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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

Note

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #a phantom in enchanting light #mearcatsreturns #ask #fivan ff

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slothgiirl · 4 years ago

Text

the trash pile: alex turner x reader

The cybernetic augmentation juts out from her temple, leading down to her chin, the metal a dull grey. Nothing says belter more than slap job augmentations, Alex thinks as she smiles at him, reaching out with her hand to him.

He takes it.

She's pretty from what he can see from the dim yellow lights in the club. The augmentation somehow complementing her already well formed cheekbones. A mess of bleached blonde hair falling down her shoulders.

And she's already offered, dragging him out onto the floor shamelessly. He'd rather dance with a beautiful woman than stand around drinking and having to listen to all his friends talk about people, things, he's unfamiliar with.

They've moved on.

The floor flashes bright blue to the beat of the music. Too loud to carry a conversation. Too loud to think. Alex can finally stop overthinking, what he's done since he landed on Tranquility base six hours ago.

Her touch is solid and confident, hands on his shoulders as she laughs, one hundred percent in the moment. He doesn't think he's ever been like that. Her ease is as natural as Alexa's charm.

His gaze flickers back to the table they'd been sharing, but they've dispersed into the club. He can't see a trace of any of his friends. Matt had long since left, having a ceremony to wake up for. "Tomorrow," he'd grinned, promising a night of debauchery.

"Hey," Taylor calls into his ear, bringing his attention back to her, blue eyes like the sky back on earth. None of the gaudy recreations of sky broadcasted through the colonies. Mars was said to not even bother, letting it's people grow up with an orange sky.

She smiles, tilting her head, before leaning in.

And wow, Alex really has been alone for too long, as her lips on his send his heart beat into a frenzy. Blood rushing in his ears like a teenage boy all over again. It isn't real, but he thinks in that second he loves her.

Alex always has been a romantic.

They leave the club together. The corridors are still red for the night. The one thing he hadn't missed. Even Ceres had better artificial lighting mods.

"I've got to go to work," Taylor tells him bluntly, "but you should give me your number. I think we could have a lot of fun together." She looks at him with hopeful eyes, biting her lower lip. He wants to kiss her again.

But, he'll be gone the day after tomorrow. The entire base holds too many ghosts for him to feel entirely comfortable. It makes him keep looking over his shoulder, expecting Josh or Julian. Two people he's long since lost touch with.

"I'm actually not staying that long," he admits as she leads them through the corridors. Alex can still recognize the alcoves he and Matt would take smoke breaks in. Which turn would lead them back to the lifts. Another life.

"That's a shame."

He chuckles. Before his mind catches up with his tongue, "wait, did you say you're going to work now?"

"Yeah. Its so fucking boring," Taylor says, stopping besides the lifts. "Coms graveyard shift." She rolls her eyes.

"I don't blame ya," he admits. Alexa had worked the coms. She'd always complained about having to go thirty seven floors below, bundled up in jackets. Since it was less populated, the government enacted more energy saving features.

"Maybe we'll see each other again in the drift," she grins suggestively, right as she steps into the lift.

Alex watches the doors closed, before he turns around, deciding to go find an open store. He could go for some more coffee while he's here. Maybe even stock up on it. It shouldn't be hard. The Base wasn't a residential area. Tourists were coming and going as well as SFN members.

There was the launchpad.

He lets himself wander. Too buzzed to be as tired despite the early call time he has in the morning. It would be just his luck to miss Matt's big promotion because he'd overslept after having traveled a month to be here.

It's not hard to find an open bodega. The open sign flashing green in the dim of the night.

Maybe he should've gotten the night vision implants after all. Miles never shut up about it. How easy it was to make his way about different colonies even during night cycles. And you could only tell if you were looking for the little silver ring around the iris.

Alex slips inside, making a bee line for the food. It's been hours since he last ate. At this point a cup of noodles and instant coffee sound like a dream. He gets the little powdered donuts as well. Then goes for the liquid milk creamer.

Who knows when he'll next have that option. No one had yet to figure out how to increase cows milk production in space. And powdered never tasted the same.

He looks at the fruit. Incredibly overpriced since it's a bodega. But apples and oranges. . .Alex could still remember the taste of fresh squeezed orange juice his mother would make. She'd cut them all open, let him squeeze the juice out before sucking on the pulp.

Alex grabs the smallest oranges.

There's no reason not to splurge. He has the money for it. And work is never hard to come by with his skill set. There's a large market for the skills SFN ensigns have, but most of those ensigns just stay with the navy.

He turns to go pay for his small haul, but the sight of a woman staring out of a faux porthole stops him in his tracks.

Her profile could not hide how beautiful she was, her gaze caught by the live feed of the earth on the other side of the moon. Romantic dark eyes gazing into the side of the bodega, her questionable egg salad sandwich forgotten in her hand. The bump in her prominent nose only served to make her profile more striking.

"That's not actually the earth," Alex starts gently, catching her attention. "Ya know." She turns to him, trying to hide the fact that she'd jumped, startled by his presence. And doing a damn good job at brushing off the surprise.

He was right. She's beautiful. Well formed full lips. Her dark hair tucked a braid, looking better in trousers and patched up hoodie than most people could dressed to the nines. Her shoes stick out from the casual ensemble, patent red leather with a split toe. There's the hint of dark circles under her eyes, probably from a missed nights sleep.

And a scattering of light scars like stars by her left cheekbone.

"I know," she responds, "I just never thought I'd ever be this close to the earth."

"You could take a trip to the other side and see the real thing," he muses, unable to hide the longing in his voice. Alex knew in his bones he'd never step foot on earth again. Never walk the streets in Sheffield or London again. But he couldn't help but wish for a miracle.

She shakes her head, the warmth in her eyes receding as she closes herself off. "Can't. Have to meet with a friend and then go back."

"Must be a good friend if you've come all this way."

She shrugs noncommittally, "He's more of an acquaintance of a friend. I've never actually met the man. But things being as they are," she explains, "it's best done in person."

Alex is now intrigued, a red flag raised in the back of his mind that still flies away information happening in the corner of his eye just in case. It makes him a damn good private investigator. "Mysterious."

"Forgive me for not spilling all my secrets to a stranger," she notes, arching a brow.

He can't help but chuckle. "Ya got me there love. Let's try something else."

"Like what," she asks, the corners of his lips turning up.

"How are you finding our moon?" The moon might not think it was the earth's, and the government sure wasn't, but the moon still spun around the earth the way it had for millions of years.

"Disappointing," she admits, frowning, "Ceres is livelier. And would it kill them to use brighter lighting?"

"Austerity measures," Alex shrugs. It had been the answer for as long as he'd been alive.

"From what," she asks, tilting her head, a smirk forming on her lips, "there's no war or reason for shortages."

"Just repeating the party line," he admits.

"Well," she raises her sandwich like a sad little white flag, "I've got to get going. It was nice meeting you."

"Can I get your number?"

Surprising him, she shakes her head, "No. I doubt we'll ever meet again. I don't plan to stay on the moon for long."

"Lucky for you," he counters, following her to the sales woman, built like a rugby player, "I'm not from the moon. So there's hope yet for our paths to cross."

She snorts, digging around her pockets for money, slowly building up a pile of change to pay with. "Let me guess," she says knowingly, as her eyes look him over, taking in his hair now curling past his ears, the navy blue sweater and white shirt combo that had felt smart earlier but had wrinkled in the course of the night. "you're from earth."

Alex answers bashfully, "born there." He always felt like apologizing for having been born on Earth. For having spent his childhood breathing in air without a care. For not knowing how precious an atmosphere was.

"Well I don't plan to go to earth," she trails off, waving her receipt away.

"Neither do I." He hands the lady a bill too large for what he's bought and follows her out the door, not bothering for his change. "But I take it there's no way I can convince you to give me a number?"

"None."

"How about a name," he offers. Alex had not seen one person that he'd bothered to chase in years. And here she was, indulging him as though he was a stray puppy she had fed once and now followed her around in hopes of more scraps.

"Yours first," she snipes back, not missing a beat.

"Alex." He doesn't ever bring up his last name. Too much weight. A famous family. And an infamous past. Being just Alex was a luxury.

"Tisiphone."

A name fitting for someone born in the jovian system. Maybe even Dione. But Dione, while a newer colony, wasn't bloody awful for someone to want to leave. It had to be-"Titian," he guesses. The wild west of space. SFN cadets hated getting assigned there. Johanna had said the worst part was the perpetual twilight.

Too many crevices to hide in.

"Yes," she responds, "and hopefully never again."

"If we ever meet again," the romantic in him already imagining them crossing paths in a Callisto settlement, planting trees for the rest of their lives and learning to work wood, "can I take you out for a cuppa?"

Tisiphone laughs, smiling tight lipped, "If it happens then I'll say yes earth boy."

** ** ch 2

The ceremony drags on.

They all sit, gathered around the Kennedy Hab, the first large permanent building on the dark side of the moon. The benches are as uncomfortable as ever, as Alex gazes down at a sea of navy uniforms all with various ranks on their right shoulders. He's seated right next to Alexa. The boys down there somewhere with Matt.

It's an SFN event so Alex's paranoia is right for once. The second glances the captains and commanders threw his way were knowing. They recognized him.

It sets his teeth on edge.

Alexa pats his knee, comfortable around him despite their shared history. Johanna besides him with her fiancé. They both keep glancing at each other, infinite in their whispering. He wants that.

"I'll throw hands at anyone who says anything," Alexa reassured him. Looking especially nice in a long red dress. She's not single. But it clearly isn't serious enough if she didn't bring him along to celebrate her friends.

"That would make it worse," Alex responds, keeping his gaze forward, careful to keep his face neutral. It usually wasn't a problem. That being his default expression. But this was bringing up events from his past he's long since buried.

"Derek was supposed to be here," Alexa says to try to distract him, "you would've liked him. Life of the party. Miles and him had a one night stand and now we're all friends."

"Well that's not saying much considering Miles will sleep with anything."

She laughs, "True. But even Nick gets jazzed to hang out with him and you know how hard it is to get close to Nick."

"He's just careful about who his friends are," Alex acknowledges. Unlike Nick, Alex was just terribly bad at opening up.

Nick was just picky. "That says something good about little old me." Alexa twirls her hands over her head. Sticking her nose in the air. "Not such a mess after all."

"You've never been a mess," he tells her, watching as they begin to call up all the newly minted commanders. Matt shouldn't take long. H being closer to the front of the alphabet.

"Yeah but I've never been particularly good at anything but charming my way into things," she shrugs shamelessly. Alexa wasn't the type to lose sleep over her insecurities.

The Admiral present at the ceremony, Marcus Kapoor, speaks clearly over the microphone, "Commander Matthew Helders."

Alexa and Johanna both stand up, yelling, "congrats!" Alex claps as loud as he can for a beat longer than the rest of the room as Matt shakes hands with the Admiral.

Alex remembers his own ceremony seven years ago now. It had been a smaller affair. His entire career accelerated by his talent.

He swallows back the bitter lump that forms in his throat. There's no reason to cry over spilled milk, his father had often told him back on earth.

Try telling that to anyone who doesn't live on earth: most milk is powdered in space.

He finally lets his eyes search through the crowd, trying to spy the man who'd once been his great mentor and friend. But if Julian is present, Alex doesn't see him among the uniforms. He's sure that he'd know Julian anywhere. His hair perpetually sticking out wildly like he'd just woken from a nap, streaks of color running through.

It was a welcome sight from the mandated navy and neutral colors the SFN preferred. Everything was done to keep the SFN neutral, trying to avoid any conflicts between the colonies. And especially between Mars and Earth.

Unable to wait, Alex asks Alexa, "did Julian come?" Julian and Matt had never been as close as Alex had been to the older man, one of the rare people to turn down a promotion. But Alex thinks Julian still would've come and cheered Matt on.

Drinking at bars until morning talking about life and chatting about their mutual obsession with vintage terran music cemented friendship like nothing else.

She frowns, lines forming between her brows. "Captain Casablancas?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, a nervousness creeping into the lining of his stomach. Julian had also been the only person present during the incident that had chosen not to testify. If he had, Alex had agonized long hours over that large IF, he'd probably have been given a far harsher sentence.

And it looked like the man had finally accepted the rank of Captain.

Alexa places her hand on his arm, doe eyes settling on his, before gently attempting to break the news, which given what she was saying, was impossible to break gently. "You haven't heard?"

"No."

"Julian's dead Alex," Alexa explains, her hand anchoring him to reality, even as his world lurches, "some accident with a faulty seal."

Fuck.

What the bloody hell!

Alex clenches his jaw. Julian deserved more than dying in a preventable accident. He was, and remained the only person to have jumped tracks at the SFN, going from maintenance to exploration.

"I'm sorry," she tries, patting his arm with her hand. "I know you two were close. This is sort of the worst way to hear the news isn't it?"

"How long ago," Alex asks in lieu of responding to her. Julian. Alex could hardly call him a friend anymore.

By the time he'd worked up the courage to message the man, Julian hadn't bothered responding at all. A cold message that Alex could understand.

He hadn't tried to contact him again.

"Three weeks."

Alex nods, fixing his gaze on the stage. The names being spoken, called up on stage, meaningless now that Matt had gone.

He'd been traveling to the Base.

No one had bothered to tell him.

They make their way down to Matt, navigating the crowd who are also here to celebrate their relatives and friends. Alexa led the way, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter.

Jo and her fiancé hold hands. His eyes never leave her form as she leads on.

Alex frowns.

He'd thought. . .he'd thought, when Matt had first met him upon arrival at the base's landing pad, that he could slide back into his old life. Pick up where he'd left off. Maybe get a job here permanently.

Alex hadn't realized how lonely he'd been until he'd sat around and watched all his friends eat and drink. Easily communicating with each other they way only tightly knit groups of friends could. Finishing each other's sentences.

They had once been like that with Alex. But years in between meetings left him out of the loop. It didn't help that he had chosen to self isolate. Choosing to take jobs that left him without a permanent home, spending his free time tucked into various hotel rooms.

"Alexander Turner," a voice calls out.

He turns, faced with a black woman in a sleek khaki green suit, a moon police officer uniform. Her hair is as sleek as the press of her suit. Dark curls dusted with grey hairs.

"Yes," he asks, halting with great hesitation. The last time he'd dealt with the moon police, they were ensuring he was under house arrest during his trial. For his safety they'd told him over and over.

"I'm Major Gabriela Moss," she tells him, sticking her hand out with great formality. "If you'd please come with me," she continues, as he shakes her hand. "There's a job I'd like to discuss with you."

Swallowing any nervousness he has, he nods. How bad could it be? Probably some white collar crime that the police don't want to deal with. Alex could stock up on lots of coffee with the money. "Lead the way."

She takes him to the precinct, located next to the base. Tranquility Base fell under SFN jurisdiction. But the residential areas ringing the building were left to the MP 505 precinct.

Her office is just like every other police office. Bright disorienting lights. Cream walls, with no decor. A desk bolted down to the floor, in case the artificial gravity malfunctions. And a photo of her wife and kids tilted just out of his view.

"What's the job?" Alex wonders if some idiot tried to rob the casino that was right within the base’s building. Trying to steal from SFN was asking for it.

"A man was found murdered in residential bloc 571 this morning," she explains, lighting up her monitor. A photo of an older man with a walrus mustache came up on the screen.

"Isn't homicide your department," Alex asks, twisting his ring around his finger.

"Usually," Major Moss admits, back straight, hands on the desk. "But this man had a false identification bracelet. According to our records he was born on the Moon. But when my officers requested his file from the Bloc listed, nothing appeared."

"You think he was hiding?" Only criminals bothered to falsify ID bands. But why the moon? He could see why a fugitive from the law or a crime boss would come to the moon, but to stay here this long?

Even earth was easier to get lost in, among billions.

"Yes," she surmises, "and for quite a few months. How he's gone undetected this long is a mystery."

"So you'd like to save your skin and sweep this all under the cover." Alex can see a coverup as it happens. The MPs would be humiliated at having let a fugitive run wild for this long.

But, he probably wasn't a criminal if he spent this long without so much as a word. Probably fleeing loan sharks back on some asteroid. Maybe from Titan.

The murder must have landed yesterday. Within the week at most.

"Will you take the job on," Major Moss asks, "there's more information I have if you agree to take on the case."

Alex sighs. He's intrigued. But taking on this case would mean spending more time on the moon which is both a good and bad thing. He hasn't had a proper chat with any of the lads since he last saw Matt on Vesta nearly two years ago now.

But he isn't exactly at ease this close to SFN. At least in the belt, there's lots of stations with little to no navy presence. Callisto's base was generally isolated from the rest of the population due to the way in which the colony on Callisto had developed.

A man's dead.

And from what he can tell, Major Moss would be more than happy for the case to go cold and never have to explain to her superiors how a man went undetected for so long.

But why bother?

Alex can't understand why the man needed to falsify his identity only to sit around. Unless he wasn't a criminal but innocently caught up with the wrong crowd.

It happened easily enough.

"Why me," Alex asked, still considering how suspicious it looked that the MP were giving away a case just because of the implications the man's murder had. The IDB read Sidney Trojan which made Alex laugh a little inside. Whoever had made the ID had a certain sense of humor. "I'm sure you've read my record by now."

Major Moss nods, leaning back in her metal chair, "Mutiny and treason are certainly high charges. But Mr. Turner, If I am being frank, I am more concerned right now with keeping the peace in my precinct. The last thing I want is any belter extremist to start making baseless accusations about how someone who is more than likely one of their own was treated."

"I'm not a belter." Alex had spent enough time among belters to know, no matter how much time he spent on Vesta or Pallas, he'd never be one of them. Being born and raised there was what made you a belter for the rest of your life. Johanna never bothered to hide the augments along her spine, jutting out like filled out ports. Held her chin up proudly despite the harassment she got, and proceeded to destroy them all in combat training.

"But you have spent time among them," the woman argues, revealing how little she knows and understands about belters. Major Moss had probably never left the moon. Never spent time amongst people in the belt, in the places the SFN never went. "My men are mostly from here or earth. You're my best option."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. It didn't seem like a trap to lock him up after all these years. Just a very ignorant MP major trying to do her job. "Alright," Alex nods. "Show me the surveillance tapes."

The older woman smiles, but no warmth reaches her eyes, a picture of cold professionalism, as she ignites the screen. The tapes start playing almost immediately. The night vision casting everything into grayscale in the corridors. The older residential buildings hadn't anticipated the amount of people that would live on the moon, the walkways connected the blocs only fitting three people at a time, a nightmare in an emergency. They were colorless concrete slabs, the metal having long gone dull.

Time stamped to 05:46 am.

A single figure appears, walking into bloc 571, looking like any person would after a long shift. In jeans and a loose hoodie, holding a very sad convenience store sandwich. A profile he wouldn't soon forget, complete with split toe boots.

Tisiphone.

Alex tries to justify her appearance. The death hadn't happened until 7 am. She must've been meeting her friend in one of the habs in the bloc. But he'd never been one to discount a coincidence.

It seemed that they would be having a chat sooner than anticipated under less than favorable circumstances. He just had to track her down.

His eyes watch the screen as the time ticks by, creeping closer to the time of death.

She claimed to be here to visit a friend which could very easily have been a lie to cover up meeting her potential victim. Tisiphone hadn't been here for very long, no one would willingly choose to eat convenience store sandwiches if they'd spent time here to get other food. Alex wasn't discounting the possibility of her commitment to looking inconspicuous at 5 in the morning, but then, if Sidney Trojan had feared for his life there would've been a struggle.

Someone would have heard in those older habs.

The time stamp reads 6:24am.

Tisiphone leaves the bloc, taking the passageway leading back to Tranquility. Mr Trojan would still be alive. Did she have an accomplice? Or is Alex making the wrong connection.

The time stamp reads 7:46 am. Mr Trojan would've been dead by now.

7 am was hardly the time for a murder to be committed. People going to work. So many witnesses. They must have been desperate. But the tapes proved useless to narrow down any suspects. Too many people, a perfect crowd to hide in. So there was that advantage. As well as, "I need all the records of the passenger manifests arriving for the last three days on the dark side of the moon and today's departures."

"Alright," she replies, holding out her hand.

Alex hands over his com. Letting her synch it up to her system and sending the files over.

"Good luck Mr. Turner."

This time, Alex does roll his eyes as he leaves her office.

Tisiphone had claimed to be from Titan, so that's the first thing he checks. Three days sound about right. He also highlights any belter arrivals. But apart from one family two days before, no one has come from the belt.

He finds the name he's looking for. Tisiphone Velazques, arriving from Hygiea the same night he had. Born on Titian twenty two years ago according to her IDB. It said a lot about how pathetic Alex was that he was currently finding a potential date on a suspect list.

She might still be innocent. But she was the only lead.

If she's a criminal, she'll be staying off grid, not wanting to leave her IDB just anywhere. But, being through, Alex checks Tranquility Hotel anyways, sending a message.

Want to surprise my girlfriend T. Velazques. It's our anniversary and I got back from a trip into Tethys four sols early. Has she checked in yet?

People were really stupid and easily fooled. Alex had learned that in the last few years.

Then he checks his messages. Twenty seven texts from his friends. Two missed calls from Matt. Shit. He'd forgotten all about Matt.

** *** ch 3

Matt clasps an arm over his shoulders, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about Julian. I thought you knew and didn't want to talk about it."

Alex considers coming clean, but decides letting Matt think this is about Julian is easier. "No one tells me anything anymore."

The taller man sighs, "you must think I'm a wanker for not even telling you. Julian always asked me how you were doing you know."

Alex shakes his head. "I tried-It doesn't matter anymore. I just think it's bloody awful to have died so young in an accident of all things."

"The idiot engineers better have been court martialed," Matt comments, as they follow behind their friends to a bar in the casino. They've all been casting looks towards Alex when they think he's not looking, like he's a bomb about to go off.

Things can never go back to the way they were.

They get a few pitchers of beer. Singing Matts praises at every sip, taking the piss about how he's going to be the worst commander ever. Alexa's boyfriend, looking tall, dark and handsome, slips into the conversation with ease while Alex, drinks and checks his phone for a response.

"Alexa's boy toy," Johanna mutters under her breath to Alex. "Does the books for one of the gambling halls."

Alex nods. But finds he doesn't care. All that earlier anxiety about his leftover feelings for Alexa, his first love, gone when he realizes there's no sting as she turns to kiss her boyfriend.

He looks down at his com, refusing a refill of beer when he realizes the hotel's written him back. With a digital key and their congratulations. There goes the supposed privacy and protections hotels were supposed to offer their clients.

But this meant he was now leaning to Tisiphone being innocent. But he could tell she was connected to Mr. Trojan somehow. A gut feeling that t9ld him he was barking up the right tree. She might be able to tell him who would want the old man dead and why.

Alex excuses himself from the celebration, pointedly ignoring Nick's suspicious gaze as he leaves.

He stops and picks up a bottle of wine and a quart of strawberries, each the size of his smallest nail with a hint of red at the tip, just in case anyone in the hotel decides to verify any of his information. He can play the part.

Alex presses the elevator up to floor 10, brings up the key on his com, when the machine asks for verification.

The doors slide shut and Alex tries to formulate a plan.

He can't frighten his only suspect-link to the crime. A man was murdered and if he doesn't solve it, justice will never be served. It's his good conscience that's going to get him in trouble all over again.

The hallway is empty.

A tacky red coat of paint that's made worse by the orange lighting. The crimson hue edging towards black. Hardly a happy atmosphere.

Alex runs his hand over the rail, a vestige from the days before antigravity, as he makes his way to room 1004.

Unlike the lobby, the floor is still metal plates welded together. Shiny compared to the rest of the place.

The casino had seen better days.

And more occupied days.

Hesitating outside the door, he places an ear near the seal, hoping that Tisiphone isn't there. It would give her the advantage if she turns out to be the murder.

Better for her to be out. Gives him a chance to look around.

He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door with the key. It slides open smoothly, revealing mustard walls and a plush navy carpet flecked with gold. There's a small bed on one side of the wall, a black backpack laying carelessly on it.

The small cabinet looks untouched, but Alex still goes through every drawer, making sure he misses nothing, peaking into the bathroom and combing the medicine cupboard.

There's a needle and dental floss. A complimentary bottle of toothbrush tabs laying in its side.

Needle and floss.

For an injury, Alex surmises. Perhaps a fresh one that Mr Trojan had managed to inflict while defending himself? It wasn't the easiest way to treat an injury, but it was the way to go if you didn't want to draw any attention.

He slips back into the small main room, and begins to go through the backpack. It looks standard issue, the fabric a vegetable leather nylon mixture that wouldn't be out of place in an SFN pack. But he doesn't recognize it from any planetary police force.

Inside there's a plasma gun with two full charges. Shrapnel in a jar. An extra shirt along with a lined jacket, also black. And a small copper data box.

He checks the jackets pockets, finding two extra IDBs. Both blank.

It's all very incriminating.

And he didn't think to bring a gun along himself.

Alex removes the charge from the plasma gun, using the pillowcase to ensure he doesn't wipe away any fingerprints, tossing both of the charges into the bottom drawer of the cabinet. And leaves the gun on top of the blanket.

Then he takes a seat and waits.

No one would leave a gun with no plans to come back and get it. Plasma guns were hard to come by. Especially for civilians on the right side of the law.

It was just his luck that the first woman he feels any connection with, ends up tied up in criminal activity.

The whoosh of a door sliding open jolts him out of his thoughts.

Alex sits up straight, deciding he looks less confrontational if he's sitting down. Besides, years of training haven't left. His body still remembers combat maneuvers. He still wakes up at 0600 and goes through basic training like clockwork.

Even when he goes back to sleep right after.

A red boot steps inside.

Tisiphone holds a brand new pair of ear pods, still in their case. The moment she spots him sitting casually in her bed, her almond eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her grip tightens on the case, before she schools her features carefully blank.

In better lighting, the scars marring her cheekbones are more prominent. Flecks of silver against honeyed skin.

"'ello again," Alex says, giving a small wave, strands of his hair falling into his eyes with the movement.

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. "Why are you here? Who even let you in?"

"I asked nicely," he explains, "terrible hotel service if you ask me. But as for why I'm here, you wouldn't happen to know who Sidney Trojan is?"

Tisphones lips form a tight line, her stance edging dangerously close to someone expecting a fight. Weight distributed well between her legs. "He's dead isn't he. Someone killed him."

" 'fraid so," Alex nods.

"Who do you work for?" Her eyes scrutinize him, as if waiting for him to strike.

Alex raises both his hands up in the air. "No one. The MP of the precinct where Mr. Trojan lived asked me to take the case on."

She doesn't move. "Earth then? Or some secret division of the SFN?"

It was a popular belief that the SFN held a secret military division. Especially among belters and martians.

"You don't seem surprised to hear he's been murdered," Alex observes, not missing a thing, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Lots of people wanted him dead."

Tisiphone must have decided he wasn't a threat. She takes a step closer, waking into the bathroom and grabbing the meager supplies, tossing them into her bag, unbothered by Alex's presence right next to her. He's incredibly aware of the small distance between them as her hands make quick work of packing, ignoring the wine and fruit he'd brought: the small distance between her hands and his thigh.

But he doubts that there's a chance in hell she'll go out with him after today. She has the same determined look on her face Johanna had right as she'd punched him day 1 of hand to hand combat. A woman who doesn't take anyone's shit.

Alex snorts, "mind telling me who wanted him dead?"

"SFN. Earth. Mars. The Children of Prometheus. Park Vader's cronies back on Titan. Maybe even Park himself. Take your pick."

"Why," Alex can't help but ask, standing up as she slings her bag over her shoulder. If he lets her walk out now, he'll likely never set eyes on her again. And she has become his only connection to this man's murder.

He can't just let her go.

"He knew too much," Tisiphone shrugs.

"I can't just let you disappear," Alex tells her, sliding between her and the door. It was a dangerous position to be in. He keeps his hands up, trying to reassure her.

"Whoever killed Ivan is going to be after me too," she states, weighing her options.

"Let me help you."

She laughs humorlessly, "I'm long past help. I’ll only drag you down. And you seem like a nice enough man despite everything."

"Despite being born on earth," Alex guesses. War hadn't touched the system in a hundred years, yet there was a lot of bitterness from the colonies over earth. Over the imagined bountiful resources. The air, breathable unlike in so many other places.

He'd lived in enough places in the system to know that it was hard living in every corner of the solarium federation.

"Good bye Alex." Her dark eyes hold his gaze, waiting for Alex to step aside. He isn't sure how long her patience will last.

"If you leave the moon now," Alex threatens, "I'll have no choice but to find you suspect under the circumstances."

Tisiphone glares at him, "are you an officer? Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Then you have no jurisdiction," she counters.

"But I was able to find you. I'm the only person who could've made that connection." Her shoes had given her away. Too distinctive for anyone trying to hide out, Alex notes. "Everyone else would've written you off. You played the part of a tired commuter perfectly. Your face isn't visible enough for facial recognition. And the timing is wrong."

"So you have to know I didn't kill him," Tisiphone observes.

"I do." Alex nods. "And I also know that you came here for a reason. I'm willing to bet it's why Ivan is dead now. Help me catch his killer and get some people off your back."

“Why do you care so much about him? He’s just another nameless belter to you people.”

He shakes his head, “because a man’s dead. He deserves justice.”

"How do I know I can trust you," Tisiphone asks, her knuckles relaxing their grip on her bag.

"I could've arrived here with the MP," Alex states, "but I'm here all on my own. Because I believe you're innocent."

She sighs. "Alright. I'll stay. But only for another twenty four hours. That's all I can give you."

He can work with that.

"Okay now let's get out of here. If I can waltz right in so can whoever killed Trojan."

"Ivan," Tisiphone corrects. "His name was Ivan Schlossberg."

"And is Tisiphone your real name," Alex asks.

She doesn't meet his eyes.

** ** ch 4

His hotel room is on the top floor. A half circle window looks out into the expanse. The grey panorama, flattened by robots, is broken up by the tops of other bloc, jutting out of the landscape like hills. The sun is the only recognizable feature in the sky. All the other stars and planets are too distant to be visible.

But Alex has the map of the system imprinted into the backs of his eyes. He could tell where earth and mars fall, navigating by stars like explorers of old, even with the slight changes that arise depending on where you were in the system.

Tisiphone looks out into space, eyes full of stars, as Alex interrogates her.

"Why would the UN or Mars be after Ivan?"

"I already told you," she responds evenly, her gaze still fixed on outer space, a melancholic quality that held none of the wonder people usually had when staring into the stars, "he knew too much."

"About what," Alex presses. Earlier she had named all the major players in politics. That which all SFN members despised because it made doing their job a nightmare of red tape.

Tisiphone looks over at him, turning her whole head towards him. "He was involved with the children of prometheus. Selling information. And Park doesn't like when his people decide to leave him."

It didn't take a genius to know what kind of information would be of value to the children of prometheus. "And your mutual friend."

She swallows thickly before answering. "Told me to find Ivan. That he could help me. I don't know anything more than that. Ivan was going to leave the moon with me and explain this later."

Alex doesn't believe that for a second. Tisiphone wouldn't have left so easily that morning if Ivan hadn't given her something. But he also knows when to let things go. "And why would they also be after you?" The usual targets for the children of prometheus were high ranking UN members or members of the Martian Presidium: the operating companies on the belt that treated their workers as expendable.

Tisiphone was none of those.

She takes a seat on Alex's current bed, her knuckles white as she grips the covers, studying the much more pleasant purple carpet. Not as matted or stained as the one in her room.

Her now shoeless feet revealing mismatched socks.

"I saw something I shouldn't have seen." She bites her lip as her eyes water. Alex forces himself not to look away, wanting to give her privacy. "Someone killed my friend and covered it up. And now they want to kill me."

He takes a step towards her, kneeling down in front of her seated figure, "I'm going to help you."

"You can't help me." Tisiphone shakes her head, looking straight at him, "you can only buy me time."

She flips through the stations as Alex combs through the flight records once more. He's isn't looking for random thugs. If this is a high profiled cover up the way she is alleging, then he needs to find a slicker cover.

He checks for any terrans that've landed here in the last few days. Any native mooners with no permanent address on record: the types of people that would easily fly under the recons. The least likely to be scrutinized.

Alex finds three profiles that fit the description. Two had arrived together under the IDBs Gemma and Nick Ryan. Siblings on vacation from earth.

They were passingly related, the same brown coloring. But Alex's searching gaze found no similar features. The bone structure was all wrong. Gemma's strong, squared. While Nick had a delicateness to his features that was absent in Gemma's.

They had the look of UN division operatives. A learned blankness that helped them slip from memory.

The third was on a flight from Ceres. An older asian man: Hugh Shen. There was no way he was born on the moon and had no records of living here. Alex knew most people born on the moon didn't chance leaving.

Opening for new immigrants were few and far between.

Then there was an oily quality that reminded him of many UN cogs that surrounded his mother like gnats.

In order to be sure that they are division members, Alex'll have to go to the scene of the crime. He knows the UN’s playbook. The methods that division uses. Growing up around his mother, he couldn't not have learned something.

Though Penelope Turner was an idealist, she was willing to do what was necessary to get the job done. It's why she was such an effective politician.

He coms Major Moss, letting her know he'll need access to Ivan's hab.

"Stay here," he tells Tisiphone. "Help yourself to anything I've got."

"Anything," she asks archly, "because I could run a bath. Never had one of those."

"Then by all means," he shrugs. The water bill was bound to burn a hole in his pocket, but going through life without knowing the laziness that baths inspired was no life at all.

She rolls her eyes, shamelessly combing through Alex's meager possessions As meager as hers really. Though he didn't have the excuse of being in hiding.

Alex takes the plasma charges with him.

Major Moss, along with another woman of medium build and asian descent, meets him at the entrance to bloc 571, the white paint having long since peeled off the metal walls. The orange lights flickered, needing replacement, as he walks beside her into bloc 571. He can hear the pressure seals around the door, as it slides open, letting them inside.

While the oldest blocs on this side of the moon, their shortcomings in cramped corridors were nothing compared to the space of the older habs.

Unlike Tranquility base, and the rest of the blocs on the moon, the lights inside bloc 571 were LED and white, the costliest to maintain. A knot of tension eased up in Alex's shoulders. His mind, despite the years in space, always unconsciously yearned for earth's natural light.

"This is officer Cong Xi," Major Moss says blandly, "she'll be taking you through all our available evidence. We're receiving pressure to wrap things up as quickly as possible. There are lots of people who want to move into a hub as spacious as this."

Alex snorts. That's what they cared about.

Cong nods, smiling warmly at him as she drinks coffee from her hot pink tumbler. "Nice to meet you Alex Turner."

Which meant she'd been briefed and knew all about him. There was probably a non-SFN version of his file on her com as they spoke.

Alex had never gotten the chance to read his file after the trail. His dishonorable discharge had left him without any credentials to ask for his file without heavy redaction if he got any response at all. He'd have asked his parents if he hadn't been a coward and taken the first ship to Vesta, hell bent on drinking himself to death.

"Likewise," he responds, realizing he's waited a beat too long to respond.

With that said, the Major turns on her heel, and leaves.

"Shall we," Cong asks him, waiting for him to follow. How did such a pleasant person end up working for the MP? Had to be an idealist. Or hadn't been working for long.

He nods.

Alex takes in the bloc.

The floors dull from nearly four centuries of feet walking over it. Not a scrap of white paint left. But the walls are covered with green plexiglass, an attempt to make up for the lack of actual greenery that hadn't been planned for in old models. Even Pallas had some weeds growing among the tangle of wires.

Each door is painted a different color, giving the neighborhood character. Ivan's hab is red, with a pattern of florals overlaid.

Officer Cong hands him shoe covers and a pair of gloves, "standard procedure," she tells him with a tinge of apologies interwoven in her voice, before she unlocks the door, letting them both inside.

Like most crime scenes, the place is covered with tape and plastic to preserve the integrity. But Alex can see the coziness that Ivan Schlossberg had built inside his hab. A glass top table with mismatched but colorful plastic chairs. Books covering a side table ranging from subjects like "Bloom: a guide to space plant maintenance," to "Catching Fire."

His desk is covered with bits of computer parts. Motherboards and processor chips. Different size screens, some with cracks.

This was the picture of a man who believed himself to be safe. He wasn't planning on running at the drop of a dime. So how had they found him?

Tisiphone had entered first.

Why not kill them both at once?

Or had they believed them both to be inside and cursed themselves when they realized the girl had gotten away?

As Alex looks about the room, noting no signs of struggle, Officer Cong studies him. Her gaze curious.

The mess of computer equipment makes Alex guess that Ivan tinkered with it to communicate with whatever group he was working with, likely using it to hack information from earth and mars. The rudimentary nature of his devices would have confused the much more advanced systems Earth relied on, massive data banks in the tundra chugging along. Ivan would've also had the flexibility of pulling the system apart and rebuilding it with different bits of code each time.

A waste of time, unless you were an old man with lots of time on your hands.

His collection of parts would've been written off as eccentricity.

"You can ask," Alex finally says, when he gets tired of the awkward silence.

"Are you really the mutineer?"

It was much better than being asked if he was that traitor. Particularly bitter belters had taken the liberty of making his days hell in the beginning, knowing he wasn't about to go get help from the SFN.

He nods, looking back at the door. Division wasn't above using chemical weapons. The seals on older habs built with the care of spaceships, no one outside this hab would've noticed. "The one and only," he finally says.

While there were lots of people who had problems with the SFN, it generally wasn't seen among rank and file members.

Cong hums, slurping her coffee.

Alex peels back the plastic over a particularly large pile of electronics, his eyes searching for something small, like a computer chip or drive that would be overlooked to the untrained eye. Toxic gases needn't be in large doses to pack a punch.

"I remember the trial on the net," she comments, "it was all my parents could talk about. My whole family really . . ."

A glint of copper catches his eye. Alex keeps his face neutral, letting Cong ramble on as he plays at looking at the body outline on the couch, as if he could magically find a guilty dust bunny, slipping the casing into his hand for later.

"-guess I was too young to care about that. Too caught up with boys and the latest hairstyles."

Alex nods, trying to pay attention. But with that casing, he's sure it was division. Certain mixtures created the same symptoms in the body as a heart attack. Given his age, it created the perfect cover.

But why come in and stab him after?

Who were they trying to frame-

They were after Tisiphone.

She had led them to Ivan, Alex's thoughts come together, each piece falling into place. They had watched her since she arrived. Which meant they knew she was headed to the moon, hence the two early dispatched division agents, purposely waiting for her to leave before killing Ivan, making sure she'd be the only suspect.

But their plan had gone to the pits.

They hadn't planned on Major Moss trying to burry the case. Or that Alex would be called on.

Instead of an easy frame job, it was a cold case waiting to happen. An MP officer would've just taken Tisiphone in. Assumed that the time of death was off due to some lab error and closed the case. But their plan had gone sideways.

"Find anything," Cong asks him suddenly, having given up trying to chat when it became obvious he wasn't listening. Though why he would make small talk about the event that had sliced his life into two distinct parts, he didn't have the foggiest idea.

Alex shakes his head, "thought the scene might hold a clue." He stands up straight, faking the appearance of disappointment channeling his mother's face when he'd come home with an F. "Whatever crime boss hired the hit must've hired a couple of top notch lads."

"Oh well them," Cong continues, holding up her com for him to read, "Major Moss needs us to come in. Apparently there's been a new development in the homicide."

Alex's chest tightens. God he hopes they haven't found Tisiphone dead. Or arrested her.

No. There's no way. He'd already be under arrest for harboring a criminal. No amount of goodwill would keep him out of prison this time.

Alex had to continue under the impression that she was fine. Because no one else had linked her to this case. No one had any reason to suspect her of anything at all. "Led the way then love."

Cong, like most girls (and some boys) since Alex had turned sixteen, blushes pink, before stepping around him and leading him back to the precinct--and to Major Moss's office.

The division agents who had landed on Tranquility base as siblings named Gemma and Nick, introduce themselves as, "Agents Barnes and Khan." They're already seated in front of Major Moss, only confirming Alex's conclusion.

The capsule in his pocket feels like a block of lead, weighing him down.

There's no way they know he knows.

Except they've been tailing Tisiphone since she landed. They might already know she's sitting in his room.

He needs to get off the moon. Alex had promised Tisiphone he'd keep her safe. And this case had just gotten much bigger than a homicide.

It was the type of cover up that required a neutral party to uncover. A High ranking SFN member that would do the right thing. Unfortunately Alex had learned the hard way that organizations were never as impartial and righteous as they claimed to be.

Bloody hell.

In between two impossible choices, giving Tisiphone up or calling his old mentor Vice Admiral Homme, he wasn't sure which was worse. Would Josh Homme even care?

Or was the UN's influence great enough to buy Homme's cooperation?

"I understand that Major Moss has made the mistake of handing a homicide to a private investigator," Agent Barnes says, smiling brightly as if she hadn't just flung shit at Major Moss, who to her credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'm the private investigator," Alex responds evenly.

"They've just finished informing me," Major Moss interrupts, smoothing down the lapels of her pants suit, "that they've identified the culprit."

Agent Barnes nods, then proceeds to do the very Earth thing of pulling out an actual paper file from a jacket and displaying it on the desk. "A career criminal from Titan named Tisiphone Velasquez. We believe her employer to be some drug lord that Mr Trojan was a long time customer of. When he got clean and moved to the moon, well. . ." Barnes trails off leaving a dramatic pause before clearing his throat, "Titian didn't forget his debts."

Ivan's hab was not the home of a drug user. Or a recovering drug user. He'd never been to Titan, to the city under the ocean, but he knew enough about drug lords to know that they had more to deal with than a customer with lots of debts on a colony as secure as the moon.

But Alex can see Major Moss eat up the story, her eyes gazing over as there's one less problem for her to deal with.

"Well Mr. Turner," Major Moss turns to him, "It looks like your services are no longer needed. I'll wire you the payment promptly. Meanwhile I'll circulate the perpetrators photo and have my officers be on the lookout."

"We will be taking custody of Miss Velasquez," Agent Barnes interrupts, "she has insider knowledge of a crime ring we have been monitoring for years."

"Of course," Major Moss responds, already typing out the paperwork.

He has to get off the base. He has to take Tisiphone far from here.

Alex turns to leave, reaching the door before he hears Agent Barnes mutter pointedly under her breath, "It's a wonder Ambassador Turner hasn't resigned out of shame. No clue how he can show his face in public."

Agent Khan coughs to hide a snigger.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. It's bait. And an obvious one at that. He has more than a few scars to prove how stupid responding to it would be, but they did just insult his mother.

"What did you just say," Alex asks through clenched teeth, not turning back to look at them, robbing them of the satisfaction. Mentally, he counts to ten.

He's not going to give them an excuse to place him under arrest.

Tisiphone is counting on him.

The fact that they're baiting him instead of just following him back to the hotel room is a good sign they don't know he's hiding Tisiphone. He tries to concentrate on the and not the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Tisiphone.

Her petite figure sitting on his bed, scrutinizing everything with an arched brow. The look in her eyes as she'd stared with a refugee's longing for their ancestral home at the image of earth, the green returning to the land after hundreds of long reclamation projects initiated by the UN.

"Nothing to trouble yourself with Alexander Turner," Agent Barnes replies patronizingly, "There is no further use for your services here."

Alex clenches his jaw, and walks out the door.

He lights a cigarette as he makes his way through the dim corridors, the orange fading into scarlet, stopping only to pick up supplies he imagines needing as they travel to space together. Not all at the same store.

Alex will have to get everything out of her, if he's going to throw in his lot with her and hope they get to the bottom of the conspiracy before they're arrested and killed. Or just killed.

What could be bad enough that the UN felt it necessary to send division agents after a woman?

The problem is the IDB has been made.

He's going to have to hope she can get another one quickly. Tisiphone, whose name is more than likely not Tisiphone as all, wouldn't have survived this long is she was stupid.

Fuck.

He really should just turn her in. Or give her a heads up and be on his way. Alex could be on Pallas in four weeks, having the most questionable weed in the system, laced with the hell knows what. Take a case every now and then. Finally make his way out to Titan.

Logan had been his favorite western growing up. Right after The magnificent Seven. He'd made Matt have stand offs against him for days after seeing it, pretending he could manipulate metal. And Titan was the new wild west of space. And still people flocked out to carve their little piece of real estate.

Humanity is ever expanding.

Alex has to press the lift button twice, cursing and lighting another cigarette when the lift's lighting system dies as he ascends up, connecting with Tranquility's passageways.

More than once, he has to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, sure he'll see an Agent following him. Hugh Shen had been absent from their little meeting. But that didn't mean he wasn't still skulking about.

Even the air changes from the corridors to the base. It's drastic compared to Ceres where the air quality is shit everywhere you go. The base has crisp clean air that didn't leave you all cotton mouthed for the wrong reasons.

From there it's easy enough to head to his room. Alex is already flicking through the net, looking for tickets to the belt. Or maybe they should go to Callisto. It was famous for being a no extradition zone: refusing to acknowledge any authority other than theirs and SFN's by extension. The relative safety was tempting, but he couldn't plan until Tisiphone told him everything she knew.

Alex wasn't stupid enough to think she wasn't holding something back. Her earlier explanation had been as vague as she could manage given the circumstances. He had no clue who her friend was. What she had seen other than a wrongful death.

There had to be a reason behind the coverup after all.

No government went around coverup murder for no reason. It just wasn't economical.

"You have to tell me everything you know," Alex tells Tisiphone in what he hopes is a commanding voice, as he tosses his bags on the bed, plopping down. His only shortcoming as a commander had been the complete and utter lack of confidence he had when giving orders. "Division has just shown up and thrown you under the bus."

Tisiphone's hair hangs down, damp as she listlessly scrolls through the catalogue of music offered by the hotel. She flinches at his words. "I should've left when I had the chance," she tells him harshly, uncurling from the settee and moving to grab her things. She jams her feet into her boots in one swift motion, clearly having been ready to make a run for it at a moment's notice.

"You're right," Alex tries, taking out the gas casing, ensuring the glint of metal catches her eyes. "It's a coverup."

"Obviously," Tisiphone scowls.

"I'm sure they've circulated your IDB by now," he continues, "they wanted to frame you for Ivan's death. I want to know what you saw so I can help you."

"Why so they can kill you as well," Tisiphone shakes her head, "No. . .no."

"What's so important that Division would risk breaking the treaty of Schiaparelli for," Alex asks, rubbing his temples. He wasn't a politician. The inner workings of government fell to the wayside of his thoughts.

There had been no major battles fought in a hundred years but relations between colonies were always fraught with tension over resources. Those skirmishes were usually fought in the Solarium Federations regulatory body, but Alex wasn't naive enough to discount the darker talk of division--their tendency to enhanced interrogation.

"Why do you want to help me so badly," Tisiphone counters, hands on her hip, glaring down at him as if he was the reason that Division had found her at all.

"Someone should," Alex shrugs, peering up at her. The line of her body fell naturally into a defensive stance, something that could only be so natural if she'd started training when she was very young. Tisiphone wasn't an innocent civilian, but she still didn't deserve to be disposed of. "And if I don't, they'll probably kill you and throw your body in some incinerator."

"Or they'll kill us both," Tisiphone replies archly.

"I'm offering you my help if you want it."

She peers down her nose at him, her lips pressed into a flat line, the slim line of her jaw fitting in perfectly with her feline features: a cat deciding if batting the toy was worth it. Turning on her heel, stepping into the bathroom, Tisiphone orders him to, "strip."

Smart girl.

It doesn't keep the burn from making its way up his neck as she turns the refresher, the low static drowning out any background noise as she takes a seat inside the fogged glass.

Alex kicks off his boots, gratefully that he'd actually kept up with his fitness all these years as he pulls his shirt off. There's still bruising in the crook of his elbow. He doubts she misses it as she stares up at him. It's a rush of relief when he notices the scarlet on her cheeks. This is embarrassing for both of them then, as he unbuttons his trousers, before taking a seat in front of her.

"Division blew up my crew." She starts with, staring at a spot behind him, her eyes welling up with tears. "They launched a missile and it tore their ship apart." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head, "I'm sorry I just. . .let me start over."

"It's okay."

"Shut up Alex and let me tell this in a way that makes sense." She swallows thickly. Taking a deep breathe during which she closes her eyes before continuing. "My name is Vera Albaicin. I'm an agent of the Guoanbu. Sixty eight sols ago my crew was handpicked to participate in an interplanetary task force with the UN. It was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission. We met up with the other crew. Everything was normal."

T-Vera closes her eyes, her hands closed tightly by her sides, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine. Alex wants to offer comfort, but he isn't sure there is anything he can do to make things better in this situation.

"I took an EMU suit to-it was a strange ship. More like a capsule or probe. I had just made contact when my ship was hit." She shakes her head, a desperation in her eyes at the helplessness she must keep on feeling. Not having been able to do anything to save her crew. "Space. They died in seconds. The thing is. . .the only people who would've known about the mission were the UN and MPC. Earth and mars."

Alex nods, trying to probe her as gently as possible because there is still one unanswered question, "how did you know to find Ivan."

The UN and MPC must have decided that the knowledge was better off lost after having sent a retrieval team. Something they didn't want anyone to know about it. That fact that mars and earth had cooperated at all was throwing Alex off. Weapons would make sense if it was just mars or earth. But together?

Vera shakes her head slowly, her gaze meeting his, an intense anger to their depth he had not seen before. She was digging because she was fucking mad. This was a woman seeking justice. "I can't."

"Vera," Alex utters, unable to look away, trying her real name out on his tongue. "My name is Alexander Turner. I'm kind of famous for breaking the law," he finished with a self deprecating smile.

Usually, the last thing he wanted a potential date to know was his past.

Her eyes widen, her whole body freezing up as she takes in the new information, pursing her lips in an attempt to suppress a telling gasp. But instead of recoiling in disgust as he expects her to, Vera reaches for her neck, revealing a necklace obscured by her hoodie. It's a cheap metal thing that must be of sentimental value.

She doesn't stop there, thumbing the ring at the end of the chain before meeting his gaze once more. This time there's no hard glint to her cognac eyes, but a woman at last having caught on to a life preserver. "Julian-Captain Casablancas told me to find Ivan. Trust no one-trust no one but Alex Turner," Vera admits, unable to hold his gaze. "He must have known what was coming."

It's a ring he recognizes well, a twin to his own commander ring. The classic exploration insignia: the atom. Every detail identical for Julian and Alex had received their rank at the same ceremony, only Julian had been eight years older. Already the man Alex wanted to be: wanted to be with. The man had inspired camaraderie the way a good leader should, and clearly he had managed it in a martian girl as well if she had come all this way on his word alone.

"Can I," he motions, aware of the closing distance between them. Between him and Vera. Vera. He had to get his head around that one. Same woman, different name.

No. Not the same woman.

This woman was a martian secret intelligence agent. Not some naive little girl.

She nods, closing her fist around the ring before yanking the chain in a quick motion. It snaps off. The sound like the hull of a ship nearing the end of its lifetime, creaking. Then drops the ring into his outstretched palm.

Without Alex having to prompt this time, still caught up in seeing Julian's ring, still warm from Vera's body heat, in his hand. Julian hadn't responded to Alex's messages. He'd assumed it was because of Alex's past, but now he was left to wonder if Julian had wanted to protect him by keeping away from him. Keeping whatever he'd gotten caught up in that had killed him away from Alex. Vera adds, "I was confused why he'd told me that, given me his ring as I got into the EMU suit but. . .Ivan told me that he was just the messenger. He'd worked for so many sides not asking questions. Earth, Solarium, Mars. They were all the same to him. So he decided that the children of prometheus had a point and got in contact with them. Relaid information. Ivan-he was going to tell me more."

But he'd died.

Vera looks at him meaningfully, "but he did manage to give me the coordinates that he was given by his CoP contact. In case he ever needed a safe house or extraction."

"He never-," Alex begins to ask, not taking his eyes off the ring. In his hand was proof that Julian had been killed.

"He never met his contact," Vera confirms. "But they're on Callisto. Some hippie hub." She rolls her eyes and what a martian thing to do. Look down on every colony not hell bent on terraforming.

Alex turns his gaze on her once more, seeing her in a different light for the first time. Trying to spot what made her a martian. As if he could spot in vitro augmentation just by looking her over.

But all he saw was a petite woman with a hollowness under her eyes. Her full lips pressed into a grim line. Hair slowly drying into waves, catching the light like oil on water. Despite Alex's new information about Vera, he was no less drawn to her.

There was no sadistic edge that spoke of oprichnik operatives who the Martian People's council refused to acknowledge existed despite all the mounting evidence about their methods.

His gut was telling him that Vera was telling the truth.

"One thing though," Alex points out, taking off his own ring for the first time since he'd first received command rank, a command long since stripped from him, and sliding Julian's ring on his finger in its place as he stands up. His mind was made up. He was going to help Vera uncover this conspiracy. Clear Julian and Vera's name. And maybe, just maybe, reclaim some respect on his name.

"What?"

"You said earth and mars sent you," he says gently, having encountered enough martians to know how loyal to their colony they were otherwise known as having bought into the propaganda, "but Division killed your crew.. ."

"Yes," Vera nods, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Then wouldn't both earth and mars have sent the missile that killed your crew? Or wouldn't have mars already used this as an excuse to advance their agenda?"

"No," she supplies, refusing to even contemplate the idea that Mars would've been complicit in such an act. "The Guoanbu wouldn't have killed their own. We're-they're not like that."

“Vera," he sighs, "there's nastiness under every corner, no matter how nice everything is on top you know."

She shakes her head again, averting her gaze, There wasn't much to look at on the walls, but she was making due.

"Let's just find ya another IDB and get to Callisto-"

There's a knock at the door.

Alex and Vera trade wide eyed looks, having taken the plunge off the same cliff with nothing but a string of brand new fucking trust between them. A dead man's word to go on.

Fucking hell.

Matt and Nick flank each side of the room's door. Nick's stone face offsets the mixture of parental concern Matt's features contain, sighing at Alex's appearance, sticking his head out the door. Vera hiding next to the door, alert to every word.

He has to wonder how good her hearing is. Martian's always messed with embryos biology, designing the next generation to be fitter. Could she hear down the hall? What the people in the next room were saying?

Matt steps forward, "jesus fuck mate," he shakes his head. "Can't respond to a bloody com now Alex."

"I told you I got a job," he protests, trying to remember if that was true. His friends had fallen to the bottom of his priorities quickly. Alex had a habit of self absorption with whatever obsession came his way. It had made him a terrific ensign, practicing the same maneuver for hours until he could do it with his eyes closed.

"No," Nick corrects, not bothering to move the curls out of his face, watching him carefully, "you didn't."

Alex sighs, but doesn't budge. They mustn't see Vera. Soon her face will be plastered all over the net as a manhunt begins. Her IDB must already be flagged for travel.

He had to make his rightfully concerned friends go away and quickly.

"Al," Matt levels with him, "I asked you to be here because you might as well be my brother. I knew when I did that it would mean coming back to the moon. That it would bring up a load of shit for you."

"We're worried about you mate," Nick explains. "You're still here. You won't talk to any of us."

" 'm fine," Alex mumbles, unable to hold eye contact with either of his friends. He looks at his shoes as he realizes how unfair he's been to them both in the last two days.

This trip was supposed to be about Matt.

He shouldn't be here worried that Alex finally went off the rails.

"Alex," Matt utters, placing his hand on the door frame, leaning in close to Alex. "You know you can talk to me. I don't care what you did or why."

"Really," Alex tries, because as much as he'd like to have this long overdue discussion, finally get to explain why--no one had ever asked him why, they'd just condemned his actions as w r o n g--he has to get Vera off the moon. "I'm fine. Just been in me head."

"That's what I'm worried about," Matt responds, eyes locked onto his, as if Alex could disappear at any moment. "You've always been in your head too much Al. And it didn't matter when I knew you were looking after yourself. Had me and the lads with you but-Alex you looked like utter shit back in Vesta last time I saw you, hopped up on who knows what."

Alex swears internally. They really knew when to pick the worst moments. He was actually doing good. "I know. . .," he tries to find the words that don't require him to have an emotional breakdown in Tranquility Hotel, aware Vera's listening in, "it's been rough. Some days worse than others but Matthew," he whines, "I really am good."

"For how long though," Nick counters, crossing his arms against his chest. It was a good point but Alex really hadn't been in the dark lonely place in months. Maybe closer to a year now. Progress.

Something about waking up missing shoes and jammed into the seediest by corners of an asteroid had lit a fire under his arse about moving on.

He hadn't even hit the agents earlier. They would've deserved it but who gives a shit. Alex will always be a mutineer but at least his hands were clean. His conscience is a white pearl like a meditating bodhisattva.

"Can we just go inside and talk man," Matt pleads, his shoulder resting against the door, clearly seconds away from shoving his way in.

Guilt wells up in his mouth. Despite having every reason to say no, Alex wants to say yes, the word making its way to the tip of his tongue at Matt's insistence.

It was Matt and he was Alex and he couldn't just deny him like this after everything.

Terrans were only allowed one child.

The law didn't keep Matt from being his brother any less.

"I can't," Alex sighs. "I just-you've given me a lot to think about."

Matt rolls his eyes, hurt flashing through his features as he takes a step back, "bullshit."

"Just open up the damn door Alexander," Nick tries, clearly having had it with trying to do things the nice way, realizing Alex wasn't going to budge on his own. "We're ya friends."

"It's been six years Alex," Matt added. "I thought you'd want to talk by now."

Alex shakes his head, "it's not always a straight line."

"Let's have this conversation inside," Nick insists, "who knows when you'll be around next Al. And now Matt has a command. . ."

Matt shoves his way in.

Alex had forgotten how hot headed he could be. The foil to his cool and calm temperament: translating Alex's lit to others. Not that Alex had much trouble verbalizing, necessity being the mother invention. He no longer took hours to get a sentence out of his mouth.

"Matt!"

"Don't Matt me Al," Matt retorts spying Vera in seconds, who's already fallen into a defensive stance.

Matt brings a hand to his face, pinching his nose bridge, before heavily sighing, "You've got to be kidding me Al. You're hiding a murderer now."

"She's no-"

"I didn't kill anyone," she tries, folding into herself, trying to appear smaller and innocent than she actually is. Vera tries to play at being Tisiphone once more. "It's all a misunderstanding!"

"Then turn yourself in," Nick challenges, closing the door behind him.

"Al," Matt says, placing his hands on Alex's shoulders, "what the hell are you thinking mate! They're going to lock you up for this and not even-"

"Matt," he interrupts, "trust me. I'd love to have a nice long chat but things have gotten. . .complicated and-it's safer if ya don't know. Just. . .trust me."

Matt stares back at him, mouth drawn. An entire childhood together on earth, their toes digging into the soil, tracking mud all over the floors. Later a shared adolescence, their accents charming the girls and boys at school, Matt doing all the talking and never leaving a painfully shy Alex behind.

He nods. "You better come back because we're having this talk even if I have to go visit you in prison."

"There are things far worse than prison," Vera unhelpfully points out, tugging on her jacket over her hoodie, the collar lined with actual animal fur. Given the martian rationing system, it was an untold luxury for Vera to own a leather jacket with fur at all. "I'd even take death over enhanced interrogation."

She pretends to tremble with fear, "anything but gravity."

Alex snorts in spite of the dark subject matter. "Not helping."

Ignoring the other two men in the room, Vera hands Alex one of the spare IDB's he'd seen in her bag earlier. Had it really been only hours ago? "Here's your IDB now. Alexander Collins. Born on Pallas. Married to Morgana Collins," she points at herself, already dispatching the old IDB off her wrist and throwing it in her bag. "Came to the moon to get married. Off to Callisto to make a living," she explains calmly.

"Short and sweet," Alex notes, looking down at his own wrist, the IDB a second skin. He hadn't taken it off since he'd left earth. Many colonies like Callisto chose to implant the ID chip.

It was the key to getting on any ship. His passport and last link to earth. His last hope at ever stepping foot on the big blue planet again, however slim.

Visas for foreigners pretty much nonexistent.

Nick hands him a swiss army laser, "I implanted mine." It's news to Alex who hadn't even noticed, Nick having always been a bit chilly, wearing long sleeves year round. " 's nice actually."

Matt dramatically covers his eyes.

Alex slices through the metal, leaving a band of unblemished creamy skin.

It doesn't last long, as Vera easily replaces it.

"You should keep it," she tells him, patting his arm like a parent half heartedly consoling their child after a pet fish dies. "We are planning on fixing things."

"Yeah," Alex answers, running his fingers over the band. He already felt less confident without it.

#trash pile #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #space opera fic i wont finish

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years ago

Text

Just a Friend

So I finally started to write another story...

I will try and post weekly, but can’t promise on account of real life and my inability to actually focus on translating what’s in my head onto paper (or screen!)

Getting the courage to post never gets any easier, but here goes. I hope you enjoy this frothy bit of fun. I will also post on AO3.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for being an excellent beta.

Chapter 1: From Airport to Aggravation

Bank holiday crowds, on the whole, are hell.

And this one is rapidly turning into an even deeper level of purgatory. The hottest May for years in Scotland and I’m stuck at Glasgow airport with a dozen women, collectively known as ‘Geillis’s Hen Party Posse’, each displaying varying degrees of inebriation, hangover or general sleep deprivation, and all aiming for the luggage carousel showing the flight from Barcelona. Which apparently is where several hundred other disembarked passengers are also heading.

Eventually, I manage to get a view of the bags and cases slowly making their way around the belt. They’re pretty picked over by this time, apart from the couple of boxes covered in gaffer tape that always seem to be first off a plane—any plane—and last to be collected. They’re always there, on every flight. Why is that?

I pause from my musings to wave frantically at Geillis, who now has a trolley and is clearing a path straight towards me.

“I got us a trolley.” she informs me, stating the obvious. “I thought it’d be easier. Have ye seen ours yet, Claire? I canna see the others. They must have already gone through.”

“No,” I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the little hatch, willing our bags to appear. All I want is to go home, put my sleep mask on and try and get some sleep. Three days in Barcelona celebrating Geillis’s forthcoming nuptials have worn me out, and, I glance at my watch, I am due in theatre in approximately seventeen hours time.

"It's there, it's there," Geillis points excitedly at the neon pink and green leopard print bag making its way towards us.

She makes a grab for it as I continue to look for my bag. Predictably, it’s one of the last ones on the carousel. I recognise it immediately from the piece of red gift ribbon tied to the handle of the plain black Samsonite. I load it onto the trolley and Geillis and I head through customs to join the rest of the posse.

We say our goodbyes loudly, with much hugging and kisses. A stranger viewing this scene might imagine we won’t be seeing each other again for weeks or even months. In truth, I’ll be seeing most of them in the next week or so at the hospital as our schedules coincide.

“Shall we two get a taxi, then?” Geillis asks me.

I start to answer as my mobile pings — a text from Frank...very nice, very caring, very predictable.

Darling, it’s been a long three days without you. I am ready to collect you from the airport if you would like. If not, might I see you later this evening? xxx

And that is very clearly Frank. Correct grammar and punctuation, even on his texts. I shake my head as if to drive away my inner bitch and pretend I haven’t read it. I will respond, of course, just later when I’m back at home.

So, I smile at Geillis and agree. “Of course, we can go halves.”

***********

As I walk into my flat, the peace and quiet and sheer bloody calm wraps itself around me like a swaddling cloth. It’s blissfully cool too, with all the shutters closed.

It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in Barcelona. It was actually great. But being in the company of others twenty four hours a day is wearing, much as I love them. And we all had to do everything together. No sneaking off for a solitary walk, or escaping to bed for a little siesta.

I deposit my suitcase by the bedroom door, slip off my converse, pour myself a glass of orange juice, settle down on the sofa and figure out how best to tell Frank not tonight without offending him.

Frank, Sorry but tonight isn’t —

I delete and try again.

Thanks for the offer to pick me up. I was already in the taxi when I got it. Can we give tonight a miss? Theatre in the morning and I’m knackered totally exhausted. You know what Geillis is like. Speak tomorrow, I promise. C

Frank knows what Geillis is like. Frank thinks Geillis is a bad influence on me, with her larger than life personality and wild ideas. I think Frank doesn’t really know me at all if he believes I can be influenced like that. I hang out with Geillis and my friends because they’re fun and we laugh… a lot.

Without realising, I feel my shoulder muscles relax as soon as I’ve sent the message. These are not good signs for my relationship with Frank. He’s investing far more into ‘us’ than I am willing to do. But as long as I’m honest with him…

There are advantages to being with Frank, of course. He’s punctual, very organised and a proficient and considerate lover. He always makes sure I come, even if I sometimes...er… exaggerate my reactions to hurry things along. So much for honesty, then.

I finish my orange juice and plan my evening. Four things to do - unpack, grab some food, shower and sleep. Not even going to wash my hair. That would really be too much effort, struggling with my untameable mane, and it’s going to be stuck under a surgical cap for most of tomorrow anyway.

It takes a bit of effort to actually move from the sofa. I could quite happily fall asleep there. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—starving hungry and still smelling of sweaty airports. Reluctantly, I haul myself into a vertical position and head for my bedroom picking up my suitcase en route.

Opening the suitcase, I am not greeted with the expected haphazard mass of sun dresses, t shirts and shorts—all with the evocative aroma of Hawaiian Tropic—but a layer of white dress shirts, immaculately folded and the faint scent of a musky cologne.

Shit, shit, shit!! Some else has walked off with my black samsonite with the red ribbon on the handle. My evening plans are rapidly going awry. I delve into my handbag praying that I kept my boarding pass with the sticky bar code luggage receipt. The relief when I find it lurking in the bottom of my bag is immense. Quickly I google the airline lost baggage number and dial.

After a few bars of some god awful plinky plinky hold music, I hear a recorded message. “Your call is important to us, please hold. Your call is important to us, please hold.”

Good to know, then back to the plinky plinky before another message. “The office you are trying to reach is now closed. Please try again during office hours nine am to five thirty. Thank you.”

“If my call is so important to you, why is no one there at six o’clock?” I yell down the phone, but the plinky plinky ignores me and continues its irritating melody.

I sigh. I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow morning to sort this out. Besides, by nine am tomorrow morning, I will be somewhat unavailable - reshaping the hip bone of a seven year old boy. So, I have no alternative. I will have to have a bit of a dig around this stranger’s suitcase, looking for any clue or contact details.

As I start to have a feel around, it occurs to me that some stranger might, at this very moment, be doing exactly the same thing — having a poke around my suitcase in the hope of finding my details. No doubt judging me based on my choice of holiday attire. And, I suddenly realise, his judgement may well be coloured by the discovery of some items of a more adult nature.

I say ‘he’, based on the XL white shirts, the pair of battered jeans and faded Scotland rugby shirt, but I could be wrong. I don’t have to dig any further into the case as I spy, in a mesh pocket, a neat rectangle of card with a name — James Fraser — a mobile number and an email address.

Relief sweeps over me. Perhaps we can get this all sorted tonight. Unless this James Fraser lives miles away and was just passing through Glasgow on his way to, say, the Outer Hebrides. That could be a whole other level of problem.

I quickly reach for my phone. Another message from Frank awaits.

Are you sure, darling? I’m looking forward to seeing you. Would tomorrow evening work for you?

I ignore it for the moment. Let me sort my luggage issue out first.

I dial the number on the card and begin to pace around my bedroom as it rings and rings. I am just about to give up when, thankfully, it’s answered.

“Hello?” A female voice asks warily.

I clear my throat and put on my most pleasant phone voice. “Is there a James Fraser there please?”

“Ye’ve the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry, I must have mis—“ I begin, but find myself apologising to dead air.

I try again, carefully comparing each digit to those written, very neatly, on the card.

“Hello?” The same female voice answers, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this is the number I have for James Fra—“

“And I already told ye, ye’ve the wrong number. Dinna bother again.”

In the days before mobiles, I’m sure this would have been accompanied by a deafening crash as the receiver hit the cradle. Pressing a soft key doesn’t have the same dramatic effect. But I get the message anyway.

So, new plan needed. All I can do is email this James Fraser and hope he actually has written down the correct email address. If not, I’ll have to sort it out with the airline tomorrow afternoon.

My stomach rumbles and I suddenly realise that I’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless you count the slices of fruit in my jug of sangria. I wander into the kitchen and peruse the contents of my cupboards and fridge. I’m not the most gifted cook, but I’m not too bad and can usually rustle up something edible and fairly tasty. The bread feels a bit on the dry side but will be fine toasted, and I know I have eggs.

I put a knob of butter in a pan and text Frank while I’m waiting for it to sizzle.

Think tomoz will be ok. Talk 2morrow. C

I don’t normally use text speak at all, but something about Frank’s perfectly formed text messages always makes me want to rebel. I can imagine him wincing right now. He’s a professor at the university and is forever complaining about the standard of literacy amongst his undergraduates. If he thinks he has problems, he should try dealing with junior doctors.

With my scrambled egg on toast all eaten, I focus my attention on the email to James Fraser. I write it quickly, brief and to the point: I have your suitcase and therefore presume you have mine, can we meet to swap them over and here’s my phone number.

The longing for a shower and then bed is now overwhelming. I strip off and bundle all my clothes into the laundry basket, tie my hair up with a scrunchie and step into my shower. This is undoubtedly one of my favourite places on earth and possibly the reason that I bought this flat. Large enough for two, I suppose. Although none have yet been invited to partake in this heavenly experience. Maybe I’m saving that for someone extra special. It has a huge overhead rainfall shower head and a handheld shower head too.

My indulgences are all in here — a selection of expensive shower gels, scrubs and lotions and an assortment of huge fluffy bath towels. I choose a lavender scented gel and scrub all traces of the day from my skin.

Wrapping myself in one of my pristine white towels, I slather shea butter lotion on my slightly sun-burnt skin, noticing the uneven red patches where the sun cream hadn’t quite reached but at least it’s not sore.

A quick check of my emails shows there’s no word from James Fraser as yet, so I decide to just settle down to sleep and leave luggage worries until the morning. Fortunately, I had changed the sheets before my weekend away, so I simply unwrap my towel, leaving it in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. The feeling of the cool, crisp bedding against my skin is wonderful. I assume a sort of diagonal starfish position, not having to worry about any other occupants. It crosses my mind whether to reach for the tiny vibrator in my bedside drawer, but I’m too comfortable and drowsy for that, so instead I check my alarm and settle down for sleep.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Just a Friend #chapter 1 #Here goes

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maximumninjavoid · 4 years ago

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Mining for Unobtanium 33

Ah, the angst. Oh, here it comes. There’ll probably be some more smut. But for now? ANGST. Angsty angst. Ninety three followers. Slowly creeping towards 100. Never thought I would see the day. Honestly.

WARNING. Angsty as f*ck. 18 and over, Adult themes. Teh Secks.

I found a job in Thailand, and was negotiating a start date for right around the time he went back to filming. I just hadn't figured out how to actually make my exit. I did what came naturally to me in difficult times. I got out the heavy weight paper, and the good pens and started to write. " Look, love, I've got to go. Its for the best, really. No woman worth you will start dating you with me lurking around, peeking out from behind potted palms. And I KNOW you want a family. A traditional one. Like everyone else in your family. You are perfect husband material, and you're going to be the most doting dad that ever there was. I hope you have a daughter. She will wrap you around her finger like taffy. And enough boys for rugby, of course. You know I still want to be a part of your life, I just know that it may not be possible. I promise you will always know where to find me, and if you really need me, I will always have your six. Text me the phrase we agreed upon, and I will drop everything and be right at your side, as fast as I possibly can. Whenever, wherever. That's my word bond to you. While I draw breath, I am yours. But, Hen, you must understand I love you far too much to keep you from your dreams, or worse, to have you wake one day and see those beautiful eyes tinted with regret or resentment. I couldn't bear it. Find a woman who loves you for you. If you retired, and built ships in boats ( and how DO they do that, anyway?) She should love you just as much as if you were fifty feet tall in Times Square. Make sure she's self entertaining. If you get lost on a quest, she needs to be able to find her own things to do, that she loves, and you'd best encourage those things. Share her passions like I know she will want to share yours. Don't fall for that stalker shite, sugar. I know, I'm going to tease you about that till the Fourteenth of forever. That's funny. Never let your PR people pick your dates. Somebody who's rude to staff or servers or underlings NEVER EVER gets a second date. If KAL doesn't like her, run away, FAST. Find a woman who makes you laugh. And who loves sex and intimacy as much as you do, and make sure she understands that those are two separate things. There will come a time when sex will not be as spontaneous, when you've got to work at making time to be a couple, and not mummy and daddy. Never take each other for granted. Appreciation and honest kind words go so far. Harsh words cause the deepest wounds, tear open the oldest scars. Be gentle with each other. If you can, make her part of your team, and you of hers. Support her work enthusiastically. If you're not worlds away, show up for her things, and the kids things. Nothing is as adorable as the performances of small children, and before you know it, they won't want to spend any time with you..Always foster her independence. It gives her room to grow and she will never run out of ways to contribute. If you give her more than three babies in four years, GET THE WOMAN SOME HELP. And for everyone's sake a nice OLD lady, older than I am. There is no win in the mixture of post partum depression, struggling to get your figure back and some chippie in your house falling all over your husband and "stealing your children". And that woman who comes to help? Her NDA better be tighter than a camel's ass in a sandstorm. I'm trying so hard to not forget anything. I know you and I know once you read this you're going to be quite cross with me and I won't hear from you for a while. You'll be licking your wounds, as will I.” I stepped out to smoke, it didn't help. This was going to be ugly crying. I blew my nose, splashed cold water on my face, and soldiered on. I picked up the pen, not even enjoying the feel of a good pen in my hand, unappreciative of its heft and balance, giving no fucks about the way it glided across the page. I might as well be writing in my own blood. “Cross with me. My talent for understatement, I suppose. You'll be furious. And I'm sorry. I know, its insulting and insufficient. But I am sorry. And you know I would use the fragments of my broken heart to mend yours, but I am not wizard enough to make this what it can never be. I meant what I said. If you need me, I will be there. Be honest with her, about what part I play in your well being.... That at some point you may need to surrender your control. That even Daddies need Daddies. And for both your comfort and your honor, I can promise not to annihilate your marriage vows while providing that for you. You CAN do what it is we do with out sex. It just isn’t as fun. I don't think now that you've opened Pandora's box that it will close easily. I believe the things you've found there resonate too deeply for you to just dismiss them. It is why you came looking in the first place, because you knew that those pieces were missing, there were voids to be filled. But remember, you can’t play these reindeer games with everyone. This can’t get out, can’t be public, so be careful. I know your heart, I have the measure of you. I have no concerns that you'll be callous or unnecessarily cruel. You'll find that edge and ride it like some fucking prize stallion in a steeplechase, but you won't ever be abusive and there will always be love and passion behind what you do, its who you are. Thank you my dearest, for allowing me the opportunity to pass on my skills, and my knowledge. The people that taught me would be so pleased to meet you, to see your heart, your passion, your skill. Bless you for letting me tell you my stories. I know now that they will not disappear. You will never know how much of a gift that was for me, and I can never repay you. All my love in this life and the next..... And I signed it. I folded it and put it in the envelope, and started gathering my things. Time was running out. I sent a box or two back to the States, made arrangements for someone to look after my house, and researched flights. I could be in Bangkok in less than three days, and with a negative Covid test, no quarantine. Going back to work would get me out of my own head, and I knew, if I stayed there, in my head; very bad things were in store for me. They had sent my visas, my work documentation, they emailed my offer letter, and had sent an open ended return ticket. Most of what I needed I could obtain when I got there, and the idea of having a custom tailored wardrobe was very appealing. Plus, its a rainforest jungle. Shorts and t shirts, wraps, sandals, not much more than that, really. Maybe a swimsuit or two. With my vacation days I could see all the places on my bucket list and or do medical tourism. Its funny, to be gone for this long and have it not be that big of a deal, in a pandemic. No one was even looking for me. Now I needed to start working on the Long Goodbye. When he came home that evening I had dinner waiting. Kal's dinner too. I wasn't fucking around. Soft lights, candles, that red wine he liked, I wasn't going to miss a trick. I was all put together, everything shaved, lotioned, make up that looked like I hadn't any make up. I mean, I can't do fresh faced anymore. During dinner we talked and I worked so hard not to lose it completely. I smiled and laughed in the appropriate places, held up my end of the conversation. At the conclusion of the meal I started to tidy up and he followed me into the kitchen. Music was playing and I was humming as I did the dishes. I didn't realize he was leaning against the doorway, watching me. He crossed the space in just a few steps, one arm at my waist and spun me around to face him. I squeaked, startled. He smiled and pulled me in for a kiss, took my hand and danced around the kitchen with me ...... Henry singing in my ear "Ooooh, I been missing you And the way you make me feel inside What can I do? I can tell you’ve got your pride now, baby Come to me (oh well, oh well) Let me ease your mind (oh babe) I’ve got the remedy, yes I do Now give me just a little time (Here in my mind, Girl, I wanna shake you down) I wanna rock you down (I can give you all the lovin you need) I’m gonna love you (Come on let me take you down) Oh well or well (We’ll go all the way to heaven)* Gregory Abbott “ Shake You Down” I was pulled up tight against him, one of his legs in between mine as we slow danced, my head on his shoulder, I was practically purring. Back in the day we called that cock dragging. He led magnificently, I didn't think about how clumsy I usually was or where my feet were going, he just guided me around the kitchen singing to me, dancing. I looked up at him, lost in those deep soulful eyes....

" You were three when this song came out" I laughed. " I have several older brothers and the music you love brings back great memories. " As the song ended he dipped me, practically to the floor, and I didn't panic. His strong arms had me I was secure and knew I wouldn't fall. Well, not from being dipped.He ran his tongue up my sternum, between my breasts, up my neck to finally claim my mouth.

@indigosaurus @fishcustardandclintbarton @tinareher @whyyoudothistomecavill @littlefreya @angryschnauzer @dancingwendigo

@michellemybelles-world @geraltsbottomsbottom

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader

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antiquecompass · 5 years ago

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Untamed Spring Fest Day 9: Shower

Jiang Cheng always knew Lan Academy fostered a healthy appetite for competition among its students, urging them to do their best in an attempt to be their best, but even he didn’t expect their take on field day to be so brutal.

Jiang Cheng thought Andover was bad but this---he’d been attending these events at Xichen’s side for over ten years now and somehow each year kept getting more and more competitive, more and more challenging. It was as if, with all the increased free time he had in his semi-retirement, Lan Qiren had become the ultimate obstacle course taskmaster.

Then again, this was nothing compared to the mud pile tug of wars and any rugby match ever at the Cloud Recesses, so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

But this was madness.

And apparently Lan Academy.

It was raining in sheets, windy, sideways, turning the formerly bright and sunny obstacle course into an actual mud pit. Any sensible person would’ve called it off, but neither rain nor sleet nor snow seemed to stop the students of Lan Academy on Field Day.

Especially not when Lan Qiren had the whistle.

“It’s---this is like Hell Week. For SEALS,” Jiang Cheng said as he stared out among the gathered group of Lan Academy Seniors in their official gym clothes, all ready to go as soon as the whistle blew.

“Isn’t it great,” Mingjue said. He had a clipboard and a stopwatch in his hand. Slap the man into a track suit and he’d look like a professional coach and was acting like one as well. “My money’s on Jingyi this year, but that Ramos kid is pretty tough, and Sizhui’s the quiet and devious type. Ava’s my dark horse--tiny, but dangerous.”

Jiang Cheng turned to his husband. “Where’s all your peace and love school community spirit now?” he asked.

The venerated Headmaster Lan shrugged from his safe place under one of the large white tents. He waved a little Lan Academy flag and gave an undignified whoop.

Field Day at Lan Academy was clearly in the Twilight Zone.

“You see this rain, yes?” Jiang Cheng asked. He’d never seen it rain like this at Lan Academy before. “Actual rain showers. Sideways rain showers.” He held up his phone. “Flash Flood Watch rain showers. Aren't you worried about possible injuries?” Jiang Cheng said.

“Everyone’s consent form is signed and they’re always offered the chance to leave the course at any moment. There’s no shame in using good sense,” Xichen said.

“Do you hear the bullshit coming out of your mouth right now?” Jiang Cheng asked.

Xichen slapped him in the stomach. “Language, my heart. There are children about.”

“And our nephews are about to inhale at least three liters of mud,” Jiang Cheng said, pointing out to the field.

“Not if they keep their balance,” Xichen said.

“You’re enjoying this,” Jiang Cheng said.

Xichen grinned. “Just reminds me of my final field day as a student here. Had to scale Gusu Hill in rain just like this--we got up it, with teamwork.”

Jiang Cheng shook his head and cursed again. “This is just like Hell Week.”

“Not even a little bit,” Xichen said. “Except for the learning to work as a team part.”

He raised his hand and signaled the start of the race. Lan Qiren blew his whistle. And the seniors were off in a mad, mud-filled scramble.

**********

“You have a fan club.”

Jin Ling looked up from where he was preparing his bow to turn and see his parents and siblings all in the middle row of the bleachers, waving and cheering him on, big, glittery signs, and Lan Academy flags, and even his father shaking a white and blue pom-pom.

At a normal archery match they couldn’t be so enthusiastic, but here, in the old Lan Academy gym turned into an indoor range on one side of and a rock-climbing wall on the other, they were free to show their support.

Jin Chan scoffed from the other end of the range.

Jin Ling ignored his cousin. His uncles were right; Jin Chan wasn’t even worth a single breath.

Coach Wen raised his hand and the crowd silenced. Jin Ling could still hear whispers of some members of the crowd; most of the Jins, the ones who remained loyal to his grandfather; the ones who disapproved of his father staying home to raise his children and being far more involved in the business of the Jiangs and the Nies than the Jins, were there to support Jin Chan. And Jin Chan knew it, which was why he was being extra-arrogant today.

Jin Ling couldn’t give a fuck.

He had his immediate family--the best of the Jins here. He had the Lans. He had Lan Academy. He had the Song-Xiao clan (though, to be fair, they were also here for Yating). He had Mrs. Ouyang, who had made a rare trip to visit this time, on the last of Zizhen’s Lan Academy Field Days. He had his cousins and uncles. He had the Delaneys. He had Zizhen himself.

Jin Ling remembered all of this as he prepared to take his shot. He’d done this over and over again for years, indoor and outdoor ranges, all over the world.

The signal sounded.

Arrows flew.

Jin Ling was the only to hit dead center.

They repeated it over and over again until the competition was done. Jin Ling was the only one to manage to keep a center grouping. April was a close second. Yating a close third. Jin Chan was at the very bottom of the results.

“It’s not like this is a real competition anyway,” Jin Chan sneered.

It still felt damn good to Jin Ling when that Lan Academy gold medal went around his neck.

**********

Ouyang Zizhen laughed at the two mud monsters who were once his best friends. The track events had been pushed back to the later afternoon. Luckily the rain showers had finally stopped, and while the track was still wet, it was manageable. Jingyi and Sizhui had obviously not been so lucky.

“You two tied, didn’t you?” he asked as he continued his warm-up.

“We had to sacrifice Ari,” Jingyi said. “But it was a worthy sacrifice in the end. Ava nearly got us, but she came in fifteen seconds behind us..”

“Congratulations,” Zizhen said. “But please go let one of the coaches power-wash you two. If you get mud on the track, Sophie will yell at you.”

Even under the mud, he could see Sizhui wince. Sophie McKim’s wrath was a thing to be feared. Especially on the track. Especially during the relay.

“Do your dorm team proud,” Jingyi said, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

Zizhen smoothly stepped back. “I’ll take that show of support and spirit. Please go de-earthify yourselves.”

“It’s not like we aren’t going to get just as dirty during the final event,” Jingyi said. “I’m pretty sure they’re adding mud to the field at this point.”

“Lans! Get your muddy asses off my track! Now!” Sophie yelled, her ponytail up high, her face screaming that a murder was about to happen.

“Shit,” Jingyi said as he scrambled away.

Zizhen laughed as Jingyi managed to clear three entire hurdles before cutting across the center to the other end of the bleachers and towards the locker room where Molly Lan stood with a hose at the ready.

“And that’s the love of your life,” Zizhen said, looking at Sizhui’s stupid grin.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Sizhui agreed. He nodded at Zizhen one last time and then followed in Jingyi’s footsteps, minus the hurdles and the enraged Sophie McKim.

Zizhen was in his final set of stretches when someone tossed a water bottle at his feet. It landed perfectly--perfect toss, perfect aim, perfect landing. He looked up and saw Jin Ling waving from the stands.

“How?” Zizhen asked.

“I’m just that good,” Jin Ling said. “Do us all proud and don’t suck at this,” he said, before going back up into the stands, sitting down next to Zizhen’s mom.

**********

After the final awards ceremony; after the final bell signalling the end of the day; after many tired students and proud parents left for family dinners out to enjoy the start of the long weekend, the true--though unofficial--final event of Lan Academy Field Day took place.

It was a tradition almost as old as the school.

A rugby match free-for-all featuring the seniors, some of the staff, and a few chosen alumni. It always ended in mud and grass stains, torn shirts, cuts and bruises. The rugby game took the teamwork required for the obstacle course and relays, the patience of the archery competition, the reflexes of the tennis and fencing matches, the cheering crowds from the soccer, dodgeball, basketball, and baseball games, the strategy of the chess matches, and combined them all together and ended in this one final match.

It was also one of the few times of year anyone saw Headmaster Lan out of his Lan traditional outfit or one of his suits. Their kind, supportive, caring headmaster looked like a giant on the rugby field, his broad shoulders on display as he leaned on his best friend, and stared out over the other players.

“I swear he never looks that intimidating at home,” Jingyi said as he lounged on the bench next to Sizhui.

“It’s because we hardly ever see his competitive side,” Sizhui said.

And Lans, for all their beliefs and teachings, abhorred losing.

“It’s probably the one time of year he can get his aggression out against the staff,” Zizhen said.

That was the one catch: the Headmaster would participate, but only on the students’ team, and only if they formerly asked him to before the match.

Not a year had passed since becoming headmaster that Lan Xichen wasn’t asked.

At the end of the bench, in between the tub of Gatorade and another of ice water, Jiang Cheng sat with his head in his hands, for once united with Meng Yao, as they both glared down their foolish husbands.

“What are you assholes trying to prove?” Jiang Cheng finally yelled.

“Cursing is forbidden at Lan Academy!” an entire chorus answered him.

#long post #fic: camp fire tales from cloud recesses #fandom: the untamed #verse: lahl #untamed spring fest #my ridic writing

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team-science-mega-nerds · 5 years ago

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Fictober Prompt #20: “You could talk about it, you know?”

Fandom: Supergirl:

Pairing: AgentCorp (Alex x Lena)

Warnings: None

When Alex gets the call, she starts packing immediately. She calls Kara on the way to the airport and texts Eliza, but no matter what they say, she’s going. Research is something that Alex can do mindlessly. It requires focus, yes, but when she’s in the zone, nothing else matters. Alex also likes trying new things. Her ex had called her adventurous in the bedroom but old reliable in real life and Alex hated her so much for it, that she took a contract position in Metropolis for six months. Alex was tired of being that person. Predictable. She wanted something more.

And then, there’s what happened four months ago. But that? Alex never talks about.

These days, Alex goes with the flow and if that means being one of seventy-five researchers boarding a ship from Norway and embarking on a year-long arctic expedition, then so be it. She knows the training itself will be difficult. This isn’t just about research, it’s about mental and physical stability and Alex has to dig deep to remain consistent and convince everyone that she’s prepared.

When they actually embark, Alex has a backpack filled with letters written from Kara. Most of them are supportive, plenty are questioning, but Alex’s replies have always been good. Positive. She’s ready. She can’t deal with real-life right now.

The actual expedition begins with a bang. Champagne in the main cafeteria and some kind of stew that looks like it would weigh Alex down. Alex lingers around a few other researchers, who she’d call friends at this point, and pokes around at some bread. “I’m more of a whiskey girl myself,” Someone says a few tables over. Alex pokes her head up, recognizing the voice almost immediately. Lena Luthor. A brilliant mind, a no-bullshit attitude, Alex had been warned at least a dozen times to stay away from her. She bought herself onto this ship, Derek had muttered to Alex when they’d received their wetsuits and gear.

Alex was used to men undermining her, so she took his words with a grain of salt, but she had to wonder. Almost everyone had made their research intentions clear by now, but Lena was still a mystery. Alex discards her plate and approaches Lena. Alex unzips her jacket and flashes the flask she has in her double-layered jacket. “Wanna take a walk?”

“Absolutely,” Lena says, eagerly following Alex.

A walk was maybe pushing it, but avoiding the congestion of the mess hall, Lena and Alex find an empty lab with a small lounge area. Lena sits on the couch first but Alex holds out her hand. “I’m Alex.”

“Yeah, I know and I suspect you know who I am.” Lena grabs the flask out of Alex’s pocket without hesitation. “Saw you on the range, pretty impressive.”

“Army.”

“I figured.” Alex didn’t know that anyone had been paying attention to her, let alone someone as well known as Lena. Alex believes that Lena’s intentions must be something greater. This isn’t just about publicity. The amount of training involved alone would make most people quit on day one. Lena had struggled with some of the tactical elements. She was terrible with her shotgun and not very good at getting into her harness during their helicopter drills. But Lena was persistent and Alex could see it in her eyes, even as they traded a flask filled with whiskey back and forth. “You’re studying polar bear movement and health?”

“Yep.” Alex kicks back and sinks into the couch. “You must be on the small scale climate change team.”

“Team?”

“You guys are like the cool kids. We’re the dweebs,” Alex smiles. “You’re doing the 2-1-2 rotation?”

“Yeah, you too, right?” Alex nods. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” Alex doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing but she decides that she won’t ignore this friendship in favor of isolating herself.

In her first week on the ship, Alex manages to finally come up with a proper thesis. She’s prepared to write a paper on this when the mission is over but she’s a bit rusty. Alex treks on, learning everything she can from her fellow researchers, while they’re still in the lull before things start picking up. While Alex is just wrapping up her Skype session with Kara, she hears frustrated muttering from the room across the hall. Lena’s room to be exact.

“Luthor, you need help?” Alex yells.

“Fucking shit!” Lena grumbles. “Yeah, can you come here for a sec?” Alex blows a kiss to Kara before signing out and heading over to Lena’s room. This is only the third time Alex has been in here but it’s just as clean as it was on that very first day. Lena is sitting on the ground with a mess of wires and her computer next to her. “This system is from like the 80s.”

“You’re not so smart after all,” Alex jokes as she shoos Lena aside and gets to work setting up the equipment. Lena lounges on her bed and watches Alex.

“So, that was your sister, right?”

“Hm?”

“That you were just talking to.” Alex glances up for a second. Usually, Lena is very casual but something about this conversation seems to be leading somewhere different.

“Yeah. Kara.”

“Because I wondered…” Alex’s heart starts to race. Alex can’t meet Lena’s eyes. She doesn’t want anyone wondering anything about her. She took this journey to get away from hard questions not to run right into them. “About the ring.”

“What ring?”

“The one that’s missing from your finger.” Alex looks down at her hand and the tan line that’s sitting vacant on her ring finger. “Anyway...I’ll stop being observant if you want me to.”

“Please. It’s not something I really want to get into.” Lena respects her wishes. They continue their nightly drinking sessions which turn into rowdy card games and once - only once - Alex looks into Lena’s eyes for longer than necessary. It’s all fine. Alex calls Kara that night and she sits in her locked room, cuddling a pillow and listening to Kara talk endlessly about her day.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Alex mutters.

“I would get on a plane and find you if you needed it.”

“You can’t. Literally, it’d be impossible.”

“Sisters do impossible things all the time.” Kara smiles. “You’re out there trying to save the world, aren’t you?” Kara’s video feed keeps freezing and it drives Alex crazy. So crazy that she kicks a hole through the screen. She didn’t know that being around this many people would feel like loneliness. The same feeling that she’d been trying to drown out for four months slowly began to creep up on her.

All this and her stupid pride nearly get her killed the next day. As she’s laying there with her life flashing before her eyes, she considers how fitting it is that she will probably freeze to death out there. Alex is saved because she always is. The med bay is frenzied, everyone checking in on her and no one acknowledging the fact that Alex had been reckless. It takes a while for Alex to regain feeling in her body and then, suddenly, all the emotions come flooding in. Lena picks that exact moment to come into the room. “Was that a fucking cry for help or something?” Alex notices that Lena’s eyes are red like she’d been crying.

“Fuck off-.”

“You were reckless out there. You need to do better.”

“Thanks. That’s helpful.”

“What do you want me to say?” Lena asks as she shrugs out of her jacket and practically throws it into a chair. “You know you’re brooding might be cool where you’re from but if it’s going to put you in danger like that, then you seriously need to talk to someone.”

“It was a mistake.”

“You can’t make mistakes like that not when people care-.” Lena closes her eyes. “The polar bears need you.” Alex breaks into a fit of laughter that quickly morphs into something unexplainable. Tears. Lena holds her through it all which makes Alex feel different.

Renewed.

After Alex has pushed around her dinner and listened to Lena explain everything she’s read in their daily news debrief, things between them get very quiet. Alex expects a question because Lena is the kind of person who needs to know everything. Instead, Lena offers Alex a middle ground. “I’m going to ask you something now.” Lena props her head up with her elbows pressed against Alex’s hospital bed. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Divorced?”

“No.” Lena looks confused so Alex adds, “I was though. Married, I mean.”

“You could talk about it, you know?” Lena motions to the empty room. “It’s just us. All the secrets travel out in that ice-cold tundra and...they disappear.”

“She’d dead, Lena.” Alex sits up and wonders why it feels okay to finally talk about her. “She died four months before we started training. Which, everyone told me...screamed and yelled at me, don’t go out there, you’re just upset. ‘Just upset’”.” Alex scoffs. “If they understood the fucking insanity of life without...her.” For once, Alex isn’t coddled, she’s allowed to feel everything. It doesn’t come as a surprise that Lena is the one who lets her. “If I didn’t do this if I didn’t take this risk...I couldn’t have made it back home. Too many reminders.”

“Grief is a nuisance,” Lena remarks. “If only it was all good times on the HMS Discovery.” There’s something that signals clarity in Lena’s voice. Alex doesn’t feel talked down to but understood. It’s taken her a while to find someone who understands the impermanence of life. It makes sense if Alex takes a step back and thinks about it. Lena studies climate change. They're both constantly thinking about how the world is folding in on itself more and more every day. This idea and this moment become the cornerstone of their friendship.

Four months and two stops into the expedition and Alex and Lena find themselves pulling an all-nighter in the lab. Alex is used to this kind of work, Lena slugs through it. “Hey, I read a conspiracy theory about you today.”

“Really? Was it good? Am I an alien yet, I’ve always wanted to be called an alien.” Alex finishes a measurement and yanks off her gloves.

“No, actually, someone apparently thinks that you’re not even on this expedition but actually in Italy with...get this: your rugby-playing boyfriend.” Lena seems to find it significantly less funny than Alex does.

“That’s the best they can come up with?” Lena rolls her eyes. “The idea that I’m straight is the most offensive part of that, by the way.”

“Aren’t rugby players kinda...jocky?”

“You’re just jealous 'cause you’re a giant nerd.” Lena whacks Alex’s stomach with the back of her hand. “A nerd with abs, very dynamic.”

Two hours later, they have their first kiss. It’s an accident. Lena’s lips brushing against Alex’s neck as they pull apart from a hug. The second kiss comes at full force. It’s Alex who initiates it and as she’s pulling Lena into her room, it’s Alex that pushes her away. “I can’t. Sorry, it’s not…” Alex covers her face with her hands. She groans and turns away. “This is wrong. It’s...it’s me, I don’t know what I’m doing.” If Lena had said something like neither do I, they might’ve continued kissing. But she doesn’t and as quickly as it began, their unfiltered romance surrounded by nature that is facing destruction head-on ends.

Lena does apologize. It comes a week later. Lena stands at Alex’s door wringing her hands. “Sorry about what happened. Kissing you. I shouldn’t have taken advantage, you’re grieving.”

“You didn’t. I kissed you,” Alex reminds her.

Alex gets an unprompted Skype call and when she sees Kara’s name she answers immediately. Kara looks at the camera all nervous and apologetic. “Sorry,” she mutters before pushing her webcam to the side and revealing Eliza.

“Alex, finally, I haven’t talked to you in weeks. How are you doing?” It feels like an I told you so waiting to happen. Suddenly, Lena’s in the room holding a deck of cards. Eliza’s eyes soften for some reason.

“Hey, sorry, just wondering if you wanted to play?” Lena asks.

“Oh-.”

“Go on, Alex, play with your friend,” Eliza insists. “We love you, dear. Kara and I are proud.” It’s the first time that Eliza sounds like she actually accepts Alex’s choice. Alex waves goodbye to Eliza and Kara before shutting off her computer and turning to Lena.

“Your mom’s kinda a babe,” Lena says immediately breaking the tension.

“Please, never say anything like that ever again.”

The third time they kiss, it’s after Lena has completely destroyed Alex in UNO. Alex suspects she’d rigged the game and when she goes to ask, Lena is busy putting her hair up in a ponytail. “You look nice,” Alex says pretending it’s the first time she’s noticed but it’s not. Lena’s smile is almost mischievous.

“I know. It’s the outfit that does the trick. I just love the sound of my synthetic pants.” Lena moves her legs against each other making the wosh wosh sound they hear every day as researchers milled about the hallway. “And I’m sure the bags under my eyes just add to the allure.”

“Totally.”

“Your flirting is weak sauce, Danvers. Bring it or get to the back of the line. I’ve got rugby admirers and conspiracy theorists galore.”

“I just want to kiss you.”

“Really? For real this time?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” They kiss and soon fall into Alex’s tiny bed together. As they’re scrambling to take their clothes off, Lena pulls the blanket over their bodies. “It’s fucking freezing.” She mouths against Alex’s collar. “I guess that’s what we signed up for.” Alex isn’t certain she had a plan coming into this but being around Lena somehow gave her permission to heal. She wasn’t certain what the world would throw her way next but she had another six months on an arctic expedition to figure it out.

#agentcorp #alex danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #fictober2019 #where's the in universe conspiracy theories about lena luthor?#like...i'd love to see what they're saying about her on reddit in the arrowverse

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mismerccray · 5 years ago

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Family Visits (Henry Cavill x Black!Reader)

Well, I wrote this as a bit of a Happy birthday to me (8/31). It has the dynamics of my actual family, so be nice lol. I barely see anything here about this delicious man and a swirl. So here it is! Please remember to give your opinion and like/reblog!

Henry Cavill x Black!Reader

FLUFFY

Today is a big day. No, not a wedding nor anything of the sort. But it's a day that's important to me.

Today is the day that I introduce my boyfriend, Henry Cavill, to my extended family. It's a big deal for my family. My family is a bit crazy.

I know everyone thinks their family is crazy. Compared to my family, you're family is boring. Unless you have a gun toting mother of the church, cousin's who dance on the counters of Waffle House, and an Uncle, a former Marine, who hosts the family reunions who gets drunk, makes 7Up cake, and talks shit to everyone, then you're family is boring.

But that's kinda concerning too. My family is infamous in their town for everything from fights in church parking lots to once again, dancing on Waffle House countertops. On top of that, they are a picky bunch.

Which is why it's important for this meeting to go well. All the other sides of my family has already met him and honestly love him. But this side? Oh, there is no guarantee of anything.

The drive to my grandfather's home town was long, and Henry being the sweetheart he is, has distracted me from my stress with snacks and singing along to the radio. Every red light we get to, always taking my hand in his, almost marveling at the contrast of creamy caramel against his skin, kissing each finger as if I were a Queen.

Now, am I worried about bringing my super white, British bae to meet my super black southern family? For many reasons, hell yes. But, better to hope for the best right?

At some point, I fell asleep during the usual traffic jams that happen on the way. I wake up to Henry trying to shake me awake. The moment I opened my eyes, I let out a damn near deafening groan. I pull my faux locs out of my face and direct my attention to the driver side window.

My Uncle had a shotgun to Henry's head while smoking a cigarette. "Hey babygirl, is he with you? I could take him out now if you need me to". Henry looked over at me with a bit of fear on what would look like a calm face to anyone else.

"Ugh, Uncle Gerald, put the gun down! He's with me. This is the guy I told you about. My boyfriend Henry Cavill, aka Superman. Henry, this is my Uncle Gerald, former Lt. Colonel Gerald Crawford." I leaned over to try to get my uncle to stand down. He simply nodded and said his hellos. Thankfully he also turned his gun away from Henry.

I put my hand on Henry's thigh and kissed him on the cheek. I had to hold back a laugh at his clearly bewildered and scared face. I got out of the car, casually hugging my uncle and taking the gun out of his hand in the same movement. Henry slowly got out, carefully watching my uncle. Not sure if he was scared for his safety or mine.

As I watch my uncle turn and walk towards the house, Henry kisses my cheek. "This'll be an interesting family visit, won't it, y/n?" I grin and take him by the hand.

~~~~~~~~~

Truth be told, he never really had anything to worry about. By the time we left, he'd learned how to play spades with my aunts and taught my cousins how to play rugby. Granted, my cousins never stopped being their.... interesting selves.

Cousin RonRon challenged Henry to an arm wrestling contest and lost. Aunt Bernice tried to glue herself to his arms. It was kinda funny, until she started talking about what she'd do if she were 30 years younger. Had to nip that in the bud. Same with catching my cousin Jehovia trying to twerk on him when I came out of the bathroom. Through all that, Henry stayed his good natured self (and managed to get away from my aunt and cousin) .But the final test was also his first one, Uncle Gerald.

After a day of enjoying my family, it was time for us to head up the road again. Henry's agent called before we made it to the door. He had a new gig in yet another Netflix production, to be shot in Georgia. My family congratulated him, but my uncle was nowhere to be seen. Never a good sign.

After we make it past the threshold, arms full of leftovers from a feast courtesy of Aunt Janet, we see my uncle sitting on the porch. He looked us up and down, then pointed his attention at Henry. "Y/n, head to the car. I'd like to speak with this young man alone."

I felt like the melanin almost drained out of my face. I was about to try and steer away from this encounter, but Henry simply kissed the top of my head, took the food from my hands and nudged me forward to give my uncle a warm goodbye. "Sounds good to me. I'll meet you in the car, Darling."

Nothing else to do, I hugged my uncle, whispering for him to be nice. Turning back to Henry, I relieved him of the food, kissed his cheek and trudged to the car. I sat in the car in complete anxiousness, watching them talk on that porch may have given me an early grey hair or seven. My uncle was the most unpredictable one out of this bunch of wild cards. When it was over, I watched them smile at each other and shake hands....which is a huge deal, especially given that four hours ago he had a gun to his head.

As Henry walked over to the car, I knew he'd won over this entire side of the family. Was I curious about what they talked about? Hell yeah, but I'll leave that as a conversation between those two.

#henry cavill x black!reader #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader

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ellaenchanting · 5 years ago

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Hypnovember Day 12: Stage

Somehow this story refused to be short. Even this version with all its’ extraneous details is abbreviated. Based lightly on the biography of one of my favorite hypnotists. Very lightly edited- may do another read through tomorrow am. Feel free to point out mistakes.

Curtain up on a handsome young man attending university in the 90s.

Brandon took a deep breath and looked at himself in the mirror. He could do this. He'd actually learned to enjoy the stage fright these past few months he'd been performing. It felt electric and helpful- a little reminder that he was alive.

He ran through his old confidence trick of imagining that he was Paul McKenna. He'd seen McKenna perform once back in first year. He was magnetic on stage- mesmerizing the audience well before he had even formally hypnotized anyone. As a shy, awkward, closeted kid, Brandon had admired how confident the hypnotist was. He held effortless sway over his volunteers and his audience. Brandon had wanted to be like that- feel that in control of something.

So Brandon began to teach himself hypnosis. The library had some books and he had some friends who were kind enough to let him try things out. Somewhere along the way, Brandon had gotten really good. One night after work at his bar job, he had even managed to hypnotize the owner’s girlfriend. She was a fun natural subject and they had worked really well together. The owner had been so impressed that he asked if Brandon ever did stage hypnosis. When Brandon said yes (a small white lie), the owner had offered him a slot for a show every other Tuesday night.

After the first month or so, doing stage hypnosis started to feel really great. Brandon had a routine and he mostly stuck to it, but the volunteers reacted differently enough that the show felt new every time. Brandon felt connected to his volunteers. And even though what they were doing was inherently silly, it was also magical and exciting and fascinating.

Brandon stepped out on the small stage and began his pre-talk. Like the rest of the show, It was a variation on the same old speech every week (one of the regulars at the bar counter always rolled his eyes when Brandon began) but the routine gave Brandon enough extra brain space to scan the crowd and take notes for himself. A ginger girl looked really engaged and was laughing at all the jokes right on time- she might be a good volunteer. A man in a hat had kind of slowly blinked when Brandon said "sleep" earlier- that could be a good sign. Or he might already be too drunk, Brandon thought, judging the number of beer glasses Brandon saw under him. Many audience members tonight seemed open and engaged. That would probably give Brandon a good selection of volunteers...

And then he walked in.

Brandon saw the guy from the campus GLBT club last week. The one Brandon had finally forced himself to go to. (Brandon had been frantically trying not to think about sex and sexuality issues for years, but this year he had finally started privately using “the g word” in his own mind when labeling himself.) Actually going to the club had felt really awkward until he began talking with a friendly guy there named Scott. Scott had drawn him out- asked him about himself and his interests. Scott told him a bit about his life too- he talked about being the only gay guy on the rugby team and how he had won the other players’ respect.

Scott had an easy laugh and an easy charm. Brandon had certainly felt charmed by him. Maybe a bit too charmed. Brandon felt the zing of a crush beginning to start. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet, though. Brandon had not mentioned the hypnosis thing to Scott- it felt weird and personal and he had already half-convinced himself that he was being creepy in response to Scott’s platonic friendliness. He didn’t want to scare him off.

He had never expected to see him here.

Scott smiled and waved at Brandon. It took everything Brandon had to keep his pre-talk speech going on autopilot. All of a sudden, he felt very exposed and very known. Like Scott had walked in on him masturbating or something.

Focus.

Brandon tripped up a little bit on the magnetic fingers test, but no one in the audience seemed to notice. He had a few people who seemed to be responding really well so far. (He studiously did not to look over at Scott.) Brandon channeled his enthusiasm into his volunteer call "So if you're ready to have the best time of all tonight, go ahead and come up on the stage!"

A few people came up- Brandon sold volunteering some more while trying to make eye contact with a few more possibles. It was always good to give himself options. He verbally encouraged volunteers to find and sit in the hypnotic chairs behind him. When he finally felt like enough people had volunteered, Brandon turned around

He saw Scott sitting directly behind him, smiling up at him expectanly.

Fuck.

Professionalism, Scott remembered. He kept on with his routine, doing some basic relaxation steps and then starting at the beginning of the line of volunteers with a series of quick inductions.

He got to Scott.

Scott was already looking spacey. He looked up at Brandon in the most open, trusting way.

Brandon felt something in him stir.

NO. He thought. Focus.

He took Scott’s hand in his and started his induction.

“Push on my hand.” Scott’s hand felt warm and rough against his.

“Harder” He looked so sexy when he was concentrating.

“Harder” He smelled so good.

“Now- SLEEP!”

As Brandon pulled his hand quickly away, Scott just..collapsed. Like a puppet with his strings cut. His eyes had rolled back and they had already started moving a bit under the lids. Scott’s mouth was hanging open. He looked debauched and so open and so gone...

NO.

NO NO NO

Focus

Brandon needed to stop himself. Thinking on his feet, he course corrected. “Let’s have a round of applause for all of our volunteers! Now- since we have so many excellent subjects up here, let’s say we make it just a ladies night tonight. We’ll use all and only female volunteers. What do you all think about that?!”

The crowd cheered in enthusiasm. Thank goodness. Brandon woke up all of his male volunteers and continued the show.

Crisis averted.

Scott came up after the show to shake Brandon’s hand and talk to him. Brandon somehow managed to touch Scott’s hand again and not blush, even with that strings-cutting moment still vivid in his head. Scott asked if Brandon wanted to meet him for a pint but Brandon declined, citing exhaustion. He already felt bad enough for lusting after Scott during the show- if he let his guard down Scott might notice something was off. He needed to go and sort himself out.

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

Brandon decided to give going to the GLBT club a miss that next week. He had been fantasizing about Scott all week- his big trusting eyes, his slack expression, what he could have made Scott do while he was under his power. He felt ashamed to actually go face him with those thoughts running through his head. Brandon took a walk and had a cold shower that night instead.

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

Scott was in the front row when Brandon began his next stage hypnosis show.

He had brought friends.

The group of girls, who had obviously already had a bit to drink, were cheering and rowdy. They weren't rambunctious enough to get kicked out, but they were certainly enough to rile the rest of the crowd up.

Brandon gave the first part of his pretalk then launched into his magnetic fingers routine. He decided to experiment and turn it into a bit of a group induction, continuing on into an arm levitation on the fly. After a few minutes of patter, he asked people to open their eyes and see how high their arms had gotten. A few people had arms that were floating a foot or two off their legs.

Scott’s arm was floating up at his head.

It looked like he was raising his hand.

Scott looked up at his arm with a kind of distant, happy surprise.

Brandon chose a few audience members to come on the stage who had experienced some success with the exercise. He purposely did not choose Scott. No need to put himself through that again.

He was just getting ready to put the last chair away when he heard:

“Scott! Scott!”

One of the drunk girls.

“Scott! Scott!”

Now all of the drunk girls.

“Scott! Scott!”

Then the rest of the audience, laughing a bit as Scott cheekily waved at them.

Brandon swallowed and steeled his nerves. “Scott, would you like to come up?”

The audience roared in response.

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

Brandon managed to keep his shit together through the beginning of the show and a few basic skits- pretending shoes were puppies (Scott made the most adorable faces), playing an imaginary piano (he had...agile fingers), and name amnesia (that confused look, though).

Brandon went right into the next skit.

“OK when I wake you up in a moment, you’re going to imagine you’re at the top of a tall mountain and it’s freezing up there- you’ll imagine that you’re so totally cold and every time I say the word cold it gets colder, every time I say the word cold you get colder...”

Scott was already shivering, doing brilliantly. So was the blonde in the red shirt.

Brandon woke them up, verbally encouraging their shivers and teeth chattering. The volunteers huddled together for warmth. Scott ran his hands quickly up and down the blonde girl’s arms to warm her up.

“And now, “ Brandon said, “the cold’s gone away and you realize that you’re not on the mountain at all! You’re in a hot place! You’re in the desert and the sun’s coming up and it’s getting hotter and hotter...”

Brandon kept his patter going on autopilot as he watched the group react, looking for what reactions to encourage. The blonde was fanning herself. The bald guy was going a bit red. And Scott-

Scott was taking his shirt off.

The drunk girls yelled encouragement from the audience.

Scott’s hands worked to throw his shirt over his head. Time seemed to slow. Brandon could see the muscles in Scott’s chest. He was sweating.

Brandon stopped dead in his tracks for a moment.

Scott moved his hands to his belt buckle.

Brandon raised his voice “And NOW the temperature is normal again. Normal comfortable temperature. And you can go ahead and stop what you’re doing and sit back in your seat, that's right..”

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

Brandon fled the stage as soon as the show was over. He made an excuse of needing to use the toilet. He stayed in there for 10 minutes to calm his nerves.

Scott was waiting for him when he came out.

Brandon made another excuse of checking on the other volunteers and left.

30 minutes later, Scott was still at the bar. Waiting.

Resigned and secretly pleased, Brandon walked over.

“Hey Svengali!” Scott said with a smile. “Did you like having me under your spell?” He winked playfully.

Brandon laughed awkwardly. Suddenly he was all out of words.

Scott came closer. “Seriously, though, that was a lot of fun. I felt really relaxed and playful. Being hypnotized feels really zen, y’know?”

Brandon found his voice, “Yeah, you’re a really talented subject. You’re really creative and imaginative and..willing.” Brandon looked down, his own words making him shy.

Scott’s mouth quirked at that last word. “Brandon, I don’t want to freak you out but- I’ve spent the last hour and a half focused on you. Really focused. And I was paying attention to what you said but,” he looked Brandon in the eye, “I could kind of tell you were focused on me too. Intensely.”

Brandon turned red. “I..I’m sorry, you must think I’m so creepy, I..”

Scott stopped him. “No Brandon, you don't get it. I wanted to be focused on you. I’ve wanted it ever since the club really- but especially since I saw your last show. Watching it kind of...helped me understand some things about myself. What I wanted. And I wanted you to notice me too. Why do you think I wore this shirt tonight?” He smiles teasingly. “I remembered your show last week. I knew I’d have the excuse to take it off for you. Did you like what you saw?”

Brandon nodded his head.

Scott nodded back, understanding. “You liked watching me take my shirt off. And I think you liked watching me be hypnotized, too. Following your commands. Acting under your spell.”

Brandon blushed at his quiet, involuntary moan.

Scott looked at Brandon’s with gentle compassion. He held Brandon’s hand in his for a moment and put a piece of paper in it. “I know you’re newly out and i don’t want to pressure you. I like you a lot, though, and, well- I think we have a lot in common. We’re...compatible, in a way. So if you ever want to hang out some time or go out or y’know, stay in together...” he squeezed Brandon’s hand and let go “...give me a call”.

Scott looked Brandon in the eyes one more time, then walked away.

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

Brandon angsted over the number for exactly one day.

On Wednesday night, he picked up the phone.

“Hey Scott? Hey, It’s Brandon. Listen, I’m working on some new ideas for my show. Would you like to come over and help me test them? Maybe on Friday? I’ll make you dinner.”

It was a start.

#hypnovember #m/m #stage hypnosis #this one ended up being long #and maybe confusing time-wise #apologies about that #it's a coffeehouse au #only with stage hypnosis

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tbehartoo · 5 years ago

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Fading Ink

A late entry for Lukanette September. This was due last week. Not beta’d but spellcheck didn’t have anything bad to say about it so??? Please enjoy.

Luka hadn’t expected the phone call from Maria or her request, but he got why she’d asked him to do it. He’d seen a local tattoo parlor that specialized in this kind of thing on his news feed a couple of days before, so he called for an appointment and was surprised when the owner herself offered to move some things around to accommodate his need. He was standing in front of the shop looking at the “Closed” sign and wondering if he’d gotten the time for the appointment wrong when a woman ran up to the door.

“Hey there,” she said as she moved the large paper bag in her hand to her opposite arm so that she could rummage in her purse. “Are you Luka? I’m Marinette. I think we spoke on the phone yesterday?”

Luka nodded as he watched her juggling coffee cup, paper bag and her purse. “Uh, can I help you with something?”

“Yes, thank you!” the coffee cup and paper bag were thrust into his open hands so that she had both of hers available to finally find her keys. “I keep meaning to put them on a hook or something so I can find them easier, but I tend to forget that until I’m standing in front of a customer being very unprofessional and making us even later than I was already running.”

She said all of this while unlocking the security grate and rolling it up, opening the front door and flipping on the lights. Luka chuckled and followed her into the shop. He watched as she locked the door behind him a little wary.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said nodding at the door and ushered him past the front desk into the office. “Since it’s just the two of us here I don’t want anyone wandering in, not until I have Ivan at the front desk in any case.” She chuckled, “Something about seeing a highly tattooed rugby player wearing a death metal shirt just sort of discourages wanderers.”

He snickered at her statement but realized he needed to answer her question, “Uh, yeah. It’s fine.” Luka started looking around at the art on display on the walls and all over the office. “Wow, this is amazing,” he said pointing to a particularly intricate design at the front of a look book as he took a seat at the round table in the middle of the room.

The woman smiled and nodded. “You wouldn’t believe how much I had to practice that one before Tikki said I could put it out on display.”

“Who’s Tikki?” he asked, confused when the woman put the coffee cup and a napkin in front of him.

“My mentor and the former owner of the Lucky Ladybug,” she answered as she picked up a tea kettle and disappeared from the room.

Luka took the time she was gone to look through the design book. She was back after just a moment and had switched the kettle on.

“My staff prefers a variety of warm drinks,” she said as she waved toward a small area stocked with sugar, creamer, hot cocoa packets, stir sticks, and various brands of tea. “Not too many of us drink coffee so I brought that for you, but if you want sugar or cream you’ll have to add it yourself.” She got out her own mug and nabbed two tea packets before sitting at the desk in the corner. “Please feel free to ask if there’s something you might need. Or if you’d prefer tea, that’s also available.”

“What?” it took less than a second for his brain to realize what she’d said. “Oh, thanks.” He took the cup over to the counter and began mixing things to suit his taste. The lever on the kettle switched off while he was on his way back. By the time he sat down, Marinette had poured out her hot water and pulled out her sketchbook.

“As our special guest you get the first choice of the pastries,” she said as she pointed toward the plate she’d filled with a variety of morning breads.

“Oh that’s not necessary,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh, but it is,” she said as she continued to get out pencils and erasers and wake up the computer. “When I told maman and papa that I had a client dropping by my shop in the morning, it became very necessary for you to have a plethora to choose from. Please, grab one.” She looked at him archly. “You don’t want to break mama’s heart, do you? Make sure you pick a couple to take home with you, too.”

“This seems a little excessive,” he said as he put a warm cheese danish and a flaky croissant on the napkin in front of him.

Marinette chuckled. “It is a lot excessive, but Papa lives to feed people and Maman does what she can to help support our mission. So tell me Mr. Couffaine-”

“Luka, please.”

“Okay,” she smiled warmly at him. “So tell me Luka, what are you hoping to achieve here? Do you want to just modify or completely disguise the design? Did you want to connect it with others you have? Or do you want to have it covered with color that basically matches your own skin tones?”

“I hadn’t thought about it too much,” Luka said unable to look up at the artist. “Maria asked me to get rid of it because she didn’t want to have anything connecting me to her, but- I didn’t really think of the how.”

Marinette reached out and put a comforting hand on his forearm.

“That sounds like a really painful conversation to have.” He nodded and she continued, “Tell me Luka what does that tat mean to you?”

Luka took a deep breath. “Maria was my first real, my first serious relationship,” he confessed. “We were both young and we both knew that there was a chance that it wouldn’t last, but-” he broke off. He looked up into her eyes begging her to understand.

“But you wanted it work?” she asked quietly. "And you wanted something that would last as long as your love for her?"

He nodded.

“Do you regret getting that ink?”

He shook his head. “I don’t regret any of my ink, maybe some of my placement decisions,” he smiled as he tapped the side of his neck that had a small snake nestled there, “but not one drop of ink.” Took a deep breath and released it. “I learned a lot from Maria. I learned how nice it is to have a hand to hold, a heart beat to fall asleep to that isn’t your own, what love is and even what it isn’t. There was a lot I learned about the importance of actually communicating with each other openly and honestly. I learned what betrayal and heartbreak feel like. And I learned that I could survive all of that, even when I didn’t think I could.” He paused, “I don’t want to forget that even if she wants,” he took a deep steadying breath, “wants to forget me.”

“Those are all admirable lessons, no wonder you’d want to preserve them,” Marinette said quietly. “I’d suggest that we find something that has the same meaning for you, while erasing the design that stands for her.” She patted his arm and then sat back and picked up a pencil. “I’m very sure that we can help you through this.”

Luka took another deep breath and a small smile found a way to his lips. “Thank you.”

They spent the rest of the morning discussing possible images that had special meanings to Luka, his favorite designs among the various look books they had, and other choices that he would have to make. He showed her some of his other tattoos that were in the same area as Maria’s design, and Marinette took the time to note them and their placement on his arm and shoulder. The last thing that Marinette did before Luka had to leave was to trace the design to have the actual size and outlines to know how to design the covering tattoo as well as taking a couple of pictures to get a good idea of the colors involved.

They set up another morning meeting for him to go over potential designs and Luka hurried home clutching a few of the remaining pastries with a lighter heart then he’d had since he answered Maria’s call.

After the second meeting, they spent the next two weeks texting back and forth as Marinette asked clarification about symbols and pictures Luka had chosen as meaningful and how he might want them combined. She also asked about his surrounding tattoos and their backstories. Luka asked about how she got into her profession and why her shop was so adamant about removing tattoos that people wanted erased. Once they had exhausted the topic of skin art they moved on to Luka’s music (he sent her a few links so she could listen) and Marinette’s role as permanent taste tester for her parent’s baking experiments (she promised him an opportunity to have the full Tom et Sabine guinea pig experience once he was back in town). They discovered that they had quite a few places around town that they both enjoyed going to and Luka was surprised that they hadn’t run into each other before this. Marinette listened as Luka told her everything about his time with Maria and she reciprocated with stories of her past partners. They talked about their heartbreaks and laughed over silly moments and clever memes.

Luka was surprised how quickly it felt like he’d met up with his best friend after a long separation, instead of someone who was practically a stranger. There were people he’d known for years that he didn’t feel as comfortable to be himself around as he did with Marinette.

By the end of the second week, she sent three possible designs for him to choose from. Luka was floored by what he saw. Each design was so different from the other, and yet he could tell that Maria’s tattoo would be well and truly erased, while the meaning would not. When he was still trying to choose over a week later, Marinette invited Luka to another early morning appointment to see if she could help him eliminate at least one of the designs.

Luka showed up carrying coffee for himself and tea for Marinette as well as a bag with breakfast sandwiches from his favorite bagelry. Marinette was frantically searching her bag for keys and Luka couldn’t help but laugh.

“I told you I’d pick up breakfast so you’d have time to beat me here,” he said when she whirled to look at him. He noticed the pink growing in her cheeks, but didn’t remark on it. “What happened?”

Marinette yawned before replying, “We had a group walk in about an hour before closing wanting to get matching tattoos. They were suspiciously sober and totally sincere.” She looked up with what looked like tears in the corners of her eyes. “One of their rugby teammates was in the last stages of an aggressive cancer. He’d been worried about his little girl growing up and not knowing who he was and what was important to him.” She stopped for a moment to collect herself. “One of them recorded the conversation and he’d listed several things,” she smiled weakly up at Luka as she pulled out keys and turned back to the security gate while continuing her story. “Later they realized his list contained as many items as there were teammates. The four who had visited him sent the video out to the rest of their team and asked for suggestions to put the guy’s fears to rest.” She got choked up as she flipped on lights and locked the door behind them. “They all decided to get a tattoo together. We came up with a very simple design: a rugby ball, one word from the list, and an infinity sign under it.” She grabbed a tissue to dab at her eyes, but continued to usher Luka into the office. “We only had two people that could do the actual inking.” She chuckled, “Ivan was so busy trying to get everyone prepped that I think he might actually skip his next practice because he can’t stand to see that ball again so soon.” Luka offered a smile as she continued to talk. “We just had to disinfect and reset because they’d already discussed placement and everything. They got all the guys from the team down here, too- including their coaches. They wanted to go by his house this morning to show off their idea.” She’d just switched in the computer when she looked at the table to see that Luka had set up a place for her to eat, she joined him at the table. “While they were getting their tats they talked about the guy. They talked about what he’d brought to their team, and what he’d taught them, and how much they were going to miss him.” She took a sip of her tea and sighed. “It was pretty emotional and it lasted long past closing time. But they were good guys. They ordered in pizza and we even found some cardstock so they made him a card to take by today, too.”

“It sounds exhausting,” Luka replied as he unwrapped his sandwich.

“It was.” Marinette reached for her sandwich, but decided to put her arms on the table and rest on them instead.

“We could’ve rescheduled,” Luka said. “I’m not an unreasonable ogre about this.”

“You’ve been a peach,” Marinette said through another yawn. “But I know that Maria has hounded you about not getting that taken care of yet.”

“You do?” Luka was surprised. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.

“Did you forget I follow your band on Insta?” she muttered. “There was some girl going off about you not doing the simplest thing she asked and then telling you you couldn’t have her design on your body for like-” she stopped to think “-twenty lines in all caps. I don’t know her personally, but I was pretty sure that was her.” She made herself more comfortable on her pillow of arms. “You deserve better treatment than that from someone you love.”

“Oh, you saw that?” Luka had blocked her and removed the comment as soon as he saw it pop up.

“Well, seeing as how she did it at least four times in thirty minutes that I know of,” she smiled through closed eyes at him, “Yeah. I saw it. It made me want to do two conflicting things.”

“Which were?”

“Redo the design bigger and better, but add neon and blacklight inks so that it shows up under any, and all, lighting conditions.”

Luka was sniggering at the suggestion. “And the other?”

“Put such a kickass design over her ink that she can’t ever claim to have that connection to you again.”

She said it with such warmth that Luka couldn’t help feeling a spark of happiness at her words. For the first time he was actually eager to have Maria’s tattoo paved over.

“I think we should go with that second idea,” he replied.

She sighed dramatically. “Well, you are the client so you do get to make that choice. But if you want to go the first route, I have some really excellent neons I’ve been dying to try out.”

They both chuckled, but were interrupted by the computer signaling it had finally booted up.

Marinette raised her head from the table, but hadn’t opened her eyes when Luka put a hand on her shoulder.

“You said you’d put the designs in an animation to show me what they’d actually look like on my arm, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Would it be okay for me to watch it while you grab a quick cat nap?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Marinette said as she got up. “But I’ll show you how to switch between the three designs and you can take your time looking.” She sat at the computer and pulled up a couple of programs, then motioned for Luka to come over to the desk.

“This is the file where your designs are stored. You just have to open it up and click on either the LC 1, LC 2, or LC5 to get the designs I showed you. This program,” she pointed to the one showing what looked like a generic 3D model of a human with a photograph of his arm superimposed on it in the display, “knows how to take the design from the file and put it in the right place and orientation. We can manipulate it later to get it just right, but you can turn the model and the arm to get a better idea of how it will look to you and to the people around you.”

She quickly demonstrated by clicking on LC 1 and the first design was up and covering Maria’s tattoo.

“That’s pretty cool,” Luka remarked watching intently.

“This layer isn’t opaque, so you actually get a pretty good idea of what this will look like in real life. I know you were worried about how bright that green was but if you look at it now-”

“It’s exactly the shade I was describing to you,” Luka said with a little awe.

“See? I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“I never doubted for a minute.”

“You doubted the green for two days,” she reminded him.

“Well that’s not exactly a minute,” he said in his defense.

“True.” She couldn’t help another yawn. “I’m going to go drink my tea and eat the lovely breakfast someone so thoughtfully brought to see if I can wake up some. You can join me or play with this-”

The words had barely left her lips and Luka was reaching out to grab the mouse to click on the next design.

“Well that answers that question,” she said with a smile and exchanged places with him.

She showed him how to turn the arm and the model then sat at the table with her tea. She tried not to stare while he clicked and hummed at the different designs. But she stole a glance as often as she could.

She thought over what her job meant to people as she ate. Those guys last night were memorializing a fallen comrade. Luka was removing the last piece of a hurtful relationship. So many others had come to redeem painful mistakes from their past, or embed lost children forever into their hearts. Countless women had received freedom from abusive spouses or pimps through her work, those ones were always done for free. Good times, heartbreaks, family and friends lost and often ones found were all etched into the people that came through her doors. It was a privilege to be a part of so many people’s stories.

She became aware that Luka had stopped clicking and stood up to see what he’d chosen.

“I want this one,” he said as she drew nearer.

Marinette stopped in her tracks. “But that’s not even- I mean it’s not a final- How did you even get to that?”

Luka pointed to the file where his designs were stored. “I wanted to see what these LCS designs were.” He grinned at her. “Imagine my delight when I saw that you’d done sleeves to incorporate my new design with my old ink, too.”

“I was just doodling that stuff.” Marinette was still recovering from seeing his delight at the warm up practices she did. “It was like doing random drawing prompts or those cooking shows where you get five ingredients and have to make a meal. It wasn’t like a serious design choice.”

“Why not? This one is perfect! I has my music, my family, some of my other art interests and even a really rad snake that looks like it should be on my next record album. This is so my life tied together in a beautiful picture” He looked up at her. “This is totally what I’d want to see every day when I wake up. Please, tell me we can do it.”

Marinette nodded. “It will take several visits just for the line work,” she pointed out.

“I can make time for that,” he said with a grin.

“Only the part that covers the old tat will be at the low price I told you. Some of this will be a lot more expensive.”

“Okay. That’s fine by me but I only want you to do it. No one else from the shop.”

“But my apprentices can do the fill for so much cheaper-” she began.

“No, Marinette. I only want Maria’s tattoo covered by ink from the hands that took the time to find out who I am and what I need to be happy. I want it not only covered but I want the area around it filled with the music and love that you bring out of me.” He reached up and took her hand. “We can do that, can’t we?”

She stared deeply into his eyes and found nothing but love and admiration in them.

“When do you want to start?” she asked.

He broke into a grin. “How about now?”

“We have to wait for Ivan to get here, and I have to look at my schedule, but I think I can work you in.”

Luka let out a whoop and sprang up to be pulled into a tight embrace. He was leaning down to give her a kiss when she put a finger across his lips, halting him.

“No dating till after it’s finished,” she said. “Nothing good ever comes from kissing your clients.”

He laughed and pulled her in for another hug.

“Okay, but when it’s done I’m taking you out. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.” She took a step back from his arms and waved at the table where their half finished breakfast waited. “I can zap these for a minute and we can finish our food while we wait.”

In a couple of minutes they were sitting at the table and Marinette looked at Luka.

“I still say the expense is going to be pretty high for a struggling musician.”

Luka smirked at her. “M I regularly tour with Jagged Stone. I can afford to have you on retainer for the rest of our lives. I’m only struggling because I’m fronting my own band, with Jagged’s backing, and I’m not used to being the one everyone knows.”

The amazed look on the woman’s face made Luka laugh. Luka’s laugh made Marinette laugh. Marinette’s laugh made Luka laugh harder.

Ivan was greeted by the sound of laughter when he turned the key in the front door’s lock. He smiled to himself. It was going to be a great day.

#lukanetteseptember2019 #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #fading ink #my writing

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wintryspice · 6 years ago

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Frozen OC Exchange

@kira-ani-mcgrath I got your two OC’s!

I decided to take a College AU route with Elsa showing Natalia crochet stitches, as well as awkwardnedd between Elsa and Leone.

Crochet and Coffee

If there’s one thing that Natalia could get frustrated over, it was trying to attempt a double crochet, For weeks, off and on, she had been teaching herself how to crochet. It defiantly did not come easy to her, despite watching multiple tutorials and checking out crochet books from the public library. All she wanted was to crochet a scarf for Hans. A deep red and yellow scarf. She had mastered the single crochet, but in her mind it was good enough, not for Hans.

Leone had noticed Natalia’s frustration. When watching a movie on the weekends, he’d catch a glimpse of a shiny object flying across the front of the tv with a tail of red yarn attached to it. Sometimes even the entire ball of yarn would roll out of his younger sisters room into the dining area.

Finals were just mere days away. Instead of studying for her English final, Natalia found herself working on the scarf for Hans. One day of not studying wouldn’t hurt, Natalia would think to herself. An hour would pass and she would have torn the yarn out and started over again. And again. Until finally, she flung the ball of red yarn out of her room, across the dining room table where her brother happened to be working on his Linguistics paper. His type ceased, getting up to grab the ball of yarn out of the kitchen.

“Again?” he sighed, walking to his sister’s room, a few feet away. “Lose something?” Leone asked, his right hand tossing the huge ball of red yarn up and down.

“Take it back.” Natalia groaned, her crochet hook with the beginnings of a square with wonky rows hanging off it in her hand.

“I don’t think the craft store takes used yarn back, sis.” Leone replied, entering his sisters’ room and sitting next to her. “Besides, practice makes perfect, right?”

Natalia lifted her head up, her brown ponytail flopping in her face. “I’ve been practicing for WEEKS,” she signed. “I still can’t get the hang of it!”

“I’m sure Hans wouldn’t mind. It’s the thought that counts.” Leone moved his sisters’ ponytail out of her face.

“It’s a disaster!” Natalia exclaimed, kicking her feet up and down on the bed.

And that moment, it dawned on Leone that he knew of someone who could help her. “Nat, I think I may know someone who could help you get over your crochet dilemma.” He said.

Natalia looked up at her brother, raising a brow. “Who?”

“You remember Elsa from my linguistics class?

“Your girlfriend?” Natalia smirked.

“She- she’s not my girlfriend!” Leone blushed.

“Yeah, SURE she isn’t.” Natalia nudged her brother. “Didn’t you learn Norwegian just to try to impress her?

“N-NO!” Leone exclaimed. “That’s beside the point. Anyways, I’m pretty sure she is,” Leone said.

“Pretty sure she’s your girlfriend? Or should I say ,your “kjæreste”?” Natalia teased.

“Nat!”

“What?”

“A. Decent. Crocheter.”

“Just teasing, Leone,” Natalia grinned. “But would she willing to help me? She’s probably super busy with her practicum, I wouldn’t want to bother her.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to,” Leone said. “I can ask her at our study group tonight.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Natalia sheepishly said. “only if she agrees to it.”

“I’m sure she will,” Leone smiled. “Well I’m going to head out in a few minutes. Anything in particular that want from Black Rock?”

“A ham and cheese croissant would be nice. Thanks bro,” Natalia replied.

“You got it.” Leone said, getting up from the bed but then pausing. “One more thing.”

“Hm?”

“You be studying when I get home. Eisner’s English finals are not easy.” Leone answered, closing his sister’s door. “I’m saying that out of love.”

“Go see your girlfriend.” Natalia said, tossing the ball of yarn at her brother.

Black Rock coffee was only a few blocks down from the sibling’s University apartment. The study group Leon met with usually studied there every Tuesday and Thursday evening, when everyone usually was off of work or free from their directed practicum. Leon looked forward to these study days with his classmates, and of course Elsa. Elsa and Leone were in their final quarter of classes, graduation just a week away. Leone had never considered Elsa as a girlfriend, more of a sister-like friend. But lately it all seemed fuzzy. He knew there could more to their friendship, but the same time he did not want to ruin what was already fine in the first place.

Leone walked to Black Rock Coffee, his laptop tucked into his jacket. “I really need to get a carry case for this..” he said to himself as rain trickled from the sky. “Shoot!” He said, his speed picking up.

“Leone!” A voice called from a few hundred feet away.

Leone paused and turned around. He knew that voice. “Elsa!” He waved with a free hand.

“Phew!” Elsa exhaled under her umbrella. “Looks like it’s just us two tonight,” Elsa said, catching her breath.

“Everyone else bailed, huh?” Leone asked.

Elsa nodded. “You’ll get soaked, get under.” She smiled.

“Oh, thanks,” Leone replied. “I really need to get a carry case for this thing.”

“You said that last quarter.” Elsa chuckled.

“I say, a lot of things.” Leone nervously laughed. “Shall we?” Elsa nodded, the two walking to the coffee bar. Leone ducked under the umbrella and opened the door for the blonde. “After you.”

“Why thank you.” Elsa said. “Why don’t I take your computer and you get the coffee?”

“It’s my turn isn’t it?” Leon said. “Same as usual?”

“You know it.”

Leone knew her order like the back of his hand. A white chocolate mocha with lavender and nonfat milk. A classy drink for a classy gal Elsa would say. A classy gal who probably had no chance with him. Who was he kidding. He watched her from the pickup bar. He couldn’t help but notice the way Elsa would tuck her hair behind her ear while reading over her notes, the way her nose twitched-

“Here you go, Leone!” The barista cheerfully said, breaking Leone from his trance. Not any redhead. Anna, Elsa’s younger sister.

“Uh, yeah thanks Anna.” Leone replied, his eyes fixated on Elsa, taking the drinks from the bar.

“Earth to Leone!” Anna said, poking his arm.

“Huh?” Leone stopped.

“Why don’t you ask her out already?” Anna winked.

“You’re just as bad as Natalia.” Leone rolled his eyes. “Besides, she’s out of my league.”

“Well actually,” Anna said. “She’s pretty smitten with you. A smitten kitten I call her.”

“Wait..what?!” Leone exclaimed. “Anna I-“ Too late. Anna had already left to ring other customers up. “Keep it cool, Leone.” He took a breath in and went to the table Elsa had snagged. His computer had already been plugged in, Elsa’s notes neatly spread on her side of the table. She’s so organized.

“Your message earlier,” Elsa broke the silence. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Hm?” Leone hummed. “OH! Yeah, I was wondering- only if you weren’t busy,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes?” Elsa asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Well, Natalia is having troubles with some crocheting stitches, if that’s what they’re called. And I was wondering if, I don’t know, you could show her the Double Crochet? It’s driving her up the wall how many times she has to start over.” Leone explained.

“Hm,” Elsa said. “I have a few hours free tomorrow afternoon. I’d be happy to show her.”

“Really! Oh Elsa, you’re a savior!” Leone exclaimed. “I’d like to do something for you since you’re taking time out of your day to help my sister.”

Elsa blushed, pushing her coffee slightly in front of her. “Well, there is one thing you could do.”

Leone’s eyes slightly widened. “Anything,” he said.

“Dinner.”

“D-Dinner?”

“Mmhm,” Elsa hummed. “If that’s okay. I mean, if you don’t want to that’s totally fine, no big deal.”

“Hold on one second.” Leone said, darting from his chair to the barista bar. “ANNA.” He loudly whispered.

“So, did you ask her out?” Anna winked, pouring a glass of lemonade for a customer.

“N-not exactly. She…wants to go to dinner.” Leone blushed.

“OH! This is so exciting. You have NO idea how long she’s wanted to even ask you something like that! If I know Elsa, her favorite foods are Sushi, pasta and Scandinavian, being that we have Scandinavian heritage. OH. And don’t get dessert at the restaurant. Go for the ice cream shop.”

“I’m not made of money..” Leone said.

“Hey, they’re suggestions.” Anna said, popping her knuckles. “I think you might want to get back to that study day, hm?”

“Right. Thanks, Anna.” Leone said. Taking a deep breath, he went back to the table and sat down. “How does Sushi and ice cream sound?” Elsa’s face lit up, a smile appearing on Leone’s face. “6:30 tomorrow night alright?”

“Yes! OF course!” Elsa exclaimed. “Oh, and uh, I’ll be at your apartment around say, one tomorrow?”

“Yes! Of course yes! I’ll make sure Natalia is up by at least eleven.” Leone said. “Oh, I should say that she isn’t very talkative with people she doesn’t know well.”

“Introverts united,” Elsa winked.

The crochet session had gone well. Elsa had done most of the talking while walking Natalia through each step of the scarf pattern, leaving written notes in the pattern margins to make it a tad easier for her. When Elsa had asked who the scarf was for, Natalia had sheepishly said it was for a “one-of-a-kind green eyed Rugby captain”. And she knew exactly who Natalia was talking about.

“I was hoping that I could learn to make a striped scarf for him,” Natalia said, picking up a purple mug of mango tea from the coffee table. “to tell him how I feel. But..”

“But what?” Elsa asked, placing her crochet square on the coffee table.

“I don’t think he’d ever reciprocate the feeling.” Natalia said. “He’s my brother’s best friend. I don’t want to make anything awkward between the two of them.”

Elsa could see where Natalia was coming from. But then it made her think about what happened last night at the coffee bar. What if things didn’t work out between her and Leone? Was she rushing things? Was this a good time? “Sometimes things don’t work out and you can still be friends. It can be awkward, but it’s ultimately up to you to see where it all goes.

“Has it happened to you?”

“Wh-what?” Elsa blushed. “I-uh..”

“He told me he’s taking you to dinner tonight. But I have a feeling he was too chicken to ask you, so you must have asked him.” Natalia said, tying her hair up into a ponytail. She could tell from Elsa’s face, her eyes down and cheeked reddening, that she made the first move. “I take that as a yes.” Natalia giggled.

“Y-yes.” Elsa replied.

“I’m glad you did. He gets so flustered when you get brought up. His face turns this deep red and he gets so defensive!” Natalia laughed. “Between you and me, if he dated anyone in the entire world, I’d want it to be you.”

Elsa smiled.

“Also…thank you again for the tips.” Natalia said. “And for going on a date with my brother.”

#frozen oc exchange #frozen oc

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tkmedia · 3 years ago

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Have ‘morally reprehensible’ Italy peaked too early?

Get your views on Italy and much more in to [email protected]… Italy v Belgium I enjoyed both games of football last night but in particularly the Italy v Belgium game with so much attacking intent on both sides. What I do not understand is how Italy get away with so much, I guess I would call it cheating. It gets called gamesmanship or the dark arts but it amounts to the same thing. It was highlighted perfectly by the BBC commentators at half time and full time in relation to Immobile where, as ex-pros, they were all laughing and joking about his antics. Would this be the reaction if the game was against England? I suspect not. Many years ago, John Nicholson wrote an excellent article about a mate of his (probably a bass player or a drummer) who got away with things because of who he was and John likened this to Italian Football and the then Italian president Berlusconi. By John’s reasoning, Italy and their president got away with things that other countries/presidents couldn’t because it was expected of them. This still seems to be the case and they have almost become a parody of themselves. I have no affiliation with Spain but I do hope that they get past this highly skilful but morally reprehensible Italian team. Gwarrior (LCFC) Italy peaking Anything can happen in the semi against Spain, and I’m sure the best team will win, but is there anybody out there who still thinks Italy peaked too early? Dario (gutted for Spinazzola, he’s been immense) Club team Italy play like a really well drilled club team despite playing a very different game to the Italy I’ve always known (apart from excellent game management/dark arts). How does an international team do that? Aidan, Lfc (Based on my 1 game experience of watching Doku, and limited football knowledge, I confidently suggest Liverpool should sign him) Quick Euro thoughts… – Spain’s Pedri is an absolute talent, could easily see him becoming the talisman of Barcelona once Lionel Messi does leave – Switzerland did themselves proud and a few of their team put themselves forward for a potential summer move, Yan Sommer anyone? – Italy could just win this whole thing, really impressive blend of old style Italy and new style – Ciro Immobile with the finest acting since Luis Suarez against Norwich – Is Roberto Martinez actually a good manager because I just can’t tell – Jeremy Doku is going to be yet another player Rennes make an insane profit on in a short space of time Mikey, CFC Chip on England’s shoulder… I used to wonder why so many people dislike England during International tournaments. I now understand because I’ve joined the queue. It’s so frustrating and annoying to hear the English media seemingly proclaim England the best team in the world because of one victory…ONE VICTORY…against a team you all claimed were no longer the force they use to be. Suddenly, every other team has a deficit and only England is going from strength to strength… Really?…REALLY!!! The worst thing is you have been playing the worst football this tournament has seen(Yes it’s the worst. If you have the best attack in the tournament like you claim, you shouldn’t be parking your team’s aeroplane on the pitch). Nelson (I can’t wait for Ukraine to give you guys a thorough trashing so things can go back to normal.) Lagos. KDB When the pressure is on in the biggest games, the great players stand up and make a difference. Not for the first time, Kevin De Bruyne was nowhere to be seen when playing on the big stage. Jamie, Eire

Dropping Sterling… First off, let me begin by saying I am not a fan of Raheem Sterling. He wouldn’t be on my fantasy team and I can’t understand why Southgate likes him so much. However, he is the leading goal scorer for England in the tournament and seems to be on a hot patch. How does dropping him make any sense? What other team would drop their leading goal scorer going into an important game? I would drop Kane, who let’s be honest has been woeful. Was not his goal also a tap-in? Yet the bias media celebrated the goal like it was some magical work of art. For Spurs yes he is magic, for England he has been below par. This same media is debating whether to start Grealish, he is England’s best player. He changed the last game as soon as he came on. I do think England will have enough for Ukraine, but Denmark will be a tough battle and could be the end of the road for England. Christian Gooner – Toronto Sterling right of reply… Enjoyed the replies to my Sterling email, less so the comments baselessly calling me part of the ‘Brexit/boo the knee crew’ and suggesting my analysis of some relative weaknesses of a footballer is based on ‘hatred’ – inaccurate, weird and offensive, ‘Luxongo’ et al. Sterling is a very impressive man on and off the pitch and has suffered deplorable abuse of all kinds – but it doesn’t make him (or anyone else) above fair criticism of his standard of play, nor does it mean anyone criticising his play should be associated with that abuse. Still, it’s useful to know how people must feel when they are ‘no-platformed’. Anyway – some perfectly reasonable opposing opinions (and it’s ok to disagree – I think?), but I have to take issue with Rob saying ‘ You simply cannot choose “whatabouts” over “reality”’. It seems he’s essentially saying that if you win, no one should ask: ‘what if we changed this, would we be better?’. A main point of my email was that if you rest on your laurels and don’t go through that exercise, eventually you are likely to come unstuck, just as we did in 2018. If you go through it and the answer is ‘no, we’d be no better’ then fine, but don’t stick your fingers in your ears and sing la-la-la at the process. I like John G’s comparison to Linker and Greaves because Sterling has obviously done well to be in a position to score his goals. There’s plenty of merit in that view if the idea is that Sterling and Kane are an old fashioned front two with Sterling as the poacher, but is that really the way people think we’re playing and the main role people expect Sterling to play? The other problem is that in 1990 Lineker played in an XI with Beardsley, Waddle, Platt and Gascoigne. Not quite the seven defensive players we deployed in the last 16. If it wasn’t already a long email, I would have said yesterday that I’m more (but not completely) in favour of playing Sterling if we revert to an attacking four for the rest of the tournament, but in a 5-2-3 there is pressure on Sterling to create and, as Derek points out, we create a ‘paucity’ of chances with him as one of our attackers, with a number of promising scenarios breaking down as a result of his decision making and/or poor touch (something that’s pretty hard to prove or disprove with stats). Anyway, assuming Southgate persists with Sterling, obviously I hope I am proved wrong – it’s just that there’s a difference between what I hope and what I think. Shappo The real ambition in the tournament With the hands of time ticking inevitably towards another great sadly leaving the game, it’s clear that one man at the Euros is seizing the world stage to show that he’s ready to take over. In a match filled with stars, only one has stepped up to make it about them. No hesitation, confidence in spades – he’s stolen the show. Michael Oliver is clearly the next Mike Dean. Ryan, Bermuda (a normal human being would err on the side of a yellow and go to VAR, but never Oliver or the great Deano. Own those game-ruining mistakes I say!) Time for a Sin Bin? Football is an evolving sport. VAR is becoming less intrusive as we get used to it. But for me it is the acceptance of constant fouls that now needs addressed. Trips, pushes, niggles that stop the game and often stop real attacking opportunities, but are not bookable until about ten have been let go. So time for a 10 minute sin bin. A punishment that will impact on the game, give the perps a real disadvantage, and stop them doing it. The evidence is there from rugby. The ref warns then bins. It would make football a better game. Tim Haaland dreams… Imagine this: Haaland stays put in Dortmund this season. His goals output next season drops with Sancho’s departure. (Haaland’s father reportedly went “F**k…” upon hearing confirmation of Sancho’s transfer to Man U”.) Man U goes on a deeper run in CL say semi-finals… What are chances Haaland joins Man U next summer -to re-unite with the man that assisted the most for his goals, and with the man who coached him in the youth ranks? Many ifs, but one can dream… Lionel, Singapore Salzburg is in Germany? Hi there, I’m not taking issue with Lee’s general point about the BuLi being a less physical league , but Takumi Minamino signed for Liverpool from Austrian side Red Bull Salzburg. Austria hasn’t been a part of Germany since, well, some unpleasantness that is rarely discussed in the British tabloids, and certainly hasn’t been mentioned at all recently… Dara O’Reilly, London Souey Anyone who doesn’t have a man crush on Graeme Souness is made of stone. BB Read the full article

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

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Starting Over Chapter 8 ~The Confrontation~

Jamie swallowed hard and eyed the cleaver nervously. Christ, what did uncle Lamb ask again? Oh, aye ...he was asking how I know of Claire.

"Joe is our mutual friend. Ye ken, Joe, aye?"

Quentin stopped what he was doing. "Yes. Joe is a family friend. While ye were away with my niece, he relayed everything that happened. Why did you go to so much trouble helping Claire?"

Whack! Jamie jumped on his stool again. For fuck sake, what's wrong with me? I could tackle this git to the ground if I want to. He ignored the feeling of unease and tried to remain calm. "Joe would have wanted me to help her and so would ye," he replied. "Claire was desperate to run away. If I hadn't been there, she wouldn't have made it far. And from what I've heard, ye weren't overly keen on Frank marrying her. Surely, you must be elated that the wedding didn't go ahead."

Quentin ignored his last statement and went to the point. "Do you intend to ask her out?" he asked.

Sweat broke out over his skin. Truth, Jamie lad! "I like her a lot, and I would like to see her again."

"She's not like your girlfriends or the girls you go for. And if you ..."

"I've never had a girlfriend," Jamie interrupted, suddenly feeling annoyed. "And besides, seeing her doesnae mean there has to be something between us. As I said, Joe is our mutual friend, and I would like to be her friend too."

Quentin arched an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?"

His temper ratcheted up. "No. People will believe what they want to believe. Looks like you've made up your mind already."

"I wish to be enlightened. Tell me then, what is fallacious about the articles written about you?" Quentin asked, unperturbed by his outburst, throwing the hacked beef bones into the pot with loud clacks.

Jamie tunnelled his fingers through his hair and stared at the older man. He disliked talking about his public image. It was something he'd chosen to forget, hoping sports history will omit what the tabloids had written about him and solely focus on his contribution to rugby. A cold ball of misery fisted his gut. "I'm not a player if that's what you think. But I'm not a monk either. I've had consensual, brief affairs. Unfortunately, I've been photographed during an infamous walk of shame, and that stuck ever since. My life was strictly ruled by rugby ...until my accident. Most of the articles that were written about me that didn't pertain to sports are pure speculation. It stemmed from the public wanting to know all about my private life. And because I have nothing to show, tabloid writers made up stories. Every time I was photographed with a female during public functions, it was automatically dubbed as romance in the making. It's hard to fight it because fighting it only results in feeding the flame. I can't win either way. All I ever wanted was to play rugby and talk about the game."

"Is that all?"

Was that all? He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the interrogation. Why am I giving him my time of day? Shaking his head, he let out a deep sigh of resignation. "Aye. One more thing. If something was to happen between Claire and me, it wouldn't work anyway."

"Oh! Why is that?" It was Quentin's turn to look surprised.

"I'm unstable, and I'm going through a phase. I have nae idea what I want to dae with my life. I had a call earlier from my agent. There is an opening for a rugby presenter on TV, and I was told I'd be great for the job since I know how to articulate the inner workings of the game. My only drawback is, I have a blemished reputation as a womaniser, and we're talking about representing a wholesome TV program where scandals are frowned upon by the board of directors. So I doubt I'll be given consideration. As for Claire, she needs to find herself. And if she's with me, the reporters will eat her alive. Furthermore, I dinna ken how to be in a relationship. My track record bears testimony to that."

"You honestly believe that about yourself? Unstable?"

Jamie didn't reply. A long silence settled in the kitchen and an odd calm over him. It felt good to verbalised the nagging voices in his head and share a part of him he'd concealed. Maybe it was for the best to quell any notions of Claire, finally accepting that they were both at a difficult point of their lives. In as much as he was physically attracted to her, a commitment right now would only complicate things.

"Well, son, we may have something in common then."

"Aye?" Jamie's brows knitted together and wondered what he was on about.

"You mentioned you don't know how to be in a relationship. Well, I don't know how to be a father, and to this day, I'm still figuring that out. I've raised Claire since she was five and yet, here I am, I'm still stumbling my way through parenthood. Like you, I had to deal with a life that I didn't ask for. It took a lot of heart and courage just to pull through. In the end, it was all worth it. Claire grew up to be a fine young woman, and I couldn't be more proud of her. Don't believe everything you tell yourself. They're just noises in your head. I learned from raising Claire, that love is strongest when you learn to trust the process despite the doubts." He stopped, coughed and looked at him directly in the eyes. "By the way, do you like brandy?"

"Huh?" Bewilderment swarmed his head. He hadn't been expecting a quick turnaround. "Ah, weel ...eh ...I prefer whisky, but I drink brandy once in a while."

"The snifter glasses and the brandy are on the far right cupboard. Pour us some if you please."

The request cut through his confusion, and he shot to his feet. "Aye, of course." He quickly prepared the brandy, half expecting to get whacked on the head with a cleaver, while Quentin washed his hands,

Once the drinks were poured, Quentin took a glass and swirled it in his hand, before taking a whiff. Pleased with the aroma, he raised the snifter and gestured for him to do the same. "Here's to you and thank you for helping, my niece. I appreciate the lengths you went through in keeping her safe. How much do I owe you for the trouble?"

Jamie almost choked on his drink. "Ach, no! It was nae bother at all. I don't need the money."

"Very well." Quentin put his glass down and pointed at the bowl of vegetables. "Do you mind chopping those carrots and celery sticks for me?"

"No. I can dae that," Jamie answered, pondering what the older man will say or ask of him next. Uncle Lamb was proving to be an enigma and full of surprises, but he was beginning to worry about Claire. How long have they been in the room?

As if reading his mind, Quentin smiled at him. "And when you're done, send Frank in, please and go and take Claire away from here. Frank and I need a heart to heart talk."

Grabbing a knife, Jamie bowed his head down and got to work, resisting the urge the smile. He wondered what uncle Lamb had to say to Frank, and if Frank will get the same meat-cleaver-treatment, he received. Didn't Claire mention earlier that Frank had never visited Quentin? Was Frank trying to isolate Claire from her only relative too?

In no time, he completed the task. Just as he was about to go, Quentin stopped him. "Another thing. If you don't mind and if it's no trouble at all, may I please have a signed jersey from you? I'm actually a big fan of yours."

Jamie was stunned but kept his expression bland and bit his lip. He couldn't help doing a mock contemplation. It was good to know that behind the no-nonsense facade, Claire's uncle had a weakness. "Of course. I will have one sent as soon as possible. Maybe I'll throw in a ticket for the next home game in Murrayfield. A private VIP box perhaps?"

"That'll be grand," Quentin's face lit up. "And James?"

Ah, what now? "Aye?"

"You have a lot of heart. I believe everything you told me."

"Thank ye, I appreciate that." To his surprise, a weight lifted off his shoulders and wondered why it mattered so much to have Claire's uncle's approval. He tamped down the urge to hug the older man.

If only Quentin knew, how much those words meant after having difficulties in overcoming the stigma attached to his popularity. He could only hope Claire wouldn't judge him too harshly about his past.

..........

"Why did you leave me, Claire?"

Frank had his back to her as he looked out the window. Hands shoved in his jeans and legs braced apart, an air of self-possession and authority emanated from his frame and carriage, his voice, rich and deep, just as she remembered them.

It was a simple question which she had an answer to, but panic and dread welled up. She was ill-prepared for their confrontation.

As if sensing her trepidation, he turned around and approached her, his dark chocolate eyes that she once adored, never leaving her face. "Did I ever hurt you? I need answers, Claire. I need to understand what I've done wrong. Have I not told you often enough how much I love you?" he asked softly.

Her brain worked to form a logical reply, but simple utterances were proving difficult. "Ah, I ... I'm so sorry ...I ran away ...I couldn't ..."

His face dissolved into understanding, and a hand reached out to stroke her hair. "I forgive you. You know I'll always forgive you. We're so good together. All I've ever done is love you, and everything I do is for you. For us."

"B-but ..."

"Sssh, no buts." Frank pulled her into his arms and whispered loving words into her ears. He kissed her cheek and stroke her hair. "It's my fault, my love. I was so busy at the hospital, and I thought all was well with us. I failed to see you were under a lot of pressure with work and with planning the wedding. It's me who should be asking for your forgiveness." A hand ran down her back with the expertise of an experienced lover, massaging and soothing the tautness in her muscle. Once it had been so easy to succumb to his display of tenderness and forget everything that had happened.

The conversation with Joe and Geillis popped in her mind, and her guts clenched. She had seen this side of Frank before. He knew what buttons to push and the words to say. How many times had she fallen for his promise of devotion and humbling plea for forgiveness, only for him to suddenly turn around so fast with a cutting remark or a cold look of objection that she thought she imagined the whole thing? He'd rewarded her with presents and gentle affection when she won his approval but punished her with hurtful words when she didn't live up to his expectations.

Nausea slammed her with full force, and Claire stepped away from his hold. "Frank, I can't do this anymore. I've been unhappy for a long time, and I don't like the person I've become."

His brows furrowed, puzzlement evident in his eyes. "Claire, why are you speaking like that? I can understand you're confused because of the stress you're having, and you feel we've grown apart. It's normal to feel that way from time to time. Relationships cannot be likened to a walk in the park. It requires hard work. We'll have bad days sometimes, but that doesn't mean we don't love each other anymore. We're perfect together. Can't you see that? Everyone thinks so too."

She thought of Joe, Geillis and uncle Lamb, her towers of strength and the only thing consistent in her life. How many times had Frank excluded them from functions he'd arranged? It was almost like he was embarrassed by the company she kept. Geillis and Joe had tried their best to get along with him for her sake, but Frank never made it easy for them. And then she thought of her day-out in Cullen with Jamie. It was the first time in ages laughter had come easy, and there had been no expectations of her other than to be herself.

"No, Frank, not everyone! My friends don't think we're perfect for one another. They believe you are keeping me away from them. You don't like them. You don't like me either. You're continuously telling me how to fix myself to make you happy. I'm so tired of living up to some standard. You want to change me, and that isn't what love is all about."

"What do you know of love?" he shot. He took a couple of steps forward, forcing her to back up against the wall. His calm demeanour was gone and in its place, a rage that she'd never seen on him before. Alarm seeped through, and she wanted to run, but fear froze her in place. "Do you even realise what you put me through? Imagine the humiliation I felt when I saw your picture on the newspaper this morning with that drunk former rugby player. The hospital is rife with gossip and everyone stares. Right now reporters are staking my home as well as my workplace. And did you even think of giving me a call? No, because you're so wrapped up in your own world and that James fucking Fraser. Mark my words, that man will use you Claire, and once he's done with you, he'll drop you like a hot potato. That's what he is, and that's what he does."

Anger bubbled up, and years of frustration found its voice. "What are you insinuating? I planned to run off with Jamie? I fell trying to escape through the window, and he caught me. If he hadn't been there, I'd be dead," she snapped, shoving him away from her. "And for your information, nothing happened between us. But by God, I was tempted. And you want to know why? Days before our wedding day, I kissed him in Lallybroch because I wanted to know if there was something wrong with me. You were always finding fault in our lovemaking, and I started to think something must be amiss. And guess what? You should have seen his face. I've never seen a man look at me the way he did. Desired and ..."

He flinched. "He's a player, Claire!

"Do you think I care what he is, Frank?" she shouted. "The fact he made me feel whole and not broken and not undesirable was enough. I may lack experience when it comes to relationships, but I wasn't born in a bubble, and I'm not stupid. You treat me like a child ...like I can't think for myself. Give it a rest, Frank. Can't you see it? I'll never be enough for you, and you'll always find ways to change me."

The intimidation waned, and Frank's shoulders sagged. "Claire, the only reason why I asked more from you, is because I saw the potential in you. You are a brilliant doctor, and I didn't want you to settle. If I've caused you pain by pushing you, I'm so sorry. I'll change my ways. I can fix me. We can fix us together."

Guilt threatened to take hold, but she remembered how Frank treated her friends. "I'm so sorry, Frank. I don't want to fix us anymore. We're beyond repair. Let's not make this any more difficult than it is. It's over," she said softly.

The unshed tears that glinted in his eyes nearly broke her heart, but she reminded herself to remain strong. "Please, Claire, give us some time. Take all the time you need. You're not thinking clearly right now. Don't throw away what we've built together."

Her body began to shake, so she wrapped her arms across her chest, to still the shiver skating over her body. "No, Frank. It will never work. We don't work anymore, and we haven't for ages. Just let me go. Please."

"We can work. I know that. But I won't push. You are understandably upset, and you need space." He reached out to touched her, but when she recoiled, he dropped his hand. "I will see you at the hospital next week, and we'll take it from there. I won't give up on us, Claire. I love you too much, and I know you feel the same way."

"No Frank, please don't do this ..." Her words trailed off when Jamie suddenly walked in.

She sucked in a breath as both men stilled and had a standoff staring at each other. She feared Frank might say something sharp and uncivil leading to a provocation. But to her relief, Jamie spoke first. "Uncle Lamb wishes to speak to you."

Frank nodded, glanced one more time at Claire and then left the room without another word.

Once they were alone, Jamie walked over to her and tilted her chin. "Ye alright, Sassenach?"

"He won't let me go. I told him already it was over, but he won't listen."

"How about your things in his apartment?"

"I forgot to ask him. But I'll talk to him again next week when I go back to work, and I'll arrange a day to collect it."

"Joe and I will come with ye. Did Frank threaten ye?" He caressed her cheek, looking her over to check if she was harmed.

"N-no, nothing like that. It's Frank's mannerisms that is intimidating. He knows me too well. He plays on my guilt like a master, and his stubborn refusal to give up is making it all more difficult."

Jamie's face hardened, contradicting the gentleness of his touch. "Dinna fash, Sassenach. We'll talk more about it later. I need to get ye out of here. It's yer uncle's orders. By the way, yer uncle is not by any chance a murderer, is he?"

"Wot? Wot are you talking about?" Then a realisation hit her, and her eyes widened. "No! He didn't do the meat cleaver act on you, or did he?"

"Aye, he did." Jamie didn't look impressed, so she suppressed the laughter that was beginning to bubble up. "Weel, it will serve Frank right to get that treatment from yer uncle, intimidating ye like that. I nearly shat bricks when he was interrogating me." He tugged her hand and led her out of the apartment.

"That's why I didn't have boyfriends when I was the uni. He scared the hell out of them. How did you get away with it?"

Jamie glanced at her and winked. "I bribed him with a signed shirt from me. And a VIP pass for Murrayfield at the next rugby home game."

She stared at him in disbelief and saw the grudging smile trying to mar his handsome face. This time Claire let out the laughter, forgetting for a little while the heartache and worry Frank had caused and the problems that were yet to come.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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