#*calculates when the chapter will drop with current schedule* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strawberrysoup · 4 years

Text

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong. You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners.

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment. Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #tony stark x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #clint barton x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!thor #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!natasha romanoff #wow i give up its too many #posies chapter 1 #will reblog w tags in just a sec

2K notes · View notes

angelanimedesaray · 3 years

Text

Different Breeds Chapter 2: Roadblocks and Detours

AN: Yeah I got nothing for the notes. Enjoy the chapter!

Characters: Jockey!Levi, Horse Owner/Breeder!Reader, Isabel (Briefly/Mentioned), Mr. Forster, Sarah Annaheim, Armin, Trainer!Hange, Jockey!Mikasa, Eren, Jean, MANY HORSES.

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Warnings: Language, Financial Problems, Job Instability/Loss

Word Count: 5592

<----Previous Chapter Masterlist

*Levi’s POV*

The door slammed shut behind him with enough force to make a vibration go through the car as Levi returned to his vehicle, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a tight grip as his teeth ground together.

Son of a bitch. At least this fucker had enough decency to give him the news face to face while the last three or four had done it over the phone.

The past few days, instead of gaining jockey jobs like he normally did, Levi was losing them. He hadn’t thought much of it with the two calls from potential jobs telling him he didn’t get the job, it happened, and considering his busy schedule, he usually didn’t mind when the occasional job went to someone else. But then came the call from two jobs he already had and was a few months into telling him they had to let him go, without providing him any real kind of answer as to why. Some bullshit about budget cuts--though at least one of them he knew was doing renovations to their stables, making them fancier, and they wouldn’t do that without making sure they could afford it first.

Again, bullshit.

Two potential jobs slipping by he could accept, but losing two already secured jobs at the same time without good reason meant something was going on, something he wasn’t privy to.

He opened his phone, scowling when he saw a voicemail from yet another employer. He started the car while he played the voicemail, slowly operating the car one handed to maneuver out of the driveway and back to the road as he listened to what turned out to be more bad news.

These assholes had let him go in a damn voicemail.

He cursed, throwing the phone into the passenger’s seat with a few more muttered curses, a fist pressed against his lips as his eyes darted around his surroundings, keeping an eye on the road even though his mind was racing with what he should do.

He didn’t have a reason why this was happening yet, not solid evidence for it, anyway, but he had his suspicions, and it made him furious. He was out three jobs and two potential jobs now. If this continued, he was in trouble.

And instead of waiting for the bad news to come to him, he needed to start making some calls and visits of his own. Those that were too busy or too far away to meet in person, he would call. The rest, this called for personal visits, if he wanted to do this properly. And if they were going to fire him, they were going to look him in the eyes and give him a damn good reason why, not pitiful excuses over the phone.

Muttering under his breath again, Levi retrieved his phone, scrolling through the contacts without really looking at them to get to his employers group in his phone, and starting at the top of the list and starting to make calls to people who were too far away to visit in person, while he mapped out the route to the next closest employer from the ranch he just left.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you, Levi. But I promise, we turned Forster down, even after he tried throwing money at as. We’ve known you long enough we knew the story he was spinning was a lie. And he tried to buy us off when we didn’t believe it, which just made the truth more obvious.”

As grateful as he was for the honesty and the loyalty, Levi’s teeth were grinding together in anger to hear the confirmation of his suspicion. He stared out over the training track, watching Loyal Larry--stupid name for a horse, in his opinion--as he was being put through his paces by Isabel, another jockey that the Annaheims worked with and a personal friend of Levi’s.

Apparently Forster’s pride had been stung when Levi quit the other day, and the man’s idea of getting even included going after Levi’s living and trying to freeze him out of any and all jockey positions so he couldn’t continue his way of living. He was spreading the word to potential hires that he had a bad temper, that he’d gone off the rails, picked fights, and quit when Bird’s Wing went down on the track, couldn’t stand the blemish on his record, and he was more trouble than he was worth. Those that he couldn’t convince with just words, he was apparently making more monetary arrangements in exchange for not working with Levi. Maybe not straight up bribes of cash, but arrangements to get bumped up the priority list for a chance to breed with some of their star horses, or time with some of the top staff, or buying and selling of horses--there were more ways to bribe people than just with money. Besmirching his name to people he didn’t work with yet, trying to convince people he did work with that he was trouble in the long run, citing a bit of the violence in his history as evidence to back his claims, bribing people...it was sickening.

“I appreciate it. I just wish more people had the same sense you do,” Levi said in a low voice. He’d already lost more jobs than he wanted to think about because of this. He had more people firing him than keeping him. He knew Forster had reach, but this was ridiculous--he hadn’t expected the impact to be this wide. At least some people he worked for had the sense to say no, but how long before societal pressures made someone else fire him? Upper class could be ruthless, from what he saw as an outside observer that brushed shoulders with them.

“Well, if you need more work to make up for any losses, I’m sure we can work something out,” Sarah Annaheim said, a hand outstretched to shake on it with Levi. He accepted the handshake, but his gaze was following Isabel as she led one of the horses back to the trainer who’d been timing the horse’s speed, the two of them discussing the ride out of earshot.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to cut into Isabel’s hours. And so you have a heads up, I’m liable to knock Forster on his ass the next time I see him.”

Sarah chuckled, releasing his hand. “I doubt it would help, but that would be good to see. Are you making more of these kinds of visits today?”

“I am. I need to figure out who Forster’s talked to, and give a warning to those he hasn’t. And see what jobs I can keep.”

“We’ll be here. The usual days, usual horses. If you need more work we can work something out.”

Levi nodded, starting to turn away and giving Isabel a small nod of acknowledgement when they locked eyes before he made his way down the fine gravel path to where he parked the car.

It was going to be a rough few days before he could figure out where exactly this bullshit with Forster was going to end up. Before he put into action any plan to make up for the jobs he’d lost, he was going to have to figure out where he stood financially. If the damage was bad enough…

He’d worry about that when he got home.

It was dark outside by the time he got home, the house quiet as he sat alone at the kitchen table. Spread in front of him was a couple sheets of paper, some with information like bills or income on it, one holding his notes on the math, a calculator glaring a number he did not like at him as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Forster had done far too much damage. With all the jobs he'd lost, if he tried to make due with what he still had, he wasn't going to be able to maintain his current standard of living. Things would get tight, and he'd have to start making some cuts. The payments on the house and the utilities was enough to make him nervous when comparing it to the income he was left with. He needed to try and get back some of his jobs, or get his foot in the door with people he hadn't contacted yet that Forster might not have sway over. Of course, some of those options might be out of his league, the cream of the crop that probably wasn't looking for a jockey, but it was worth trying. It was a long term goal he would have to work towards. He could at least put out feelers, get his ear to the ground for possible jobs that might be opening up. And there were a few places that came to mind he might be able to get some kind of work.

He had to make money somehow.

Normally, he raced in the bigger races, the higher stakes, bigger cash prize stuff, not the small leagues, the races where owners tested out horses or tried to make a quick buck. But looking at where he was at financially thanks to Forster, he wasn't exactly in a position to be picky. He had to take what he could get and be grateful. If things eventually blew over, which he hoped they would, he could get some of his big league jobs back and probably drop some of the temporary small time work he was going to have to pick up to make ends meet in the meantime.

Well, unless he grew particularly attached to a job or two, he might keep some of the smaller gigs, then. Maybe. First he had to get the jobs before he considered repercussions like that.

And he knew just where to start.

"Hey there...seems like you’re doing okay. Least your shits easier to deal with this way.”

Levi was currently talking in a quiet voice to Bird’s Wing in the same stables he’d been in the other day, hand gently brushing up the stallion’s neck and across his forehead. True to her word, Y/N’s people had let him in to see Bird’s Wing when he’d arrived, the blond stable boy from before--Armin, if he remembered correctly--ran off to find and inform Y/N that Levi was here and wanted to talk to her. While he waited, he was catching up with Bird’s Wing, seeing how he was doing. So far it looked like more of the same--still suspended in that harness, though the stallion was staying still, looking around rather calmly while Levi spoke softly and petted the horse. The stallion must be getting used to being suspended in the air by the harness by now, considering how calm he’d been from what Levi observed starting the moment Levi walked inside.

The horse snorted, turning his head slightly to nudge at Levi’s shoulder, coaxing a slight smile out of Levi as he leaned against the horse in turn. He was glad the stallion got a second chance through Y/N--all of the racehorses deserved better than to be put down because of an owner’s stupidity.

“The surgery went well. He’s on a good track to recovery, so far. And it looks like he’s happy to see his riding partner,” came Y/N’s voice from the door to the stall. Levi leaned back, looking over at her as he started to back away from the horse and move towards the stall door. “I’m glad you decided to come back and visit, though...Armin said that you wanted to talk about something?”

“Are you still looking for another jockey?” Levi asked, cutting straight to the point.

Y/N blinked, giving him a curious look. “Not...actively. We really just need another jockey when the foals are born and grow enough to start getting ready for racing. Well,” she added after catching the flash of disappointment in Levi’s eyes. “We could always use some help, though. We’ve got a horse or two that is going to make a tentative return to racing soon and I’m sure our current jockey would appreciate not having to take on more racing projects, and we could always use some help exercising the rehabilitated horses, or helping with the therapy horse sessions. There’s work, even if it’s not always in races themselves. Why, are you trying to apply right now?”

“I found myself with free time in my schedule. If you don’t have any positions open--”

She held up a hand to stop him before he backed out after hearing she technically didn't, her hand gesturing for him to follow. He hesitated, but did as she wordlessly asked, following beside her as she started to talk.

"You usually race in the big important stuff, right? Breeder's Cup, Triple Crown races, important, renowned stuff like that? Or you at least race for people with a lot of money that are aiming for those races, right?" Levi nodded, but didn't give her anything else to work with, letting her sell the position she had in mind to him...even though he was going to take it either way cause he needed the money.

"Right now, we don't have any horses in those races or that I plan to put in those races. Our main goal here is rehabilitation, but…" she sighed. "I won't lie, it’s difficult to keep this place afloat. All the medical expenses, and it's far more common for the horses to be retired from racing after they recover or to return to their owners, than it is for them to be in good enough shape to race again, let alone in races as trying as those--and some of them get too old before they recover to try for, say, the Triple Crown."

"You're not doing a good job of selling me on the job," Levi said bluntly, and she came to a stop in front of the same two pregnant mare stalls she had brought him to before.

"What I'm saying is, in order to make sure this place doesn't slide into irreversible debt and go belly up, I'm aiming to change that. I'm going to start investing more in races. And not just your standard round the track Triple Crown races. Endurance races. Cross country. Short distance, long. Maybe even go international. There's more than just Thoroughbreds on this farm. I adopt mustangs when they put the wild horses up for sale when they're trying to control overpopulation--and I've gotten a few young horses that show promise for endurance racing. I've already told you one of the foals from these two mares is going to be a good racer, it's what brought you in. Heaven knows I want to get a few Arabian breed horses and get into Arabian horse races. Some of it is a little ways off, some we just need to train the horses, others we need to get our hands on the horses in the first place. The work may be small and little league at first, nothing like you've been racing, and you may have to help with training, rehabilitation, and the therapy horses and the like for a while,, but...there is a future if you come in now. A lucrative one, maybe, if some of these foals turn out as promising as I think they will. Maybe we'll even reach the point where you're too busy racing to be helping with the training of new foals or rehabilitation of old ones. You'll definitely wear multiple rider hats to start, maybe it could broaden your horizons, keep your life interesting and new. And considering the main heart of the farm, you're not going to have to worry about us doing something like Forster. We take care of our horses. And if one's injured, you can bet they'll be taken care of."

Levi appraised her for a moment. He wasn't much of an endurance or cross country jockey, but he could learn, if that's what it took to make ends meet. And it would certainly keep things interesting. Though personally he would prefer to stick with his usual round the field in the dirt ring horse racing if he could.

But again, ends needed to be met.

"What about winnings for races? What percentage would I get?" Levi asked, staring her down. This could honestly sway his resolve to take the job--if he was going to make shit money, then he couldn't take something that would take so much time. He had a living to earn.

"Let's see, for races...on average, the jockey gets about ten percent. We are trying to make enough to pay for a lot of upkeep and expenses...what's the share I'm giving Historia and Mikasa right now…" she pursed her lips, walking slowly out of the stables and craning her head up towards the sky. "Twelve for the little leagues. Big leagues, we'll talk more fifteen...maybe twenty."

Levi's eyebrows rose. That was actually generous of her. Sometimes jockeys only made say $50 a race they didn't win--hence why he nearly panicked with all the jobs he was losing thanks to Forster. With the usual ten percent average, he'd only get a thousand from a ten thousand winning pot. It would make a difference to make a little more, even by two percent, and big league races, races with bigger pots mean bigger earnings even at a regular ten percent, and she was offering him a bigger cut to go with it?

Thankfully he didn't have to worry about agent or valet fees coming out of his earnings. Clearly he found jobs himself and didn't use an agent to do that part for him--he liked to feel people out himself, and either he didn't trust anyone else to clean the tack and such besides him, or the owners of the horses he rode already had valet’s assigned to the horse so he didn't have to worry about it.

"What about how often? This won't be my only job," Levi said smoothly, refusing to give her a revealing reaction about that share of winnings she'd dangled in front of him. She certainly knew how to give incentive to win in the races.

"Naturally. Well, I assume you do a lot of racing for other owners, so maybe two days a week? I'm sure you'll fit us into your race schedule like anyone else on race days, but besides that, weekly, two days would be fine. Come in the morning, help the horses train and rehabilitate, get their morning exercise in. We’ll try you with some of the horses that will be racing that need a constant jockey, instead of switching between the two we have. One of those two days, if you’re alright with it, will be when we have our therapy sessions with the horses. It’s always helpful to have an extra hand to help out. It’s about 115 to 300 a session for each person, which you’d get a part of, of course. Whenever we sell a foal, if you’ve helped in raising it and getting it ready for sale, you’ll get a part of the money we make from selling it. Basically, if you put in work somewhere, you’ll get money back for it. If you want to put in more than two days, that’s your choice--it’s your schedule you’ll have to work around, but I’m sure if you show up outside the usual two days, we can find something for you to do.”

It sounded like a good deal--especially with how much he was hurting for work right now. She had plenty of different ways for him to earn money here, and two days of the week was manageable--not to mention she was willing to work with his schedule to give him more opportunities to earn. He was probably going to be doing work in the mornings and midday here, from the sounds of it, which meant he could probably do more work elsewhere in the evenings on the same days.

Long story short, he could make this work easily. It was a good opportunity that could help him make ends meet until doors started opening again and Forster forgot his pettiness over Levi in favor of his spite for someone else. Even then, he could slowly transition from the odd jobs he picked up here to make ends meet, back to his old work as opportunities started coming back in.

“Before you make any decisions, do you want to meet some of the staff and horses you’d be working with?” Y/N asked after a few moments of silence between the two of them.

He supposed that would factor into how much he would want to be here--if he could stomach the others enough to take those extra hours. With a small nod from Levi, Y/N gave him a slight smile and started leading the way again.

“You don’t talk much, do you? Doesn’t matter, we’ve got quiet types and...very talkative types here. You’re either going to be around like minded company who are just as quiet, or around people who are all too happy to do the talking themselves if they have to.”

“Like you?”

Y/N chuckled, guiding him further along to another stable, where he could see more people were moving around inside, a few horses being led out the doors towards one of the open fields by people in riding gear and work clothes. He saw the boy from earlier, Armin, leading a cream coated horse with one white sock and light brown legs to the pasture as he talked to a young woman in full riding gear with long black hair and grey eyes, both of them giving him curious looks as he and Y/N passed them, heading into the stables.

“That was Mikasa with Armin--she’s one of our jockeys. I’d introduce you, but it looks like they’re taking Treasure’s Truth out for a bit of exercise--she’s wrapping up her recovery and should be involved in some therapy work soon, so you might work with her a little bit. The mare, I mean. Mikasa’s a bit of a keep to herself type, too, so interactions with her would be up to you.”

“Do I see fresh meat, Y/N?!” came a new voice that was far too excited for his taste, a brunette with glasses in clothes that were covered in dirt and hay from the stables bounding up to them with a gleam in her eyes. “He looks like a jockey--you were talking about hiring another jockey. Wait, this is the one who you said might come by to visit Bird’s Wing, am I right?”

Levi leaned back from the woman, a little overwhelmed by the raw...energy she was exuding, but Y/N seemed unfazed. This was probably normal for the woman. Great.

“Don’t scare him off, Hange, he hasn’t agreed to anything yet,” she said calmly with a hand held out in an obvious ‘calm down’ gesture before she gestured between the two. “Levi, meet Hange, she’s our current trainer, which means you’ll be seeing a lot of her. And yes, Hange, we’re currently talking about Levi potentially becoming one of our jockeys and helping around the ranch.”

“I’m sure the kids would love having some extra help. Speaking of, Eren got kicked by Jean again a few minutes ago, by the way, so he’s in a foul mood.”

“Jean as in the hired hand, or Jean as in Jean’s Jacket, the horse? Both are likely to have kicked him.”

“The horse.”

“Well, he probably deserved it. Tell him to take a fifteen and then let the horses out into the grazing pasture.”

“Will do. Hey, if you end up hiring another jockey...any chance you might hire another trainer, too?” Hange asked in a conspiratorial yet also pleading tone. “Or at least an assistant.”

“I’m looking, Hange, I promise, you’ll have some help, soon.”

“I’m holding you to that. Anyway, I need to go watch Mikasa do a few laps with Treasure, I’ll see you later. Nice meeting you, Levi, I hope we’ll see more of you in the future,” Hange told him with a big grin before she left the stable to go look for the Eren that had been mentioned.

“Seems like a lively place,” Levi commented, following Y/N deeper into the stables.

“Well, there’s a lot going on. We have more horses in an almost recovered stage than we do recovering like Bird’s Wing, right now, so there’s a lot of work to be done with them. And we have a couple horses that Hange is hard at work getting race ready. Like…” She came to a stop in front of a stall and let out a low whistle, which brought the stallion inside to the front door, head poking out with a soft snort. Y/N went to the door, pulling a bridle off the wall and starting to fit it over the horse’s head. Right now, all Levi could see was the white stripe snip on a pale grey face with dark brown eyes, though the neck seemed to turn pure white with grey spots spattered across the coat, a grey and white mane a little long and perhaps in need of a cut.

“This here...is Ember Rain. You might have heard about him.”

Recognition sparked in Levi’s eyes. “He got a career ending injury just before a race, during morning exercises, right?”

“Well, that’s what they thought. But Ember here has made a full recovery. As long as he’s taken care of, he can still race. And I’m sure we both know he’s not a little league racer,” Y/N said conspiratorially, attaching the lead and opening the stall to bring Ember Rain out for Levi to get a good look at him.

Now that he saw the whole coat, he could see the horse looked like a pure white horse that had a can of watered down black paint thrown on him, spatters of black and grey in random places, except for the one almost all black leg save for a small white sock and a few white spots before halfway up the shoulder the black faded to black and then gave way to white again. A twin leopard coat--and a beautiful one at that, especially when kept clean so it shone like this. A light grey mane flicked proudly through the air as he was brought out in front of him, Levi’s eyes evaluating the muscles and the strong legs, the way the horse carried himself. He wasn’t a vet or a trainer, but he’d been around enough horses to have a decent sense for a good racer when he saw one.

“He’s a bit proud and stubborn--he’s picky about who he lets near him. He won’t let Historia or Mikasa ride him, unfortunately, no matter how much we try, so maybe…”

“You’re hoping he lets me ride him?” Levi asked, starting a slow walk around the horse. The stallion's dark brown eyes followed him, head turning, not letting Levi out of his sight as he circled and appraised the stallion. Y/N stayed at his head, holding firmly onto the lead and looking rather content as she let Levi do his thing.

“I don’t expect he will right away, but it’s worth a shot. And he’d be in the races your used to, eventually, which I figured you might appreciate. Eventually, of course. Hange is still trying to train him back up to where he was, which is difficult without a jockey, so he’s going to need a bit more time to adjust, but there’s other, smaller league horses that you could ride in the meantime. Race-wise, I mean.”

“But he’s the one you’d like me to focus on,” Levi asked, keeping a distance for now and not yet trying to pet the stallion or anything.

“For now. We’ll have at least one more big leagues racer from those mares in the other barn, and you never know what will happen in the future. I have some nice breeding IOU’s I’ve been itching to use that I might be able to start cashing in on with Ember Rain here...and whichever foal we keep when the mares give birth.” She paused in her discussion for a moment, gently rubbing Ember’s muzzle with a faint smile. “How do you feel about endurance racing, Levi?”

“Haven’t done it before,” Levi said bluntly, gaze still appraising the horse in front of him, trying to get a good sense of what the horse might be thinking about him.

“Are you willing to give it a try if I show you the most promising endurance horse I’ve got?” she asked him. It sounded like she was eager to share a secret, like she was bursting at the seams wanting to share this great horse with someone.

Well, he was desperate for money. And endurance racing was another way to do that, even if it wasn’t what he was used to.

“Maybe,” he said non committedly, and Y/N held out the lead on Ember Rain for him to take. Surprised, and even a little reluctant in case the horse decided he didn’t like Levi, he took the lead, keeping a firm grip despite his hesitance. Ember snorted and pawed at the ground tossing his head as if in disapproval, but when Y/N and Levi started to walk, the stallion followed, even if it was with a loud snort and after a pull or two from Levi.

“How many stables do you have in this place?” Levi asked as she started to lead him deeper into the property towards yet another barn.

“Well, we have the stables for the recovering, injured, and pregnant horses, we have our good health stables for our racers and breeding horses--that was the one we were just in, and it’s actually the biggest. Our second biggest stable is the one we’re going to now. It’s where we keep the mustangs.”

Levi glanced at her. “Your promising endurance horse is a mustang?”

“Nothing wrong with that. Just wait until you see her.”

When she’d mentioned she adopted mustangs when they went up for sale during the population cull, he hadn’t been expecting her to have a stable full of them. Maybe a couple stalls, but here she was telling him she had stables for specifically the mustangs.

Instead of walking into the stables themselves, she directed them towards the fence. Once there, Levi realized there actually weren’t a terribly large amount of wild horses running around in the large enclosure they were now overlooking. Quite a few, but not a stable full, for sure. He’d jumped to conclusions there for a second.

A couple looked like they were foals, which he quickly ruled out as the one she wanted to show him, his gaze roaming over the small pack that for the most part seemed to be running together. Behind him, Ember pawed impatiently at the ground.

Y/N pointed out into the enclosure after a few moments. “See the black appaloosa with the grey and white blanket?”

Levi followed her pointing finger, and there at the front of the pack, a few leagues in front of it, was the horse she’d just described, one that was notably faster than the others and seemed to be maintaining that pace and high energy as she raced around the enclosure, making turns around trees and jumping over a creek that cut through the open field with ease. They watched her for several minutes before she slowed down, and even then, she didn’t seem to lose that energy, which could be observed even at this distance.

Seemed promising. He was in no way an expert, but Y/N seemed to think she was sitting on a prize horse. Well, more than one. He would have asked why she hadn’t entered bigger stakes races yet, but she’d sort of already answered that for him. She was waiting for the right team. She needed a jockey used to bigger races, it sounded like her trainer needed some help, and the horses themselves needed trained and prepared for those races.

Again, it sounded like there was plenty of work for him to find here. He was still going to make a few calls and try to get some other jobs as well, since this couldn’t entirely make up what he’d lost in the Forster fallout, but...it seemed like a damn good start. And there was promise here, if he decided to stick around or if the Forster problem continued longer than expected.

And it was a guaranteed job, because even if he didn’t know much about Y/N, he knew enough to know she wasn’t going to cave into pressure he might try to put on her to drop Levi. Especially since she’d been there that day and knew what happened.

Levi looked away from the mustang she’d pointed out to him and back to Ember Rain, who seemed to be staring at him intently from behind. Levi turned all the way around, facing the stallion fully and very carefully reaching out with a hand to lightly touch the horse’s muzzle, sliding his hand gently up the horse’s forehead when he was successful touching the stallion’s muzzle.

Yeah...there was some promise around here.

“When do you want me to start?”

Everything Tags: @antisteller

Levi Tags: @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds @queenofcurse @wubbawubwub04 @lollobos @pasteldays @xcocolinox @itsmeaudrieee @macaronnv @tokyo-banana @apuci-kis-szornye

Different Breeds Tags: @french-girl-online @mysteriousmagicx @classyunknownlover

58 notes · View notes

thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

Text

Standards of Performance

Here it is!!!!! First chapter of my first fic on my new AO3! This is a multi-chapter, slow burn work. Please let me know what you think, I welcome screaming and incoherent asks about our fave special agent in my inbox. Full text under the cut, or you can find it through the AO3 link below.

AO3 link

Summary: You're the BAU's newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 1, Coffee Stains and Neckties

Words: 2388

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Warnings: Not much for this chapter specifically, but let’s just assume general gore and murder stuff, explicit language, and sexual content are fair game form here on out.

Enjoy! I’ll try to update weekly, if not more often. I’ll let you know when I have a more defined schedule!

“Fucking SHIT!”

You cursed as you felt the (very, very) hot coffee soak your new skirt. Grabbing as many paper towels as you could with one hand, you tried to sop up the mess on the floor. The stain on your outfit? A shame, but nothing compared to marring the assuredly expensive cream color of the BAU’s breakroom carpet.

A low chuckle sounded off behind you, and you froze.

For the love of god, please don’t be…

“Morgan! Please tell me you have carpet cleaner, oh my god. I don’t even know how that happened.”

Morgan grinned, as he typically did, sauntering into the breakroom with his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, the janitor's got it later. I was looking for you, team meeting in five. You all good? You look a little - ” he paused, probably searching for a descriptor that wouldn’t sting too bad, “ - rushed.”

You stood up, sighing. He was right, after all. You had stayed up late last night poring over psychology textbooks and only just woken up in time to leave your apartment. As the BAU’s newest profiling intern - whatever the hell that actually meant - the pressure of performing to seasoned profilers’ standards manifested in spending practically all your free time buried in research. Hence why your hair was coated in unbelievable amounts of dry shampoo, you were wearing your unflatteringly oversized glasses instead of your usual contacts, and why your frantic attempt at pouring yourself a cup of coffee when you got into work had resulted in the giant wet spot currently soaking your skirt.

At least the skirt was black.

“You’re right. Late night,” you said, rolling your eyes at Morgan’s suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“Not like that, I wish. Just trying to catch up. Don’t really want to repeat last week’s disaster,” you mumbled, referring to the first time you actually got to question a suspect, which had ended up with a wad of saliva hawked in your face. It was only your third week in the position, but damn, if that hadn’t let the wind out of your sails a bit.

“Hey, what did I tell you then?” Morgan asked, as you walked out of the breakroom together. “You’re not a true profiler until you get assaulted by a serial killer!”

“I’m not a true profiler until I finish the year long training program,” you pointed out, “so I think I could do without the spit in the meantime.”

Morgan laughed, opening the door of the team’s briefing room for you. “Well if we’d known you were gonna be so picky, we might have gone with someone else.”

“Who’s picky?” asked Emily, looking up from her seat.

While Morgan laughed and launched into a dramatic retelling of the event as if the entire team hadn’t already fucking seen it in real time, you took your seat at the table. Reid nodded in acknowledgment, and you returned it with a small smile. Damn if he wasn’t handsome, and ridiculously smart to boot, but you were pretty sure your chances with him withered and died when you asked him what he was doing after work last Friday and he answered with, “Reading.” Point taken.

Hotch swiveled in his chair to face the table and you suddenly became acutely aware of how much of a mess you probably looked. It’s not that you cared about his opinion regarding your general appearance beyond the basic standard of professional attire, but his always-intense gaze and stony expression had a way of making you second guess even your most confidently held opinions.

“Sit,” he said, his voice cutting through the rest of the team’s animated chatter.

It would have been hard not to notice how quickly they obliged, not out of fear, but rather a respect and deference so deeply ingrained that it almost gave you goosebumps. You’d never thought of yourself as a follower, per say, but if Hotch was what a leader looked like, you certainly didn’t fit into that category either.

He scanned the table, stopping on you. “New glasses?” he asked, with a single, slightly raised eyebrow.

“I, um, not really, just didn’t have time to put my contacts in,” you stammered.

“Hm,” Hotch said, “They look nice.”

Your cheeks suddenly felt hot, and you thanked him quickly, looking down at your shoes to conceal the pink that was probably spreading across your face. Hotch had a way of speaking that made everything he said sound like the absolute truth, which was probably why such an innocuous little compliment had disarmed you so much.

Still though, jesus christ. Get it the fuck together. You’re not Reid; you’re not smart enough to be this awkward.

Hotch, blessedly ignoring how painful you just made that interaction, addressed the team while JJ passed out files. “We have a new case. Three bodies, all found completely drained of blood in various woods, off hiking trails. Cause of death appears to be blood loss from severed carotid arteries, meaning they were likely strung up and drained before being moved to where they were discovered.”

Reid spoke up first. “Erm, what exactly do you mean by various woods?”

“That’s the unusual thing,” Hotch said, pulling up a map of the southwestern United States on the screen behind him. "Each body was found in a different state, one here, one here, and one here,” pointing to spots in California, Arizona, and Nevada. “However, local police discovered the bodies within hours of each other due to anonymous tip offs, and medical examiners estimate approximately the same time of death for all three.”

Morgan whistled lowly. “So what you’re saying is, this guy kills three victims around the same time and takes a road trip to hide their bodies in places he knows won't be discovered until he calls in.”

“That’s how it appears, yes,” Hotch confirmed.

Rossi shook his head, twirling a pen that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. “So, how are we splitting this up?”

You whipped your head in his direction. Splitting up? Of course, you should have known it’d only make sense considering the ground to be covered, but your quick mental calculations told you that there were six of them, evenly split into three groups of two, and one odd man out, both in skill and number - you.

“So, who’s getting stuck with me?” you asked, trying to beat everyone to the punch. Not that any of them would voice it, but if you couldn’t project confidence, you figured self-awareness would do.

When you entered the internship as a recent college grad around a month ago, you knew you’d be in way over your head. Everyone else on the team was a seasoned expert, and you were a 20-something with a degree in psychology who somehow managed to charm her way through the interviews of the BAU’s flagship internship program. It’s not that you weren’t smart, you were, of course, but comparatively? You were pretty sure this was shaping up to be a glorified babysitting program, and you were the baby.

“Oh, hush,” JJ said, smiling and shaking her head. You smiled back. JJ had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, which you were unspeakably grateful for. Between her and Morgan, you sometimes felt like maybe when this year was done, you could actually belong on this team.

Hotch interrupted your pity party. “Rossi, you’re with Reid in Phoenix. JJ and Emily, you’re going to Vegas. Morgan, you and I are going to San Diego.”

He turned to you. “You’re coming with me.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. You knew he had the most to teach you, and you could observe him coordinating the entire investigation from San Diego, but the idea of your performance being directly scrutinized by your boss in such a small group made you more nauseous than excited.

“Please be aware,” he continued, “Garcia is going to have to deal with three times the inquiries as normal. I recommend you only contact her if the information you’re searching for is genuinely too difficult to find yourself.” He gave Morgan a pointed look, to which Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning.

“We’ll drop teams off as we go,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

____________

As you settled into your seat on the plane, your mind spun, trying to review every piece of psychology knowledge you’d ever encountered. This wasn’t your first case, but it was the first one you got to travel for, which made it feel much more real.

The hours ticked by as the team reviewed the case. You contributed - not much, and nothing they wouldn’t have thought of without you - but it was something. Narcissist, craves attention and spotlight, physically confident enough to detain and murder three women at the same time. The method was throwing the team for a loop, however. Bleeding the victims out was clinical, relatively painless - uncharacteristic of the sexual injuries found on the corpses and the bravado with which the killer executed the rest of the crime.

When you, Hotch, and Morgan trudged off the plane in San Diego, you had been going at the potential profile for hours and even Morgan’s patience was wearing thin.

“Look, Hotch, let’s hold off on speculation until we see the crime scene in person, alright?”

Hotch nodded, and took that as a cue to head straight to the crime scene. You groaned internally - having barely showered this morning and spent half the day on a plane, your greasy hair and coffee-stained skirt would have greatly benefited from a stop at the hotel to freshen up.

It’s not like you have to look good to go stare at a patch of dirt where a dead body used to to be though, right?

____________

Turns out the aforementioned patch of dirt was actually a wooded grove off a hiking trail leading to a nude beach, much to Morgan’s delight. The site itself was uninteresting except for the way the body had been buried - covered up very securely, implying remorse, another characteristic that didn’t make sense with the initial profile.

This commonality between all three crime scenes was hotly debated on the video conference between the entire team when you got back to the hotel. Cross legged on the bed in Hotch’s hotel room, you listened to Reid and Rossi snipe back and forth on the laptop about what the burial method could mean for ten-plus minutes (“It’s clearly just a functional tool to properly hide the body, Reid.” “But you don’t know that, the significance of burial practices can tell us so much more beyond function, it can even tell us about his religious upbringing…”) before Hotch put a stop to it.

“What do you think?” Hotch asked you, turning and looking directly into your gaze. You were suddenly hyperware of the proximity between you two - sitting close enough on the edge of the bed that your thighs were almost touching. Morgan had abandoned his position on the other side of you to stretch out in the armchair by the window halfway through Rossi and Reid’s debate. Hotch’s eyes boring into yours from only a few feet away and the expectant silence of the other team members on the video call spiked your heart rate, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I… agree with Dr. Reid. I think it means something. The position of the hands, they were crossed across the chest, right? He didn’t need to do that. I don’t know if it means he was remorseful, but it was on purpose. I think.”

Hotch nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Let's move forward with that theory.” He turned back to the laptop. “Let me know how interviews with the loved ones go tomorrow. Let’s find the connection between the victims. Call me if you need anything.” After shutting the laptop, he turned to you and Morgan. “Let’s call it for tonight. Meet me in the lobby at 7 tomorrow.”

Having been excused, you and Morgan made your way to your hotel rooms next to Hotch’s. Morgan wished you goodnight, and you unlocked your door and practically sprinted into your shower.

After you got out, you looked around the room, towel drying your hair. It was nice, much nicer than anywhere you’d ever stayed. The abstract art on the walls and the modern, clean white lines of the furniture were lit by the soft glow of the sunset filtering through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony overlooking the ocean. You poured yourself a glass of wine from the minibar (a reimbursable travel expense, right?) and stepped onto the balcony, breathing in the ocean air.

“Nice night, hm?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your drink down your front for the second time in less than 24 hours. Hotch was sitting in a chair on his balcony to the left of yours, reclining with his hands behind his head. Despite wearing nothing but your thin hotel robe, you felt the urge to avert your eyes from him. His suit jacket was shucked, tie undone and hanging around his neck, and the top two buttons of his white, collared shirt were unbuttoned. You felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t have, like the cold stoniness of his exterior had shifted just slightly and allowed you a glimpse underneath.

It’s just a couple buttons, calm down. You’re the one who’s barely clothed in front of your fucking boss.

“It is. Shame we can’t go to the beach,” you replied, keeping your eyes forward.

Oh my god, three women were murdered and I just complained to my boss about not being able to go to the beach.

“You’re welcome to get up early and go tomorrow; might be a bit cold,” Hotch replied. You could tell from his voice he was smiling.

You mumbled in affirmation, continuing to avoid glancing in his direction. “Well, I just wanted to see the view, um, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight, Agent Hotchner!” You ducked back into your room, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle before you slid the door shut.

After getting ready, beating yourself up mentally for your complete social incompetence, and tucking in under the plush, white duvet, you drifted off to sleep.

458 notes · View notes

skylarmoon71 · 4 years

Text

AU Blind Murdock Reader x Leonardo (TMNT 2014/2016) Chapter 4

"Please someone....help.."

You jolted and Leo's eyes darted forward. He dropped his arms, wondering what it was that broke your focus.

"Are you alright?"

During the beginning, you were quite reluctant to join, and he realized he just needed to be persistent. So after you healed, and tried to get out of working together, you finally gave in. Leo knew if you were going to trust them, he would have to give you a reason to, so there was no doubt about showing you the lair. You'd already been there, and he had the sense that you would be able to find them even without his guidance.

At first, it was difficult, going out together and fighting crime. You still tried to operate like you were solo, and he didn't want to risk a casualty, so he asked Splinter for some advice. He suggested team training exercises. It helped with his brothers, so why not you? That's what you were currently doing, until something distracted you.

"I'm fine."

Fine.

You kept saying that. It was starting to get on his nerves. He knew for a fact you weren't fine. But with your very prominent trust issues, getting that information out would be a challenge.

"I need to go." Leo narrowed his eyes. It was Saturday afternoon. You didn't have school, and he was positive when you agreed to come, you did so because your schedule was clear.

"Where are you going?"

Your fist tightened at your side. "I didn't realize this was an interrogation. I just need to go. Or do I need permission to leave sir." He internally winced at the venom in your voice. He'd stepped on a bomb, he knew that now. "Sorry, I don't mean to be nosy. I was just under the impression that we were going to practice. I'm just a little worried, I want us to work well when we're out there. I can't do that if we aren't familiar with each other. "

"We'll be fine." You spoke flatly. You were already turning before he could say much more. You only made a few steps before his hand grabbed your wrist. Effectively halting your movements.

"Let me help you." you bit down on your lip. Asking for help would take a while, Leo understood that. That just meant he had to pay attention. He supposed you were used to being ignored, so it was easy for people who didn't pay mind to miss the subtle expressions on your face. He was getting better at reading you. "Something is bothering you, it's been that way for a while." He could feel you tense in his hold.

"I'm right." So it wasn't just a hunch on his part. At the start of the session he could tell. You were a bit antsy, and some of your hits were delayed. He'd seen you fight, you were calculated, strong and agile. Today you weren't as quick. Your shoulders slumped, and he loosened his hold, watching as you turned to him slowly.

"There's a girl in my building. She's..in pain. I can't seem to help. Every night she cries out for help and I..I can't do a thing."

"Did you try talking to the police, maybe they can help." you frowned.

"I've called child welfare and they didn't do a thing."

"Child welfare..." The child was being abused.

"(Y/N), are they beating on her?" your jaw clenched, and you turned abruptly.

"Are you going to help me or not."

You didn't answer his question, that wasn't good. Something told him that it was better to just go along with you. If he didn't, he'd be stuck worrying about what could happen. He didn't want you acting rash and getting hurt.

"I'll help."

He wasn't sure what he was getting himself into, but at least this way he was in the loop.

~~~~~

As darkness overtook the sky, you and Leo stood on the roof of your building. You kept flexing your fingers. Leo realized that watching you filter through all the sounds around you was intriguing. You seemed to react like an antenna, picking up signals until you found the right one. Your head would turn at every quick noise you caught. Your outfit really was a clever choice, the black blended nicely for the activities you need to carry out, and your eyes were completely covered, so the chance of someone even catching a glimpse of your eyes was impossible.

"How do you deal with it, all the conflicting sounds. It can't be easy, hearing all that you do."

A pause.

"It wasn't always easy, at first it was chaotic. They weren't sure what to make of me, so they placed me in an orphanage. Some of the nuns thought I was possessed. " you muttered. Leo swallowed. This was dangerous ground. Sometimes you'd give him little pieces of your past.

"This world isn't that pretty anyway, people think this disability is a curse, but it's a gift. My gift. I see everything through my other senses. I try to fix it. But everyone else, they see it all. The death, destruction, yet they are the ones truly disabled. Because they choose to be blind. "

You knew what your purpose in the world was, and this was it.

"Please don't.."

"Be quiet."

Leo straightened, and you turned to him. "Did you hear that?"

He nods. "He isn't sure what it is he just heard. It was an obvious cry for help, but the other voice came from inside the room. So it had to be a family member.

"I don't understand, why would they leave that relative with her if he's hurting her."

"It's because he's her step dad." Now he was even more confused. "She's a kid, what could she be doing that warrants abuse. I know parents are strict with their kids but-"

"He raped her." Leo's eyes widened. He took a step back, disbelief in his eyes. You couldn't see him. But there was no doubt genuine surprise.

"Your father, Splinter, I figured he sheltered you guys from a lot, and you've probably only been dealing with the minor threats. Bank robberies, common assaults. There's a lot more out there. Far more than you guys realize. You have no idea how much restraint it's taken me not to smash that man's face into a wall. It's been going on for weeks. I called the police, left notes for the mother. Even tried to get the girl to talk to me. Nothing. "

You tried getting him alone at night, you'd been studying his routine the moment you knew what was up, but there was rarely an opportunity. The hours he worked clashed with when you attended school, and every other chance he was always surrounded by someone. A friend, coworker, or his family.

"But he's...he's her.." Leo felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't comprehend it.

You just let out a dry chuckle. Dark, emotionless.

"The world isn't that black and white Leonardo. In this line of work, if you can't stomach the sight, you might as well be one of the other blind sheep."

Leo was still trying to gather himself. He finally registered that something was about to go down when he heard the sirens not too far away. "Their on time for once."

"W-Wait what are you.."

"If I can't get him for one crime, I'll just have to make him pay for another." he couldn't even ask what the actual plan was. You jumped over the edge of the building and Leo panicked.

"(Y/N)!!!!!!"

Gripping the ledge, you catapult yourself through the window, crashing into the glass. It broke, startling the man in the bed. He jumped off the girl in shock, and you tucked and rolled, cushioning your fall.

"What the hell!" He barely had a chance to pull up his pants. You drove forward, punching him square in the jaw. He took it, grunting and backpedaling as he crashed into the door.

"H-Honey!! Honey are you okay!!" you could hear the mother frantically yelling on the other side of the door.

"Mommy!!" your head whipped to the side. "I'm not going to hurt you." you said softly. You could hear the rustling of the sheets, she was cowering into the bed. "He hurt you." the girl didn't say anything, and you could hear the labored breathing of the step dad. He was still slightly disoriented from the hit.

"H-He said if I told anyone they wouldn't believe me. I-I was bad. I deserved it." It broke your heart to hear those words come from her mouth. "He's a liar. There's nothing you could have done to deserve any of this. He's a monster, you hear me, there's nothing wrong with you."

"Bitch!!"

That was becoming a frequent title. You just smirked when he picked up a bat from the corner. He raised it, striking in your direction. You dodged, moving in as punched him in the gut. He tried to use the lack of distance to get a hold of you, but you elbowed him in the jaw. He yelled out in pain, dropping the bat. You gripped the back of his scalp, driving his face harshly into the wall. It wasn't enough. You drew back. Clenching your teeth as you smashed his face harder. The crack of his nose was satisfying. Blood gushed down his face, and you released your hold on his hair, letting him face plant. He curled into a ball, wailing.

"Pussy." you sneered.

You shifted from the door, moving back to the shattered window. You could hear the police coming up the staircase. It was then that the mother finally forced her way into the room. She kicked in the door, standing in the doorway partially paralyzed at the sight of her spouse bleeding on the floor. "Mommy!!" the girl raced off the bed, right into her mother's arms. She caught her easily, hugging her protectively to her chest as she watched you wearily. It's then that she seemed to really take in the scene. Her husband's pants were down, and her daughter wasn't wearing any.

"No..." you sighed.

"Protect your daughter, if I see him back here again, I won't be so generous. " You raised your leg, stepping on the edge.

"NYPD OPEN UP!!" She could barely say much, the minute she turned at the call, you were already gone. Police flooded the house, and the little girl just held unto her mother, crying softly in her arms.

~~~~~~

"How did you...what did they take him in for." You and Leo were on the roof. You watched the aftermath of all that went down. Leo felt useless. He'd couldn't do much at that point but stay there and hope you got out before the police got there. The number of officers aware of his existence was pretty small, drawing in a larger audience, especially after his family was almost exposed, it was dangerous. He couldn't take the chance. That wasn't the only reason. Somehow he could still barely process the prospect of what that poor girl went through. From her own family no less.

"I planted some weapons I recovered from a russian mob a few weeks back. My plan was to just dump them at the nearest dock, but I guess there was a reason I held unto them for so long. Didn't think I'd need it, but it came in handy. Those guns have been used in numerous crimes around the city. That doubled with the charges his wife is gonna file, he won't see the light of day anytime soon. "

Your only wish is that you'd been able to do something sooner. Nothing was going to make up for the innocence that was stolen from that girl. Hopefully, with the help of her mother she'd be okay. Leo was quiet.

"You've done this already. "

Until now, Leo felt like he was making a difference, but he wasn't so sure anymore. You dealt with this often, no wonder you were so insistent on being left alone. If he had to deal with people like that regularly, he probably wouldn't trust anyone either.

"Don't doubt yourself. You're a good guy Leo. "

You could deal with the dark, it was a part of you. But Leo, he was pure. He still had hope in humanity. In some weird way, you kind of hoped he'd always be that way. You had no problem dealing with scum. It just meant that someone else wouldn't have to worry about it. You didn't mind suffering, it's all you'd known. You could bear it.

32 notes · View notes

selfilluminatingkyu · 4 years

Text

Dancing with the Devil(s): Chapter II

Previous|Current|Next

The Underground Auction is no place for the faint of heart, nor for the weak of stomach.

F!Reader x Adult Trio; this takes place during the same timeline as Season 3 of HxH but the events with Kuropika and the crew are just shifted a little. This may end up changing though, but for now, run on that premiss.

Warnings: Swearing; Human Trafficking (Reader is sold to the Mafia); Brief mentions of Child Abuse; Grammatical Errors (yeah I am going to warn y’all bout that.)

Upon arriving to hotel you would be staying at until you were moved to the holding area for the auction, you were whisked away by a team of women and pampered to spa treatments like you’d never experienced before. The Don who had bought you would not be in attendance, as Yuuto, the man who you’d come to know from your…acquisition…had told you.

“He’s sorry he can’t be here. He was actually looking forward to meeting you. But he’s certain he’ll have the opportunity later on. I think he’s of the opinion that one of the other Dons will buy you for themselves…or their sons.” Yuuto says lazily after you’ve come back from all of the pampering, undecided if you’re going to look at it as a treat or getting merchandise ready for sale.

You didn’t know what you’d expected when he’d relayed the Don’s message to you, but it had not been that. You don’t remember how you answered, sudden exhaustion creeping up on you and causing you to nearly pass out where you stood. Looking back on it now, you wonder if you’d been drugged so that you didn’t make much of a fuss while you were waiting for the festivities to begin. You began to think that was actually the case as you were almost constantly in a fog up until you were moved the night before the auction to a different area. Something was amiss, that much, despite the brain fog, you were certain of. So there you had waited until d-day had arrived.

You had been placed in a waiting area, to be called upon and showed around to the representatives of the wealthier families anticipated to bid on the higher ticket items (and those who had paid the hefty fee to view you prior to your scheduled debut) when Yuuto was suddenly coming in with another man, a man you had never met before but had a strange feeling to him, and were being whisked away quickly and quietly from where you were. You had felt this feeling before, when you been in the presences of those with strong nen abilities, but it wasn’t as potent as some of the people you’d crossed paths with. There had been a man once, who’s aura had caused you to stop and watch his back as he moved through the crowd. The power that radiated off of him had caused your heart to skip several beats…and not in a pleasant way.

Since that day, you’d never felt power like that and, if you were being honest, you hoped you never did again. You don’t know what it was about that man, but it wasn’t the power he undeniably wielded that frightened you, no, it was the dark and sinister undertone to it that did. A presences that indicated to you nothing short of nefarious intentions. Sometimes though, you couldn’t help yourself and wondered about the man. Wondered if maybe you’d been to harsh in your snap judgment and that the man was the same as you: a product of his upbringing and while his abilities may have been fostered from dark ways, he did not use them as such.

But as you sat in your new room, surrounded by other items that were going to be up for auction, you realized that it didn’t matter, not anymore at least. You hadn’t seen that man since then, some three years ago, and you doubted you would ever see him again after tonight. Not that you were sure you would even want to. Pushing the thoughts to the side, you stood up from your spot and began wandering around the room, looking at all of the pieces that were up for auction and wondered what was the most expensive item in the room when suddenly you heard shouting and gun shots, you could hear people running around as men shouted in the hallways. What they were shouting about you couldn’t understand but you knew from the tone that they were in a panic and it sounded like chaos even from inside the room.

Turning back to all of the items in the room, you began looking around for something, anything really, to protect yourself with. Crouching down you, began peeling the lids off of boxes, before hastily putting them back into place. One after the other had weirder and weird things in them; rare items, cursed items, artifacts from long gone civilizations, mummified body parts, full mummies, and in the last lid you lift, scarlet eyes. The lid clattered to the floor as you dropped it, dropped into a squat and throwing a hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. You had heard about the atrocity that had happened to the Kurta clan, heard the stories about their famed eyes, but to see a pair, not attached to a body, was an experience you could’ve lived several life time without.

Placing the lid back onto the box, you bit back a whimper and sent a silent prayer into the sky, hoping that whomever these had belonged to had suffered unnecessarily. Your heart went out to them and the pain all those alike. The unnecessary violence of the world was something you had never understood, especially in this instance. While you could not lie, they were beautiful indeed, to covet something like that to go to such lengths made your stomach flip. It took a special sort of evil to find pleasure in the pain of others; it took an even greater evil to personally inflict it, knowing a life was on the line and continue forward and unabashed anyway.

As you sad crouched, hidden by the stacks of boxes, the door flung open and before you could even lift your head up to see what was going on, you were being cloaked in darkness.

The void wasn’t so much as being asleep as it was being locked into a padded closet, a sound proof one at that. There was no telling how long you’d been in there and after counting for several hours, you’d given up figuring at some point, you’d get out. Not wanting to alert the person, or persons, who had taken the auction items that you were included amongst those things you remained silent. Instead, you bided your time by looking through the items, investigating and continuing your search for a weapon, smearing a little of your blood from your finger, which your cut on a ragged corner, on the boxes you deemed worthy of a least inflicting enough damage to give you time to escape should your search turn up entirely useless. As you continued to move forward, you were beginning to think that’s exactly what was going to happen. You were nearing the end of boxes when you came up a necklace that caught your eye. Looking at it, you idly wondered exactly what was so special about it. It was inlaid with millions of dollar worth of precious and rare gems like the other piece you’d come upon. Nor was it something anyone of note had worn, died in, or the like, making it precious for those reasons. No, as far as you could tell, it was quite unassuming compared to all the other items you knew were to be sold and that, in and of itself, made you move cautiously. The silver chain was nice enough were you any common person purchasing it from a jeweler and the stones that rested in a sort of star pattern were lovely but again, it perplexed you as to why it was here.

Sighing, you placed the lid back down and moved onto the other boxes before coming up empty and with that you flopped down onto the ground, or what you assume was ground in this…where exactly where you? The only thing you had heard when everything happened was a swoosh like a bag…so maybe that’s where you were? Yuuto had made a comment about the Dons having special beings at their disposal, beings who were incredible nen users. So maybe who’d ever taken you was one of them. You weren’t entirely sure and as it stood, you didn’t want to risk the element of surprise you currently had on something that might be true. For all you knew, whomever had caused the stir-up the other night had been the person who’d taken you. And if that were the case…you had no way of knowing if they were friend or foe.

Trying to run through a plan in your head of what exactly you would do when you got out where ever it was you currently were, your “world” began to shift and suddenly the abyss you seemed to be sitting in was brought back into the world of the living and you were among not only the items in your own void, but the other items that were up for auction as well, and there were voice, several of them and all of them foreign.

“That was uneventful.” A soft voice spoke, seemingly to take breathy pauses between each word, almost like when a compute regurgitated what you’d typed but lagged a little. Male, older than you, but not by much, he was close to you but hadn’t seemed to notice you yet.

“Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first dozen times. You didn’t get to torture the guy like you’d hoped. We got it.” Another male voice, this one more jovial spoke but clearly agitated with the younger male. “How long you think this is gunna take?”

“Don’t know. The boss just wants it done, so we’ll get it done.” This voice is female and you think that maybe she’s around your age or close to it. She’s the closest one to you and drawing closer with every word she takes and suddenly you’re wondering if you’ve been caught and begin calculating what is closest to you and within your reach.

You don’t get much further in your thought when you feel a presence come up behind you and a sudden pressure on your neck, nicking it slightly causing you to wince and let out a small hiss. You wonder how you missed this man sneaking up when you suddenly feel a spike of fear run through you veins. The man behind you is powerful, very powerful but his aura is also very sinister. Sinister enough to almost make you wish that you’d been left alone to be sold.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? A stowaway? My, my little dove, what a peculiar place to hide. Hoping to catch a show?” He whispers in your ear and the whimsical way in which he speaks almost makes you forget that he’s holding something against your neck that’s sharp enough to slide the skin, but clearly not metal as it’s not cold.

“Hisoka, what are you doing?” The female voice from earlier sounds again and some part of you hopes that, despite clearly knowing this man, she can be a friend in this situation rather than a foe…which this man seems to be shifting into.

Nudging you forward with his other hand, keeping the weapon close enough to make his intention known but not enough to draw anymore blood, you begin to move forward, legs and heart heavy. Unintentionally, you’d gotten your hopes up when you’d been freed from the void and hadn’t been placed back in your holding cell, thinking that maybe fate had smiled upon you. However, now, you knew that maybe you’d been cast into an even worse situation than you’d been in initially. You couldn’t be certain that these people were going to be your end…but you also couldn’t say to the alternative either.

“Look what I found.” The man named Hisoka says, amusement laced in his words as he brings you out of the proverbial shadows and into the light that is provided by the stage and you idly realize that the auction has started back up, meaning at some point your number will come up and your clock will run out. It’s also in this moment as you watch the stage that you realize that the people in front of you are staring, probably because someone has said something to you and you have yet to respond.

“What did you do to her Hisoka?” Another man asks, he’s handsome with his blonde hair and green eyes, but there’s something about him that makes your skin crawl and a take a step back into the man who’s guiding you forward.

“I didn’t do anything, did I little dove? I simply found her hiding in behind some boxes. Impressive abilities to have been able to hide from us, don’t you think?” Hisoka says, startling you slightly from his face being beside yours. Turning slowly, you look at him and find that you aren’t entirely wrong when the words whimsical and magical came to mind as he spoke.

He’s clown yet mystical in his appearance, his pink/red hair plays right into that, as does the small amount of clothing you can see. But what makes it is the lime green tear and blue star that reside under his eyes, like cards of a suit. It’s also then that you realize what he had pressed up against your neck was a playing card. What a peculiar man, you think idly before turning your head completely forward again.

“Regardless of whether you did something or not to her, it doesn’t answer why she’s here and what the hell should be do with her.” The girl’s voice from earlier that you heard comes from a girl who truly doesn’t seem much older than you with pink hair and an outfit that reminds you somewhat or a nurse’s attire. As petit as she might be, she radiates with power, as do the rest of the people here, but in a quiet, probably underestimated sort of way.

“Maybe…she was willing…to risk her life…to see…us.” The small man who walks forward does not match the face you had seen in your head when you’d heard his voice initially, not that you are displeased, as he too is quite attractive. However, the look in his eye and the clear bloodlust in them makes you want to run from where you stand. The other man earlier had said that this little one had been unhappy with the amount of torture he’d gotten to inflict on someone else.

Was that to be your fate?

“Maybe Feitan has a point.” And finally, the only other person you heard speak steps forward. This man is just as tall as the man behind you and just as intimidating, however, he looks far more normal. “Were you willing to risk your life to catch a glimpse of the illustrious Phantom Troupe sweetheart?” The way he says it is clearly mocking, like you’re some fucked up fangirl who’s come to worship her even more fucked up idol.

However, to worship someone, you should probably have an idea as to who they are in the first place. And you don’t think you can make it any clearer as you furrow your eyebrows and look around at the small group of people before you wondering if this is a name they’ve given themselves or one that was given to them. Either way, you try your hardest not to laugh at the hilarity of the situation you find yourself in. Are you biting back a hysterical laughter because of the ridiculousness of the situation or because you’ve come to realize just how absolutely fucked you are?

“I’m sorry, but…am I supposed to know what that means? Phantom Troupe? I take it that means you all, but…I don’t know exactly what that means outside of that.” You say thoughtfully, hoping that if you appear non-confrontational and innocent enough, these people, who clearly more foe than friend, will simply let you be.

The man who spoke last goes to open his mouth again before another woman walks forward, holding up her hand and making her way closer to you. She seems the most normal out of the entire lot, dressed as the presenter for the items for the auction tonight, although that’s clearly a farce because you knew the woman who was truly supposed to be doing it was much different in appearance than this woman.

“What do you mean exactly?” She asks you thoughtfully, watching you carefully and you can’t help but wonder if she has some sort of ability that lets her read your mind…or maybe between what you say.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause confusion. I mean…I don’t know who you people are. I don’t know what is or who is the Phantom Troupe? So that would mean no, I wasn’t risking my life trying to catch a glimpse.” You say and she looks to the others before nodding and looking back towards you.

“If you weren’t trying to catch a glimpse at us…then how did you come to be here then little dove?” Hisoka asks and you blink, trying to decide how you should go about answering them before deciding that the saying “the truth can set you free” may very well prove true in this moment.

“Same way the rest of the items in that area did, out of where it was they had been stored.” You mutter, looking around the group as they seem to parse through what you’ve just told them.

“You were with the items over there?” The blonde man in purple says and you nod, watching as he looks to the woman who arrives late. She nods at him and the group seems to collectively be trying to decide if you’re an item or were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time when everything went down. “So if you were with the items, then it’s safe to assume that you are one?”

You nod again and the group seems to pause for a second before the small man who you think had been called Feitan, steps forward and speaks up. “I think we should kill her.”

Under normal circumstances, a normal person would probably lose the color from their face as those words were uttered. Instead there is an instant cleansed feeling that takes over you. While death certainly isn’t the choice you would have had for yourself in life…you don’t know what being bought and sold would entail. However, on the flip side, you also have no idea what being left to your devices with this lot will also mean. Maybe death is the best option you have, so long as it isn’t drawn out and torturous. And if the little one is who will be dealing the final card…you aren’t so sure you’ll get a quick end.

“The boss said to make copies of all of the items here and to present them on stage and bring the real ones back to the hideout. You know that as well as I do.” The pink haired girl says and Feitan clearly does not agree with that as he makes a noncommittal noise that alerts you to his distaste.

“Koropi can’t make duplicates that move and talk.” The final girl says. Her speech is childlike and she cocks her head as she looks you over, as though you are a puzzle to be solved. At some point, between when you’d been pulled out from behind the crates, when they’d first started engaging with you and now, a vacuum like thing had appear in her possession and the sight of it has you thinking that if they do decide to kill you, your death will not be quick and painless like you had hoped.

The Phantom Troupe, not all of the members you deduced after listening to them go back and forth for a little while as to what to do with you, finally decide on calling their boss and having him instruct them as to what should be done with you. The answer is simple: make a clone and do what they had done with all the other pieces, place it on a cart and wheel it in. Koropi had stated that while in most instances, he could not create something that moved and talked, he could if it were just one and he had a little something extra. The extra being your blood.

With that, he could create a clone that would last for a little while before the effects of the blood would wear off and your clone would become like the rest of the fraudulent items. But at that point…what did it matter, the Troupe would no longer be around.

So as you watched the woman Pakunoda wheel your clone onto the stage, you and the rest of the real items were moved, Hisoka and Machi keeping close to you as you were moved into the back of another car and driven to wherever their “hideout” was.

As you watched the scenery, you began to run through all of the possibilities of what could happen. They had given you no hints as to what their boss was going to do with you and you couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse. A blessing in that it meant if he’d decided that he was going to kill you, you would not be left to stew in it on your ride over, wondering endlessly in what way exactly he planned to off you.

On the other side, however, was the fact that you had no idea what your fate was at this moment. Undecided if these people were going to kill you, keep you, torture you, or do god know’s what. That in and of itself was driving you mad. You simply wanted to know what exactly it was that you could expect when you got to wherever it was you were going so you’d be mentally prepared for whatever the outcome ended up being.

“If you keep working yourself up like that, you’ll be in an absolute tizzy by the time we arrive. He won’t kill you…not right away anyway. And if he does, well…he won’t make it painful. He can be ruthless, but he’s not that evil.” Hisoka said and you looked at the imposing man beside you, wondering why he seemed to be trying to calm you down.

From the short period of time you’d spent with the man, you had quickly grasped that he was most certainly the odd man out from the group, and by his own doing it seemed. Not only that, but it was evident that he didn’t do anything he didn’t wish too. He had motives behind every action he took and the way he went about things was with the sole purpose of achieving a goal that benefited him. If, by some chance, it happened to benefit the group as well, well then that was lovely for the group.

So his concern caused you pause. What exactly was it that he saw in your that would benefit him? It made you question even more what was about to happen. What end could he see that you couldn’t? It wasn’t fair given that he knew exactly where, who, and what you would be up against when you go there, but still…there was just something about this situation that didn’t sit well with you, outside of the obvious reasons.

“You seem very sure of that.” You say softly, looking out the window before turning back to look at him. You know they’re confident in themselves and their abilities, that’s evident by the fact that they have neither bound you nor covered your eyes or ears. They must know with absolute certainty that you either won’t try to escape…or won’t make it out alive.

“I am. You pose not threat to us or him alone, nor do you have abilities that he would want—”

“Hisoka. Enough!” Machi, the pink haired girl, spits from her spot in the driver’s seat, eying you through the rearview window. “What Hisoka means to say is the Boss doesn’t kill without purpose. And your death would serve no purpose. However…that doesn’t mean you get to leave.”

You take what she says into consideration and nod. That wasn’t anything you hadn’t already figured out. Regardless of who they were, all organized crime groups worked essentially the same. Mafia, Troupe, Gangs, ect. the thought process around them was same at the end of the day, give or take a few things, so you’d figured their own boss would run his ship the same way any other master would run theirs. Evidently, you hadn’t been mistaken in that thought process.

The two seemed to realize they weren’t going to get much out of you after that and the car remained silent for the rest of the ride. When you pulled up to a lofty mansion with a gate and sprawling grounds, you were shocked to say the least. This was not what you had expected in the least. What you had expected was some rundown abandoned building on the edge of town away from everyone. This lavish grandeur was not it though.

Leaning forward in your seat a little, Hisoka chuckles beside you. “Not what you were expecting little dove?”

You didn’t bother answering instead, looking around at what you could. You didn’t see a single guard around, not that you had expected to. There didn’t seem to be any visible forms of traps or delays anywhere either. Again, they may just not be visible to you. The car pulls to a stop in front fo a set of double doors and two men walk out. One who is very large with scars on his face and the other who is tall, and just as imposing as the other, but carrying a katana. Hisoka reaches around you and opens the door, nudging you to get out as the two men walk further down the steps and closer to you.

“Pretty sure the boss said to only bring back the auction items.” The larger man says as he eyes you carefully.

“She was an auction item.” Machi says monotonously, coming around from the front of the car and indicating with her head to walk inside. “She’s the prize gem of the auction this year. The last item to be bid upon in the first round. You know what that means.”

Both men seem to do a slow blink as you walk in between them and up on into the house. The entryway is beautiful, something that you would have done for your own home given the opportunity. You didn’t know if that would be an option in your future, but it was lovely to witness it nonetheless. As you walked further into the home, you highly doubted that they had decorated and then you wondered if they had acquired this home via legal ones…or by force. The thought alone dampened the beauty of the home and your internal smile fell. The look on your face remained neutral, giving nothing away and hopefully kept all of your fears and anxieties under wraps from the knowing eyes all around you.

“I don’t remember saying anything about bringing a person back.” The voice made you stop dead in your tracks as it brought your focus to the other person in the room and your heart stopped before leaping into action. While you can’t see him, nothing more than the back of his head with his slicked back black hair, you can definitely feel him. This aura, this presence was familiar to you and the exact one you had hoped to never cross path’s with again. Sucking in a breath you hopelessly wondered what you’d done in a past life to exact this fate.

“You said to bring all of the auction items…naturally…” Hisoka says, a smirk ever present in his speech, making you wonder if he has always been like this or if something in his life triggered this manic personality.

The man they’re speaking to stands up and for a moment, you almost close your eyes, fear racing through your veins and irrationally making you think that if you don’t see him, don’t see his face, he won’t be able to hold that over your head; won’t be able to use that as a reason why he has to kill you. But you don’t, instead you stand stock still, like a prey praying the predator won’t snuff them out, and await a fate you doubt you’d have be able to change regardless of what you did. Instead as he rounds the sofa, you cast your eyes down, tilting your head slightly, like a submissive dog baring its throat to the alpha and hope by some miracle, this man will see you are no threat nor of any value you and let you go.

You see feet stop in front of you and feel an ever perceptive gaze rove over your. You hold your breath and pray for mercy to any being that will hear your cry, good or bad. You don’t care, maybe even hope a little that it’s bad because surely…that would be the only type of being to defeat another of its own kind. Slowly a hand reaches out and you have to physically stop of nerve in your body from flinching. Two fingers press under your chin, the thumb resting on it as it corrects the position of your head and lifts it upwards, forcing you gently to look at the face and body it’s attached to.

The man before you is much, much younger than you anticipated, no more than a couple years older than yourself. He’s attractive, very much so, with a prominent brow and perfect nose, large grey eyes and chiseled jaw and chin. When the members of the Troupe hadn’t spoken briefly about their boss, you had not pictured a man like this. No, initially it hadn’t been a man at all. But when they’d said “he” the vision in your head had mirrored much more closely to the man with the scars on his face and hanging ears. This man, young man, reminded you more of the grad students you saw on campus than the leader of a group of murders and thieves.

“You know me…but did not expect me.” He voice flints about like it’s a question but their absolution in the way he says it, eyes calculative and ever watchful.

“No, to both. I don’t know you, I have crossed paths with you before. You were in my city once, you walked by me while I was walking my sister home from school and I felt your aura. I felt crazy when the people around me didn’t seem to have a reaction at all but my entire being felt…dark.” You let your mouth get away from you before you realize it, remembering that day and how your parents had written you off. Strong Nen users weren’t common where you were from, or at least weren’t common in the fact that they flaunted their abilities. But you’d known this man was in a class of his own. Clearing your throat you blinked and cleared your eyes as you looked at him again. “And no, I didn’t expect you. Although…I’m not entirely certain what I did expect. I’m not entirely well versed in you and your ‘Phantom Troupe.’”

The latter seems to take him and the new men by surprise. He masks his shock quickly, the other two seems to revel in it. So much so that the man with the katana begins to laugh.

“You’ve never heard of the Phantom Troupe? Really?” He says in such an incredulous way that you almost begin to question the statement you’ve made before stopping yourself.

“I lived quite a sheltered life so you’ll have to excuse my ignorance.” With that, they all seem to be appeased for the moment.

The leader cocks his head to the side as he observes you before looking at the others in the room. “Help the others unload everything. While you all are doing that, I’ll have a chat with our…guest. Should you need us, we’ll be in the study.” He says and they nod, some of them grumbling as they move to go back outside.

Although, as you are turned and ushered in the opposite direction, you notice Hisoka waiting and standing back from the group, eyes clearly on you as he watches his boss lead you in the opposite direction from them, him. There’s something in his eyes that you think resembles concern but wave it off quickly as you are certain you must be seeing things.

Their leader was not kidding as he lead you into a large study, a room filled with books from wall to celling on one side and floor to ceiling windows on the other. There’s also a fire place, large desk and two sofas, with matching chairs and coffee table to round out the large room. It’s beautifully decorated and again, you wonder who this home actually belongs to.

“This place isn’t your, is it?” You ask before you can stop yourself from biting your tongue and instantly feel the back of your neck heat up.

Slip-ups like these had been common when you were younger, your natural curiosity getting the better of you. But your mother had beaten them out of you quite early on, as talking out of turn was undesirable in the wife of a high ranking man. Women were to be seen and not heard, is what you mother had told you prior to smacking you in the face. You’d learned quickly that you did not like the taste of blood in your mouth and your questions could be answered by other means.

“It is actually. Not that it is used all that often. I bought this house some time ago. Why, did you think we had killed the people who did own it?”

“Yes, that seemed the most logical give what little I have learned about you and yours.” He seems taken aback by your truthfulness but recovers quickly, chuckling softly under his breath.

“According to you, you don’t know much about ‘me and mine,’ so how is it you’ve already deduced so much about us?” His question is simple enough, but there is a definite edge to it. Despite his relaxed demeanor, even as he leans back against his desk, arms slayed as if to seem nonthreatening, you can still feel the aura rolling off of him, ready to strike at a moments notice.

“Because, for the most part, all organized crime groups run the same. Their motives might be different, and the way things are executed may vary too. But at the heart of it…there isn’t much difference.”

“You speak as if you have experience?”

“Not quite, no.” Again, you are surprised to find that this man seems stumped by your answer but he smirks all the same, looking down at his crossed feet before back up at you from behind his fridge…and you can’t help but wonder how many women—and probably men as well, he doesn’t strike you as the discriminating type—have fallen prey to that look, they eyes, they posture and speech…like a fly in a spider’s web.

“Care to enlighten me?” He asks gently and had you not been training for situations like this your entire life, you know you too would fall right into his web as well.

“If you’ll pay me back in kind.” You are completely taken aback as the man laughs. It’s melodious and were you not in such a position as you were, you would have smiled and giggled yourself, ever hopeful to hear it again and again. It was a lovely sound and one you were certain he probably didn’t make often, and for that you became even more on edge.

“Alright, consider my interest even more peaked. Who are you and why exactly has the mafia deemed you as such a valuable item to be sold?” His question shouldn’t stir-up so many emotions as it does, but as the saying goes, you are only human and the wave of emotional turmoil his question strikes in you leaves you almost gasping.

“I’m nobody really and honestly…I don’t know what it is exactly that has everyone’s interest so peaked. Maybe my parents lied. I’m not entirely certain. All I can tell you is…is that I’ve been raised to be the perfect wife for a powerful man. My parents raised me for the sole purpose of elevating their status, their wealth, their power. You asked if I spoke from experience? While I obviously was never in a position as the wife of a crime lord, I was raised to be one and I prized myself on being an asset, not a burden. As for whether or not that alone makes me worth all of the money that the Don who bought spent on me and anticipated on being spent to purchase me…I could not tell you.”

After you complete your story, you look up from looking at your hands to see the man before you looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face, one that brought Hisoka to mind and you wondered why you kept envisioning these men to have forlorn looks on their faces. That was simply absurd and thinking like that was only going to lead you to getting seriously injured, or worse dead. No, you had to remind yourself their were worse fates than death and you had no doubt that the little one, Feitan, was more than well versed at serving that up with delight.

He nods his head and rubs his chin, walking from his desk and over to the couch across from your own. Sitting down, he rests his elbows on his knees before looking up at you. “Tell me what you know about Nen?”

His question throws you off a little and you furrow your brows, not entirely tracking where he’s going with this. “I know that it exists and that it has multiple subsections of it and that it’s predominately used to fit. But other than that not much.”

“Can you tell when others have it? A strong Nen that is?” He looks at you intently as he asks and you wonder what exactly is this man’s capabilities.

Hisoka made a comment about you not having “anything for the boss to take” and at the time, you’d given it no thought. Thinking maybe, Hisoka had meant it in a sexual way, thinking that at your age you were no longer virginal, which he was wrong about, that was one of the key selling points for you. Property to be completely dominated and never claimed by other man. Now, however, you wondered if it somehow was linked back to this man’s nen ability.

“Yes, as I said earlier, I had felt your aura before. I can usually tell when people have a strong presence, or not. Even when it’s faint I can feel it. Usually that’s in children though or those who have no idea what Nen is. Might I ask why exactly?”

“What about now? Can you still sense my aura?” He asks and you sit there, looking at him as though he has six heads.

“Of course I can…why wouldn’t I be able to?” You ask him incredulously and the look of awe on his face is so prominent you know that you couldn’t have imagined it.

“You can still see feel my aura?”

“Yes, I’d have to be dead not to with how strong your aura is. I don’t like it.” You say, and wonder how you’ve managed to make two mistakes in the span of only a couple of minutes in this man’s presence. Deciding to go with it, as this may very well be your last day, you resolve yourself to say and ask whatever comes to mind. “I also don’t like that I don’t know your name.”

If your first comment hadn’t thrown him, the second one certainly has seemed to and he looked at you again as if you are some wonder of the world. Eying you suspiciously before getting up and moving around. He says nothing as he walks outside the room and then comes back moments later, motioning for you to stand up.

“If you can pass this test, I’ll tell you my name and much more.” As he says that he holds up a sash and proceeds to tie it over your eyes making sure you can not see before leading you out of the room.

“Is this where I die?” You can’t help but ask and you can hear the breathy chuckle next to your ear.

“No, it’s not. If anything, this may very well be the moment in which you start to truly live.”

You continue to walk for a little bit, before he stops you, instructing you to leave the blind fold on and, probably, checking to make sure you can’t see anything. There are several people in this room, more so than earlier. And you wonder if this is all of the troupe.

“Tell me…how many people are in this room?” He asks and you sigh.

“Including you and I, there’s 15.”

“And now?” He asks and this time you let a loud, exasperated sigh.

“No one has suddenly dropped dead, so the number still remains at 15.” At that, the voices in the room seem to pick up. To say they seemed shocked is an understatement.

“How is that even possible?”

“Has anyone like that ever existed?”

“I wasn’t…taking this…serious…let me have…another…go.”

And so on and so forth. As more and more time seemed to tick by, the group seemed to become more and more in aw of what was going on. All the while, you were still confused and in the dark—literally and metaphorically—as to what had just happened that had them such in arms.

“You still didn’t answer my earlier question.” You say softly, knowing he can full well hear you above all of his members questions.

“Chrollo. Chrollo Lucilfer. That is my name kitten and you are far more extraordinary than anyone has ever given you credit for. I can’t wait to see just what it is you are fully capable of.”

#Dancing with the Devil(s)#fic #hunter x hunter #Chrollo #chrollo fic #hisoka #hisoka fic #illumi zoldyck #illumi fic #reader insert fic #adult trio #adult trio fic

37 notes · View notes

motherjoel · 4 years

Text

Leading Lady (Spencer Reid x Reader)

chapter two- comfortable silence

wc: 1.6k

summary: you meet the rest of the team and find out how you’ll be protected from the unsub

a/n: please let me know if you guys like it so far! feedback is always appreciated :)

chapter index: chapter one

The ride was pretty silent. You soon realized that you didn’t even know where you were driving to. The guy in the sweater sat next to you in the back seat. You decided to break the silence and turned to him.

“Sooo… what's your name?” you asked him with a smile. You had been introduced to Agent Morgan, the conventionally attractive muscle man, but the blunt pretty boy hadn’t said much.

“Dr. Spencer Reid. Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself sooner,” he acknowledged apologetically. You shrugged, it was no big deal. The way he spoke was not conventionally charming- it was the little details that piqued your interest in him. He wasn’t boisterous or flirtatious, although you wouldn’t have minded if he was.

“Nice to meet you Spencer, I’m Y/N. Though, you probably already know that,” you chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. He didn’t say much, but there was a light smile on his face as he looked out the window.

You offered another question, directed towards agent Morgan. “I’m sorry, but where are we going?” you asked.

“Don’t be sorry. We’re going to the police station to fill you in and introduce you to the team,” he said with a comforting smile. He then took on a more serious tone. “Our number one priority is your safety. We’re going to try to keep you as safe as possible without straying too much from your daily routine,” he explained. You didn't know what that meant, but it comforted you. The SUV pulled up to the police station and the three of you got out and walked inside.

You were greeted by a group of pretty good looking people, not unlike the 2 agents who picked you up. A man with dark features and a stern face introduced himself first as Agent Hotchner, followed by Agents Jareau, Prentiss, Rossi, and Garcia (who was currently on a computer screen talking through a video chat). You shook everyone’s hands and waved to Garcia through the screen, who enthusiastically told you to call her Penelope. You turned back to Agent Hotchner as he began to speak.

“I know this is incredibly stressful, but we appreciate your cooperation,” he said.

“No problem, but what exactly am I cooperating with? Why am I being targeted?” you asked, frantic to know information. Dr. Reid looked up from the files in his hand to answer your question.

“We believe you to be the next target in a string of local murders. This unsub, or, unidentified subject, is killing women of your age and general appearance who are starring in local theatre productions,” he told you. The information was incredibly jarring, but there was a softness in his eyes that made you feel safe.

“While we don’t know why he’s targeting these women, we believe that you are a target,” said Prentiss. Your heart dropped- you’d never get used to being a “target.”

“So, how are we gonna prevent me from dying,” you said in a joking tone. You knew it wasn't a joking matter, but since it was your life on the line, you felt that you reserved the right. Agent Hotchner spoke again.

“We’re going to have one of our agents stay with you at all times. Dr. Reid will be staying in your apartment, posing as a visitor or some sort of outsider, maybe a boyfriend,” he said. As he said this, you couldn’t help but blush at the thought, and when you looked at Spencer it seemed like he felt the same, avoiding your gaze. Agent Hotchner continued. “He is to follow you and stay with you wherever you go. We will also have undercover agents positioned outside of your apartment building at night to keep you safe.”

This was a lot to process. You looked to Dr. Reid, who was already looking at you with… well you weren’t sure. It was like the soft look from before but it contained something extra, maybe pity, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Okay, I guess. Thank you,” you said, and you meant it. There wasn’t much left to do at the police station so you were ordered to head back home. Dr. Reid grabbed a duffel bag and met up with you at the entrance.

“Ready to go?” he asked, holding the door open for you.

“Yup,” you said, trying to hide a blush. For some reason the basic act of holding a door open for you made your heart flutter. You hadn’t experienced simple chivalry in months, not even with your ex all that much. You nodded your thanks to him and walked past him to the car, slightly brushing against his arm as you walked past. You hopped into the front seat as he got into the driver's seat and wordlessly started the car.

The ride over was fairly quiet aside from you occasionally telling him where to turn to get to your apartment. However it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Although the two of you didn’t exchange many words, his presence was welcome and comforting. That could also be because he had a gun strapped to his waist and an insane serial killer was after you, but you felt connected to this man already. You had to park a couple blocks away from your apartment because the streets were always packed, but you didn’t mind. He reached into the back seat to grab his duffle bag and the two of you hopped out of the car.

There was something about him that you liked, that was intriguing. You noticed some small mannerisms, like his occasional rambling and the way he talked with his hands. Those hands that made your mind go to... indecent places. You had just met the guy, though, and obviously didn’t plan on acting on the occasional attraction. Shaking these thoughts from your head, you decided to make some conversation while the two of you made your way to your apartment.

“It must be hard,” you said, noticing him giving you a weird look you continued. “I mean, your job. Aside from the physical aspects of catching killers, I bet it takes a toll,” you said before realizing that it could seem insensitive. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to delve deep into your psyche with some random stranger you just met…” you trailed off, embarrassed. A laugh came out of nowhere and your eyes shot back up.

“Well, I guess if I do delve deep into my psyche with you, then we won't be strangers anymore,” he smiled. “But, you’re right. It does get hard sometimes, I'm very lucky to have such a great team. We’re all kinda there for each other to help deal with stuff like that. We’re all in the same boat,” he explained. You nodded, processing his response, and it wasn’t long before you reached your front door.

“Here we are, the casa del Y/N,” you said in a terrible accent. You heard a light chuckle behind you as you walked in, dropping your keys on the counter. He stood near the entrance and surveyed your place, not making any definitive movements. He seemed uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to disturb anything, but it wasn’t like you kept your place extremely tidy. It was more organized chaos- with your busy schedule and lack of a social life, you didn’t feel the need to keep everything sparkling.

“Well make yourself at home. Uh, the couch is a pullout bed so you can sleep there. Help yourself to anything in the cabinets, although i'm living basically off of rice and the occasional PB & J so it's not really stocked,” you laughed. He smiled at that, but looked a little concerned.

“Don’t worry, sometimes I steal the occasional croissant from work so I’m getting my calories. Don’t tell my boss, though” you joked. He laughed again, more comfortably, and walked towards the couch to set down his duffle bag. He seemed to notice your copy of Les Mis, the book version, on the coffee table and he picked it up.

“One of my favorites,” he said, while flipping through.

“Oh, you’ve read it?” you asked, surprised that this calculating man was reading Victor Hugo.

“Yeah, in the original French too,” he said, nonchalantly. You were shocked but you didn't want to make a big deal so you continued.

“Wow. Well, I decided to read it to kinda prepare for the show I'm in. I wanted to get to know the characters more and Hugo can really go on and on so I’m feeling good,” you said. You tried to make time for reading but these days you could only read when it wasn’t busy at work so reading Les Mis seemed like a good option.

He smiled at your response, seeming content that you two had something in common. You felt the same.

“Well, I’ve got the early shift again tomorrow so I’d better get to bed,” you said, feeling the exhaustion from the day hit you.

“No problem,” he responded, seeming to understand your feelings. “You could probably guess this but I’ll be going to work with you tomorrow. Don’t worry, I'll lay low.”

“Oh, I'm not worried, and don’t feel compelled to lay low. I barely get any company at work so this is exciting for me, besides the serial killer part,” you both laughed. It was nice to have someone who understood what you were going through while simultaneously protecting you.

With that, you walked into your room to get ready for bed. You barely had time to process your thoughts or feelings before the heaviness in your eyelids overtook you as you drifted off to sleep.

taglist: @rexorangecouny

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds reid #derek morgan #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #hotch #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau

103 notes · View notes

ieattaperecorders · 4 years

Text

Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 11: Going Out

Jon looks to the future.

* * *

The streetlights were coming on. One of them caught Jon's eye, flickering for a moment before settling. Its light didn't make it very far into the alleyway, cut off by the shadow of the institute building. As the sky grew dark, the last few feet of pavement were completely obscured. Something could easily stand in that shadow, unseen by anyone walking by.

The words can I have a cigarette popped into Jon's mind as he pulled out the slim package of Silk Cut, placed one between his lips, and lit it. His lighter was cheap yellow plastic, disposable and meaningless. There was no lighter with a spiderweb pattern in his pocket. Like the table, it had never been delivered.

That lighter. He wondered, as he inhaled nicotine and acetaldehyde, why he could think about it now. His mind had simply slid off it before, even when it was brought to his attention. Only recently had it finally occurred to him how strange it had been, to hold onto a thing like that for so long. He'd been made not to notice it. Why was he allowed to realize that now?

Maybe he'd been freed from something. More likely, they didn't need the lighter anymore, didn't need to hide their influence on him. They knew that there was nothing he could do.

Annabelle's words rang in his memory as he took another drag, telling him that addiction was one of the most powerful vectors of control. She wasn't wrong, and maybe he shouldn't be smoking at all right now. But the old lie of just one more still had its pull. Any fractional part of himself he might be feeding to the spiders with every puff seemed as irrelevant as lung cancer at this point. Besides, this really was his last cigarette. He knew a surefire way to quit.

Still a couple of hours until it would begin, and there was nothing to do but wait and contemplate. Everything was ready. It had been ready for some time, really. If he was honest with himself, he'd been putting this off. Stalling, telling himself he needed more time, when the reality was that he just didn't want to go through with it. It was strange that he was still afraid to die. After everything he'd been through – more importantly, everything that was at stake – one might expect him to go to his end stoically, even with relief. Comforted by some notion that he was making a noble sacrifice. Or by the darker hope that so many cross that line with, that at the end of it all there will be rest.

He didn't feel noble. He didn't feel like some soldier in a Tennyson poem, riding boldly and well into death. He felt like Alexei in the endless trench at the end of the world – scared, powerless, yearning for a home that had ceased to exist. All he had in him was a dull, cold ache, broken by the occasional stab of fear as he contemplated how little time was left. He supposed Terminus's torments got everyone in the end.

It would be nice, though, if he could be stoic. He didn't like thinking his last hours would be spent fighting down dread.

Another puff. The smoke made patterns in the air around him, the abstract shape of his breath outlined in ash and tar. As he watched it dissipate, the light hit it at a particular angle and for a moment – fast, but unmistakable – he saw the interlacing tendrils of a spider's web. With a start, he dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe.

Dying wasn't so bad, he told himself. Everyone did it eventually. And there were far worse things than death.

There was still time before Rosie would leave for the night, and he decided to treat himself to a last meal. He considered getting something extravagant or indulgent, but in the end all he wanted was a sandwich and soup from the nearby cafe, so it would be that. One more simple comfort, with enough calories to get him through this final push.

As he passed the front of the Institute he saw Martin sitting on the steps, staring out across the street and scribbling something in a little notebook.

Jon froze. He hadn't expected to run into anyone. "Oh. Hello."

". . . Hi." Martin seemed likewise surprised to see him, quickly stuffing the notebook into his bag. In the back of his mind, Jon wondered if he'd been writing poetry. "You, uh . . . coming to the meeting later?"

Martin was choosing his words carefully, he noticed. At least someone was taking his warnings about Elias seriously.

"Yes. Ah, yes," he replied. "I'll see you there."

Martin nodded. Jon began to walk past him, but after a few feet he stopped and turned.

"Have you eaten?" he blurted out. Martin blinked, surprised, and he continued. "I, ah, was just going to get something from the cafe down the street. If you'd like to join me."

He spoke stiffly and too fast, and maybe that was what made Martin pause – the nervousness apparent in Jon's demeanor. The weight he couldn't keep from placing on the question.

"Um. You mean. . . ?"

He could almost see Martin doing calculations. Weighing the intensity of everything that had happened that day, and Jon's own confusing outburst earlier. They'd eaten at that cafe before, but only during work hours. Did it mean something else if it was dinner?

Jon wanted to say yes, it meant exactly what he thought it did and more. But now was the one time when he really, truly couldn't, not with what he knew was coming. It would be too cruel. He'd had countless chances to tell Martin how he felt, and he hadn't taken them, and now it was too late.

"I mean," he said gently "that I think we could both use a little time to just relax. And not think about everything that's been happening. That's all."

"O-oh. Right. Of course." Was he disappointed? Embarrassed? Relieved? Jon truly couldn't tell. "Um, yeah. That sounds good. Let me just get my coat."

He vanished into the institute, leaving Jon outside. He wondered if it had been a mistake to ask. If he should have just left on his own, come back alone, and done what had to be done. Then Martin came back out, wrapping a scarf around his throat, and smiled when their eyes met.

After that, he didn't worry or wonder. He smiled back.

* * *

Jon's thoughts were scattered, and Martin's presence beside him as they walked was a source of gravity, pulling him back to the same questions, over and over. Would he believe Jon after he explained everything? Would he take it poorly? More than anything else . . . when it was over, all of it, would he be all right? Perhaps predictably, Martin was the one to actually break the silence.

"So . . . look. We don't have to talk about Sasha, or Tim, or–" he waved his hand, indicating anything and nothing. "All of that. It's just, today's been rough, and you're being really quiet, and . . . ."

A quiet warmth rose in Jon's chest. ". . . You want to know if I'm all right."

"Basically?"

"I'm . . . as all right as I'm going to be. Under the current circumstances," he sighed. "I'll let you know if I feel a nervous breakdown coming on."

Martin gave him an uncertain look, as if he might be serious, but when Jon smiled he seemed to realize he was joking. "Ah. Well . . . Sasha took hers this weekend, so the rest of us are probably due."

"Seems only fair."

"Maybe we can set up a schedule? ‘Oh, Tuesday – that means it's Tim's turn to do the dishes in the break room and Martin's to scream in the storage closet.'" He shook his head. "We're a mess, huh? The four of us."

"Could be worse. No one's murdered anyone else, or threatened a coworker with a deadly weapon. Those are a couple of points in our favor," he paused for a moment, then added. ". . . That was a joke."

"I should hope so. Sheesh. If I'm ever in a position to send out job applications again, remind me not to use you as a reference. Can't imagine what you'd say about my perfect no-homicide streak."

That made Jon pause. He tiled his head, considering. "I'm not sure that you actually have one . . . we did kill Jane Prentiss?"

"I – what? She wasn't even really alive, though, was she? That can't possibly count."

"Mm. Maybe not." He had his doubts, but how much of Jane had truly been there when they killed her wasn't a question he wanted to dig into at that moment. "Either way, since I was the one to set off the alarm, you were really more of an accomplice."

"And there's self-defense? She was trying to eat us, it doesn't get much more threatening than that."

Jon smirked. "It'd be a bold strategy, arguing that to a jury."

The last few blocks to the cafe had passed without him really noticing, and the two of them went inside. As they settled at a table, he turned to Martin.

"What would you actually do? If you could leave?" he asked. "If you really were sending out applications."

Martin paused in draping his coat over the back of the chair, startled by the question."Is this a, ‘what would you do if money didn't matter' sort of thing, or like –"

"No. Money is the same. Everything is the same, just the institute's gone. What would you do?"

"Dunno? Try to get another library job, I guess, since it's what I have experience in. Suppose that's not a very interesting answer."

"It's a reasonable one."

"I liked it in the library, though. I guess it suited me . . . it was quiet and easy to keep things organized. Easier than the archive, at least," he shrugged, sitting down. "What about you? What would you do if you could quit?"

Oh. Fair question, one Jon should have realized he was opening himself to after asking Martin the same. He really wasn't sure what to say. Starting over outside the Institute . . . it was something he used to think about, occasionally. In Scotland he would allow himself silly, idle thoughts of the two of them settling there. Laying low, maybe finding work in the tiny village somewhere or in his more fanciful moments living ‘off the land' in some impossibly nonspecific way.

His mind still drifted the safehouse from time to time, but it was only a daydream. His already impractical, half-formed plans had turned into soothing fantasies disconnected from any reality – too perfect and comforting to bother with the question of how they paid for groceries.

"Hard to say. The supernatural has seemed like such an inescapable thing for a while now. I – I know it's only been a year. But it's still hard to imagine myself outside the archive anymore." He sucked air in through his teeth. "Which sounds awfully grim, I'm sure."

"I think I might get it. Honestly . . . this is going to sound just awful, but after you told us about the no-quitting thing, I think a part of me was relieved? Just a small part. But I'd been anxious about losing this job on and off for a while now, and on some level I guess I was just glad I wouldn't need to worry about that."

"Martin . . ." Jon said softly. "You – we can't think like that. You're not better off at the Institute."

"Oh, I know. I mean, I get it. Like I said . . . just a small part," he shrugged. "But you already know this is the only real job I've ever had. And even before the supernatural stuff, it's not like I had much of a life outside of it."

"You seem to get along with people, though," he said. "Hannah, and the others from the library. You talk with nearly everyone, don't you?"

"I guess . . . but only at work. Which kind of proves my point."

Jon nodded slowly, looking down at his hands. Once again found his mind returning to would he be all right? He knew that there were a thousand, thousand ways for a person to be trapped somewhere. After a moment of silence, he continued.

"Er. How is Hannah doing?"

"Oh. All right, I suppose. She's got her due date set, so she's making plans for that."

"Right . . . you know," he cleared his throat. "I don't think I know half the people outside the archive as well as you do."

"Well, I've been here a lot longer. You at least know Yolanda right? I saw you two talking last week, it looked like you were getting on."

"I suppose? I mentioned liking cats, and she sort of cornered me. Wouldn't let me leave until she'd gone through every detail of hers."

"Heh, that sounds right."

"I don't mind seeing photos of people's pets, obviously. But she insists on calling them her ‘fur babies' which really is an horrific term. . . ."

From there they got to talking about others in the Institute who had strange quirks with their pets. Apparently Iris had brought their bearded dragon into the library one afternoon and it had gotten loose in the stacks. Jon observed with a smirk that this seemed to be a pattern around Martin, which to his delight managed to fluster him a little. He stammered something about how he'd checked with the shelter and the dog had been adopted already, so Jon could rest easy knowing it wouldn't find it's way back there, thank you very much.

Listening to him speak, Jon found himself thinking about how much Martin noticed about other people. Little things that escaped Jon or fell through the sieve of his memory somehow stood out to him. It was a bit embarrassing to realize there were still colleagues of his in research that Martin knew better than he did.

Martin also had more than a small streak for gossip, a quality that hadn't had much chance to come up much in the time he'd spent with Jon in that other life. It was a recklessly endearing thing to discover, and the time passed quickly as they talked.

". . . And there's the live lobster that Rosie won in a raffle," Martin said, finishing out a story. "But you probably know about that one already, pretty sure she told everyone about it."

"Not everyone. Not me, anyway."

Jon's mind momentarily drifted to a cold, echoing tower, to a sense of being caught eavesdropping, and of swallowed regret. It was usually how he felt around Rosie nowadays. Things weren't made much easier by the fact that whenever they made eye contact he heard Jonah's voice saying "Nosy Rosie" in the back of his mind, and he'd grown vaguely terrified that one day he'd just say it out loud without thinking.

"I find it little hard to talk to her, though," he added. "And I don't think she's especially fond of me."

Martin balked at that. "Rosie? Come on, she likes everyone."

"No one likes everyone, Martin."

"Okay, fine. But, still, she's like, the most laid back person in the whole building. How is she of all people hard to talk to? Unless –" a thought seemed to occur to him. "Oh, wait – is this something to do with Elias? Is she, like, his henchman or something? Is she in on it?"

"What? No, no, it's nothing like that . . . though I suppose her closeness to Elias doesn't help. I can't exactly talk with her about . . . well, any of this."

"So talk to her about something else, then!" Martin's tone had taken on a determined edge, and Jon feared he had a point that he was making. "I know you can talk about things that aren't terrible, dire secrets. Tell her about emulsifiers or something."

"I don't know . . ." Jon shifted in his chair. "I think I lost the art of conversation somewhere."

"Oh, come on. You talk to me all the time, and Sasha and Tim . . . ."

". . . That's different."

Heat was rising to Jon's face, and it occurred to him that he should probably just agree with whatever Martin said in the hopes that they could move past this point in the conversation. But he just didn't have it in him not to be contrary over this – an energy that seemed to only feed into Martin's.

"Come on, pretend I'm Rosie." Martin folded his arms and leaned forward on his elbows, looking at Jon. "Tell me something about yourself. Talk about your hobbies or something."

"Hobbies . . ." Jon shook his hand, quietly baffled. "I don't know . . . I read a lot? I used to collect sea glass, but not really lately."

He sounded boring even to himself, but he couldn't think of a hobby that he'd stuck to for any real amount of time. What had he done with himself before his days were spent desperately scrabbling against a tide of supernatural horror? He thought back.

"Oh. Well, I did a little bit of theater in college. And I was in a band for about a year and a half."

That got Martin's attention. "You were in a band? Like, a real one?"

"I don't know what makes a band ‘real' or not," he shrugged. "We weren't imaginary."

"Fair enough, I suppose. Would I have heard of you?"

"Are you – are you still being Rosie, or –?"

"No, I guess not. I'm just curious. Would I have?"

"Definitely not. Not unless you happened to attend open mics around Oxford, or were a regular at the only bar that ever let us play," he waved his hand, already embarrassed that he'd brought it up and eager to move past it. "It was just myself and a few friends, really it was an excuse to blow off steam."

"Huh. What kind of music did you play?"

"Oh God. Experimental, I guess? Sort of industrial, but also operatic, maybe? Not – not what you're thinking of probably, but –" he huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not describing it very well."

He looked up to see Martin leaning forward subtly, arms on the table, a look of eager curiosity on his face. He was smiling. It was a nice smile, not nervous, not tired and worn down or wry, and Jon wanted to stop everything there. Stop time from moving forward, so that Martin could keep smiling like that, just for a while.

Nothing matters anymore, he thought.

"Hell with it," he said, reaching for his phone. "Would you like to see pictures?"

"Um, yes?" Martin said. "Absolutely."

Jon sighed, but felt a smile pulling at his face. "I'll warn you, they aren't very flattering. And almost all of them were taken in the dim light."

He thumbed through his photo albums until he reached what he was looking for, then passed his phone across the table. Martin took it, looking at the picture and then back at Jon, as if comparing the two.

"Huh," he said diplomatically, biting his lower lip. Jon was just glad he wasn't openly laughing. "You look different."

"Mmm. My hair was longer then."

"The makeup is nice. Are the silver things stars?"

"Oh. Yes . . ." Jon frowned, trying to remember details. "We each had sort of a character we played, though the backstories kept changing. Mine was a space explorer, I think? Honestly, I don't remember very well, and I don't think it was ever fully fleshed out."

"Have the others seen these?" Martin asked, flipping through them with growing delight.

Jon shook his head. "I've told Tim that I used to sing. But I'm fairly sure he thought I meant a school choir, and I didn't correct him. I haven't told Sasha at all, though I suppose it's always possible she's found out on her own."

"Really?" That made Martin pause and look back at him. Still smiling, pleased to have a secret, but surprised. "Why show me, then?"

Because I love you. Jon thought. Because I'm going to be dead in a few hours, and seeing the surprise and delight on your face is one of the last and greatest pleasures that I'll ever know. Because I want to give you so much, and I can't. I want to give you every wonderful thing you deserve, and I won't. All I can give you is this, and it's so small and stupid and pointless, but it's all that I have.

"I suppose I'm just in a sharing mood," he said.

* * *

Dinner passed far more quickly than Jon would have ever expected, and it was with a sigh that he finally looked at the time and realized it had nearly run out.

"We should probably be getting back."

A stab of something ran through him as he said it – fear, regret, or resolve, he couldn't tell. But it was soft, and didn't linger. Martin nodded and frowned as he looked at the bill.

"Forgot to ask them to split it," he muttered.

"Let me," Jon reached forward, gently slipping it from under his fingers. "It's the least I can do."

Martin hesitated, then said "I'll get the next one."

He managed half of a nod in response, he couldn't bear to agree out loud, it would feel too much like a lie. A moment later the bill was paid, and the two of them started back towards the Institute. As they left, Jon put a hand on Martin's arm.

"Thank you for this," he said, squeezing slightly before letting him go. "I . . . well, I think I really needed it."

The surprise in Martin's face at Jon's touch quickly turned into something softer, and he smiled down at him. "Anytime, Jon. Really."

The two of them walked back in silence.

* * *

Tim was still in the archive, meaning Sasha had managed to convince him not to go off in search of the circus again. Melanie had also arrived, brought in by the unavoidably cryptic voice message he'd left on her phone. She seemed to be in conversation with Sasha.

Jon nodded at them. "You're all here. Good."

"What's going on?" Melanie said. "You claim it's urgent that I come but you don't say why, and it seems to me like no one else knows either."

"Not here." He held up a hand and turned, gesturing for them to follow. "We can talk in the tunnels, I'll explain everything there."

#tma fanfic #ao3 link in reblog #tma #tma time travel au #cw: suicidal ideation #cw: smoking

15 notes · View notes

overdrivels · 4 years

Text

The Way to a Heart (21)

<< Chapter 20

McCree knows there’s no such thing as a perfect mission—the fact that most everyone on the mission got put up in the medbay immediately after is more than indicative of that. Turns out they were found out when Zarya looked up the destination on her own device. (Sombra was kind enough to tip him off when she hacked into his earpiece during the mission). It made him roll his eyes so hard he saw stars. Doesn’t anyone follow proper sec-ops these days?

Hanzo got knocked flat on his ass, having taken more pellets than anyone else. He hasn’t woken up yet but Angela doesn’t expect him to until tomorrow at the earliest. Genji got off lighter in a sense, but he was hit in areas that messed with his general ability to function. Non-fatal for regular people, but crippling for him until Angela and Torbjörn can make the proper repairs. He heard Genji is up and about but won’t be combat ready for a while and Hanzo is still knocked out.

And himself? He’s been laid up for the past day, nursing wounds that he got only because he was being hasty and juggling the looming possibility of a second knee replacement. He got what he needed from Sombra, and a little extra from ‘Reaper’. His business with them is done for now.

As for Lúcio and Zarya, they were slowly overwhelmed by the crowd who kept getting back up. Even a weightlifting champion will have trouble carrying the whole mission alone, so Ana gave Lúcio a boost after Talon retreated so they’d all have the energy to scrape the Shimada brothers off the ground and drive them all back in record time. Unfortunately for Lúcio, the nano-boost stuff Ana gave him is still experimental, and Angela raised hell.

“His muscles were ripped to shreds—!”

“To shreds, you say?” Ana tuts. “Now you’re being dramatic.”

McCree has to wince in sympathy when Angela splutters indignantly, the loss of her composure a rare and dangerous thing.

“How dare—his heart nearly collapsed! This technology, I never approved of it to be used in this way.”

“This technology is no longer yours to control. Just as a parent lets their child out in the world, you can’t dictate what happens to them forever.”

“And just what would you know about parenting—”

“Watch your mouth, Angela.”

The deep, underlying tensions that had been set aside reemerge and both of them have touched nerves that the other should have left alone. Let sleeping dogs lie, as it were. McCree chose to do the right thing and put the pillow over his face, drowning out the rest of the conversation.

After a few seconds, their ‘conversation’ abruptly stops. It’s made apparent why when you knock on his door and enter with a tray.

“Hey, Chef. Fancy seein’ you here.”

He does not miss the exact moment you lay eyes on him and wince.

“I don’t look that bad, do I?”

“No, no. You look...fine.”

You’re a terrible liar—no, correction—you’re an average liar lying to people who do it for a living. You clear your throat instead and try to change the topic.

“I brought you dinner.”

“Well, mighty kind of you.” For both the dinner and stopping what could have escalated in The Fall 2.0. “You bringin’ me food reminds me of old times.”

You roll your eyes, trying hard to suppress a smile. "Hurry up and eat, Jesse. It’s something special."

He rubs his hands together dramatically as you set down the tray on his overbed table.

In his heart of hearts, he hopes your ‘something special’ isn’t Reyes’s version of arroz con pollo—McCree liked to be able to practically slurp down the dish, and Reyes liked to visually differentiate between the rice and chicken and everything else on his plate.

Luckily, it isn’t and he can’t help the way his mouth drops open when you put down his tray.

Enchiladas smothered in a creamy red sauce that stretches when he picks it up with his fork, beaded with bits of meat and diced peppers and onions that he scoops together with his rice and beans. The plate is barely visible beneath all the stuff.

“What’s the occasion?”

Your lips are pressed together in a thin smile that don’t quite reach your eyes. Outlandish and out of character acts like this should make him nervous. They’re usually the signs of someone who is about to do something crazy. He wonders if it’s because you feel bad about their current condition or if you’re losing it.

He’s sure he’s not supposed to eat stuff like this, but it’s already cooked, it’s in his hands, and not even death itself can stop him from taking his first, goopy bite. He can think of the reasons later.

It’s the explosive taste of home that is able to awaken even the most dormant of taste buds—not the home where he fought tooth and nail for his freedom, not the one where he broke his abue’s heart when he told him he was leaving and got kicked out of instead, not the one where he routinely escaped to go to meet Ashe and just shoot things—no, this is home. Where his lita was still alive. Of winter days when the only heat available was body heat beneath blankets and the fire in his mouth from what was then too much spice.

It’s overflowing, it’s sloppy, and best of all, it’s perfect.

No words are exchanged between you both as he devours the dish. Each bite sticks to his ribs, filling in gaps he didn’t even know he had. It sits heavier and heavier in his stomach until he feels like bursting, but he wants to keep eating just to chase that gentle heat.

All good things have to end, and he manages to sneak two licks off his plate before you take it away from him. His tray is clear off and replaced with a stout glass with about a finger’s worth of amber liquid. With widening eyes, he looks at you and you smile back tentatively and almost sheepishly.

“Head Chef Richard won’t need it anymore.” Your jaw is tight and your voice is strained, but he pretends not to notice. (If he had heard those words from anyone else, he would think it was a confession of murder.) Regardless of what caused your change of heart, nothing can change the fact it’s already poured. He picks it up delicately and skips smelling it and goes straight for it.

Even with his diminished sense of taste and smell, the way the alcohol feels in his mouth is incredible—soft and full with that familiar bite that comes like a sharp nibble after a slow, smouldering kiss. It’s a taste that could make him believe in love.

He sighs lazily, letting the last of the sting evaporate from his throat and tongue. He entertains the idea of keeping this expensive secret to himself. He did make a deal with Hanzo, after all. But then again. He flashes a grin at you, tries to make it as unarming as possible.

“Do you mind terribly if I get a bit more? Couldn’t ‘ppreciate it properly.”

"Maybe another day.” Your voice goes quiet and conspiratory as you look around, “Dr. Ziegler would kill me if she found out."

"At least you're finally calling her 'doc'," he mumbled to himself.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothin'.” He holds out his empty glass with a grin and a wink. "I won't tell if you won't. Our secret."

He didn’t expect you to acquiesce especially since you’ve probably broken more protocol in a single meal than you have in the past however many years. For all of his meddling, even he understands the importance of rationing and sticking to strict schedules. If Reyes didn’t beat it into him, the military-like lifestyle would’ve. When it looks like you might protest, you give an exaggerated sigh and raise a finger to your lips. “Our secret.”

He gives you the largest smile he could manage without re-splitting his lip, not the calculated one he uses when he wants to charm someone, but a genuine one he hopes you can tell comes from the heart. He’d like to think it was conveyed properly when you return the gesture, leaving with the entire tray.

The food in his stomach almost drags him into a comfortable sleep, but you’re back just as his eyes start to droop. It’s disappointing that you don’t return with the whole bottle, but he’ll take what he can get. This time, he takes it nice and slow, appreciating the few flavors he can taste.

“Hey, Chef. Y’got any more ‘secrets' you want airin’ out that I can help with?”

You laugh nervously, a sure sign there is. He waits, arms crossed as best he can and eyebrow raised, letting his silence speak for him and his expectations.

To his surprise though, you return the look instead of buckling under the pressure. For a moment, he feels like he’s staring at your predecessor. There’s a spark beneath your exterior, a fire that’s been lit. If he’s being honest, it makes him just a little proud.

But the standoff doesn’t last long, and all your posturing melts away.

“Well...I don’t know if you’d like it. We have a few forty-something year old wines stored away. I can’t exactly take it with us.”

“Ohh? So you’re not really tryin’ to cheer me up, you’re just gettin’ rid of old inventory. I see how it is.” You smile at him, exasperated, and he can’t feel too bad about it. “Well, guess if it ain’t going to good use, I don’t mind takin’ it off your hands, lighten the Orca’s load. Got a few good ideas for ‘em.”

He’ll have to evaluate their true value, but decades-old wine definitely has buyers and he knows a potential one who he might be able to goad into trading them for a favor or three. It’s not gentlemanly to let a favor like this go unpaid, and he’s already got a few ideas on how to do it.

---

Less than one week until the first of the Overwatch staff are to leave Gibraltar and everyone is as busy as ever. On your instructions, though vague, several members of Overwatch were sent to retrieve ingredients from strange locations: the backdoor of a local dive bar for some wagyu beef; vegetables from an accounting firm stuffed in steel briefcases; a fetch quest between the open market stalls who decided to load them up with miscellaneous ingredients on the way to the final destination, a dinghy full of expensive seafood.

But despite all this, Tracer smiles to herself every time she bursts in through the swinging kitchen doors—doors that were once forbidden now opening for her so easily—to show you her haul for the day.

“Chef, what’s for lunch?”

And instead of being rebuffed or met with the end of a ladle or spatula, she’s instead greeted with an awkward smile and open arms.

It’s more than she can ask for, and she thinks that whatever direction Overwatch is headed toward, it’d be nice if you could be there on that journey, too.

---

Snapping the lid on the last of your lunch boxes, you slide it right beside a large but neat stake of similar containers by the window where the word ‘lunch’ flashes on a sign overhead. Athena has been taking care of monitoring the shares that you can fulfill your order from Winston to limit your hours. Even after a few days of this it’s hard to get used to like it’s a ritual that’s been broken.

There are spots in the kitchen you need to wipe down, containers you have to clean out, areas and appliance temperatures you have to inspect. Even doing the bare minimum would take up more time than Winston allotted you.

Speaking of him, you haven’t given him your decision yet.

It’s hard to.

Ping.

Pin-ping-ping-ping.

The limited time you have to contemplate your choices is then interrupted by the increased influx of messages on your communicator.

Ever since you saw the revived garden, you were momentarily inspired to contact one of your former chef colleagues. It started off innocuously with a picture of the garden but then Patissiere Woo began to prod gently at the fragile bubble that was your self, and you began to divulge until it became an unstoppable stream—your restaurant, your decisions, the agents, the attack; it was all out in open.

She only listened, and in the end, she simply said, “Isn’t this what friends are for?”

After that, communications began flooding your phone as news of your return—albeit late news—made its way to your old coworkers. Offers of ingredients and labor came in one after another nestled in caps-locked insults and endless streams of emojis. There are updates, too. Pictures of your colleagues’ families, of their staff, of their restaurants, and news article links of their accomplishments as though to make up for the years you’ve been out of contact.

Today is no different, but nestled in all of that is a message from Patissiere Woo with an attached interview of Cœur d’Artichaut’s new CEO. You almost didn’t want to read it, unwilling to face the person who took over everything you’ve built and subsequently was forced to abandon.

But the headline seizes you by the throat.

‘Exclusive interview with legendary chef Richard Sauveterre,’ it read. Below it, its subheading blared out: ‘Former Overwatch and now charity restaurant, still doing good for the world?’

The beginning of the interview opens up like a fan letter with a photo of the subject in question. His hair is a little shorter than you remembered and he looks a bit older—more wrinkles—but that steely gaze and thinned mouth that looks ready to fire off commands like knives is still the same. Your heart races, your jaw slackens as you read on.

‘The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, made more distinguished by thick cornrows that trace the sides of his skull like a crown. He is King Midas in a chamber of heat, steel, and raw ingredients that he spins into award winning meals capable of turning the stoniest of hearts into gold.

‘Now he is CEO of acclaimed charity restaurant, Cœur d’Artichaut, whose motto is an age-old French saying: the heart of an artichoke, a leaf for everyone. Previously, Cœur d’Artichaut was shaken by rumors of involvement in criminal activity but Chef Sauveterre refutes those rumors and intends to bring the restaurant’s fame to new heights.’

It goes on to explain the true meaning of the saying and other flowery language before it gets into the actual interview. There are questions about what the chef did before this job (he refused to answer and the writer speculates several possibilities: hermitage and jailtime being the most likely), what his inspirations are (his customers and a hearty defiance toward his father), and so on.

“Have you had a chance to speak with the previous CEO during the transition?”

“No.”

“And is there anything you’d like to say, any message you’d like to convey?”

“...[Y]es... ‘Do it your own way’...The menu...is subpar, but I can feel the thoughtfulness in the service and selections...maybe in a year’s time or so, come back here for a lesson. In the meantime, go out and discover new things...allez-y, allez-y what are you waiting for? Go forth, then come back with all you’ve learned.”

‘Do it your own way.’

His image glares at you and you can hear his voice barking in your ear.

Allez-y. Not allons-y.

‘Get going’ instead of ‘Let’s go’.

Your laugh is wet and ugly and the pot with your experimental miso soup is about to boil over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. That’s just like him to be to the point yet vague. This Joel Morricone must have had a hell of a time trying to get these answers out of him judging by the amount of ellipses. You can’t claim to understand him or know what he’s thinking, but you do get the message.

I’ve got this, so do what you have to do.

“Chef! Did you see?”

Tracer bursts in through the swinging doors of the kitchen with a holotablet in her hands and a mix of elation and shock on her face. She gasps. The tablet is thrown onto the nearest surface and she rushes to your side in a blur.

“Oh no, oh no, what’s wrong, Chef? Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right? Chin up, let me see.”

Amidst Tracer’s frantic worrying, you could only continue to laugh, choking on emotions and the sands of time that has been given permission to move again.

(Elation turns to terror when you later read the rest of the interview where Chef Richard says, “I am most looking forward to my collection of wines and alcohols that I have kept in my cellar.”)

---

Out of the blue, Elizabeth ‘Ashe’ Caledonia receives a box from someone claiming to be a representative of Cœur d’Artichaut. She knows the name from the lists of charities she has to curate every year. Although just about any charity would let her qualify for a tax deduction, she still has a social responsibility to donate intelligently.

The box itself is nondescript, but the contents had been meticulously wrapped to prevent breakage. There were four bottles of wines; their labels are old, but still in good condition. The oldest of them is at least twenty years. It’s out of character and not something that a charity would be able to give up without a guarantee in return.

There is a note for them, however, and immediately upon laying her eyes on the handwriting, she rips it up with a snarl. That no-good—!!

“Bob,” she snaps, “get me the market prices for all of these.”

The omnic acquiesces, carefully wrapping the wines back up and taking them away for appraisal.

When Bob is no longer within sight, she quickly puts the largest parts of the torn note together and reads it twice. It’s short and to the point and elusive in the sense that it is unsigned. She blows out a long, irritated sigh. If she isn’t able to rise to a challenge like this especially if it involves a charity then she’s disgracing her image.

Now then, how should she answer?

---

There was less than three days until the first evacuations, but Winston could not have predicted this turn of events. Money had always been a concern to him even before your scheme with Cœur d’Artichaut fell flat. The cost of labor aside, it’s the tooling that requires more upfront investments. Flying the Orca, maintaining people’s licenses and certifications, medical equipment, and so on are far from cheap. They’ve made do with connections and deferred payments, but that can only go so far.

He had fully prepared himself for what a new business model would look like with Hanzo’s help, setting up meetings with prominent figures who were once Overwatch’s staunchest allies and reassessing their priorities and strategy.

Yet it seems he cannot underestimate the kindness of others.

He’s cleaned his glasses on his shirt thrice and washed them, but the balance of the several Overwatch accounts only grew. There are no names associated with each transaction, only the wallet ID and the occasional message (some were cruder than others) wishing them luck or providing a contact code hinting at further cooperation. The numbers were arguably higher than when you were funneling the donations through your restaurant.

“Unbelievable. This amount of financial support is unprecedented, and from so many people.”

Athena, a smile in her voice, replies, “It seems the cavalry has arrived.”

It seems that kindness is not dead and there are still as many people who wish for Overwatch’s return as there are those who wish for their demise. Perhaps even more. Winston grins to himself and wonders just how he’ll break this news to Soldier and best rub it in his face.

---

Around this time, there is rarely anyone who drops by the cafeteria. It’s strange being on this side of the wall—the side where your customers usually sit. It’s much more open and much more terrifying, but Athena had barred you from entering your own place of employment.

Well, not for long.

It still doesn’t feel real.

By this time tomorrow, you’ll be leaving Gibraltar. Home to the first Watchpoint you’ve ever worked at, home to the restaurant you helped build, home to the place that gave you so much—a chance, a career, a future—friends, maybe?

You inhale in a stuttering breath. The vastness of the world around you suddenly bearing down yet tearing open a hole around you. In about 24 hours, your future won’t be the same and you will have nothing decided. Instead it’ll be filled with unknowns.

The fear of the unknown is almost paralyzing, overwhelmingly so.

It was so much easier with someone like the Head Chef who, although needlessly strict, guided you and provided a clear path, a structure. Even he says to go off and do whatever, no further instructions.

Holding your phone in your hands and flipping it around, you wonder what would happen if you call the restaurant now? Knowing Head Chef Richard, he’d still be there, either deciding tomorrow’s menu or reviewing documents or testing out adjustments to recipes that would no doubt be delicious. But if he were to pick up and you were to ask him what you should do next, he’d probably click his tongue and give you a one-sided tongue lashing before hanging up. He was always needlessly difficult that way, never giving a straight answer, telling you what to do but also to think for yourself. Contradictory, isn’t it?

The dial pad pops up beneath your thumb and you begin typing in the number of rhte restaurant, hovering over that final dial button. You don’t press it, switching to the photo gallery instead. You spend a few more minutes mindlessly switching back and forth between them, never finding the courage to press that button. Instead, the images of your time here by yourself, watching the agents—the heroes—from afar provide ample distraction.

Junkrat is a sight to see but he’s just a blur in many of your pictures, and Roadhog is difficult to capture for one reason or another, but his plates usually come back empty. Brigitte may be a new addition, but she is a delight, complimenting your food without hesitation even going so far as to suggest it may be better than her mother’s. (Agent Torbjörn rarely spoke of his wife even during his original time of service, but when he did, he spoke of her lovingly. It was little secret to the kitchen staff just how highly he regarded her and her cooking.) It makes you want to keep feeding her.

Between pictures of the other agents, there seemed to be more images of Hanzo than the others.

The way he eats and the faces he makes is refreshing. It’s intense and so thoroughly immersed that it’s hard not to watch. Hanzo would usually sit up straight and begin his eating like it’s a ritual but by the end of his eating becomes sloppy and hunched over like he’s shed all appearances to devour his meal. It brings a smile to your face.

Can you really give this up and leave Overwatch?

“Chef?”

You jump in your seat and turn to find Hanzo standing a short distance from you. How long has he been there?

“Good evening, Ag—Hanzo. Can I get you anything?”

“No. I was wondering who was foolhardy enough to be up at this hour.”

You splutter indignantly. It isn’t even that late. “I-I’m not foolhar—what about you?”

The flat and dismissive look he gives you is answer enough. You press your lips together and watch as he sits down beside you. He may be cleared to leave medbay some time ago, but he’s still not well enough to be neglecting his rest. You’ll have to inform Dr. Ziegler later.

"I thought I might be able to have a snack. I was hoping there would be leftovers?"

"We have some stuff from this afternoon but I don't think you'll like them."

"'Don't think'?" His voice turns teasing, something you had only learned recently was possible. "I thought you kept a record of what we liked."

You let out a groan, remembering the debacle that took place not too long ago and rub the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Agent Fareeha will be deleting all that information the moment we leave the Watchpoint. Something about cutting off 'attack surfaces'.” You sigh. “Years of data, wasted.”

“Does your notepad not have this information?”

“Oh, that. It got soaked with blood, so we had to throw it out.”

Hanzo winces and you can understand the disgust. No one wants to visualize sheets of bloodied paper like some macabre grimoire.

“I see." Tactfully, he changes subjects. "How is your wound?”

“Good. Dr. Ziegler says it’s mostly healed. How are yours?”

“I should be able to return to action before long.” He flexes his fingers and clenches them into a fist. It’s a strangely mesmerizing action, the chorded muscles straining and flexing beneath his bruised skin.

Head Chef Richard’s words echo in your head again unbidden. Their bodies are made of the food you cook. Love them with all our being.

In that case, are the relaxed expressions also because of it or is that just your wishful thinking?

“That’s good.” Being with Hanzo reminded you of something. “Oh! And I let Patissiere Woo know you liked her desserts. She’s very happy about it.”

She had gushed goodnaturedly about having handsome people like her food despite being an omnic. You wonder if she’s being sarcastic or if she truly means it. You choose to believe it’s the latter; it’s better that way.

He nods. “It’s generous of them to provide for us like this.”

“Yeah. They’re great.” Yes, they were great in many senses of the word. Even though you reached out to just one person, the word had spread until all your colleagues were contacting you in an unrelenting wave. The coordinated efforts of everyone despite being scattered around the world brought their efforts straight to your doorstep.

In a way, you feel a little guilty about not having involved them earlier. You had thought you could handle it on your own until everything was settled. Argus must have known that ‘settling’ may have meant a much longer time than expected. Longer dwell times means larger risks. Risks that many people wouldn’t be able to shoulder. It was part of the reason why you didn’t reach out in the first place, but you couldn’t have known this is how things would turn out.

It wasn’t just ingredients they offered, but their services, too. Some of them made it clear they’re willing to fly over and help out, Petras Act and its consequences be damned.

You repeat, “They’re great.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Hanzo speaks up again.

“Chef…” he starts off delicately, “have you decided?”

The question itself is vague, but you know what he’s talking about. You turn your face up to the ceiling for a moment and then look down at nothing in particular.

“Kind of. I’m still not sure.”

He grunts in acknowledgement. “If you were to leave Overwatch, where would you go?”

You’re sure he didn’t mean for it to come out cynically, but a small bolt of anxiety still struck you like lightning. There were several possibilities, but nothing was as appealing as staying here. But you can’t stay if there are no customers to serve and no kitchen to work from.

“Well,” you start slowly, buying time to allow an image to form in your head, “I think I would...leave Gibraltar, maybe? My old coworkers have openings in a few restaurants and said that they would recommend me to a position.”

You had choices, but that would mean starting over in a new place with people you may or may not get along with. It’s scary.

“And if you were to stay with us?” he asks slowly.

If you were to stay, what could you do? You would be moving from one Watchpoint to another with little time to pack, never knowing if you’ll have bought too much or too little ingredients, and the Orca isn’t exactly equipped to be a cold kitchen, much less a hot one. Logistics aside, you’d also be a deadweight if there were ever a fight. You’ve heard countless stories of non-agents or newbies getting in the way of skirmishes and causing more casualties than necessary and you’d be damned if you were to put Overwatch in that position.

You didn’t know which choice was more terrifying.

You let out a self-deprecating laugh that ends in a weary sigh. “I don’t know how useful I’d be if I did.”

Hanzo’s breath hitches and he falls quiet for a moment. That moment is enough to make you nervous—did you say something wrong?

“Chef. People are not tools to be measured by usefulness or uselessness.”

You smile wryly. “If you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“And if you work too much, you’ll collapse and become a burden.”

Embarrassment and shame pours over you in a stinging wave, the words slamming you with more weight than the ease with which Hanzo says them. You fold your arms tightly against yourself. There’s nothing you can say.

Perhaps Hanzo knows he’s crossing a line because he clears his throat awkwardly.

"Allow me to tell you a story about a man who lost his way and the choices he had to make."

Maybe it was an attempt to cheer you up, but it’s the strangest segway into a story you’ve ever heard. You listen if only to not have to face the harsh truth he just spilled. Of course, you're sure it's about Hanzo’s life disguised as an innocent story about dragons and family. He spoke about the choices the dragon had to make between what his perceived responsibilities and his actual ones, about the pressure he felt from the people who worshipped it and the family he was meant to serve, about the meaning of freedom.

The lesson to be learned at the end, you guess, is that Hanzo is a pretty bad storyteller.

He probably realizes it himself because he feigns a cough at the end and says, “What I mean to say is you need not fear either choice where you have people who...are concerned for you.”

“And what do you think I should choose?”

With something between a smile and a smirk, he claims, “Your presence in Overwatch would be most assuring.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He probably knows better than anyone else just how much of a liability you’d be if you were to go with them. “That means a lot.” You don’t know if you mean what you say or not, though.

Hanzo probably gets the sense that you don’t. Even for most agents, he’s fairly astute, you think.

“You’ve asked me what I want to eat before and make food for us everyday, but has anyone asked you what you want to eat?”

The question catches you off guard, bringing your thoughts to a halt.

The last few days you have been asked what you want to do with your life—a decision too tremendous to be made in such a short amount of time—but no one has asked you such a simple question. What would you like to eat? There’s so much you’d like to eat if it’s not made by your own hands.

Despite everything, you draw a blank.

“I can’t think of anything right now.”

“Could I make you something?”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You are not asking. I am offering.”

“And if I say no?”

He huffs humorously before getting up. The sound of a door swinging open has you sitting up straighter.

“Hey—!”

“Do not think about it, Chef. You are not allowed in the kitchen; Commander’s orders,” Athena warns before you’re even able to stand up fully.

Scowling, you put your full weight back onto your seat. It only takes a few quiet moments before you grab a stool to sit at the window like your customers normally would. An agent cooking for a chef. It’s ridiculous.

Though Command Reyes would have no problems bursting into the kitchen like he owned the place, cooking whatever he felt like and sometimes feeding it to the staff on break. At least he had some kitchen etiquette, knowing when and what to yell—sometimes a little too loud—and staying out of the way of traffic. His special awareness was very good, you remembered, even if his presence was loud and needlessly all-consuming.

People sometimes said he was a horrible person for one reason or another, but in the kitchen, the only place you really knew him, he never treated you all with anything less than casual respect. He was probably the last non-kitchen personnel to have set foot in the kitchen up until Recall.

Even then, you would watch from inside. It’s especially strange, seeing someone maneuver the kitchen like this. Hanzo looks like a newborn deer, trying to navigate through an unfamiliar world, checking the label of everything carefully, measuring with lines instead of bowls or pitchers already known to hold a certain amount, and opening up every single lowboy and cabinet looking for things.

“Do you need help?”

“Just sit there and wait,” he insists.

He seems less like the heroes that you once revered and watched from afar, but more like a normal person. A very earnest but clumsy person. It’s a little cute, even?

You hide a smile behind your hand lest he sees you and thinks you’re laughing at him. His efforts are to be commended especially after you found him sitting on the kitchen floor, looking like it’s been hit with the aftermath of a hurricane. If you were left in that situation, would you have been able to get up and try again if it weren’t your job? It’s hard to say.

It takes him so long that you could have gone to sleep, but you keep watch as he works his way through his process until the finished product is put on a poor imitation of your plating in front of you. It’s a thick, yellow-ish soup with bits of messily chopped corn added.

“It’s corn potage,” he says. “If it’s not to your tastes, you may dispose of it. It’s nothing much anyway.”

He says it’s nothing much but you saw the amount of effort he put into it. Holding the bowl in your hands allows the warmth to travel through your palms, relaxing your muscles, and thawing the ice around your bones. It makes the anxiety of an unknown tomorrow settle like a crying baby that’s been hushed to sleep.

You take a sip and hold it in your mouth for a moment, savoring the feel.

If you were to nitpick as a chef, there would be a list of things that could be improved upon to make it restaurant worthy. However, this meal isn’t for judging, but for enjoying. And whatever imperfections there are, in a way, is perfection. It’s the earnest taste of something fresh and young and new and exciting with so much room for improvement that you can’t see the end result. It is the product of someone trying their best doing something unfamiliar for you—not because they have to or because they were forced to, but because they wanted to. It’s sweet and salty and chunky with unevenly mashed corn.

Just like the curry, it feels like the food is mending parts of you that you didn’t realize were already torn open and festering. The heat delves in the deepest crevices, warming up parts inside of you that you never even realized were devoid of warmth, sending goosebumps all over your body.

You put down the bowl and hold your hand over your mouth and close your eyes as though it will keep the flavor locked inside you, as though it will keep these feelings from escaping.

“How is it?”

“It’s delicious,” you whisper dazedly, picking up the bowl again and sealing your lips with another deep sip. Whatever comfort that could not be conveyed in mere words are now eaten and digested until they become a part of you.

You make the mistake of looking up from the bowl to see Hanzo at eye-level with the faintest but softest smile you’ve seen from him yet. It’s enough to make your heart jump from your chest to your throat.

It’s difficult to keep eating after that. If the meal was able to fill your stomach, then that look was more than enough to fill your heart.

---

With the morning sun comes your meeting with Winston.

“I won’t ask you if you’re sure as I am certain you gave this a lot of thought prior to coming.” Winston stands up and extends his hand to you. When you clasp it, it feels like you’ve cemented yourself in something far larger but the fear that should accompany it is not there. “Thank you. The world could always use more heroes.”

---

"How are preparations for dinner going?"

Hanzo doesn't need to see your face to know you're grimacing. The panicked fretting of Tracer behind you, rushing back and forth with a frying pan and Winston knocking down everything whenever he turns is proof enough.

“They’re fine.”

It probably pains you to have amateurs in the kitchen with you trying to prepare for this grand feast you’ve been planning.

"...do you think you could find Agent Genji and let him know dinner’s going to be delayed?”

“What, ahem, seems to be the problem?”

CRASH. KA-CRACK.

Lúcio shouts, "My bad!"

“We...accidentally packed away some stuff we needed for cooking, so…”

“Take it off the hob, take it off the hob, Winston!”

“Ri-right you are, Lena—AH HOT!”

The rising symphony of chaos makes your posture stiffer and stiffer and he watches as your hands wind up tighter with each accident.

Hanzo coughs politely. “I see. I should get going and deliver your message.”

He's sure your excuse is indeed true, but has a strong suspicion for some reason it is not the leading cause of the dinner delay. Call it intuition.

“Could you bring this, too?" From beneath the window, you pull out a large thermos and a box. "We made some snacks to share so you won’t get too hungry.”

“I will savor them, thank you. And good luck."

"...thank you," you grumble.

Another crash makes him glad it's not him in there. He's broken enough stuff in your presence and takes that as his cue to go lest a plate or something flies at him. Besides, if anyone asks, he’s still under doctor’s orders to not do anything strenuous. Cooking probably falls under that category.

You call after him, sticking your head out of the service window. “Remember! Share them with Agent Genji, too.” Then more teasingly, “Don’t be greedy now.”

He waves you off without turning back with an exasperated huff. What a meddlesome bunch.

He does not notice Zenyatta coming over beside you and bumping fists as he leaves.

Dr. Ziegler may have said climbing is not allowed, but surely going up ladders and stairs isn’t against the rules.

It takes him longer than usual to get to Genji.

The air is brisk and soaked in the scent of an oncoming winter instead of seasalt. It’s refreshing and each deep breath he takes makes him feel like a new person.

Genji sits with his back to him, hands stuffed in his parka, the LEDs shining obnoxiously.

“Don’t you know the meaning of being discreet?”

“I am being discreet. You’re the one standing up and making a target of yourself.”

Hanzo gives the back of Genji’s head a look and continues standing a moment longer just so it doesn’t seem like he’s listening to Genji’s suggestion. When he finally sits, the LED in Genji’s clothes dim.

“Chef gave us these.”

He puts down the thermos and passes the box to Genji who wastes no time opening it.

“Ah. Til ke laddu and khapse.” Genji picks one of the stiff pieces of twisted dough, waving it in the air. “I usually only see these around New Years when the Shambali would get visitors from Tibet,” he muses.

Hanzo takes his time deciding between the sesame ball and fried dough. Neither of them like they’d be sweet at all. In the end, he picks out the sesame ball, taking a tentative bite out of it in case it turns out to be bitter or something unpleasant.

Instead, he’s surprised at the mild sweetness. The sesame seeds give it a savory flavor, but it does little to mask the taste of sugar. From the corner of his eye, he can see Genji watching him. Seeing his bare face is not as surprising anymore. In some strange way, it was more comforting to see the scars that he has left on Genji’s face than the metallic visage that hides his wounds. It feels more real, and in that, Hanzo can take comfort facing what he has done.

“I’m surprised you can still eat. I suppose that means I need to tune my arms more.”

In a petty attempt to make his brother feel guilty, Hanzo says loudly, “My mouth still hurts.”

“Liar. Angela gave you extra strong stuff for it.” Genji then adds fondly, “I haven’t been yelled at like that in a long time.”

“Do not start.” While it may have been a ‘long time’ for Genji, Hanzo still remembers scolding him for some mistake or another like it was yesterday and knows that the instinctive lecture is still lying dormant within him, just waiting for Genji to do something stupid. He doesn’t know to what extent Dr. Ziegler goes, but Hanzo does not doubt her lectures are any less fearsome.

Hanzo shoves the rest of the ball into his mouth and pours himself a cup of tea. It’s not really a lie that his mouth hurt, but it’s akin to a dull toothache that only happens when he stretches his jaw too wide, but he still wants to make a fuss about it regardless.

Genji makes a noise similar to an aborted laugh. “You remember the song mother used to sing?”

“Which one?” She sang dozens of songs. Hanzo would look each of them up and secretly learn most of them by heart, keeping them locked up in there when she died. He rubs his hand across his mouth and leaves it there to hide the tiny smile on his face, carefully unfurling a precious memory—his favorite—of his mother singing to herself about seeking freedom on a stolen motorbike at age fifteen “You’re not speaking of ‘The Night’, are you?”

“I don’t even know that one. I’m talking about the one she sings with father sometimes—” Genji cuts himself off to hum a few off-key bars. It took Hanzo a few seconds to catch on, and he tugs down his hand to reveal his scowl.

“The one you sang at the Somei group’s wedding and embarrassed the clan?”

“No, it was the Miyama group’s wedding. And I didn’t embarrass anyone. The bride came up and started singing with the Kuroda family’s granddaughter.”

Hanzo throws up his hands with a roll of his eyes. “The Miyama group was marrying into the Somei group—”

“Who cares, do you remember it?”

Of course he remembers. Genji was still young and precocious so everyone humored him when he hopped onto the makeshift stage to sing. The bride, getting emotional, joined him on stage and also began to sing alongside the granddaughter of the Kuroda group. Then the bride dragged his mother to the front and she sang, too. It was the first and last time Hanzo would see his mother perform in front of an audience outside of the holovideos that were kept of her youth prior to her marriage into the clan.

No one dared say anything because their husbands—the head of the Shimada clan, a yakuza lawyer, and the head of another clan—said nothing either. (It was simultaneously nerve-wracking and cheerful depending on where one sat in that room.)

It was even worse when the song was suddenly changed to ‘Lion and Peony’ and the whole venue erupted into song. ‘Embarrassing’ doesn’t even begin to describe the scene. He can safely say he’s never seen so many adults in formalwear make such fools of themselves or weep while singing.

He’s surprised the Genji actually remembers the singing rather than what happened after.

“‘Shima no uta’, was it.”

“Yeah. Remember sometimes father would join whenever he thought no one was around?”

“It’s the only time we ever saw him do anything other than work.”

Hanzo smirks. “It was the only thing he was bad at.”

“Bet we’re better than him.” Without further prompting, Genji begins to sing. Loudly and off-key. Not to be shown up, Hanzo joins in.

Birds fly off at the sounds of their voices and the wind picks up around them, carrying their voices off the ledge.

“You suck at this,” Genji says between lines.

“Not as bad as you.”

Neither of them seem to have inherited their mother’s talents, but that’s all right. For once, it’s something he doesn’t want to be perfect at. They could at least boast they sing better than their father, and maybe that’s good enough.

They talk and eat until the sun goes down. They talk about their father. They talk less about their mother. They argue about their recollection of mediocre events. They laugh over the trouble each of them caused by leaving the clan (though it’s more of Hanzo airing out his grievances).

By the time Athena calls them down for dinner, they’re arguing and nearly at blows over a century-old argument: which chocolate-cookie product is superior, mushrooms or bamboo shoots.

---

The cafeteria is transformed. Most of the furniture has been folded and moved toward the back walls, leaving a large space near the service window where Satya already has the table set. Everyone is assigned a spot with a little nametag tent where identical utensils are already laid out. In the middle of the table is a smorgasbord of dishes, each labeled with the name of the food and color coded for dietary needs.

He’s silently relieved he didn’t have to cook and contend with everyone in the kitchen. Judging by the state of some of the dishes, he has to assume you were either dragged from the kitchen kicking and screaming or you’ve just given up on everything.

This time, there’s a space for himself and Genji. The conversation takes a noticeable lull as everyone tries not to look in their direction, but the anticipation is palpable. Hanzo looks at Genji who shrugs a shoulder at him and begins to walk toward the table. Bracing himself for what would be an awkward stretch of time, he follows and takes his seat beside Genji, ignoring the looks that everyone is trying so hard to hide.

This is expected. This is fine. This will surely go better than last time.

“Oh finally. Thought we were all gonna starve to death ‘ere!” Junkrat shouts, breaking any and all tension instantly. “Now can we get started?”

Roadhog slaps one large hand over Junkrat’s mouth. “Chef.”

Fareeha clicks her tongue. “Oh, that workaholic.” She turns around in her seat, yelling at the window. “Chef! Everyone else is here, come on! Don’t make us come in there!” Everyone else exchanges a knowing look; pot and kettle.

The attention is then shifted away from them. It’s a relief because it gives him a chance to collect himself as he grabs some water.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” McCree limps his way into the kitchen and shouts something that has you shouting back. It takes a moment for McCree to reappear looking like he’s just gotten a kick in the buttocks with you following not far behind.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.”

In your hands was a tray full of bowls. It takes a few moments for him to register the scent over the food on the table, but he jumps to his feet with his hands stretched out.

“Allow me.”

Before you can even protest, Tracer snatches the tray from you and passes it to him with a cheery ‘Here you go, mate’ and D.Va has her hands on your shoulders, forcing you to sit down.

“You’ve worked hard, it’s our turn.”

Reinhardt laughs, raising his glass.

“Finally! The guest of honor. Relax, Chef!”

“But—”

“Here, here.” Ana shoves an empty bowl into your hands. “What do you want to eat first? Chef’s choice.”

“No! Chef, you have to have something to drink first,” Brigitte cries, trying desperately to pour a can of beer into a stein in a hurry over Reinhardt’s hulking arms. “Pass this over!”

Mei also tries to reach over, rushing to pour a cup of tea from the pot closest to her. “Wait, have some tea first.”

“No! BobaAH—Roadie!”

“Water.” Roadhog firmly places a glass of water before you, shoving Junkrat back by the face.

Hanzo had to smile watching everyone fuss over you.

“Hey, brother. Stop hogging that stuff and pass it around.”

He clicks his tongue and grabs the first bowl and hands it over to Genji who sends it down the table. Bowl after bowl is passed from hand to hand. It creates a flowing chain between them, linking everyone together. Here, there are war heroes, super stars, people still seeking their place in life sitting together and sharing a meal.

This scene is only possible because of you. With you here, he only hopes this cafeteria is no longer your jail but has again become a sanctuary where you can be at ease.

Maybe he’s getting old having to think of other people in such a way or maybe Ana is right and he’s changed.

If he’s changed, it’s because of you.

Coming to Overwatch, having a chance to share a meal with everyone like this—with his brother like this—is no mistake.

When he is left with only his own, he tucks the tray beneath the table and can barely contain the saliva gushing from beneath his tongue when he brings his own bowl to his nose. The smell is tantalizing.

Miso soup.

The soup is fragrant, miso blooming beneath the steam like fireworks among the seaweed and tofu and paper-thin slices of daikon radish.

It brings him back to his first day at the Watchpoint and the lackluster soup he had then. He’s sure that you’ve worked hard to improve it. Even though you never usually took requests, you probably never stopped thinking about everyone, trying to hone your skills to please your customers. The bowl in his hands is the ultimate proof.

He takes the first sip.

Immediately, his mouth is flooded with flavor. It’s savory and bursting with life, the faintest bit of sweetness rounding out the soup.When he swallows, he sighs, an unwitting smile creeping onto his face. It settles into his stomach, the simple pleasure resonates in his body, having become all the more complete than before. It warms him from head to toe, lingering in his chest.

It’s the taste of home.

He puts the bowl to his lips and takes a long, deep drink until he nearly chokes, chasing after that warm and gentle feeling with a particular brand of desperation he couldn’t name.

When he has nothing but dregs, he uses his chopsticks to force that into his mouth, too. The daikon is sweet, and tofu is still firm and silky, the seaweed is chewy, and the scallion is so cleansing.

This is satisfaction, this is bliss.

And when he puts down his bowl finally, he immediately catches sight of you staring at him with a smile so wide and a gaze so warm and sparkly, he thinks stars might actually spill from your eyes.

It’s Ana who nudges him out of his stupor, a mischievous grin on her face. “Well, how is it?”

He looks down at his empty bowl and raises it, holding it out toward you. Knowing that the meaning may be lost, he still declares to you, "I would like this soup every day for the rest of my life."

Genji chokes on an inhale and begins to cough violently, spitting out whatever he had in his mouth. It’s the one time he can ignore the sounds of his brother dying, if only just to see you take in the question innocently.

You answer with a smile. “Of course.”

He will lie to anyone who thinks your answer gave him hope and made his stomach twist and flutter. It’s an unfair victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless.

"Wow," Hana says dryly, pouring and passing out glass after glass of soju while maintaining a deadpan stare at Hanzo. "What a cassanova. GG. Get out of here, old man. Who even says that anymore?"

Genji mirrors her look.

"Yeah, get out of here, riajuu. Disgusting. So old-fashioned."

"You tell him, Genji."

Hana and Genji clink their shot glasses. It doesn’t matter if a decade has passed or two, Genji might never make a very, very miniscule part of Hanzo stop regretting he hadn't put him into the ground. (He also has to wonder if someone as young as Hana would know the meaning behind his words, but decides he doesn’t want to know.)

But that thought is short lived when you hand him another bowl as though you’ve anticipated it.

“Thank you,” he says as he grasps the bowl. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s holding your fingers, too, and he freezes. You both lock eyes, unsure what to do and all of his brain functions halt, torn between fully committing to holding your hand in full and pushing the bowl back into your hand so you can take it instead.

“Oh come on, Chef. No serving other people.” Ana picks the bowl from both your hands and thrusts it at him. This time he doesn’t embarrass himself. “Here, Hanzo. Learn how to hold your own food.”

You sputter your protests, but it’s ineffective.

He can feel the judgmental gazes of his brother and several others on him, and his desire for fratricide is reignited. Correction: he doesn’t wish death on Genji. He just wishes for his permanent silence and non-existence. Hana and whoever is snickering can join Genji, too.

Surprisingly, it’s Dr. Ziegler who drops a small selection of food onto your plate.

“Eat up before it gets cold now.”

You give her a look as though accusing her, but you acquiesce amidst some grumbling.

Hanzo did not miss the way people eye you when you take your first tentative bite or the tension in the air hiding just beneath the thin veil of conversation. He’d be lying if he said he did not feel the same way, however, as he watches you chew.

Your face and entire being lights up as you go for another bite. “Oh, this is good.”

The tension breaks like a bubble popping and relief rushes out and everyone begins their conversations and feasting in earnest. Soon, the table is alight with chatter and laughter and the sounds of cutlery.

Between the dishes and the agents, every bit of table space is utilized. Where there may be an opening or gap, it is quickly filled with crumbs or spilled sauce. The fight for real estate for his elbows is fierce, but amidst the jostling and the cajoling, it is not as overwhelming or unpleasant as he might have once thought. Some dishes run out faster than others—apple pie and strawberry cake—but any empty plates are quickly replaced with another from the kitchen.

He and Satya engage in quieter conversation while the table is regaled by stories from Reinhardt, accompanied by the musical beats of Lúcio’s latest album. The musician himself seems to be having his own troubles eating, hands trembling a little too much to feed himself reliably. Zenyatta, though, seems to enjoy helping Lucio by loading his plate with finger food and easy to eat morsels that don’t require utensils. You have no shortage of conversation partners. Whenever one conversation drops off, someone else is there to pick it back up again.

He catches snippets here and there.

Mei exclaims, “We need to do this again soon. Maybe have hotpot or barbeque.”

“If we’re able to get back together again.”

“We will,” she says cheerfully. “I believe in us.”

Then it’s Brigitte who waves at you. “Chef, what did you think of this?”

“I haven’t tried it yet, could you…?”

“Here, here! Give me your plate. Papa, have some, too.”

“Hey—wait, Jesse! Get your own.”

“Yours looked better, Chef.”

“Jesse!”

“Now, now, children. Behave.”

He never does find an opening to talk to you, but when he isn’t engaged himself, he just watches quietly as you eat and talk. The awkwardness leaves your shoulders and you begin asking for people to pass food and drink that they are too happy to give. Without realizing it, you’ve become a part of the table, another member of Overwatch.

An unfamiliar click of something mechanical catches his attention. Ana smiles at him from behind the lens of a camera that looks like it was dug out from an antique shop from the last century.

Torbjörn clicks his tongue at her. “Bah, you still have that old hunk of junk?”

“It’s an antique.”

“You’re an antique,” Torbjörn mutters under his breath.

“What was that, Lindholm? This antique’s hearing isn’t so good, you know?”

Soldier: 76 laughs into his beer. “You never change.”

“Oh shut up, Jack. What’s this about old dogs and new tricks?”

“At least I can still learn ‘em.”

“You wish, old man!” D.Va yells across the table, ending with a good-natured cackle. “Want to redeem yourself in Hearthstone?”

“Fine idea, Ana! Come, my friends. We must pose!” Reinhardt strikes a few, jostling Satya who shoots him a displeased look.

None too quietly, Junkrat whispers at Roadhog, pointing at Ana’s camera. “Hey, Roadie. How much y’think that’ll go for?” Luckily, Roadhog does not deign to answer, quietly shoving food beneath the raised section of his mask.

“When I develop these, everyone gets a copy. You, too, Chef.”

“Me? Oh, thank you?”

The good-natured ribbing between the veterans goes on and on, bringing laughter and teasing to the table. Ana goes around, forcing groups of people together and taking their pictures. At some point, she has you and himself leaning across the table for a picture of you both (with extra people interfering in the background, likely making fools of them). Seeing you laugh so freely and eat while shedding the last of your reservations makes any bit of humiliation worth it.

An elbow digs into his side.「Isn’t it nice?」

Hanzo sounds a touch annoyed when he asks,「What is?」

Genji’s eyes crinkle just around the corner and he points to the large pan in the middle of the table with his chopsticks.「Eating meals from the same iron pot.」

He scowls at Genji’s poor manners and is about to tell him off when a moment of clarity dawns upon him as he realizes how profound that expression might actually be for their situation: people and omnics of different age groups, countries, talents, and ideologies coming together and eating without killing each other. Even their moral compasses all pointed in different directions. They are people who would, under normal circumstances, kill each other, but are now joined by a table of food—one of the most basic of human needs.

But that thought is fleeting and he swats at Genji’s hand.「Don’t point with those.」

「Sure, sure. Whatever you say, sister-in-law.」

「Cheeky brat.」

「Loosen up, enjoy yourself. Look.」

「Good drinks」—glass steins and bottles knock against each other and they all cheer.

「Good food」—Reinhardt sets down the latest tray he’s received from the kitchen before them, Lena already swiping up a few of the treats for herself, shouting with victory.

「Good company」—Genji sweeps his hand, presenting the room of merry agents. Hanzo’s eyes follow his hand, but stop when they land on you, laughing too hard to put any food in your mouth.

「What more could you ask for, brother?」

He hesitates, protests alive and stomping against his tongue, but he holds them in.

He cannot deny what you have done, what food has done. It was because of you that they could all eat like this, talk like this, exchange smiles and sorrows like this. Even though you never saw yourself as important, you and your meals are the glue that held everything together. Where there was only bad blood, people may have found the love they needed to overcome it from your food.

Hanzo heard somewhere that the way to the heart is through one’s stomach, and your food has built you a solid road into his heart. He can only hope one day he can repay the favor and build his way to yours.

Winston stands and clears his throat, raising his glass. “Everyone, I would like to make a toast.”

The table quiets down and all eyes turn on him. To Winston’s credit, he does not balk or fluster.

“Everyone. I would like to make a toast. The circumstances have been difficult, but when have they not? Those very circumstances brought us together to fight for a better world, and now we will be apart for a short while to accomplish what we cannot do alone. They call us ‘fools’ for dreaming and hoping, but we cannot stand by and do nothing as the world plunges into further chaos. I want everyone here to know I am proud to be your friend and grateful for your presence and wisdom and efforts.”

There’s a polite round of applause before Winston continues.

“And a special message to our resident chef.”

Everyone turns to you and Hanzo can see your eyes widen—surprise, embarrassment, and panic pass by your features—and your cup trembles, threatening to fall.

“Chef. There's a saying that an army marches on its stomach. You have sacrificed so much for us and have worked so hard without reward. You may think you don’t deserve it or that your work is meaningless, but heroes come in all shapes and forms.

“Without you, Overwatch would not be where we are today. Without you, we would not have the strength to keep going. Without you, we would not have been able to come together like this. You have supported us quietly in the shadows. No matter what anyone says, we all acknowledge you are our hero. Words cannot express our gratitude to you. Thank you, Chef.”

“Thanks, Chef!”

“Thank you!”

“We love you, Chef!”

“To the chef!”

“‘To Chef!’”

The people around you all begin to cheer and even Hanzo reaches a hand over and pat your shaking back as you hide your face in your hands. As embarrassing as it may be, there is no one here who could ever deny your contributions. You have been acknowledged as one of those heroes you have separated yourself from.

Winston smiles and raises his glass higher, voice booming. “And to Overwatch!”

“‘To Overwatch!’”

“To us!”

“‘To us!’”

Glasses and cups clink together, a cacophony of chimes signalling in a new beginning for everyone.

Epilogue>>

#my writing #the way to a heart #twtah #holy fuck #we're here #i literally have the epilogue ready to go #i just a need or two to go over it and make sure it's fine #i never thought we'd get here #*need a day or two #good god i can't even spell anymore

12 notes · View notes

shewritestheblues · 4 years

Text

the Elevator Bae - 13

Chapter Thirteen

Erik Stevens x Black OC (Phoenix)

A/N: This series is almost to its end. I will be ending with Chapter 15. Thank You so much to everyone who has read and shared this story. I adore all of you soooooo much :)

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

How did two months go by so fast? Tour was coming to an end and It was bittersweet for Phoenix. She was able to finally see just how many people enjoyed her music and travel alongside one of her greatest friends but she missed Luna. She missed Erik? That’s been the confusing part. She didn’t really miss him but seeing how he’s been with Luna has warmed her heart. He’s been sending her videos and pictures daily. His bright smile seems to light up her world when she FaceTimes him to see Luna.

The closer she’s been getting to the last performing date, the more her anxiety has been surfacing. Since Erik’s been back, it was dropping Luna off because she had rehearsals and meetings and then tour. (A week during tour, Erik flew in to Detroit for Phoenix to have Luna while she visited family and he was on his way back to LA.) Their only interactions have been for Luna and they were good with that. She was good with that. There wasn’t any time for anything else. But soon, the tour will be over and she’ll be taking some time from work. Will things change? Have they already started to change?

Phoenix knew she was sure that this is what she wanted. For them to only focus on their daughter. All of these thoughts were swimming through her pool of a mind. Currently sitting in her hotel room, reading the comments under Erik’s latest IG upload weren’t helping. He just posted a picture of him and Luna while they were out. He had taken her shopping with him and snapped a picture of them in the dressing room mirror. It was the cutest picture. Luna looked unbothered while looking at the phone through the mirror. This kid had so many moods to be new here. Phoenix’s mom joked that Luna’s been here before.

Phoenix found herself smiling at the caption.

‘Luna ain’t having it with you hoes today.’

Erik’s captions were always… very Erik. And the comments full of women that Phoenix assumed were from Erik’s past or women who dreamed of being a part of his future.

‘She’s beautiful Erik.’

‘I still can’t believe Erik Stevens is somebody’s daddy.’

‘Lol, she’s so cute. Does she need a brother?’

‘Damn E. You make beautiful babies.’

‘Call me, E. 😘’

Phoenix wasn’t jealous. He was single. This was her decision. But sometimes, she hoped he would post something about her. Well, you know, because she is Luna’s mother of course. Maybe a shoutout?

No, no. She caught herself. She didn’t actually need that. Everyone following Erik knew who Luna’s mother was. Phoenix was fine. She. Was. Fine. These feelings? These thoughts? They will pass. So, she exited the app. It was time for rest and rest is definitely what Phoenix needed.

—————

Everything was… okay! Phoenix had worked herself up and things between her and Erik were good. They had the perfect schedule since she’s been back home. Erik would have Luna every other weekend. He’d come over to spend time with her during his ‘off days.’ They’d joke like old times. Even Ava had warmed back up to Erik. Of course things could never be what they used to be but this was a good start to making their situation feel somewhat normal.

“So tell me Phoenix, how has your transition back home been?” Dr. McKee wasted no time. She was eager to hear how Phoenix had been managing on her own.

Phoenix didn’t go back to therapy right away when she came back home. She figured she would take some time to test the waters and see if she would handle things with the methods she’s learned.

Releasing a deep breath, “Everything is good.” Phoenix finally says. “I’m happy.”

A genuine smile grew onto Dr. McKee’s face. “That’s amazing Phoenix. I’m honestly so proud of you.”

“Thanks. I’m proud of myself too.”

“So,” Dr. McKee paused, “What made you want to come in today?”

“I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m supposed to be using this time off to relax but I can’t. I feel like I should be doing something. Too much down time makes me think and when I think, I overthink. When I overthink, I get antsy. Then I feel anxious. Which only leads to a panic attack. I just don’t know what to do with this energy.” Phoenix stops herself to take a deep, calculated breath.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Did I make the right choice— No! I know that I did but…” Phoenix trails off.

“But what?”

“Luna loves him so much. The way she lights up when she sees him. She deserves to be that happy every day. I want her to feel what I feel. I’m happy.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince someone of that.”

The way Phoenix rolled her neck, she felt offended. How dare her own therapist insult her like this? Phoenix was happy! She didn’t have to convince anyone. She rolled her eyes at the idea. The nerve of this highly educated woman.

“I’m not trying to upset you Phoenix. I’m just trying to understand.”

“So are you saying I don’t make any sense right now?” Phoenix snapped back.

Cool, calm and collected, Dr. McKee blinks, “I’m not saying that at all. You make perfect sense. I just want you to share as much as you can so we can get to the root of what brought you here today.”

Phoenix closed her eyes and chewed on her lip. She internally chastised herself for being snappy. “It’s just,” she slowly began, “the way he looks at me with those puppy dog eyes. Even when he’s laughing, his eyes are saying something else. Like… he’s trying to slowly drown me. When he looks at me, his eyes linger like they’re trying to get me to catch on to something.”

Phoenix opens her eyes and focuses on the floor. “I’m not changing my mind. He’s always been a smooth operator but unfortunately for him, I know that. He doesn’t get to come around and make me feel guilty for choosing what’s right for my baby.” Phoenix paused. “Our baby.” She whispered that last part.

Dr. McKee takes some notes. She opens her mouth to speak but Phoenix beats her to it.

“I understand. I really do. Erik wants to give Luna the family experience. I want that for her too. But the family we’ve all created for her is fine.”

“I agree, Phoenix. So many of us get caught up in the idea of a traditional family. But family is whoever loves you unconditionally. From what I know, you, Erik, Coby, Ava and the entire tribe you guys have around you love Luna beyond this world. That’s more than enough. You’re a great mom. Great moms make tough decisions every day, but great moms also know each decision is for the greater good of their family.”

Phoenix smiles. It feels good to hear that someone sees you and your hard work and the sacrifices for what they are. Dr. McKee was right. They may not be the traditional family, but Luna is still surrounded by a loving tribe that is unique to her.

“But,” Dr. McKee continues, “you can’t attach yourself to Erik and what he may be feeling about this. You’ve made yourself clear what you wanted. You’re happy and Luna’s happy. There’s no need to ruffle anymore feathers here.”

Dr. McKee turns to her laptop and begins typing away on her keyboard. After a few clicks, she turns to Phoenix again.

“I’ve emailed you a list of things that could help you during your free time. I want you relax and enjoy this time off as best as you can before it’s time to get back to work. You deserve it.”

“I’m going to my best.”

—————

Phoenix wasn’t in a rush to leave the parking lot of Dr. McKee’s office after her session. She sat in her car going over the list in her email.

Ways to Relax Your Brain:

-Workout.

-Take an art class.

-Plant a Garden.

-Read some good books.

-Get out in Nature.

Phoenix wasn’t gifted with a green thumb, so gardening was out of the question. She works out pretty consistently, but it hasn’t worked out with calming her thoughts so that one is scratched off. Art class felt like work and books? She’s read every book that resides in Coby’s house. She was tired of reading. Looks like getting out in Nature would be worth a shot.

She’s always loved the beach but she couldn’t remember the last time she’s been to a beach.

—————

Phoenix found herself in a very familiar spot. A picnic table on the beach, watching the beach goers enjoy themselves. The waves look beautiful as they rolled in onto the sand. The sounds of splashing seemed more soothing than Phoenix ever realized. Time seemed to be passing so slow. Everything in the world has come to a calming pause. Her mind wasn’t racing. Her heart wasn’t pounding. Tranquility was all Phoenix could come up with to describe this feeling. She had no worries, no fears, no anxiety.

The sounds of an ice cream truck moving through the parking lot near her, caught her ear. The thought of eating something sweet without her infant bullying her into sharing seemed like a great win. She stood from her seat and seemingly floated to the truck.

“Hello, what can I get you?” the older man inside the truck said with a contagious smile.

“Um,” she tapped her chin with her index finger, “I’ll go with chocolate on a waffle cone.”

“Coming up.”

Moments later, Phoenix exchanges her money for the ice cream cone and travels back to her spot at the picnic table. She picked up where she left off admiring all that surrounds her. She ate her ice cream with a pleased smile pinching at her cheeks.

The small vibration of her phone pulled her from her trance. Erik is facetiming her. She assumed he was calling to see Luna so she swiped to answer the call.

“Hey, E. I’m not with Luna right now.”

“That’s cool. I called to talk to you.”

“Oh, um, okay. What’s up?” This made her suspicious.

“The Outreach Center will be opening this Friday. We’re doing a whole big thing and uh, I wanted to invite you if you aren’t busy. Shuri told me that if I didn’t call you right now, she would never talk to me again.”

Phoenix was mid bite into her cone and almost dropped it from laughter. “Well, you know I have nothing to do. Tell Shuri that me and Luna will be there.”

“Alright.” Erik paused, eyeing Phoenix’s background through the phone. “Aye! You’re at the beach?”

“Yeah. I just needed a moment. Needed to get out of the house, I guess.”

“Everything’s alright?” His words were soft, genuine.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything is good.”

Erik didn’t believe her. He could tell something was bothering her but he didn’t want to push her. That wasn’t his place. Well not anymore at least.

“Well you know, no matter what, you can always come to me.”

“Yeah, E. I know.”

“Alright, I have some shit to get done before Friday. I’ll let you get back to your me time. I’ll text the details later.”

“K…”

“Kiss my baby for me when you get back home please.”

“I will.”

The call ends and Phoenix is frozen. Erik calls her while she’s sitting in the very spot he’d taken her when he needed to clear his mind. This use to be their spot. Her peace was broken then. Erik was everywhere. Even when he wasn’t there. She looked around and threw in the towel. Her time here was up. She finished her ice cream cone on her walk back to her car. She was ready to get back home to get her daughter.

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

The week had flown by. Phoenix was just sitting on Dr. McKee’s couch. She was just at the beach. But now, it was opening day for the Outreach Center. Phoenix couldn’t understand why she was feeling so nervous. She had this gut feeling that something was off. Her and Erik were good. She loved T’Challa, Shuri and Queen Mother and they all adored her. She wrecked her brain trying to come up with an answer.

Phoenix called her mom. She would understand and maybe help her with her feelings.

“Something just doesn’t feel right, Ma.” Phoenix props the phone up on her dresser while she gets Luna dressed.

“That’s your intuition, baby. If you feel like something ain’t right, it’s because something ain’t right.”

“But I don't know what it is. It’s driving insane.”

“The only way to find out is to go and face whatever it is.”

Phoenix finishes dressing Luna. She places her in her bouncer in front of the phone so that Luna can see her grandmother on FaceTime.

“Hey baby girl.” Phoenix’s mom dotes on the bouncing baby. “You’re looking more and more like your grandma everyday.”

Phoenix cuts her eye at the phone. “She looks like her dad.”

Phoenix catches her mom rolling her eyes.

“You can’t hate him forever, Ma. He’s going to be around for a long time.”

“I don’t hate him. I just think he’s stupid. Maybe if he pays for a round trip for me to go to Wakanda, I’ll forgive him.”

“Mom!”

“Those are my terms Phoenix and I ain’t changing them. Ain’t that right Lulu? Tell your stupid ass daddy to send me to Wakanda.”

“Alright Luna,” Phoenix picks Luna up, “Your grandma is on all bullshit today.”

“Hey! What your mouth around my grandbaby.”

In disbelief, Phoenix looks at the camera, “But you just said a bad word.”

“Ass isn’t a bad word.”

“Okay, ma. Whatever you say. We have to go so I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

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

Phoenix was roaming the large, empty halls of the Outreach Center. She had been inside multiple times while dropping off Luna to Erik or picking her up. She had checked Erik’s office, looking for him but he was nowhere to be found. She was making her way back outside when she sees Shuri.

“Shuri!” Phoenix stops her, “Have you seen Erik?”

“Philly! I’m so happy you’re here.” She pulls Phoenix into a tight hug. Phoenix embraces her back and their body’s rock. “I missed you. Hey Lulu.” Shuri adds pinching Luna’s chubby cheeks.

“I told you that you can over whenever.” Phoenix adjusts Luna on her hip. Luna was getting heavier every day.

Before Shuri could respond, she looks up and sees Erik walking straight toward them. “Oh there’s the little T-Rex.” She points in the direction of Erik.

When Phoenix turns around, Erik is walking with that famous dip. His dreads are back into a ponytail and he’s sporting a navy blue suit that’s tailored to perfection. He’s always had great style. The smile on Phoenix’s face slowly began to drop when she noticed the tall, curvy, well dressed woman walking alongside Erik. That uneasy feeling she felt when she was home crept up from her stomach and settled in her chest. She tried to control her breathing before it picked up. She wouldn’t allow herself to get worked up before knowing what was going on.

“There you are. Philly was looking for you.” Shuri says. She turns to Phoenix, “Come find me later. We have so much to catch up on.” Shuri walks off.

Phoenix isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do. She awkwardly stands there looking around to avoid looking at the woman standing next to Erik.

“Hey, Phoenix,” Erik grabs her attention and motions to the mystery woman. “This is Alicia. Alicia, this is Phoenix.”

Alicia sticks her hand out and shakes Phoenix’s hand. “Oh my goodness, you’re Phoenix? I’ve heard so much about you. Hey Lulu.” Alicia rubs her thumb on Luna’s arm.

Lulu? The only people who calls her Lulu are people who are close to her. It’s obvious that this woman has been around Luna a great deal.

“Oh…Hm. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her eyes bounce between Alicia and Erik a few times before they lock in with Erik’s. She can’t read him. These are not the same eyes he usually looks at her with. He licks his lips. This woman isn’t just a random woman that Erik decided to introduce to her. Something was up between the two of them.

Luna throws her body backwards trying to get to her dad. Erik scoops her up with one quick motion, taking her from Phoenix. He peppers kisses all over her cheeks before checking his watch. “We’re gonna miss the opening ceremony. We should get outside.”

“You guys go ahead.” Alicia says, “I have to use the lady’s room. I’ll catch up.”

“Okay. You know where to find me.” Erik says with a smirk. Alicia places a hand on his arm and walks off toward the restroom.

Erik and Phoenix began the journey outside to watch T’Challa give the opening ceremony speech. As they approached the big door that led out, Phoenix looked to Erik. “She seems nice.”

“She is.” Erik tries to bite back his smile.

“Good. You need someone nice.”

Erik stops walking. He was stunned by her words. How did she manage to put those pieces together? His words got caught and he struggled with a response. Phoenix picked up on his struggles.

“She called Luna, Lulu. That told me everything, Erik.”

He caught on. “I wanted to tell you before now, but I didn’t really know how.”

“It’s fine. As long as she makes you happy, there’s nothing to talk about. Things may not have worked out with us but I can see that you’re a better man. Someone should get to experience that.”

Phoenix doesn’t stick around to hear how he may react. She walks ahead leaving him and Luna and goes outside. Erik stood there processing her words. Alicia catches up to him. She could see that something had shaken him up.

“Erik, is everything okay?” her eyes searched him for any kind of answer. “Did something happen with Phoenix?”

He finally looks at her, “No, nothing happened. She just, uh, she thinks you’re nice.” A single dimple appearing.

A small smile forms on Alicia’s face. “So does this mean that I’m Phoenix approved?”

They laugh. He steps closer to her and plants a kiss on her lips. Alicia’s face goes red. “Not in front of Luna.” she plays.

Erik opens the door for them and they walk out just in time as T’Challa takes the stage.

As the day progressed, Erik was talking to so many people. He found himself explaining different parts of the Outreach Center over and over but he didn’t complain. Alicia stayed by his side, mingling while Luna bounced around between the two of them and Queen Mother. It wasn’t until T’Challa pulled Erik aside to ask where Phoenix was that Erik realized that he hadn’t seen her since their exchange. His eyes searched through the crowd hoping to see her somewhere. To his disappointment, she was nowhere to be found.

He texted her.

Erik: Hey, Philly. Where did you go?

Time passed and he never received a text back.

Phoenix’s thumbs hovered over her keyboard but she just couldn’t find it in her to say anything back. When Erik didn’t come outside for the ceremony right after her, she snuck out and left. Luna was in good hands and she just couldn’t stick around. She meant what she said. She really did see Erk for the better man that he had become. He was an amazing person and even more amazing father. It wouldn’t be fair for her to want him to not move on. Again, she reminded herself that this was best.

“Philly. Come get your glass.” Mica yelled from the kitchen.

When Phoenix got back home, she told Ava what had happened and Ava called Mica and Camren over for girl talk and wine. They were all between their third and fourth cups. Hours had gone by and Phoenix still couldn’t text Erik back. She just says “fuck it,” and tossed her phone on the couch and heads into the kitchen for her refill.

When Phoenix gets a hold of her assigned wine glass, she downs it in seconds. Her friends watch on in shock.

“Damn Philly, calm down.” Camren says.

“I’m grown, Camren. You don’t have to tell me how to drink some weak ass wine.”

Mica clutches her pearls. This isn’t like Phoenix at all.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ava asks. “Is this about Erik?”

Phoenix throws daggers at Ava with her heavy eyes. “Everything ain’t about Erik. I’m good.”

“You’re not acting good.” Mica adds.

Phoenix begins filling her glass up again. “Well since yall just know me so well, how am I acting if I’m not acting like I’m good?”

Ava snatches Phoenix’s glass. “You’re acting like you’re trying to drink your problems away.”

“I don’t have any problems to drink away. If I did, I’d be killing off something way stronger than wine.” she reaches for her glass but Ava pulls away.

“It’s obvious that this Erik shit is bothering you, sis.” Ava says.

Camren and Mica both nod in agreement.

Phoenix slams her hands down on the island counter. “Yo, fuck Erik. I don’t give a shit about what that man is doing. He’s moved on. He’s happy. I’m happy. Why are y’all holding on to this shit?”

“You’re holding on to it.” Ava yells. She’s fed up with Phoenix’s rudeness.

The gloss appearing over Phoenix’s eyes alerted her friends that she was struggling to hold back her tears. Ava reaches for her but Phoenix pulls away. She looks off at nothing when a few tears escape and flow down her cheeks. Her lips shake and she wraps her arms around herself.

“I don’t get why you’re torturing yourself. You clearly still love him.” Mica says.

“Yes!,” she aggressively wipes tears from her cheeks, “I still fucking love him, but this love ain’t mean shit. He doesn’t get to do this. He can’t just pop back up after all of this and have his life back like nothing happened.

“So,” Camren hesitates for a moment. “You’re punishing him?”

“I’m protecting myself.”

Ava steps closer to Phoenix in a nurturing way. “No, you are punishing him and yourself. Look at you. I hate what his stupid ass did just as much as you. But she’s right. We’re right. You're torturing yourself while trying to prove a point.”

“No I’m not!”

“You keep saying that he can’t do this.” Mica joins in again. “That he can’t just come back. But you can’t just pretend like you don’t care. It’s not fair to either of you.”

Phoenix doesn’t respond. She’s listening but she wishes that she wasn’t. They were right and she wishes they weren’t.

Camren breaks the silence. “We’re not trying to hurt your feelings Philly or piss you off in any way, but you can’t be hurt that he’s moving on when you’re the one that told him to.”

Mica interrupts, “So, either you can move on too or tell him how you really feel.”

The group of women notices Phoenix’s lack of responses. She’s in shut down mode. They didn’t want that but they couldn’t sit back and not tell their friend the truth about herself. Phoenix finally gets her hands on her abandoned glass of wine on the counter and downs it before silently walking away from her friends. She goes upstairs to her room. They give each other knowing looks. They would give her some time and they’ll go up to console her. Moments pass and they all suddenly hear the front door slam, scaring them. When the women rush to the door, they barely catch Phoenix just as she is nearing the end of the driveway.

Ava runs out toward the reversing car but Phoenix quickly shifts the car into drive and drives off.

“Fuck!” Ava yells. “We have to get Coby.”

#the elevator bae #erik killmonger x black oc #Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #erik x phoenix #erik x luna #shaebewriting

165 notes · View notes

koalas-koalas-everywhere · 3 years

Text

Pssst Marvel editors are asleep, time to drop my calculations¹ about how old Peter should be based only on in-universe references:

Gwen died = 19²

1 Clone Saga = 21 => 1 year of grad school = 22³

2 Clone Saga = 25

Interlude until Onslaught= ~7 months⁴ = 25 1/2

Heroes’ disappearance = 26 1/2

Final Chapter⁵ = 27

Reboot⁶ = some months

Interlude to MJ’s disappearance = some months

MJ’s kidnapping = 6 months = 28

All of that shit until OMD⁷ = 29 at least (he has a birthday)

Interlude to Superior = ??? He has a birthday, which is when Marvel Otto kills him tho, so 30, at least.⁸

Superior = 1 year = 31

And then a lot of stuff happens between that and Spencer’s run that I didn’t read. I must assume that time starts running slowly backwards, if Peter’s in his mid-twenties!

Some explanations below.

¹I’m being as generous (aka making him as young) as possible to show that, giving them every advantage, Peter should still be older than they make him out to be.

²Gwen was this old, we’re assuming that so was Peter, although you could argue that he might be 20, given that he graduates shortly after the first Clone Saga two years later, so you can add one year to all of these if you want to.

³Since we know that there’s 4 years between the Sagas, the year of post-grad is kinda irrelevant to calculate his current age, but it might still be interesting to know, for example, how old he was when he was dating Felicia, when he brought the symbiote to Earth, when he discovered Matt’s id, when he killed Charlemagne, etc, especially when you consider that all of that happened before the wedding, which happened, to give time to all the shit that happened between that and the Clone Saga, at least a year before that, so you might also get an idea of how old he and Mary Jane were when they got married.

⁴We don’t know how far along Mare Jane was when she discovered she was pregnant. She didn’t show, but she was 1) under a lot of stress, which might even out the weight gained (and some pregnant people lose weight before gaining it in, you know, baby weight), and 2) she was a model, so she might’ve been regulating that extra weight before realizing its cause. Then, the disappearance of the heroes in Onslaught happens shortly before Mary Jane’s... well, what even is the word for that? Miscarriage, I guess, which happened at what would have been full term. So, again, to be as “generous” as possible, I’m shaving off two months off at the beginning and the end of her pregnancy, which marks the time frame of this interlude.

⁵We don’t actually get a time frame for this, unless I forgot, but I mean, c’mon!

⁶The timeline here’s kind of all over the place, because Johnny Storm says that it was a few months when the new run starts, he’s been gone long enough that Daredevil’s starting to see its effects on the streets and Cap’s been “following his disappearance with some concern”, and it’s pretty strongly implied that Mary Jane’s busy schedule that takes her all over the place except for New York, for all that Peter’s supportive of her, has been sort of putting some strain in their relationship. However, as the run goes on, the timeline gets shortened to a few weeks, I think. Given the reactions and all, the few months seem more likely.

⁷A lot of stuff happens, okay? Including Civil War!

⁸I tried to read it, I did! But I couldn’t! It was bad for my blood pressure!

P.S.: This was a calculation for Peter’s current age, as you see, I’m not getting into how old he was when he started as Spider-Man. Matt Murdock sensed he was around 17 years old when they first met, which would make sense both if he started at 15, since they meet in ASM #16, around half-way to Peter’s graduation in #28, making 17 (or near 17) a good age for him to be at that time, or if he’d started as a senior (as it seems to be the original intent) at either 17 or 18 and those 28 issues were all of one year. Personally, I prefer the first one for the greater time edge over other superheroes who started after him (the difference between starting months or weeks before Iron Man, and years or months before Daredevil, is the difference between “you, new people” and “you young upstarts”), and the sheer comedy of “mean 15 year old kicking your ass”.

#Peter Parker #Spider-Man #Spider Man #comics

2 notes · View notes

wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 155

Chapter Summary - Danielle and Tom spend their two weeks by the seaside enjoying themselves and thinking over what they plan for the future.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Danielle inhaled deeply and stuck her head under the water again, pulling herself through the waves for as long as felt comfortable before taking another deep breath of air and continuing.

Having calculated how far she needed to swim to meet her training requirements the day previous, she checked her watch and made for the shoreline. Pulling herself from the water, she smiled at seeing Tom waiting for her with Mac on the beach.

“Do you need a rest before we start?” He smiled, handing her the pair of shoes she had given to him for after her swim.

“No rest on the day, come on.” She smiled back as she put them. “And remember I have small legs.”

Laughing, Tom turned to head to the road. “And you just did a mile and a half swim.” He added.

“That too.” Danielle laughed as they jogged off, Mac in tow.

“Am I going too fast?” Tom asked as Danielle increased her speed halfway through their run.

“I need to push myself.” She declared as she continued.

Mac trotted happily beside them, elated at the early morning run as the hot days meant he and Bobby were forced to hide in the shade and cool tiled floor of the house. Bobby was still too young to go jogging so he was safely back at the house with Poppy, asleep in his bed.

For seven miles, Tom and Danielle ran a fast enough pace before coming to the carpark they had left the car in beside the beach once more. When they came to a halt, Tom inhaled deeply. “Is the route that uneven on the day?” He asked, referencing the Ironman.

“Not that they have given the maps for, no. But if you are prepared for shitty terrain, then easy terrain will be simple.” Danielle informed him. “Did you talk to your cousins, about your aunt?”

“Yes, Laura will be making more of an effort to get her to settle down with her badgering yet spend time with her, sans Rupert.”

“Good, it's not healthy to be more obsessed with your dog than your children.” She stretched her leg out. “I am going to walk the dogs tomorrow at this time, are you coming?”

“Yep.” Tom smiled loving the idea of an early morning walk. “I can't wait to see what Bobby makes of the water here.”

“He's a spaniel, chances are he'll have to be forcibly removed from it.”

Tom laughed at her words. “Most likely, yes.” He placed Mac in the car and tied his harness to the belt clip to keep him safe. “Elle?” Danielle looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Taking the time from work to come here, for getting your work and ignoring it rather than cutting into our time with my extended family.”

“I need to balance my home and work life. You matter more to me than that job. I love my job, I really do but between you and it, you win.” She leant up and kissed him.

Tom was taken back, not by the show of affection or even the declaration, though both were bold but the fact that it was outdoors, anyone could see them and she dismissed it all to reassure him that her love for him was more important than being seen by some bottom feeding photographer. “You wouldn't risk your happiness at work for us too much though, would you?”

Danielle's brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

“Well, if it was us or being a Safety officer?”

“Depends on the circumstances. If I was being forbidden by you to work, then no, I wouldn't allow it. If it was a choice of it and you and it was dragging me from what makes me happy then I'd drop it like it's hot.” She shrugged. “Why?”

“Just asking.” He stated, going to the back seat of the car to get her a towel as she was still damp from her swim before their run.

“I worry with some of your questions sometimes. It always feels like there's more to them.” She commented before taking the towel. “Thank you.”

“I am a normal person who on occasion asks odd questions when I think of them, the same as every other person on the planet.” Tom defended before getting into the driver's seat. Danielle said nothing else before getting in the passenger side. “I am also considering upgrading my car.”

“Is there an upgraded version of free?”

Tom chuckled. “Not that I'm aware.”

“Up to yourself.” Danielle shrugged. “But don't go too mad, this thing already takes up a lot of the driveway, so no stretch Hummer or something similar.”

“Well, that's my plans ruined.” Tom laughed as they headed back to the house as Danielle laughed beside him.

Over the first week, Danielle and Tom spent the most of it in the company of his family, knowing that the following week, they would have the place to themselves.

Danielle spent time with Diana and Emma mostly, but also Sarah on occasion. She insisted that she would mind the Duchess while they went out for tea but the Hiddleston women were disgusted at the mere thought and instead told her that their fathers would mind both girls, that she was to come also.

Tom spent time being an uncle, something he did not get to do with enough regularity in his opinion. With his busy work schedule, he had not been able to invest as much time in being there for his older niece as he wanted but for the week they were on the one house, he ensured that he played with her and spent time getting his younger niece used to his face. In fact, Lucy beamed brightly at her silly faced uncle when he came over and acknowledged her. He also spent time with Jack and Yakov; as again, his busy life meaning he rarely saw them. His sisters he was more often in the company of but that did not indicate that they often met.

Come the end of the first week, the family was saddened to be going their separate ways once more, even with an argument or two, as is natural, the week was incredibly pleasant.

Saying goodbye to the family, Tom and Danielle relished in the fact they had another week to enjoy the seaside.

“Stop bragging.” Emma growled as she hugged Danielle close.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You don't need to, I can see the look on your face.”

“I will be back next week for the wedding.” Danielle promised.

“You don't…”

“I'll be there.” She reiterated. “You want to go to this. Diana and I will spoil Lucy in your absence.”

“Thank you.” Jack smiled, giving her a hug also. “We will see you then.”

“Drive safe.” Tom grinned, joining them.

“And you two better not get up to too much mischief.” Jack joked.

“Damn, they're onto us.” Danielle joked. “No parties.” She held her hand up like she was swearing an oath.

To a chorus of laughs, Danielle and Tom said goodbye to the last of the Hiddleston clan to leave, leaving them to the large home for them and their dogs.

As soon as Emma and Jack's car left the drive, went down the road and out of sight, Tom and Danielle walked back inside. By the time Tom had closed the front door and turned around, Danielle had taken off the open plaid shirt she had been wearing over a string top. “I need to find shorts to wear.” She commented, playfully grinning at Tom. “Or perhaps just my panties and bra.” Tom's eyes widened. “I think I brought those black ones, didn't….oh I'm wearing them.”

“If you are just teasing me…”

“Come upstairs and find out.” She smiled, sashaying her hips as she went up the stairs.

Tom barely locked the front door before rushing up after her, scooping her into his arms when they got to the top of the stairs before carrying her to the bedroom and placing her on the bed, kissing her as he did while leaning over her, her hands going immediately to his ass.

“Elle?”

“No, I'm not getting up.” She groaned, curling into the pillow.

“What about walking the boys?”

Danielle sighed before forcing herself to stretch. “Fine.”

They got ready in relative quiet before grabbing the dogs and getting into the car.

Usually, Tom had no issue with driving but he requested that Danielle do so specifically. It was odd but Danielle had no issue doing so. She noticed Tom seemed somewhat distracted on their journey but said nothing. On their walk, though he spoke on occasion, it was clear Tom was thinking of other things.

They got to the place that both Tom and Danielle swore they would go on a non-training day, on top the cliffs that showed the beautiful white-rocked coastline that made the section of Southern England so iconic, both making comments of the beautiful scenery as they walked.

“These are the places that make you think about life.” Danielle smiled, sighing as she looked at the sun, though still only half way to rising in the clear sky, the water glistening below and the cliffs looking radiantly white.

“And what do you find yourself thinking of it?” Tom inquired.

“Just how happy I am. The weather is good, it's a lovely few days break, this place is so beautiful, I really enjoyed having your family around for a couple of days, work is ticking by well with the new office and we are doing really incredibly, I think anyway, and I can honestly say, overall, I am really happy.” She smiled, looking to Tom to see his reaction.

For his part, Tom felt elated at the analogy of her life and her happiness with him. “So you never regret moving in with me?”

“Well, the toilet seat thing drives me barmy at four in the morning, but no, I don't.” She professed. “What about you, are you happy?”

“More so than I thought possible. Two years ago...Jesus, when I think back…”

“Don't, don't think back, no one wants to think back to that.” Danielle laughed.

“I am so grateful for how things turned out, how we turned out.”

“Do you think if worth it? Your summer of madness?”

“I do now.” He nodded. Tom smiled at her before looking across the water. “I think back two years and also wonder what lies ahead.”

“We all do that. I think back to two years ago. I loved being a paramedic, being able to help people but I love my work more now and the more I do, the more I think of. Say a year from now and how much more I will have learnt, how much more we will have done together.” Danielle's smile was a content one as she thought of perhaps having a similar conversation with Tom in a year's time atop the cliffs again, that would be something to covet in her opinion. “What about you?”

“Something similar.” Tom confessed, startled as to how Danielle had turned the conversation to the future, something he had wanted to discuss with her. “But I hope to see other new things in it too.”

“Such as?”

Tom inhaled deeply and forced himself to say what he had been thinking over for longer than he would care to admit. “Well, given how long Irish people seem to like to have engagements, I hope that perhaps we could be discussing the final requirements for a wedding.”

Danielle frowned, having been listening to Tom's words as she looked out to the ocean as she processed them but on that statement, she turned and faced Tom again, startled to see him at her nervously before getting on one knee with a ring box open in his hand. “What?” her voice shook from what she was seeing.

“Danielle Constance Hughes, would you please consider doing me the immense honour of becoming my wife?”

#i hate you i love you #chapter 155 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

16 notes · View notes

saiilorstars · 4 years

Text

The Beginning of Everything

Ch. 29: Metamorphosis

// Story Masterlist //

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: 10th Doctor x Female OC

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Chapter summary: Gabby gets to unveil her first artwork and what it is might be powerful enough to make new decisions.

The day had come. Today was Gabby's official unveiling of her first artwork. Zhe's gallery was a busy, busy place. People were running around setting up things that needed to be ready by the scheduled hour. Everyone was following Renata's orders to the last detail. And Renata? She was quite at home doing what she did best: organizing.

"I am going to need this entire area to be covered by those fancy little light bulbs humans are so fond of," the Time Lady was in the middle of instructing several employees when the Doctor and Gabby arrived. "You know the ones that are like strings? What are they called? String light bulbs! And make them lavender - that's Gabby's favorite color."

"She is really good at that," Gabby chuckled to the Doctor as they continued to watch Renata command the entire area.

"Yeah she is," the Doctor agreed, nodding proudly. That was one thing he always loved about her. He loved watching her take the reigns of an entire room with just a clipboard and a waving hand. It was even more curious back then because Renata's first incarnation was a petite figure while this current incarnation was much taller.

"Should we tell her we're here?" Gabby's question pulled the Doctor back to the present. She was absolutely excited to get the show started.

"Not yet, I need to see Zhe first," he said and turned away from the garden. "But you can go and say hello to her." Gabby nodded, her smile faltering when she realized what e was doing: diagnostic checks.

Zhe was the only person the Doctor trusted completely in when it came to Renata's health. The Time Lady was used to lying about her health left to right, but Zhe would not.

Gabby sprinted down the hill leading to the garden - probably not her best idea but she was so excited - and called for Renata's attention. "Ren! We're here!"

Renata's eyes widened with delight. She opened her arms in time for Gabby who came hugging her. "Gabriella, I'm so happy you're here!"

"Me too!" Gabby pulled away and turned her attention to the stage across them.

The stage was only recently finished since Gabby watched the employees barely getting off it. It was a deep blue (almost TARDIS blue) colored stage with dark purple curtains tied on the sides. Gabby's eyes flickered to the chairless tables set around them. All of them were an iridescent purple-blue with bright lavender poppies as the centerpieces. And now the employees were setting up the string light bulbs that were going to hang over their event, each tied to the wooden poles set in a square around the garden.

"This place looks amazing!" Gabby laughed so loud that some of the employees stopped to give her a look. She blushed with embarrassment and turned to Renata.

The Time Lady looked nervous for some reason. "You think so?" Renata asked, her tone matching the nervous expression on her face. "This is the first event I plan for humans so...let me know if anything's wrong."

"Absolutely nothing!" Gabby fervently shook her head. "When the Doctor said you were good at planning, he didn't mention is was really good! You would be such a good wedding planner - plan mine in the future, okay?"

Renata chuckled. "Oh Gabriella, you're too young. Let's hold off on those wedding plans for a while, okay?"

"Fine, then plan yours!"

Renata coughed awkwardly, her smile fading completely. Her eyes now seemed to think that her clipboard was the only thing worth looking at. "I'm never getting married again."

"Mhm," Gabby rolled her eyes.

"So then," Renata gently pulled Gabby into a walk so she could better see the garden. "I have your parents set up at the closest table to the stage. I've made sure there's plenty of food that they can recognize, although between you and me...I don't think your mother's going to be happy that you didn't let her cook for this event."

Gabby chuckled. "I didn't want her to work tonight."

"And I also have your artwork being brought to the stage promptly at 8pm. Don't worry, I have the best employees carrying it secretly. Zhe will introduce you and she mentioned that she's bringing over some highly influential artists from different galaxies to see your piece."

"No pressure there," Gabby sucked in a sharp breath.

"You'll be fine," Renata patted the girl's back. "And now we've come to the best part of your event, besides introducing your first artwork...your wardrobe."

"I was just thinking I'd use something from the TARDIS - I already asked the Doctor and he definitely doesn't mind—"

"—right, and believe me when I say that I am more of a simple kind of woman."

"Simple but elegant," Gabby muttered and smiled when Renata mock-glared. "What? It's just who you are. You're a classy kind of woman."

"So I've been told," Renata rolled her eyes, clearly disbelieving such a statement. "Anyways, Zhe has prepared a wardrobe for you, herself…" her face scrunched suddenly, "...and me," she added in a mutter. Gabby snorted until she burst into laughter. Renata shook her head and picked up her walking pace.

~ 0 ~

Zhe had locked her office in case Renata stopped by, but she doubted that it would stop Renata from trying to get in if she wanted to.

"I've kept track of all the times Renata's expelled energy," she was handing the Doctor her records of Renata's health. "She doesn't exactly know and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate it."

"Mhm," the Doctor agreed with a hum. He let himself fall into one of the desk chairs as he scanned every line of what Zhe wrote. "According to this, she's expelling more and more each day."

"I've also taken liberty of categorizing her energy levels each time. On the next page," Zhe motioned him to turn the page.

"How'd you manage to do that?" he briefly looked up after turning the page.

"I'm not proud of it but I did set up a couple devices around the gallery to calculate Renata's energy levels and her biological state whenever she expells energy." Zhe's shoulders slumped at the Doctor's surprised reaction. "I know, I'm not proud of it…"

"You did what you had to do," the Doctor said and went back to the report in front of him. "And by the looks of it, you did good. Her energy's strength is getting too strong for one person. I'm frankly amazed she's made it this far without…" he swallowed hard, unable to bring himself to finish that thought.

But Zhe knew exactly what he was going to say. It was a miracle that Renata was making it to this point. Her life was hanging by a string.

"Do you think this could help in creating a cure for her?" she asked.

"I don't know," the Doctor confessed, frustrated that it was always the same answer. "But it's at least warning me that she needs to take it far easier than what she's been doing. After this, I may just need to put her on bed rest."

"Good luck with that," Zhe leaned against her desk. "You think you have a chance?"

The Doctor shook his head. That would be a battle all on its own.

"I propose we have a calm night for Renata and then tomorrow you can discuss with her about the next step she needs to take."

"I guess so," the Doctor sighed. He had no other choice.

~ 0 ~

Gabby, honestly, felt overwhelmed with all the wardrobe employees hanging around her. She would much rather be a simple but elegant woman right now.

"Don't you think this is all...a bit flashy?" she asked one of the employees doing her cheeks.

"Of course not! This is what's necessary!" the woman responded and continued applying blush.

"Really? All of this is necessary?"

"Yes!" went the entire set of employees.

Gabby really doubted that, even more so when one of the jewels hanging from her ridiculously huge headpiece smacked her in the eyes.

"Gabby, just let them finish," Renata was writing something on her clipboard while the employees worked around her. "You look fantastic."

Gabby narrowed her eyes at the woman but Renata was so engrossed in her clipboard that she never noticed. "Yeah? Then how come you're not getting ready?"

Renata swayed her head innocently and turned for the door. "Later, later," she said. "I have to go check on how everything else is doing." She headed for the door but stopped to cough rather aggressively.

Gabby wanted to get off the chair as soon as she heard Renata, but the stylists kept her still. "Ren? Are you okay?"

Renata brought a hand to her mouth in hopes of muffling the volume. The last thing she needed was to ruin Gabby's night. She took in a deep breath and lowered her hand, only to see a couple spots of blood on her palm. That's new, she blinked and quickly rubbed it away on her pants. "I'm fine, Gabriella. I'll be back to check up on you." She left the room in a hurry but ended up crashing into someone. She yelped when she felt the metal of her clipboard smack her chin. "OW!"

"Renata?" she heard Gabby's call from the other side.

"I'm fine!" Renata said quickly then faced the person she crashed into. "Oh of course it's you," she shook her head at the Doctor. "Were you running down a hallway?"

"If you're going for the 'teacher vibe', you've definitely got it," the Doctor nodded and looked her over with a degree of amusement.

She was not amused. She brought her hand to rub her chin. "I only say that because every time you run down a hallway, I end up hurt. Remember that night we snuck into the Academy's library?"

The Doctor definitely remembered judging his quick laughter. "And you slipped on a piece of paper. I still don't get how someone does that - I mean, it's just paper."

Renata dropped her hand to her side, balling it into a fist. "It happens!"

"Right," the Doctor would only agree for her sake. He eyed her chin and saw the light red spot on it from her clipboard's metal. "Sorry about that," he touched her chin suddenly that it startled her. "I was actually trying to find you."

Renata stared at him with blushed cheeks. She knew that fond look of his anywhere because in the beginning, he always made sure to point out himself. 'This is the look of someone you have wrapped around your finger' he would tell her with that idiot smile of his.

"What, uh, what did you need?" she finally managed to put her words together after a few minutes, but just for good measure she took a step away from him.

The Doctor awkwardly let his hand hang on his side. "I wanted to check on you, of course, see how you're doing?"

Renata rolled her eyes. "I'm doing just fine. I'm busy, but I'm fine." She started walking because she didn't want Gabby to overhear any of her health conversations. "I'm planning, what I always used to do."

"And a fairly good job you're doing," the Doctor followed her and easily caught up to walk beside her. "I've just been out to the garden and you did a fantastic job. No surprise there."

Renata smiled. "Thank you. I made sure that everything was perfect and I intend on keeping it that way."

"But you're not over-exerting yourself, right?" the Doctor stopped walking and grabbed her arm to make sure she didn't try running off on him. "That was one of the conditions Gabby put too."

"Yes, I'm fine," Renata shook her head, although her eyes did linger on the faded blood she'd rubbed off on her pants. "I'm smiling aren't I?"

"Yes but you're very well trained with that," the Doctor smiled himself for show. "It's kind of annoying, actually."

"You don't think I find many things about you annoying too?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Yes, and it's vice versa, but I still care about your health and I am going to make sure that you don't overexert yourself. I've talked to Zhe and—"

"—oh no, not this again," Renata wrenched her arm free of his grip. "I am not talking about my health on an important day like this."

"Renata-"

"—no, and that's final. If you're just going to talk about that with me then...I'd rather you not speak to me at all," she frowned and walked off.

The Doctor watched her go but he wasn't going to let her get off that easily. She could try to ignore him but he would be near her to oversee that nothing too stressful came her way.

~ 0 ~

"Gabby you look wonderful," Zhe clapped her four hands together for a small applause.

"Do you think Zhe would mind if I took off these shoes in about 10 minutes?" Gabby felt safe confiding that only to the Doctor.

The Time Lord couldn't help but chuckle as he helped Gabby come out to the garden. "You look wonderful."

Gabby blushed but gladly took the compliment. She was just making it out of the gallery building where the others were waiting, including her family.

"¡Ay pero que grande está esa cosa!" her mother cried at the incredibly large headpiece resting over Gabby's head. "It's so big!"

Gabby had been styled in an irridescent blue-purple gown with a modest slit going up to her knee. It was a dress with a Grecian neckline made up of only one string of turquoise beads. The same beads went around her arms and we're connected to a dark blue, flowy cape in the back. On top of Gabby's head was a huge headpiece made out of the same turquoise beads paired with a silver background. It was in the shape of tree branches and from those branches hung iridescent butterfly-shaped gems that would knock against Gabby's face every once in a while.

It was ridiculous, Gabby thought. But according to Zhe, it was high fashion for events like these. Plus, Renata had to wear the same type of dresses so Gabby thought it was all fair.

"This is honestly so ridiculous," she heard Renata huff behind.

Renata was escorted out of the building by Zhe herself and as soon as Gabby saw Renata, she knew nobody else could wear that dress. Zhe knew exactly what she was doing when she ordered their gowns.

Renata had been assigned a beautiful peach colored gown that faded into a soft yellow towards the bottom of the a-line skirt. What truly made it Renata were the dozens of beautifully adorned butterflies on it. There were separate wings of soft greens and blues and oranges decorating the skirt. There were more butterfly wings collected at the bodice to look as if the dress had a mesh over it, but each of the wing's tips poked up to create a sleeveless neckline. One thin white, beaded belt went around her waist. And, just like Gabby, Renata was also forced into a large headpiece. Renata's headpiece was of course a butterfly with swinging golden gems at the tips of the wings.

"This is ridiculous!" Renata repeated just to make a point.

"No it's not!" Gabby finally understood and laughed in delight. "You look so pretty! Doctor, wouldn't you agree?"

The man could only nod silently for now. He was too busy looking Renata over as if he'd never seen her before. She'd absolutely taken his breath away. "Beautiful," he settled on the word for the moment until he could string more words together.

Renata blushed and matched the soft hues of her dress. "It's honestly, uh, a bit too much…" she found it hard to breath as well, so she looked to Zhe for some distractions. "Is this truly necessary?"

Zhe nodded her head fervently. "Very. This is high society we're dealing with, ladies."

"High space society," Gabby murmured and swallowed hard just thinking about everybody waiting for them in the garden.

"Exactly," Zhe nodded. "And we must give them a show. Shall we get started? There is a list of people I want you to meet before the unveiling."

"R-right now?" Gabby blinked. Her gaze switched to Renata for some help but the Time Lady only motioned her to go along with Zhe.

"This is your night, go and make the best of it," Renata smiled but Gabby didn't seem entirely convinced as she and her family were led away by Zhe.

"Renée," the Doctor stepped to her side, looking just as nervous as she was. "I'm sorry about earlier—"

Renata raised a hand to stop him from talking. "You don't have to. I'm sorry. I've been a bit under duress from planning and keeping my own symptoms away from Gabby, I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

"You have to know that I only want to make sure you're okay. It's hard watching you go through all this because I can't find a proper cure."

"Absolutely not your fault!" Renata turned to face him. "And please, I would really appreciate if we kept all this talk away from Gabby tonight. I don't want anything to ruin her night."

The Doctor nodded at her, but he was going to keep a close eye on her all night in case she would need him. "Well then, can I escort you to the garden, miss?"

Renata smiled with flushed cheeks. "I'd like that." She interlocked arms with his and headed down for the garden.

~0~

The garden was indeed full of high class people as Zhe had said. Renata knew exactly the type of people she had met and she could honestly count the ones she'd actually liked. She didn't reach past five.

"They're all snobs," she told the Doctor who chuckled beside her. "They remind me so much of some of the people I used to deal with back on Gallifrey. It's sad, really."

"Well, at least Gabby seems to be enjoying herself," the Doctor directed Renata's attention to the young girl across them. She looked animated in the conversation she was having with a young humanoid woman.

"That's the point," Renata said, content and relieved to see the evening going so well. Of course that's when she started to feel a funny tickle in her throat. Before she could even turn away, she started coughing.

"Renée," the Doctor acted fast and turned her back in his direction. She was waving him away with her free hand, the other was trying to keep her coughs muffled from the people.

"Doctor, Renata!" Zhe approached them without a clue of what was happening. "Gabby's unveiling is going to happen in a couple minutes."

"That's great, Zhe, but we're having a bit of a situation right now," the Doctor took Renata by the shoulders and tilted her chin up so he could she her face. "You're overexertion has caught up with you."

"Is she having another relapse?" Zhe entered almost the same panicked state as the Doctor.

"No! Stop it!" Renata swatted all of their hands away from them. "I'm fine! Just a bit of a cough!" She took in a deep breath and exhaled without anymore coughing. However, she put her hands behind her back and rubbed her right hand against her dress. The soft red hue of her dress should make the blood blend right in.

Zhe exchanges a look with the Doctor, both of them worried where Renata could end up if she kept going like this.

"Prepare Gabby's unveiling," Renata instructed Zhe as if nothing had happened. "I'll bring Gabby to the stage myself." She didn't leave room for protests as she left in a hurry to reach Gabby.

"What do we do?" Zhe asked the Doctor afterwards.

The Doctor was watching after Renata as she made her way through the crowd of people. She was smiling and greeting people as if she hadn't just had coughed for her life. She truly knew how to maneuver herself through high-class society. "We keep a very close eye on her," he told Zhe in the end. He didn't care how much heat he would get from Renata, he would pull her away if she got worse.

~0~

Gabby's entire body was shaking when she was brought up on stage to address the crowd. Suddenly, she thought they all had beedy eyes. She only calmed down when she saw her family, Renata and the Doctor in the front row just like she wanted.

"Thank you everyone for coming," Zhe spoke first, which gave Gabby some time to ease her nerves. "I'm sure it was quite a shock to hear from me after, what? A few centuries give or take?" there was a light laugh that broke through the crowd. "I owe it all to some good friends that includes Gabby herself. Now let me just tell you a little bit about her and her unique story. Is that alright, dear?" Gabby nodded fervently. More minutes meant more time and more time meant she could possibly make herself look less of a fool.

"Gabby Gonzalez is a human," Zhe said, so proudly that it almost reminded Gabby of the Doctor. They were so animated over the silliest of things. "She is the first human to ever absorb the Quantum Matrix that allows for one to sculpt. You may have heard of the 27 planets that were stolen a couple months back? My friend Gabby, along with an amazing team, were responsible for putting them back in their place." There was a round of applause from the crowd that brought out the deepest red on Gabby's cheeks.

"To help aid her team, Gabby used her unique abilities - the Quantum Matrix itself in the form of butterflies. It's entirely new; it's never been seen before. Ladies and gentlemen, the Cosmic Butterfly," Zhe gestured with two of her arms at the young girl who was ready to die of embarrassment. Zhe leaned close to Gabby and motioned her to take the stage now. "All yours, dear."

"Th-thanks," Gabby took in a deep breath as Zhe started walking off stage. Gabby glanced over her shoulder and saw her creation hidden under a gray tarp. Well, it was now or never. "Zhe is right, I'm human and, to be honest, it's nothing special. There are tons of humans out there, literally. The reason that I'm unique is because there's no one else like me, and I'm fortunate to know that...and to remember that." She briefly crossed gazes with Renata and the Doctor, all of them taking a moment to remember Donna. "Some of us don't have that luxury, so I'm going to make sure my work represents the people who have done so much for us. However my first piece here, I want to dedicate to someone who has completely changed my perspective on things, on the world. Without that person, I would've never been able to open my eyes to the world.

"She's done so much for me, for our friends. She always gives and yet she's so hard on herself for past choices that are just that: past choices." Gabby's gaze somehow wound up on Renata and the moment the Time Lady realized it, she began to get a funny feeling in her stomach. "The meaning of butterflies on Earth sometimes varies. Some people think that butterflies represent the souls of people. Others think that a butterfly can symbolize the life struggles that people have endured only to emerge as a better person. It's metamorphosis. And the person I have dedicated this work to has had a few rebirths and life cycles. And in each life I think she's done better than the last one. This precise life she's lived...she's had a few struggles but I think in the end she will be someone the universe has been waiting for."

Renata turned her head to see what the Doctor was thinking but he was far too enthralled with the speech - looking mighty proud of Gabby, almost like a father - to notice Renata's lingering gaze. So, she turned her attention back to Gabby who was still so animatedly speaking. Butterflies…

"So, without further ado, my first piece," Gabby made a gesture for the employees to drop the tarp from her statue. There was a collective gasp from the crowd when the tarp hit the ground, but none as deep as Renata. Nobody could outdo Gabby's huge grin, not even the Doctor. "I call it the Vortex Butterfly."

Gabby's statue was all bronze. The woman she had sculpted stood tall and proud with her arms slightly extended on her sides and her head tilted up to the sky. She wore a bronze colored tunic with one sleeve going around her left shoulder. Her long hair cascaded down on her right shoulder with a few stray strands framing her face and her left shoulder. What really took the crowd away were the beautiful large butterfly wings on her back. They looked ready to flutter and fly. Gabby had sculpted every last feature of Renata so delicately it could pass off as the real Time Lady.

Renata was left speechless. In fact, there was a huge silence all around her until somebody let out a fervent applause.

"That is just amazing!" the Doctor was so excited over the piece that he had made Renata blush without even noticing. "Well done, Gabby! Well done!"

Soon, the whole crowd started applauding. The only one who didn't was Renata and that was only because she was still in shock. Tears came to her eyes instead as she began to realize how Gabby had chosen her for her first piece of artwork.

Gabby heard his praise and laughed with embarrassment. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Vortex Butterfly...or as I like to call her, Renata. She helped save the entire universe - the universes - and I think she deserves some peace knowing that she is loved and forgiven." She looked directly at Renata for the last words, truly hoping that Renata understood how honest those words were. The crowd erupted into a second round of applause, making Gabby's grin grow wider. This is what she wanted; people should know about Renata and her extraordinary abilities, but most of all her personality. Gabby firmly believed that everyone should have at least one Renata in their life. She was lucky to have hers and she was sure that the Doctor was just as grateful as her.

Renata was naturally teary eyed. The applause around her slowly faded from her ears. She couldn't take her eyes off the statue and much less Gabby. The young girl was grinning from ear to ear and it was all directed towards Renata. When did Gabby ever get the idea to do something like that? At what point did Gabby put all of her faith in her? Why? In all those incredulous thoughts, a little voice started asking the hard questions again. How could she dare to leave Gabby behind like that? If she so willingly went and died, she would be leaving a young girl who...truly loved her that much.

She snuck a look at the Doctor who was still one of the most prominent applauders amongst the audience. He was just as proud of Gabby as Renata was. It warmed Renata's hearts. Somehow Gabby had claimed all of their hearts and Renata found herself wanting more of this. She wanted to see what other artwork Gabby would come up with. She wanted to see where the Doctor would take them and what sure trouble would follow them. She wanted to keep teaching Gabby and introducing her to the galaxies. She didn't want to leave them behind.

When Gabby met Renata's gaze again, the Time Lady mouthed a 'thank you' with a teary-eyed smile.

~ 0 ~

Needless to say that after Gabby's unveiling, Renata was sought out by nearly all the guests. Everyone wanted to get to know the last Time Lady in existence. How they even learned of her species Renata had no idea, but she was trained for all the bombarding in noble events.

"That was a really nice speech, Gabby," the Doctor remarked while he and Gabby watched Renata converse with yet another of the guests. The man seemed positively entranced with her, something the Doctor was watching perhaps a bit too narrow-eyed.

"I thought it would be," Gabby chuckled. "I just thought that after everything that's happened, Renata should know that not everyone looks at her like she's done something wrong."

"Well, no one does," the Doctor murmured, somewhat distant. His mind went straight to the infamous night before his wedding. He used to remember that night as the most painful moment of his lives, but now every time he thought of it he saw the blackmail behind it. He saw the Assessor. He used to think that Renata was just stuck in her traditional ways and while that may have been partially the reason, she was driven by the fact her sister could've found him and hurt him.

"You okay, Doctor?" Gabby asked softly. She could tell he was off lost in his deep thoughts and wondered if they were all about him and Renata. "Did I go too far?"

The Doctor blinked once and switched to happiness like that. "Absolutely not. I think you're right. How's about we go talk to Renata for a few? I get the feeling she's starting to feel the full effects of your work."

Gabby chuckled. "Of course." She wouldn't point out that the man Renata was talking to had gotten a bit handsy with her. She was sure the Doctor had long ago noticed.

The Doctor didn't waste a second more. He darted for Renata, pulling Gabby - who laughed - with him. "Scuse me, mind if we cut in?"

The man's face morphed into utter disdain for the two newcomers. As far as he was concerned, they were intruders in what could turn out to be a very nice evening. "Actually, yeah."

Gabby was amazed at how the Doctor so swiftly changed his polite smile to a dark one in only two seconds, and the way it was so subtle too. She checked for Renata's reaction and was momentarily confused to find the Time Lady surprised. But slowly, Renata began to smile and Gabby dared to think it was a fond smile.

"I am so sorry," the Doctor began to say but there was no hiding the sarcasm in his voice. "What I meant to say was...Gabby, the whole reason you're even here, would like a word with Miss Renata."

"What? And you're their body guard?" the man sneered.

"Actually, yeah. I like to think I am. Goodbye," the Doctor promptly grabbed Renata's hand then Gabby's and led them away from the stunned man.

"That was too funny!" Gabby's giggle quickly turned into a laugh.

"And rather rude," Renata added but the smile on her face didn't exactly portray someone who was upset her conversation had been cut short. "Thank you, Doctor. I think I'm a little rusty on how to mingle with people."

"That was being rusty?" Gabby gaped with one thumb jerked over her shoulder. "You basically talked to everyone here!"

"For a short time each," Renata argued weakly. "A proper conversation should last a bit longer than just a few minutes."

"You don't have to abide by the rules anymore, Renée," the Doctor reminded her. She was still thinking the way her parents raised her. "You're free." In what fits.

"I suppose you're right," Renata chuckled when the thought really hit her. "But Gabriella, while I have you here, I wanted to thank you for such a beautiful gift. I have no idea why you decided to do your first piece on me but...I'm very touched."

"I'm glad you loved it! I was a bit nervous but I think it all came out the way I wanted it to," Gabby moved over to give Renata a big hug. "Plus, I wanted to thank you for everything you've done since we met. You're my hero, Ren."

"Don't know why I would be," Renata said while looking directly at the Doctor. He was watching her with a soft smile. "I'm no...well, you know…" Gabby had pulled away in time to see Renata nodding towards the Doctor. "I'm just me."

"And we wouldn't you to be anyone else," Gabby stepped back to stand beside the Doctor. "Right, Doctor?" she looked up at him expectantly.

"Quite right," he agreed, nodding lightly with a gaze that didn't seem to see anything but Renata. "You picked the perfect subject, Gabby."

Renata felt her face warm as the seconds ticked by and the Doctor was still staring at her. Gabby picked up on it and smirked. "I'm going to find my parents, don't mind me…" She was sure that neither had really heard her.

Renata would've kept her eyes on the Doctor too had it not been for the sharp pain that struck through her chest. Her gasp came out strained, as if someone had cut her air short.

"Renée?" the Doctor picked up on her sudden jerk and presumed what she was struggling to contain.

"I-I need to get out of here," she managed to say and turned away. With the Doctor's help, they maneuvered through the crowd until they were a safe distance away.

That was when Renata pushed him away from her. "You have to stay away from me!"

"Renata we're not doing that! Let me help you!" the Doctor argued in vain as the woman continued to wobble away from him. With a groan - although unsurprised by her resistance - he followed after her.

Renata had collapsed on the ground, one leg partly over the fabric of her dress. She didn't even hear part of its tear with her scream. The Doctor was forced back with the intensity of the energy.

The energy was burning her again, inside out really. Her skin felt as if there were a thousand needles poking through, pushing through the layers underneath. And yet all the Doctor could do was watch and wait for it to pass. His body would inch towards her but would have to retreat for fear of being caught up with the energy. It wasn't getting caught in her crossfire that stopped him from getting closer, it was the fact that he could make it worse for her that did it. He may not carry the same amount of the Vortex inside him but he still carried some, which would just add to the levels inside Renata. When the energy finally died, it left a shaking Renata on the ground. Her arms that were sustaining her from fully collapsing were wobbly, alerting her that in a few seconds she would go down.

"Renata!" the Doctor finally ran to her side, letting himself fall right next to her. "I've got you, I've got you!" His arms worked fast to wrap around her with the intentions of helping her stand, but she couldn't even make it halfway up.

She had no strength anymore.

"I just want it to...stop…" Renata struggled to breath normally. She felt so tired and the worst part is now she had a little bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, she would get to survive and do the things she thought about earlier; what she wanted in life. Maybe it'd been too late to make up her mind. "I can't...I can't move…"

"It's okay, I've got you," the Doctor was about to pick her up when she yelled at him not to.

"I don't...I don't want...Gabby to s-see me...like this," her chest heaved up and down. "I'm not... going to ruin...her p-party."

"Renée, we need to get you to your room. Or even the TARDIS so I can run more tests." But as the Doctor went on about what they should do, she shook her head in refusal.

"No, no, we know what the tests will say. We know it's getting worse. I'm just waiting for the big bang, literally."

"Don't say that, Renée. There's still the possibility of regeneration after this."

Renata wouldn't say anything about that. It now scared her that there quite possibly might not be a chance anymore. "I just want to...stay here," she exhaled slightly better. "Until I can move."

The Doctor sighed. He knew better than to argue with her. "You're still stubborn as ever," he muttered, making her smile, while he fixed himself on the ground to sit better. He then gathered her body and brought her over his lap. He may not be able to move her where he wanted to but this was a close second.

"Don't you make me mad," she warned, her voice a whisper when she rested her head - or rather her head fell from exhaustion - on his chest.

"Me? Never," the Doctor sarcastically quipped. He smiled when he heard her low laugh. "Story of my life, huh?"

"Nah, I was too preoccupied being uptight to ever have fun like you did." Renata shook her head as much as she could, which wasn't much because her head never left the Doctor's body. "I was always so uptight."

"You were just...deeply committed to a specific way of doing things," the Doctor cleverly rearranged the words despite it still meaning the same thing for her. "You wanted things done the right way."

"Doesn't mean it was always the best way," she hardly tilted her head up to be able to look at him. "You were always better at that. Better at being a good person than me."

"Oh don't say that Renée. You were an amazing woman on Gallifrey. Everybody loved you, including me," he brought a hand to stroke the warm skin of her cheek. "Only you had a charity, only you thought of helping people. The rest...the rest were always so pompous. There was no one like you."

Renata smiled and once more rested her head against his chest. "But I still had my moments. Do you remember…" she paused to catch her breath, "Do you remember when-when I ordered a shipment of special Valerian glasses for an event and they brought me the wrong type?"

The Doctor tilted his head when he thought back to that moment. "Ah yes. I've never seen someone get so mad over a different type of glass." Renata actually managed to laugh, something that relieved the Doctor. If she was able to laugh then it meant she was going to get better. "You yelled at the poor delivery guy until your face matched your ginger hair. You did that quite often, mind you. You had a temper. You threw things at people but no one would ever think that of you. Your first incarnation was a sneaky one, actually.

"What?" she momentarily frowned. "Sneaky? I was many things but being sneaky was never one of my talents."

"No, but you were," the Doctor insisted. "You were small and polite but God help anyone who made you mad." He specifically remembered the brief slips of her temper where she would actually throw things at him. He didn't feel like that was something she should remember right now. He had no doubt that if she did remember, she would started apologizing like there was no tomorrow. "And I would know because I got you plenty mad." His arms wrapped around her a little tight suddenly. "I loved it sometimes, you know. Apart from it being funny, you would look so adorable."

Renata rolled her eyes under his chin. "You're an idiot. You actually liked it when I yelled at you? I literally wanted to kill you sometimes."

"Not like you could've done much. You were too small!"

"If I could hit you, I would."

The Doctor leaned back to be able to meet her gaze. "And you always made the same threats."

"Was that 'adorable' too?"

"In a way," he answered particularly quietly. Her eyes met his and realized he wasn't truly looking at her, at least not the entire time. His eyes would meet hers but then would linger below her, to her lips.

They were actually pretty close but up until now Renata hadn't thought about it. She only knew that she was nice and warm with him. It was how she always felt with him, so at home. "We can't," she whispered, knowing exactly where his thoughts were...because her mind was quick to jump to the same things.

"It seems like we never can." His words rang a sad truth between them, but there was one big difference that he didn't think of back on Gallifrey.

"If things don't work out for me, I don't want to hurt you again."

"There was always a risk of heartbreak for us," he countered with more of their truth. "In the end. And we took the risk—"

"—and we lost."

"But the thing about it, Renée, is that I just don't care. I'll always play the game even if there's heartbreak in the end, which is why I'll go ahead and kiss you right now without a care of what comes next." Keeping true to his word, he closed the small gap between them with a soft kiss. He brought one of his hands to cup the side of her face, partially to tilt her head back but the other reason being he simply loved to touch her skin. He always did.

Renata could resist all she wanted but the truth was that she loved it. She loved feeling his fingers touch her skin, she always did. She loved his warm lips over hers, moving along in such a sweet, slow rhythm. It was like he had her in a trance. He led and she followed without a moment's thought.

Like right now.

Her hands had somehow gone up to his neck to rest. Her fingers soon found his hair and only then did she realize he had amazing hair to pull. Soon as she concluded that, her fingers did the work. And with each pull, their kiss became harder. Each time she pulled his hair, the Doctor would pull her body closer to his even though there was no more room left. Their bodies firmly pressed against each other and it still wasn't enough. It was as if their feelings for one another had been reignited and they were the young couple Time Lords back on Gallifrey, in Zuriah's charity. One was reckless, one was far too careful but when they were together, they became one.

There was only one way they could end that type of kiss and Renata unintentionally found the way. She'd pulled away to take in some air. Only when she did, her eyes struggled to stay open. The Doctor knew what would happen before it actually did. She passed out, her body falling limp against his.

The Doctor held her tightly there for a few minutes. He dropped a kiss to her hair and despite his efforts, he couldn't help the tears in his eyes. He was scared. He was really, properly scared that this was an indication the "big bang" was finally coming.

~ 0 ~

After Gabby's unveiling, Renata felt like time was passing quicker but in short intervals. Her eyes would open and she would be lucid for what seemed forever, only to everyone else around her it was just a few minutes where she actually talked. The most Renata had been awake after Gabby's party was 15 minutes. And Renata had spent those 15 minutes asking where the Doctor was.

"Ren, you need to calm down," Gabby would try her best each time. Though weakened, Renata still had more strength than a human and would manage to push Gabby's hands away a few times. She would lose the battle against Zhe with her four arms, but it wouldn't stop her from asking dozens of questions.

"Your body is entering a sort of, uh, reset phase," Zhe didn't exactly know how to best tell Renata that her body was beginning to shut down. Granted the Doctor had already told Renata this but the Time Lady couldn't remember after passing out so many times.

"Reset…?" Renata felt her lungs were squished. Breathing became a struggle soon enough.

A few days later, they had planted an oxygen mask over her. Despite Renata's insistence that she had a bypass system, the truth was that her lungs were shutting down. The vortex energy inside her was getting to an unbearable level. It was destroying her from the inside but now she wasn't even expelling the energy. Every once in a while she would release wisps of golden-orange hues but nobody was sure if it was the Vortex or regeneration energy.

"Could this be it? Is she going to regenerate?" Gabby quietly asked the Doctor one day in Renata's room while they watched over her sleeping form. To their luck, Renata hadn't woken up that day. It meant she was resting fully.

"I don't know," the Doctor hated that most of the questions regarding Renata's body ended with him saying he didn't know. What kind of "Doctor" was he if he couldn't help out the most important woman to him?

"She's been like this for a month now but I feel like now it's worse," sighed Gabby. "What can we do for her?"

The Doctor passed a gentle hand over Renata's cool forehead. "Just make sure she's as comfortable as she can be. I'm going to take a thorough absence from this place." He looked up at Gabby's confused face and explained. "I need to research if something like this has ever happened before. How could just find one similar case, even if it wasn't someone from our same species, then maybe I could come up with a cure. At the very least, there has to be some type of procedure that I can do to make this stop. No more going out on trips until Renata is cured. I can drop you off on Earth if you'd like while I do this-"

Gabby's eyebrows knitted together as a fierce anger crossed her face. "Don't you dare!" she snapped. " I'm going to stay right here with her until you get back."

"Gabby, it could be a while." Although the Doctor wasn't sure if Renata would make it for "a while" if he didn't hurry up. She already had gone through 6 months of this. "I can't leave you here."

"Doctor, it's my choice. I understand the risks but I want to be here with Renata. Besides, wouldn't you feel better if I stayed with Renata?"

The Doctor didn't want to straight up say yes but...it was true. There was only a select few people he could trust to look after Renata and Gabby was one of them. Zhe would offer her full support but Gabby sticking around would mean an easier communication through the TARDIS.

"Are you sure, Gabby?"

Gabby nodded her head. "Yes, Doctor. I'll stay."

"Thank you." The Doctor gazed down at Renata and sighed. Already he could feel his hearts constricting at the idea of going months without seeing her. There wasn't another way, though. He would just have to work really hard so that it wouldn't be so long. "I'll be back," he whispered to her. He leaned closer to her and gently stroked her cheek. "I promise." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and took one last look at her before straightening up to leave.

"I'll take care of her," Gabby reassured him as he moved away from the bed.

"If anything bad happens, or is about to happen, use this," the Doctor pulled out Renata's sonic screwdriver. "I've tweaked it so that it works like a pager. You press this—" he showed Gabby the precise button she would need to push, "—and I'll know you want to speak. I'm keeping Martha's phone in case she or Jack come up with something I can use for Renée."

"Got it," Gabby took the sonic from him and held it to her chest. "Good luck, Doctor."

"Likewise," he nodded. He spared Renata one last glance then forced himself to walk out of the room.

That would be the last time Gabby (and Renata) would see him for a very long time.

#ocappreciation #doctor who #10th doctor #dw imagine #10th doctor imagine #doctor who fics #10th doctor fics #dw fics #10th doctor imagines #oc: Renata Cartwright #gabby gonzalez

8 notes · View notes

yunhostinyuyu · 4 years

Text

broken and fixed - part 04

pairing: roommate!doyoung vs friend!taeil x original female character (ft. haechan & taeyong)

genre: roommate!au, work!au, social media!au-ish, fluff, angst, eventual smut

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: kang haneul is desperately looking for a way out of her home. as one of her best friends suggests a friend who is currently looking for a new roommate, a new and better chapter in her life begins. or so she thought...

warning: suggestive, mentions of abuse, panic attack, weed (for medical reasons)

Early Monday morning back at work, Haneul and Donghyuck are standing in thier office, next to each other and starring at the brewing coffee machine in front of them. The two friends are wearing dark circles under their eyes, but not for the same reasons. While the tanned boy was busy spending his time with someone he met while partying on friday, Haneul was unable to fall asleep. She thought nothing of it, because she was still excited, still the first few days in her new space, and she was used to feeling her nerves in situations like that. It would take some time adjusting and getting used to things. And she thought she was doing better, working on herself and trying to be the best version of herself. Most importantly, working through her trauma, which by now she agreed on calling it that, even if she denied it to herself for so long. But this was all part of the process; finding out where her weaknesses lie, even if it meant that she might loose a bit of sleep during that phase. But every now and then, she had to hold back her bad memories from dragging her down and drowning her in negativity and halting her development from growing further.

“at least someone looks like they had a good weekend”, she sighed as she brought her cup filled with hot, black coffee to her lips. The younger man did the same, mimicking her gesture and grinning to himself. “I wouldn't mind telling you the details but i figure you are not interested”. Haneul just rolled her eyes, scanning thier shared office. “Please spare me, you can tell Mark or someone about it. But on another note: you know where the others are? They are never this late for the meeting. Not to meantion Jinyoung always starts working at 6 am...” Haneul questioned as she grabbed her notebook, paper work and a pen from her desk, clearly concerned. Donghyuck just shrugged “maybe he took a day off last minute? And Yeri is just hungover like every Monday.” He explained, clearly just guessing instead of stating facts, because he honestly didn’t know either. While they walked down the corridor, towards the meeting room where they are expected to show up at as soon as possible. “Just wanna get this day done so i can go back to sleep.”

“You’re always tired, quit whining big baby. You already got your coffee!” he bickered, but Haneul just slapped his arm half heartedly. “Watch your mouth or I’ll pour it over your head.” she daunted him and he let it go as they got to thier designated spot.

“Donghyuck, Haneul, late as always.” their boss joked, but with a stern look on his face as the two entered the meeting room. Scanning the surroundings, there were new faces around, which could only mean that either someone got fired, or that a new project was about the get started.

As they sat down in their usual seats, Haneul already started going through her papers she prepared in advance, waiting for her boss to start speaking. Then, Hyuck nudged her shoulder to get her attention away from the documents and onto something - or someone - else:

“Look, isn’t that..?” he whispered and she tried to look around as casually as possible. Scanning every face of her colleagues she has already worked with before, and the handful of unknown ones. It took her awhile to get to the person Hyuck was hinting at, but as soon as she did, the stranger was already eyeing Haneul expectingly. The two locked eyes for a brief second, until-

“So, now that we are all present, I wanna get started with the important things. We are starting preparations for a new sales promotion that is planned to launch in spring of 2021. Since our Sales Team here at the HQ was cut short due to personal changes, and also because it is for our biggest customer, we had to ask one of our subsidiaries for backup. Mr. Moon and his Team will support Mr. Lee and Ms. Kang for the project. All the hard facts and details the customer wants have been emailed to you all just as we speak. Roughly, we have to do a new assortment, which the design and product management team have started working on today. To end up, we plan on a small fair at the end of April to round things up and hopefully gain a great margin in turnover.”

Haneul looks at Donghyuck, then at her boss, then back at Donghyuck. Taeil, that Taeil, friend of her brand new roommate, who just happened to have the deepest, most beautiful eyes she has ever looked at, was going to work with her. Actually, not just her, but she was still stunned. Before she could continue her train of thought into a wrong directly, she mentally slapped herself to get back to business. Not now Haneul, don’t fucking fall for this guy you just met a few days ago, she said to herself. But in addition to that, it felt like something was off though. Her Team usually consisted of four people, not only her and Donghyuck, and they have handled projects of this size before.

She clears her throat before speaking at first “What happened with Jinyoung and Yeri? Aren’t they counted into this project?” looking at her boss for clarification. He looked down at his notebook for a second before giving a well formulated answer: “Mr. Park and Ms. Kim have left the company. Just as of today”. Haneul’s and Donghyuck’s mouths turned into an ‘o’ shape at the news. At least now I know why they didn't come to work today, she thought to herself. Her bosses hand motioned towards Taeil and his colleagues, “That being said, i am deeply thankful for Mr. Moon to come in last minute and agreeing on putting his other projects on hold in order to help out here. He has worked in Sales and Marketing for the past six years, and knows what he’s talking about.”

“So, when are we starting with this, Mr. Song? And what about the current project, Haneul and I were about to finish...” Donghyuck asked, clearly curious and concerned at the work load that might be expecting them all.

“This project has top priority from now on. As far as I’m concerned Mr. Lee, only the final calculation is missing for the current project, so you should be able to get that done nonetheless. Since now at the start it’s going to move relatively slow for the first few weeks. The most work will be for and about the fair anyways. I need you both to give your all, this could make or break the following summer fairs and orders they are gonna place.”

Taeil pulls his phone out of his pocket, takes a quick glance at it before he sets it on the meeting desk right infront of him. “We should schedule a meeting for today afternoon. I already discussed with Mr. Song that me and my assistants will have our desks set out in your office. I’m already looking forward to working with everyone here at the HQ.” He smiles around the room, but his eyes stay on Haneul’s for a second longer than intended.

She just smiled and returned the look. “Likewise, welcome to HQ” she spoke confidently, before returning the word back to her boss, who was giving a brief overview of the things we need for this project so far, and later discussing other topics that are not as important for the sales department. The older one taking her phone out quietly under the table to text the man who was seated just beside her.

She got lost quickly in the conversation over text, getting startled as a unknown number send her a text out of the blue. As soon as she saw the message, she knew who was on the other end of the line

“Are there any questions?” Mr. Song asks, targeting his question at everyone present in the room, and Haneul quickly shuts off her phone and turns her head to look forward. Nobody says anything, a short silence of people nodding their heads in unison. “Also be sure to ask me when things are unclear later on, my door is always open. Everyone back to work now.” he dismissed and the two young co-workers are the first to get out of their seats to head back to their work space. Before leaving the room, the shorter one risked a quick glance back over her shoulder, to find Taeil and his two assistants talking with your boss. She looked away before he could notice her starring and headed out, steps in sync with the taller one.

“Those two assistants look dumb as fuck, not gonna lie” Hyuck says silently as they entered the office again. Haneul let herself fall into her chair just after she slammed her things on the desk which was placed visa vie of Hyuck‘s, right next to the windows.

“Honestly, my biggest concern isn't the assistants or Taeil or the new project but the fact they kicked Jinyoung out. I’m fucking furious about it.” she complained, her blood boiling and her mood being lower than when she got up this morning. “I know it sucks, he was my co-worker as well. He taught me a lot too. But now you are the one who has been here the longest!” he tried to cheer her up while typing away at his keyboard.

Haneul dropped her face down, her forehead making contact with the wooden desk top as she tried to calm down. “Great. More responsibility, love it”

Only managing a quick eye roll and a death glare from Donghyuck before the door swung open and the three faces looking around curiously, Taeil being the first one to take a step into their direction.

“Stop being hungover on your former colleagues being caught fucking. There are worse things and it’s their fault for being so careless and horny. Let’s focus on the important things, shall we?” The short man said, his words being directed at Haneul, since her head was still pressed onto the desk. Oh, he was on thin ice. But she was able to contain her anger, which was surprising, since she is pretty much a loose canon when some talks badly about people she cares for. Hyuck even looking over his screen to check on her.

She said nothing, just lifting her head up and not taking her eyes of the screen while the newcomers where getting their PCs set up. But it didn't take Taeil more than five minutes to speak again:

“I suppose we can hold our meeting now, or are you two busy?”

As the two finished their typing and clicking, they faced the man with the curly brown hair once again.

“I want to say something for myself first. I’m not here to boss you around, we are one team and in this project together. This is new territory for me as well. Both of you have a advantage since you know the customer already, so all I'm asking you is to help me out in order to support you to my best abilities. Mr. Song puts a lot of faith in me and I hope you don't see me as an intruder, replacing the others... even if it’s the case, kind of. Just bare with me, or with us until we get into the flow.” he explained, softly and understanding, looking for a good cooperation no matter the circumstances. The tone of his voice almost made Haneul forget about his stupid words from just a few minutes ago. Again, she caught herself daydreaming and not paying attention to the words he said.

She stoop up from her chair, almost at the same moment when the younger man did the same, walking towards him and holds out her hand to shake his, like they did before in the corridor of her home.

“Welcome to the Sales department then. And lets the this project done, Taeil.”

—

“Hey, are you hungry?” a soft voice asked from outside of Haneul’s room. Doyoungs face peaked through the door, which he pushed open only a few inches to check if she was there. A sigh falls from her lips as she puts her notebook to the side and faces her roommate.

“Yeah I am pretty much starving.” she yawned and the dark haired man took a step into the room, silently watching over the decor of her room. “You’re in luck i just made Tteokbokki.” That was all it took to get the exhausted girl to her feet in an instant. “No need to tell me twice, I’m coming” and he huffed a laugh out of his nose.

Even if the two knew each other for a week max, they felt really comfortable being around each other. They kept out of each others business most times, but when it came to food or grocery shopping, they looked out for each other already, Haneul felt like Doyoung was the model roommate and couldn't imagine living with someone else. Everything flowed so naturally.

“Whats that look on your face for? Long day?” he asked, curiously as the two started to eat the freshly cooked meal.

“I just couldn't sleep properly last night, and half of my department was fired this morning with a new project has been started. I’m just tired.” she explained while shoving the rice cakes into her mouth. “Also, your friend from the other day, Taeil, is working with me and Hyuckie for the project.”

Doyoung choked on his food, Haneul patting his back until he stopped and got enough air into his system again. “Sorry what?”

She just chuckled quietly, but having suspicions about the sudden reaction. “Yeah, he was sent from one of your subsidiaries since he has quite the experience, so I just hope everything goes well until then.”

“No, uhm, please don't take this the wrong way, but Taeil can be a bit... much?”

Haneul furred her eyebrows in confusion, tilting her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath before he continued talking. “Just, he’s a natural flirt. But if he get too flirty, don't be afraid to shut him down, he’s just... yeah, that’s just Taeil...”

“Don’t worry”, she spoke, almost with too much confidence “I’m not one to shut my mouth. If he gives me a reason to call him out, I will certainly do so.”

2 notes · View notes