#1) it’ll be Lizzie herself for whatever reason

[rainia]

grizzly saying no one has guessed the traitor means it likely isn’t Caspian we win theseeee

[violetwolfraven]

Ghost Guitar Battle (2/3)

((Part 2 of I have no impulse control and squirreled on this random idea, ignoring those asks in my inbox. Don’t @ me this concept is fuckin awesome if only to me.))

Part 1 here.

Part 3 here.

Warnings: mentions of mind control.

...

12 days ago

“You what?”

Julie was pretty sure she was hallucinating, because this was something she had honestly never expected to happen.

Sure, there were days when she missed this certain ex-friend, but she’d never expected her to actually let go of her ego long enough for something like this to happen.

Carrie sighed before repeating herself, “I need your help.”

“Oh, we heard you,” Flynn said, “We’re just trying to think of reasons why we would ever help you with anything.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Flynn.”

“It concerns Julie, so it concerns me. Why would either of us ever help you with anything?”

“Because I’m not asking for myself,” Carrie snapped, “It’s about Nick.”

...what?

Nick and Carrie had broken up weeks ago. Why would she be asking for help involving him?

“What’s up with Nick?” Julie asked.

Simultaneously, Flynn laughed out, “We’re not helping you get him back.”

“It’s not about getting him back,” she insisted, “He’s acting weird. Like, really weird. And no matter what’s gone down between us recently, I’m worried about him.”

“Have you tried talking to him about this?” Julie asked, honestly unsure what was going on.

“No, because...” Carrie made a frustrated huff, “Because have you been paying attention to him at all recently? It’s like he’s a completely different person.”

By the look Flynn was getting in her eyes, it was starting to dawn on her that Carrie was being serious about this.

Julie, for one, still wasn’t sure what to think. Truthfully, she hadn’t been paying much attention to Nick lately. She’d been pretty preoccupied with the band, with the guys now able to give hugs and stuff and be seen whenever directly touching her. Plus, there was the new weirdness of figuring out if she and Luke wanted to try out some form of dating. Honestly, that uncertainty was creeping into their songwriting, which they’d still been doing a lot of.

In short, she’d been pretty busy.

Nick had been hovering around but barely starting a real conversation lately, which was weird now that she was thinking about it, but... was that just awkwardness left over from when Julie rejected him?

“How do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“Well for one thing, he’s actually talking to me,” Carrie explained, “Which he really hasn’t done since the breakup at all. And for another, all he does is ask about you.”

Flynn rolled her eyes, “This is weird how?”

Carrie glared at her, “It’s weird because mostly, he keeps asking if I’m mad about Julie and the Phantoms upstaging Dirty Candi. Bringing up the fact that it happened twice, as if I’m supposed to hold some kind of major grudge.”

“Okay, that’s weird,” Julie admitted.

“You don’t know the half of it. As if that’s not suspicious enough, he asked if I found your band members suspicious. Like, sure, I knew you’d only hurt him cause you’ve got a crush on your guitarist, but—“

“What?!”

“Oh honey, it’s obvious,” Flynn admitted.

Julie really, really hoped it wasn’t and Flynn and Carrie just knew because they’d known her for a long time.

“Whatever,” Carrie said strategically, “Getting back on topic, what really tipped me off is... he asked about my dad. He asked how much I knew about his past, about bands he was in before he made it big, or whatever.”

Okay, that was a big red flag, Julie had to admit. Rule #1 of being friends with Carrie had always been to make sure she knew you weren’t in it because of her dad’s fame. Bringing up Trevor at all as anything other than a dad was off limits, and would have been even more so to Nick.

If he was acting that off, Julie felt a bit guilty for not noticing.

“Look, I don’t know what’s up with him,” Carrie admitted, “But I know something is. Besides just what he’s been talking about with me, he’s been playing jazz in music class. He carries himself differently when he walks. And if nothing else, have you both seriously not noticed how much not like himself he’s been dressing the last couple days? Nick doesn’t wear that many dark colors except for dance performances.”

Wait... there was something familiar in that description.

Reggie had done a good enough impression, according to the others, that Julie and Flynn had a good idea of the style of a certain dark color-wearing, jazz-loving ghost.

A ghost with magical powers they didn’t really know the limits of.

Flynn was clearly thinking the same thing, so there was only one last decision to make.

Unfortunately, Flynn would probably hate Julie’s call on this one, but Carrie had brought this to their attention in the first place and probably deserved to be kept in the loop.

“Are you free to meet at my house after school?”

Carrie nodded, but looked kind of surprised.

Flynn also looked surprised. And mildly horrified. Julie ignored that.

“Good. And fair warning, you’ll need to get real cool with some weird stuff real quick.”

...

Now...

“So you haven’t heard from your boyfriend at all?” Carrie asked, frowning.

Alex was pacing, which meant Julie had to pace with him so that Carlos, Carrie, and Flynn could keep seeing and hearing him.

Maybe that was for the best. She was pretty anxious, too.

“Well, Willie’s not exactly my boyfriend,” Alex mumbled, “We haven’t labeled anything. And plus, he’s risking everything every time he even sees me. That’s not—“

“Alex,” Luke said pointedly, despite the fact that half the room couldn’t hear him, “Get to the point.”

“Right. No. No, I haven’t heard from him. He said Caleb was possessing Nick and he was going to try to help him and that was it. It’s been a day. I’m getting worried. This is the first time he’s really ever stood up to Caleb openly. Who knows what could happen to him because of it?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Flynn said.

She didn’t sound very certain, but she was glancing over at Carlos like she was worried this would scare him.

Julie wasn’t that worried. She knew her little brother was tough. And that he actively sought out creepy cryptid videos on YouTube.

“I mean, he’s already dead, right?” Carlos said with a shrug, “So it’s not like he can kill him again.”

Luke raised his hand, beckoning Julie over to come and grab him so the other lifers in the room could hear him.

“No, he can’t kill him, but he can hurt him.”

“Yeah, death’s not the worst thing that can happen to a person, shockingly,” Alex muttered, the worry clear in his voice.

“Wait, what does this mean for Nick?” Carrie asked, “If Caleb’s controlling him, does that make him, like, partially dead?”

That was... that was a good point.

It was just starting to fully register that Nick was really in danger.

God, he didn’t deserve that. He was in danger and it was all because he’d gotten closer with Julie.

“I don’t know,” Alex admitted, “Willie made it sound like Caleb was... shoving him down. Like, Nick’s fighting it, but he’s losing.”

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Julie asked, “Once we figure out how to get Caleb out?”

“Willie said he’s still alive in there, and he’s okay, for now. But... but the longer he stays out of control, the harder it’ll be to get Caleb out of his head.”

Despite all the differences between them, Julie could see the same anxiety she was feeling reflected in the look Flynn and Carrie exchanged.

It had already been two weeks.

All the supernatural stuff aside, that had to be a nightmare, to be out of control of your own mind and body.

“He must be so scared in there,” Julie muttered.

“Yeah,” Reggie agreed, coming over to put a hand on her shoulder so he’d be visible, “And we lost our inside man, so we don’t even know what’s going on in there now.”

Luke smacked him upside the head, “Dude, not helping.”

“Sorry.”

Carlos perked up suddenly, which was... alarming.

Julie knew that look. It was the look he got right before he was about to say something that in all likelihood would cause trouble.

“Do you think we should call Ryan and Chad?” Carrie asked quietly.

“Oh, how would that go?” Flynn shot back, “Just, ‘sorry, your son is under the control of an evil ghost and we don’t know how to get him out?’ That’s a great thing to tell a parent.”

“How long do you think it’s going to take them to notice something’s up on their own, Flynn? Sure, Lizzie needs more attention than Nick does, but he’s still their son and it’s only a matter of time. Heck, they probably know something’s weird already and just don’t know why.”

“They probably just think he’s going through his emo phase. Why make them panic when there’s nothing they can do, anyway?”

“Wait,” Carlos said slowly, “We don’t know what’s going on in there... but what if we did?”

Carrie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, but we don’t anymore.”

“Not in the Hollywood Ghost Club,” he clarified, “In Nick’s head.”

“I applaud your out of the box thinking,” Reggie said, “But we don’t really have a way to do that.”

“We don’t. You do.”

Julie slowly started to realize what he was suggesting.

“What happens if one of you tries to go in and possess Nick while Caleb’s already in there?”

“What happens if you can drive him out?” Flynn realized, “You’d be able to just let Nick go.”

“Theoretically,” Alex admitted.

“It’s worth a try,” Carrie said hopefully.

“It’s risky,” Julie corrected, “What happens if you can’t push Caleb out? Would you just be stuck in there, too?”

Luke shrugged, “There’s no way to know... I’ll do it.”

“Whoa, Luke—“

“Reggie, we’re already dead,” Luke said firmly, “Nick’s not. He got pulled into this because of us. It’s our responsibility to get him out of it.”

“But why you specifically?” he argued, “Why—“

“Because unlike you and Alex, Nick and I have something in common.”

Julie wasn’t sure if he was talking about guitar or her.

Either way, he had a point. She didn’t like the idea of the risk, but she couldn’t see another option that possibly ended in getting everyone back.

“You said you resisted Caleb before,” she pointed out hesitantly, “Before our Orpheum performance. At least a little.”

“Yeah, exactly. Alex and Reggie, neither of you could do that. Going in to try to get Nick out, I’m the only one that stands a chance.”

They both clearly wanted to, and honestly, Julie did, too, but none of them argued.

“Willie said Nick had a chance if he ‘dug deep enough,’” Alex said quietly, “Something about needing to not hold anything back?”

Luke nodded, “I’ll tell him. And I’ll try to find out about Willie if I get the chance.”

They were all well aware how much risk this was taking, and even Carrie seemed hesitant to send Luke into it.

Still, Julie nodded as they made eye contact.

“Make sure you both come out of this.”

[tangledstarlight]

so apparently carrie just speaks to me on a level i never saw coming and i got this done waaay quicker then expected. on the plus side to that, this one is like. not as sad as the previous two i swear. also btw. do i think bobby killed his band mates? no probably not. is it funny? yes, yes it is. do i still think he’s lowkey a dick? 100%. but he’s also a good dad.

but anyhoo! carrie doesn't need a redemption arc because she hasn't actually done anything that needs redeeming? she's just made some catty comments. carrie is a good person she just makes some shitty choices and is a typical teenage girl. name one teenage girl who wasn't a bit of a bitch at some point? bet you can't.

ANYWAY!! it’s another 5+1 that’s carrie centric.

also on ao3 (link in comments)

trigger warnings! death mentions (because they’re ghosts), mild swearing.

one.

When Carrie and Julie and Flynn are eight years old they watched The Lizzie Mcguire movie together on the big tv in Carrie’s living room.

They jumped around on the sofa, each taking a corner and hoarding their favourite snacks, making deals when someone wanted a twizzler in exchange for a handful of m&m’s. 

They sing along to the songs, making up the words when they don’t know them and strutting around during the fashion show. 

They gasp out loud when Paolo is revealed to be a liar and cheer when Isabella sings. 

Her mom comes down halfway through the movie, in a too tight dress and heels that make no sense for wearing inside, pauses behind the sofa to watch for a few moments before moving on, into the kitchen and then back upstairs. She doesn’t offer to get them snacks or drinks, to ask who their favourite characters are or if they like the songs. 

Carrie doesn’t dwell on any of that though, because she’s with her two best friends and it’s a Friday night so they have a whole weekend together and her dad had promised to take them with him to the studio tomorrow and Carrie couldn’t be happier. 

That is until they get to the end of the film and she turns to look at her friends, face as serious as an eight year old can be when she realises what could make the whole weekend even better.

“I want bangs like Lizzie!” She declares, standing up on the sofa and jumping once before falling down to her knees, the cushions not giving enough of a bounce. The two of them share a look, identical wide smiles growing on their faces, they’re eight years old and cutting your own hair is the best idea you can have after all. 

“I’ll get the scissors!” Flynn is up and off the sofa, socked feet padding across the floor as she rushes to the kitchen. They’re not allowed to touch the knives or the pans, but the cutlery drawer is open to all. 

Carrie sits herself on the living room table, legs just skimming the soft rug underneath it as Julie tilts her head in thought at her, brushing her blonde hair in front of her face and then away. Carrie can’t help but giggle as it tickles her nose and Julie sticks her tongue out in concentration but she’s smiling too. 

“I think we just...y’know cut it across here, right?” Julie’s holding a section of her hair between her fingers and makes a snipping motion near her forehead. Carrie has never cut hair before, she’s never even really paid much attention when other people have been cutting hair, but that sounds right to her. 

She shrugs, squinting at her two friends through the blonde strands. 

“Sounds right to me.” 

Flynn nods, holding the scissors out to Julie who shakes her head and then Flynn is scooting next to her on the sofa so they’re both leaning in close. 

“You sure about this?” She asks, scissor blades opening around her hair and hesitating, just in case. 

“Do it!” And Carrie squeezes her eyes shut in excitement. Already anticipating just how cool her new bangs are going to look. 

“What the hell are you doing!?” A loud voice has Carrie’s eyes snapping open and staring wide up at her mom who is half way down the stairs and glaring at the three of them. Flynn has dropped the scissors on the rug and Julie’s hands are shaking as she drops her hair. They’d only managed to cut half of it and Carrie notices that it’s much too short. 

“I-” she starts, but her mom cuts her off by storming down the rest of the stairs, heels clicking with every step and standing in front of the three of them, arms crossed and glaring. “I just wanted bangs,” she finishes quietly, eyes down cast and biting her lip. 

She hears her mom scoff above her, suddenly seeming so much taller then the three of them sitting down, so Carrie stands up too, pushing herself off the table and trying to make herself feel bigger. Her mom just glares harder, head shaking. 

“You’ve ruined your hair. Do you have any idea how long it will take to fix? Ugh, Carrie.” She sounds like she wants to say something else, like she’s restraining herself from certain words. But she just shakes her head again, sparing a glare for both Flynn and Julie before turning around and shouting up the stairs. “Trevor! Get down here!”

They wait in silence, Julie and Flynn fidgeting on the sofa while Carrie discreetly tries to wipe away tears she hadn’t realised were falling. Her dad comes down the stairs, black jeans and some fancy loose shirt that hangs open and pause when he reaches the bottom. Takes in her mom glaring and Flynn and Julie sitting quietly and her badly cut hair. Her dad smiles wide and lets out a loud laugh that startles them all. 

Her mom turns her glare on him and Carrie feels herself letting out a breath, not sure what she had been scared about but knowing she had been scared. While she's not thinking about that, her mom and dad have started arguing. They do that a lot. Carrie sits down between Flynn and Julie on the sofa when they make room for her, Flynn resting her head on her shoulder while Julie takes her hand, interlocking their fingers. 

“Sorry I cut it too short,” Flynn whispers as the shouting gets louder, none of them paying any attention to what's being said. 

“Not your fault,” she replies with a shrug, raising Flynn’s head as she does so and making the girl laugh. 

“Oh whatever! You deal with her then!” Her mom shouts, and Carrie flinches, just a little at the way she says ‘her’. She doesn’t mean to make her mom mad, but it’s like all she seems to do these days. From the corner of her eye she can see Julie frowning, looking over their shoulders and deep furrow appearing on her brow. The way she looks whenever she’s thinking about telling someone off. 

They don’t get to see what Julie might do, because there’s feet stomping up the stairs and then her dad is sitting on the living room table in front of them and he’s smiling again. Even if it’s not as big as before, Carrie still smiles back. 

“Don’t think hairdressing is in your future Flynn,” he says and Flynn laughs and it’s like the strange tension that had formed around them is broken. 

“Sorry I cut my hair dad,” she says quietly, because she feels like she needs to. But her dad just shrugs, leans forward and brushes the still too long strands out of her face and shakes his head at the much too shorter ones, but he’s smiling. 

“It’s just hair kiddo, it’ll grow back. And I’m sure between the four of us we can make this more rockin’, huh? Used to help a friend cut his hair way back when, y'know,” he gets a slightly far away look on his face when he says that but it’s gone in a blink and Carrie thinks maybe she just imagined it. 

He helps them cut the rest of her bangs, feathering out the edges and making it look not so bad anymore, then he sits with them, sharing their snacks and singing along while they watch The Cheetah Girls. 

And he must drape blankets over them after they fall asleep, Carrie thinks, because when she wakes up in the morning they’re curled together in one corner of the sofa, warm and safe.

 two.

Carrie didn’t think she was a bad person. She just sometimes did a bad thing. But she did it for a good reason. At least she thought it was a good reason, it was the only plan she could come up with at least. It wasn’t like she had hurt anyone. Other than her dad's annoying PR managers head. But Carrie had never liked her anyway, they were always too smiley - in that fake, overly friendly way, not like Julie or Julie’s mom who smiled a lot and never in that way that didn’t reach their eyes. 

Carrie didn’t like fake people. People who made promises that they didn’t keep. People who made plans only to forget about them. 

Her mom had been full of both. Empty promises and forgotten plans. Always saying one thing and then doing the opposite. Always smiling at her with that half smile that never reached her eyes or seemed like it was really meant for her. 

She didn’t know if it was her fault or her dads, because she did it to both of them. Made her fake promises and half smiles. 

And then she left. 

She left before Carrie even got home from school. Mrs Molina had dropped her off at the front door like she did every Wednesday afternoon and Carrie had been excited all day, she remembers, talking none stop on the car ride over, because her mom had promised to take her to the beach. 

But the house is empty when they get inside, Carrie calling out and getting no answer and Julie’s mom is looking at a post-it note (she'll remember that very clearly later on, when she's older, that her mom had left a post-it note with a single sentence. Not even a letter) on the kitchen counter, her face going pale in a way Carrie has never seen before. Julie is standing next to her, one small hand holding her small hand as they look around confused.

When Carrie thinks back to that day now, to being ten years old and struggling to understand why her mom isn’t coming home, all she can remember is that it wasn’t her dad that hugged her and dried her tears. Her dad had barely said five words to her before shutting himself in his bedroom with music barely blocking out the sounds of shattering glass. Mrs Molina had helped her pack some clothes and taken her home with her and Julie.

It was three weeks later when her dad showed up at the Molina’s house and took her home. 

And Carrie knows he hasn’t left her, has always come back to get her. But Carrie also knows that when she needed her dad the most he wasn’t there. Didn’t seem to have anytime for her at all because he was too busy with himself. 

So she starts stealing things. Lip sticks and candy bars and cheap plastic bracelets. The only way she knows how to get his attention is to do something wrong. To do something that is classed as bad. 

She sits in the uncomfortable hard plastic chair, eyes on the doorway behind the security guard and waits. They’d called her dad as soon as she’d coughed up a name and number and now they were waiting to see who would show up. The guard might have been hoping for her dad, maybe he wanted to get an autograph, but Carrie knew it would be an assistant of an assistant or if she was really lucky maybe even Mrs or Mr Molina. But only if her dad was talking to them again. He was pretty good at losing people she noticed. 

There’s a knock at the door and in steps as assistant she’s never met before, but he’s got a blackberry in one hand and bluetooth headset on, talking rapidly to someone on the other end. 

“Hi, I’m here to get Carrie Wilson. I’m Dave, one of Mr Wilson's assistants and I’m hoping we can get this all sorted out with minimal fuss.” He’s got one of those wide fake smiles that all her dads PR people have and Carrie rolls her eyes, slumps down in her chair and  stops listening to the conversation. 

Maybe she just had to steal something bigger, more expensive. Something that her dad couldn’t ignore her over.

 three.

For most of her life, Carrie has been Julie Molina’s best friend. It’s one of the few constants that she can rely on when everything else seems to be constantly changing around her. 

Until suddenly it’s not. 

And it’s her own fault. 

Carrie knows this, knows she’s brought it on herself, knows that the only one to blame is herself. But she does it anyway. Can’t seem to stop herself from saying the words she knows will hurt the most. 

It’s almost like she’s watching the scene unfold from above, can see herself talking and smirking, can see the moment Julie and Flynn realise she’s being serious. Carrie can pinpoint the exact moment she destroys her friendship with both Julie and Flynn. 

And it’s funny, because on Saturday morning all she had wanted to do was talk to the two of them, to share her excitement with them about everything she was learning while watching her dad record. All the ideas she had for Dirty Candi and how one day they’d be able to do the ultimate collab with Double Trouble.  

She’s rewatching an old video of the three of them performing some half-finished song and dance routine between classes, Julie and Flynn trying to help her figure out how to make it flow better for her group. She’s thinking maybe they need to be spaced out a little more, maybe add in a spin or individual moves, with a pen-lid between her teeth Carrie turns to a fresh page in her note book and makes some small notes.

“Is that your group?” Someone asks over her shoulder and Carrie turns to see the producer her dad has hired for his newest album watching her video. 

“Oh, no, no! These are just my friends, they were helping me work out the dance routine,” she smiles at him, because she’s proud and he seems impressed and while everyone always whispers how Carrie can get a record deal because of her last name alone, she wants to get one because she deserves it, has earned it herself.

“That one singing is really good, it’s not you is it?” He asks and Carrie feels her smile freeze in place just for a second before she relaxes and shakes her head. 

“No that’s my friend Julie. This is me singing now,” she adds, tilting her phone a little in his direction as she sees herself dancing in the middle and singing aloud. 

“Huh,” is all he says with a pleasant smile on his face. But Carrie has been around people like him all her life and she knows when someone is giving a fake smile and she hates it. “Well, you let me know if your friend there ever wants to record something, alright?” And then he’s walking away, back to fiddle with dials and bars and talking to her dad. Not even realising the storm he’s unleashed in her mind.

Carrie ignores her phone for the rest of the weekend, doesn’t reply to any texts or acknowledge anything she’s tagged in. She moves silently through the house, her mind whirling with jealousy and anger and annoyance. Julie is her best friend, she knows she’s talented, has always supported her. There’s nothing new about this information. 

But there’s something about the producer, watching the three of them perform and him singling out Julie over her, even while she’s sitting right there. It buries itself in her mind, digging in roots and taking hold and Carrie can’t shake it. 

The growing jealousy she’s never experienced directed at her friends before. 

So wrapped up in her own thoughts and emotions, she doesn’t even realise the moment she comes to a decision. 

It is, arguably, the worst decision she could ever make.

(And in a few years time when she's older and wiser, Carrie knows she’ll look back on it and know this was the moment when she let herself become something she hated, fake and insecure. And she'll hate herself more than she does at the very moment it happens.)

All she knows is that Monday morning at school as Julie is smiling at her and Flynn is waving, both trying to ask about her weekend, Carrie plasters on a fake smile (and she hates herself for it, hates the way it feels on her face, hates the way it changes her eyes), she tosses her hair over her shoulder and says the words that burn a fifteen year friendship to the ground. 

It’s later that week, when Carrie is at home doing homework and her dad strolls into the kitchen and asks her where Julie and Flynn are that she finally, fully realises just what she’s done. 

“We’re not friends anymore dad,” she says, tucking blonde hair behind her ear and trying to focus on her maths work. She can see him pause at the fridge, turning curious and worried eyes on her, his mouth opening to say something when she cuts him off with a shake of her head. “We’re not friends, it doesn’t matter. Just drop it, okay?”

And, thankfully, he does. Carrie doesn’t think she’d know how to explain herself if he hadn’t.

 four.

She finds an old demo cd and a tattered notebook tucked between a book on The Rolling Stones and an unopened copy of some Gordon Ramsey cookbook. The name Sunset Curve on a black background stands out to her and she flips it over to look at the short track list. She doesn’t recognise any of the titles but she knows it must have some importance if her dad has kept it. 

Walking over to the stereo she opens the case up, pops out the cd and has it halfway into the machine when she drops it, eyes caught on the pull out and the half of a face she can see. 

She knows that face. Has seen it on stage more in the last few months then she would like. But he was supposed to be a hologram of some guy from Sweden. Frowning, she slips the pull out free, there’s a printed out sheet of paper folded in quarters too she notices but ignores it for now, instead slowly opening up the pull out poster. Four faces look back at her, and she recognises three of them from Julie’s band. 

The bassist who keeps winking at Kayla, the drummer who seems to pour everything he has into the song, the guitarist who looks at Julie like she’s hung the damn moon. 

And her – it’s her dad.

Younger, clean shaven, hair a little shorter and without sunglasses. But it’s him, she’d know his eyes anywhere, they look back at her in the mirror each morning. Carrie can feel her frown deepen, bites her lip as she tries to work out why her dad is in a band photo with Julie’s hologram band. 

The second sheet of paper crinkles in her fingers and she forces her eyes away from the pull out and unfolds that instead. There’s another photo of the band, and she idly thinks it must be from the same photoshoot because they’re wearing almost the exact same outfits. 

It’s an article, she realises as her eyes glance down at the words and then back to the photo only to dart straight back to the headline. In bold block print is the words that have her hands shaking and eyes clouding over in confusion. 

A Hollywood Tragedy. 1995. 

She looks from the article to the boys faces, wracking her mind to try and remember exactly what Julie’s band looked like. But she doesn’t think there’s any possible way she’d forget any of their faces. Not that it answered any of the questions now crowding in her head.

Because the only explanation she was coming to was fucking ghosts and that didn’t seem like an explanation at all. 

Though it would explain why her dad had been acting so strange ever since The Orpheum. Why he’d been cagey and cautious and asking so many questions about Julie lately. If her band had died in 1995 and were suddenly out performing with her kids ex friend, she’d be acting a little weird too.

Carrie can’t stop the laugh that bubbles past her lips, it sounds strangled and half deranged to her own ears and she’s not sure what to do. How to process this information in her hands. She remembers the notebook she’s holding then, a heavy weight in her hand and she can see doodles and words scribbled over the cover. She can’t decipher some of them, but over and over in different styles is that band name. Sunset Curve. 

Hands still shaking Carrie sets the cd, pull out and printed article on top of the stereo and takes in a deep breath, counts to five in her head and blows it out. Her mind is still racing but she feels a little steadier in herself. She flips through the notebook quickly seeing nothing but words upon words littering the pages in handwriting that is nothing like her dads.

Opening the book to a random page she reads. There lyrics, she realises with a jolt. Lyrics she recognises. Lyrics she has sung along to whenever her dad’s song came on the radio.

Lyrics he hadn’t written?

She turns to another page and then another, flipping through half the book and recognising nearly every song she finds. She pauses, not realising how fast and hard she’d begun to breath until she’s trying to suck in air as her heart races. Because these are her dad’s songs but his writing isn’t anywhere in this book.

Turning it to the first page she gets an answer as to why. 

There, in block print, underlined and circled, the clearest the writing had been throughout it all, as if the owner had been warning people to stay away from it, was the words: PROPERTY OF LUKE PATTERSON. 

And Carrie can’t even think to stop the laugh that leaves her mouth, or the small choked sob that follows. She had always wondered why her dad had written and recorded a song called My Name is Luke. 

Now she had her answer.

It wasn't his fucking song.

She’s sitting on the ground, back against a bookcase and legs spread out in front of her, making her way through the notebook slower now, taking in each song, when her dad finds her. He’s got his mouth open, like he was going to ask her something when he freezes in the doorway. Noticing the notebook, the cd, the poster. Carrie can’t remember seeing her dad ever looking so worried or horrified. 

“You stole his songs,” is all she says as she looks up at him. There’s no need to mention a name, they both know who she’s talking about. 

“Carrie–” he starts, but either he doesn’t know what he’s going to say or just can’t form the words, whatever it is Carrie watches as he stumbled, mouth opening and closing as nothing comes out. 

“You never said you were in a band,” because that’s another new thing Carrie has learnt today. Her dad used to be part of a band and then that band had died and he had stolen their songs.

“It was–” he pauses again, sucks in a breath and lets one out. “It was a long time ago. And they– they died, Carrie. I went to three funerals. They were dead, but their songs were– His songs were there and they deserved to be heard.” He doesn’t mention their names, Carrie notes as she nods her head at him, her eyes going back to the notebook of stolen songs in front of her. 

“You can’t say anything about this to anyone. Any of it. We don’t know what’s going on, how Julie knows about them. If they’re–” He doesn’t say the word, but it hangs there in the silence between them. Ghosts. But he keeps talking, not letting her say anything. “None of that matters. You can’t mention anything to anyone. About Sunset Curve, or about the songs.” 

Carrie snaps her head up to him, opens her mouth to say something. To say how it’s wrong and how he stole them and how his first two albums weren’t even really his. But her dad is talking again, and he’s crouched down in front of her now, hands resting on her knees and staring at her with wide eyes. 

“This could ruin me Carrie. You can’t say anything, okay? Please."

She looks at him, bites her lip as she looks back at the notebook and then back at her dad. Nods her head once. It’s been twenty five years, even if they were ghosts did it even really matter anymore? (She did her best to ignore the little voice in her head that told her it did.)

 five.

When Nick broke up with her, Carrie had cried into her pillow for an hour. She’d watched five different rom-coms and eaten half a tub of ice cream. She’d written a song that Dirty Candi would never perform but helped her get her emotions out all the same. 

Carrie thinks she’s experienced heartbreak before. When she fully realised that her mom wasn’t coming back, when she figured out that no matter how many times she was nearly arrested her dad wouldn’t be coming to the mall to pick her up, when she set fire to a lifelong friendship and watched tears she had caused fall. 

All of those were heartbreak, she thinks. They’d all hurt her in ways she was still trying to understand. Old wounds that had scabbed over badly and were starting to get infected. 

But this heartbreak is different. It hurts, but when she examines the metaphorical wound on her heart it doesn’t hurt to poke at it. Not like it still hurts to think about her mom or Julie. When her dad had found out, he’d told her a first break up was always the worst, but that you could get some killer songs out of it. 

(Now, knowing all that she knows, she wonders how many of his heart broken songs were actually written by him and how many were written by his dead band mates.) 

The small cut on her heart gets a plaster and she picks up her emotions and stuffs them back into place and she puts her fake smile on her face and by Wednesday when she next sees Nick it’s like there hadn’t been any hearts breaking at all. 

She does so well in fact, at ignoring Nick, at pretending the last few years with him hadn’t happened, that she almost doesn’t notice the changes. 

They’re subtle really. The way he walks down the hallways. The way he holds himself just a little straighter, but leans just a little on an angle. The way he says onomatopoeia in english class without stuttering once even though Carrie knows he’s never been able to say it fully. 

It’s all these little things that people who don’t know him wouldn’t notice. But she does. There’s something wrong with Nick and Carrie, well she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do about it. If she’s even supposed to do something about it. 

He broke up with her after all. 

So she watches as Nick watches Julie, as he talks to Flynn, as he goes about his day just being a little off. And she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do anything. She doubts anyone would listen to her even if she did say something. 

It’s none of her business, that’s what she keeps telling herself. Nick broke up with her, and her heart broke just a little and now she has no responsibility for whatever is going on. It’s what she tells herself. She hopes she’ll start believing it soon.

 +one.

There comes a moment, Carrie thinks, when you have to choose who you want to be in life. 

If you want to be a liar and fake and jealous, and ignore your mistakes.

Or if you want to put aside the jealousy, smile freely and care deeply, and own up to the wrongs you’ve caused. 

Right and wrong. 

Wrong and right. 

Carrie’s pretty sure if someone was to tally up her life choices there would be more marks in the wrong column then the right one. 

But she’s seventeen and she’s pretty sure there’s still plenty of time to change it. 

She hasn’t stood in front of the Molina’s front door in a long time, she can barely even remember a time when she’d rung the doorbell (that’s not true, she remembers the last time she’d pressed the bell and it’s a memory she chooses not to focus on, there had been too much black, too many tears, and she hadn’t found the strength to even offer Julie a hug, but she’d tried to make Carlos smile and hoped that would be enough.), and she certainly doesn’t remember ever feeling so anxious as she stands outside. 

She shuffles her feet, pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and counts to ten in her head. She’s holding a plain brown gift bag in one hand, the rope handle rough along her palm and it’s grounding. She rubs her thumb along and it once and rings the doorbell. 

There’s a few seconds of silence followed by the sound of steps on the other side, someone shouting something that gets lost in the distance and then the door is opening and Ray Molina is looking at her. He blinks, an eyebrow quirking up and then he’s smiling at her, like he’s always smiled, warm and friendly and open and real. 

“Carrie! What a surprise. Looking for Julie?” There’s mild curiosity in his tone, but none of the animosity she’s always thought should be there. She’d made his daughter cry after all, shouldn’t he hate her on principle alone?

“If she’s around,” Carrie replies with her own smile, smaller and dimmer but she hopes it’s just as real. She’s still trying to work it out. 

“In the garage. Knock before you go in,” he nods around to the back of the house, gives her an encouraging smile and watches as she walks away. She hears the door shut only when she’s out of sight. And then she’s stood in front of another door. There’s sounds of laughing inside, the clash of cymbals like someones knocked into them, muffled voices all talking over each other. It all sounds very happy. She hopes she isn't about to ruin it.

She tightens her grip on the gift bags in her hand. When she had thought of what to do, when she had planned out every step and action and word, it hadn’t seemed so daunting. But now that she’s actually here, Carrie has never been so afraid. 

But she needs to thank them, she needs to apologise to them. 

All of them. 

Julie and her band of ghosts. 

She frowns at the thought, it only just occurring to her that she’s going to have to explain that she knows they’re ghosts. Though she supposes maybe the contents of the gift bag will do that. She hopes it does, she squeezes her eyes shut and rubs a hand across them. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. 

She could still turn around, walk away, act like she had never been here, pretend that she’d never decided she wanted to right some wrongs. 

She's half a step away from turning fully around when a voice whispers a stern ‘no’ in her mind. She’s not sure whose voice it is, though it is familiar and almost comforting. Blowing out a breath, straightening her spine and pushing blonde locks behind her shoulders, Carrie knocks on the studio door. 

There’s whispers from the other side, someone shushing someone else and then Julie is poking her head around the door and her eyes are widening as they land on Carrie. 

“Carrie. What uh– what are you doing here?” She asks, confusion clear by the furrow between her brows and the weary look in her eyes. Carrie swallows and does her best to smile, small and unforced. She’s not sure it works if the growing weary look in Julie’s eyes is anything to go by.

“I um…” Carrie closes her eyes for a second before opening them and nodding once. “I needed to talk to you. You and your band. And before you say anything about them being holograms, I know they’re in there. I heard them, actually I can still hear them they’re terrible at whispering.” 

Because she can clearly hear someone saying her name and another mentioning something about dancing and a very clear ‘maybe it’s about the haunting?’ ‘shut up Reg!’. Julie glares, this time over her shoulder at where Carrie guesses the guys are meant to be keeping quiet. But she opens the door a little wider and gestures for Carrie to come in. She waits to let out her relieved sigh until Julie isn’t looking her way. 

The studio garage looks the same as it always has, warm and inviting and inspiring. She suddenly remembers why they’d always spent so much time out here as kids. But there’s changes too, a drum kit set up, guitars and a bass in stands, clothes littered on chairs and draped over the banister of the loft. 

And of course the three ghosts. They’re a pretty big change. 

They’re stood looking at her.

Her dad’s dead ex-best friends.

His ex-dead-ex-best friends.

In the months since she first found the demo cd Carrie has done her best to learn a little about them all, out of curiosity more than anything. But it certainly helps now, to know who each of them are without an introduction. 

Alex, with his pink hoodie and hat on backwards has his head tilted, eyeing her curiously even as he taps a drumstick against his leg, but there’s also a slight smile on his lips and he even waves awkwardly with his free hand, Carrie thinks that’s a pretty good sign. Reggie has his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet and eyes wandering from her to Alex to Julie to Luke and back again, almost as if he’s unsure and Carrie can’t blame him, she’s pretty unsure too. Luke is glaring at her, sort of at least, his eyebrows are drawn together and his lips are scrunched to the side and his arms are crossed across his chest, and you don’t have to be a body language expert to know what that means.

“Look, I don’t want to interrupt and you can. You can tell me to get out if you want. I just–” She pauses, takes a breath and tries to slow down. “I just wanted to thank you.” There’s four identical looks of confusion on their faces and Carrie really tries not to roll her eyes but she fails. “For saving Nick. Or finding the real Nick again? I’m not sure what you did. But I know it’s because of you guys that he’s Nick again and that he’s okay. And I just– I wanted to thank you for that.” 

Whatever they had been expecting her to say, Carrie knows it wasn’t that. Luke goes from glaring to gaping at her, Reggie stops rocking and almost falls in the process, Alex has stilled his hands and Julie has taken a half a step towards her, eyebrows raised. 

“How do you– I– We–” Julie starts, fumbles, throws her hands in the air and looks at the boys for help. 

“How’d you know we had anything to do with it? Not that we know anything about it,” Alex winces, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say that last bit and this time Carrie means to roll her eyes at them. 

“Yeah okay, lets not do the pretending thing. I don’t know all the details, I just know you guys helped him. And that you’re ghosts.” It was Carrie’s turn to wince now. She hadn’t quite meant to blurt that last bit out like that. And now they were really staring at her. And all shouting at the same time while Julie was pacing and Carrie stepped forward and pushed the brown gift bag into Lukes hands. 

They all shut up as he held it at arms length and looked at her. 

“Just– just open it.” Is all she can say, biting her lip and looking anywhere but at them. 

She hears the sound of sellotape being unpeeled and the crinkle of paper and then a soft gasp. 

“Is that–” Reggie starts and Carrie forces herself to look at them again. Alex and Reggie and Julie are looking at the notebook that Luke is holding carefully in his hands, but Luke himself is looking at her. Eyes a little wide and mouth opening just a little like he’s trying to find words to say. 

“I also came here with an apology,” she licks her lips and looks at Julie, because it’s Julie she really needs to say this too. “I’ve made a– a lot of bad choices in the last few years. And I think… I think a lot of them involved hurting you Jules and I’m. I’m sorry. For being a bitch. For not saying anything. For everything.” 

She’s not sure what reaction she is hoping for. Or what reaction she even wants. Forgiveness would be the best, but she’s pretty sure that has to be earned. Or something like that. Julie just keeps looking at her, and Luke seems to realise that she’s not going to say anything, that she needs a moment, so he’s stepping forward, notebook still held in one hand. 

“How’d you know this was mine?” He asks and there's such a serious look on his face that Carrie can’t help but laugh. 

"Your names on the front page. In like, huge letters, and circled. And underlined.” 

“Riiight,” he draws the word out, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he laughs and suddenly Alex and Reggie are laughing too, pushing his shoulder and Luke is saying something about it being 'a long time ago, shut up'. And then Julie is standing next to her, knocking her shoulder lightly with her own. 

“Thank you, for bringing him his songs back. And for the apology,” Julie gives her a small smile and nods her head towards where the boys have gathered around the piano, notebook open in front of them as they look at old songs. It’s an invitation, an offer, small and inconsequential. She can say no. Could walk away. 

But Carrie is tired of making the wrong choices in her life. Wants to make a few right ones instead. Rebuilding her friendship with Julie, with Flynn too eventually, returning lost work to ghost band mates. It’s a good start, she thinks.

[just-a-spark]

The Before, and The After Part 1

A Knives Out Story

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Language, sexual content (This chapter is tame, but in the future)

Summery: A wealthy classmate of Meg’s becomes close to the family- a little too close to the playboy grandson of Harlan Thrombey. The events before, and after, Harlan Thrombey’s death.

Elizabeth Stevens fidgeted in her chair as Detective Elliott stood across from her, whispering with an officer named Trooper Wagner. She pulled her thick red hair over her shoulder, and the soft waves cascaded over her like a river of blood. She had the deep color of red that looked almost unnatural against her pale, freckled skin. Her lips were painted the same color of her locks, and the pout she sported emphasized how plump they looked.

“Excuse me?” She raised her hand to get the men’s attention, “Are you two going to question me or not? I have places I need to be.”

Trooper Wagner faced her and smiled weakly, and the woman tried to shrink back into her chair at the attention, “I’m so sorry ma’am. We’ll get started in a moment. Where do you need to be exactly?”

Elizabeth paled a little, not expecting him to ask her about her personal life, “Uh, I have a doctor’s appointment.” She rested her left hand on her stomach, her massive diamond shimmering in the fluorescent lights of the police station.

Elliott pulled out the chair across from her, and she cringed as its legs scraped against the floor, “Well, why don’t we get started then. Your husband is Phillip Stevens, correct? His father is in charge of the Thrombey Estate.” Elliott read from a file and Elizabeth nodded, “I’m assuming that is how you have come to know the Thrombey clan so well?”

“Well...” Elizabeth trailed off and looked to the back wall. She swallowed and took a deep breath, but as the memories started flooding back she smiled, “Not exactly.” Elliott smirked at her and she crossed one muscular leg over the other and leaned back in her chair, “The Thrombeys are the reason I met my husband, not the other way around.”

“Mrs. Stevens, are you aware of the reasoning behind your visit with us today?” Trooper Wagner asked from the back wall.

Elizabeth inhaled deeply and took a drink of her water, “Harlan Thrombey committed suicide a few days ago. I’m guessing you want to question me about it?”

“Your father-in-law suggested it. He said you and Harlan were close.” Detective Elliot pressed and Elizabeth bit her bottom lip nervously. Elliott and Wagner shared a confused glance, then Elliott turned back to Elizabeth, “Perhaps he was wrong?”

“No.” Elizabeth said quietly, finally looking the detective in the eye, “I knew Harlan very well. I knew all of them very well.”

“Knew? Or know?” Wagner clarified.

Elizabeth shifted in her chair, twisting her mouth to the side and looking down, “My relationship with Harlan was strained in the end, that rippled down to the rest of the family. Harlan was the center of their universe, without him, they’ll self destruct.”

                                             Three Years Earlier

Meg Thrombey drove down the dirt road toward her grandfather’s mansion a little too fast, but they were running late for her family’s Harvest Fest picnic, and her Aunt Linda wouldn’t be pleased about it.

“Listen, you aren’t ready for my family, but I appreciate you keeping me company.” Meg laughed as her “Big Sister” from Amherst College pulled her Jimmy Choo heels off the dash.

“It’s fine. I’m sure I’ve seen worse.” Elizabeth Reynolds chuckled, looking out the window at the beautiful woods. “This place is gorgeous.”

“Just wait until you see it. His house is so creepy, but you’re gonna love it.” Meg promised as they pulled up to a metal gate. After waiting a moment, the groundskeeper let Meg in and she continued on her way, looking at her watch and swearing under her breath, “We were supposed to be here an hour ago. My family takes these stupid holiday celebrations way too seriously.”

“It’ll be fine. Better late than never. I’ll charm them by being my starstruck self.” Elizabeth bat her eyelashes at Meg and the younger girl rolled her eyes. “Of all the little sisters I could get for my last year, I can’t believe I got my favorite author’s granddaughter. What are the odds?”

“You picked me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe I saw the last name and took a chance. I was curious.” Meg looked over at the stunning redhead and she added, “I think it turned out rather well, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.” Meg grumbled, but Elizabeth just beamed as they approached a massive dark house.

“Holy shit.” Elizabeth mumbled as she leaned forward to get a better look. “It looks like something out of one of his books.”

“Just wait until you see the inside. I bet he’d give you the whole tour if you asked him. None of us really give a shit.”

Elizabeth feigned surprise, but she knew Meg wasn’t interested in the source of her family’s wealth. If her relatives were the slightest bit like she had described, Elizabeth deduced they wouldn’t be interested in Harlan’s books either.

Meg parked her car behind a slew of other chic vehicles, and Elizabeth let out a wolf whistle, “Damn, is your whole family successful?”

“No, my grandfather just gives everyone money.” Meg deadpanned, turning the key and pulling it from the ignition before tossing it into her bag. “Aunt Linda owns her own real estate company, Uncle Walt runs Grandpa’s publishing company.”

“So they are also super successful. Got it. Your idea of unsuccessful is not making ten million in royalties every year.” Elizabeth teased, fluffing out her thick bangs. “So what do I need to know before I go in?”

“Uncle Walt is intense, Uncle Richard is sleazy, my cousin Jacob is probably going to kill someone someday, but it’s okay, because he’s white and upper middle class.” Elizabeth snorted, then covered her mouth, knowing it wasn’t funny. Meg took a deep breath and continued, “My grandfather is going to be your best friend, and his nurse Marta is basically family. Aunt Linda is rigid but Aunt Donna doesn’t have a personality, so they kind of balance out. You might see my Great Nana, but she doesn’t talk, so don’t worry about her. And you know my mom of course.”

“Yes, love Joni.” Elizabeth hummed through her smile, “Is that everyone?”

“Everyone who’s going to show up.” Meg retorted, pushing open her door, then looking over her shoulder, “If it gets to be too much, say you need to use the bathroom. Text me and I’ll come rescue you.”

Elizabeth pushed open her own door and swung out, looking over the roof and calling, “I think I’ll be okay. I’m an adult.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Meg sing-songed as she led Elizabeth up to the front door. As she pushed it open she called loudly, “Hey, sorry we’re late!”

“About damn time you showed up!” A man’s voice called from farther in the mansion.

“That would be Walt.” Meg mumbled as a mousy looking man with a cane came around the corner. Meg gave a short wave and walked toward him, casually gesturing to her friend, “This is Lizzie. She’s my Big Sister from college. She’s a big fan of Grandpa’s books.”

“Is that so?” Walt asked as he looked Elizabeth up and down with a grin, “Well I run the publishing company. We’re hoping to bring the books to the big screen in the next couple of years. You’d like that, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. As long as they were done well. There’s nothing worse than a bad book to movie transition.” Elizabeth looked over her shoulder uncomfortably as she saw Meg’s mother walk into the room, “Oh, hi Joni!”

“Hiii Lizzie, how are you, honey?” Joni slurred as she wrapped the girl in an awkward, one armed hug. She held out her wine glass to the side and swayed a little as she pulled away, “I’m so glad you could join us today! Come on, let me introduce you to everyone-”

“That’s really not necessary Mom, I’m sure she doesn’t need to- okay.” Meg was ignored and Joni steered Lizzie toward Harlan’s study, where the author was speaking with his eldest daughter.

Lizzie’s eyes widened a little when Harlan Thrombey, the Harlan Thrombey, looked up at her with a smile. Joni shoved Lizzie forward, and the redhead was suddenly very aware that Meg hadn’t joined her, “Hi Dad, this is Lizzie, she’s Meg’s friend from Amherst. She’s part of the Big Sister program for the underclassmen.”

“Nice to meet you Lizzie.” Harlan said as he reached out and shook her hand, “This is my daughter, Linda, and my new nurse, Marta.” He gestured to a small Latina woman who waved shyly from the chair she was sitting in, filling a syringe with medicine for the older man.

“Dad, Lizzie is such a huge fan of your books. I’m sure she’d love to chat with you about them. She just couldn’t stop gushing about you when I met her during Welcome Weekend.” Joni giggled until she drowned herself out by downing her wine, “I’m going to get a refill. Linda, you want anything? Lizzie? Dad?”

“No, I think we’re fine. Thank you.” Linda said sharply with a tight lipped smile. She tilted her head to study the pale girl, but didn’t say anything for a long moment before asking, “Are you old enough to drink?”

“I’m twenty three.” Lizzie answered softly, playing with the ends of her hair and waiting to see if the white-haired businesswoman would interrogate her further.

Linda stared up at her from her spot perched on the desk, and her smile grew a little, “What do you study?”

“Writing. I’d like to be author someday.”

Linda turned to Harlan with a knowing smile, but his smirk didn’t change, “We still have some time before lunch is ready. I’ll leave you two to talk then.” Linda stood and left Harlan’s study, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Would you like me to leave as well, Mr. Thrombey?” The nurse asked, but Harlan just shook his head and squished his face, disapproving of her suggestion.

“Call me Harlan, Marta, we’ve talked about this. And no, you can stay, she can stay, right, Lizzie?”

“Of course, I- yeah, I’m just really honored to meet you!” Lizzie gushed as she took a seat across from Harlan, “I’m such a huge fan! The Needle Game is what made me want to go into writing... the twist in the end, where the body had been stored in the luggage compartment right below them the whole time. Your writing was beyond brilliant.”

Harlan chuckled as Marta smiled softly, carefully inserting the needle into the man’s lower arm. “Well, I appreciate that, Lizzie. What do you consider my weakest work?”

“Excuse me?” She asked abruptly, turning back to Harlan after studying the wooden figurines emerging from his study walls. Her mouth hung open for a moment, unsure of how to respond, “I think they are all wonderful...”

“But I want to know which one you think is the weakest.” Harlan challenged and Lizzie huffed, drawing her brows in frustration. Harlan just smiled and leaned his arm on his desk to get closer to her, “I want your honest opinion, as a fan, because an author is only as good as his worst work.”

“If I had to choose, and I hate that you’re making me,” Lizzie looked past Harlan out his study window at the sprawling grounds beyond, “I guess I’d say Nick of Time. I didn’t feel it was realistic. The writing was great, but the plot was contrived. I don’t believe Maggie would kill Nick in the end, after everything they went through.”

“But she wasn’t happy.” Harlan argued, holding the young woman’s gaze, “You would have written her as a martyr?”

“Yes.” Lizzie answered boldly, her smile growing, “I think it would have made the ending more devastating. That she murdered her in-laws but in the end she was still trapped.”

Harlan nodded thoughtfully, taking her opinion to heart, “Interesting. That’s why I asked.”

“I have a lot of thoughts. I wrote a lot of book reports.” Lizzie retorted, looking to Marta as the woman stood to leave the room, “I should probably head back out. Meg’s going to wonder where I’ve gone.”

“Go explore the house. I’ll give you a proper tour later in the day.” Harlan promised and Lizzie took that as her cue to leave.

When she opened the door, she practically walked into a brick wall of a man: tall, dark, and terribly handsome with an ugly scowl painted across his perfect face.

“Who the hell are you?” He snapped as he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it off to Lizzie, “Take care of this for me, will you?”

“I don’t work here.” Lizzie stammered, completely in shock as the man shoved past her. Her shock turned to anger and she dropped the brown trench coat on the floor. “I’m not your maid.”

Lizzie turned on her Jimmy Choo heels and stormed off to find Meg down the hall with her family. “Hey, how did it- what happened?” Meg asked frantically as Lizzie huffed and simmered, looking back over her shoulder.

“Tall, dark hair, huge ass- jerk.” Lizzie caught herself and Joni swallowed down another glass of wine, raising it in recognition.

“Asshole honey, you met Ransom. He’s an asshole.”

“Sweetheart, what did he say to you?” Linda questioned, suddenly a hundred times softer than she’d been before.

Lizzie groaned, feeling the color drain from her face at all the attention she was receiving, “It’s fine, really. He just didn’t realize I was a guest.”

“Ransom!” Linda yelled and another blonde woman that Lizzie hadn’t met yet shrunk into the corner as Joni poured herself another glass. Linda looked to a man Lizzie guessed was her husband and whispered something in his ear before yelling again, “Ransom!”

“What?” He screamed back as he stormed into the room, holding his coat over his arm until his eyes fell on Lizzie. His scowl turned to a wicked grin and he scoffed, “Oh I’m sorry? Did I offend you? Here, let me pretend like I care.” Ransom strode toward Lizzie and she stood her ground, keeping her mouth shut as he stopped inches from her, staring down his sharp nose at her freckled face. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, then dropped it and handed her his coat. “Now, can you take care of this for me? I’m going to get a drink.”

Linda and Richard chastised the man as he swept out of the room toward the kitchen while Joni yelled at the couple for raising such a terrible son. A frazzled woman in her forties scurried up to Lizzie and took Ransom’s jacket without a word, but Lizzie barely noticed.

She wasn’t sure if she was more confused or conflicted. She wanted to steer clear of that horrible man, but, part of her wanted to understand what made him tick.

[aniray]

Where You Least Expect It... Part 2

Part 2 of 5

@maryams-things

~*~

Day 1

Lizzie sat in the moving truck watching men carry her life into the Shelby guest house. It wasn’t much- she’d barely had enough to fill the small truck. But the men acted as if she’d the crown jewels tucked away in those boxes. Or perhaps her clothes were couture instead of from the clearance racks. It was odd, and more than a bit uncomfortable, knowing her little things would be living inside such a nice place. Even if it was only for a few months. 

But it was easier to imagine her clothes and books and trinkets in the house than it was imagining herself in it. It seemed wrong somehow, like she was playing a trick. She’d always known her place in the world, always known she’d not be anyone important or do much that would matter. She’d wake each day, go to work, pay her bills, and then maybe one day she’d find a man to settle down with. Maybe one day she’d have a kid or two. It hadn’t been her dream- not really. But she’d figured it in, just in case. The future had always been murky on those types of details. But the one she was sure of was that she’d live, work, and then die. And the world wouldn’t miss her or know the difference. 

So yeah, it left Lizzie feeling a bit off to know she’d be living in such a fancy house. She glanced out the side window and tensed when she caught sight of Tommy Shelby walking towards the moving truck. Taking a quick breath, Lizzie waited as the man made his way to her window. He didn’t knock. He didn’t even turn his head to look at her. But she knew he was there to talk to her. And somehow she knew he’d stay there until she acknowledged him.

The window hadn’t stopped lowering before he turned to face her. “Nothing broken?” She shook her head. “Good. Have you been in?” She shook her head again. He gave a slow nod. “Right. You plan on going in?” Lizzie shot him a sharp look. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice- not after she’d just had all her things moved over. But Tommy ignored her glare. She’d a feeling it was something he did often- ignored things. “Come on, then. I’ll show you around.”

It wasn’t a question, so Lizzie didn’t respond. Instead she opened the door of the truck, ignoring the weight of Tommy’s gaze as she hopped down. It took another deep breath before Lizzie started walking, the idea of stepping inside that house making her skin prick with nerves. But Tommy wasn’t patient and Lizzie wasn’t one to hide when there was someone to see her do it. 

“Its…nice,” she started, taking in the place. Tommy let out a grunt beside her. She took it as agreement, but who really knew. But as she took in the house, she realized that aside from the size and the neat landscaping, it really was a nice house. It was one storey- she was sure they called it a bungalow. There were big windows and a nice porch with chairs and a table. Two small windows were set above the front door on either side. Blue-grey paint with white trim around the windows and door. And curtains in the windows. Lizzie’d didn’t much like curtains- reminded her of her mother. Still, it made the house seem light and welcoming, even if she wasn’t truly welcome. 

The inside was lovely. All warmth and light. It was the kind of place Lizzie might have dreamed of once- before things got so bad. It was dark wood floors with blue and cream colored furniture. The walls were paneled from the floor to about waist high, with pale blue paint going up the rest of the wall. And it was all so big and open. The kitchen was nice, though she wasn’t much good at cooking. And there was a dining area that she knew she’d never use- not when there was such a cozy little window seat facing a side garden. Everything was modern, but somehow felt liked she’d stepped back in time a bit. 

“So it’ll do, then?” Lizzie turned from where she’d been heading down the hall. Tommy stood just inside the house, hands in the pockets of his dress pants and he leaned against the wall. Lizzie nodded. “Only one bedroom, on the right. Bath’s on the left.” A quick peek around an open door showed the bedroom. Just as nice as the rest of the place. Still too nice for her. “Long way from Small Heath, eh?”

“Not much different. No money there, no money here, same problems everywhere.” There was a sound, but Lizzie wasn’t sure if it was a cough or a laugh. Didn’t really care. She turned and walked into the bathroom. Clean and tidy with a glass shower and nice towels. “But…I guess for you it’d be a nice change. Leaving and being better for it, I mean.” 

“There’s stairs at the back, up to the attic.” Lizzie jumped at how close Tommy’s voice was. Her eyes went to the mirror. Tommy stood in the doorway and their eyes met through the mirror. His face was just as expressionless as always, but his eyes seemed a bit cooler than they’d been. She hadn’t really thought that possible. “There’s a car in the garage out back. Use it whenever. Key’s in the drawer at the front.” 

Then he was gone. 

Lizzie stood for another second staring through the mirror at the now empty doorway. Then she blinked and started after him. He was just getting around to the truck when she got to the door. “Hey!” Tommy stopped. “Just- I mean-“ He turned around to face her properly and Lizzie almost wished he hadn’t. Even from where she stood she could see a bit of something that might have been…She wasn’t sure what it was- she just knew she didn’t like it. “Thanks. For showing me around.” There were a hundred other things she wanted to say, but none of them came out. She was glad of it. 

Tommy glanced at the house behind her, then set his blue eyes back on Lizzie. Eyes were the window to the soul, they said. But his eyes were so empty, like nothing was inside. There was, though- something inside of him. And whatever it was, made Lizzie curious. He blinked, head tilting forward in a slight nod. And for a moment she thought she caught something- something light or curious or… 

He turned and was gone. 

~*~

Tommy came back two days later. 

He had two big plates wrapped up with two smaller plates stacked on top. Lizzie barely had a chance to open her mouth before he’d pushed into the house and headed for the dining table- the one she hadn’t used yet. “Come. Sit.” For some reason Lizzie found herself doing both. She watched as Tommy took his seat, unwrapped the plates and set one of each in front of her. “Why’d you leave Small Heath?”

Lizzie tensed. She hadn’t known what to expect from this surprise visit, but it hadn’t been that. She didn’t like it. But he stayed silent while those cold blue eyes bored into her from across the table. Lizzie looked at the plate in front of her. There were no forks. She got up from her chair and moved into the kitchen, dug around in the drawer for to forks and two knives, grabbed a few napkins as well. Carefully, she folded the cutlery into the napkins- like when she’d been a waitress. She set one set down beside Tommy, careful not to stand too close. Then moved back around the table to her seat. 

“Lizzie.”

Her eyes went to his again. Same blue. Same coldness. Only now there was that hint of annoyance that told her his patience was running thin. She wasn’t surprised- he didn’t seem to have much to begin with. “Parents were dead. Boyfriend started leaving bruises where people could see. No one was hiring.” She shrugged. “Figured it was time to move on.” 

His face didn’t change. To read his expression you wouldn’t know she’d told him anything at all. Especially not anything that meant something. But it might have been him ignoring things he didn’t like again. Glossing over it like it never was. “Ever think of going back?” No. The answer seemed obvious to her. Why would she go back when there was nothing and no one to go back to?

“Why’d you leave?” She didn’t expect an answer. Tommy Shelby didn’t seem like the kind of man to answer questions. Especially not questions about himself. But if he could ask, then so could she. “I looked you up. Says you’ve got brothers and a sister back in Birmingham. Says there’s an aunt and an uncle, too.” She watched a line of tension tighten his shoulders and the corners of his mouth. His eyes got colder.

“Eat your food, Lizzie.”

She didn’t. Neither did he. And not another word passed between them. She was still sat at the table- four plates untouched- when he stood and left. The door closing let her heart finally settle. The sound of the clock ticking helped clear her head. But it was still a long while before she could move. Then it came to her- that feeling she got when things were about to change. And somehow she knew this was the first of many nights with Tommy Shelby. 

~*~

Day 36

Tommy held his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He didn’t look to the clock- knew what time it was. He was late. The meeting had been an emergency. So he’d sat and listened and waited. But his phone had vibrated twice now. He knew Grace was waiting for him- knew that the surrogate was probably already at the doctor’s. But here he was, ignoring his wife’s calls to listen to his men tell him shit he didn’t really care about. Things they should have been able to handle without him. 

“…alright, Mr. Shelby?”

He nodded. didn’t know what the fuck he’d agreed to, but if it meant he got out of  the office and to the doctor before the appointment ended, he’d worry about it later. “Get it in writing and have it on my desk by tomorrow,” he said while he stood up, straightening his suit jacket as he did. Morris nodded while the rest also stood up, preparing to leave. Dismissing them all from his mind Tommy turned and left.

Stepping out of the conference room and into his office, Tommy pulled out his phone. Four texts and two calls- all from Grace. He read the last text but didn’t bother reading the others or listening to the voicemails. Picking up his keys and wallet, he walked out barely stopping to let his secretary know he’d be out the rest of the day. Then he was outside and getting into his car. 

His phone rang as he pulled onto the street. He didn’t bother to check the Caller I.D. It’d be Grace’s name in the screen, he knew. “I know. Got stuck in a meeting. But I’m on my way now.” It was always best to get the first word in when his wife was upset. She didn’t get angry with him often, but things had been different since Lizzie had come- since he’d started having dinner with her a few times a week. 

There was a moment of silence that lasted a bit too long. Then, “Mr. Shel- Tommy?” His eyes went to the screen on his dashboard. Lizzie Stark was the name on display where Grace should have been. “Um, yeah. It’s over. Things are going fine, doctor said. Mrs. Shelby- well, she drove me. But she’s gone now and I-“

“Grace left you at the doctor?”

There was a long beat of silence. That was answer enough. Lizzie may not like Grace, but Tommy had never heard a bad word towards his wife come from the woman’s mouth. “Just thought maybe I’d stay at my apartment tonight. Give everybody a little space from each other.” She lived in the guest house. There was plenty of space between where Lizzie stayed and Grace. But Tommy kept quiet. “Thought I’d just…tell someone,” she finished, hint of what sounded like annoyance in her voice. He didn’t’ ask.

“Yeah, alright.” He saw her before she saw him. She was sat across from the doctor’s office, at the bus stop. “Not letting you take the bus, though.” He pulled to a stop as she looked around in surprised confusion. It made her look younger, softer than she usually did. Then a barely there smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and he imagined a little girl with his eyes and that smile. He coughed a little, ended the call and leaned over to open her door for her. 

He’d never thought of what features she might give to his child. He knew, of course he knew, that the kid wouldn’t look like Grace. It hadn’t been a conscious thing, though- the knowing. But now, in that split second, he realized. His kid would have features that looked like Lizzie. It left an odd feeling in his gut. Like he’d cheated on Grace somehow by having a baby with this woman’s genes. But also a bit of something else, something he couldn’t put a name to. 

The door closed and Lizzie pulled on her seatbelt. It was the distraction he needed to make the thoughts in his head go quiet. He pulled out into traffic and headed towards Lizzie’s apartment. He knew where it was- had driven by once. Before they’d met at the clinic- before things were what they were now. Knew what the inside looked like, though he’d never set foot inside. Places like that all looked the same. Windows painted shut; too hot in summer, too cold in winter. Broken sinks, faulty wiring, and rent too high. It was why he’d fought so hard to get out- clawed his way to the top with bloody hands and blackened soul.

“Thanks for this. I just… Thanks.” 

He didn’t look at her. Somehow knew she wouldn’t like it. He was learning her, Lizzie. He had picked up on the way she’d cut herself off when she was nervous. Noticed how she kept her head up when the staff gave her sideways looks. Watched her meet Grace’s eyes with some strange mix of deference and defiance. He didn’t like that look. Didn’t like that he usually agreed with Lizzie more than Grace when that look came out. 

The rest of the drive was quiet. Grace didn’t call or text. Lizzie kept her face turned out her window. And Tommy let himself think about work- deals and strategy. Anything to keep his mind off of the mess that his personal life seemed to be becoming. So it was only Lizzie’s quiet voice reminding him to turn that kept him from driving on past her apartment. He parked the car and watched as Lizzie stared out at the dirty brick building. “I’ll walk you up.”

“No. My landlord’s watching. Don’t want him to see you.” Tommy turned and caught sight of the rough looking man standing by a side door. He didn’t like the look of him. Didn’t like the way he stared at Lizzie as she got out of the car. She took a step away from the car before turning back. “Thanks again,” she said. He nodded slowly, eyes going back to the landlord. 

Lizzie walked into her building ignoring something the man said. Then the landlord was walking over to Tommy’s car. He rolled his window down as the man stopped beside the car. “Always knew she’d give it up for the right price.” Tommy kept his face blank. “Trust me, she’s easy on the eyes, cunt tastes like sugar-” Tommy’s eyes narrowed as a burst of anger flared in his chest. “-but she’s got razor blades hidden behind that sweet exterior.”

Reaching over to his phone Tommy dialed a number, putting it on speaker. “I want two men to Lizzie Stark’s address. No one goes near her. If anybody tries… You know how to deal with it.” He disconnected the call and turned back to the landlord. The man was glaring at Tommy, but there was a hint of fear behind his eyes. “Ms. Stark is not your concern. If you forget that, I will make you my concern.”

“And who the fuck are you, anyway?”

 Tommy didn’t answer. There was no point. The man would know his name soon enough. Then he’d wish he didn’t. He pulled out of the drive. He saw the landlord standing in the same place, face red with anger and eyes wide with fear. He caught a glimpse of Lizzie through her curtains. For a moment he wondered if he should stay a while longer- until his men came. For a moment he wondered what she was thinking. Then he reminded himself that whatever was between Lizzie and her landlord had nothing to do with him. 

It didn’t quite set right, but he kept driving.

~*~

The lights weren’t on at the guest house when he got home from work the next day. 

Pulling up in front of his house, Tommy watched as Grace stepped out to greet him. She always did. Even on nights like this, when her phone was pressed to her ear as she kissed his cheek. It didn’t matter what was happening- Grace was always there. It made him feel soft, almost weak, the way he lived for that bit of normalcy. But tonight it felt different- like something was missing. Nothing was, nothing had changed between him and Grace in the time between yesterday and that moment. But something was still off. 

Stepping into the house, Tommy shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He still wasn’t used to the clothes- even after having worn them for years. Sometimes it felt like he should still be in jeans and work boots, the sound of a forklift ringing in his ears. Sometimes he could smell the horse shit at his Uncle Charlie’s place. But those memories brought with them visions of his mother’s sad eyes and bruised skin, his father’s fist and loud voice. 

He wrapped his arm around Grace, moved them into his study, and held her to him. She didn’t fight him, didn’t question it. She knew where his head was at when he got like this. She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He leaned them against his desk and still she kept talking to whoever was on the phone. But Tommy didn’t care- business was business. As long as he could still hold on to her, he didn’t care who she talked to. 

“Yes, that’s fine. Mhm, sounds good. Thank you. Goodnight.” She ended the call and turned to face Tommy. “Now. What happened?” He shook his head, fighting back a smile at the way she arched a brow at him. Her lips parted, no doubt to try and coax words out of him. But he kissed her before she could say anything. This was what he’d needed- this closeness that they had. It helped quiet the noise in his head. Only Grace had ever been able to do that. 

He pulled back, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. She was so much better than him, but he’d gotten her- stolen her from the proper men she was truly meant for. Whisked her away from the safety of her family and their money. Pulled her into his world and gotten her hands a bit dirty. But her soul- it was still pure and bright. He hadn’t tainted her yet. Sometimes he wanted to- just to make sure she was as bound to him as he was to her. It was that ‘devilment’ Pol said came from his father. He might use that in business- scheme and cheat and twist things to his will. But not with Grace. Tommy wouldn’t let any part of his father touch her- it was too dangerous. 

“Come back. I miss you.”

He smiled. Turned and sat in his chair, pulling Grace onto his lap. She settled in, fingers sliding through his hair. He drew circles on her thigh with his thumb. This was what he needed, what he looked forward to most after coming home. Only tonight there was still something inside him that wouldn’t settle. Some bit of his mind that still whispered to him. His eyes went to the window. The guest house was just barely visible. Still dark. The whisper came a bit louder, a bit clearer. Then a light came on and he caught a glimpse of Lizzie as she passed a window. His mind went quiet. He held Grace a bit tighter.

He kept his eyes on that one bright window.

~*~

Day 64

The door seemed to be mocking her. Grace had been standing outside of the guest house for almost a full three minutes, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to knock. It felt wrong somehow- knocking when she owned the door and the house and the land it sat on. It seemed wrong when the woman inside was carrying the baby that Grace would be raising, loving, cherishing.  She knew it was illogical- truly ridiculous, even. But she couldn’t help how she felt. She’d tried.

But as she stared at the door, she knew she couldn’t put this off any longer. Things were getting worse and the pregnancy had only just barely started. And if she were honest, which she did try to be, Lizzie Stark hadn’t done anything wrong. Not on the first day or any of the days since. And Grace…Well she was mature enough to admit that she’d been cold and rude when the poor girl didn’t deserve it. But even with that mature knowledge and the desperate desire to fix what she had broken, Grace still couldn’t make herself knock. 

Tommy was beyond annoyed with her over how she treated Ms. Stark. And things had only gotten more difficult between them after Grace had left her at the doctor a month ago. It hadn’t been out of spite- Grace truly had forgotten she’d brought the girl to the appointment. But Tommy… She couldn’t quite blame him for not trusting her word where Ms. Stark was involved. But his coolness towards Grace only made it that much harder to accept the woman- made it that much harder to push down her own insecurities and fears. And really, did he have to defend her at every single turn? You’d think he was married to her and not me.

It was a petty thought, but one she’d found circling her mind far too often, recently. 

Suddenly the door swung open and Grace jerked back in surprise. The woman that brought out so many feelings in Grace stood with a blank expression on her face. Her green eyes gave none of her thoughts away, and it had a strange tension flowing into Grace’s body. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shelby. Did you need something?” 

Her tone was polite, but still Grace felt a twinge of annoyance at Ms. Stark’s words. “I was hoping to catch you. I thought we should talk.” The dark-haired woman hesitated for the smallest moment, but it released some of the tension Grace had been feeling. Lizzie stepped aside. Grace stepped in. It was the same as it had always been once she entered the house. The décor was exactly how she had chosen it- though there were a few things that must have belonged to Ms. Stark. But overall, it left Grace with a feeling a security, knowing that even here she still held the power. 

“I was going to make tea.”

Grace turned slightly to meet Lizzie’s eyes again. It wasn’t an offer- Lizzie didn’t want Grace to have tea with her. But still Grace let a small, cool smile play on her lips. “Yes, that would be lovely.”  She didn’t miss the way Lizzie’s fingers tightened as she turned toward the kitchen. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Grace reminded herself of why she was doing this- why it all mattered. My baby. The little child that Thomas and I will raise together. It was the only thing that mattered.

Settling into the loveseat, Grace watched as Lizzie moved in the kitchen. She seemed comfortable, like she’d always been there. She’ll be gone soon. The thought brought little comfort. For all that Grace wished Lizzie Stark were a million miles away from here, she still wasn’t happy about the woman moving back to her own apartment for the last bit of the pregnancy. But she pushed those thoughts aside as Lizzie carried in two cups of tea.

Grace expected Lizzie to take the seat across from her- face her opponent head on. But instead, Lizzie chose the arm chair to Grace’s right. They both sipped their tea. Lizzie stared at the table, Grace stared at Lizzie. They both waited. She wanted Lizzie to speak first. She wanted to hold on to the position of power. But her tea was half gone and neither of them had said anything. Besides, she hadn’t come to make things harder. She had come to try and smooth things over. So Grace took a quick breath and set down her cup. 

“Thank you.” Grace paused. The words she had been ready to say dying on her tongue at Lizzie’s words. “I know that the clinic did most of the work matching us up, but… Well, you could have picked someone else. They didn’t have another couple lined up for me, so I would have been in trouble. But you picked me. And even though I didn’t agree at first, I’m glad you’re letting me stay here. So… Thank you.”

Grace watched the woman beside her. Lizzie’s eyes were clear. She hadn’t seemed manipulative or dishonest. As far as Grace could tell the woman meant what she had just said. And hearing it eased some of the fear that Grace had been carrying around. Fear that Lizzie was just waiting to sabotage Grace’s plans. And for the first time she looked at Lizzie- really looked at her. She wasn’t a threat- she was just a girl doing a job. 

A job you couldn’t do. The one job you should be able to do.

She shoved those thoughts away- like she always did. There was nothing she could do about her body. She’d tried. And it wasn’t Lizzie Stark’s fault. “You’re welcome.” The words didn’t come easily, but they were sincere for once. “This whole thing is nothing like I’d planned. And I reacted poorly. But I’d like for things to be better between us going forward.” Lizzie didn’t try to hide her skepticism and Grace didn’t blame her. Lizzie had no reason to trust her. But the tentative nod Lizzie gave loosened some of the tightness that had built underneath Grace’s ribs. “Good. I’m glad we could-“

A knock came at the door startled both women. Lizzie recovered faster though. Her eyes slid to Grace for a moment before she stood and went to the door. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see her husband on the other side. Grace knew he met with Lizzie for dinner some nights. She knew he had been trying to make her feel comfortable, since Grace had…not. But still, hurt flared in her chest at the easy way Thomas entered the house- greeting Lizzie with a casual ‘Evening, Liz’. He’d never called Lizzie anything but ‘Ms. Stark’ when he and Grace spoke of her. She hadn’t thought the two were close enough for nicknames.

Thomas stopped when he saw Grace sitting in the living room. His face went blank for a moment and she watched s his eyes darted towards Lizzie. The hurt dug deeper. “Hello Grace. Didn’t think you’d be here.” She gave a slow nod, tried to keep her expression pleasantly neutral. Thomas started towards the kitchen again. “Didn’t bring you a plate, but you can have mine if you want.” 

Grace looked to Lizzie, who was still standing by the, now closed, front door. “No, darling, I think I’ll have dinner at home. Ms. Stark and I were finished chatting, anyway.” It wasn’t true. Everyone knew it wasn’t true. But her husband didn’t contradict her and Grace knew Lizzie wouldn’t. She watched as Thomas pulled out silverware and set it at the table. She wondered exactly how often he had dinner here. She wondered if he ate when he was here… with Liz. He rarely ate dinner when he was at home. She wondered what else he did here that he didn’t at home.

And just like that, the feeling of hope- the feeling of possibility she had felt moments ago, evaporated. Standing, Grace walked over to her husband. His eyes came to rest on her, but she let hers go to Lizzie. She pressed her lips to Thomas’. Her left hand slid up from his waist to his chest. Her right hand came to rest on his cheek. And her eyes stayed on Ms. Stark. 

Lizzie looked away.

Grace pulled back. She strode away from her husband without a second glance. She moved past Lizzie as if she were a piece of furniture.  Then she was out the door, walking across the perfectly manicured lawn towards her house. Her steps were even. Her shoulders relaxed. But her heart pounded in her chest. Tears stung her eyes. And all she could hear was his voice, her husband’s voice, calling that woman ‘Liz’.

[qualquercoisa945]

My Heart’s At The Wheel Now (Part 1)- Today’s A Day Like Any Other

AO3 Link

Title Inspiration: Everything Changes from Waitress

hi so part 2 isn’t written but i have like no impulse control so here we are!!!

trigger warnings: mentions of needles

This had been a terrible idea.

Granted, Catherine was aware of that the moment she’d heard it. Tattoos never seemed like a good idea to her, but everyone else had been quite excited when Kath suggested the idea of matching tattoos to the band, and she’d rather not bring the group down. Besides, she had taken a liking to the idea herself.

Now though, standing there watching as Aragon got hers, she felt a shiver crawl up her spine as anxiety began to settle in her stomach. Her band mate tried to be subtle about it, but Catherine could see the occasional blinks and slight frowns- it hurt.

Not that she didn’t already know that. But the confirmation only added to her nervousness and, dare she say it, fear, for her turn.

Normally, she wasn’t the kind to be scared of new technology, none of them were. Getting the chance to be reborn as children and to grow up in the XX or XXI century was probably the cause of this. Still, she couldn’t help the way her body tensed as she watched from the doorway.

So yes, Catherine Parr wasn’t the biggest fan of tattoos. More specifically, needles. She’d figured that out as a child, due to mandatory vaccination, something she was extremely impressed and grateful for as someone who had to live through a time where there wasn’t even a cure for these diseases. Still, said feelings didn’t ease her nervousness back then, and she couldn’t use them now.

A little after Boleyn’s turn to get hers started, Catherine quietly excused herself from the room, going to stand outside the shop by the doorway. She wasn’t sure just how long she stood there, but she was jostled out of her thoughts by a hand setting on her shoulder.

“Yo, you okay?” She turned around to find none other than Boleyn, looking oddly concerned. “You seemed uncomfortable.” Catherine read her expression, hesitating on whether or not to talk about it, especially with someone like Boleyn. But then again, she knew she needed to open up more to them.

“I don’t like needles.” She explained quietly, staring at the street ahead of herself. “I still want to do this, though. Just… I dunno.” She ended up mumbling, silently cursing herself and her difficulty with expressing herself as she shoved her hands in her pockets.

“Hey, it’s chill.” She looked up as Anne spoke, raising an eyebrow. “Tell you what, I’ll stick by you, and we can rant about whatever. It’ll help get your mind out of it.” Catherine paused as Anne offered, thinking over it.

“Hell, won’t hurt to try.” Anne laughed, lightly wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, let’s go. Your turn’s probably soon.”

-----///-----

Later that night, Catherine was jostled out of her daze by heavy footsteps- definitely Cleves’s- coming up the stairs. She blinked as she glanced at the clock she left on her table- 1:24 AM, and yet she’d only heard… four of the queens go to bed?

Catherine was used to staying up until long after the others, but very rarely did she have any company past 1 AM. So when she made the connection, she set her pen down, turning to stand up. She headed downstairs, towards their living room. The large glass door there was still wide open, and Catherine made her way out through it towards the garden.

Near immediately, she spotted Anne, silently sitting on the grass with her knees curled up to her chest, arms folded and resting on top of them with her chin supported by her arms. And for a moment, she didn't know how to react. That was, before Anne spoke up.

“Are you just gonna stand there like a creep?” There was no bite to it, more so a quiet amusement, and Catherine gave her a small smile as she walked over, sitting cross legged beside her.

“Usually I don’t have company this late.” she didn’t elaborate further, and thankfully Anne didn’t ask her to. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, before Anne laid on her back, patting the spot behind her to invite Catherine to join her, before folding her arms over her stomach.

“I miss how many stars there used to be.” Catherine didn’t need to ask her what she meant- the drastic contrast was clear to see in her mind. “Whenever things got too much, I’d wait until it was dark and then head out on my own to just look at them.” She sighed, and Catherine raised an eyebrow at that.

“Lizzie loved them too.” Ah. “Whenever me and Henry argued, which was… a lot, she’d get worked up and I’d take her with me and talk to her about the different constellations.” She paused, smiling sadly, and Catherine would’ve frowned at how drastically her behavior had changed if it weren’t for the subject at hand.

“She was the brightest little girl, you know? Could speak before she turned two, in both French and English.” Catherine could very easily notice the pride in her voice, the same way she could when Anne successfully proved someone wrong, but it was softer this time, it didn’t have the same edge it usually did. She blinked as her train of thought was interrupted by Anne speaking up again. “Ah, but you already knew that. You were really involved in her education, right?”

Catherine nodded, giving her a small nod. “I didn’t take on many students back then- I’m lucky I took on any at all back then. But I must admit, Lizzie was easily the brightest student I ever met, taught by me or not.” She chuckled lightly. “She still loved the stars, even as a teenager. Whenever I’d wake up in the middle of the night and couldn’t find her, I’d go outside and there she’d be, staring at the sky. We’d sit together and she’d talk about them for ages.” She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again and looking at Anne. “Said she used to do it with you. That she didn’t have a lot of memories with you, but of the ones she did have, that was her favorite.”

Anne looked away, then looked back at her with a small smile, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes for a moment before Anne noticed them and hurriedly wiped them away. “You’re a special one, Catherine Parr.” She began softly. “Lizzie got close to you, right? She didn’t do that with anyone but me and some of my ladies in waiting. Not even her own father managed to break that, but you did.”

Catherine smiled softly at that, but it quickly faded as her mind wandered to what he did to her. It happened much too often when she thought of Lizzie, of how they could still had a good relationship had it not been for Catherine’s unwillingness to believe someone she loved would do such a thing. And it cost her heavily. It cost her all she had built up with Lizzie, who she thought of like a daughter.

She was jostled out of her train of thought by Anne speaking up. “Penny for your thoughts, Lady Parr?” They both gave a light chuckle, although it was quite mirthless in Catherine’s case. She sighed, turning her head to look away from Anne.

“I’m sorry.” She finally spoke, continuing before Anne could reply. “For what happened to her.” The two stayed quiet after that, and then Anne spoke.

“Most of us regret stuff we did, or didn’t, do in our past lives. I regret being the reason Aragon and her Mary got cast out of court, and likewise, Jane regrets being reason me and Lizzie got cast out, or in my case, killed.” Anne sucked in a sharp breath, then continued.

“I was angry about it when I found out, I’ll admit it. But I’ve had enough time to sort my feelings out and accept that a grudge over 500 years long, on something you didn’t even do? That’s not a grudge worth keeping.” She sighed, and Catherine felt a tap on her shoulder, a silent request for her to face Anne. She did, and Anne gave her a small smile. “And from what I’ve read, Lizzie didn’t resent you either. So, Lady Catherine Parr, I think it’s high time you quit blaming yourself over that.”

Catherine scanned her face for any signs of resentment, of hidden meanings she needed to look for, but she found nothing, and slowly, she gave Anne a sheepish smile. “You’re being oddly soft night.” Anne chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re being oddly open. We’re both in rare states.” Catherine laughed softly, then stopped when she heard footsteps from the inside.

“Guys, Cassandra wants to talk to all six of us.” She looked up when she heard Kath’s voice, but only soon enough to watch her walk back inside. She frowned once she’d processed her words- Cassandra rarely called them without having nothing going on, and especially not this late. Anne seemed to have the same thought, because she sat up, looking much more serious than usual. “Something’s definitely up.” Cath nodded, sitting up and moving to stand, but before she could, Anne set a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at her, finding her with her hand held up, showing the tattoo she’d gotten today- a green crown, with five sparkles around her, each one the color of one of the other queens.

Assuming she wanted a high five, Catherine held up her own hand, showing her tattoo (essentially the same, but the crown being blue and one of the sparkles being green), but before they could high five, Anne lightly tapped their wrists together, letting their tattoos touch. Anne grinned, then hopped up and offered her hand.

The pair headed inside and to the kitchen, where the others were all sitting. Kath was at the head of the table, in front of her phone. Anne stayed by the entrance, but Catherine went over to Kath, who she could see was in a video call with Cassandra.

“You said you had some people you wanted us to meet?” Kath spoke, and Cassandra nodded, opening her mouth to answer before looking up when someone off camera talked to her. She nodded, then looked back at Kath and Catherine.

“One of them wants to talk to you, so I’m just gonna pass the phone over to them.” Her hand moved to cover the camera as she passed the phone over, and Catherine and Kath exchanged a curious look. When they looked back at the screen, however, they both froze.

Catherine recognized the girl on the screen, or at least she thought she did. Fiery red hair, gentle brown eyes, freckles spread across her face, and a terribly familiar smirk all tugged right at her heartstrings. Her suspicions (and judging by the girl’s expression, Kath’s as well) were only further cemented when the girl spoke, her smirk turning into an awkward smile. “Hey. Yeah, it’s me.” The pair exchanged a look again, and then spoke the only thing in their minds.

“Lizzie?!”

[crazy-little-cool-cat]

Gold Digger - Chapter 4 | Gwilym Lee x OFC

A/N:  Well, worlds collided. And merged into one, big, chaotic universe.

Warnings: Unexpected plot twist ahead. Swearing. That's pretty much it.

Word Count: ~2K

The Playlist (Updates Regularly)

Chapter List:  Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

"Mornin'." Joe murmured when he entered the kitchen to find Lizzie.

"Morning." Lizzie echoed and covered her mouth as she yawned. "Sleep well?" 

"As well as a hangover will allow." He chuckled, his voice an octave deeper than it usually is after a night of partying and drinking. "Is that breakfast?" 

"Mhm." Lizzie nodded and shoveled a forkful of omelet into her mouth. "Help yourself." 

"My God, it's like a hotel buffet up in here!" he remarked as he loaded a plate with pastry, eggs, hashbrowns, and vegetables. "Is this what you have for breakfast every day?" 

"Only on weekends," Lizzie said after swallowing. "Shelly, my roommate, works at a club and comes home at the crack of dawn, so she stops by the bakery to get the first batch of the day." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. Shells tends bar. Sometimes she's sort of a go-go dancer." Lizzie shrugged. "She basically makes people get drunk and spend money, either way." 

"Huh." Joe tore a piece of a croissant with his fingers and tossed it in his mouth. He noted to himself that he could see Shelly's bedroom door over Lizzie's shoulder. 

"So, last night was..." Lizzie started. 

"Fun." Joe finished her sentence. 

"Oh, definitely." Lizzie blushed slightly. "The thing is -" 

"Calm down, kiddo." Joe smiled, "it was a one-time thing. I know the drill." 

"Oh, that's not what I was going to..." Lizzie fumbled to find the right words. "It's just that I didn't expect to..." She wanted to slap herself into using language properly again. "You're Gwil's best mate, you know?" She noticed Joe nodded blankly as she spoke, not making eye contact. Following his gaze, she noticed he was staring intently at Shelly's door as if willing it to open with his mind. "You've met Shelly, then." _________________________________________________ 'About last night...' 

Lizzie held her breath as she waited for Gwilym to reply to her text and say something. Anything. She woke up with a horrible sense of guilt for hooking up with his best mate. Yes, she was drunk. Yes, she was gutted that Gwilym didn't seem to give her the time of day... but she still wanted him. He was just... better. For her, that is. He was taller, wealthy, British. Classy. A gentleman. Smooth. Charming. Other than that, Joe was wrapped around Shelly's finger, and all it took was for them to meet once. She wished Gwilym was like that with her. She had no idea he secretly was. 

'Don't worry about it. Did you have a good time?'

'You mean at the party?'

'Yeah.' Lizzie mulled over her answer. Yes, she had a blast. Did she go home with the man she hoped she would? No. Did she regret hooking up with Joe? Not at all. Did she wish he was Gwilym? Definitely.  

'Yeah, it was good stuff!' she finally replied and mentally kicked herself once the message was sent. 'Sorry for being a drunk mess.'

'You were adorable.'

'Yeah?' Lizzie felt her heart stop. 'Thought you found me a bit of a bother. You hardly spoke to me.'

'You were busy. I didn't want to intrude.' 

'You could never!' she wanted to reply. 'I wish you had!' was a close second option. 

'Joe's a blast!' was all she could manage to type out. _______________________________________________ "Do you happen to have that redhead's number?" Shelly asked as Lizzie brushed her teeth. 

"Huh?" Lizzie asked with a foamy mouth, holding her toothbrush pointing up as if it were a magic wand.

"The one you hooked up with. Joe?" Shelly leaned against the door frame. "Or were you that far gone that you don't remember hooking up with someone?"  

"Ugh." Lizzie rolled her eyes and rinsed her mouth. "Yes, I have his number. Why do you want it?" 

"I'm doing a telephone survey about your levels of oblivion." Shelly snarked. 

"You are just so bloody cunty sometimes!" Lizzie laughed. "You fancy Joe, eh?" "Just give me his number." 

"No."

"No?!" Shelly guffawed and took a step back.

"Nah." Lizzie shrugged.

"Elizabeth, you will give me his number." Shelly squared her shoulders. 

"If you fuck anything up with that man and fuck my chances up with Gwilym -" 

"Oh, unclench. It'll be impossible to ruin your chances with Prince Charming."   _________________________________________________ Lizzie and Gwilym sat on the sofa in Lizzie's flat, sharing a bowl of popcorn, watching Netflix on a rainy Sunday. They sat in what felt like comfortable silence for Lizzie but was clearly awkward for Gwilym. "I'm recently broken up." Gwilym blurted out. 

"What?" Lizzie's handful of popcorn froze halfway to her mouth as she turned to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

"I'm... I'm recently broken up." Gwilym repeated. 

"I'm aware." 

"Oh. Didn't think you knew that much about me..." Gwilym looked down at his hands and rubbed his thighs, sinking lower into the sofa. "So, yeah. There's that." 

"Okay." Lizzie shrugged. 

"You don't care?" Gwilym raised an eyebrow. "She's still very much around. My ex."

"I know." 

"Oh." Gwilym blinked, perplexed. "So..." 

"Do you need to talk about it, Gwil?" Lizzie asked and paused the episode of Stranger Things the two had been watching. 

"No, no." Gwil shook his head slightly. "I'm just... I felt like I should tell you. If I'm acting weird or distant or something, it's not you. It's Clara." 

"What happened to you two?" 

"Disagreements. Fights. Routine." Gwilym seemed to be brainstorming for reasons. "I think... I just didn't see her in my future. I wanted to end it for a while, but she ended up making that move for me and left me. Said the connection died, and she wasn't feeling it anymore." Gwilym took some popcorn in his big hands. "It's fine, though, because I felt the same way. I was just shocked that she actually made that move, you know?"

"Huh."

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just feels a bit knobby to leave someone like you." Lizzie put her hand on top of Gwilym's and gave it a squeeze. "How long ago did it happen?" 

"Thought you've heard the story," Gwilym smirked cheekily. 

"There's a difference between what really happens and what the press says, don't you think?" Lizzie retorted. 

"Touche." Gwilym chuckled. "Two months before I met you."  

Lizzie quickly did the math. She's known Gwilym for just about three months. 

"Wow. That is quite recent." _________________________________________________ Annie felt exhausted. Dealing with a colicky Alfie, a whirlwind of a Rory and Ben being away on some fashion appearance yet again had her running on very few hours of sleep. Gwilym, however, came to the rescue and used the opportunity to run his thoughts by one of his favourite people. 

"So, the problem is...?" Annie pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. 

Her hair stuck out of her messy bun in different directions. Ben's cutoff t-shirt was skewed on her shoulders. Her sweatpants had unrecognizable stains adorning them.

"Either she's hitting on me because she knows who I am and everything that comes with it," Gwilym bounced Alfie on his hip, "or she genuinely likes me." 

"Do you think she's after fame and money?" Annie looked at Gwilym as if he grew two heads. "Really?" 

"Look, Banana," Gwilym hoisted Alfie up higher, "when we first met, I had to chase her like a dog chasing a fox. She was unreachable. Aloof. She could give two shits about me."

"Right."

"Now she's texting me all day, every day. She's giving me these looks..." 

"How dare she!" Annie cried mockingly. 

"Look, I mean it. Something's off."

"Could it be that she genuinely likes you, you fucking insect?" Annie groaned. "It's not that deep! She likes you!" 

"How would you know? You've met her once, and she hooked up with Joe." 

"Because you kept pushing her away, you twat!" Annie scoffed. "What?" 

"I did not -"

"This is my friend Lizzie!" Annie lowered her voice to sound more manly and glared at Gwilym. "Over and over and over and over and -"

"I get it." Gwilym groaned.

"You played yourself there," Annie noted. "Pushed her right into Joe's arms. You have a thing or two to learn from Ben about neutralizing that Mazzello charm."  

"Shut it." Gwilym huffed. 

"Never." Annie smiled sweetly. "And either way, it's obvious you two are into each other. The ball's in your court, Gwilly." 

"It's too soon, Clara and I -" 

"Had a great run, but it's over, and it's time to move on."  

"Christ, Annie, have some emotion, will you?" Gwilym laughed. "It's hardly been half a year!" 

"There's something you should know -"

"I don't want to know." Gwilym interrupted her. "Whatever it is you're going to say, I don't want to know. Her life is no longer any of my business." 

"Gwil, we can't keep you two separated forever. Things are too weird." 

"And this, right here," Gwilym pointed at Annie, "is why I'm not doing shit with Lizzie. It's too weird. What if they meet up and -"

"Oh, are we playing the What If game now?" Annie feigned enthusiasm. "What if I ended up with Joe and not Ben?" 

"What?!" 

"What if Alfie was a girl?" 

"Annie..." 

"What if you and Ben were gay lovers?" 

"Your point's made, Annabelle." 

"So, what are you going to do?" She asked and took Alfie from him as he fussed around. "Hm?" 

"Nothing." _________________________________________________ "Do you think he knows?" Shelly asked Lizzie over brunch on a cold Sunday morning.

"Who?" Lizzie frowned in confusion, "Knows what?" 

"Gwilym." Shelly rolled her eyes. "About his ex." 

"What's there to know?" Lizzie looked puzzled. 

"You live under a bloody rock, eh?" Shelly chuckled. "She's getting real close with the Jamie bloke." 

"That's just tabloids being tabloids." Lizzie waved Shelly's comment off. "And even if it is true, I doubt Gwil gives a shit. They're over." 

"Enter Lizzie, stage right!" Shelly raised her eyebrows playfully and smirked. "To the rescue!" 

"Oh, come off it, Shells." 

"You clearly fancy him." Shelly laughed. "Make your bloody move!" 

"No!" Lizzie countered. "If I make my move now I'll look like some clout chasing, gold-digging -" 

"Who cares?!" Shelly groaned. "Dig that gold! Chase that clout! Maybe you'll be able to quit your teaching job and become a human again!" _________________________________________________

'Greensleeves Castmates Caught Up Close And Personal!'

Gwilym stared at his laptop and blinked, his mind utterly empty of any thought. He would never have imagined that this would ever happen. He was utterly shocked, and yet not at all surprised. 

On the screen, in bright, vivid colours, were Clara and Jamie, snogging on a white, sandy beach in the Caribbeans. He took a long swig from his beer and pursed his lips, scrolling down to read the article. On the one hand, he resented Annie for sending him the link. On the other hand, he was thankful. It was finally time for him to move on; Clara sure did. 

He sighed as he read what he already knew. Jamie's engagement broke off abruptly just weeks before the wedding. A couple of weeks earlier, he and Clara had broken up. He didn't really think she could do this, but at this point - who knew. 

'Did you read it?'

'Yes, Annabelle.' Gwilym replied.

'Are you livid?' her response came within seconds. 

'Not really, no.'

When no reply came swooshing in, he tossed the phone on the sofa next to him. He looked at the picture of a bikini-clad Clara and board-shorts clad Jamie kissing again. She looked happy, as far as he could tell. He was positive Jamie was over the moon. He always suspected there was a weird love triangle situation going on in that close-knit friendship, but now he knew for sure. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he closed his laptop screen and looked at his phone. His fingers were tingling. He had to text Lizzie.

____________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @ramibaby @filmslutt @lose-you-to-find-me @sonic-volcano  @nosferatyou @rogertaylorin1976

[welllpthisishappening]

For a Good Cause (1/2)

Emma wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t worried. She was maybe, kind of, sort of ridiculously excited. And just a hint anxious. Because she’d spent years watching Killian play on Garden ice and was almost getting used to Matt playing on Garden ice, but the thought of them playing together on Garden ice was enough to leave her heart beating just a hint faster than usual. 

Add into the mix absurd trash talk and ridiculous bets and handmade signs and Emma wasn’t sure she was going to get through the day without setting some kind of record for sighing dramatically. 

At least it was for a good cause. 

Rating: T. They banter. They kiss. They scandalize their kids by flirting.  AN: HAPPY HOCKEY SEASON EVERYONE, LET’S HOPE THE RANGERS AREN’T HORRENDOUS THIS YEAR! It’s time for me to get overly invested in the success of this ridiculous team and that, by extension, means it’s time to start posting an absurd number of words about the fictional version of the New York Rangers and this world that, seemingly, will not end. So, over the summer Zucc and Henrik hosted a charity hockey game and drafted their friends and it was as ridiculous as that sounds and both @optomisticgirl and @alicerubyfloyd were like “What if they did this in Blue Line?” And several thousand words later, here’s this. Time-wise, it’s July 2041, which makes Roland 31, Lizzie 24, Matt 22, Peggy 19 and Chris 13. Killian’s POV on Sunday. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

“Sit.” “I can’t. Everyone is late.” “Wandering around this arena is not going to help.” “I don’t care.” “Swan.” “Killian.” Emma spun on the spot, pulled out of her pace mid-pace by several fingers around her wrist and the overwhelmingly effective smirk on Killian’s face and it wasn’t, technically, in the arena. He didn’t mention that. He probably knew it’d stress her out.

And that wasn’t even really the right word for it.

She wasn’t stressed out. She’d barely planned anything, was so used to doing events like these now she could probably come up with the schedule in her sleep and Merida had done most of it anyway. Emma had just agreed to do some Garden of Dreams promo and make sure the banners got to Chase Square on time and call someone in facilities about getting actual podiums set up.

That had been the most difficult part.

Stressed wasn’t the right word.

And it wasn’t worried either. She’d watched Killian play hockey for the better part of the last three decades and watched Roland play and Matt play and every single person that was, eventually, going to show up and stand by those absolutely absurd podiums was incredibly good at what they did.

They got paid millions for it.

Emma wasn’t really sure what emotion she was – unless it was generically annoyed because everyone was seriously late and Merida looked like she wanted to throw her phone at the will-call window behind her – but it might have just been some strange mix of nervous and excited and, well, mostly, nervous because she’d watched them all play hockey, but she’d never watched them play hockey together.

And she wasn’t sure she could handle her husband and her kid playing on the same ice at the same time.

“Swan, I can’t actually tug you down, it’s going to hurt my arm,” Killian muttered, and they both knew it was a great, big, enormous lie because he was probably in as good a shape as he’d been when he was playing. Maybe better. Well, no, maybe not that, but he still ran through Riverside three times a week and Emma was having more and more trouble thinking when she kept noticing new flecks of silver in his hair and--

“You’re trying to distract me,” she accused.

He nodded. “Yes, I am. Is it working?” “Not really, everyone is late.” “Or we’re just impossibly early.” “Is that really the word you were looking for?” Emma asked, hating whatever her voice was doing because his thumb had started tapping against the back of her wrist and she was ninety-two percent positive he didn’t mean to do it.

She didn’t think he even realized.

“I’m not really worried about the specifics of my sentence structure,” Killian said. “This is going to be fine.” “Of course it is.” He blinked. And his lips twisted, eyebrows pulled low when his eyes flashed up towards hers and Emma tried to make sure her smile looked as confident as she felt. That was one of the emotions she was feeling, she was certain.

She was confident. It was a great idea and it was going to be great and Garden of Dreams was going to make a shit ton of money for an anniversary thing that definitely deserved a charity hockey game with Rangers legends and some of the biggest names in the league today.

That’s what the e-mail blast had said.

Emma wrote it herself.

The whole thing had been her idea. She was pretty positive that was the only reason she wasn't freaking out. And she was having a lot of thoughts about Killian in uniform again. That were probably not appropriate for a game that also included her kid and her friends and Roland Locksley.

“Wait, what?” Killian asked, and Emma’s smile widened.

“Yeah, didn’t expect that at all, did you?” “I have no idea what the hell is going on now, love. Can you honestly sit down though, you’re going to do damage to the ground.” “The stone ground?” “Yes. Sit, Swan.” She rolled her eyes, but let him pull her towards him and she probably should have expected it – there was, after all, several decades worth of experience to all of this, but Emma wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever made out in Chase Square and she gasped when Killian tugged her onto his legs. “That can’t be safe, pre-game,” she mumbled, appreciating whatever sound he made when she tried to get more comfortable.

“You’re going to make me think you don’t think I’m game ready.” “You were the one going on about the state of your arm,” Emma challenged. She twisted again, slinging an arm around his shoulders so her fingers could find the back of his hair and they really were there impossibly early.

“Ah, but we agreed that was a distraction. And this conversation makes no sense.” “Slow on the uptake, Cap.” He arched an eyebrow, letting his head fall forward so his lips landed on the curve of her shoulder and Emma’s emotions settled into something that felt a hell of a lot like flirting. Merida was going to throw her phone at them.

“I’m still waiting on that explanation, love,” Killian muttered. “The game’s going to be fun. We raise some money, we score some goals, we impress loved ones.” “Loved ones?” “I am consistently and only ever trying to impress you. Who I love. Quite a bit in fact.” “Is this still part of the distraction?”

He made a contradictory noise, mouth still pressed against her skin and there hadn’t been much argument about naming him captain of one of the teams. Emma wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever really stopped being captain of the New York Rangers. Or would. Any tense, really.

There’d been some discussion about the other team and it took, exactly, ten minutes for Robin to sigh dramatically and agree to Merida’s request – possibly because Regina had turned towards him and her eyebrows didn’t move at all when she glared. It was incredibly intimidating.

“It’ll be good for TV,” Merida promised. “Plus don’t you want to brag to Cap when you come up with a different team?” “Wait, what?” Robin balked.

“I mean...you’re going to have to stage a draft.” A draft. For a charity game. On Garden ice. In the offseason. With all proceeds going to a very good cause and an absurd amount of signed merch that was piled in Emma’s office and had recently migrated a bit to Matt’s old room because there was so much and Chris had only argued a little bit about helping.

He was thirteen he argued about everything.

There’d been more talking after Merida’s announcement, more planning and way too much trash talk amongst a group of former and current athletes than Emma entirely expected, but they were all way too competitive and it was only a matter of time before someone made a bet about something.

Or several things.

There’d probably be multiple bets.

“Swan,” Killian said, drawing out her name and pulling her out of memories and she startled against his chest. It was enough to work another groan out of him. “Look who’s being incredibly distracting now.” “You’re going to scandalize Mer.” “She’s way too busy trying to figure out who hit what traffic and how much she’s got to placate this growing crowd.” He waved his free hand, the one not currently wrapped around her middle, through the air and it was a testament to Emma’s current mental state that she hadn’t noticed the crowd or the media or the, frankly, ridiculous number of twenty jerseys around them.

She was still sitting on Killian’s right thigh.

“You think we scandalized all of them by whatever it was you were doing to my shoulder?” she asked, and she expected his answering laugh.

“Oh, absolutely. That was part of the distraction technique too.” “This is a very involved plan.” “Yeah, well, you were going to do damage to the ground by pacing right through it,” Killian countered. “So it seems to keep getting more and more complex with each passing moment. Also I know you’re worried they’re all going to be weird about this.” “Weird?” “Weird. Strange. Overly competitive. Absolutely refuse to draft Scarlet until the very final pick.” Emma’s jaw cracked when it dropped, fingers still where they’d been tracing patterns on the back of Killian’s neck and she swore his hand tightened around her middle. “Have you been staging secret draft meetings without me, Cap?”

He shook his head, but that felt like a lie too and the smirk was honestly absurd. It shouldn’t get more powerful as the years went on.

Merida had started yelling in the phone. Emma wasn’t entirely sure it was all English.

“No, no, no, no,” Killian stammered, and Emma had to move her eyebrows when she glared. She was never as good as Regina.

“You want to try that again?” “They’re not meetings, really…” “No, they’re, like, battle plans,” Roland said, appearing in front of them with a smile on his face and head-to-toe Flyers gear. Killian groaned against Emma’s shoulder. “Why are you guys sitting on the ground? Don’t we have chairs at this shindig?” “Please don’t call it a shindig in front of Mer,” Emma implored. “She’s stressed enough as it is. And where did you come from?” “And what are you wearing?” Killian added.

Roland crossed his arms. “I play for this team, Hook. It’s not like I’m going to show up in blue merch for this. I don’t care what ice I’m skating on.” “You practice that?” “Several times in the cab cross-town.” “Gina know you took a cab?”

The orange appeared to get stronger or brighter or some other verb that wasn’t possible because it was a shirt and not a sentient being, the longer Roland stood there. His eyes widened and his lips pressed together, and Killian practically cackled into Emma’s arm.

“If you tell Gina that I took a cab from the apartment, she’s never going to let me back into the apartment,” Roland hissed.

“Why didn’t you come with them?” “They were having breakfast when Henry and his kids. Because Henry is staying in a hotel and--” “--Didn’t get guilt tripped by Gina to sleep on the couch when he was home for the weekend,” Emma added, and she wasn’t sure if that was another laugh out of Killian or if he’d just never really stopped, but Roland’s face was almost too red now. “Go stand next to Mer, Rol,” she continued. “I’d like to compare shades of red.”

He stuck his tongue out at her.

“You’re a picture of maturity,” Killian chuckled. “Thirty-year-old man guilt tripped by his mother and then embarrassed by it.” “Ok, I’m not embarrassed by it,” Roland argued. “I just didn’t know it was going to be some kind of point of contention or fodder for trash talk or--” “--Are we trash talking you?” Emma asked, the sound of footsteps moving towards them and it sounded like Merida had finally taken a deep breath. She probably should have helped some more. She was way too busy flirting with Killian.

“Well, yeah. Right, that’s what’s happening? Isn’t it? Also where is everyone?”

“That’s a very good question. We think that’s what Mer is yelling about.” “Trash talking the trash talkers, huh?” Emma shrugged. “I’m fairly positive she’s upset no one is taking this as seriously as they’re supposed to.” “That’s not true at all. Dad and Uncle Will and Hook had some kind of meeting about how they were going to draft. Uncle Will was super pissed they wanted to draft him last and Uncle Liam laughed so loudly the rumors were it was going to do damage to Hook’s phone.” “How do you know that?”

It could not have been safe for Roland’s skin to keep shifting between pale and flushed so quickly. Emma tried not to laugh. Killian absolutely did not.

“Ok, you can’t be annoyed by this,” Roland said, holding both his hands up and Emma widened her eyes. She figured Killian moved his eyebrows – based solely off the blush-type reaction in Roland’s cheeks. “I’m pretty positive Uncle Will told Mattie because he thinks Hook is going to draft Mattie first, which, you know, obviously.” “And that means what, exactly?” Emma asked, only slightly frustrated she hadn’t been involved in any of these pre-draft meetings.

She should not have been surprised that there were pre-draft meetings.

They were all way too competitive for their own good.

Roland sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. It sounded like Merida was growling on the other side of Chase Square. “I’m, like, sixty-seven percent positive Uncle Will thought he could get Mattie to persuade Hook to break the pre-draft agreement and then he wouldn’t be angry about getting drafted last or whatever, but I don’t think Mattie went for it. I’m like ninety-two percent positive about that.” “These percentages are absurd.” “Math’s not his strong suit,” Killian grinned.

Roland kicked at his ankle. “If that’s your form of trash talk you are crazy out of practice, Hook. And I only know because I talked to Mattie yesterday because--” “--You were trash talking?” “I mean if I lie are you actually going to ground me?” “As previously discussed, mate, you are a professional athlete. Who is thirty years old. I don’t think I’ve got that kind of clout anymore.” “Thirty-one. Technically.” “Math’s not his strong suit either,” Emma laughed, leaning back when Killian hooked his chin over her shoulder and there must have been hair in his face. He didn’t seem to mind.

Whoever groaned behind them, however, very clearly minded quite a bit.

And was holding two different signs.

“Aw, c’mon, seriously?” Peggy sighed, flanked by a clearly amused Anna and a slightly disgusted Liam. Elsa didn’t look surprised. Lizzie’s eyes darted towards Roland’s immediately. She was wearing orange too.

“Right?” Roland laughed. He took a step forward, cheeks still far too flushed to be healthy and curls that were far too long because it was the offseason and hockey players were notoriously lazy when there weren’t games to be played.

At least the ones Emma knew.

Her fingers moved back to Killian’s hair.

“You guys know there are chairs here, right?” Peggy asked. Someone laughed. It might have been Elsa. It was definitely Elsa. “Where’s Uncle Robin? Does Dad win by default if Uncle Robin forfeits the draft?” “No one is forfeiting anything,” Emma said evenly, tugging on the hem of Peggy’s shirt when she moved in front of them. It was appropriately team-branded. There wasn’t a C on her shoulder. Elsa was still laughing. “I think that’d actually make Merida start to cry.” “Does Mer know how to cry?” “I’d really rather not find out.” Peggy hummed in agreement, sinking onto the ground without ceremony and letting her elbows rest on her bent knees. “Yeah, that’s fair. She know there’s some crazy accident on the FDR? That’s why we were late.”

“Locksley doesn’t have that excuse,” Killian reasoned. “They’d probably be coming up 10th Avenue anyway.” “You some kind of traffic soothsayer now, KJ?” Elsa asked, Liam’s arm still around her when she moved and Killian was going to do permanent damage to his eyebrows. “How come you aren’t letting Emma sit in a chair?” “He’s worried about the draft,” Liam answered. Killian flipped him off.

“Hey, c’mon, your kid is sitting right there!” “I’m almost twenty, Uncle Liam,” Peggy said, and Emma wasn’t sure what her soul did at that, but she was glad she was perched on Killian’s right leg when it happened. His arm tightened again. “I don’t think that makes me a kid. And Dad’s not worried about the draft.” Sprained eyebrows. Honestly. Emma wondered where Ariel was. Probably stuck in some other part of Midtown. Or the Long Island Expressway.

“Is he not?” Liam asked, and they were all going to be sitting on the ground sooner rather than later.

Peggy shook her head. “Obviously not. You hear about that trash talk he was giving Uncle Robin after he made that mistake on TV?” She let out a low whistle, eyes bright and only a little disconcerting and all of their kids were far too charming for their own good. They knew it too. “Could barely talk about the game without laughing in the middle of his segment. Nah, Dad’s crazy confident in his team already.” “Maybe you’re the soothsayer, little love," Killian said, smile obvious in his voice and Emma groaned when he leaned both of them forward to read the signs in Peggy’s hands. “When’d you make these? And when did you see the segment?” “On the plane. I think the lady next to me thought I was legitimately crazy. You know how expensive markers are in the Eugene airport? Highway robbery, honestly.” “Wouldn’t it be, like, sky robbery?” Lizzie asked, and Peggy rolled her eyes. “You make everybody signs or just people you’re related to and making out with?” Peggy appeared to be trying to melt into the stone ground. Merida stopped talking for half a second. Emma was, at least, ninety-seven and a half percent positive it was because of the look on Killian’s face.

“Thanks a lot, Elizabeth,” Peggy grumbled, and Lizzie didn’t answer, just leaned further against Roland’s side. Peggy didn’t notice. She was far too busy staring at her hands. They were still holding signs. “Ok,” she mumbled. “It’s not really like that…” “What is it like then?” Killian asked. Anna laughed that time.

“Jeez, KJ. That was way too hardcore for whatever it is we’re doing. Where’s your other kids?” “Chris is with Mattie,” Emma explained. She wasn’t entirely sure if Killian could actually answer. Or formulate any thoughts that were not about getting immediate and concrete answers out of Peggy. She bit her lip.

“It’s really not like that,” she said again, glancing up under her lashes and Killian’s whole body sagged against Emma’s. Liam mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like overprotective idiot under his breath.

“You do not have a leg to stand on this situation, Liam,” Killian warned. “See if I draft you later.” “Please, I don’t want to play for your garbage team.” “Oh don’t do that,” Anna groaned. “You want to be on KJ’s team, Liam.” “How you figure?” Anna muttered a string of curses, most of them in a language that was neither English nor Norwegian, and something cracked loudly when she leaned back against Peggy’s side. “Ignore that,” she said, a command to the whole lot of them and there was another car door slamming from Seventh Avenue. “Also, you’ve got to be on KJ’s team because otherwise you’re going to have to face off against Matt and that’s going to literally be the single most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you.” “And one time he fell off those rocks in Central Park and nearly sprained his wrist and had to come up with a lie to Mom and Dad about why he couldn’t move his hand without wincing,” Elsa added conspiratorially. Liam gaped at her. “Who’s the guy, Pegs?” Peggy gritted her teeth, glaring daggers at Lizzie. “I didn’t realize it was a secret.” “It’s not an anything,” Peggy shouted. “Margaret,” Killian muttered, and her whole body sagged forward when she exhaled dramatically.

“Who do we not know that’s playing in this game?” Emma asked. She tried to glance up through her skull when a hand landed on her shoulder and David grinned down at her.

“Your eyes are going to get stuck that way,” he said, Ruth plastered to his side and Mary Margaret was absolutely holding some form of baked good. “You know there’s a ton of traffic on the West Side, who decided to do this in the middle of the afternoon on Saturday?” “Ruby?” “God, remind me to yell at her about that, where is she?” “I have no idea,” Emma answered at the same time Peggy said “in her office, yelling at someone about the banners that very clearly aren’t here.” “How do you know that?” Peggy made a noise in the back of her throat. “She wanted to know where we were and if I was with you. And also where MD and Toph were.” “Are they not here yet?” Mary Margaret asked, already holding the Tupperware container out expectantly when Roland all but lunged at it. “And where’s the rest of the draft stock? Shouldn’t Robin be here? And Humbert?” Peggy froze. Liam chuckled.

“I’m not going to draft you solely so I can check you later, Liam,” Killian hissed, but his eyes didn’t move away from Peggy.

Emma reached out slowly, tapping her thumb on her lower lip in an effort to make sure she didn’t bite through it. “We don’t have time to get stitches, babe,” she mumbled. “And your brother will be mad if we steal his spotlight.” “Please,” Peggy countered. “The only brother’s who’s going to be mad about anything is Toph. Literally no one in the world has ever been more excited to see Dad play hockey.” Those emotions Emma was fifty percent certain she’d managed to corral a few minutes before reappeared in full force and the thought had crossed her mind more than anything else, the first and only time Chris would ever see his dad play on Garden ice and it made her heart do something and her pulse do something else and she wanted to scream and shout and jump up and down and one charity game should not be causing her so much personal turmoil.

She might make her own signs.

“Aw, we can’t even trash talk that,” Will said, and Emma wished they’d all stop teleporting to Chase Square. Peggy jumped up, concern over maybe boyfriends and guys who weren’t playing hockey, but had also grown up around hockey, forgotten as soon as Will moved towards them and he grunted when she threw the full force of her weight into his chest. “God, I’m not a hurdle, Margaret,” he mumbled, but there was a note of something in his voice and Peggy looked like she held on tighter. “You don’t have to try and jump over me.” “Shut up, Uncle Will.” “Aye, aye, ma’am.” She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, and David was only slightly vocal about not getting a reception like that. Will grinned at him over Peggy’s shoulder. “Why are you guys all sitting on the ground? Where’s Locksley?” “Stuck in traffic with Matt and Chris and Graham Humbert’s kid apparently,” Killian said, catching Emma around the wrist before she could swat at his shoulder. Will’s eyes widened.

“Dad,” Peggy whined. “It’s not like that. It’s...the only people who got signs were you and MD.” “Wait, wait, Scarlet and I didn’t get a sign?” Liam asked.

“Liam, I’m seriously going to check you tomorrow,” Killian said. Will’s eyes still had not returned to a size that was correct for a human being.

“And I don’t think Graham’s kid is in the same car as Chris and Mattie,” Emma reasoned. It wasn’t easy to stand up, particularly when Killian’s arm seemed intent on melding into her body, but she managed to shift back to her feet and Peggy scrunched her nose when she pried her away from Will’s chest.

Her hair brushed Emma’s mouth.

“You’re no help at all either,” Peggy grumbled. “And it’s really not like that at all. Jer and I are friends. Lizzie’s just a giant jerk and--”

“--Mattie was the one who told me he thought he had to talk to this guy in person this weekend,” Lizzie interrupted.

“What?”

Lizzie held both her hands up, a rare surrender from anyone with the last name Vankald or Jones. There were more footsteps coming towards them. And heels. It appeared Ruby had descended from her office. “If you tell him that I told you that Margaret Elsa, I will push you in traffic,” Lizzie hissed, Roland clicking his tongue and Will mumbling oh shit in between laughing.

“Why is MD talking to you about this?” “Probably for the same reason we always talk about this. And because he was really mad we accidentally liked that one girls Instagram photo.” There was a chorus of what from the ever-growing peanut gallery and Chris slammed into Killian’s side, barely managing to get up before a thirteen-year-old inadvertently concussed himself on his ribs. “Slow down, kid,” Killian mumbled out of habit, and it didn’t work. It never worked. None of the Jones Line ever learned to control their limbs.

“Dad, seriously, I need you to stop making that face,” Peggy continued, seemingly unperturbed by the arrival of her younger brother when she was so clearly planning the murder of her older brother. “I can make a sign that says Jer and I are just friends if that’d help.” “I mean, it might,” Killian admitted. He flashed her a smile and his eyebrows twisted, tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth in a way that was supposed to be charming, but just left Peggy groaning against Emma’s side with more hair everywhere.

“And,” she added. “That Instagram thing happened literally years ago. MD was like--” “--A sophomore in college,” Matt finished, stepping towards them with Robin and the rest of the Mills-Locksley family close behind and both Emma and Will chuckled when Roland practically jumped to attention.

“Saw that,” she mumbled. He made a face.

“I was a sophomore in college, Margaret,” Matt intoned, hardly flinching when Peggy kicked and punched at him and Emma was going to end up bruised and battered by the end of this inevitable argument. “And that girl thought I was nuts after.” “Should have explained it better,” Peggy said. “And, you know, look at you now. I bet she’s really regretting that decision.” “She wouldn’t have had to if you and Lizzie were normal people!” “Ok, well, that’s just kind of rude, MD.” “Super rude,” Lizzie agreed, digging her chin into Peggy’s shoulder when she took a step closer. “Plus, who freaks out about that? A normal person would have thought you were just interested in--” “--Stalking her,” Chris finished. Matt lunged at him, more laughter ringing in the air and both Killian and Emma sighed, but that was as much reprimand as they were going to get out because they were incredibly behind schedule and their kids were some of the best trash talkers in the Tri-State area.

“We were stalking here a little,” Lizzie admitted, the smile on Chris’ face growing with every passing minute. “You late because you were stuck in traffic or because you were watching film?” Chris stopped laughing. And Matt froze, a picture-perfect impersonation of Killian being caught mid-lie that was absolutely, positively not on purpose. Emma’s emotions could not handle that day. Peggy nearly fell over when she cackled.

“Oh God,” she mumbled, shaking her hair away from her face. “You don’t get to say anything to me for the rest of the weekend, MD. I can’t believe you almost messed up Mom’s event because you were showing off for Toph. That one goal against the Pens was not that impressive, I promise.”

Matt blinked. And it took Emma, approximately, three seconds and one emotion-fueled gasp for everything to click.

Because no one had ever been more excited for Killian Jones to make his return to Garden ice than Christopher Jones – even through all that thirteen-year-old teenage angst.

“Wasn’t me,” Matt muttered. “And that goal was insanely impressive and you know it.” “You flatter yourself.” “Wait until tomorrow. You’re going to be stunned.” “That so?” “Guaranteed.” “Care to place a wager on that?”

Matt’s smile was as wide as the entire goddamn island of Manhattan, eyes flashing and hair falling towards his eyes and Roland was already demanding to get in on that action too, Lizzie rummaging in her bag for a notebook to make sure the rules were properly documented.

Emma moved, fingers lacing with Killian’s on instinct and several other things that would make everyone in a twenty-foot radius groan and gag and Chris had three cookies in one hand. “Slow down kid,” she said. “Didn’t your brother feed you?” Chris nodded, bobbing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but then we were watching the film from the first Cup run and he was letting me practice that shot Rook took--”

“--In his apartment?” “Matt doesn’t care about his security deposit. You see his rookie signing bonus?” Emma scoffed, but she couldn’t argue and Chris probably knew more about the contract than Matt did. At least as much as Regina did. “And?” she prompted.

“And that was a really good goal at the end of the game, Dad.” Killian’s hand squeezed Emma’s. “Thanks,” he grinned, wrapping another arm around Chris’ middle and pulling him back to his side and there was the teenage angst, right on schedule in disgruntled noise form. “Nah, nah, you don’t get to compliment me and then try and get out of being properly parented in public.” “That sentence doesn’t even make any sense.” “You want to get on the ice later?” “I mean...obviously, but only so I can figure out how you got enough speed on that breakaway.” “Don’t expect too much out of him, Toph,” Robin said, a kid clinging to his side who did not appear to appreciate the amount of noise the Jones Line was making. “He was running on adrenaline and the end of the game and trying to impress your Mom.” “Gross,” Matt and Peggy yelled in tandem.

“True though,” Will promised. “Almost always for like eons.” “It has not been that long, Scarlet,” Killian objected.

“Hasn’t it? Time flies and keeps on slipping and all that. I got a question for you, Cap.” Killian hummed, caution in the sound and Chris’ eyes darted between the two of them like he was watching a passing exercise. “Who’s going to wear twenty in this game?” Will asked, and it was like someone had pressed pause or pulled all the oxygen out of the entire planet and Emma was not entirely prepared for Ruby to curse as loudly as she did.

“Aw, shit,” she growled, stomping her foot for emphasis. “I didn’t even think about that.” “And you don’t have to,” Killian promised. HIs hand was still a vice around Emma’s though, and Chris appeared to have turned into some kind of stone, the number on his back growing larger with every passing second. Or at least it felt that way.

“Hey, what?” Matt asked sharply. “That’s my number.” Killian shook his head. “That’s my number.”

“Are you kidding me?” “Are you?” “I’m not giving up my number,” Matt said evenly, and Emma wasn’t sure who laughed loudest or longest, but she had to resist the urge to glance at the ceiling because her kid never really tried to sound like Killian, but it usually happened that way more often than not.

Killian didn’t move, didn’t pull his hand away from Emma, but she swore he got taller or more intimidating and Matt’s shoulders slumped slightly. “If I’m going to play in this game, then I’m going to wear my number,” Killian said.

“Captain voice,” Chris mumbled, Matt rolling his whole head in frustration.

“See if I feed you again later, C,” he groaned. “Dad, is this a joke? It’s my number. Currently. I’m going to wear it in a couple of weeks when camp starts.” “Because he’s a professional hockey player now, Hook, you see,” Roland grinned, gaze darting towards Peggy when she couldn’t keep her laugh in her body.

“I’m well aware of what he is, mate. I’m just not entirely understanding why that’s got any bearing on what number he wears for this game.” “I’ve never worn anything except twenty,” Matt cried. “This is insane.” “Nah, I think that’s just you and Dad, MD,” Peggy said. “Also you’re both ridiculously superstitious. That might be the most insane part.” “That’s definitely the most insane part,” Lizzie agreed.

“Ah, that was nice backup. Sorry for you calling you Elizabeth before, it felt weird when I was saying it. I’d like to never do it again.” “I’d like to never hear it again.” “Done.” Peggy shrugged. “Maybe Uncle Liam can just check MD tomorrow instead. It was his fault anyway.” “Consider it done, Pegs,” Liam grinned, Elsa only groaning slightly at the guarantee. It didn’t matter. Emma groaned loudly enough for the both of them.

“You guys can’t check each other,” she said. “It’s a charity game. We’ve had this conversation, I know we have. I was there.” “We don’t know how to play any other way,” Will argued. Ruby was never going to stop cursing. That was probably what the stories would be about. “And I really, really want to check Cap.” “I’m not drafting you, Scarlet, I don’t know how you’re going to check Cap,” Robin said.

Will checked him. Without a stick.

“Scarlet, if you do that again, I will never let you on Garden ice,” Ruby threatened.

“Can you actually do that?” “You want to challenge it?” “I mean, not particularly.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ruby grinned, but that felt a little threatening too and Merida had finally hung up her phone.

“Are we all here?” she asked. Her hair was in even more disarray than Peggy’s. “Where’s Rook? And Humbert? Why did we invite Humbert?” Several pairs of eyes flashed towards Peggy, color rising in her cheeks and the toe of her shoe digging into the ground. “All of you guys are the worst,” she mumbled. “Can we focus on MD and Dad being crazy people instead? That’s way more fun.” “It is a little crazy, KJ,” Elsa said. “This is your kid. Wearing your number.” Killian narrowed his eyes. “A beacon of support, El. I can’t play on Garden ice if I’m not wearing my number. Peg’s right, it’s way too many superstitions.” “That’s ridiculous.” “You want to be responsible for the broken bones I’ll inevitably endure when Scarlet checks me?” Emma wasn’t sure what noise she made – a groan and gasp and possibly some kind of inhuman growl, but her head collided almost painfully with Killian’s shoulder and the twenty on her back was his twenty and they were arguing over possession of numbers.

“Wait, what?” Merida asked sharply. She looked like she was considering using the clipboard in her hand as a weapon.

“Nothing, nothing, Mer,” Robin promised. Killian’s eyes, somehow, got more narrow. “We’re super behind schedule, right? You look like you want to kill us.” “I don’t want to kill you. I want to know where Rook and Humbert are.” “Hey, hey, hey,” Phillip yelled, one hand in the air and Emma could just make out Canucks colors and Will was going to check Graham before he checked Killian. Before the game started. “We’re here, we’re here, Mer, please don’t curse us or anything. Did you guys start? Humbert was worried Cap was going to start without him so he didn’t have to draft him.” “Ok, I never said I’d do that,” Killian muttered, but that didn't ring quite true either and Peggy was biting her lip again. And doing an absolutely horrible job of avoiding Jeremy Humbert’s very obvious gaze.

“Right, right, God, should I be this out of breath before I’ve got to wreck all of you tomorrow?” “Wow, just starting real early with the trash talk, huh, Rook?” Ruby asked.

“I wanted to make up for lost time. Plus, I’ve got nothing on the Jones Line. Hey Pegs, when’d you land?” Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but Ruby was back to threatening and the media horde was starting to get restless and they really did need to draft a team. Preferably before Killian challenged Jeremy Humbert to one-on-one combat. Or Liam did. Or Will did. Or Matt did.

Peggy pushed her signs into Killian’s chest. “They both say skate fast,” she announced. “Because both you and MD are ridiculously fast and superstitious and I’m not that creative.”

Killian stared at her for a beat, those eons Will was talking about before seemingly passing by them just to prove a point or toy with Emma’s emotions. Peggy didn’t argue when he tugged her forward, brushing a kiss over the crown of her hair like she was a kid and not an even better athlete than her professional athlete brother.

“Thank you, little love,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go draft a team.”

That, however, proved to be more difficult than just standing at those absurd podiums with an absurd number of cameras pointed at them and Chris didn’t appreciate when Emma’s head fell to his shoulder. Peggy’s head was on his other side.

“I’m not actually a pillow person,” Chris hissed, while Ruby explained the rules and one player for every pick and please keep this rated PG and a few fans laughed at that. Robin won the coin toss to pick first. They literally flipped a coin. “God, P, stop digging your elbow into my hip.” “That is not where your hip is, Toph.” “Can you guys relax, please?” Emma asked, but it was drifting dangerously close to begging already and no one had even made a pick yet.

“Toph and MD didn’t invite me to their super cool, super hangout thing,” Peggy said. “That means I can do whatever I want with my elbows.” “I don’t think that’s entirely true, babe.” “And we didn’t know what time you were going to land,” Chris added. “So, like...move your elbow or I’m going to tell Jeremy Humbert you want to marry him.” Peggy jabbed him in the side, drawing a far too loud to be appropriate exclamation out of Chris that also led to him jumping to his feet and a shoulder slamming into Emma’s jaw. Killian’s head snapped up, both hands gripping the side of his podium with a wide-eyed gaze, like he was waiting for the inevitable broken bone or someone to find a stick somewhere and start hitting the other in the ankles.

Emma sighed.

And she almost didn’t hear it at first.

Peggy and Chris stopped arguing immediately.

“What?” Killian rasped, and Robin grinned like he’d already won the entire goddamn game.

“I said, with the first overall pick in whatever we’re calling this--” “--The summer classic, Locksley,” Ruby growled. “God, we’ve been over this.” “Right, right, yeah, that’s not very creative though.” “I’m going to revoke your captaincy, right here.” “Oh my God, Lucas, do it,” Will yelled, Liam shouting his own encouragements and Emma couldn’t actually see Matt anymore. He appeared to have slumped in his seat, Roland trying to pull him back up by the scruff of his own jersey.

“Say that again, Locksley,” Killian challenged. Robin’s expression didn’t change. “I’m drafting your kid, Cap. First overall, so, uh...congrats Matt, even better than your actual draft.”

Emma didn’t remember standing, only that she was and that was kind of a problem because her knees didn’t seem all that interested in functioning like actual parts of her body.

“It’s not like I didn’t get drafted, Uncle Robin,” Matt countered, but Robin shrugged and Ruby was trying to get him to come on stage so he could change jerseys. “Wait, wait, wait,” he sputtered. “This isn’t actually a joke?” “Please don’t call this event a joke, mini-Jones,” Ruby said.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ru.” “Yeah, sure you didn’t. I really need you to put this jersey on and pose for a photo. Like twenty minutes ago, honestly, but your parents were probably flirting and--” “--Hey,” Killian cut in sharply, and Emma hoped Ruby hadn’t done damage to any of her teeth when she snapped her jaw closed. “Alright, with the second overall pick in whatever the hell we’re calling this ridiculous game, I draft Roland Locksley. And I’m keeping my number, Matthew.”

Robin’s mouth fell open.

“Oh my God,” Ruby mumbled, head in her hands and Merida had dropped her clipboard on the ground. “Mini-Jones, I wasn’t kidding about the photo. That goes for you too now, Rol.” Roland saluted. “Sure thing, Rubes. You see what a better choice the number two overall pick is? Ready and willing to report for duty.” “You’re a kiss-up,” Matt hissed.

“And that’s an insult you came up with when you were eight years old. It still doesn’t make any sense now, Mattie.” “Aw, c’mon.” “Mattie Jones, going to lose more than half his faceoffs tomorrow afternoon.” “You’re a winger, Locksley,” Matt challenged, and Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, her two other kids enthusiastically cheering for whatever against the rules trash talk was preventing Ruby from staying on photo schedule.

“Who’s not going to score any goals tomorrow,” Peggy yelled. “Down with the Flyers! Fly away home, Locksley!” “That was kind of funny, P,” Chris grinned.

“Right? I’ve been waiting to use that forever. Who shows up in orange in New York? You look ridiculous!”

Roland ignored both of them.  “True, I am a winger, but you’re some kind of All-Rookie centerman, so that’s free bait to mock.” “That doesn’t make sense either! Yours makes less sense than mine did! At least I was eight, that gives me some more leeway to--” “--Guys, please,” Ruby groused. David was hysterical. The subReddit was probably already talking about this. Emma was pretty positive there was a live stream somewhere. “Locksley you’ve got to make another pick.”

“Of course, Lucas,” Robin said. “I’d like everyone to take notice that my draft pick couldn’t take his picture in a timely fashion because Cap’s draft pick stalled him.” “That’s your kid, Locksley,” Killian yelled.

“No, no, for the next forty-eight hours, that’s your right winger.” “Oh my God. I want Rook on my team.” “Cap, you can’t go out of order,” Ruby yelled, jumping slightly in frustration and Phillip was already standing up.

“Yeah, I don’t care. Rook, c’mere, you know how to take faceoffs?” “Are you kidding me, Killian?” Liam shouted. They were all, apparently, going to stand up now. “You’re going to draft a winger before you draft an actual centerman. Whose rookie record for faceoff wins stood for a very long time.” “He’d like the record to show,” Anna intoned dramatically. Elsa had to put her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter. It didn’t work at all.

“Yeah, how’d that work out for you, Uncle Liam?” Matt asked archly.

Liam crossed his arms. “Don’t get uppity on me, kid. I’m willing to bet at least twenty bucks and some form of food for both you and your constantly hungry brother, if I win more faceoffs than you tomorrow.” “What if we’re on the same team?” “And I’m not always hungry,” Chris objected, a choir of ehhs raining down on him.

“C, you literally ate an entire box of cinnamon LIFE this morning,” Matt sighed, refusing to acknowledge Peggy’s outcry at that. The media horde was going to have a field day with this. “Alright, Uncle Liam, you’re on. No matter what team we’re on. You win more faceoffs than me, I want food, real food, not street cart shit.” “Matthew,” several adults shouted, and both the media and fans laughed loudly.

“You got a deal, kid,” Liam said, finally sitting back down.

Ruby inhaled, shoulders moving with the force of it. “Can we take two seconds to focus on what we’re actually here to do?” she snapped. “Cap, you can have Rook, I honestly do not--” “--Hey, I thought there were rules,” Robin interrupted. He’d definitely done damage to several teeth when Ruby very clearly tried to turn him to stone with the force of her glare. “Fine, fine, fine, then I take Humbert.”

Graham flashed a cautious smile over his shoulder, and Killian groaned, slouching so his forearms rested on the podium.

“Hey, remember that time Humbert punched, Cap?” Will asked brightly. “That was fun. What good memories we’ve got, huh?”

“You’re not doing your draft stock any favors, Scarlet,” Emma chided. He winked at her.

Ruby had sat down at some point. This was going to get its own 30 for 30 based solely on the absurdity of it all. “Alright, Locksley,” she said. “Back to you.”

It went that way for what felt like several increasingly long eternities, Emma tugging Chris back down so she had something to lean on and he didn’t bother arguing when Peggy moved to rest her head on his leg. And Emma couldn't really say she was surprised. Even if she hadn’t known about the pre-draft meetings, she knew both Killian and Robin would absolutely try to pick Will last, but she hadn’t expected it to come down to him and Liam.

There was a considerable amount of cursing going on in Norwegian.

“This is honestly insulting,” Liam announced, not for the first time.

“And embarrassing,” Elsa chipped in. “Babe, you’ve got to sit down. The pacing thing is freaking me out and you’re only playing into KJ’s plan.” “I have no plan, El,” Killian promised, but his eyes flickered towards Emma and his answering smile when she mouthed liar was honestly unfair. “I’m merely weighing my options.” “You’re being a jerk is what you’re being, KJ,” Anna corrected. “Lording your power.” “You think Liam will pull a hamstring from pacing so much? Can’t be healthy or a guy of age.” “Oh screw you, Killian,” Liam seethed, wincing when he realized what he’d said. “Sorry, Lucas. Just like...tell the media not to listen to me or something.” “Yeah, I don’t think it works like that,” Ruby said. She was still perched on the steps leading to the podiums, but she’d coerced Matt next to her some time in between the tenth and eleventh pick and they both looked dangerously close to falling asleep.

Emma wondered how much film had actually been watched the night before.

“Seriously, Cap,” Robin sighed. “It’s not that hard. Pick Scarlet and live with your spotty at best defense.” “What the hell, Locksley?” Will seethed. “Listen, you’re more removed from the game than I am. By, like, actual seasons.” “Four seasons, Scarlet.” “Five, actually. Do you not know how to tell time?” “God, did you really play that long after I retired?” Will nodded quickly, sarcasm practically radiating off the movement. “Yeah, you’re old, Locksley. And you are notoriously terrible in the defensive zone, so maybe you’re the one who needs a defender in this game.” “Where are you trying to get drafted, Scarlet?” Emma asked.

“At this point, I genuinely don’t care. I just want to go before Leader, so I can brag about that for the rest of time and then we can all get some food somewhere.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Ariel said, perched on the same seat as Mary Margaret with what appeared to be cookie crumbs sticking to the pads of her fingers.

Ruby made a noise that was equal parts absurd and impressive. “Did you teleport here?”

“Snuck in during the whole who gets to draft whose child debacle. M’s fed me, but this has honestly taken several lifetimes, right? Did someone feed Chris? He’s probably chewing Emma’s arm off back there.” “He and Pegs went to get pretzels like twenty minutes ago,” Emma explained. “You hit traffic in the tunnel?” “Someday that construction will be over. Hey, Pegs, how was your flight?”

Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but Ruby clicked her tongue and Liam threw his head back and there really weren’t many fans left. They’d exhausted the fans with their nonsense.

“You’ve really got to pick, KJ,” Elsa said, a note of ancient command in her voice that made several next-gen children sit up straighter. “Just take Liam so Anna and I can freak out about it.”

Killian tilted his head, and Emma could almost hear the thoughts and the metaphorical gears, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if that happened, but the world still didn’t seem to care because--

“I’ll take Liam,” Killian said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big and huge and emotional deal. “Need a centerman anyway.” “Wow, that’s a glorious show of support, little brother,” Liam muttered.

“Younger. And it’ll be easier for you to face off against Matt if you’re actually facing off against Matt.” “Jeez, Dad,” Matt mumbled. “That competitive streak knows no bounds, huh?” “You wouldn’t give me my number.”

“You going to score on a breakaway to impress, Mom?” Killian’s eyes flashed back towards Emma, standing again with an arm around Chris and something fluttering in her chest that might have been her heart or her pulse or the same thing it had done for eons because he still looked at her the same way he had all those same eons ago.

And she knew the answer to the question already.

“Every single time,” Killian grinned. Smirked. It was really a smirk. God, that worked so well.

Peggy gagged. “You better score a breakaway too then, MD. Show off that speed or something.”

“Yeah, well, you made a sign, right, Mar?” he asked. She nodded. “Alright, alright, well, I’ve got a distinct lack of cinnamon LIFE in my apartment now, so what do you say, Dad?” Killian quirked an eyebrow. “To?”

“A wager. Best breakaway has to refill my apartment with food because your kid depleted all my recently purchased groceries and probably will when he stays over again tonight.” “I’m staying over again tonight?” Chris asked, excitement obvious in every letter.

Matt shrugged. “I figured.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, ok!” “Hey, uh, not to spoil this undeniably adorable and only slightly debaucherous Jones family moment,” Will cut in. “But is anyone going to bother to draft me because it’s garbage you guys are being jerks about this.”

Robin laughed, jumping off the podium with an agility that was only slightly surprising. “Sure thing Scarlet,” he said. “I draft you, and if you let up a single goal, especially a Cap breakaway while you’re on the ice, I will check my own top defenseman, deal?” “Jeez, Locksley, you are insane when given any power. Gina, you know he’s like this?” Regina waved her hands through the air, a grandkid asleep on her shoulder. “I’m refusing to acknowledge any of this. I’m showing up in orange tomorrow, Jones, try and keep me out of the Garden.” “I wouldn’t dare, Gina,” Killian promised. He glanced back at Matt, a smug smile on his face and arms crossed over the twenty that really was both of theirs and Emma was going to hurt her neck shaking her head so often. “Alright, kid,” he said. “We’ve both got to try for breakaways, whoever gets it wins?” “What if you both get it?” Anna asked.

“Mom’ll judge,” Matt shrugged.

“No, no, no,” Emma exclaimed. “I am not doing that. I am not picking sides in any of this. This is absolutely insane and superstitious and I expect goals from both of you.” Killian laughed softly, covering more ground than Emma was entirely ready for and he was in her space almost immediately, lips on hers and a hand on her hip and the entire neighborhood probably groaned at that. “Deal, Swan,” Killian muttered, not bothering to move away from her mouth. “I’m totally going to win, though.” “God, that’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “This doesn’t answer the question though,” Anna pointed out. “If you guys both score on breakaways, then someone’s got to win the bet. Matt can’t be without cinnamon LIFE forever.” “God forbid,” Killian chuckled.

“I’ll do it,” Will said, a note in his voice that refused any questions. “I doubt either of them’ll score because my defense will be that good against Cap and Dr. J absolutely cannot cope with beating Cap, so I’m going to win by default. But I’m more than happy to judge if they manage to try it or whatever.” “Eloquent as always, Scarlet,” Robin murmured.

“Yeah, well you should have drafted me earlier. Can we eat now or should we stick around and scandalize the New York media some more?” “Nah, I think we’ve done more than enough of that,” Ruby said. “I refuse to share a cab with Cap and Emma. They’re going to make eyes at each other.” “Not true,” Emma argued, an arm around her shoulders and kids already groaning before she added. “We’re totally going to make out in the back of the cab, so…” Killian kissed the top of her hair. And hailed a cab. And made out in the backseat.