was being entirely truthful, and Kurt knew well enough not to poke a snarling cat with a stick. He reached out to take her hand, as if to shake it, but surprised her by pressing a feather-light kiss to her thin fingers.

“I’ll try to keep surprising you,” he assured her, offering a bit of a saucy wink that got another laugh from Mrs. Dolloway. She shook her head bemusedly as she walked off to find someone else to torture.

Walking back to his friends, Kurt allowed himself a sigh of relief at having managed to escape what could have been a very painful entanglement. He knew that he had handled things as well as he possibly could have managed and all things considered, it hadn’t been a terrible way to spend an afternoon. He got to offer support to a worthy cause, performed well before and appreciative audience and apparently had managed to avoid being mauled by a difficult patron.

All in all, he was rather pleased with himself. And he’d have some interesting stories to tell Adam when he returned home.

* * *

At one point, having a day off meant that Adam could rest. Being on the road and performing on tour was draining and he knew that if he intended to survive with his sanity intact, that he needed to take the opportunity to relax when presented with it. Certainly, he and his friends did sightseeing and took advantage of the various cities that they performed in. He was glad to have the opportunity to see so much of the country that he had made his home in.

But this day off would allow little time for decompressing or taking a long nap to recharge. Not when he had just a few weeks left of work and no flat to return to. He wanted to review the listings and narrow down some options before asking Kurt to take time from his studies to see them in person. Adam knew that Kurt would have his finals soon and had precious little time to go looking at apartments when he should be focused on his studies.

While staying in their old neighborhood would have been ideal for Kurt, as he could walk to school when the weather permitted and they were familiar with the area, he knew that they should also branch out a bit. Being closer to the theater district might work out and put him closer to work and auditions. And while he had a very nice chuck of his pay stashed in the bank, he knew that it needed to last until Butcher’s Bill started up in New York. Something that they could afford would be critical.

Adam had lived in New York long enough to know that the real estate market was cutthroat and apartments that seemed ideally suited to their needs would vanish from the market in an instant. It was frustrating to compile a list of prospects, only to have them snapped up before he could ask Kurt to see them in person.

Niall watched his increasing vexation with amusement, rolling his eyes as Adam ranted at another possible flat was rented before they could even check the apartment out.

“Mate, why are you driving yourself barmy like this?” he asked, watching from his bed as Adam was reviewing yet another group of listings.

Adam turned an irritated look to his friend. “Because NYADA isn’t going to let me move into Kurt’s dorm room when we get back to New York,” he snapped, aggravated by the lack of progress in finding himself a home. “I’m not fancying being homeless.”

Niall shook his head in amusement. “Just call an agent,” he suggested, as if the solution was so plainly obvious and Adam was three kinds of idiot for not noticing it sooner. “Let them do all the leg work. Just tell them when you’ll need your place by.”

Adam looked at the other Englishman, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of that sooner. Exasperated with his own stubbornness, he did a quick internet search and found an agent had very positive reviews from past clients. Speaking to her, he learned that her fee was paid by the landlords after the lease was signed, as they were saved time and work by having their prospective tenants cleared by someone else and Adam explained what he and Kurt were looking for.

A one bedroom at least, so that he and Kurt would have some wiggle room and not be living in one another’s pockets the whole time. Two bedrooms would be even better, letting one room stand as a study/guest room but he knew that would probably be out of their budgets. A decent kitchen with a dishwasher. They didn’t mind a walk up, but if the flat was more than three stories up they were prefer a building with a lift. He explained that while he wouldn’t be back in New York to sign the lease for a few weeks, they could put a deposit down to secure the flat until he returned.

She expressed confidence that she’d be able to find something for him that would be available when he returned to New York and that it would be no problem for Kurt to see the apartments in his stead. Within three days, Adam had a group of listings to review. He picked out the ones that he thought suited best and forwarded them to Kurt to look over.

“The Chelsea apartment is awfully expensive,” Kurt mused on their afternoon call. “And it’s pretty far from the subway.”

“I was thinking that myself,” Adam said regretfully. It was the largest of the flats they were considering and ticked off most of the boxes, but it was at the high end of their budget. Being comfortable didn’t matter much if they were left starving in order to cover the rent. “We can cross that one off our list. What about the one in Hell’s Kitchen? I know it’s a walk-up, but it’s only the second floor. And it’s a few blocks from the subway and the bus going downtown.”

The agent had been especially pleased to find that apartment and it would become available right around the time Adam was finishing in California. Newly renovated and in an area that she assured him had plenty of good restaurants and shopping and was very friendly to same-sex couples, it sounded like a fine place for Adam to land in.

Kurt took a moment and looked over the listing. “I like this one,” he decided. “I won’t be able to walk to school, but it shouldn’t take me too long to get there. And there’s a laundromat right down the block, so we won’t have to go too far for clean underwear.”

“And it’s not at all far from the theater district,” Adam noted. “It’s only one bedroom, but I think that it’ll be large enough for us to be comfortable. Maybe look at this one and two flats in the West Village.”

“Sounds good,” Kurt agreed. “I’ll make arrangements to see them and we’ll make a final choice. That is, if you trust me.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing at the absurd nothing. “Of course I do, love,” he assured Kurt lovingly. “I have no doubt that you’ll pick the right home for us.”

Kurt fell silent for a moment and Adam couldn’t help from prodding, “Sweetheart?”

“It’s okay,” Kurt assured him. “It’s just… it feels like you’ve been away for so long. This just makes you coming home real.”

Adam smiled at the longing in his lover’s voice. He’d missed Kurt so badly the past few months and finding a new flat was the confirmation that their time apart was coming to an end.

“And this will be our place,” he reminded Kurt. “Not one of us moving into a space where the other had already set down roots. We’ll make it our home, together.”

He heard Kurt sniffle over the line and wished that he could be there to take his beautiful lad into his arms. Just a few short weeks, he told himself.

“I can’t wait,” Kurt insisted. “I just want to hold you and never let go.”

Hearing Kurt’s longing expressed so plainly caused Adam’s heart to tighten within his chest. They’d survived this trial and very soon would be reaping the rewards for everything that they’d gone through.

It would only be a few more weeks, he told himself.

* * *

Kurt looked about the empty apartment, glad that he’d brought Rachel along for both company and to offer an unbiased opinion. After sleeping in a dorm room, however comfortable, Kurt was desperate for some real privacy and his own shower. While Adam trusted him to make a good choice that suited both of them, Kurt worried that he’d take whatever apartment he was shown first. Having one of his closest friends who knew his tastes so well would help him to make a more reasoned decision.

He'd already decided that one of the West Village apartments might be a contender, having enough space for them to live in comfortably. The other was too small despite technically being a one bedroom and the bathroom was sorely out of date despite the high rent the landlord was requesting. Climbing up the steps to an old pre-war brownstone on the west side, he hoped that this apartment might suit them better.

“The apartment gets a lot of good natural light,” the broker, Monica, explained as she guided them around. “The windows are new and will muffle out a lot of the street noise.”

Kurt nodded as he checked out the kitchen that had clearly been recently renovated. While like most kitchens in New York apartments it was on the small side, there was more space than in Adam’s old place and he was confident that both he and Adam could be cooking together without tripping over one another. It had more than enough cabinet and counter space for their needs and all the appliances were brand new, including the coveted dishwasher.

The living area was decent sized, and Kurt thought that they could fit in an actual dining table that could accommodate more than just the two of them, as well as a sofa and loveseat so they could entertain guests. He loved the exposed brick wall and the honey-warm hardwood floors, listening to his shoes clicking as he walked through the place.

“Does the fireplace work?” Rachel asked, eyeing the space in the brick wall and the small mantle accenting it enviously. Kurt didn’t blame her, as he was already envisioning hanging up their stockings during the winter holidays and setting up an elegantly decorated tree or curling up on the floor together in front of a roaring fire.

Monica shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she clarified. “The shaft is sealed off. But you can put in an electric log heater. I have one in my own place and it gives the feel of having a real fire. It’s also a lot safer.”

Kurt nodded absently, making a note of that to relay to Adam. A functioning fireplace was on neither of their “must have” lists and it certainly wouldn’t be something that would remove this apartment from consideration. They could still have romantic evenings together, even if their fire was electrical. Having a fireplace, even a non-functional one was a definite bonus.

The bathroom had also undergone recent renovations, with a cleanly tiled shower that looked like he and Adam could share if they didn’t mind being in very close quarters he noted with a pleased smirk. There was a linen closet right opposite the bathroom, giving them additional storage space. And the bedroom…

Kurt took measure of the size, seeing that they could easily fit in a large bed and a dresser for each of them. A peek in the closet confirmed that there was enough space so that they wouldn’t be fighting over every square inch. The room had been painted recently a pale beige that invited him to imagine their pictures on the wall and white blinds on the windows that would give the space a refined but homey feel.

He thought back to the day that he and Rachel first saw the Bushwick loft and that instant that they both realized that they could make that big empty space a home. That they were able to look past the bare walls and cheerless interior and see where they could build their lives in New York. The other apartments he’d been looking at were nice, but this was the first apartment where Kurt could actually see himself and Adam living.

If he gave the word, Adam would go along with his opinion. They would pay the deposit and sign the lease as soon as Adam was back in New York. Adam could get moved in and start setting up while Kurt was finishing his classes for the year. It was a huge responsibility that his partner had placed on his shoulders and Kurt didn’t wand to make the wrong choice. He took a few pictures on his phone to send to Adam so they could discuss their options.

Letting Monica know that he and Adam would think about things and let her know which apartment they’d choose, he and Rachel walked down the stairs and out into the lively neighborhood that surrounded the pretty ivy-covered building. The street was tree-lined and surprisingly quiet despite being the middle of a weekday. Just down the block was an appealing looking coffee shop and several interesting bars and restaurants.

It was the kind of area that he could see them building a life together. He could pick at the negatives, such as having to commute to school and not living close by their friends. But those were minor complaints when he could envision their lives there. Both of them had been flying on their own for too long, learning what the strength of their wings were capable of. Now it was time to build a nest of their own.

“So, what do you think?” Rachel asked as they explored the neighborhood around the building a bit. “You’ve got a lot of nice restaurants around here.”

Kurt took in the lively atmosphere, liking the feel of the area. He appreciated how the building was down a side street and insulated from the worst of the city noise, but a quick walk would get them to all of the amenities. The Clinton Gardens were just a few short blocks away, giving them a bit of green space to enjoy during the nice weather. Walking east would take them right into the heart of the theater district. It was as if this neighborhood were all but designed for their needs.

“I think I like it here,” he pronounced, allowing himself to smile. He spotted a bakery that the real estate agent had recommended and grasped Rachel’s hand. “Come on… I owe you a treat after all your help today. Then we’ll do a test drive to see how long it takes the bus to get me to school.”

They returned to Kurt’s dorm room forty minutes later with a box of assorted cookies to share. “Well, that wasn’t bad,” Rachel decided as she sat down on Kurt’s bed. “It’s a lot easier than coming from Bushwick.”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be okay,” Kurt agreed, sitting down at his desk chair and opening the box. “I hope you know that you’re taking most of these home… Ms. July will decapitate me if she sees me eating these.”

Still, the threat of bodily harm from his dance instructor didn’t stop him from picking out a large cookie studded liberally with chucks of chocolate.

Rachel laughed, picking out a carrot cake cookie for herself. “I’m sure that between Artie and Santana, I won’t have too much trouble finding anyone to take these off my hands,” she said good naturedly. After taking a bite of her snack, she looked to her best friend.

“You look like you’re thinking awfully hard,” she prodded gently, knowing that her friend had a huge decision to make.

“I am,” Kurt admitted. “I just don’t want to make the wrong choice.”

She nodded and nibbled at her cookie. “I don’t think you can really make a bad choice,” she pointed out. “All of the apartments were nice.”

“I was a little torn between the last one we saw and the one in the Village,” Kurt admitted. “But I really like the one in Hell’s Kitchen. Even if it is farther away from school. I think that the quality of life we can have there would be worth the commute.”

She nodded in agreement. “I knew that one was your favorite. From the moment you stepped through the door,” she advised thoughtfully. “So, you’ll take it?”

Kurt considered their options again, mentally weighing out the pros and cons of each place before nodding. “I’ll call Adam and talk it over, but I think that one is it.”

Rachel smiled at her friend. “I’m glad,” she admitted. “And we all can’t wait to throw you two a housewarming party. Don’t forget to tell us when you move in. You’ve got plenty of friends to help move things.”

That was a fact that Kurt was absolutely certain of. Between the group from Lima based out in Bushwick, the Apples and the group he’d found in NYADA, he and Adam wouldn’t be alone to break their backs moving furniture. Promising beer and pizza, they would have plenty of willing helpers.

That evening, he and Adam reviewed their options and made their final choice. Adam would be contacting their agent in the morning and would transfer the deposit to secure their new home. After speaking with his lover for what seemed like hours, Kurt rolled over in bed, clutching a pillow to him.

Only a few more weeks, he told himself.

* * *

The final performance of Butcher’s Bill went off splendidly, with the entire cast giving everything they had for that performance. Standing on stage and accepting the ovation of the audience filled Adam with a tremendous sense of pride. It had been a tremendous challenge, being on the road for so long and then performing to the best of his ability every night but he had succeeded beyond anything he could have hoped to accomplish.

Of course, his time with Butcher’s Bill wasn’t done just yet, with runs in London and New York to look forward to. But he would have time to rest, recalibrate and focus on getting his life in New York sorted out again.

The cast and crew celebrated their accomplishment late into the night. There was much in the way of congratulations and commiserations, not to mention numerous celebratory toasts. Adam awoke in his shared hotel room with Niall snoring nosily in the next bed and his own head feeling like it wasn’t quite attached to his neck.

Packing his bags for the final time felt odd in a manner that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was, of course, delighted to be going home and could not wait to see Kurt. But after zipping up his suitcase, he felt a little lost as bereft. The pressure of his job was over for the time being, and he wasn’t quite sure what awaited him. He’d managed to find something of a routine that had kept him sane over the past few months and now would have to develop a new one going forward.

There would certainly be enough for him to do, he considered. Reconnecting with Kurt was first and foremost on his list, and there was their new flat to set up. He had his internship with the Garrison festival that would keep him busy over the summer, as well as allow him more time to spend with Kurt while they worked. He’d find a small job to keep the bills paid and himself busy until rehearsals started for their London run.

But for now… it was the malaise that came with the end of a production. The down that came after the incredible high of performing before an appreciative audience every night and doing what he’d spent his life training to do. Having the production end, even for just a few months, took a lot of the steam right out of him. It was a vastly different from his past experience with school productions and festivals. This felt much larger… more intense.

It was something that he would have to become accustomed to, Adam told himself as he checked about the hotel room to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. His life would be a cycle of shows beginning and ending. Of hard work and downtime when he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. But for his first true foray into the world of being a professional actor, he was well satisfied with what he and his castmates had accomplished.

Niall pulled him into a tight embrace as they left the last cast luncheon where they’d celebrated having survived the experience. Adam found himself clinging back to the man who’d become such a close friend over the past few months.

“Now don’t forget,” Niall warned with a grin. “Cynth and I are claiming first rights for a couple’s night out once you’re settled in your place. No trying to wriggle out of that.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing. “I won’t,” he assured his friend. “Kurt will have my guts for garters if I tried to bail on you.”

The other Englishman gave Adam another squeeze, as if reluctant to let him go. “Take care of yourself, you silly tosser. Safe travels,” he urged.

“You too, mate,” Adam returned, blinking away the tears that he swore weren’t there just a second ago. “Give Cynthia a hug for me.”

Adam was grateful to have made such a good friend on this tour, and that the whole case got along so well. It would have made for a miserable experience to live that closely with a group that he didn’t get along with for an extended period. Not that he expected that he would always bond so closely with castmates, and Adam had worked with actors that he didn’t like on a personal level, but the pressures of a tour magnified the dynamics of any cast. He was indeed fortunate to have his first experience be such a positive one.

The flight back to New York was uneventful, but as the miles of American landscape passed beneath him, Adam felt his excitement begin to swell. He watched out the plane window as mountains and grasslands passed by, speeding past cities and long stretches of road that etched their way through the landscapes. He would never cease to be amazed at just how big this country was, or how varied it was. He was wise enough to recognize what a treat he’d had, getting a chance to see more of the country than most people who’d lived their wholes lives there had.

He felt himself smiling as the pilot announced their approach to Newark Airport, knowing that it would only be a little bit longer before he was home. Or at least, in the hotel room that he’d reserved until their lease was signed and he could get into their new flat. When the jets wheels finally touched onto solid ground, he knew that he’d finally made it.

It seemed to take forever for his bags to appear on the carousal, but he soon enough had them in hand and was walking to the arrivals area. It would be just a short train ride into Manhattan, and hopefully into Kurt’s waiting arms.

After stepping through the last set of doors that let him out into the greeting area, he looked for the sign that would direct him to the train when he heard a familiar voice call out, “Adam!”

Adam looked at the crowd gathered to greet the arriving passengers and sat him standing at the front, waving to get his attention. What the hell..?

He hurried over and dropped the handle for his suitcase, catching up Kurt in a tight hug and not caring who was around to see them. Adam’s senses were suddenly flooded with all the familiar characteristics that he knew so well from Kurt and had missed so much these past months. The feel of his body, the scent of his skin and the cologne that he favored, the slight hitch in his breathing that sometimes happened when he was overcome with emotion.

Home wasn’t New York or their little flat. Home was Kurt.

He was finally home, and he never wanted to leave again.

* * *

Kurt's solos: "Night and Day" and "Let's Fall In Love" - Cole Porter

[melacka]

Hey @crisblcklst​! I tried to answer your ask and then experienced a whole range of rather frustrating technical issues. Isn’t tumblr fun?!?!

Anyway...

You asked for Lizzington and NAP for the i love you prompts.

‘i love you’ prompts

Thanks for the prompt! It took me a while but I got there! I have written you a Season 3A, on the run, bed sharing, accidental date night fic. Also, it is way longer than I planned. Hope you enjoy!

You can read it here on AO3 or keep reading below.

Title: Date Night by Melacka

Summary: “Who would’ve thought that one thing that would come  out of this whole thing would be an evening spent on the couch eating  Chinese food and watching Casablanca.” Liz laughed and scooped some  noodles into her mouth. “Next thing you’re going to tell me we’re going  dancing.”

Liz and Red share an accidental date night while on the run.

They’d shared a bed a few times since they’d been on the run. The necessity of it made it easier for her to deal with. She could compartmentalise this fairly easily. It was absolutely necessary that she share a bed with him and therefore she would make it no more difficult than it absolutely had to be. They were closer now than she ever thought they could be, he had allowed her to see parts of him that he had kept so carefully hidden before. Another necessity most likely requiring compartmentalisation on his part. She knew that there were probably lots of secrets that she was not yet privy to. She knew, too, that she might never really know the whole truth about him and his history with her. She tried to make herself be okay with that, but it was a constant battle.

She suspected that he was uncomfortable being this close to her all the time, but she didn’t know if it was the same discomfort that he would feel with anyone or if it was specific to her. She tried to take her cue from him, tried to make things easier for him, but he was always so good at hiding what he was thinking that most of the time she had to rely on her own instincts. It bothered her because her instincts had become alarmingly unreliable recently. She didn’t have the time these days to indulge her self-doubt too often, so she was just doing the best she could. She watched him closely for any signs of discomfort or unease and tried to adjust her behaviour accordingly. She was so completely dependent on him right then and she couldn’t afford to jeopardise the fragile peace they’d achieved in the midst of all the chaos.

When he told her that they would have to share a bed for the first time, she could tell that he was worried about her reaction. She made a point of smiling reassuringly at him and tried to keep her instinctive panic from showing in her eyes. She hadn’t shared a bed with anyone other than Tom in years and she’d recently become so used to sleeping alone again. Her sleep was often disturbed by nightmares that she struggled to wake up from and she worried about Red seeing that. She didn’t even want to think about what secrets she might reveal just by sleeping beside him.

That first time had been difficult. Apart from that one night in the shipping container that they never spoke about, she’d rarely even been in the same room as him while sleeping, let alone the same bed. They were both almost ridiculously considerate of each other, respecting the other’s space and maintaining as much distance as possible in the small bed. Liz went to bed first and, by unspoken agreement, Red waited long enough for her to get settled and have a chance at falling asleep before he joined her. She was still awake when he quietly entered the room nearly an hour later, but she kept her face turned away and her breathing as deep and even as she could manage. She doubted that it fooled him, but the fiction was as much for her benefit as it was for him, so she’d kept it up until she’d actually fallen asleep. She’d felt a strange comfort in having him beside her, the warmth of his body and the rhythmic sounds of his breathing made her feel almost like she was home again.

The second time they shared a bed was better. Easier. Red was more matter of fact and there was less of an air of apology in his face and voice when he told her. She reacted better as well, she had been more prepared for the possibility and slightly more comfortable with the idea. She still feigned sleep when he came to bed and wore a lot more clothes than she’d normally bother with but told herself that it was only for security reasons. She figured that the few extra seconds it would take to put on her pants could be crucial in their escape, should it suddenly become necessary. Besides, Red slept practically fully clothed as well.

The third time they shared a bed, it wasn’t because they had to.

Red had been required to go out to meet a contact and he had encouraged her to stay at the safe house. Liz couldn’t figure out if it was because he was worried about her being seen out in public or because he just needed to have some time away from her. Either way, she’d been perfectly willing to go along with it. They’d been on the move almost constantly for the last three weeks, and she was happy to have a quiet night in. Relatively speaking, of course.

Two hours after he left, she felt like she was going out of her mind. She’d become so accustomed to Red’s presence that she felt jumpy and on edge with him gone. She checked and rechecked all the locks on the windows and doors and kept her gun close by her side. She tried to watch TV but found the noise distracting rather than soothing and so switched to reading a book. Every safe house they stayed in at least some books in it and she’d read more in the last few weeks than she’d managed to in the last three years. Her job and all its resultant distractions and dramas had kept her from some of the simpler pleasures she used to enjoy.

Just as she was headed to the kitchen to fetch a glass of wine, she heard the front door open quietly. She moved quickly to the dark hall and silently extracted her gun from her jeans. She stood, tense and ready, waiting for whoever it was to move into the light. Liz slowed her breathing with an effort and forced herself to calm down. It was probably just Red, but one thing she’d learned on the run was not to trust probabilities. And if it wasn’t Red, she’d need a clear head to extract herself from the situation.

“Lizzy?” Red called out. “Where are you?”

She let out a breath, relieved more than she cared to admit that he was back.

“Hey,” she said quietly, stepping out of the hallway and into the light.

Red raised his eyebrows in surprise when he noticed the gun in her hands. She slipped it back into the back of her jeans and smiled.

“Can’t be too careful.”

“Very true,” he agreed, moving quickly to the kitchen. “I’m just glad that your abundance of caution didn’t lead to any unfortunate accidents. Bullet wounds can be terribly awkward to explain away, you know.”

Liz stared after him, open-mouthed, unable to find anything to say in response to that.

“Are you hungry? I’ve brought you some food.”

She trailed after him curiously, peering into the plastic bag as he got out plates and cutlery.

“What is it?”

“Chinese food, Lizzy,” he said quietly. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself and as much as I dislike the idea of encouraging bad habits—”

“Since when?” she scoffed.

“Bad eating habits,” he continued smoothly. “I want you to eat something tonight, and Chinese food seemed like the safest option.”

Liz grinned and hopped up on the counter, extracting one of the containers of food and opening it eagerly. Red took it from her with a disapproving frown, closing it quickly as Liz scowled at him.

“Hey!” she protested. “I wanted that!”

She tried to grab it but he held it teasingly out of reach.

“Now, now, Lizzy,” he chided. “Do be civilised. How about you go and select a movie for us to watch and I will prepare the food?”

“You want to watch a movie?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind?”

“No! Of course, I don’t mind,” Liz said quickly, not quite able to cover her disbelief. “And you want me to choose it?”

“Well, I chose the food, it seems only fair.”

He shooed her out of the kitchen, and she left without complaint. When he joined her a few minutes later, she was just sliding the DVD into the player.

“Tell me the truth,” she said, sitting on the couch and picking up the remote. “Did you let me choose the movie because you knew that all the movies here are ones you would want to watch?”

“Really, Lizzy, this suspicious nature of yours—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just give me my food, okay?”

He handed her a plate and she pressed play on the remote. He smiled at her and she grinned back.

“Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“Who would’ve thought, what?” he asked curiously.

“Who would’ve thought that one thing that would come out of this whole thing would be an evening spent on the couch eating Chinese food and watching Casablanca.” Liz laughed and scooped some noodles into her mouth. “Next thing you’re going to tell me we’re going dancing.”

“Dancing, Lizzy?”

“To really make it a proper date night,” she said teasingly. “Dinner, a movie, and dancing.”

“I’ll take you dancing any time you want to, Lizzy,” Red replied softly. “Just say the word.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked down at herself and shrugged. “You should probably give me more warning, next time. I can make myself look more presentable if we’re going dancing.”

“Nonsense,” he said gallantly. “You look beautiful.”

Liz blushed and looked down.

“You’re not just saying that because you feel sorry for me?”

“Why would I feel sorry for you?”

“You’re kidding, right?” she said incredulously.

Red shrugged and kept his eyes on the screen as he spoke.

“You made a choice, Lizzy, and you’re living with the consequences of that choice. Do I wish you hadn’t been put in the position where you felt the need to make that choice? Of course. Do I feel sorry for you? Absolutely not.”

Liz watched him in silence, chewing thoughtfully on her food.

“Besides,” he said in a lighter tone, “do you know how many women would kill to be in the position you’re in right now?”

Liz choked slightly and then burst out laughing.

“I’m going to ignore that appalling choice of words, Red, and instead focus on the message behind them.”

“Very wise,” Red agreed solemnly, settling back on the sofa and balancing his plate on his knees. “And what message have you chosen to see in my words today?”

“Today, I choose to believe that you have my best interests at heart and that I should be grateful for the opportunity to have a quiet night in with you. How’s that?”

“Very near perfect, Lizzy.”

She nodded her satisfaction and leaned back on the sofa next to him, allowing her body to brush up gently against his. It was practically a real date night, after all. No reason to maintain strict distance between them. He casually draped an arm along the back of the sofa, and she took the hint, settling herself into his side with a sigh.

“Lizzy.”

“Hmm?” she said sleepily.

“Lizzy, it’s time for bed, sweetheart.”

Liz mumbled something incoherent and drifted off to sleep again.

“Lizzy, come on.”

“Red?”

“Yes, I’m going to take you to bed, okay?”

Liz grinned, her eyes still closed, and said, “Like a real date night.”

“Come on, now,” Red said quietly, ignoring her comment. “Stand up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Lizzy,” he sighed. “Please.”

She finally opened her eyes and realised that she was cuddled into Red’s side, her face mere inches from his. She lurched back in surprise.

“Oh!” she cried. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright, Lizzy,” Red reassured her with a gentle sigh. “Let me take you to bed.”

She stood up shakily and smoothed down her hair, noticing that the movie had ended.

“How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour.” Red stood up and stretched his arms quickly. “I thought it was better to let you sleep.”

“Thanks,” she said, still feeling embarrassed.

“I’m just going to tidy up in here,” Red continued briskly, piling up their plates and glasses on the table. “Why don’t you go and get ready for bed? I’ll just do a quick security check and then go to bed myself.”

Liz nodded and wandered off to the bathroom. She washed her face quickly and brushed her teeth. She could hear Red in the kitchen and was just about to go and offer to help him when he knocked gently at the bathroom door.

“Lizzy?”

She opened the door and smiled at him, absurdly shy all of a sudden.

“I’m going to do a sweep of the house. Can you make sure you check the locks on the windows in your bedroom?”

“Of course.”

He nodded and walked away. Liz sighed and wandered into her bedroom. She quickly changed clothes and checked the windows were still securely locked. Then, hesitating slightly, she opened the door to her room. She was hoping that Red would come by to check on her once more before turning in.

She sat on the bed and started to brush her hair, the slow, rhythmic strokes calming her agitation. After a few minutes, Red knocked on the doorframe and peered inside.

“All secure,” he reassured her.

She nodded and put the brush down. She looked at him with a smile and patted the bed next to her. He hesitated for a moment and then entered the room, taking the space next to her. She reached out and grasped his hand, holding it tight in her own.

“Lizzy? Did you need something?”

“Red,” she whispered, not quite knowing what had come over her. “You said you were going to take me to bed.”

“Lizzy,” he said, a warning clear in his voice.

“You don’t lie to me, Red,” she continued, unperturbed. “Take me to bed.”

“Lizzy, please, don’t—”

She turned his face towards hers and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. She pulled back and searched his face, looking for any indication that he didn’t want her to continue. He looked at her seriously but didn’t try to stop her when she leaned forward again. This time, she kissed him for longer. His lips parted and she moaned in relief. He allowed the kiss to continue for a few more moments before he pulled away again, his breathing heavy and his eyes wild.

“Lizzy,” he gasped. “I will not take advantage of you like this.”

She smiled and shook her head. She trailed a hand down his shoulder, exploring his arm with interest.

“Red, how would it be taking advantage of me? I’m the one who started this.”

“Things happen when you’re on the run, Lizzy, things you might think the better of later.” He grasped both her hands in his, preventing them from wandering any further over his body. She pouted at him playfully. “I won’t be something you regret, Elizabeth.”

Liz froze, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“Oh.” She looked down at their joined hands and bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Red said. “But now isn’t the time for this to happen.” He released her hands and cupped her face gently, encouraging her to look at him. “When this is all over—”

He left the sentence unfinished and she felt a small hope kindle in her chest.

“When this is over?” she prompted.

“If you still want—” he trailed off, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“If I still want you, you mean?”

“When you’ve had time to think it through, think about what you really want.”

“And if I tell you then that what I really want is you,” Liz said shrewdly. “Will you believe me?”

Red smiled at her, but it was a pained smile.

“You should go to sleep, Lizzy. We’ll have to move on in the morning.”

“Will you believe me?” Liz searched his face desperately, not willing to let this go just yet.

Red sighed and nodded slightly.

“I’ll try.”

Liz leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I guess that’ll have to do,” she said sadly. “For now, at least.”

Red chuckled and stood up.

“Good night, Lizzy.”

“Red?” she said quietly, almost timidly. “Will you stay here with me?”

He considered her in silence for a long moment, seeming to wage a furious battle within himself while she waited. Hopeful. Eventually, he nodded.

“Get in bed, Lizzy,” he said quietly.

She flung the blankets back and lay down, still looking at him apprehensively, like she expected him to change his mind. He tucked the blankets around her securely and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Oh, Lizzy,” he breathed against her lips. “What you do to me.”

He switched off the light and then slid quickly into bed beside her, not removing any clothing. Liz smiled in the dark as he lined his body up beside hers, spooning her carefully, his hand resting gently against her stomach.

“Don’t leave me, Red,” Liz whispered once they were settled. “Don’t ever leave me.”

Red pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

“Don’t worry, Lizzy,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[hookedonapirate]

The Princess and Her Sultan

Summary: Crown princess Emma of Misthaven is second in line to the throne, her brother Leopold ll being the first, but her parents see her with a future as a great ruler. King Rumpelstiltskin of neighboring land, strikes a deal with King David, promising to uphold the peace between the kingdoms if Emma marries Prince Baelfire. With the promise of his daughter becoming future queen of the Dark Kingdom, David accepts reluctantly.

Before her wedding day, the princess is kidnapped and taken overseas. She is sold as a slave to a palace where Crown Prince Killian of Neverland ascends his father’s throne and is sworn in as Sultan. Meanwhile, Killian’s mother pressures him to sire a prince and presents him with gifts for his birthday, one of them including a blonde princess from Misthaven. Dazzled by Emma’s charm, intelligence and beauty, he summons her to his bedchambers every night and eventually finds himself casting aside his harem and centuries of tradition.  

WARNINGS: This story takes a dark turn, like fifty shades of dark. Trigger warnings for this chapter and the next include graphic scenes of violence, sexual assault, attempted rape, death threats, death, blood and gore. Some of these warnings involve main characters, but not death. The rest of the story will not be as dark, mostly this chapter and the next. I did my best to balance it out though with some sweet, sugary moments too. So please prepare yourself because by the time you finish this chapter your heart will be shattered into a million pieces, your teeth will be rotted and you'll probably hate me for the emotional wreckage I have put you through. You're welcome ;-) But seriously, this is probably the most fucked up content I've ever written and I basically had to banish any thoughts of possible negative consequences from posting this so I could finally share this chapter with you without changing anything, so please continue with caution. And no, nothing in this chapter is from Magnificent Century, this all came from my twisted mind. If you're not comfortable with reading about what I've mentioned or if you're unsure about it, please come ask me any questions you may have either in the comment section or on Tumblr under the same user name.

Thank you @gingerchangeling for your wonderful suggestions and ideas for this story, and also @ilovemesomekillianjones for gifting me with your wonderful editing skills at. I also want to give a shout out to @onceuponaprincessworld for being my sounding board, constant cheerleader and good friend, thank you, darling! This story wouldn’t be the same without these lovely ladies!

And all of you have been so supportive and awesome, thank you all for following along and for your feedback!

Rated: Explicit

AO3 l FF.N I Prologue l Ch 1 l Ch 2 l Ch 3 l Ch 4 l Ch 5 l  Ch 6 l  Ch 7 l Ch 8 l Ch 9 I Ch 10 I BTS

Chapter 11

Killian waits for Elsa to enter the room as he paces back and forth. He’s thought about this many times repeatedly but still doesn’t know if it’s a mistake or not.

 Elsa enters the room, immediately prostrating herself at his feet. He bends down and gently takes her chin in his hand, urging her up. “That's unnecessary, lass.” 

 She rises and keeps her head bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He can’t see her face, but judging by her posture, how she stiffens at his touch, he knows she wishes to be anywhere else but here. She doesn’t wish to betray Emma.

 And that’s what he was counting on.

 A chuckle leaves his lips, and Elsa finally raises her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Is something of humor, Your Majesty?” Her voice is shaking, and when he looks at her joined hands, they’re also shaking.

 Killian doesn’t respond and instead offers his hand to her. He leads her over to his bed. “Relax, Elsa,” he says in a soothing tone and points to the end of the bed. “Please sit.”

 She does as she’s told, still unsure about this whole thing, but she takes a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders. She waits for him to speak because that’s undoubtedly what she was told to do. Not speak unless she is spoken to.

 “You’re a loyal friend to Emma, aren’t you?”

 She seems surprised by the question, her mouth parted slightly as she nods. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

 Killian smiles and sits next to her. “I’m glad to hear this… because I need a favor from you.” Killian doesn’t realize what his words could’ve possibly implied until he sees Elsa’s cheeks flush as she looks away from him, her lips trembling.

 “Of course, Your Majesty.” She lowers her head, and he can tell she is on the verge of sobbing. “I will do whatever you wish.”

 He swallows thickly. “And you promise to keep this a secret? No one must know what I’m about to ask you. No one. Is that clear?”

 Elsa lifts her head again, and she’s even more confused than before. “Of course, but won’t they know what we’re doing in here, My Lord?”

 “And what is it you think they will know?”

 Elsa blushes once again, facing away from him. She doesn’t answer for a minute, but he can see the wheels turning, he can see the anger bubbling inside of her. “They will know you are with another woman. They will know you are not with Emma,” she murmurs. 

 “Exactly.” Killian grins and takes her hand in his, dropping a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

 She immediately regrets her words and looks at him again, her features etched with apology. “I am sorry, Your Majesty.”

 “No need to apologize. I am glad we are on the same page.”

 She raises a brow at him. “Excuse my manners, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid we are not on the same page. I do not wish to betray Emma. She is my friend.”

 “But you see, Elsa, we are on exactly the same page… I do not wish to betray Emma, either.”

 Her mouth gapes open as she stares at him in bewilderment. “Then why did you summon me here?”

 Killian's expression grows serious as his eyes meet hers. He draws in a deep breath, still holding onto her hand between them. It’s not so much of an act of affection, but a plea. His eyes and hands are pleading with her. “You will not say a word to anyone about this? I need your word... for the sake of Emma… for the sake of our child.”

 Elsa shakes her head. But she still looks a bit confused. “I promise, Your Majesty. Whatever it is you have to say will not leave this apartment.”

 Killian nods, and he feels he can trust her. He can see the sincerity in her eyes. And Emma trusts her, so he knows he can, too. “I need everyone to believe I am taking more than one maiden to my bed.” As much as the thought pains him, he needs to do this. To protect Emma. To protect their baby. “You will be moved to the apartment of favorites and treated as a Gozde in compensation for your cooperation.”

 Elsa’s face twists in bafflement. “But why? You only want to be with Emma, so why do you need people to believe otherwise?”

 “Because they won’t understand. You were taught the different ranks in the Harem, correct?”

 Elsa nods. “Yes, there are Odalisques and Gediklis, and then there are Ikbals and Gozdes, who have gone to the Sultan’s bed. You can have as many of those as you want, but you can only have four Kadins and one Bas Kadin. I know how it works.”

 “That’s how it’s supposed to work. I am expected to have four wives, but I don’t want anyone but Emma. I had only one woman before, and she was murdered, along with our unborn child.”

 Elsa’s features sadden, but she doesn’t seem surprised. “Milah,” she murmurs.

 He nods. “Aye. The Sultan of Neverland is to take many maidens to his bed, not one, and once word spreads about Emma being my only maiden, people will react. And I don’t want her or our child to suffer because of my actions.”

 “So, you want to summon me and pretend to take me to your bed?”

 “I want people to think I am summoning you. They won’t know Emma will be the one coming to my chamber every night. Even when she is with child, I wish for her to be in my arms while we sleep.” He smiles at the image his own words create.

 “But, what happens when I don’t get pregnant, Your Majesty? I’m still a virgin.”

 “It doesn’t matter. If they find out you're still a virgin, they’ll think I chose you to pleasure me in other ways, but no one will dare question my actions.”

 “But they will question you if you only take one woman to your bed?”

 “They will. My mother especially.”

 “And Regina.”

 Killian arches a brow, his eyes narrowing at her. “Why would my sister question me?”

 Elsa’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 Killian gently takes her chin in his hand again, urging her to look at him. “Tell me, why would my sister question me? And how do you know of this?”

 Elsa swallows thickly, fear swarming her eyes.

 His voice remains calm and soothing. “Please, tell me. Remember, nothing we discuss will leave this room.”

 She nods, and he releases her chin, waiting for her to speak. “Your mother invited me and Emma to her suite for a celebration of Emma’s pregnancy. Regina was there and she was upset because Kira kept referring to Emma as her daughter.” Elsa swallows thickly, hesitant about what she’s about to say, but he offers an encouraging smile.

 “Tell me, lass.”

 She nods and lowers her eyes, speaking softly. “Regina said she hoped Emma was poisoned like Milah and stormed out of the suite.”

 A wave of anger washes over him. His jaw tightens, fists clenching at his sides. His own sister wished death on his wife and child?

 “But please, you did not hear this from me, Your Majesty.”

 “Do not worry, Elsa, our secrets are safe with one another,” he assures her in a gentle voice, but on the inside, he is fuming. How could his own sister betray him like this?

 After Elsa leaves his chamber, Nemo escorts her to the Harem, but not before opening the doors for the enchanting woman whose face is hidden by a veil, apart from her dazzling green eyes. Killian had instructed Nemo to inform Emma what was going on after Elsa had come to his chamber. 

 As Emma steps into the room, Killian smiles, the sight of her instantly calming him. He has to put any thoughts of hatred toward his sister aside for the time being. He doesn’t wish to ruin his night with Emma by letting his mood set a dark cloud over it. He’ll deal with Regina later. Right now, he has more important matters to attend to. He approaches his beloved, removing her veil and pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. Her eyes are full of love and warmth as she smiles at him. 

 “Emma…” he whispers, caressing her chin. “I’ve missed you.”

 She laughs, her eyes dancing with amusement as her hands move to his chest, fingers combing through the chest hair poking out from the v-neck shirt he’s wearing. “You saw me only this morning, Killian.”

 His smile fades, his heart pounding mercilessly in his chest as he swallows. “I miss you every second you are not with me, my love.”

 She touches his forehead with hers, closing her eyes. “I know exactly how you feel,” she whispers.

 He slides his hand through her hair and captures her lips. They kiss slowly, soon adding their tongues. His love for her consumes him. He knows he has to stop before he has the urge to take things further, for he doesn’t wish to harm their wee one. So he lifts her up, carrying her to the bed. And he just holds her in his arms caressing her belly as they talk. 

 He tells her about Elsa and what they had discussed. She will be summoned to his chamber, but Emma will be the one going to him every night. “Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers, brushing his lips along her ear.

 “Of course. When Nemo came for Elsa, I had no doubts about your motives. I knew you were up to something,” she laughs, and he chuckles with her.

 “I’m so glad my summons did not upset you. It’s the last thing I would want,” he says with sincerity. 

 She hums a response, her voice raspy with tiredness. In that moment, he realizes just how much she affects him. How much she influences him. He would do absolutely anything in the world for this woman. He’d kill for her, he’d even die for her gladly if she asked him to. Perhaps that’s why Neverland society frowns upon their Sultans having only one wife. He knows that’s why. But he doesn’t care. The traditions and customs of Neverland make him feel imprisoned, like he’s not able to think for himself or do what he wants. Even as the most powerful man of Neverland. 

 Emma makes him feel less imprisoned, less trapped. Even if his love for her makes him feel powerless. It feels like there’s this huge, conflicting war inside him. He hates feeling trapped, yet he loves being ensnared by the woman in his arms. He hates following his people’s customs, yet he’d do anything Emma asked him to. Killian smiles as he buries his face in her hair, letting her scent invade his senses. If he had to choose between being Sultan and being with her, he would choose her. He would choose them. Which is why he would rip someone's throat out if they dared threaten to destroy his future with her.

 ~*~

 The next day, Elsa is moved to the apartment of favorites, next to Emma’s suite, and the palace seems to be content with the Sultan favoring two maidens of his harem. They don’t question the situation one bit. But, there’s still another matter Killian must tend to. 

 He promised Elsa their secrets would be safe between them and Emma, but he cannot live in the same palace as someone who seeks to harm his wife and child. So he goes to his mother to discuss his sister’s future... her future outside the palace.

 “How can you do this to me!?” Regina screams as she storms into his chamber full of fire and rage. 

 Killian doesn't even flinch. He's facing away from her with his hands clasped together behind his back.

 “How dare you send me off to be married?! I will not go!”

 He lifts his head, praying that God will give him the strength to not murder his sister. 

 He spins around swiftly, flooded with hurt and betrayal when he looks at her. It’s as though she’d stabbed him in the back with a dagger, digging the blade deep and twisting it. “How dare you wish death on my wife and child?” He speaks calmly with a controlled tone, but there’s a raging storm brewing inside him threatening to break through the surface.

 Regina’s mouth opens, her eyes wide with shock. As though she didn’t think he would find out about her betrayal. “Brother, I’m sorry, I didn't mean it," she says, lowering her voice. “I was only upset. Mother treats your Kadin like a queen. She adores Emma just because she’s having your baby. And you will soon have a family to love and cherish. I will never have that.” Her eyes are glistening with tears as she kneels on the floor, bowing to him. “Please forgive me, My Sultan.”

 Killian chuckles darkly. “So, since you can never be happy, you wish for me to be unhappy as well?”

 Regina quickly shakes her head. “No, of course not.”

 He doesn’t believe her. He moves toward her, taking her chin in his hand, and lifts Regina to her feet, his expression hard and cold as she lifts her eyes to his. I want you to answer something for me, my sister.” He says sister with distaste and resentment. “If you don't answer honestly, I won't even send you off to be married.”

 She sighs in relief but then blinks back at him in confusion. "But, how would remaining here in the palace, rather than being forced to marry some stranger, be considered punishment?"

 He inhales sharply through his nose and walks away from her, trying his best to maintain his composure. But the thought of his own flesh and blood killing Milah or even wishing Emma harm makes him furious and sad. He could've had a son or daughter living and breathing if not for Milah's death, not to mention Milah would still be alive. But they were both taken from him, and if he finds out Regina had something to do with it, God help her. When he reaches his desk and turns around again, his expression remains stoic as he speaks. “I could consider it your punishment since you would no longer be breathing.”

 Her face pales, eyes swarming with fear. 

 “If you are not truthful with me, I will behead you myself and throw your body to the bottom of the sea, is that clear?”

 She nods. “Of course.”

 He steps closer to her, holding her gaze with stormy, dark eyes. “Did you have anything to do with Milah's death?”

 Regina stares at him heavily, her mouth agape, but doesn’t answer. Anger surges through him, his patience wearing thin. He wraps his hand around her neck and swiftly walks her backward until her back hits the wall. His fingers squeeze slightly around her neck to keep her in place as her hands try to pull him away but to no avail. Regina’s eyes widen with fear, as though she wasn’t expecting him to do something like this. This isn’t him, but when his loved ones are hurt or threatened, he’d do anything for revenge. “Did you murder Milah and our child?” he demands again.

 Regina shakes her head, tears falling from her eyes. “No, I didn’t. I swear!” Her words are strangled as he tightens his fingers around her neck, closing her air supply. Bright red colors her pale face as the blood rises to the surface of her skin. Her head wriggles, small, ragged gasps leaving her lips as her fingers claw at his hands, struggling to break herself free from his firm grip. 

 “Were you planning on killing Emma and our baby?”

 She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, barely able to get the words out, “I swear.”

 He studies her intently, watching as she looks straight into his eyes without blinking. He can see she is telling the truth. A swarm of relief washes over him and he releases her. She falls to her hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air. 

 He feels a palpable relief wash through him since he doesn’t have to murder his sister. “I will find a suitable husband for you, you will run off and marry him and you may never return to this palace again, do you understand?”

 “Yes,” she chokes out, breathing hoarsely, still trying to collect the air in her lungs.

 “Good.” He leaves her sobbing on the floor.

 ~*~

 The months pass and the nights grow warmer as the snow over the roofs of the palace slowly disappears. Gepetto retires and hands over his imperial seal and Killian gives it to James, who is shocked at first, but happily accepts. 

 Meanwhile, Regina remains in the palace, but only while Killian searches for a man suitable for his sister. Honestly, it's not his top priority right now. He's certain he'd frightened Regina to the point where she will not even think about harassing Emma or making idle threats or death wishes. So, his main focuses are Emma and his council meetings, which she attends most days from behind a carved screen. 

 On the days she is not secretly sitting in on council meetings, Emma is driven mad with boredom. Her bodyguards are always there wherever she goes. When she’s bathing, when she’s eating, when she wants to chat with her friends, when she wakes in the morning after she leaves her Sultan. They’re always there. The only time they’re not allowed around her is when she is in her Sultan’s bedchamber or when she is with him. Those moments are only theirs.

 She enjoys the time with her Sultan. But she also enjoys the time away from her guards. They’re around her so much, she can’t breathe. So she sneaks away one afternoon and storms down the Golden Road, tired of feeling suffocated. 

 “I demand to see the Sultan,” she says firmly to his guards when she approaches his chamber. At the same time, she feels her baby kicking her insides. She groans, holding her belly with both hands. 

 “Are you all right, Sultana?”

 “Yes, I’m fine,” she snarls through gritted teeth. 

 One guard knocks on the door and requests permission for Emma to enter. Killian of course never denies her from seeing him.

 “You may enter, My Sultana.”

 “Thank you,” she mutters sarcastically and enters Killian’s chamber. She finds it rather ridiculous and annoying that she has to ask permission to see her husband.

 “My love,” he murmurs as he looks up from his desk and sets down the goose-quill pen next to the parchment he was writing on. “You are certainly a sight for sore eyes.” 

 Emma blushes as she gazes at him from across the room, all the anger she had held seconds ago instantly vanishes. Just like that. She smiles and strides over to him, sitting in his lap. He wraps his arms around her, kissing her lips, his hand gravitating to her round belly under the creamy white satin chemise she’s wearing. “I can say the same about you,” she coos against his lips, curling her arms around the back of his neck. Her Sultan is devastatingly handsome, though his tired eyes are a dull shade of blue and his hair’s slightly disheveled. 

 “What can I do for my lovely Queen?” he asks with a warm smile, his hand making soothing circles around her belly. 

 She sighs. “Killian, I am losing my mind. I know you wish to protect us, but I feel smothered by the measures you have taken. I cannot even leave my chamber without getting permission from my guards.”

 He glances at the doors with an arched brow. “Do they know you’re here?”

 She shakes her head. “I snuck away,” she replies unapologetically. “I’ll have to chastise them later for not doing their jobs properly.”

 He chuckles in amusement. “I’m sorry, Emma, but you and our baby are too precious to me.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, and when he pulls away, his expression grows solemn, eyes darkening at a thought. “If anything happened to either of you—”

 “I can take care of myself. I can take care of us.” The baby kicks again, underneath Killian’s hand, and Emma laughs. “He has not been born, yet he’s already protective of his mother.”

 Killian’s eyes light up as he watches her belly, seeing the ruckus their child is raising. “You think our baby is a boy?”

 She shrugs. “I have a feeling. If so, he will be a strong warrior like his father. He’ll be Sultan one day.”

 He smiles at that. Just then, the baby kicks again, causing her to groan as she holds her stomach. He rubs her belly, speaking in a soothing voice. “No worries, lad, it’s only your papa.” He leans down and kisses her belly. 

 Emma enjoys her time with Killian, but she knows he’s a busy man and has to get back to work, so she forces herself to return to the matter at hand. “Please ask my bodyguards to back off. I can’t breathe with them always around. At least allow me to bathe in peace.”

 He sighs, his lips curving into a defeated smile. “I shall, my love. I am sorry I’ve been overprotective.” He lifts his hand to her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. “I love you, Emma, and I want you and our wee one to be happy.” 

 “Thank you, Killian. We love you so much.” She smiles at him and captures his lips, running her hands through the scruff on his cheeks. The kiss quickly deepens and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. Her tongue sweeps inside his mouth, brushing against his. He groans, and she swallows the sound, sighing in relief. She loves this man more than she could have ever fathomed. She’s so glad she opened her heart to him. She’s so glad she’d put complete faith in him. If their baby is a boy, she hopes their son will be just like Killian. Honorable, loving, caring, protective. She hopes and prays he will find a woman he will love just as Killian loves her. 

 A knock on the door interrupts them, pulling them down from their cloud of happiness. Emma groans against her Sultan’s lips. She knows it's her guards on the other side of the doors.

 “I will speak to them, my love,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead.

 Emma nods and says a thank you before tearing herself out of his lap, reluctantly leaving Killian's bedchamber. But she’s smiling and completely flushed as she leaves, still feeling his soft lips on hers, his tender touches on her skin.

 After that, her guards give her more space. They're still there, just not as much. Until there are only two full moons left of her pregnancy, and the doctor orders bed rest.

 She grows tired of resting and knitting and paces her suite with her hands on her belly as they itch to do something that doesn't involve embroidery.

 She opens her door to find her guards right outside. “I wish to go for a stroll around the palace grounds.”

 Faraji nods. “Yes, My Sultana.”

 Her other guard, Lancelot, doesn’t seem to agree, though. “But, Your Majesty, the Sultan asked you to follow the doctor’s orders and get some rest. You don’t wish to put stress on yourself or the baby, do you?”

 Emma becomes irritated and clenches her fists at her sides. She doesn’t even know why she has two guards. Both are well built, strong and tall, towering over her. No one would dare harass her when one of them is protecting her, let alone both. Although, their personalities contrast one another to the point where it makes sense why they are both her guards. Lancelot is honorable, with warm, kind eyes and an honest smile. He reminds her of a knight from her kingdom. Faraji, on the other hand, almost always dons a cold expression and never smiles while remaining detached emotionally, avoiding any personal connections with his mistress. Normally, Lancelot is the one who’s more lenient with Emma, often showing her his soft side. The two make the perfect pair of bodyguards, and it’s most likely why Killian chose them, rather than based on their sizes and physical strengths alone. “I need to leave this apartment before I go insane.”

 Lancelot shakes his head. “I’m sorry, My Sultana, but we were given specific orders.”

 Emma ignores him and storms away from her bodyguards, heading downstairs. If they won’t let her leave, she will go herself.

 “Please stop, Your Majesty,” Lancelot calls after her, but she continues her trek. Faraji follows behind her as she marches through the harem, heading outside. 

 “The Sultana needs to stretch her legs. I’ll go with her,” she hears Faraji say to Lancelot. 

 “Fine, but make sure she’s back before the Sultan realizes she’s gone.”

 “I will.”

 The harem garden is shaded by high walls, the paths flanked by columns of white marble and overhung with cypress and willow. Emma wobbles along one of the cobblestoned paths, her hand resting on her protruding belly as she enjoys the fresh air. She’s wearing a gold kaftan, an emerald damask chemise and a crown of gold and emerald jewels atop her head, her long golden hair bouncing as she walks. Emma closes her eyes briefly, relishing in the cool breeze sweeping around her.

 “How is the baby?” Faraji graces her with a smile that highlights his rich black cheekbones as he walks beside her through the garden. 

 Emma’s a little surprised by his question because during the few months she’s known him, he’s always been quiet and strictly business. Normally Lancelot is the conversational one, always regaling her with stories of his childhood. Usually, Lancelot is the one unopposed to walking with Emma through the garden. She wonders what has changed. “The baby is fine. We just needed to get away. Thank you for not stopping me,” she says gratefully. “I was dreadfully bored in my suite. Sometimes we need to get out for a while,” she says, gently patting her belly.

 “It is not a problem,” Faraji assures her with a smile. “The Sultan is a little overprotective.” He looks at Emma, his eyes scrolling down her body, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Though, if you ask me, he has good reason to be protective of a woman with your beauty.”

 Emma shudders at his comment and the way he looks at her. The Sultan would kill Faraji for admiring his wife like he is. 

 “I’ve realized that you and I know little about one another, so I thought we should change that.”

 Emma nods in agreement, so he tells her about where he grew up and about his family. His eyes glisten as he speaks of his wife and children.

 “What happened to them?”

 He looks blankly ahead. “Our village was raided, and my family was murdered in front of my eyes when I was captured. I was then sold into slavery.”

 “I’m sorry,” Emma murmurs, her heart breaking for him. As they walk, a sudden question pops into Emma’s mind. How can a Eunuch marry and have children? He can’t. Which means either he’s lying or… he’s not actually been emasculated. Unless the slaver Killian purchased him from did the deed himself so the Sultan would buy his slave. Slavers resort to just about anything if it means someone will pay more for the purchase. Emma shivers at the memories of being stripped naked in front of all the possible buyers at the auction house. The memories of that experience still haunt her occasionally.

 She suspects the details Faraji is divulging to her is why he's never engaged her in conservation, for fear she would ask about his past. So why is he telling her this now?

 She's not sure she wants to solve that little mystery.

 “I’m sure you are.” He looks at her, but this time, his gaze holds a much different disposition than before. This time he looks at her with disdain, as though he doesn’t believe her heartfelt apology. Emma gulps and averts her eyes from him, looking ahead. 

 Do not show fear, she tells herself.

 “I was taken from my family too, and sold as a slave,” she says, trying to distract herself from wondering what his intentions are. “I was betrayed by a bodyguard I had trusted and was handed off to pirates.”

 He scoffs. “How can you possibly compare yourself to me?”

 Emma stops in her tracks and glares at him, placing her hands on her hips. “How dare you speak to me like that?” Her words don't intimidate him. 

 When he turns toward her and steps into her space, she loses a breath. “You live here in the palace and have everything you could possibly need. You have slaves tend to you, feed you, bathe you,protect you... all because you are pregnant with the Sultan’s child.” He regards her with a condescending sneer. “I would give anything to not be treated as a slave… to have my family back.”

 Anger rises within Emma as she clenches her fists at her sides. “You think I wanted this life? My parents were King and Queen, and I was taken from them. Just so I could be the mother of the Sultan’s child! I did not ask for this,” she snaps at him. “I’m sorry you lost your children and that you will never have children again,” she adds, to see if he’s actually been castrated, but he gives no indication as to whether he was or not, “but there's no point in being mad at the world for what happened to you.”

 Emma is taken off guard when she’s pushed back and slammed into the stone wall, a gasp leaving her lips as Faraji grips her arms tightly, pinning her against the wall.

 She struggles against him, but his grip is too strong. “Unhand me!” 

He laughs darkly, his fingers tightening around her skin. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he mutters disdainfully. “I am not mad at the world. I am only mad at the man responsible for murdering my family, and I wish to avenge them. The people who raided my village were Sultan Brennan and his men. Unfortunately, he is no longer around. But you know who is?”

 Emma gulps, slightly shaking her head. Judging by the evil look on his face, she doesn’t actually want the answer to his question.

 He leans in, his breath wretched as he breathes against her cheek. “His son.”

 Fear surges through her entire body as he removes one of his hands, lowering it to her belly, and applies pressure. Emma draws in a sharp breath as though he is trying to suck the life from her, and she's trying to draw as much air into her lungs as she can.

 “That’s right, your precious Sultan’s late father is responsible for the death of my family,” he snarls.

 “But you can’t blame Killian for that. He is nothing like his father.”

 “Is he not, though? All Sultans are the same. They only care about power and passing on their precious legacy.” Faraji presses the pads of his fingers deeper into the skin of her belly through her clothes, and Emma cries out in pain, her eyes wet with tears.

 “Please don’t. My baby is innocent.”

 “Oh, it’s certainly not. It’s the spawn of a Sultan.”

 “My baby didn’t do anything to you, and neither did Killian.”

 “You’re right, they didn’t. But Brennan did. And since he’s already dead, Killian must pay for the sins of his father. And what better way to punish someone than to hurt the things he loves the most?”

 “Please,” Emma begs, on the verge of tears. “Don’t kill us.”

 He laughs and speaks in a sinister tone. A tone that makes her skin crawl. “Relax, princess, I don’t plan on killing you. That would be too easy. Besides, what is worse than the death of a loved one?”

 Emma can barely breathe, her head spinning as she tries to mask her fear. But the thought of losing her baby makes her numb. “What?”

 “Oh, Emma, you should know this.” He smiles darkly and leans in, whispering in her ear. “Betrayal.”

 She glares at him. “I would never betray Killian.”

 “No, I suspected not. At least not willingly. But you’d have no choice if someone forced you to.”

 “I’d rather die than do anything for you!”

 He laughs again. “I’m afraid that’s not an option. You see, Emma, you were wrong about another thing.”

 “What’s that?”

 He reaches into his trousers and pulls something out. She peers down to see what he's doing and panics. His cock is throbbing in his hand as his eyes sweep hungrily down her body. She can't believe someone would be so stupid as to rape the Sultan's wife, but Faraji obviously has a death wish.

 “I can have children again.”

 She gulps, her face paling as she lifts her eyes to his empty ones. “But how? You’re supposed to have been castrated.”

 “My slaver only said I was so the Sultan would purchase me. He was offering a large amount of gold and was too trustworthy and naïve to ask for proof.”

 Faraji leans in, pinning her against the wall with his forearm pressed hard across her neck so she can’t escape while he retrieves a potion from his satchel. He pops off the cap with his thumb and drinks it himself before reaching into his satchel again, grabbing another potion. He holds it up and smiles, letting her know this one’s for her. 

 “No!” she shrieks and turns her head, screwing her eyes shut as he kisses her cheek. 

 He pinches her nose closed so she can’t help but breathe through her mouth. When she gasps for breath, he takes the opportunity to pour the potion in her mouth. Then he releases her nose and forces her lips shut with his hand, tilting her head back so she’ll swallow down the potion. She coughs and sputters, a small amount of it dribbling down her chin, but most of it ends up down her throat. He doesn’t know that whatever the contents are will have no effect on her or her baby, but she wishes to keep it that way.

 “I will implant my seed inside you and then kill the Sultan's baby,” he whispers in her ear with a dark smile.

 His threats enrage her; she can feel the blood boiling under her skin. “It won’t work, you pig! You can’t impregnate me when there’s already a baby inside my womb!” Or so she assumes. 

 He chuckles, and she can feel the sound in her bones. “That’s what the potions are for. The one I took will enhance my ability to procreate and speed up the process. The potion I gave you will cause your body to release an egg while you’re already pregnant. My baby will grow inside you at an exponential rate, soaking up all the nutrients for itself. By the time you give birth to the Sultan’s baby, it will be a dead corpse and mine will be a full-grown newborn, strong and healthy.” 

 A tear escapes her eyes as much as she’d tried to hold it back. Where did he even procure these fertility potions? He takes her chin in his hand and collects the tear from her cheek with his tongue. “I’m assuming our baby will be a boy because all my wife and I could have were boys.” He leans in, hissing in her ear like a snake. “And he’ll be black as night,” he whispers, enunciating the t, “just like me.” He moves his mouth to her cheek, his warm breath on her skin, making her tremble. He looks at her mouth, the pad of his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Or, seeing as your skin is pure white, maybe he’ll be mixed. Either way, the Sultan will know it’s not his baby.” His eyes dance with excitement and he lifts his gaze to her eyes as the palm of his hand slides over her cheek. “The Sultan will be so enraged that his precious wife betrayed him that I won’t even have to kill you. He’ll do it himself.”

 “It won't work,” she mutters, her voice unwavering, thankfully, despite the fear surging through her. “I'll tell Killian what you've done. He'll believe me over you and he'll kill you.”

 He chuckles, not even a flicker of fear in his eyes. “That's what I'm counting on. Do you think I want to live in this world without my wife and children? Revenge is the only thing that fuels my will to live. Besides, if you tell him, I'll just murder you in front of him. He will cut my head off afterward, but at least I will get my revenge first.”

 Emma tries to move, but he presses her roughly into the wall and smashes his lips to hers, moving his hand to her breasts. Her eyes widen as she tries to pull away, but he doesn’t budge. 

 He takes the fabric of her chemise, rips it at the top and pulls it away from her chest so her breasts are exposed to him. He takes one in his hand, squeezing it, his thumb toying with her nipple. “Mmmm, there’s nothing prettier than a soon to be mother. With skin glowin’ and tits big and ripe. He lowers his head and takes her nipple in his mouth as he holds her hands against the wall.

 Emma thinks she might vomit, and it has nothing to do with being pregnant.

 He spins her around, pressing her against the wall, one hand returning to her breast and the other reaching for her skirts to pull them up. 

 Once he has her skirts pulled up, she reaches for the leather strap around her thigh and grabs her dagger. He’s unaware of what she’s doing because he’s too busy lining up the head of his cock against her entrance. He pushes her against the wall, his hands gripping firmly around her hips. Before he thrusts into her, she jabs the blade into the side of his leg. 

 He cries out in pain, releasing her. She quickly turns around and stabs him once again, this time in the stomach. She looks at him in disgust as he grips onto his stomach, and she removes the dagger and does something she’d never imagined she would ever do. But he tried to kill her baby. 

 She swipes the blade twice at him so he can no longer have children. His screams are unusually high in pitch, and with both hands, he grasps at the area where his testis are supposed to be, falls to his knees and joins his testes on the ground in a pool of his blood.

 Emma is staring blankly, still gripping the handle of the blade in her hand as though it’s a life source.

 “Emma? What happened? I could hear the screaming from inside the palace!”

 She’s in too much shock, too numb to look at Lancelot as he gently grabs her arms, observing the other guard who’s balled up on the ground in his own blood, wailing.

 “My Sultana, are you okay?” The words sound so far away even though Lancelot is directly in front of her as he turns his head to face her again. 

 “He tried to murder my baby,” is all she can manage, her voice now weak and shattered.

 He helps her back inside and calls for the doctor.

Tagging: 

@courtorderedcake @teamhookook @onceuponaprincessworld @nikkiemms @followbatb @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecuriouscurious @snowbellewellsw @artistic-writer@ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @lovepurplepumpkins @kiwistreetswaneetswan @therooksshiningknight @deathbycaptainswanaptainswan @tiganasummertreeasummertree @superchocovianovian @emeraldwitchestches

[queen-swagzilla]

Ruthlessly Alive - Chapter 10

Rated: M

Summary: Everything is going wrong. Clarke is at her wits end and so is her co-leader, Nathan Miller. The two of them and their mini-council—Wells, Raven, Finn, Monty, Jasper, and Syl—keep trying to find solutions, but nothing is helping them stay alive. When the dropship carrying her mother crashes, they come to a decision. They have to surrender, and ask for help.It just so happens that the price for help is Unity. But it means something much different on the ground than on the Ark.

Chapter summary: Raven's got some misplaced anger. Bellamy's got a stab wound. Clarke's got paper and charcoal. Syl's got grounder braids. Miller has very little patience for bullshit.

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Bellamy remained under Clarke and Diggs' watchful eyes for two days. After he’d woken up, Irene had pulled Clarke aside and tied the red ribbon around her wrist.

“But I didn’t finish the ritual.” Clarke objected.

“Didn’t you?” She asked. “At the very least, you’ve proven that you have the ability to care for him. The rest of your people, however, I am beginning to distrust.”

Clarke looked away. She couldn’t exactly fault her for that. She had trouble imagining Finn poisoning a knife, especially since peace was a real possibility. Unfortunately, she didn’t really see who else it could be.

They’d searched the Art Supply Store, to no avail. It was devoid of any poisons or suspicious substances. Finn had come back the next day saying he’d gone exploring, and they’d no reason to hold him prisoner except for their collective suspicion. That simply wasn’t enough.

“Raven?” Clarke had asked, flanked by Miller and Syl. Raven narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t exactly pleased that Finn had been detained upon his return. It felt too much like the first time he’d been arrested. “I need a favor.”

“Yes, your majesty?”

Clarke winced but plowed forward. “Look, I’m not sure if Finn did anything. I can’t find anything to indicate that he did, but he’s the most vocal opponent to the terms of our alliance. We need this, and you know it. I need you to keep an eye on him and tell someone—not necessarily me—if he starts to act suspiciously. If it was him and he does it again, he won’t just be imprisoned, he’ll get all of us killed.”

It left a bitter taste in Raven’s mouth to know that Clarke was right. That she was just doing her best with the information she had. Why couldn’t she be wrong and unreasonable so that Raven could resent her for just a minute? “Fine. Is that all?”

Clarke looked saddened (and it killed Raven that it bothered her) but nodded and turned, leaving the tent with Syl in tow. Miller stayed behind. “She is going to be queen, you know. That means making tough decisions and giving orders that we'll have to follow.”

“Do you have a point?”

“You can’t hold it against her like that. She hates the idea already. She doesn’t want any of this to be happening, and you know it. Sure, she’s pretty into her fiancé, but the idea of being queen gets to her. Don’t make it worse by throwing it in her face when she makes a decision you don’t like. We’re under a monarchy now. There are always going to be decisions we don’t like. What matters is that we trust our leaders to ultimately make a decision that benefits us, and that’s all she’s been doing since we landed. She made the right call, and you know it.”

Raven glared at Miller. “My relationship with Clarke is none of your business. I agreed to watch him, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” He snapped. “She needs you, Raven. Stop taking your frustration out on her and refocus it on the person who actually deserves it.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply, pushing out of the tent to go looking for Clarke. Raven tamped down the urge to go after him and blow up in his face. Because god damn it, he had a point. Unfortunately, she didn’t really have the time to sit and think. Today was the day they’d begin taking the Dropship to scrap.

Without power tools.

Anyone who wasn’t working with Raven and Monty on the Dropship or in Medical with Clarke fixing their inevitable injuries was directed to Octavia and Lincoln for training. Syl had found herself directly under Octavia’s thumb, struggling through seemingly endless pushups.

While everyone seemed to be occupied, Murphy stood guard over Bellamy in his tent. He’d complained for hours when both Clarke and Diggs had insisted he remain on bed rest and outright whined when Octavia had demanded that he be guarded until he was up and about. Now, though, he found himself grateful for the quiet. A drawback of being King was that he was constantly swarmed—truly quiet moments were few and far between.

“Have you sent word to the Commander yet?” Murphy asked.

Bellamy shot him an annoyed look. “Of course I have.” He grunted.

“Has she said anything back? She could refuse to acknowledge it, couldn’t she? Turn us out of the coalition?”

Bellamy grimaced. “She could, but she won’t. She’d risk losing her hold on Trigedakru.” He replied, wincing. “Turning us out means putting them at risk of fighting a war on our border for territory. Sure, the rest of the coalition could come to their aid, but Azgeda would opt to sit it out. Emboldened by Azgeda’s refusal, the rest would refuse to put their warriors at risk for a border dispute, and the coalition would unravel. She won’t risk that.”

Murphy eyed him thoughtfully. “How long have you had that figured out?”

“Since Sterling first told us about their situation.” He admitted. “I knew this was a possibility. I wasn’t going to take this on without considering the risks.”

Murphy smiled wryly. “Yet you had no qualms about letting a stranger stab and poison you. Look where that got you.”

“I was in good hands.” He defended both himself and Clarke. “It could have been much worse.”

“Yes, it’s a good thing she likes you.” Murphy teased. “Or she’d have let you die.” There was a note of caution in Murphy’s voice. Bellamy frowned at him.

“Not with her people at risk, and definitely not with you and Octavia watching over her shoulder.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “If she thought it was right, Clarke would slit your throat without even blinking. Apparently she was seen doing the same for one of her people caught in the Fog.”

“Then it would have been out of mercy.”

“You think that calculated ability to kill doesn’t extend to her sense of justice? To her need to protect her people? Don’t be naive, Bellamy. She’s a good person, but you can smell it on her. The moment she needs to be, she’ll be ruthless. You had better hope that she’ll be on your side when that day comes, too.”

Bellamy barely even blinked. “She will be. I won’t give her a reason not to be. You know I don’t do things by halves, Murph. Her people and my people will be the same.”

“And what are you going to do when they discover who actually poisoned you?” He demanded.

Bellamy paused. His instinct, of course, was to have them executed. Not only for treason but also for violating a sacred rite and the grounds of a peace treaty. That, however, would not be in her people’s best interest. There were so few of them, and she’d feel each loss keenly. “I would leave their punishment to her.” He decided. “Our treaty is still in its fledgling stages, and they aren’t required to follow our laws. It’s encouraged, but they’re still separate. Until they officially join Trishanakru, we’ll allow them to govern themselves.”

“They poisoned you. The offense was against you, so your laws should govern the punishment.”

“Not if we want them to trust us.”

“They won’t trust us if you allow them to flout our laws without punishment. They’ll just do it again. There has to be some form of punishment from us. Maybe you can negotiate the punishment with Clarke and her advisors. Find a punishment that you’ll both deliver.”

Bellamy had to admit, that did sound better. “I can do that.” He agreed. He laid back docilely, and Murphy regarded him with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“That felt too easy.”

“Maybe you’re paranoid.”

Murphy snorted. “Yeah, maybe."

Things seemed to settle into a busy but peaceful rhythm. For three whole days, they took the Dropship apart, got drilled by Octavia and Lincoln, and started workshopping ideas with Wells, Monty, and Syl. Bellamy was recovering under Diggs’ (and sometimes Clarke’s) watch, and Clarke had taken over all diplomatic duties with Murphy whispering instructions in her ear at Bellamy’s request. So far, they had been visited by a representative from Yujledakru and Louwoda Kliron Kru, who were both staying in camps just outside the gate. She’d accepted their gifts—tokens to celebrate their impending marriage—and fed them. Then, she’d introduced them to the camp’s leaders and asked if they had concerns.

So far, the trust she seemed to have fostered in Bellamy, Octavia, and Murphy was enough to keep them calm. She was immensely grateful for that.

Syl seemed to be taking to Grounder culture like gas to a fire. Someone had clearly been teaching her the language because even with Murphy translating, she seemed to be getting the gist of each conversation.

Someone had done her hair, too. Every morning, Syl arrived at their status meeting with intricate braids that pulled her hair back from her face to unveil her sharp cheekbones and glittering black eyes. Clarke was a little jealous.

Raven, on the other hand, seemed to be shrinking from it. On that end, Clarke was concerned. At first, Raven had been more than ready to learn and grow into Grounder culture, but since the ritual, her enthusiasm seemed to have petered off. Not to mention, she was sour at Clarke, furious that she’d implicated Finn without hard evidence.

“What’s eating you, Princess?” Syl asked, sliding up to Clarke with Miller in tow.

“Nothing.”

Miller rolled his eyes. “So you’re glaring at Mbege for no reason?”

She realized that she had, indeed, been glaring at Mbege, who now looked extremely skittish—eyes darting from the task before him to Clarke and back in rapid succession. She offered him a sheepish smile and he seemed to deflate with relief. “Oops.”

“So? What’s the matter?” Syl prodded. She was fiddling with something—a bullet, Clarke realized—as she spoke.

“I’m so jammed up with meeting people and being a good host that I’m not learning anything.” She muttered. “I want to learn the language, you know? I just don’t really have the time.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to learn the language after all this diplomatic crap is over.” Miller replied soothingly.

“I know.” She sighed. “It just feels like everything is moving so fast. We only have three weeks left to get everything ready, and finish the courtship rituals. I haven’t even had time to get started on my gift for Bellamy.”

Syl gave her a once over. “Well, what are you doing right now?”

“Right now?” Clarke asked, frowning. “Nothing. Basically just waiting for someone to hurt themselves.”

“Well,” she drawled. “Why don’t you get started on it now?” Clarke flushed. Octavia had gotten her paper and charcoal the same day she’d asked for it, and Lincoln had offered to show her how to bind a book when she was ready.

“I can do that.” She admitted. Syl chuckled, taking her by the arm and guiding her back to her tent, Miller trailing behind him.

“You need to stop waiting for bad things to happen. Trust me, if they’re happening, they’ll find you. You gotta live in the meantime.” Syl insisted. Miller grunted his agreement. “We’re at peace. Your only duties right now are diplomacy and medical. If you’re not being sought out, you can take time to make your extra-special engagement gift, or train, or learn the language.”

“I need to make sure—“

“Then we’ll give you status reports, Clarke.” Miller interrupted her, successfully predicting her train of thought. “Syl’s right. You don’t need to be everywhere at once. Focus on what you need to get done or want to learn. Whatever. We’ll step up. I am your co-leader, remember? At least for the time being, I can keep the ship running while you plan out your engagement and wedding crap. And hey, learning the language is important for diplomacy right? You have a good reason to makethat a priority. You can get Grounder Jr. here to help you out.”

Clarke blinked at him. It might have been the most Miller had said at one time in ten years. “Are…you frustrated with me?” She demanded. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure one of the conditions for me being okay with this alliance was that you’d take care of yourself. Trying to manage everything in camp and your own marriage is not taking care of yourself, it’s burning yourself out.” He scolded. She never thought she’d see the day when Miller scolded her.

“I’m just trying to make sure this goes smoothly! Survival is the very foundation of my self-care!”

“No, Clarkey. You’re trying to micromanage a hundred juvenile delinquents even though your survival is guaranteed as long as you stick to the terms of the alliance. And you have at least six people who are willing to lend you a hand.” Syl reminded her, a little exasperated but mostly amused. “I promise we’ll come to get you if there’s an emergency, but we’re more than capable of handling the nitty-gritty. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Yeah, didn’t you say we were your advisors or something? Isn’t that what our literal jobs are now?” Miller grunted. “Your job is to keep it together and lead us. Our job is to help you do that. Let us help you and take a fucking chill pill, Griffin."

They were in Clarke’s tent now and away from prying eyes, she allowed herself overflow a little. The affection and gratitude she felt couldn’t really be contained, but she doubted Miller would forgive her for going soft on him in public. So here, in the tent, she threw her arms around his neck in a nearly vicious hug.

“You guys are adorable.” Clarke dropped Miller immediately and whirled to face whoever had just entered the tent. It was just Wells and Monty (it was Wells who’d spoken, but Monty was snickering), but Miller flushed anyways.

“Did something happen?” Clarke asked, immediately on alert despite the conversation they’d just had. Syl flicked her on the forehead.

Wells eyed them oddly, noting the disciplinary action but taking it in stride. “No. We just wanted to let you know that the Dropship interior is completely stripped. We’re going to work on cataloging and packing it before we start working on the actual structure.”

“We got together with Octavia and agreed that the core group of scientists should hold off on training until the dropship is done. That way they’ll have the energy to actually do the work.” Monty added.

“The hunting party is back, too. They’ve got three deer and pulled in a bunch of rabbits and squirrels from snares. They think it’s a good idea to dry and store two of the deer and use the rest fresh over the next couple of days. They wanted your opinion, though. Well, they wanted Murphy’s opinion, but they’re kinda afraid of him, so they want Syl to ask him.”

Miller gave her a smug smirk, and she rolled her eyes. “See?”

“Fine. Okay? Fine! You were right. I’ll ‘chill out’.”

Syl snorted. “Yeah, unlikely. Just…don't preemptively panic. Do what you gotta do, and trust us to keep you in the loop. We’ve got this, Princess.”

They left Clarke in the tent, pulling out the piles of paper and charcoal she’d been given along with the copy of the Iliad that Octavia had gotten for her. She assumed it was Bellamy’s copy, so she handled it like it was made of glass.

Before she knew it, she was completely lost in her task—relaxing into the lines and shading as she brought the ancient story back to life. The last time she’d had uninterrupted time to draw was when she was in the Sky Box, and it was relaxing then, too. It took her mind off the endless vacuum of space. Here, it took her mind all of the things that could go wrong, and she was grateful for the time to decompress.

Soon, her hands were covered in coal and her body was completely unclenched. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, just that she had a tidy stack of perfect drawings and it was getting dark inside the tent. “Clarke? You coming for dinner?” Jasper poked his head through the tent flap. “Syl wanted to get you for lunch, but Miller and Wells didn’t want to break your stride if you actually managed to chill out enough to stay put.”

She blinked up at him, only now realizing how late it was and how long she’d been sitting in one place. “I’ve been in here all day. I’ve been in here all day?! I need to check on Bellamy! Were there any injuries in camp?”

“Hey! Hey, relax. You can check on Bellamy after dinner. He’s been sleeping all day, and Diggs has been taking care of him, along with all the other minor scrapes that have come in. We need to learn to trust them, right? It’s good that we’ve been having our people go to him. It’s actually kinda important.” Jasper reminded her, alarmed at how quickly she’d panicked. “We didn’t just let you have the day. If we’d needed you, we’d have gotten you.”

“Right. Right, sorry. I’m just…”

“Not used to being fine? I know the feeling. Spear, remember?” He chuckled. “C’mon. Come have dinner with us then go check on your boooooyyyfriend.” He teased. She threw the charcoal stub at him, and it smacked him in the cheek.

“You’re terrible.” She muttered. “I’ll join you in a minute, I just need to go wash my hands.”

“Roger that, boss. We’ll save you some stew.” He grinned, saluting her jauntily.

As she walked through the camp, she was pleased with how little disarray there was. If she’d left camp for a whole day when they’d first landed, there would be broken fingers and collapsed structures in every direction. Now there were some murmurs as friends prodded each other’s blisters or scrapes, but it looked like everything was running smoothly.

Probably because they had a collective goal with a big fat scary deadline.

But hey, no matter the reason, as long as no one was dying or pissing off Grounder diplomats, she wasn’t going to complain.

Miller and Wells had come to him that morning to tell him that Clarke would be out of medical on other projects all day, and he couldn’t lie—he was disappointed. If he was bedridden, he was at least hoping for company other than Murphy (who hated talking, even to people he liked) and Diggs (who always had some gross new observation about the human body to share).

There were a few other delinquents who stopped by for their own cuts and bruises, and they talked while Diggs patched them up. He was quite fond of Harper, who talked his ear off about how limited his appreciation for classic literature was if he was stuck in ancient Greek epics. “Maybe someday,” she said wistfully. “We’ll find a way to reconnect to the Ark mainframe and be able to download the library.” He quite liked the sound of that.

Miller came to keep him company for a while and asked about politics and war on the ground. He seemed pleased that Bellamy was fascinated by history and therefore could give detailed accounts of the clan wars that had taken place before the coalition, as well as the skirmishes that had taken place since.

Other than that, he’d been bored. His philosophy had always been “if there’s nothing to do today, sleep while you have the time”, so he’d essentially napped his way through the entire day and felt lethargic as hell when he woke.

Murphy shoved a bowl at him when he opened his eyes. “Eat.” He grunted.

“Everything going alright out there?” He asked as he complied.

“Everything’s fine.” Murphy dismissed him. “Actually, without you and Clarke breathing down our necks, I think this has been their most productive day yet.” He continued, unsheathing his knife to clean under his fingernails.

“I heard that.” Clarke declared, sliding into the dropship with her hands on her hips. “And that is yet to be determined. I’m getting status reports after I check on Bellamy.” She paused. “Wow. They really did strip it bare.”

Anything that they didn’t need for immediate medical procedures had been disassembled and stacked in a corner—seating and seatbelts, wiring, and the video components had all been scrapped.

“I think we were both hoping it would take longer so that Bellamy would have someone to talk to all day.” Murphy drawled.

Clarke frowned. “Weren’t you here all day?”

Bellamy snorted. “Yes, ten hours with the surliest bastard south of Azgeda.” He shot Murphy a fond smile. “I slept most of the day.”

She chuckled. “Well, I hope it was restful.” She was leaning over him now, unwinding his bandage to examine his stab wound. She was pleased that it wasn’t infected and already seemed to be knitting together. “How are you feeling?

“Hmm. Like I was poisoned by someone other than my wife and put on bed rest.” He replied. “But better than I felt during the ceremony. I’ll feel better once I can get up and move.”

“Well, I’d feel more comfortable if you relaxed for a couple more days, but we treated you quickly and you do seem okay aside from the stab wound. Just don’t push it. Besides, we don’t know who poisoned the knife, so even if you’re not on bed rest I’d feel better if you had Murphy or Octavia with you.”

He groaned.

“See? Clarke agrees with us. Now you have to listen.” Murphy cried. “He doesn’t think he needs protection once he’s healed enough to move around.”

She frowned at him. “I know you’re an impressive fighter, but there’s no harm in having a second set of eyes. You’re being targeted. There’s no need to tempt fate. Besides, you’re a king. What would happen to your people if you just let yourself get assassinated?” She prodded him in the chest. “Be responsible, Bellamy.”

“Our people have a line of succession. We’d prefer not to use it, but still. It's your people you should worry about. There’s no guarantee a new alliance could be reached if Bellamy died.” Murphy reminded her.

She glared at him. “Yes, obviously, I know that. I just figured that was obvious. It’s obvious, right? We’re screwed without you. Besides, I’m getting pretty attached to you. I’d be very upset if you died because you decided to throw logic out the window."

He grumbled, but his pout told her that she’d won the argument. Sensing that Bellamy’s sulking wasn’t going to be short-lived, Murphy decided to sweeten the pot. “Maybe if you spent…half the day in here tomorrow keeping him company, he’d be a little more ready to follow your instructions.” He suggested.

Clarke couldn’t find anything wrong with that plan, so she agreed. “Maybe while we’re in here you can teach me some Trigedasleng.” She smiled, sitting by the cot and taking his hand. “Syl’s a natural. I need to keep up or she’ll never let me live it down.”

“Miller and Wells are, too.” Murphy supplied, unhelpfully. “They just don’t talk as much, so you haven’t noticed.”

“See?” She whined, tugging his fingers petulantly. “They’ll tease me forever if I don’t learn faster.”

He smiled at her mischievously. “Can’t say I blame them. I have a feeling I’ll have fun riling you up in the future.”

“Only if there is a future.” She scolded. “So for the love of God, please don’t get murdered.”

“Alright, princess.” He chuckled. “I’ll be careful.”

Raven was waiting for her in her tent when she returned and immediately she was on edge. Then she was sad that she was on edge because it was Raven. “I’m sorry, did you need something? I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, no,” Raven assured her, standing. “I uh…well. I finished a few radios. I know you’re working on your gift for Bellamy, so I made enough for you, me, Wells, and Miller. I’ll have a couple more soon, but this way you can get status reports without having to run around.” She explained, holding out Clarke’s radio to her.

“Thanks, Raven.” She smiled, taking the scrappy tech. Raven didn’t really have a poker face, and she was grateful for that. Right now, her tone was soft and sincere, and her body language was open—if a little skittish. “Really, I appreciate it. I know you were going to make them anyway, but it’ll be nice to know what’s going on without having to drop what I’m doing.”

“I wasn’t going to make them yet.” She admitted. “I made a few when Monty told me what you were up to today. I realized you hadn’t started yet because you didn’t want to miss anything. This way you won’t have to.” She rubbed at the back of her neck. “Look, I’m not happy about the Finn thing.”

Clarke sighed, shoulders drooping. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s hard to imagine it’s him, and I don’t know if I think it is, but we have to—“

“Be sure. I know. You’re doing the right thing here. I don’t like it, but I can’t really deny that it’s what needs to happen. Besides, blaming you isn’t going to get us anywhere, you didn’t poison Bellamy, and it’s not like you’re locking him up before you’ve proved him guilty.” She admitted. “It just stings. He’s always been the person I trusted the most, and now he’s taking stances I don’t agree with and there are people I trust more than him. It’s all new.”

Clarke stayed quiet. She couldn’t imagine how Raven felt, so there was nothing she could really say to make it better. She could listen, though. She was good at that.

“I know what happened between you two before I landed. I don’t blame you, so don’t even.” She held up a hand when Clarke (predictably) opened her mouth to apologize. “He seems to feel like he has a hand in your decisions just because you’ve slept together, and that’s really stupid, but I don’t know if it’s the kind of stupid that would lead to him poisoning a warlord during a sacred engagement ceremony. That seems beyond him. I don’t think it would even occur to him. So while I’m not ruling it out, I am begging you to keep an open mind on this. He’s more likely to ruin this by opening his fat mouth to the wrong people.”

Clarke had to admit, she had a point there. “You’re probably right.” She agreed. Raven looked a little startled by the admission, but her eyes focused in like a laser. “At the time, he was the only person that we noticed was missing, and he’s been the most vocal opponent to the terms of the alliance. That’s why I wanted to look at him first, not because I thought that he’d definitely done it. I just wanted to be sure.”

“And the verdict?”

She grimaced. “Still not sure, but it’s not xi. That’s why I wanted you to watch him. No one would know if he’s acting out of character better than you.” She shrugged. “Aside from that, I would rather focus on keeping Bellamy safe than watching potential suspects. I don’t want it to be one of us. Granted, I don’t know who else it could be, but it would be a nightmare if it was one of us.”

Raven nodded but looked horribly guilty. “I’m really sorry.” She said quietly. “About how I’ve been acting for the past few days? I get tunnel vision when it comes to Finn, sometimes. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I know you’re just trying to do what’s best.”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m new to this leading thing. You wouldn’t be one of my advisors if you weren’t comfortable pointing out where I’m going wrong.” Clarke assured her.

“That’s my point. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just let my emotions get in the way.” Raven insisted. “And I can’t promise I won’t do it again, so if I’m going to be one of your advisors, you need to tell me when I’m lacking perspective. This is all hard enough, we don’t need to make it worse by not communicating. That means you can’t just take it on the chin. We’re putting a lot on your shoulders here, so if you want us to count on you, you can’t set yourself on fire just to keep us warm.”

Clarke smiled self-deprecatingly. “That’s not the first time I’ve gotten that lecture today.”

“Good. Because I’m apologizing here, but this is also a serious teachable moment. You totally let me slam you with that ‘your majesty’ comment earlier. I know you’re not super into a monarchy, but damn Clarke, you’re about to be a queen. The correct response to my statement would have been ‘if you don’t want to follow my orders, find a new fucking clan.’ I would have been pissy for a few more hours, but it’s not like I’m gonna leave. Jesus.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “I would literally never say that.”

“Then I’ll have to follow you around and say it for you.” She snarked. “Because those puppy-dog eyes were lame. We’re a warrior nation now, not a warm-fuzzy cuddle puddle.” She stepped up to give Clarke a quick hug before heading for the tent flap. “Now go to bed! Your eye-bags look like they could hold ten days’ rations.”

Her jaw dropped, affronted. “They do not! You take that back!"

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[shireness-says]

Took My Soul, Wiped It Clean

Summary: Killian generally loves Storybrooke and its close-knit feeling, is happy to be raising his family here, but those close ties also often mean that everyone is sticking their nose into everyone else’s business. Can’t a man keep any bloody thing to himself? Rated T for language. ~5.5K. Also on AO3. A sequel to “If I Could See Your Face Once More”.

~~~~~

A/N: I’m back, with more of my 5B divergence! And fluffy this time. I’d recommend reading “If I Could See Your Face Once More” before this, but I suppose it could stand alone as a fluffy thing. Title taken from the same Kodaline song as the first, “All I Want”. Super thanks to my super beta, @snidgetsafan.

I do add in a non-canon character in this installment. Though he’s pretty much just mentioned here, he is important later in this ‘verse, and is taken from literature. I’d love to hear your guesses about who he is, and what I’ve got planned! I’ve got a lot in my head for this divergence ‘verse, so if you ever have questions or ideas that you want to see, just shoot me a message.

Tagging those from the first: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules, @let-it-raines, @lifeinahole27, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @spartanguard, @courtorderedcake, @justanotherwannabeclassic

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

His daughter is meticulous.

It’s a ridiculous word to ascribe to a toddler, he knows, but that’s the only one he can come up with. She eats her macaroni one silly shape at a time and watches her feet take every step and says each of her words very carefully, like she wants to get every sound right instead of just chattering away. They hear her practicing words in her crib at night sometimes over the baby monitor. It’s adorable.

Fatherhood is more than Killian could have ever imagined when Emma first told him she was pregnant. It’s more than he imagined when he found out they were having a girl, or when Charlotte was first placed in his arms, still damp and squirming and perfect. It’s the greatest, best responsibility of his life, waking up every morning and trying to be everything his daughter thinks he is, because it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that she adores him. Daddy’s girl, Emma says.

(He’s fine with that.)

Killian is a little terrified some days, because the truth of the matter is that he’s not certain he’s as much of a hero as his daughter believes him to be. He’s lived an awfully long time, and done some terrible things in those years, and it terrifies him to think that his little girl might find out some day and lose that gleaming trust she has in him. In the meantime, he’s doing his best to be the best man he can be - gentle and kind and honorable, the kind of man he may have once been, hundreds of years ago.

That’s a worry for later, though. Right now, he’s more worried about picking up his little girl from her grandparents’ for a lunch with Emma and an afternoon out.

The door has barely opened before Killian hears her little voice, pitched even higher in her excitement as she shrieks out “Papa!” Gods, but he loves that, loves the way she lights up like the brightest star when she sees him, and all because of him.

“Well hello, my little bean,” he coos, stooping to scoop her into his arms, already bundled into her winter coat and mittens and hat. She’s no longer bean-shaped in the least, but the nickname had stuck, even after she was born. “Did you have fun with Grandma and Gramps and Leo this morning?” If the change of clothes is any indication - they definitely didn’t send her off in this fluffy skirt this morning, though the striped tights are a nice touch - it seems like they might have. A messy morning, at the very least.

“Yeah,” she responds with that toothy smile he so loves, reaching to press her little hands against his cheeks so his face scrunches up - a favorite game of hers.

“We did finger paints,” David explains. “They’re still drying right now, and her clothes too, but Snow and I will bring them the next time we come by the house.”

“Thanks, mate,” Killian smiles back. Sometime in the past few years, between monsters and death and children, he’s grown quite close to Emma’s father, their former animosity nothing more than a distant memory these days. “Maybe you guys could come around tonight. In the meantime, the little lass and I have a very important lunch date.”

David’s eyebrows rise in what must be anticipation. “Are you going to…”

“Aye,” Killian quickly responds before the other man can finish. Talking about it will only encourage his nerves, and he’s trying his hardest to avoid that right now.

“Good luck, then,” David replies, reaching out to clap Killian on the shoulder. Before he can say anything else, though, a loud cry echoes through the house. “Listen, I’ve got to go check on Leo and the twins so that Snow can keep sleeping, but…”

“We’ll call you,” he promises.

“Great. Okay, then, we’ll talk later. Bye, Princess!” As soon as grandfather and granddaughter exchange waves, the door closes, Charming hastening back down the hall into the rest of the house and his own child’s crisis.

“Do you want to go see Mama, my Charlie girl?” Killian asks as they climb back down the porch stairs.

(Henry had come up with the nickname, claiming that Charlotte was far too frilly and fussy for such a calm, curious, and unshakeable infant. It had stuck, mostly because it suits her. Charlie. By this point, Snow is the only one who still calls her Charlotte.)

“Yeah. Mama now,” she agrees, nodding decisively. She sounds absolutely determined - and absolutely precious.

Charlie ends up being put back down once they reach the pavement of Main Street, just as always. She’s a fiercely independent thing, his little lass, and he’d been expecting it; lately, he always factors extra time into wherever they’re going so that she can toddle carefully along to her heart’s content. She’s a little star in her own right, too, garnering all manner of waves and little bows as they slowly make their way down the sidewalk. Storybrooke has rather swelled in population since his return from the Underworld; Merlin had ultimately returned the citizens of Camelot to their home by joining all the realms together, once and for all. Later, the population of the Land of Untold Stories had been brought into the chaos when the Dark One had attempted to attack Storybrooke and sweep away his wife and unborn son, opening a gaping portal between the two dimensions in the process. Ultimately, his attempt had been unsuccessful, the Dark One being destroyed by the combined forces of Emma, Regina, Merlin, and just about every other magic wielder in a variety of realms, from Maleficent to Elsa to the fairies, but the Untold Stories residents had stayed to try and move their own tales forward. Killian likes most of their new inhabitants, possibly excepting the relocated Lost Boys, but it is always a little bit of a shock to walk down the street and see Vikings and airship captains and everything else under the sun, all trying to pay homage to himself and his daughter as members of the royal family. While each individual realm has their own government, they’re all under the overarching rule of Queen Snow and King David as rulers of the United Realm - a unanimous decision by the various heads of state. Storybrooke is technically a democracy with Regina as its mayor, though no one had actually run against her in the last election. Killian doesn’t think that it was a matter of fear, for once in her life, but rather every one of the townspeople recognizing that they had no desire to deal with all of the bureaucracy of local affairs and the diplomacy required to deal with every realm from Arendelle to Camelot to Oz - not to mention, dealing with the dwarves. Especially not dealing with the dwarves. Regina seems to be the only person who actually thrives on that much paperwork and the minutiae of local government, and so they’re all happy to let her.

(Killian’s own family had expanded with the arrivals from the Land of Untold Stories, his very angry and long-lost half brother and said brother’s adoptive father. Nemo had been delighted at the opportunity to become a little family; Liam had been less excited. Part of that is likely due to Nemo needing to be hospitalized for the injuries that drove them to the Land of Untold Stories in the first place, injuries he’d sustained the last time both surviving Brothers Jones had met, the other due to the death of Brennan, their father, also at Killian’s hands. It’s all a mess, and they’re still trying to come to terms with the whole thing. For the moment, they’re all operating under a truce. It helps that both men adore Emma, and especially Charlie; after Henry had insisted the submarine captain watch the animated movie of his namesake, Nemo had been the one to gift their daughter upon her birth with the stuffed fish that had become her very favorite. Killian will never understand how the other man can be so tickled by his cinematic reincarnation. Regardless, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep the peace if it means Charlie gets to grow up being doted upon by Uncle Lee and Baba Nemo.)

By the time they finally make it to Granny’s to pick up lunch, they’ve had to fulfill the routine of up and down and up and down several times over. Charlie is a curious little thing, though her natural caution and methodicalness keeps her from wandering out of sight, his little girl almost as careful about checking that he or Emma is in sight as they are. Still, he swoops her up once the white fencing of the diner is in sight, tickling her sides until she giggles just before they walk in the door. Granny smiles at them both - well, mostly Charlie, the widow Lucas still gruff with everyone but her expanding gaggle of pseudo-grandchildren - as Killian deposits her on one of the red vinyl stools.

“The usual, Captain?” She asks, fixing him with a piercing look over the top of her spectacles. Every time she does so, Killian finds himself grateful that it’s only Ruby who’s susceptible to the full moon; he wouldn’t want to meet Granny in wolf form, not one bit.

“Yes, please.” It’s nice, having established himself so firmly in this town as to have a usual order at the local diner - a grilled cheese and onion rings for Emma, a BLT and fries for himself (mostly so Emma can steal them - she likes having options), and a bowl of macaroni and cheese for the little lass. Today warrants a little something extra though, he thinks. “And a generous slice of that marvelous chocolate cake as well, if you don’t mind.”

Granny snorts a laugh as she finishes writing out their order on the ticket, sliding it through the order up window so the cook can get started on their order. “So today’s the day, then?”

Killian stiffens at the words. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re talking about.”

Granny rolls her eyes at that. “Sure you don’t. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Captain, but you’re a terrible liar. Unlike your girlfriend,” she makes sure to emphasize the title, “you only get dessert on very special occasions. Do you have something to celebrate today, Hook?”

His cheeks are noticeably burning red, but Killian still keeps his silence.

“Suit yourself,” Granny shrugs, mercifully taking pity on him. “Now hand over the little angel, she’s got to pick out the noodles.” It’s always Charlie’s favorite part, and despite the older woman’s teasing earlier, Killian feels a rush of affection at the gesture.

“I do it,” Charlie pipes in. She’s got that determined set to her eyebrows - just like her mama’s, really - and is already scooting to the edge of the stool to try and get herself down.

“Oh no you don’t,” Granny replies, much to Killian’s relief. Let her be the bad guy here, not that Charlie will put up the same fuss with the Widow Lucas as she would at home. “If you’re going to go in the kitchen and pick your noodles, you’ve got to let me carry you, little missy.”

Charlie doesn’t look happy about it, but the promise of fun shapes wins out apparently as she holds up her arms and willingly lets the older woman pick her up. As soon as the bow ties and corkscrews and whatever other kinds of pasta are in sight, she’ll doubtless forget any frustration about not being allowed on her own two feet.

Killian is so busy watching his Bean as she’s carried away that he doesn’t even notice Ruby coming to lean herself across the counter from him, sporting a grin so wide it might better be described as bared teeth.

“So, you got a plan?” she quips. Damned wolves and their damned hearing.

“There’s no plan,” he all but growls back. Killian generally loves Storybrooke and its close-knit feeling, is happy to be raising his family here, but those close ties also often mean that everyone is sticking their nose into everyone else’s business. Can’t a man keep any bloody thing to himself?

“Oh, that’s no good,” Ruby replies. Obviously, she hadn’t picked up on the hint to drop it that his tone had carried. “Women like when there’s a plan, you know, you really shouldn’t ask her —”

“Maybe my plans are none of your damn business!” Killian bursts out, only the memory that this is the middle of the lunch rush keeping him from shouting the words in Ruby’s face.

It doesn’t faze Ruby, however. “Oh, so that means you do have a plan,” Ruby replies smugly, crossing her arms across her chest. Somehow, the smile stretches even wider. Killian just glares back. “Alright, keep your secrets,” she finally concedes, hands raising in surrender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I’ll let you know if I need it,” he growls out. Granny walks back through the door with Charlotte at that moment, blessedly distracting Ruby. Killian takes the chance to check his mobile telephone (he long since knows that it’s a cell phone, or just a phone, but it still makes Emma laugh to hear him act confused about the devices); happily, there’s a message waiting from his Swan.

E: Are you and Bean still coming by the station with lunch, or should I meet you at Granny’s?

K: We’ll be there soon, love - just picking up the order now. We’ve a surprise for you.

In only a few more minutes, their order is ready to go; except for cooking noodles, everything else in their meal is pretty quick. With Charlie already swinging his hand back and forth, he gratefully accepts the bag Granny offers onto his hook; one of the few things that have changed in the timeless diner since his arrival after the First Curse is that paper bags with handles are kept around especially with Killian in mind so that his only hand can be left free. Now that he has their lunch in hand, the nerves suddenly make themselves known in a way that they hadn’t previously. On the surface, this is just another lunch, but Killian knows very well that this is a lunch that could change everything.

Some of those nerves must show as he exits the diner and nearly runs into Robin.

“There’s my favorite Jones!” the other man crows as Charlie happily latches onto his legs in a hug, tweaking her little ponytail. Turning his attention to Killian, though, Robin is less complimentary. “Are you alright, mate?”

“Fine, just a little stressed,” Killian replies shortly.

Robin nods knowingly, and Killian thinks he might be about to let it go. Until the thief speaks, that is. “Ah. So today’s the day then?”

“Does everyone in the bloody town know?” Killian demands, rolling his eyes in a move Emma would swear he’d picked up from her (she’s not entirely wrong). If not for the heavy bag on his hook, he’d probably have thrown up his hands dramatically as well, but he doesn’t think the onion rings would respond well to such treatment.

“Well, we’ve been expecting this for a while,” Robin explains. “How old is the little lass?”

“Twenty months.”

“Right, so a few months before that. We’ll call it an even two years - that’s how long we’ve been waiting for you to make a move. Though I will say, it doesn’t help that one of the dwarves owns the jewelry shop.”

“Of bloody course,” Killian mutters, mostly to himself. Gossips, the whole lot of them.

Inexplicably, Robin still smiles and leans around the cute little leech still suctioned to his legs to clap Killian on the shoulders. “Look, you don’t need to worry. It’ll all be alright.”

“Easy for you to say,” Killian mutters back. Robin’s living some kind of idyllic life, with a wife and children and a seemingly endless supply of confidence. Killian has been around a little too long to maintain that type of optimism.

Robin shrugs. “Maybe. Still, you and Emma are one of the most solid couples I know, even without throwing True Love into the mix. I think, deep down, that you’re just as confident nothing can shake that. Have a little faith, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Killian replies, smiling weakly. It’s the best he can manage at the moment, when his stomach is trying to tie itself into an intricate series of sailor’s knots.

“Good luck, mate.” With a final squeeze of the shoulder, Robin starts trying to peel Charlie off his legs. “Feel free to send Henry over tonight if need be. Charlie too, of course, Vera would love to see her.”

“I’ve already set up for the lass to spend the night with Nemo and Liam, but thanks for the offer, mate. We’ll have to arrange for the girls to have a play date in the coming week regardless.”

“Indeed. Well, again, good luck, and let us know how it goes!”

The sheriff’s station is conveniently only two blocks away, making for an easy trek that even his daughter’s little legs can handle. Another decided plus of going to Granny’s; they’re close enough to their ultimate destination that he generally can just let her walk instead of trying to juggle carrying both their lunches and his toddler at the same time. Today, though, they stop at a bench a block away from the entrance of the station, where Emma can’t yet see them. Tugging on Charlie’s hand to make sure she stops, he carefully rests their lunch bag on the bench before extricating his own hand from her tiny grip to reach into his jacket pocket for the little velvet box.

The ring box.

Robin is right, in a way - this has been a long time coming. But in all the emotional upheaval of his return from the Underworld and their daughter’s impending arrival, marriage hadn’t taken priority. They already knew they were true love, about to raise a teenager and an infant together and committed in every way that counts; a wedding was just a legal formality at that juncture. Some might have argued that Emma’s pregnancy with Charlotte was a compelling reason to get married, but Killian actually found it more of a reason not to. He loved her - loves her - and has always seen marriage in their future, but vainly, he doesn’t ever want it to seem like they got married because of their impending child. After Charlie was born, they’d been so busy and exhausted and consumed with just making it day to day with two kids, one of them a baby. A wedding hadn’t been logistically possible at that point, at least not the way they or her family would want to celebrate it. No, as much as they love each other, waiting had been the right decision.

Now, though… now, there’s no longer any reason to wait. Now too, Killian finds himself yearning for that kind of commitment, to pledge themselves before all and sundry and cement things in a way he has trouble describing. Consciously, he knows that nothing will change with a white dress and a signed paper and a pair of rings, but that doesn’t stop him from dreaming. Emma and he had talked about marriage together before and established that it was something they both want in the future; now that things are finally starting to calm down and settle back into a routine in their lives, it finally seems that the moment is here.

(There’s the point, too, that they’re starting to talk about another baby, and Killian knows that if they welcome another child, they’ll be thrown right back into that cycle of happy exhaustion and put off getting married for another several years. On the less romantic side, it’s better to stage a wedding now, when they both have the time to commit to it.)

Charlotte is obviously confused by this unexpected pause in their path, a deviance from the usual routine. “Mama now,” she tells him - not the question another child might ask, but something more akin to a reminder, like her father might have forgotten that they have an appointment to keep. It’s just another manifestation of that meticulousness that he finds so adorable - the way she likes to know the plan and stick with it.

“In a moment, sweetheart, we’re just stopping here for a minute,” he assures her before producing the little ring box. “You see this, little love?” Charlie nods solemnly, reaching out a little hand to stroke along the soft green velvet. “This is a very special gift I’m going to give to Mama. Now, do you think you can keep it safe for me until it’s time to give it to her?” With any other child, it’d be an insane idea, but he knows his daughter.

And his daughter is meticulous.

(Besides, they’re only a block away; he’ll keep an eye out, but doesn’t anticipate any problems. She’s a careful little thing, after all.)

Charlie’s nodding eagerly anyways, a precious smile running across her face at the prospect of helping with the surprise. “Yeah! I do it!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he praises, pressing a quick kiss to the soft hair on the top of her head. Quickly, he unzips her little parka to get at the miniature leather jacket she wears underneath, so much like Emma’s and his own, to tuck the box into the pocket where it will hopefully be more secure. Hats and gloves and all matter of outerwear get shoved into the pockets of her winter coat, creating so many opportunities for the ring to be disturbed;  hopefully there will be less chance of that happening inside.

After resecuring all her layers, they continue their trek to the station, and walk through the front door only minutes later. Emma is alone in the office today, something of a rarity. Though David may have stepped down in order to pursue life as a farmer, returning to his sheep and to rule the United Realms alongside Snow, only helping at the station when absolutely necessary, the sheriff’s department has acquired several new deputies in the meantime, in order to deal with the increase in population.

Mulan had been the first person Emma had approached after her father had made his intention to leave known. The warrior had been a natural choice for her impressive skill set and level-headedness, and it had worked out well that the woman in question was a bit at ends after Ruby had left for Oz and a life with Dorothy. A deputy position granted her purpose and some sense of roots, and she’s flourished here, becoming Emma’s trusted right hand.

Dorothy had been an easy choice too, though she’s less available, forced to split her time between Storybrooke and tamping down trouble in Oz. The principality of Munchkinland supposedly operates as a democracy, one in which Ms. Gale holds no elected position, yet somehow she’s still the only one who can settle the frequent disputes that erupt between different factions. Killian would swear that it’s an entire population of dwarves, some distant cousins of Leroy and Doc and all the rest with all the trouble they manage to kick up.

Emma’s last deputy, Fitz, had been more of an unexpected addition - a former army colonel who had arrived with the other migrants from the Land of Untold Stories, looking for some kind of new purpose and to escape the long shadow cast by his cousin. Killian had been suspicious of the other man at first, but he’s more than proved his worth in the past two years, especially in aiding with the defeat of the Dark One by protecting Belle. It helps that the other man is one of the most amiable, easy going people Killian knows, armed with an easy smile and a self-deprecating sense of humor. Killian had worried that the former colonel might bristle as having to play deputy after so long as a leader in his own right, especially as a man from another time and society now under the command of a woman, but truthfully, Fitz just seems delighted to be surrounded by three strong women bossing him around. Now, Killian counts the other man as a friend, one of his regular drinking buddies alongside David and Robin.

Today, however, he knows that Emma is alone at the station - Killian had made sure to check the schedule last week and seen that Dorothy is off, Mulan is tackling a self-defense presentation at the elementary school, and Fitz is handling patrol. If all goes well, he can have an uninterrupted afternoon with Emma and their little lass.

Emma looks up at the sound of their footsteps, and immediately breaks into a wide smile when she realizes who’s there to see her. “Hey, you,” she greets, the affection obvious in her voice. How far she’s come from the skittish, closed off woman Killian had met in the wasteland that’s left of the Enchanted Forest; how far they’ve both come, really. Killian certainly wasn’t anything like the caring family man and loyal friend that he’s become back at the beginning.

“Hello yourself, love,” he smiles back, bending to kiss her. “Are you having a good day so far?”

“Eh. You know. Hit or miss,” Emma replies, simultaneously bending to hoist Charlie into a hug. As excited as their little girl had been to see her mother when he had picked her up from the Charmings’ an hour ago, now she’s more anxious to wiggle her way back down to the floor and run over to the bottom drawer of the file cabinet where they keep a handful of toys for her. “What am I, chopped liver?” Emma mutters. Even if she’s rolling her eyes, there’s still a smile on her face. They do manage to find a bit of humor in the frequent caprices. “Anyways, yeah, it was fine. Mostly dealing with paperwork, really. Leroy and one of the Vikings had a little bit of a spat early that I had to go referee, but that’s kind of just Tuesday. Not a big deal. You?”

“Uneventful so far.” Hopefully not for long, since he’s showed up with a ring and a question. “I finished with the docking fees this morning, then turned the office over to Mr. Smee for the afternoon and went to pick up the Bean.” While Killian serves as an additional standby deputy in the Sheriff’s station if need be, much like David and Robin, he’s actually found employment as the town’s harbormaster. It’s not always the most interesting job - mostly, he manages the monthly docking fees, though his position also involves inspecting the occasional imports from other realms and monitoring the office radio in case anyone gets into trouble or runs out of gas on the water - but it’s steady and dependable and lets him feel like he’s doing something productive, maybe even something good. The hours are a plus, too, as is continuing to be the boss. Killian still doesn’t take orders well from anyone but Emma.

“Is that lunch I see?” Emma asks, almost demands, zeroing in on the bag still hanging on his hook.

“It is indeed,” he replies, setting the sack on her desk. “Your favorite - grilled cheese and onion rings.”

“God, I love you,” she declares, leaning up for another kiss with a happy smile on her face.

And all of a sudden, the moment is here. It’s as good a lead-in as any. “Well, I’m very glad to hear that, love.” Gods above, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous - not before that first date, not when he was standing in front of her door in New York. Maybe when their daughter was born, but that’s a slim thing. “Charlie, sweetheart, can you bring me that gift for Mama?”

“That’s right, I get a present!” Emma teases. That doesn’t last long though, her laughing tone giving way to a gasp as Charlotte rounds the corner of Mulan’s desk, her parka already shed and wrestling the ring box out of her little pocket. “Is that…”

“Aye, love.” Killian runs his hand along Charlie’s hair as she reaches him before plucking the box from her hands. “Good job, little love,” he murmurs with a smile. Now is the moment though, so he turns back to Emma and sinks to one knee as he props the little box open. Nestled inside is a ring that he thinks is perfect for her - somehow both sturdy and delicate at the same time, with a white gold band and two smaller round diamonds flanking a larger oval-cut diamond, a medium size that stands out without being ostentatious. He’d seen it in the window of the jeweler’s and just known it belonged on his love’s finger. Some things are simple like that; falling in love with Emma had been.

“It’s been a long, winding road to get here, my love, but I wouldn’t want to walk it with anyone else,” he begins. Hopefully the tears starting to glimmer in her eyes are a good sign. The soft smile on her face and the happy crinkles around her eyes certainly suggest so. “When we met, I couldn’t think of anything but my own revenge - but you made me want to be better. You still make me want to be a better man, for you, for Charlie, for Henry, every day. You’ve given me the most precious gifts of my life in your love and our children, and no matter what the future might hold, I just want to face it together. I may not be a perfect man, but I can promise you this: I will always, always be by your side.” Killian takes a final deep breath - it’s the moment of truth, so to speak. “So, Emma Swan, woman of my dreams and love of my life… will you marry me?”

It feels like he waits for her response for an entire lifetime - no, a whole eternity, even if it must only be seconds. But then her smile widens and Emma sinks to her knees, bypassing the ring in his hand completely to grasp his face between her hands and stroke along his cheeks with her thumbs as her delicate fingers curl around his neck, behind his ears and into his hair. “Yes,” she breathes, tears slipping from her eyes as she nods. If there was ever a moment the word emphatic was created to describe, this is it. “Yes. Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, my pirate.”

They really probably should worry about the ring in the box - namely, slipping it on her finger where he hopes it’ll never move again - but that seems like such a secondary concern when Emma’s kissing him for all he’s worth. Somehow he finds both his arms wrapping around her back to pull her closer, his hand still clutching the little green velvet box as Emma’s tongue slips into his mouth. Kissing his fiancée doesn’t feel wildly different from kissing his girlfriend yet, but he’s sure that given the chance to say that word a few more times - fiancée! - he’ll change his mind. For now, he’s more concerned about lips and tongues and the positioning of noses and the way Emma’s lovely breasts press just perfectly against his chest.

“Yes,” she tells him again as they break apart, and one more time as he finally works the diamond ring past the knuckle of her fourth finger. It’s nearly a perfect fit; just a small spark of magic is required to tighten the band to her exact specifications. It seems fitting for their relationship, somehow, which has been infused with the magic of Saviors and True Love since the very beginning.

Charlie choses that moment, of course, to tire of searching through her toy drawer and wander back over to see what her parents are up to. “Mama sad?” She asks, his clever girl noticing the tears still glistening in Emma’s eyes (and probably his own too, if he’s being very honest).

“No, baby, happy,” Emma laughs. “Mama is just very, very happy, and it’s spilling all over the place.” Killian understands that perfectly; he’s so happy, he feels like he’s overflowing with it.

There are worse complaints to have.

Soon, they’ll have to turn their attention to all kinds of wedding planning and spreading the news to their friends and family, but he’s happy for the moment to instead focus on having a nice lunch with his daughter and fiancée at the former’s urging (“Eat now?”). Both his girls are very excited about the chocolate cake, and the sooner they finish their entrees, the sooner they can dig into dessert.

After all, Granny was right; they’ve got a lot to celebrate today.

[oh-theatre]

Sycamore High: Sunshine (Chapter 28)

A/N: two chapters in one day?? Yes. Also, this sucks, it does :) They're legit sophomores and are too dramatic so 🤷🏽‍♀️Anyway! There's a little bit of every one! 

summary: Everyones getting ready for the weekend rehearsals

words: 3,348

warnings: swearing, kissing, dog, death mention

Ao3 Link

“Good morning father” Bill greeted trudging into the kitchen. Corey nodded moving aside as Bill grabbed a cup and plate for the shelf. He grabbed some toast adding them to the toaster, while they did that he poured himself some coffee drinking it plain.. He sighed feeling overwhelmed, he grabbed his food setting himself at the table, soon joined by Corey.

“Are you alright Bill?” His father asked opening the newspaper, Bill tilted his head “I only ask because you came home without a word, you seem to be...tired and you seem less than excited to go to rehearsal this morning” He explained, Bill pursed his lips, his father was good.

“It's nothing” he shook his head, waving the conversation away but Corey wasn't finished. He folded his paper, facing Bill completely now. “Yes?” Bill asked sipping his coffee.

“Bill, I know you, what's wrong?” Corey tried again, Bill huffed setting down his coffee and toast. Corey raised his eyebrows awaiting his son to answer him. And so Bill did, he told him about everything that had happened in the past few months. His outburst, the funeral, the fight with Ted, the adoption and his anxiety. Once he started Bill had no control, everything spilled out of him, flooding Corey with information. Once he finished, he heaved sighing, it was a lot but it felt like a giant weight that had been pressing on his chest for the past few months had lifted. “Bill…” Corey started, Bill wouldn't meet his eyes, He took a deep breath starting carefully.“Let's go slowly ok? One by one” He declared, Bill looked up nodding slowly”

“Ted didn't tell me about...the adoption” Bill said, he wanted to fix this. He was so tired of the back and forth with Ted, he just wanted to wake up knowing that his friendship wasn't so fragile it might break. “I get not wanting to tell me about everything else, but adoption? Out of everything, everyone, I should...he should...dad” He searched helplessly.

“Breath bud” he advised, so Bill did. “Bill, I love you very much, and I understand why you're upset. But think about it, imagine how Ted must feel right now. You of all people should know how he feels, he lost his mother.” Bill cursed himself, hypocrite. “You've been through that, you know how it feels, and Ted was there for you. He's always been there, I know you're upset, you're allowed to be, but don't turn your back on him. He needs you, and can you blame him? You're pretty great” Corey finished smiling, Bill let out a shaky laugh. He pulled away his hand wiping his eyes. “So you'll talk to him?”

“I'll talk to him” Bill affirmed because his father was right. He usually was. And so they continued.

~~~

“Charlotte! Breakfast love!” Charlotte perked up grabbing her bag, putting the finishing touches on her hair before bouncing downstairs. Skipping every other step until she reached the bottom triumphant. Her father greeted her with a loving kiss on her forehead before excusing himself for work. She waved him off before sitting down in the dining room. She observed the room she had been in so many times, it was bright. The windows surrounding the table were covered by light curtains allowing some light to flow in. The room always smelled of something sweet. Charlotte and her mother would bake on the baking station. The room was cozy having to arches leading to different places. One let to the main hallways where the office and guest bathroom were. The other led to the kitchen, living room, front door, and the stairs. It was perfect, a beautiful routine that Charlotte loved.

“Fresh scones!” Her mother announced waltzing into the room carrying a hot tray, Charlotte smiled wasting no time grabbing one as they landed on the table, Her mother smiled at her, removing her oven mitts. She sat down, Charlotte giggled, her hair was in a very messy bun and her apron was barely visible through all the flour. “Alright, I'm going to drive you down to school for rehearsal, do you want me to pick up anything at the store while I'm out today?” Charlotte stared, her mouth full of scones. She swallowed.

“I don't think so! But any new baking things are always fun” She chirped, her mother nodded using the end of apron to wipe some crumbs off of Charlotte's face. “Thanks!” Her mother giggled, from an outsiders point of view there was not doubt these two were related. From the hair to the eyes, the smile, and especially their mannerisms. They were the bounciest, sweetest, most excitable people. The only difference was the age and the name. Charlotte and Olivia might be the happiest people on earth.

“Everything going ok?” Olivia asked, her tone remained gentle but still concerned. Charlotte finished her food pondering. She appreciated this, her mother made sure to ask her at least three times a day. It allowed Charlotte to be sure of her feelings, so if they changed throughout the day her mother would know.

“I think so!” Charlotte responded honestly, she had weird moments and she still wasn't sure what to do about Sam and Emma, but she was...ok? “I don't know, things feel weird ever since we switched schools” She explained.  “And everyone seems to be going through something, everything feels so...serious.” She hated this feeling… her mother nodded encouraging her to continue “I don't know, I just wish I could fix things, go back to the better parts and look towards the nicer future” She finished, satisfied with her answer.

“That's ok, I know it seems like its the end all, be all, but its high school.” Charlotte giggled her mom was right. “Keep me updated Char ok?” Charlotte nodded, sighing happily.

~~~

“I'm getting the flowers today, anything else you want to bring her?” Grace, Emma's mother, asked popping her head into the room. Emma sat at her desk playing around with her computer passing the time. She turned thinking.

“I don't think so” She responded, Grace, nodded approaching. She eyed the computer, Emma continued “Just waiting for Paul, he should be here in like..” She checked the time “Thirty minutes” Grace nodded, rubbing her neck.

“I like Paul, he seems sweet” Grace admitted, Emma smirked. “Hey, are you sure you want to go to school on Monday? You don't have to, you can stay home, we can hang out, then visit her when your father gets home” Grace offered, Emma loved the sound of that. Hanging out with her mom all day? Cuddled on the couch eating snacks, watching Janes favorite movies. Visiting her grave in the sweet evening, having a nice dinner. But she shook her, she had to go to school or it would drive her insane.

“I'm sure, that sounds really nice, maybe we can do that when I get home?” She asked, Grace, smiled. She moved a hair out of Emma's face, kissing her forehead softly.

“Whatever you want sunshine,” She said. Emma laughed softly, sunshine. She hadn't been called that since before Jane passed away. Jane, who was born at night, was called moonlight. Emma had been an early bird, so sunshine. It was quite ironic seeing as it was cheesy, and Emma was not a sunny person. In fact, her sister was more suited to it. She laughed, recalling all the nicknames her mother gave the girls over the years. “Alright well, let me know when you're leaving,” Grace said, Emma nodded, Grace gave her one more look before making her way out of the room closing the door behind her. Emma bit her lip, something felt off. She remembered her sister, but it wasn't sad, it was just...familiar.

“Boys are stupid” Emma declared pouting, “All of them”

“All of them?” Jane asked “I don't think they are, I think one day, you'll find one that isn't too stupid” She informed “Maybe a prince-” Emma made a gagging face “Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll be nerdy, or sporty, or maybe he will be a she” Jane said, Emma nodded listening.  “Either way, I promise they won't all be stupid.”

And they weren't. She waved through her window to Paul who was early.  

~~~

“Gonna be late, Gonna be late, Gonn- Umph” Paul collided with another figure recognizing his sister immediately by her tired grumbling. “Sorry” He mumbled, he wasn't but he didn't feel like fighting. He looked up seeing her not face him. Her eyes were puffy, she was hunched over and made no effort to snipe back. “You ok?” She shuffled her feet. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah whatever,” She said pushing past him, slamming her door as she entered her room. He sighed, collecting his things once more and making his way downstairs. He strode into the kitchen greeted by the smell of eggs and coffee wafting in. His mom stood to put the final garments on the food, she turned perking up.

“Morning kiddo!” She greeted, he waved awkwardly, grabbing a plate sitting at the counter. “Excited for rehearsal today? Oh, I'm so excited to see it! Hey! You know what we should do? Invite over the cast, or just some of your friends and have a big ole party!” She exclaimed, Paul groaned softly. It wasn't directed at Marley, he was just tired, “Oh hows Ted! I haven't seen him in forever, you never bring him around anymore” She whined, Pauls's face fell as he stuffed more food into his mouth “Poor kiddo, I sure do miss him. How's he doing, with everything?” Paul scoffed, just soft enough for his mom to not hear.

“Why would I know?” Paul said curtly, Marley took notice. She leaned through the kitchen towards the counter.

“Everything ok?” Marley cautioned, her voice soft “You and Ted doing alright?

“No, and I don't care,” He said “Because he clearly doesn't” Now it was Marley's turn to scoff. Paul looked up at his mom. “What? It's true, he doesn't tell us anything-”

“Kiddo, I love you but that might be the dumbest thing you've ever said,” She said taking his plate going to clean it. “Ted has been your best friend, for who knows how long. He cares, trusts me. Look I don't know what's going on with you and him, but I hope you aren't taking this out on him because he doesn't need that right now.” Paul felt a wave of guilt flood him. She checked the time “You should head out, don't wanna be late” She commented, Paul pushed the thoughts out of his mind and nodded. He went up to his mom, kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, Mom,” He says, she nods smiling sweetly.

“Always” She hoped that was true, god forbid Paul has to go through what Ted is.

~~~

“Too early” Ted groaned as Chad pushed opened the curtains allowing light to flood the room. He sat up yawning rubbing his crusty eyes. Chad stood at the end of his bed, fully dressed, smiling wide. “You're too happy, it's like 3 am, you shouldn't be this happy” Ted complained, the door opened once more, Henry walked in holding a cup of coffee and his newspaper.

“You'll get used to it,” Henry said, not looking up from his paper. Ted grabbed his pillow stuffing his face in it. “Yeah, I feel that,” Henry said, he kisses Chad on the cheek before leaving the cup on Ted's nightstand. “For your troubles” He joked. He ruffled Ted's hair through the pillow before leaving, Chad remained.

“Whaaaaat?” Ted said lifting his head. Chad snickers pulling the remaining sheets off of Ted.

“Up and at em turbo,” Chad said, Ted moaned falling on his bed. “Nope!” Chad said lifting him up, making sure he sat straight. He handed him the coffee, though he disapproved, Ted only drank it occasionally. “Here, this will help” Ted took it mocking a thank you. He followed Chad into the kitchen, Henry sat at the table.

“See? You'll get used to it” Henry commented, instinctively Ted nodded, making his way over to Henry giving a hug. Henry thought nothing of it. “Excited for rehearsal?” He asked Ted, laughed dryly sitting next to him.

“Where all my friends hate me?” Ted asked, perking up “Oh yeah! I'm ecstatic” he faked. Henry chuckled, he might not be his biological son but this kid was pure Henry. Ted groaned placing his head on the table, “I don't think I can do anything ever again” He muttered through the table, Henry nodded.

“You'll do great kiddo,” Chad said placing breakfast in front of him. He ruffled his hair placing a kiss on his forehead, routine, it felt right. “Plus, you've got me! Who needs friends” He joked, Ted muffled another moan. The professors laughed. “I'm sure they don't hate you, maybe strongly dislike” He teased, ted rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, dads, you guys are great at this” It just slipped out, he didn't not want it to happen but he didn't know why. The table froze, Henry looked up, Ted swore he could see the ice forming over Chad. “This isn't awkward at all” He mutters.

~~~

Tommy awoke quickly to the annoying ring of his alarm. He sighed adjusting to the dimly lit room. He felt his heart sink, feeling more alone than ever he quickly opened his curtains. He spotted a picture on his desk, he picked it up smiling sadly. The picture was taken a few years back, it was of his family. Tommy's parents who stood on either side of the outside, Tommy stood to the right-middle by his mother. Next to Tommy was his sister, Erica. She stood by his father, they all looked so happy. He missed her, she was half-way across the world. Studying and learning new cultures, she rarely had time to talk to Tommy. A small shuffle brought Tommy back to the real world, he smiled as a tired Bonnie circled his feet. She yipped quietly, he picked her up, setting down the photo.

“Morning Bonnie” He greeted rubbing her fluffy fur. She licked his face, her eyes were full of concern. She knew Tommy too well. He heard his phone vibrate in its charger on the nightstand, he released Bonnie onto the bed and sat on it. She made her way into his lap, nuzzling carefully. He petted her while grabbing his phone.

Dearest

Ted: Hey, sorry for never coming back last night. I fell asleep. Also, thank you for your advice… I think I'm going to say yes.

The message wasn't finished but Tommy felt his heart flutter.

Ted: Anyway, I'll see you at rehearsal, want me to pick anything up for you? Drink/food-wise?

Tommy: Surprise me. And I'm glad, you can tell me more when I see you ok?

Ted: You got it :). Love you gumdrop

There was that flutter, all his thoughts disappeared. He pressed the phone against his chest feeling his heartbeat.

Tommy: I love you too, dearest!

And he did. He pocketed the phone packing up his things for today. He made his way downstairs with Bonnie following behind. He suddenly had an idea and quickly texted Ted.

Tommy: Weird request but could you ask if I could bring Bonnie today?

Ted: Just asked, he said yes, as long as she doesn't become a ‘distraction’. Not that she ever is

Maybe today wouldn't be too bad.

~~~

“Bonnie!” Ted shouted seeing the white fluffball jump out of Tommy's arm and race down the hall towards him. Chad and Henry chuckled behind him, he scooped up the dog instantly being smothered in kisses. Though he had only met the dog a few times, he loved her. The first time he dropped Tommy off the dog came bouncing out and wouldn't stop unless Ted stayed. He had always wished to have a dog of his own and was definitely going to hint at it. Bonnie buzzed excitedly in his arms, he cuddled her burying his face in her fur. Tommy finally caught up meeting Ted in the middle. “Hi” He greeted, Tommy smiled, petting Bonnie softly.

“Hi!” He leaned in kissing Ted softly, who kissed him back. Tommy looked up to see Chad and Henry approaching he smiled “Thanks for letting me bring Bonnie professors! She was really lonely at home” Chad went to speak but Tommy was faster “I brought her things, and her kennel, she's extremely well behaved, won't be any trouble and she will only be out for people not onstage” He added, Chad nodded approvingly.

“Nicely done” Ted whispered, Tommy giggled. Chad and Henry began making their way towards the theatre. Tommy and Ted, who was still holding Bonnie, followed leaving space between the two couples. Tommy walked silently, zoning out while he examined his surroundings. Ted noticed and nudged him slightly “You ok?” He asked gazing at him.

“Hmm?” He hummed, he perked up grounding himself  “Better now,” He said smiling at Ted, who although appreciated the sentiment was worried. He frowned much to Tommy's annoyance. “I just...I miss my parents. They’re never home, and it sucks waking up alone, going home alone.” he glanced at Bonnie who had calmed down now and was staring affectionately between Ted and Tommy. “That's part of the reason I wanted to bring Bonnie” He admitted “I just wanted her to be here”  Ted sighed, he hated seeing Tommy so sad. He placed a quick peck on his cheek.

“I'm sorry your parents aren't home,” Ted said, Tommy nodded just listening “I wish I could help…” He trailed off, Tommy exhaled sharply.

“Ted you do help! I'm not alone at school, and when you text me. This is just something I have to deal with it, but you're doing everything and more” Tommy said, genuinely smiling. That was something the pair could just tell at this point. They knew each other so well, they could read even the smallest of signs, they knew when they were being genuine. Makes a game of BS hard to play.

“Ok, well I still feel bad” He mumbled scratching Bonnie. She smiled delightfully, she loved Ted. “But, you're here now, and for almost twenty-four hours this weekend! And you get to spend them with me..” He lifted Bonnie, a little, Tommy chuckled “And Bonnie. And we love you a lot” He said, Tommy smiled wide. He had a feeling he would be doing that a lot this week.

“I love you too” Bonnie barked softly at Tommy, he scratched her ears “Yes I love you too” he cooed. They continued walking reaching the theatre, preparing for twenty-four hours of ‘Something Rotten’, he looked over at Ted, and of him. His smile grew.  

~~~

“Is that a mother forking dog?!” Emma squealed as the group entered the theatre. Paul looked up and sure enough, it was. Ted and Tommy were sitting in front of the stage playing with a fluffy white dog. Chad and Henry watched from afar, having their own conversation. Tommy said something to the dog, making it bounce more, Ted laughed causing the dog to race over to him. Paul struggles against a smile. Emma started to pull away from Paul’s hand.

“Wha.. what are you doing?” He whined pouting

“Sorry babe, I know you’re mad but dog beats everything” she shrugged removing her hand from Paul instead taking Charlottes who approached from behind.

“I’m more of a cat person! But dogs are great!” Charlotte giggled “I don’t even know what you’re fighting about,” she said waving them farewell. Emma dragged her towards Ted and Tommy who happily greeted the pair, introducing them to the dog. Paul felt some air brush past him, he noticed Bill.

“Where are you going?” He asks, Bill turns to face him then gestures back towards Ted and Tommy. Paul furrows his brows.

“I'm going to go apologize,” Bill says “Then I'm going to meet the dog” He smiles before nodding and turning back towards the group. Paul felt his stomach knot watching the group. He realized something as he watched the five of them laughing, getting along and just being. I was wrong.

[whitebear-ofthe-watertribe]

That Which Holds Us - Chapter 9

Pairing(s): Adrien / Marinette, Nino / Alya

Summary: It has been several months since Ladybug and Chat Noir discovered their true identities. Now that they are not trapped by secrets, they can finally be their full selves around each other and have never been closer. Marinette is going into her final year at university, Adrien is exploring new classes and passions, and their friends Alya and Nino seem to be moving towards a happy future together. It all feels like things could not be better.

But of course, nothing in life is quite so perfect.

When Adrien starts having vivid nightmares and visions about his mother, old questions begin to resurface. Will he be able to find the answers, or will these ghosts from the past tear apart the heroes of Paris for good?

Reminder, you can also read / follow this fic at AO3 here, and FF.net here.

Previous Chapters

Chapter Word Count: 5,531

Enjoy!!!

The wind whipped through Ladybug’s hair as she sped across the city. Her eyes stung from the tears that threatened to fall, but she determinedly held them at bay. The box that held Plagg and the Black Cat Miraculous was clutched tightly in her hand. She’d tried to call Adrien multiple times before transforming, but her phone had remained as silent as it had been all evening.

The anxiety that had been eating away at her was now threatening to evolve into a full-blown panic attack.

Her journey to Adrien and Nino’s apartment wasn’t long by yo-yo, and within minutes she was clambering into Adrien’s window, shouting his name.

“Adrien? Adrien!” she called, but his bedroom was empty, and the lights were dark.

Striding across the room, she pulled the door open and made her way into the living room, her shouts becoming more frantic. 

“Adrien are you here?! ADRIEN!”

“Ladybug?” a startled voice said from behind her.

Spinning around, she found Nino standing in the doorway of his own room, clad in a t-shirt and boxers.

“Nino!” she gasped, her heart pounding. But if there was a time to throw caution to the wind, this must surely be it. 

Stepping forward she grabbed Nino’s shoulders. 

“Where’s Adrien? Have you seen him?”

Nino seemed to shake his surprise off quickly.

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning with worry. “I haven’t seen him since he left for work this morning. I assumed he must be staying at the office late…”

Ladybug stepped away from him, and began pacing back and forth, running her fingers through her hair in growing panic.

“What’s going on?” Nino demanded. “Is Adrien missing? Ladybug, what is happening?”

She shook her head, the tears now spilling freely down her mask. 

“I don’t… I can’t…”

Her lungs felt constricted.

Nino glanced at the kitchen clock, which displayed that it was nearly two twenty. Looking back at her, the box in her hand finally caught his eye.

“Wait… Ladybug, is that –”

“Nino this is very important,” she cut him off, halting her pacing to stand in front of him again. “If you hear from Adrien or find anything else out about where he is, please let Marinette know immediately.”

If Nino was surprised at her implication that Marinette could somehow get ahold of her, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded, pulling out his phone and calling up Alya’s number.

Turning towards the balcony door to leave, she felt Nino’s hand clasp her shoulder. She glanced back to see him hold the phone away from his ear for a moment as he gazed down at her.

“Don’t worry, everything is going to be ok,” he said, offering her a small, encouraging smile. “We’ll find him.”

Ladybug couldn’t bring herself to smile in return. She simply nodded before hurrying back out into the cold night.

It took several long minutes for her to swing her way to the heart of downtown. She stumbled to a stop on the roof across the street from Adrien’s office, grateful for once for the building’s floor-to-ceiling windows. At least it only took her a few brief moments to determine that any of the offices or conference rooms Adrien might have been working in were dark and devoid of people.

With a frustrated shriek, she spun on her heel to pace up and down the rooftop’s walkway, furiously racking her brain to think where on earth he could be. Sucking in a deep lungful of air, she glanced down at Plagg’s Miraculous box.

“I can’t just keep wandering the city with you, can I?” she muttered, thinking of how detrimental it would be if she lost Plagg too.

Making up her mind, she leapt into the air and traversed her way to one of the outer rings of the city.

With the exception of a few red lanterns burning softly in the night, Master Fu’s lights were off. 

Ladybug paid no heed to this, though. Hurrying up the entry stairs to his flat, she banged desperately on the door.

“Master Fu!” she cried. “Master, something’s happened! Master Fu, please wake up!”

It only took a few moments of this before the door was opened to her and Master Fu appeared, wearing his pajamas and looking gravely concerned.

Wayzz floated overhead, his expression matching that of his master’s.

“Come in, quickly,” Master Fu said, standing back a little to let her pass.

Ladybug hurried across the threshold, dropping her transformation and looking around at the familiar room. The kitchen light had been turned on, but otherwise they were in darkness.

He closed the door behind her as Wayzz moved to turn on a few more lights.

“What has happened, Marinette?” Fu asked sharply. Then, seeing the box she held, he froze.

“I can’t find Adrien anywhere,” she breathed, tears running down her cheeks once more. “I found this sitting on my desk with a note from him that just said, ‘I’m sorry.’ I don’t know what to do, Master, what should I do?!”

Master Fu collected the box gently from her hands and led her to sit down at the low table. 

Wayzz and Tikki hovered above them worriedly.

“I knew he was going through a difficult time, but I had no idea he would do something so desperate,” Fu said, his voice somber.

“W-what do you mean? Are you talking about his nightmares?” Marinette asked, looking up at him. “Is something else going on?”

“Has he not told you?” he exclaimed sharply. Then, shaking his head, “That boy… even now he does not know how to rely on others for help when he desperately needs it.”

Settling down across from her, Master Fu pulled out the Miraculous Grimoire and leafed through the pages until he found one particular section. Opening the book fully, he turned it to face her, revealing the likeness of the Peafowl Miraculous and its holder.

“It seems Adrien’s father is in possession of one of our dear friends,” Fu said, pointing at the Miraculous. “And it is very likely that Adrien’s mother was one of its most recent wielders.”

Marinette felt her mouth fall open. Of all the answers she was looking for that night, this was not one she’d expected to find.

“I – I don’t… What do you… How?”

“I myself do not know how to answer that,” he said, standing up again and moving to one of the cabinets in the corner. “But I believe I do know where to find Adrien. Have you spoken to Plagg yet?”

“N-no,” Marinette said, taken aback. “I didn’t know whether I should open the box or not. Isn’t it too dangerous for one person to hold both the Miraculous of Creation and of Destruction?”

“I think, perhaps in this one instance, the only thing for you to do is become the temporary holder of both,” Master Fu said over his shoulder as he rifled through a set of folders.

“Master, is that safe?” Tikki asked, exchanging a look with Marinette.

“I believe it is the safest option we have right now,” he replied, finally turning back with a small stack of papers. “At least until you catch up to Adrien.”

“Where is he?” Marinette said sharply.

Instead of answering her, Master Fu sat down again, placing the papers on the table and reaching out to open the box holding Plagg’s Miraculous.

There was a flash of bright green light and Marinette felt a wave of energy rush past her. Blinking, she saw Plagg hovering above the table.

He looked around at them all before slowly sinking down onto the table, his tiny ears drooping sadly.

“I tried to stop him,” he said, his voice small.

Tikki landed beside him and leaned her head against his. Wayzz joined them and put a comforting hand on Plagg’s shoulder.

“Plagg, where is he?” Marinette repeated her question, her heart aching for the small Kwami. She could hardly imagine the pain of being separated from Tikki.

“He’s gone to see Kunchen. But he thought –” Plagg’s words broke off and he closed his eyes tight for a moment as if he were in pain, before looking up at her. “He decided that it was too dangerous for him to stay Chat Noir while he’s still victim to his own mind.”

Marinette swallowed, her heart pounding. Hearing Plagg finally say it out loud sent fresh waves of pain through her. She looked up at Master Fu. 

��Who is Kunchen?”

“I arranged for him to take a trip to visit someone who might have more answers to offer than I,” Master Fu said. He pushed the papers he’d retrieved over to her. “I’m sure Plagg and Adrien can fill you and Tikki in on our discussion about her when you catch him. I had a feeling, when this all began, that you would need to go with him, so I took the liberty of setting the travel plans up for you as well.”

Looking down for the first time at the papers, Marinette saw her name written across a travel itinerary to Tibet. She gathered them into her hands and, leafing through the documents, saw that everything had been planned out and paid for, from flights to train passes to even lodging.

“Master Fu, I don’t… How can I –”

“Consider it a gift,” he cut across her with a gentle smile. “You have given so much to this city, now let someone give something to you for once, my Lady.”

The familiar term of endearment brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.

“Now hurry, there is not much time,” he said standing. “You must go fetch your passport and pack for travel. If you have clothes for backpacking, that would be most ideal. And pack warmly, the nights especially can be very cold around this time.”

“Wait,” Marinette’s eyebrows drew together in worry. “With both Adrien and I gone, what are we supposed to do if an Akuma attacks? The city will be unprotected.”

“Leave that to me,” Master Fu said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “I think a couple friends of yours are ready to be reunited with their Kwamis.”

Marinette blinked, her frown deepening before she realized what he was talking about. With a smile of her own, she looked down at Plagg and Tikki, then at the silver ring sitting in its box.

“May I…?” she asked Plagg, reaching her hand hesitantly towards it.

“I’d trust no one else,” he said, nodding solemnly.

The ring was cold to the touch as she lifted it out. She slipped it onto her thumb and felt a strange sort of electric current travel over her skin between the ring and her earrings. Holding her hand out to the Kwamis, she sighed.

“I will not use both at the same time,” she said, as they floated onto her palm. “The Black Cat Miraculous belongs with Adrien, and I will keep it safe until I see it back on his hand.”

Master Fu and Wayzz nodded, pleased.

“Now go,” Fu said, ushering her towards the door. “Do what you need to do, just hurry. You don’t have much time.”

She quickly transformed. Clutching the travel papers tightly to her chest, Ladybug gave Master Fu a last grateful nod before hurrying once more into the cold night, Plagg flying swiftly beside her.

Her mind was racing when she landed back inside her own bedroom. Dropping her transformation, Marinette quickly gathered up the backpack Adrien had brought her from America that summer.

With Tikki and Plagg’s help, it didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to gather up clothes and other gear, shoving it unceremoniously into the bag as they thought of it. Tikki at least had the good sense to collect toiletries into a Ziploc. When Plagg finally located her passport in one of her desk drawers, they inserted it into one of the front pockets along with the rest of her papers.

Marinette quickly changed into clothes that were more appropriate for comfortable travel, but as she laced up a pair of warm hiking boots, she caught sight of the garment bags containing the dresses she’d meant to bring back to her studio for the midterm. 

The midterm which she’d all but forgotten about.

“Oh damn!” she exclaimed, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulders. “Tikki, how much time do I have?”

“Not much,” Tikki said worriedly. “If you’re going to risk it, you’d better do it fast!”

Without hesitating for another moment’s thought, Marinette once more transformed. Gathering the bags into her arms, she leapt back out the window and heard Plagg shut it securely behind her. 

It took barely two minutes to arrive back on campus. With grim amusement, she realized that she would’ve been heading back to studio around this time even if the night hadn’t been filled with emotional turmoil.

She took the stairs up to her studio two at a time, only bothering to drop her transformation just as she opened the door and rushed in.

Few people had left in the hours she’d been gone; Meesh and Alec were still hard at work, determinedly ignoring Mathis who was also present.

“Marinette!” Meesh exclaimed in surprise when she caught sight of her. “What’s wrong, why are you dressed like that?”

“Going somewhere?” Mathis asked, frowning as she hurriedly dumped the garment bags onto her desk.

“Something came up,” Marinette said in a rush, turning back to the door. “I’m sorry, I have to leave like, right now. Family emergency.”

“Wait, stop!” Mathis demanded, anger coloring his voice. “You’re just leaving?! Marinette, the midterm is in only a few hours!”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Marinette said, pausing to look back at him, her irritation rising. “But everything is there. You’ll just have to give the presentation on them yourself. It’ll be fine.”

“Are you joking? This is just ridiculous. I’ve tried and tried to be your friend this semester, and this is how you choose to repay me?” he snarled.

“Wow.” Marinette couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped. “Are you seriously telling me that was you trying to be friendly?!”

Mathis’ expression grew darker.

“Without you, the presentation will look half-assed and sloppy,” he spat, standing and storming towards her, the cloak he’d been working on still clutched in his hands. “We are all supposed to present as partners, that is the entire point of the semester. How am I supposed to look when I can’t even control mine enough to be here? I’m not going to let you steal my chances for recognition again, Dupain-Cheng!”

“So then take the credit for yourself!” Marinette snapped. “I don’t care! This doesn’t matter anymore, I’ll take the F if it’s so important to you!”

 “Oh right, you think Charbonneau’s star child being gone won’t affect my grade?! You ruined everything for me once, I don’t care if half your family is dead, you’re not taking this from me!”

“ENOUGH, Mathis!” Marinette shouted. “I don’t have time for your damn psychopathic opinions right now! What on earth is wrong with you? It’s just a midterm!”

A hush had fallen over the studio as everyone turned to stare at their exchange.

“There are more important things going on right now,” Marinette continued, lowering her voice. “I don’t expect you to get it, but you cannot stop me either way.”

She turned to Meesh and Alec, who were both looking on in shock.

“Please tell Madame Charbonneau that I’m sorry to miss the presentation, but I will send her an email soon explaining things in more detail.”

Meesh nodded, her eyes wide with concern. 

“Be safe, Mar-Bear,” she whispered.

Hurrying out the door into the stairwell, Marinette had made it only to the first landing before a biting, pain wrecked her shoulder.

Mathis had seized her arm and was twisting it sharply around her back.

She let out a yelp as he gripped tighter.

“If you take one more step down those stairs,” he hissed in her ear, “I swear I’ll –”

SMACK!

Marinette wrenched her arm from Mathis’ tight grasp as he reeled away from her hand, which had slapped him hard across the face.

He stared at her, his face paling in sharp contrast to the mark on his cheek that was already turning an angry red.

Breathing hard, Marinette glared up at him. She could practically feel the bruises blooming from where he had all but clawed through her jacket.

“Do not… ever… touch me again.”

Readjusting her backpack, she turned to continue down the stairs. She didn’t bother to look back up at him, not caring anymore what he did. The only thing that mattered now was getting to Adrien.

“Now that is a man who deserves to have his face clawed,” Plagg exclaimed into her ear.

“Marinette?” Tikki said softly, emerging from one her pack’s pockets to sit on her shoulder. 

Plagg moved to sit beside her.

“I’m fine, Tikki,” Marinette said dismissively.

“No, you’re not…”

“It doesn’t matter right now. Transforme moi!”

In a flash of light, Ladybug tore out the building’s back door and flung her yo-yo onto the nearest rooftop. The sky was turning grey with the promise of the coming dawn. With renewed determination, she launched herself in the direction of the airport.

*******

Mathis’ cheek stung as he stood frozen in the stairwell, gazing after the bright red flash that had followed Marinette out into the cold early hours of the morning.

His mind was racing. Could it be…? Were the suspicions he’d kept to himself for months finally just confirmed?

Pacing back and forth along the landing, his thoughts spiraled as he fought to hold his rage from moments before right at the surface. With an unbridled roar, he threw his fist at the wall, leaving a crumbling hole in the plaster. 

The pain screaming from the new scrapes along his knuckles brought his anger back with full force.

The tell-tale flutter from behind him was all he needed to finally allow himself a wide grin. He turned to watch the small black butterfly descend from one of the high windows. Reaching out his injured hand, he felt the tingle of dark energy as it gently fluttered around his bloodied fingers, before finally alighting onto the nearly-finished cloak.

This time, he knew what to expect when the creature dissolves and a flood of magic pulsed over him, momentarily stealing his breath away. It spoke of a power that Mathis had been craving ever since his first taste.

“I’ve always thought it would be fun to be Akumatized twice, Monsieur Hawkmoth,” he said with a wry smile.

“Ah, I see we are already acquainted.” 

The voice echoed through his head and reverberated through him like the echo of a deep bell. 

“Yes, well, the emotion that draws me must be freshly induced and all consuming. It seems that many of my former subjects have developed practices in self-control, hoping to not be Akumas again. So rare is it to find someone so… eager as yourself.”

“I doubt you would,” Mathis grinned, feeling the violet waves of energy coursing over his skin. “Though I am certain you have never Akumatized someone who already has everything you need to achieve what you seek.”

“And what do you know of what I’m after?” Hawkmoth’s voice rang cold in Mathis’ ears.

“You want to get the Ladybug and Chat Noir Miraculous, don’t you?” Mathis shrugged. “And you want to crush those two into dust for all the long years they have thwarted your plans.”

Hawkmoth paused for a long moment, before saying slowly, “Their destruction is of no consequence to me. All I seek is the powers held within the Miraculous.”

“Well, either way,” Mathis shrugged with a sneer. “With my help, you will have the Miraculous within your grasp soon enough.”

The darkness flared, causing Mathis’ skin to tingle. He could practically feel the burning curiosity as it rolled off the villain.

“Oh?” Hawkmoth said after a moment. “And what makes you so special? Why are you so certain that you can get me what I’m after? Hordes of people have come before you and none were successful. You yourself already failed once, so why are you so sure of your success this time?”

Mathis licked his lips, shaking with excitement.

“Because I know the true identity of Ladybug.”

*******

The sky was heavy with dark clouds. In the distance, the horizon was tinged with the pale glow of dawn, its soft light reflecting off the planes that sat on the tarmac. A handful of people in bright, neon vests were moving about, performing system checks and loading carts full of luggage into storage.

Only a dozen or so people were gathered at the gate that sat so far from the central hub of the airport. Soft murmurs of conversation floated gently around the space that was otherwise quiet so early in the morning.

Adrien sat hunched in one of the many chairs that lined the tall windows, his backpack resting securely between his feet. A cold numbness washed over him in slow, suffocating waves. The hole he felt from Plagg’s absence was acute, devastating, and more overwhelming than he could’ve ever expected. A dull ache flooded his chest as his stomach twisted tighter and tighter into anxiety-fueled knots.

Renouncing his Miraculous had been one of the hardest decisions he’d ever made in his life. But as much as it killed him, he knew it was a necessary one. He was compromised. He could hardly tell anymore if it was the dark magic affecting him, or if he was just finally losing his mind from it all; either way, he was no longer fit to protect the people of Paris.

That little boy’s death was all the proof he’d needed.

A small vibration ran through his knee, and he glanced down at his phone to see yet another notification from Marinette trying to call him. Sighing, he hit ignore for what felt like the hundredth time and slipped the phone into a small pocket on the side of his bag.

He knew that she would fight him on this. He also knew that it wouldn’t take much for her to convince him to change his mind. After all, he desperately wanted to re-don that ring and carry the mantle of Chat Noir once more. It was as much a part of his identity as anything else.

But as long as he was plagued by the ghost of his mother, he knew it was not safe.

“Madams and Monsieurs, thank you for flying with us this morning,” said a woman’s voice over the gate’s speakers, bringing Adrien out of his thoughts. “We are now boarding all rows. Please make your way out the doors and follow the path to the aircraft.”

She continued to talk about last chances to check luggage and other such things, but Adrien tuned her out. Standing up, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and joined the small throng of passengers as they made their way out into the chilly morning air.

Where the terminal had been mostly quiet, the tarmac roared with noise from the engines. The plane – not even large enough to warrant the use of a bridge for its passengers – sat at the end of a walkway painted in bright yellow on the pavement. Two sets of narrow stairs extended from the plane’s left side; one towards the front of the plane, the other towards the rear.

Pulling the collar of his fleece lined jacket tighter about his chin, Adrien hunched his shoulders against the breeze that whipped his hair about and followed an airport marshal’s signals towards the rear set of stairs. He climbed into the small cabin and looked around at the rows of chairs paired up and down both sides of the plane. Finding the row posted on his ticket, he carefully pushed his backpack into the overhead compartment.

More often than not, the types of planes Adrien had flown in were much larger and more commercial than this one. And since he had been flying under the Agreste name, he’d had more than his fair share of the comforts that came with First Class. He’d never given it much thought before, but settling into his aisle seat, he realized how luxurious the extra leg space was. 

Shifting for several long moments, he tried to make himself as small as possible. But hard as he tried, he could not prevent his knees from cramping up against the back of the seat in front of him.

He sighed and reached up to pull his jacket zipper down a little. He glanced inside his coat to check his inner pocket and see if Plagg was ok, before catching himself and lowering his hand slowly. He clenched his fists on the armrests, trying to stop the tremors that threatened to overwhelm him.

As the seats around him slowly filled up with the other passengers, Adrien closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat cushion. He felt on the verge of a severe emotional break down. Now that would be an unfortunate scene to make. As the minutes dragged on, it was all he could do to focus on keeping his breathing deep and steady, desperately fighting the tears that welled up behind his eyelids as he felt his throat constrict.

Vaguely, he heard the flight attendants checking in with passengers as they made their way up and down the plane, closing the overhead doors and assuring that everyone’s phones were on the right mode. He did his best to ignore them, retreating further and further into himself.

The jet’s back door closed with a loud thud; an announcement crackled on the intercom about waiting for some last-call passengers before they could begin their safety procedures and move into the queue for take-off.

The ache in his chest had returned in full force, followed swiftly by the knots of anxiety in his stomach. Now that he was on the plane, there was nothing left to do but wait. How in the world was he supposed to stay calm and collected when guilt and regret were eating him alive? How was he just supposed to patiently wait for answers to the questions he’d had for so much of his life? How did –?

WHAM!

Something large and very heavy collided with his head. Adrien’s eyes snapped open as he looked around, startled.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I get you there?” came a familiar voice.

Standing there in the aisle beside him, looking exhausted but extremely defiant, was Marinette.

Adrien stared at her, his mouth hanging open in shock.

She looked back at him for a long moment, before turning away to shove her bag unceremoniously into the compartment beside his own. She was outfitted for travel, wearing some of the clothes he’d brought her from his trip to America that Summer. Her hair was tied into a hurried knot on top of her head, and her eyes were bloodshot, either from tears or lack of sleep. Perhaps both.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur,” she said turning back to him, still using a formal and distant tone. She did not meet his eyes this time. “I believe I need to squeeze past you for a moment. That window seat is mine.”

Too shocked to do anything else, Adrien stood and climbed into the aisle so that she could shuffle into place. Quickly, he moved out of the way of an attendant and returned to his own seat.

“I – I… Wha… How?” he finally spluttered, a jumble of emotions flooding through him. Elation and relief, as well as overwhelming confusion. “I don’t understand. How did you – ”

“Adrien, I am more upset with you right now than I can even begin to say,” Marinette said quietly, still looking pointedly anywhere else than at him. “Believe me, we will talk about this, but I just spent all night running over this damn city trying to figure out where the hell you went, and then trying to set everything in order for me to leave town. Just now I barely made it to the gate on time by sprinting the entire way, so you can imagine I’m a little out of –”

“I mean,” Adrien cut her off. “How in the world are you here? Now? On this airplane?”

“Master Fu had it all set up,” Marinette said coolly. “He told me… well, I’m assuming what he told me was the short version of everything that’s been going on. Either way, he knew you shouldn’t do this alone, so he apparently made all the travel arrangements for me when he made yours.”

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said, frowning. “I never meant to drag you into this, it’s my burden to bear and you shouldn’t have – ”

“And you shouldn’t have just left!” she cried, her voice rising shrilly. Biting her lip, she glanced around at the other passengers.

Adrien saw that a few of them had looked over curiously at her outburst.

Marinette turned away from him, closing her eyes tight. The pain he’d heard in her voice was now written plainly across her face.

“Adrien, how long is this flight?” she said suddenly, her voice carefully controlled once again.

“I don’t… what do you –?”

“How long is this flight to wherever we’re going?”

Adrien gaped. Why was she asking something so inconsequential when there were about a million other more important things they needed to talk about?

“Er… Roughly eleven hours. But why –?”

“Woah that’s a long time… Ok, then for the next four hours –” she said, taking her phone out and setting a timer, “– the three of us will remain silently furious with you. Master Fu always did say to never argue when you’re exhausted, and right now I think we all need time to cool down. After that, we can talk. I’m sure we’ll need to figure out what the plan is anyways.”

“Three of you?” Adrien said sharply. Glancing down, he saw that she had his ring on her hand. The band of it was so large that it only fit on her thumb.

Marinette shot him a sidelong glance, her expression softening ever so slightly. Unzipping her jacket a bit, she showed him the inner breast pocket.

Gazing up at him were Tikki’s familiar, somber eyes. And beside her, Plagg’s small black ears poked over the rim of the zipper.

Unexpectedly, the tears Adrien had been fighting for so long finally spilled down his cheeks. Just the knowledge that Plagg was nearby brought such a sense of comfort to him that he couldn’t hold his emotions at bay any longer.

He let out a watery breath.

Plagg finally emerged from the pocket enough to meet his gaze, his catty eyes looking more hurt than Adrien had any memory of seeing them. But as much sadness as was there, there was also understanding.

“You had us all really scared, you know,” Marinette said softly, before pulling a set of earphones out of another pocket and plugging them into her phone. Zipping her jacket up to her chin again, she turned away from him and leaned her forehead against the window as the flight attendants finally shut the front door. 

The plane slowly began pulling away from the gate.

Adrien stared at her, the shock still coursing through him as tears continued to stream down his face. Despite the knowledge that she and their Kwamis were furious with him – and honestly, he couldn’t blame them – the sheer relief he felt at their presence was overwhelming.

Until that moment, he’d thought he’d needed to take this journey on his own. A large part of him still felt that need. But a much larger part of him was now so utterly grateful to have them by his side he could hardly breath.

As the plane surged forward down the runway, Adrien settled back into his seat, watching Marinette as she gazed quietly at the ground falling away below. Though the fear and pain he’d carried all night was still heavy on his heart, it was accompanied by a new and unbidden warmth. A warmth that was slowly growing to drown out some of the darkness.

She was with him. He could hardly believe it, but Marinette was right there with him. The fact that she had gone through all the effort of chasing him down and jumping onto a plane to accompany him into the unknown had him absolutely floored. Even if she was angry with him, she was still there. He could never have asked her to do such a thing, especially when he had no idea where this journey would lead. But she had shown up anyway.

Sighing, he finally reached up to rub the tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand.

There would never be a day where Marinette would fail to surprise him. He knew this. And for that, he loved her even more.

Tbh the scene of them on a plane about to embark on an adventure was what really sparked the ideas behind this sequel fic, but I originally imagined it going down in a much more comical/happy setting...

Lol my bad!

Looks like I'm mostly just good for writing angst, so buckle up kids! The next several chapters are gonna rip your heart out! with some cute and lovey stuff sprinkled in because I'm a hopeless romantic and can't stop myself ;D

Thanks again so much for those of you who've left comments!! Hearing your thoughts and reactions is truly the main thing keeping me going with this, so I can't even begin to express my gratitude! <3