#Can’t believe this came from a Call of Duty video about torture. But yet at the same time I can. Because it's an actual academic critique

[they-call-me-hippie]

"Those who choose the lesser evil forget very quickly that they chose evil"

Hanna Arendt, "Personal Responsibility Under Dictatorship"

[adverb-slut]

To Be Human (Fanfiction) Part 4/?

I know I said that every chapter would begin with a Celestial Realm Michael scene, but as I was writing this fast (totally forgot to update my fics), I couldn't think of a good scene to write, so, unfortunately, I shall skip this chapter's initial Celestial Realm scene; I apologize!  As per the usual, this chapter is available on AO3 here!

Title:

To Be Human

Summary:

When a mysterious force attacks the Devildom and destroys it, the brothers are forced to turn to their Father in the Celestial Realm for answers and assistance. However, the Almighty is still miffed at the seven due to their involvement in the Great Celestial War, and sends them to seek asylum in the one place they have yet to make their mark—the Human World.

Without the help of their beloved MC, the brothers must learn to assimilate into this strange new world, all while trying to figure out who is responsible for the destruction of the Devildom and take back their home.

Rating:

T

Word Count:

3446

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 3 here!

-

Satan raised his eyebrow at the establishment before them.  “Wal-Mart,” he read aloud. 

“You think it’s like the old War-Mart retail chain back in the Devildom?” Belphie wondered.

Satan stroked his chin.  If this store was anything like the store at home, it would be an adequate location in which to shop for groceries, especially on a budget as they were forced to do now.  As the seven brothers had originally been dubbed the “Seven Rulers of Hell” and were very wealthy, they never had a need to frequent War-Mart, but Satan had heard of the store from one of his less-fortunate friends.

He nodded.  “I believe so.”  It wasn’t as if they had any other choice; Belphie and he had wandered the streets within a mile-radius from their new home, and this was the only store that they had seen.  “Let’s go in.”

Belphegor followed his brother, grumbling under his breath, “It’s just like Lucifer to put us two on shopping duty.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “I’d rather be out here shopping than cooped inside that hovel with the others.”

“I guess.”  Belphie shrugged.  “You have the grocery list, right?”  He pat his pockets.  “I have the debit card from Simeon.”

Satan bobbed his head.  “Yes.”  He unfurled the paper in his hand and read aloud the angel’s loopy handwriting, “Here are some economical foods from the Human World I’d thought you’d like!”  Underneath were written about forty different items, twenty-five of which Lucifer had taken the liberty of circling in red, for they were foods that were also found in the Devildom. 

As the pair walked into Wal-Mart, Satan did a double-take.  Humans flooded every corner of the store, pushing around metal carts piled high with not just foodstuffs, but other household items, as well.  He raised an eyebrow as several people stopped to stare at the two demons who stood in the entryway.  

Belphegor leaned closer to him and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Satan … why are they staring at us?”

He remembered their new human names and hissed, “Call me,” he gagged, “Nathan.  And I don’t know … ‘Eigh.’”

“Don’t call me ‘Eigh,’” Belphie snapped back.  He turned to the left to scan the various products that sat at the entryway to immediately grab customers’ attention.  His eyes lingered on a box of toilet paper, reading the brand name.  “Call me ‘Scott.’”

Satan wrinkled his nose at the name, intent on chastising his brother for such an idiotic choice, but before he could say a word, the brothers’ attention was diverted by the sound of a camera flash.  Their heads whipped in the direction of the noise, and they stared accusingly at the culprit, who gave herself away with her raised phone.  

“Damn it,” the woman cursed, pocketing her phone and hurrying away.  “Forgot to turn off the ringer.”

With this, a crowd began to form in front of the demons—a crowd who whispered furiously amongst themselves loudly, saying “They’re so hot—they must be celebrities!” and “I swear that I’ve seen them on TikTok before!” and “I wanna take a picture with them and post it on Instagram!” Someone even ventured to mutter, “Wonder if they’d be interested in a threesome …”

“Belphegor,” Satan muttered under his breath, momentarily forgetting his brother’s human pseudonym, “we can’t shop here.”

“What choice do we have?” Belphie replied, backing away as the crowd drew closer and closer.  “There are no other stores around.”

Satan pursed his lips as more people began to whip out their phones and snap pictures of the handsome duo.  Getting photographed was not in their definition of “lying low,” and although he knew that this debacle would piss his eldest brother off to no end, the idea of self-preservation quelled even his most devious side.  “We have to put a stop to this.”

“You don’t think we should use our powers, do you?” Belphegor asked.  

“And cause this to be an even bigger scene than it already is?” demanded Satan.  He raised an eyebrow.  “No.  I have an idea.  Just play along.”  He gagged inwardly at the thought that had taken formation in his mind, but he knew it had to be done if he and Belphie were to shop in peace.  Satan puckered his lips, closed his eyes, and leaned toward the seventhborn demon.  

“Sat—Nathan, what’re you��” was all Belphie could ask before his lips met his brother’s.

Satan could feel his mouth fill with bile (He!  Was!  Kissing!  His!  Brother!  How!  Disgusting!), but he swallowed it down as he saw from the corner of his eye that the crowd began to yell shouts of aversion and start to disperse.  Some of the teenage girls stayed to ogle at the “scandalous” PDA and video-record the scene before they were yanked away by what he could only assume were their small-minded parents.  

As soon as he saw that the group had gone, he ripped his lips off of Belphie, scrubbing them voraciously with his forearm, while Belphegor dry heaved several times and covered his mouth.

“That was disgusting,” Belphie decided.  He scowled at his brother.  “Never do that again.”

Satan reassured, “I don’t plan to.  And besides, at least we got everyone to leave.”  He revealed the crumpled grocery list in his hand.  “Now we can shop peacefully.”

Belphegor continued to mutter obscenities under his breath as he followed Satan to get a cart. 

The fourthborn scanned the grocery list as he pushed the cart down the aisle.  They had five hundred American dollars to spend on food and they had to buy enough to satiate all seven brothers, including the gluttonous Beel; they had to be economical.  The first item on the list that Simeon had given them was “apples,” so Satan reached for a bag of the cheapest kind and placed it into the cart.

“Lucifer likes apples, doesn’t he?” mused Belphie.  

Satan nodded.  “His favorite food are Princess’ Poison Apples.”

Belphie smiled strangely and lifted the bag of apples out and threw them back on the shelf.  “I’m going to guess he wouldn’t be too happy if we came home without his favorite food.” 

Satan raised an eyebrow.  “In case you forgot, I like apples, too; apple pie is my favorite, but … I suppose I’ll make a sacrifice this once.”  He rubbed his chin pensively.  “And that gives me an idea.”  He showed the list to Belphie and nodded, smirking.  “Let’s use this opportunity to torture Lucifer and skip everything on this list that we think he’d like.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

-

Meanwhile, Lucifer scanned the list of prospective jobs that Simeon had given him.  

The angel had warned them that since none of the demons had college degrees, it might be harder for them to get any “serious” jobs—therefore, most of the jobs on the list simply called for “unskilled labor.”  Perusing the list caused Lucifer to wonder what humans considered “unskilled” for all of the possible jobs on the sheet still seemed to require prodigious talent and dedication.  

He had already marked that he would work at the local War-Mart—although in the Human World it was called “Wal-Mart—” and he figured that Satan would like to work at the Cedar Bridge Public Library.  Levi, who had whined himself to sleep when he found out that there were no Ruri-chan merchandise stores nearby, had already called working at GameStop, hoping that his salary would allow him to finally buy a gaming computer to use instead of the ancient laptop that had come along with the house.  Lucifer had no idea what kind of job would be fit for Belphegor, so he decided to hold off on choosing something for him until he returned from shopping with Satan.  

That left Mammon, Asmo, and Beel’s prospective careers to look into.

… And therein lie the headache.

“Beel, you can’t work at any kind of establishment that serves food,” repeated Lucifer, holding the bridge of his nose.  “Maybe in the Devildom it was okay for you to constantly munch on the food being served—no one would reprimand you because you were one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, but you can’t do that here.”  He stared at the sixthborn demon firmly.  “I will not have you work anywhere near food since I can’t trust you not to give in to temptation.”

“Yeah,” Mammon agreed, shrugging.  “If ya eat any of the food, they’ll prob’ly make you pay for it, and y’know we’re broke as fuck up here.”

Beelzebub twiddled his fingers, looking down.  “Fine, I won’t take the McDonald’s job, then.”  He peered over Lucifer’s shoulder at the sheet.  “Or the Wendy’s job.  Or the Chick-fil-a one.  Or the one at Burger King.”

“Wow, it seems that Simeon marked a lot of these jobs as ‘foodservice,’” Asmo observed.  He smiled.  “Good thing my job has nothing to do with it!”  He poked his chin cutely.  “Although I suppose they serve food sometimes in strip clubs.”

Another headache.

“Asmodeus,” Lucifer bellowed, staring at the fifthborn.  “I already told you: you are not going to become a stripper.  That’s final.”

Asmo frowned and held up a fist.  “What is your problem, Lucifer?  I’ve done it before in the Devildom tons of times.”

The other demons raised an eyebrow at “tons of times,” and Lucifer rolled his eyes.  “You can strip as much as you want in the Devildom; it’s not frowned upon there, but Simeon expressly told me that it is here.  We are not going to be known as the family where one of the members is a stripper.  Think of all the negative attention it’ll draw.”

“That’s bullshit!” Asmo growled.  A black miasma began to surround the fifthborn.  Horns started to sprout out of his head and wings burst forth out of his back.  But before his demon transformation was complete, Mammon put his hands on his shoulders and gave him a good shake.

“Calm down, ya idiot!  You can’t transform here of all places.  People’ll see us through the windows!”  Mammon gestured toward Beel, who rushed to cover the closest window with his large form, for the brothers had yet to purchase any curtains.  He wrestled off Asmo’s arms as the younger demon tried to shove him off and said, “Come on.  I’m plannin’ on going into modeling down here like I did in the Devildom.  You like that kinda thing don’t ya?  We can both do it, y’know.”

Asmo glared at Mammon, finally succeeding in ripping his hands off of his shoulders.  He wheeled toward Lucifer.  “And that’s another thing!  How come you’re okay with Mammon going into something as prestigious as modeling, which will no doubt draw attention, but you’re worried about the attention I’ll bring if I become a stripper?”

Lucifer massaged his temple.  This actually was the first he was hearing of Mammon’s interest in Human World modeling, but he supposed that it was an appropriate career path for him, for looking pretty was one of the secondborn’s least annoying skills.  

“The difference is,” Lucifer began, “that here, modeling convoys positive attention while stripping brings the opposite, for humans are small-minded, as you are aware.  While I’d rather draw as little attention as possible, I can see where that could be seen as suspicious, so positive attention is all I’ll condone.”  He turned toward Mammon and nodded.  “But yes, both of you feel free to take up a modeling job.”

“On Simeon’s list here, it says that there’s only one position that they're looking to fill in the modeling agency he recommended,” Beelzebub observed, reading off the prospective jobs.  

Mammon and Asmo exchanged glances, before simultaneously shouting, “I’ll take it!”

“People will actually want to see my beautiful face instead of your ugly mug!” Asmodeus yelled.

“Oh, yeah?  Well, I ain’t got no other talents ‘sides modeling, so I actually need this job!” Mammon yelled back.

His fervor never waning, Asmo spat, “You have other talents!”

“No, I don’t!” 

“You’re a very talented individual, Mammon!”

“Yeah, well, so are you!”

“You should take the modeling job!”

“Nah, you do it!”

Lucifer sighed at the pair, whose voices rose with every sentence.  He held the bridge of his nose, as he said, “You both can call the number for the modeling agency and see which one of you two they like better.  We’ll find another job for whoever doesn’t end up getting it.”  

He was also going to have to call to see if he could get jobs for his other brothers and himself, and Simeon had graciously provided numbers for them to call.  However … there was still the matter of figuring out if the Celestial Realm had tapped their phones and were also looking through their Internet searches.  To mitigate any trouble, Lucifer had forbidden anyone from using the phone or laptop until they could get solid information regarding the issue, unless it was for something important, like getting a job.

Speaking of jobs, he realized that now with Mammon and Asmo battling on who would be the model of the family, that left Beel (and Belphie) in dire need of work. 

He turned toward the sixthborn.  “Any idea of a non-food-related job, Beel?” 

“I don’t think so …” Beel muttered, still perusing through Simeon’s list of jobs.  He raised an eyebrow a moment later.  “Wait … it says here that there are some people close by looking for tutors in basic math for their kids.  You think I should do that?”

Lucifer nodded.  “Good idea.  Give them a call later, actually—I’m sure Belphie won’t mind doing that job, too, provided he’s doing it with you—see if they’d be willing to hire two tutors.”

Beel nodded obediently.  “So, I guess that’s it.  Everyone has a job, now.”

“Yeah.  Problem is,” realized Mammon, “that all of you guys who work close by have it easy.  Then there’s some of us who’ve gotta find a way to hitch a ride to our jobs.”

Asmo pursed his lips.  “He’s right.  We don’t have a car, not to mention licenses to drive.” 

Lucifer sunk into one of the understuffed dining room chairs, running a hand through his hair.  “One problem at a time, Asmo.  One problem at a time.”

-

“I just wanna say,” Mammon announced, twirling a limp spaghetti noodle on his fork, “I think I understand why Solomon’s food tastes like crap.”  He dropped his utensil back onto his chipped plate.  “‘Cause all Human World food tastes like crap!”

Leviathan, who had just been relieved from his Ruri-chan-filled dreams a few moments ago, blinked sleepily and said, “MC was from the Human World and made good food.”

“Maybe stop criticizing my cooking and just eat your dinner,” Lucifer snapped.  

He blithely spun his noodles across the plate, secretly admitting that the Human World fare of spaghetti and tomato sauce that he had prepared for dinner paled in comparison to their usual supper courses of Scorpion Thermidor and Havoc Devil Crown Roast.  In his defense, he had never prepared meals with food from this world and had just used the recipe on the back of the box of bargain-bin spaghetti that Satan and Belphie had brought home.

Beelzebub grinned, eating his pasta straight from the massive stockpot that the Junior Guardian Angels had magnanimously purchased for them.  The other brothers had already taken their servings and the remaining thirty-two were left for Beel.  “I think you made a really tasty meal considering you just used two ingredients.”  

“There’s no seasoning,” complained Asmo.  “And it's not even pretty enough to post online.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow in irritation.  “You can always go to bed without dinner.”

“And you’d miss dessert!” Beel gasped.  “Although … there’d be more for me, then.”

“Speakin’ of dessert,” Mammon said, “what’re we havin’?”

Lucifer grimaced.  He had been intent on trying to make an apple pie, but since some demons had thought it funny to not bring home any apples, he’d been forced to be a little more … creative, thinking carefully of foods that the two mischief-makers despised to incorporate into the dessert. 

“We don’t have a large variety of ingredients to work with, so I modified a simple Devildom recipe for venom-infused vanilla mousse and made White Chocolate Mousse with white chocolate, heavy cream, and sugar.”  He looked directly at Satan and Belphie as he said this, for it was no secret that the pair didn’t take a liking to oversweet desserts.

Belphegor blanched at the statement, and Satan frowned, snapping, “That sounds completely unpalatable.”

All Lucifer could do was smirk as he went back to the miniature kitchen to get the mousse from the fridge.  He passed out the dessert, and turned to Mammon, saying, “Hearing you speak of Solomon earlier got me thinking on whether or not we should contact him.  I know I said not to bother MC while we’re in the Human World for their own protection, but Solomon’s a sorcerer, so perhaps he could be of service.”

“Yeah, he might even be able to help us figure out how information was stolen from Father’s omniscience,” added Leviathan, gagging as the mousse slid down his throat because frankly, Lucifer was not an exceptional chef.

Lucifer, who noticed this, mentally vowed to put Levi on cooking duty next for his insolence.  “Asmo, you were the one closest to Solomon.  Have you any means to contact him?”

“Ever since the exchange program ended, we kind of fell out of touch,” the fifthborn admitted sadly, shaking his head.  He tapped his chin.  “I think I remember his number, though.”

Lucifer grimaced.  He really didn’t want to use the phone unless it was absolutely necessary, but Solomon seemed to be their best bet in unraveling this mystery regarding their Father.  “Call him then.  Put him on speaker.”

Picking up his cup of mousse, Asmo meandered over to the landline.  He picked up the phone and clicked the speaker button, which was covered in a layer of dust, for he was the first of the brothers to use the phone in the Human World.  To their surprise, there was no dial tone and an automated female voice spoke out from the device.

“Welcome to the Celestial Realm Cellular Service and Internet Provider, ” the voice said.  “This machine is preloaded with three contact numbers by Simeon the Gatekeeper for your convenience.  If you would like to hear them, press one.  If you would like to dial a different number, press two.  If you would like to speak to His Majesty, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Great I Am, the Good Shepherd—”

“Sorry, I just pressed one,” Asmo said, rolling his eyes.  “She didn’t sound like she was going to stop listing titles any time soon.”

“The three contacts saved to your device are as follows: press one if you would like to call Simeon the Gatekeeper, press two if you would like to call Luke the Junior Guardian Angel, press three if you would like to call his Imperial Majesty, King Solomon of Israel.”

Lucifer did a double-take.  It couldn’t be … could it?  Could that Solomon that visited the Devildom be the one and the same King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, from the Bible?  He shook his head to clear it of such foolish thoughts … it had been millennia since King Solomon had ruled over ancient Israel, and the exchange student Solomon was a youthful young man.  

“Wait a second—that can’t be our Solomon, can it?” asked Mammon, echoing Lucifer’s thoughts.  “I haven’t read the Bible in like, three thousand years, but I’m pretty damn sure that King Solomon died a long time ago.”

The group was silent for a moment before Satan snapped his fingers, his eyes widening.  “The pacts.”

“What about them?”  asked Belphegor.  

Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “We know the exchange student Solomon made hundreds and hundreds of pacts with demons.  Isn’t it possible that that was the same Solomon from the Bible, only he’s retained his youthful looks and even gained immortality, perhaps, with the aid of demons?”

“Only one way to find out, I suppose.”  Asmodeus shrugged.  He pressed the number three on the keypad.  

“Calling his Imperial Majesty, King Solomon of Israel,” the automated voice chirped. 

Lucifer’s blood ran cold as the phone rang for a mere two seconds before a voice flooded the room.  

“May I ask who this is?” Solomon’s voice was overlaid with static, but the brothers could still very much recognize the low baritone of the former exchange student.  

“So Solomon really is King Solomon from the Bible,” Levi gasped.  “Roll infinity for ‘Did Not See That Coming.’”  

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Lance didn’t see it as running away. “Running away” suggested he could run, not simply rolling himself around in the wheelchair that Shiro insisted he use until he was safely out of sight. He hadn’t given up his baby sitting duties, not once Krolia was released from the pod, nor when Curtis was released. His friends were all being overly careful not to mention Keith’s status. A status that had only sent him into a deeper pit of depression. After a movement in the damn pod, Keith had finally been released. Lance should have been happy, his husband was released after all... only, he hadn’t woken. One quintant ticked into the next, then the next... and the next, and into a whole new movement. Keith had been left in a coma, despite being placed into a pod within vargas of the attack. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He could touch him. He could hold him, but no matter what he did, Keith wouldn’t respond. Now Lance was striking out on his own... through a series of what Keith would call “bad choices”. First came disregarding Shiro’s insistence that he rest. Keith was moved into the same room as him and Curtis, and after what had felt like a movement of hellish torment, all he’d wanted to do was curl up with his husband. At the time, no one had predicted that Keith wouldn’t rouse from his stint in the pod. Cuddling into him, Lance had been determined to be there when he woke. Then when Keith hadn’t, he’d gone slightly mad... slapping his unconscious husband hard across the face when he refused to wake up and show him those deep amethyst eyes he loved so dearly. Shiro had pulled him off, ordered him to sleep in his own bed, livid with him for his actions. That was when he started planning. Feeling guilty that his boyfriend had woken when Keith hadn’t, Lance had managed to get his comms returned to him by manipulating that guilt uncomfortably, he’d then called through to obstetrician and okayed the surgery that he hadn’t wanted when Keith was there to babysit him and keep a watch for any symptoms he may miss. Surrounded by friends and family, he shouldn’t have felt as alone in his pregnancy as he did. Without Keith to ground him, he felt lost and reckless. He had no idea what to do or what choices to make. He didn’t have the right words to make everyone around him feel better. Pity was plastered on the face of everyone who’d visited him, Zethrid and Ezor were no exception to that. No one wanted to look him in the eyes, leaving him feeling like he was a leper shunned from society. Shay has tried to perk him up by finally asking what an Earth wedding was like, that soon came to an end when Shiro shooed her off “because Lance needs his rest”. He didn’t need rest. He didn’t want rest. He didn’t want Shiro pestering him over if he wanted Coran or Miriam to come stay with him while he was confined to his hospital room. His Mami had made it very clear that she wanted him to come back to Earth while Keith lay there comatose. Veronica had explained everything to her, he could see it in her eyes as when they’d spoken. The way she paused that fraction of a tick too long as she tried not to reveal the truth of the matter to him. Everywhere he looked was another “betrayal”. None more so than his husband who refused to wake up.

“Sneaking” out the infirmary as everyone slept wasn’t easy. Shiro heard the creaking of the wheelchair when he’d climbed out of bed jolting awake mid-snore to ask where he was going, Lance smoothly lying as he stated he was going to pee. His catheter had been removed when they finally let him shower himself, and he wasn’t afraid of blood so his IV cannula was soon removed too. They were someone else’s problem. With the bathroom next to the room’s door, Shiro didn’t move from Curtis’s side as the door let out its usual soft whoosh. Kosmo’s nails clicked on the stone flooring as his fur son stayed by side. Once sure that his footsteps wouldn’t arouse suspicion, he climbed from the wheelchair only for Kosmo to growl at him until he sat down again. His wolf was a dirty rotten traitor, but he also knew how well loved he was and how to use those big puppy dog eyes on him. Rising slower, Kosmo growled again, his mouth finding Lance’s hand in an attempt to stop him

“I know. I know, Kosmo. I have to go. It’s for the sake of the twins”

Kosmo may be the dumbest wolf in the universe, but that was only when he wanted treats and pats. Lance knew he understood everything perfectly. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t react to situations he did. Whining at him, Lance ruffled the fur between his ears

“I know you don’t like it, but it needs to be done... I can’t stay here. It’s... it hurts too much. I keep waiting for your dad to wake up, but he’s left me here and I can’t go with him or to where he is... I’m not strong enough to keep watching over him like this... he won’t wake up... no matter what I do...”

Kosmo whined at him, not happy he’d left the company of the others but Lance had made up his mind. He was falling apart from the inside out. He knew he was breaking in an entirely different way and to stay would only cause troubles.

Creeping through the corridors, Lance headed to Keith’s quarters. He had clothes at the outpost, but he needed his work comm back. Shiro hadn’t let him have that one, so when Krolia had lent him her comms to show him a video of Kolivan sitting up and snoring with Korra asleep in his arms, he’d set up permission for him to take a pod and have wormhole to Erathus opened. He felt guilty betraying her, yet he’d never get off the damn planet if he hadn’t. Opening the door to Keith’s quarters, he jumped visibly as he was caught in the act. Krolia was sitting on Keith’s bed, Korra and Kolivan not there to witness his shame

“I had a funny feeling I’d be seeing you tonight”

Rubbing his stomach to hide how much Krolia had scared him, Lance stared at his baby bump, suddenly fascinated with the fabric of his plain black top

“What are you doing here?”

“I was notified you’d left the infirmary. I’m well aware of the arsenal that Keith keeps under his bed. I cannot allow you see Krystaal in your current state of mind”

Krolia thought he was going to see Krystaal? Dios knew he wanted to. He wanted to shoot the arsehole in the face, but he was smart enough to know that he couldn’t get down there to see him without everyone knowing

“Who said I wanted to see him?”

“Lance...”

Lance shot her a glare. He was tired of all this tiptoeing around

“Krolia”

“You should be resting...”

“I’m done with resting. I’m sick of that room”

“You haven’t...”

“I haven’t what, Krolia? Go on. Tell me what I haven’t done. Tell me what I don’t know. I’m done Krolia”

“Lance, Keith wouldn’t want you...”

“He wouldn’t want what?! He wouldn’t want me talking to Krystaal? He wouldn’t want me talking to the piece of shit who put him in a fucking coma?! He wouldn’t want me being treated like I’m made of glass? What am I supposed to do? He might never wake up! And none of you are treating me...”

“We’re worried about you. You were doing so well. Then you took my comms and scheduled a wormhole to Erathus. What were you going to do? Kill Krystaal? Take him hostage? He’s not talking to anyone”

Lance let out a bitter laugh, twisted with a touch of madness

“Of course this has to be about Krystaal. You couldn’t imagine it being about anyone else, could you? I was doing well? You mean I was keeping my damn mouth fucking shut and letting all of you decide everything for me. Tell him the damn truth, Krolia. Keith won’t wake up. He might never wake up. He’s as good as dead”

Flying off the bed, Krolia stormed over to him, slapping him across the face. Shocked, Lance clutched his cheek, tears welling and rushing to roll down his face

“I’m disgusted how little you believe in him”

“That sounds about right. I’ve always been disgusting. The only difference is that now you all have Keith to explain it away. Poor Lance. Who do we pass him onto now that Keith’s up and gone? We can’t leave him alone. We can’t let him make his own decisions or even let him leave the planet to see his obstetrician. No. He’s a murderer. Obviously he’s planning the murder of Krystaal! Everything has to always be about Krystaal!”

“You’re the one obsessed with Krystaal! Your medical care has been transferred here”

“You decided that! Keith knew that wasn’t what I wanted. He knew! I’m brain damaged, not stupid. I know I can’t see him. You all this in too fucking fragile too handle it! None of you trust me. I’m done with being treated like this!”

“You’re the one...”

“Don’t you dare turn this back on me because you can’t make him talk! Hack his memories. Inject him with a truth serum. Torture him! Do something fucking more than acting like you care when all you care about is the fact I’m carrying your grandchildren! Rest. You all tell me to rest because I’m pregnant. You tell me to rest because of the twins! Don’t get out of bed because it’s bad for them!”

Krolia grabbed his left wrist so hard he felt as if it was bruising immediately

“You think it’s that easy. I have never seen you act so childish”

“You’re hurting me!”

Growling at Krolia, Kosmo raised his hackles. When Krolia shot him a glare, his cowardly fur son sat, though he kept his teeth bared.

“What’s going on here!”

“Let me go!”

Saint Shiro had found him far too fast, Krolia also seemed surprised that a former Black Paladin’s presence

“I’m taking Lance to see Krystaal. He seems to think we’re all relaxing while Keith remains unresponsive”

Tugging at his wrist, he couldn’t get free of Krolia’s hold. Part of him was seriously starting to panic with his plans being so thoroughly unrailed

“Let him go, Krolia”

If anything, Krolia’s hold tightened causing him to whimper

“He’s given up on Keith. He used my comms to approve a wormhole off planet”

Krolia was so angry that Kosmo growled at her again, pawing towards him as he didn’t know what to do with two of his humans fighting

“Lance? You were planning on leaving?”

Shiro sounded hurt. Great. Just fucking great

“He was planning on taking his revenge of Krystaal then leaving. He’s given up on Keith. He said we should tell Krystaal Keith is dead”

“No I wasn’t! I told you it had nothing to do with him! Let me go!”

Shiro caged him in from behind, reaching around him, his fingers started prying Krolia’s hand off his wrist

“Then what were you doing? You never planned on coming back from the bathroom, did you”

As Shiro’s hands start trying to free his wrist, Krolia let go. Lance clutching his wrist to his chest, with Shiro continuing to remain behind him

“Lance? What were you planning on doing?”

“I have an appointment with my obstetrician... I wanted to go to my appointment but none of you cared about what I want. You took it upon yourselves to decide all of this and to tell me nothing. At least Kolivan as honest with me. He told me what was going on... I came to get a few things because I wanted to do this on my own. I can’t keep watching him sleep. He won’t wake up... I can’t wake him up”

“Lance... you could have talked to us”

“You keep telling me to rest. You keep talking at me...”

“Shiro, his medical care has been transferred here, to us”

Shiro knew his issues with previous obstetrician. He also knew how happy they were to have found someone who treated him like a human

“Krolia, let Lance talk. Lance, you have an appointment?”

Lance nodded, Krolia shifted her weight causing him to bump back into Shiro who placed his hands on his shoulders

“She was... my doctor was formulating a plan to help with the bleeding, if I was still bleeding. And with my medication... and stuff. You know what it was like... but she was confident. We liked her. We were supposed to be planning things together. She tells me the truth”

“You should have told us. You can’t go running off when things get to hard”

“Krolia, that’s enough. Lance, you can’t leave on your own. Did you call anyone to meet you there?”

“How could I when none of you let me have any privacy?”

Shiro sighed deeply. Yeah, Lance was going to hold onto his anger over that. They’d all treated him exactly how he hated to be treated, except for Kolivan but he was Krolia’s partner so it’d be weird not to be slightly mad at him... but he wasn’t mad at him the same time. The man was more awkward than Keith had ever been

“You’re not going on your own”

“Then I’ll call Daehra. I can’t do this Shiro, I’m not as strong as you. I can’t sit here and wait for my husband to maybe wake up... He left me... He wanted... I was bleeding and he chose you... I could feel it and he chose you... when I begged him not to go. If I’d been stronger he... he wouldn’t have had to shield me. He wouldn’t be like this! This is my fault... all my fault. Please... please let me go. I need to know what’s happening with his babies”

Shiro forced him into a tight hug. Still scared from Krolia’s outburst and his throbbing wrist. Disappointment had clouded her expression, he felt sick to the stomach from being the cause of it

“Why do you always keep it inside until it comes to this? I can take you. Curtis is awake, watching over...”

“No. Dios... I don’t want a baby sitter! I don’t need a baby sitter. I want to go. I need to go”

“Lance, you can’t. What if you had a seizure? What if no one was there and something went wrong?”

“Then it happens... if Keith isn’t awake, then what does any of this matter? Everything is broken and once again I came second best to you. We can’t compete with you...”

Each word was a spiteful barb aimed at Shiro’s heart. He was lashing out with words he didn’t want to say but had no way of stopping them now that he’d snapped. He didn’t care if he died mid-surgery. He could be a good father to their sons without him. He couldn’t even take care of himself as they’d all proven

“... I want to go back home. Back to my outpost. I want to go back to where I don’t feel like this... I want my brother... I want Marco... I can’t keep walking on eggshells like this. You won’t let me see, Krystaal. You won’t let me get any kind of closure over why he had to hurt Keith like that... or why he betrayed everyone”

Marco would help him figure this out. Veronica worries too much, as did his Mami. Marco worried but he worried in the right ways... not this “lock down and wrap him in cotton wool” quiznak style everyone else was employing. He didn’t know he’d wanted Marco until he’d said it...

“Krolia, you can return to your quarters. Keith and Lance both decided they were going to Erathus for help with Lance’s pregnancy. Lance had a pretty rough time on Altea, Keith was scared yet excited for his next scan. We need to respect his decision on his pregnancy. However, Lance, you’re not going to get any answers from Krystaal. I can take you to see him, but he hasn’t spoken. In return for taking you, Daehra, and Marco will be required to meet you on Erathus, where I will deliver you into their care myself, and you’ll take Kosmo. He knows when you’re stressing and knows when a seizure is coming on. Keith would want him with you. Also, I want you to see Keith before you leave. I want you to be sure of this. He will wake up. Is there anything here you want to bring him?”

With Krolia in their space, angered by him and his actions, their safe space felt tainted. He knew how stressful being a mum could be, he’d seen it in Lisa and his cousins. Plus she had an empire to run and a son in a coma... and it’d been 25 years since the first time around... There were lots of things he wanted to take to Keith. The blade he kept under his pillow. Keith’s own pillows and his favourite blanket. His own clothes. Photos... ultrasound scans... the thought of them felt like they were making a shrine around Keith’s bed... but...

“There’s a box in his bedside drawer. He’d want that...”

Inside the box was Krolia’s memories of Keith and his father. Keith had needed a little time to sort through the box and find the words he wanted, before he’d finally opened up to him. Laying in bed, cuddled up in Keith’s arms with his back to Keith’s warm chest, his husband had pulled the small pile of photographs out from under his pillow. Lance had no idea that Keith had kept them there. Keith didn’t remember everything from his childhood, no ever did from that age and there came a point where you hear a story so many times that you fool yourself into having that memory, but he’d started talking. Those days when his father would burn dinner spectacularly so they’d settle down and eat cereal while watching cartoons. The times his dad would come stinking of smoke, only to pick him up onto his hip and place his helmet on his head. The times Keith tried to help in the kitchen, sitting on the kitchen bench and bossing his father about. They weren’t all good memories. Memories triggered more memories like an earthquake before a tsunami. Keith growing restless and annoyed at his own tears, spluttering apologies while rolling Lance onto his back and shimmying down to talk to his stomach, telling their twins about their grandfather while Lance played with his hair. His husband content to nuzzle and kiss his stomach as he spoke slowly moving from his father to Shiro, then to meeting him. He was grateful for the memories, though confused and unsure at some points as he’d talked about photos and places. Lance let him talk, for what felt like vargas before his husband finally moved back up to lay by his side, one leg thrown over Lance’s as they shared small and soft kisses. Keith finally able to open up about his life, and his fears of leaving their twins behind. Now he had. Lance wasn’t stupid over how much everyone missed Keith’s presence but they also didn’t need him like he needed his husband. Everyday was a struggle to exist without Keith. He relied on him so heavily to simply be there that without him it was like losing half his body and soul.

“Just the box?”

“Yeah... yeah. He’ll understand”

Bit by bit Keith had left him in, let him fix the pain in his heart until he accepted that his father would be proud of him. More than one nightmare of losing his father had followed, Keith tearfully admitting he missed him beyond words. Lance had promised him that wherever he was, he’d always be watching over him. Having been in space, he’d learned anything was possible... so maybe heaven and hell were a possibility too, or some form of it. He’d told him how his father would be watching over him the same way he’d watch over the twins if anything were to happen. Keith had called him an idiot, but he’d take being an idiot any day of the movement if it meant being there for his husband

“Alright. I’ll get the box. Do you need anything from in here?”

“Just the bathroom...”

“Ok. You go clean up while I get the box and call Daehra. Krolia, I think it’s best you leave now. I’ll check in once Lance is on Erathus”

Krolia looked to him, but Lance didn’t have the words to say. He felt scared of her. Scared of her and her disappointment all over again. To him it felt as if their relationship had been sent right back to square one. She loathed weakness. He was nothing but weak in her eyes now...

Led to see Keith before seeing Krystaal, his husband continued to sleep as Lance kissed him goodbye. His tears dripping onto his husband’s cheeks faster than he could wipe them away, whispers of love against Keith’s lips, even if his idiot husband didn’t deserve it. He didn’t want to leave him behind but he needed space to breathe and to figure out how to live without him all over again. He didn’t know his left from his right with how overwhelmed he was. He loved Keith. He loved him more than all the words he knew to describe his feelings. He couldn’t stop crying as he pulled away from him. Shiro would take over the exercises to stop atrophy from forming, Krolia would take over bathing him. Curtis would read to him, he promised that much as Lance drew in on himself. They had this handled. They didn’t need him there. Tears were still rolling down his face as Shiro led him through the palace. Lance wasn’t sure he knew what he was going to say to Krystaal, he’d given up on having the chance to see him with everyone watching his every move. He still wanted to shoot him in the foot... and slowly move his shots upwards... He also wanted to punch him right his self-centred arseholic face. He also wanted to take the Telula and pick that princess up for a nice long talk, or maybe just launch her out the air lock as she hovered in orbit over her damaged planet.

Reaching the entrance to the cells, Shiro confirmed he had Krolia’s permission with the Galra guiding the hallway. He was mammoth in size, even compared to someone like Sendak, a chill ran down Lance’s spine as he tried to draw away from the man and his strange scent. Pregnancy had made scents a hundred times worse for him, yet with Keith by his side he’d worked hard not to be so scared of each individual Galra’s differing scent. After coping Krolia’s anger, his anxiety left him shaken, and had the man gone to shake his hand he probably would have thrown up on him, or fainted. Both seemed as likely as each other. His skin was already starting to itch with the memory of phantom and unwanted touches by Galra just as big as this guard. A whimpered growl escaped when Shiro placed his hand on his shoulder to silently reconfirm that he wanted this. He didn’t. But he did. He wasn’t sure this was going to help anything, and all it was doing was fuelling the anger he was trying not to give into. He was supposed to be off of Daibazaal by now. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was sure he’d be cutting it fine in regards to his appointment time. Gnashing his teeth together, Lance was forced to breathe through his nose as he gently pushed forward into a hall of unremarkableness. It’s sterile and cold grey walls were surely enough to drive any prisoner to talking if more traditional methods didn’t work. The walk it’s self was short, only a handful of violet bars flickering through Lance’s peripheral visions before Krystaal was before them.

Sitting on the floor of his cell, Krystaal seemed to be in a mediative pose as Lance and Shiro stood before him. Having had a run in with the same bars previous he knew they’d deliver a small shock if he was to get too close. Hesitant as he raised his gaze from Krystaal’s crossed legs, the first thing he noticed was the carved “y” on his arm. The design crude, cut from the man’s fingernails and bloodied to deliver the full effect. With how Krystaal was posed, and the lingering hues of blood in the air, Lance was pretty confident in his guess that Krystaal had “touched up his work of art” once he’d caught their scents in the hall. He’d thought maybe his infatuation with Keith had caused him to go to such lengths but he’d clearly gone off the deep end

“We’ve come to inform you that Keith passed away approximately three vargas ago, having never regained consciousness”

Shiro’s hand tightened on his shoulder, Lance forcibly removing his hand. No one would stoop so low as to play this hand, no one but him. Everyone else was too damn “noble���, yet Lance found nothing noble about Krystaal’s actions and acted without guilt clouding his conscious. He wanted to hurt Krystaal. He wanted to cut him bone deep

“He sustained catastrophic brain trauma from the last explosion to hit the temple. He was placed into a pod, but the pod cannot restore a brain dead patient. He was held in status until it was ensured that both of his children will live, then removed to be prepared for burial. He also told me about your kiss, and how disgusted it made him feel... to the point he threw up at the memory of your lips against his. Unlike you, my husband was brave, honorable and courageous. He came to me straight after the incident to confess what had happened. He considered you a friend. He took pride in your training and skills. He couldn’t understand what provoked you to kiss him, only that it shattered any and all ties between you the moment it happened. He is dead as a direct result of his actions because you were petty. You will never lay your eyes or hands on him again, nor will you be granted permission to attend his funeral. His children will grow up without their father because of you, and we will go on our with our lives, forgetting you existed. We have no hate for you, only pity. Your actions cost the life of one of the hopes of the universe and for that you will stay locked in here. Banishment is too good for you. The princess already admitted her part in the plan, you’ve been shamed across the galaxy for your attempts to ruin Keith’s life and memory. If you think that mark on your arm scares me, it doesn’t. How could an uneducated half breed as yourself understand what that mark ever meant? I hope you enjoy what crippled freedom you think you retain. And I hope the memory of Keith’s kiss sustains you, is branded on your soul like a brand from an iron. Because your kiss sentenced him to death. I’m done here. I only came to tell you that my husband is gone”

Krystaal’s need for superiority overruled his held tongue. Lance knew he loathed him every bit as much as he did Krystaal

“If Keith was dead, you wouldn’t have come down here to see me. You’re not that kind hearted, Lance”

“You’re right. I’m not. I’m a murderer who’s killed a lot more people for less than what you’ve done. Keith, on the hand, was. I’m telling you for his sake”

“Why would I believe anything you say?”

“No one said you needed to believe me, but the fact you broke your silence means your worried that it’s true. You’re not the strong silent schemer you thought you were. There’s no strength in holding your tongue when the object of your insane and petty jealousy is no longer around. I’m leaving Keith’s here with his family, and don’t see myself returning. My children and I, my family, will be returning to live in the place he wanted to settle down in. I don’t care what you think, I’m done with you. We’re all done with you”

The human mind was amazing when it wanted to be. The coldness Lance projected stilled his racing heart and dries his tears. Everything he’d felt up until that point seemed to vanish away as his face settled on a rather neutral expression. None of this meant anything particularly. He felt no stab of pain in his heart as he described Keith as gone... just a kind of emptiness where that pain should be. Turning, he started to walk away from the cell

“Don’t you walk out on me! You didn’t deserve him! You ruined him! I’m glad he’s dead! Being hated by him to the very depths of his soul means I was never far from his mind in his last thoughts. You’re nothing but a murderer and a whore. A piece of shit stuck to the bottom of his boot! He told me he didn’t even wish for you children! He didn’t wish to be entwined that way with you. He very rarely spoke of you until you returned to ruin him. You might believe he loved you, but if he hated me as you say, then I was in his thoughts as he died and that ultimately means I meant more to than you. You’re an abomination of nature. It’s laughable that you were ever a Paladin”

“You know, for a guy who you say you hate, you seemed to love talking about me. You seemed to really love stalking me. Slandering me across the intergalactic media. Yet, you still mean nothing to me. Klearo means more to me than you. So maybe that means you’re simply so insignificant that I’m going to forget you the moment I walk out the door. You went after “Daibazaal’s Shining Prince”. You have no friends left in the universe, no, they already confessed when they learned of Keith’s condition”

“Keith should have been with his own kind!”

Continuing to walk, each step grew a little easier as the weight on his shoulders lessened. He wouldn’t be surprised if Shiro called to tell him Krystaal had taken his own life sometime over the next few quintants. Keith would grieve, because his husband was a caring idiot, but Lance... he held no sympathy for him.

[chaniters]

Burdens of the Red

(Fallen Hero, Super Sentai AU, part 4)

Steel’s leadership is challenged by the surge of a new, cunning antagonist!

I have edited this part so many times it’s not even funny. Had to split it into two episodes too.  I’ll go on finish editing the second part, should be up in a day or two.

Enjoy!

(Spoilers for Fallen Hero ahead)

____________________________________

(Apocalypse Force’s HQ)

He stumbled through the control room, like a blind bull in a china shop, operators either staying clear of his way or actively pushing him away from the sensitive equipment as he stumbled forward.

No one helped him. No one wanted anything to do with the walking failure that was Dr. Blitz.

His scorched armor was still smoking with burnt circuits that and the unquestionable stench of defeat. The mask bore the fresh traces of lady Argent's claws.

"Ahh.. how kind of you to visit us, Dr. Blitz. We have been all been observing your miserable and humiliating defeat. It did have some entertainment value to all things considered...  But go on,  by all means, share your report, perhaps you can yet redeem yourself before the Apocalypse Force." Regis spoke on an amused tone that betrayed her murderous anger.

"They... they had new technology! Combat suits! New weapons!"

"Technology? Combat suits? Weapons?" She asked mocking his broken tone. "We have plenty of those as well. How is that an excuse?"

"They were very advanced... I believe it was Nanite-based..."

"NANItes???!" she asked standing up "Nonsense! No one has used such since the Nanoswarm incident!"

"I was right about their teleportation technology! And I saw the nanites! I recorded it!"

"Then show me!" She said slowly.

Blitz took of his derelict helm and offered it to one of the operators. Expert hands cracked what was left of it open in a matter of seconds, and the inner hardware was plugged it in. Soon enough video of the battle streamed through the screens.

Regis narrowed her gaze as she saw the colorful nanites swirl in a cloud and converge, rapidly forming the Titan. The regenes watched in awe as well.

"It seems we're up against a new formidable opponent in this ranger team" she let on speaking confidently, regaining control over the situation. "Which brings us back to the fact that twice you have proven useless against them"

"Give me another chance! I will have my revenge on that pink bitch! I have been working on other mutants! I can deal with them!" he cried.

"Why should I? You haven't learned a single thing about how to defeat them...! Take him away… we’ll deal with him later" she started turning back her attention to the screens

"No…” he coughed and spat some blood over the floor, falling on his knee. He still held his head high “... WAIT! I know something! One of them... one of them is a regene!"

"A turncoat soldier?" she said stopping her motion, suddenly interested once more

"A cuckoo! That's how he infiltrated our operation!"

"A rebel... hmr.. we have dealt with such in the past… too bad the archives were lost during the rise of the Apocalypse Force"

"If you just give me a chance I can..."

"No!" she said, shutting him up immediately. "I believe this will take a more... indirect approach. One of your creations will be taking over, but not your mutants… Dr. Terror, approach us" she called

"What? You can’t have the child replace me!" He cried

“My life for the Regis” A teenage girl wearing a simple dress walked over, taking a fist to her heart and bowing deeply, regene tattoos clearly visible on her arms and legs. She had a butterfly pin on her hair.

“Dr. Terror” Regis smiled, “You say the nicest things… Did you overhear everything?”

“Of course My Regis”

“Excellent. You will take over where Dr. Blitz failed. One of the rangers is a regene and we’re dealing with nanite technology. Do you think you can use this information to our advantage?”

"Indeed Regis. I have already devised a plan to finish them all.  I will make the necessary arrangements."

"Excellent Dr. Terror. Your enhanced intellect has never failed us so far. Do not let this be the first time" she said turning her attention back to her workers.

Dr. Terror walked out, with Blitz following closely.

“You miserable girl! How dare you steal my place? It can’t be helped now… I suppose I’ll have to keep control of this operation and you’ll just report to the Regis. You will stay out of my way!”

Dr. Terror turned to him with an angelical smile “I will do no such thing”

Blitz looked at her fully enraged. “What?”

“Are you surprised? You’re the one who thought me my lifespan would be determined by how useful I was to the Special Directive. You burned that lesson in my flesh a long time ago, after you made me… and you made sure I could not forget. I’ve made myself very useful since. To the directive. To the Regis, and to the apocalypse force. I have conquered city after city. You, on the other hand, are not looking very useful to anyone right now, are you?”

Blitz extended a palm at her, his damaged armor struggling to generate an energy blast… one that never came, as he was struck down by a creature emerging from the very wall. The thing placed a hoof over his neck, pinning him down.

“Pathetic” Terror smiled as looked down on the creature’s prey. The apparition seemed ready to finish Blitz on her command. “You can barely stand Dr. Blitz. I suggest you lay down and let me take care of this. It will be fun! I will soon take everything that ever belonged to you. This is just the beginning. And I’m going to enjoy every moment of it” her cruel words stinging her maker more than her minion’s attack.

She walked past him, followed by the shadowy mutant, leaving him alone as he tried to crawl behind them.  

_____________________

(Mortum’s lab facility)

“So, what do you think about these modifications?” Mortum asked handing him a tablet.

“Oh.. erm… I’ll review them and get back to you Doctor?”

“Of course! The sooner you do, the sooner I can get back to work”

“Indeed” Steel kept walking through the corridor.

“You have a call from above!” one of the numerous workers told him.

“Very well, I’ll get it in my office!” Steel said without stopping.

Mortum’s underground lair had turned into the focal point for their resistance movement.  And he was in charge of it all.

He entered the office and picked up the phone.

Oh damn. San Diego’s Mayor again.

He kept demanding they take down the Apocalypse force occupying the city before anything else.

It was his duty to make him understand that they were doing the best they could but they couldn’t quite take action there yet. Not with so many Apocalypse armies in between them. The mayor wasn’t shy of name-calling when furious, he had learned.

As he hung up, Herald appeared to ask for an assignment. Apparently, no one had given him one. He wasn’t experienced in this kind of situation enough to know where to be. (And who was, he wondered) He obviously had to make something up on the spot or the kid would feel useless. He ended up sending him to help in the hospital ward. He wasn’t a medic but his presence alone inspired morale.

As he closed the door there were a bunch of workers coming in to report their supplies were delayed. Fantastic. He redistributed what they had for the sixth time of the day on the spot.

Crap! When had this job become so tiring? He knew his responsibilities had increased with the current situation but this was getting ridiculous.

He looked through the window. There was a small park next to Mortum’s hideout. And sure there was Cyrus sitting on a bench featuring his trademark “why me?” expression that had never left his face since he came back to the world of the living. One would think he would feel better now that all his lies had come to an end, but it was even worse. Because Ortega wasn’t talking to him. Cyrus could be here with him, finding out what people needed by reading their minds before they came up to him and instead he was just staring at pigeons.

And of course, Ortega, who had been the Marshall before him and could be his much needed second in command was probably being depressed somewhere else out of sight as well, because his closest friend turned out not to be human. It was like he had died a second time.

Nerve-racking.

He took a seat … And the chair bent and broke under his weight, his coffee mug spilling over the table.

“Not again!!”

He tried to stand quickly, but it was too late… Mortum’s tablets were ruined with coffee all over. And he fell on his side, still stuck on the bent chair.

“Shit!” he cried. “Shit shit shit shi…”

“Need a hand?”

He looked up startled. Argent was standing next to him, the door wide open.

“I hear your job can be stressing” she smiled offering a hand.

“It can be challenging at times” he smiled taking the offered hand as she lifted him up.

“Well... If you’re serious about helping, there’s one thing you could do for me”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Cyrus and Ricardo. I need them back on the game. Yesterday if possible.”

“That’s a tall order,” she said looking at Cyrus through the window.

“I know. But they both listen to you”

“That they do…” She said turning.

“Thanks. You know, this was never the deal I accepted”

“What do you mean?”

“Charge was going to be the leader. I had enough of that during the war… I was just going to be a soldier using overpowered equipment to deal with local villains.”

“I see how that turned sideways.”

“You got that right. Everything went overboard with Heartbreak. He had basically adopted Sidestep. and when he died, he went back with him. And now he returns, but he’s a depressed villain? And now it turns out he’s not even a villain but a government lab experiment and torture victim… And Charge’s lost once more”

They kept talking. Not noticing the teenage girl with the butterfly pin calmly walking through the park in a straight line towards Cyrus’s seat.

___________________________________

Cyrus turned rapidly.

“Who are you?”

“Oh. Me? I’m like you, cousin! Just coming to visit!” she offered him a beautiful smile”

“If you’re here to kill me, it won’t be half as easy as you’re expecting…”

“It won’t? We have a list of all the traitors like you… And given your closeness to the Rangers, I was pretty sure It would be you. Aren’t you going to try to control me? I would totally not expect that!”

“Why are you still helping them? You can be free!”

“Oh poor Cyrus… that’s your name, right? Cyrus? Well, there are things you don’t know… Or maybe you know them too well. There’s no stopping the Apocalypse force. It’s is going to conquer this whole planet one way or the other. And I’ve made myself useful, so i’ll be at the top when that happens!”

“You can’t possibly believe a bureaucrat scientist like Regina will…”

She chortled with clear laughter.

“Regis Regina, you mean? Oh no no no… I mean she’s kind of smart and powerful and all but… The Apocalypse Force is alive cousin! It’s alive and it’s coming to bite all the humans in the ass! You know, if you turned to our side, then it would all be much easier...”

“I’m never going back to the farm!”

“So you’re staying here, waiting to see if Charge’s going to come back and smooch you? That’s your plan? Because he abandoned you there, you know? I always do my homework, I studied him. Do you want to know what he did when you were being tortured? He got drunk and fucked around the whole town!”

“SHUT UP!”  

“Awww that’s too dramatic cousin… This isn’t the farm!” she grinned. “Didn’t you see how we changed the whole theme?. We even got matching outfits!” It was true… even her dress had the dark colors he had come to expect. “You would have a great time! And I’d love to have a handsome cousin like you helping me out! Must say I love what you did with your hair. If you came with me… I’d show you everything! You can be my assistant!”

“No. Fucking. Way. Get lost!” he said standing up.

She sighed, putting her hands in jars “Tsk tsk. You should be nice to your little cousin Cyrus. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be punished” she said taking a small electronic device from her pocket.

His mind was pressing against hers in an instant… only…

It wasn’t a regular mind. It was huge… like a labyrinth…

“Don’t feel bad cousin! I’m sure you could probably do what you’re trying to do If I gave you enough time. But you know, you were nasty to me so...” she said flipping the switch

___________________________________

“How did this happen?!” Ortega's voice was almost panicking. He had only just arrived and the reality of the situation was still sinking in.  

They had to strap Cyrus to the medical bed to stop him from harming himself. He was now sedated but several people needed to restrain him to bring him in.

“Surveillance video shows a young woman approaching him and activating some kind of small electronic device… He must have sensed something because he tried to stand, but ended up convulsing over the floor” Steel told him.

“No trace of her” Herald added. “I looked everywhere. Must have teleported out. She had to be with the enemy”

“Shit… Cyrus!” Ortega tried to hold his hand but was shushed away by Dr. Mortum.

“Loving gestures from a static-charged people aren’t going to help right now. You could fry all the equipment Charge! Let me do my job and stay back!” he said placing some scanner devices over his head.

“This can’t be fucking happening!” He was clearly losing it. “I’m going to kill them… I’m going to …”

“HEY!” Argent said shaking him forcefully “Ricardo, I know what you’re going through but Either keep it together or go take a walk to cool down and come back!”  

“I …”

“You’re not helping!”

He said nothing else but just stood silent, his fists trembling visibly. He finally sat down, his mind going through the ugly cocktail of terror, fury, and impotence.

It took a good quarter hour before Mortum looked at them again.

“His brain implant was deactivated” he finally sentenced.

“What does that mean?” Steel asked trying to keep a neutral tone.

“Well, Regene brains are not exactly human… That implant plays a vital role in regulating it’s … chemistry so to speak. The intruder... Whomever she was… she must have activated some sort of kill-switch.”

His words echoed through the room, as Ortega covered his face with his hands as if he had just pronounced him dead.

“Is… there something you can do for him, Doctor?” Herald asked finally as Mortum kept checking the results from the scanners.

“As a matter of fact… THere’s a lot I could do… It’s been a pet project of mind to work in restoring comatose brains…” he said casually “... just a side project of course…”

“So you can fix him?” Ortega asked looking back at him

“Not exactly… as I said, it’s a regene brain… if his implant’s not reactivated there’s not much I can do for him.  But I can restore him to wakefulness with some medical nanites”

“How do we reactivate his implant?” Steel asked.

“We can’t Not without the proper codes… But… I’m guessing he can probably help us with that question once I wake him”   Mortum spoke as he loaded a syringe with a crystalline liquid substance oozing with nanite sludge.

“What, right now?” Argent looked at him bewildered

“Yes? I mean the sooner I stabilize him the more time he has to live. Or do you have a better idea mademoiselle?”

“Do it” Steel sentenced.

Mortum slid the syringe directly into the medical tubing connector, and the nanites slowly flowed into his bloodstream.

“Miracle workers… let’s see if you can live up to your promises” he cheered them

The nanites went through and nothing happened for a few minutes.

Until the alarms began sounding over the medical devices, Cyrus’ vitals changing rapidly, and his whole body convulsing again.  

Steel and Herald helped hold him down as Argent made sure Ortega didn’t approach.

“This is all normal! His body is just responding to stimuli!” Mortum tried to calm them down, a bit too late.

Cyrus eventually stopped moving, his vitals becoming stable once more. And he opened his eyes wide.

“It hurts! It hurts so much! Make it stop!” he started screaming. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

Steel and Argent looked at Mortum. He was adjusting the nanites settings on a console…

“... and… there! Any better?”

Cyrus’ screaming ceased, and he just lay there breathing heavily.

“What’s … happening?” he asked confused.

“That’s a very good question mon amie. I’m afraid It will take a few more minutes of scans before I can provide you with an answer”

Steel approached Cyrus’ beadhead and tried to explain it to him in a hushed voice. It took several attempts before Cyrus finally nodded in understanding.

“Do you know where can we find activation codes? Manuals? Anything that can help Mortum figure out farm technology?”

Cyrus smiled back at him as if it was a very obvious question.

“M… map,” he said finally. “Write… Write down… Coordinates… in Nevada” Steel did as he said.

“Thank you, Cyrus”

As he turned to the others, Cyrus' hand pulled him”

“Take.. me with .. you”

“You’re out of it Cyrus!”

“I know that... Hell hole… please...” and then he passed out again.

“Well… I’d say we have both good news and bad news” Mortum said finally.

“Start with the good news” Steel said looking at Ortega, who seemed about to throw up.

“Well, the good news is the nanites are doing an excellent job replacing his implant. I think he should be … decently coherent for a few hours. He could even be on the field himself, which should prove quite useful to go to this mystery location…”

“And the bad news?”

“Medical nanites are dangerous. I’ve designed these with a limited lifespan. They will start dying off in about 8 hours and I only have enough to fill two more doses. They are not easy to produce either. We will run out within a day.”

Steel took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes as hard as he could before turning to the others.

“We’re going to have to put an x on a map using these coordinates… and we need to make some calls around the government on the east, see what we can find out about their pet project.  Charge, Herald, I need you both with me.”

Ortega lifted his gaze to Steel. “I’m staying with him! I’m not losing him again!”

“Well I don’t plan to do that either! You’re have contacts that we need right now Ortega!  People are more likely to answer if it’s Charge asking. And Herald, everyone knows your voice. I have no idea who will or won’t be willing to tell us anything but if we can convince at least someone it could mean…”

“Alright alright, I get it!” Herald said

Charge reluctantly walked with them.

“Good. Argent… stay with Mortum and learn EVERYTHING you can about brain implants he can teach to you in the next hour”

“Done” she nodded slowly.

“And Mortum… , make sure to do whatever you can to have Cyrus in the best walking and thinking conditions you can within the hour”

Mortum nodded as well. He did love a challenge.

__________________________________

(The Farm exterior, Nevada desert)

“No! No no! Please don’t take me back! Please! Don’t!”

“Cyrus, please! It’s me! We’re just trying to help you!” Ortega, in his blue nanoranger suit tried to comfort him as he and Argent who was also wearing her nanoranger armor dragged him onwards.  

“I won’t go back! Please don’t make me go back, Ricardo! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for everything but please...”

It was painful. The teleportation had not been the best since they didn’t know the exact spot where the entrance was located. Still, they made quite good progress.

Cyrus had been acutely coherent most of the way. He even understood the mission and asked to go along -again-. He shared a lot of insight about the farm, but once they came upon a certain distance he just fixated on the building’s facade going blank for a split second before turning batshit crazy, hallucinating about the farm having captured him again. And with the way they were forced to drag him, it certainly looked that way.

Mortum told them it would pass momentarily, that the nanites would correct the imbalance eventually, but It was breaking mettle Ortega’s by the second.

“Do we have to bring him?” he asked.

“We need him. We have no idea what security systems there’ll be down there. And he escaped the place twice!” Argent spoke as they kept marching on.

“But… it’s hurting him”

“I know, but if we can’t find what we’re looking for…” she didn’t finish the sentence as they walked towards the building, following Steel and Herald close by.

Eventually, Cyrus quieted down as promised regaining some resemblance of normality and started walking of his own accord.

“I’m sorry… it’s just… “ he apologized

“I know… I know”  Ortega said “We’re about to enter… can you use your Henshin bracer?”

He looked clueless for a second before remembering what he meant.

“Yes… I think so?”

“Use it… armor will keep you safer.”

The others kept going forward as Ortega helped him change into the black ranger.

“What’s that?” Herald asked about a strange mound in the sand. Steel squinted his eyes at it… then engaged his enhanced sight modes. He instantly froze, going over similar mounds all around them”

“What is it?” Argent asked as they finally caught up.

The red ranger kicked one of them, revealing a corpse, buried under the sand. USA military gear, wearing the Special Directive’s logo.

“I guess this answers why there’s no one to meet us...” he said grimmly, as they reached the stairs that led to the first gate. Or what was left of it.   

___________________________________

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero 

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[katie-dub]

The Masks We Wear (10/?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

AO3

Thanks as ever to @apromisednightcap my beta, my hero, the Q to my James Bond.

So a bunch of lovely people have made me art - @justanotherwannabeclassic made this gorgeous aesthetic, @ofshipsandswans made this stunning aesthetic, and @wingedlioness made this amazing manip. All artwork can be found on my blog tagged #tmww art - you should check it all out and show these amazing people some love for their talent. I’m so incredibly touched.

Killian and Emma are colleagues, friends and they’re madly in love with each other. If only they could work out that their feelings are totally requited. But then, if they still haven’t figured out that they work together as superheroes in their spare time, there’s probably no hope for them. Probably.

Previously on The Masks We Wear...

Emma AKA The Saviour has learned the truth about Killian AKA Hook AKA The Survivor’s alter ego and rescued him from Gold’s clutches, but when the time came to reveal her own secret identity, her anxiety took over and she kept her silence. Having just barely survived his encounter with The Dark One, Killian doesn’t have time to wallow over unrequited revelations - in just three days time his nemesis plans to take over the world.

Of course she'd fallen so hard for The Survivor, she was already in love with him.

“I’m so glad that Gold didn’t kill you.”

He didn’t deserve The Saviour’s secrets, and he certainly didn’t deserve her love.

“Belle, you need to assemble the Nevengers. We’re running out of time to save the world.”

Killian hated reliving his ordeal even for long enough to share what he'd learned with Belle. He talked fast to get it all out as quickly as possible, finding that it did feel a little good to not have the thoughts of Regina's enslavement, Gold's plan and his sincere wish to see Killian suffer rattling around his brain.

“I should have known my past mistakes would come back to haunt me,” he said wryly when he was done.

Belle smiled at him kindly and reached out a hand to give his a squeeze. “Loving Milah was not a mistake, don't ever apologise for having love in your heart.”

He bit back a reply asking if that's what she told herself about Gold - the sad, sympathetic look she was giving him made it clear that she did.

The silence between them was long and heavy, both lost in their contemplations of how something that should be so beautiful and pure had come to this. It was Belle who came around first. “You know we need to alert the others, we can't wait around for Gold to do his worst.”

“Aye.” Killian nodded his agreement. “What should we do about Regina? This may not be her fault, but we can't get her involved if she's still being forced to be Gold’s Evil Queen puppet.”

“True - and we really need her knowledge and skills to help our cause. What we know about Gold is surely horribly out of date.” Belle chewed her lip thoughtfully. “There's something we can try. I've been working on a prototype of a machine to counteract the Dagger’s effects using blueprint that we have. If we can get her here -”

“We can break the spell! Belle, you're a genius!”

“You only just working that out?” Belle teased, “and I thought you were smart.”

Killian quirked a brow at her snark in the face of impending disaster. It was a tactic that was all too familiar to him, a mask to hide the fear. “We can't all be as clever as you, love,” he shot back. “That's why we're all happy to have you to think up promising plans on our behalf.”

“Kiss ass.” Belle rolled her eyes but looked grateful for the support nonetheless. “We can tell Regina to arrive early and try it on her then. We’ll need to move her into the holding room in case it doesn’t work - can’t have her poofing out of here and telling Gold our plans.” She looked at him appraisingly. “You should stay out of the way too - until we know his hold over her is gone she can’t know that we’ve rescued you.”

“I think Gold is aware of that by now.”

“But he doesn’t know exactly where you are. The less he knows, the better. In fact -” she frowned and cocked her head, studying him “- you may be best off staying here until we’ve dealt with him.”

His hackles were up instantly. He’d never been one to hide from danger, preferring to confront it head on, his personal safety be damned. (It’s not like he had much to fear in that respect, his powers being what they were.) And now, so soon after he had spent days shackled to a table - she clearly wasn’t thinking about what she was saying. He clenched his jaw in a studied effort to keep from screaming at his friend. “You want me to exchange one prison for another? Forgive me if I’d prefer freedom.”

“Even if it means death?” Belle asked pointedly, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Well that’s hardly likely,” was his defiant answer. “Don’t you remember who I am?”

She huffed out a sigh, closing her eyes in a gesture he knew to mean she was searching for some inner strength. “Killian, I know that Gold wishes you dead, and what Gold wants, he usually gets. I’m saying that it would be prudent - in the interests of your safety - and of those you love to be discreet. I don’t plan to tie you up.”

Right. Those he loved. The Saviour. Emma. She might be hurt if Gold thought she was the best way to get to him - especially now that he had been unmasked. He nodded, placated, and looked at Belle with a cheeky grin. “Not even in the good way?”

Belle sighed deeply. “I’ll call in the troops, you should get some rest.”

“Aye, I’ll have a shower, wash off the just been tortured feeling.”

“Killian -” she began, looking alarmed and overwhelmingly sympathetic. “It’s fine, love,” he cut her off, “just a little gallows humour. I’m fine.”

He really wasn’t fine.

He felt grimy inside and out, his skin was coated in a layer of dried blood, drool and other questionable fluids. It felt good to wash, but it was as though the dirt had worked its way deeper, burrowing into his pores, crawling beneath his skin. He could wash forever and he might never be free of the feeling of Gold torturing him, the manic delight in his eyes would forever be imprinted on his brain.

His eyes burned, his head pounded and the world seemed to swim in and out of focus after days of little to no sleep. He remembered how his subconscious had brought Emma and The Saviour to his side in the brief moments when he could sleep. He smiled to himself - they were both with him, comforting him, protecting his soul, saving him from madness. Almost. He had thought he really had seen Emma standing before him, horror struck, before Gold’s torture wrenched screams from his throat and drove the hallucination from his sight. It was what made it so hard for him to believe that The Saviour had really come to his rescue when she appeared; although his faith in her was deep - he certainly had more for her than  for himself - his mind had been playing cruel tricks on him.

He sighed, locked away the painful memories, and focused on the feeling of the hot water pounding on his skin.

He lost track of time under the spray. The hot water couldn't truly cure his troubles but it did ease them somewhat. When he finally switched the shower off, he felt refreshed, and able to face his superhero duties again, however much his head still spun with exhaustion.

He dressed in a tshirt and sweats that he kept stashed in a locker at the base for training in, relishing the feeling of the soft, warm fleece against his skin. Feeling somewhat human again he made his way towards the control room in search of Belle. He needed to move quickly to end things with Gold for good if they stood any chance of succeeding - if he stood any chance of making it through the encounter unscathed.

He was just about to step into the room when a voice made him stop; was Regina already in there?

Cautiously he peered around the doorway and saw Regina chatting to The Saviour and Belle. The Saviour caught sight of him and her eyes went wide with horror for a split second before she regained her mask of composure.

Right, they hadn’t solved the Regina Problem yet.

He backed away, treading softly to ensure that he wasn’t heard, and went in the direction of the break room.  He should probably try to get some sleep but he was buzzing and he was on edge. He needed to punch something - ideally some bad guy, ideally in person - but as that wasn’t really an option while he was confined to HQ, he’d settle for doing some damage in a video game.

Perhaps Henry would join him, although he was sure the kid should be in bed. (And yeah, technically he wasn’t a child and he was more than capable of his superhero duties, but the lad was only 16, he wasn’t sure it was fair to place the weight of saving the world on his shoulders, however useful they might find his abilities. He just had to wonder at the parents who would allow their teenager to engage in such dangerous missions - or simply failed to notice his absence - he wasn’t entirely sure which was worse. Something about his time in Gold’s lab had brought back painful memories of a childhood as an orphan and being made to grow up too fast and dammit if he didn’t hate that Henry was going through that now himself.)

“Sup, Survivor?” He’d gotten lost in his thoughts, not even noticing that he’d made it to the break room already and sure enough he found Henry there. “Or should I say Killian?”

Killian started, unused to hearing his real name coming from Henry. He blinked at him. “What?”

“The Saviour mentioned that might be your real name? Sorry. Um, is that still a secret? I mean you’re unmasked now anyway so I figured - fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

He laughed at Henry in spite of himself. “It’s ok, nice to meet you Henry, I’m Killian.” He stuck his hand out for Henry to shake.

Henry breathed a deep sigh of relief and shook his hand. “So you know The Saviour in real life? Crazy, huh?”

“Did she happen to mention how?” he tried to sound casual, but if the look on Henry's face was anything to go by, it hadn't worked. He wasn't sure if an expression could actually be sarcastic, but if so, Henry's was absolutely sarcastic, not to mention confused.

“You mean you don't know?” he said. Killian tried not to huff, The Saviour was a superhero, she was good at disguises, just like he was. Their real lives depended on it. Henry started to laugh. “Wow - you really don't, do you? How is that fucking possible - I actually thought you were smart?”

“I came here looking for something to punch - figured we could play some Bayonetta, but if you're volunteering…” He smiled at Henry, with the faintest glimmer of a threat in his eyes. Henry held his hands up in defeat, then grabbed Killian's controller and tossed it at him.

“Killian, are you seeing anyone?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He stared at Henry, confused by the change in subject. “What? Uh- um. No. Why do you ask?”

“It's just The Saviour she -” he looked like he was struggling to find the right words. “Well, she seems like she really, like maybe -”

Killian was utterly lost. “Maybe what, mate?”

“I thought maybe you were together. I don't know. I don't know what I'm talking about.”

“What? No. I -” Killian stopped. He was bewildered by this line of questioning and found himself wondering once again who The Saviour was to him. But that brought to mind the moment in the hospital bay when she failed to tell him her real identity. She didn't trust him and it hurt too much to wonder why. Instead he tried to deflect the conversation. “I just find that girlfriends don't really mix well with superhero duties.”

“Really? I've never thought that.”

“And what would you know? You aren't using your superhero status to impress the ladies are you?”

“No, who'd do that?” Henry shook his head at the suggestion, his expression so world weary that Killian had to stifle a laugh. “I do have a girlfriend though.”

“Oh yeah? I like the sound of this already.” He smirked at Henry, who rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Violet.” He glanced over at Killian then shrugged. “She's cool, maybe we don’t have some kind of fairytale romance like Snow and David have going on, but who does?” He had a slightly dreamy, faraway look in his eye. Killian always liked it when Henry showed his romantic side, even if he usually tried to cover it up with layers of swearing and sarcasm. But the glimpses he did catch in between the teen angst made it clear why Henry had the power to make anyone believe.

“Weren’t we talking about your love life? I’m sure you’re deflecting here.”

“Henry, I -” he stopped. He didn’t know what to say. “The Saviour could have told me who she is, but she hasn’t. She doesn’t want me to know. Clearly I’m not a person she wants to be involved with.”

“That’s a bit of a leap, man. Can you say Extra?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he huffed.

“Not everything is about you. Perhaps she’s not someone you would want to be involved with -” Killian opened his mouth to argue “- or she thinks she’s not.”

“She’s far too good for me. Whoever she is.”

Henry sighed. “You’re both as bad as each other.” He turned back to the game and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I should make you both believe in yourselves.”

Killian didn’t really know what more to say. The thought that The Saviour might think herself somehow as unworthy of him didn’t compute. She was a goddess amongst men. He was too tired to try to analyse this most bizarre of thoughts. Instead he focused on gaming, letting the bright lights and colours fill his mind and overtake his senses.

“Guys?” Killian blinked up at Belle in confusion, unclear how long he’d been lost in the flow of the game. “You ready to talk saving the world? Everyone’s here.”

“Everyone?” he asked, meaningfully. Belle nodded. Regina was back on their side.

When they made it to the control room everyone was milling around the room. His eyes rested on The Saviour who looked unhappy and agitated - he tried to catch her eye and give her a reassuring smile, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. It felt like a knife to his heart. Despite what Henry might believe, he was certain that he was the problem in their - well, in whatever their relationship was.

What an idiot he was - in love with two women - one whom he shouldn’t date for her safety and one who wouldn’t want to date him.

“Hook - I mean Jones.” Regina’s voice dragged his attention away from his wallowing. She looked deeply uncomfortable, arms folded across her chest and perfectly manicured nails drumming against her forearms.

“Yes?”

“I want to apologise to you for - well, for leading you into that trap. I -”

Killian saw a flash of the lab he’d been tortured in. He felt the restraints on his wrists and ankles, the terror in his bones, the agony of every experiment. They made him dizzy. He squeezed his eyes to shut out the memories.

“Please don’t, Regina.” He cut her off. And while partly it was out of kindness, knowing her to be blameless, he also couldn’t bear to think of those awful few days. “I know that you weren’t in control of your actions.”

“Still I hate to think of you -”

“Then don’t. Really.” He plastered on a falsely cheerful grin, desperate to change the subject. “So, what are the chances that two superheroes were working together without ever realising it?”

Regina laughed taking his bait with relief. “I should have guessed it was you the moment we first met, Jones. No one else could be that cocky.”

“Oh please, I’m a master of disguise and I’m very humble in my normal life. It’s one of my best qualities.” He winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

Regina groaned, apparently coming to a realisation. “That night you persuaded me to join the Nevengers, I said Killian was - that you were - Emma's boyfriend. I don't appreciate being treated like a fool,” she huffed.

“If the horribly overpriced designer heel fits…” he said, trailing off under Regina’s cold glare. He rubbed his brow and pinched his nose while he reconsidered his mockery. “My apologies, lass, but I was not mocking you then: Emma and I are just good friends.”

“Don't be a, what would you say? a bloody fool, you two aren't just anything.”

“You ever considered a career as a couple's therapist?”

“Listen to me or not, I don't care, Jones, just make sure this little “will they, won't they,” love triangle soap opera bullshit you have with Emma and The Saviour doesn't interfere with the mission, OK?”

“You always were so supportive, Regina, you know that?”

“Regina, Killian, are you ready to talk business? This is kind of important.” He couldn’t help but feel relieved at Belle’s interruption. This was the second uncomfortable discussion about his relationship status that he’d had today - he was more than a little tired at his fellow superheroes’ insistence on putting his love life under the microscope. It was hardly the time or place.

As he joined the Nevengers at their table he realised with alarm that The Saviour might have overheard his conversation with Regina. He looked over to her but she was studiously ignoring him. It was hard to be sure if she had heard him as it was no more than she'd been doing since he stepped foot in the room. He frowned hard and tried not to brood on dark thoughts of how unworthy he was of her.

Killian struggled to concentrate throughout the serious planning discussions that took place around him. Regina was able to volunteer as much - if not more - information than he had so he was able to largely sit and let his mind wander. He caught the general gist of things: they needed to act fast so the decision was made to strike tomorrow, they had devised a plan that should spell the end for Gold. He didn’t overly care about the fine details at this point.

One point did make him sit up and take note - Henry was going to have to head into the field. He had been fiddling on his laptop and declared that whatever back door he had used to shutdown the force field that interrupted their powers had been locked tight. Their only chance was for Henry to enter the building and work on the computer system directly.

Killian was instantly on alert. Henry felt like the little brother he’d never had and while he’d always been involved in their superhero activities, he’d never had to enter the fray like this, always able to help them out behind the scenes.

Killian sat up straight. “Is that wise?” “I don’t know, kid.” “That’s far too dangerous!” He, The Saviour and Regina had all spoken at once. Henry rolled his eyes at their overprotective defence of him.

“Look, if we’re going to take Gold out, you need your powers. We only have two cuffs. What else can we do?”

“I can protect Henry,” David spoke up. “I don’t need my powers to defend us both, and when he gets that shield down he’ll have twice as many bodyguards. Regina, if you keep your cuff and Henry takes Killian’s you can poof us into their computer rooms right?”

“See? It’ll be fine.” Henry said.

Killian sighed and looked over at The Saviour and Regina. Neither of them looked any more comfortable than he did, but still it was the only way. He hated it though. He wondered if this was how Liam used to feel watching him enter fighting pits: desperate to protect him, but powerless to do anything.

Oh God. Thinking of Liam and how he’d been sent to his death by Gold did little to assuage his fears at this time. Henry was not Liam. He knew the challenges that he was facing. He would have David with him. He would be ok.

He had to be ok, or Killian would kill Gold and make The Saviour bring him back to life so he could kill him all over again.

When everything was finally decided for the next day, he stood up to leave when Belle stopped him, looking awkward. “I still don’t know about you leaving here today, Killian.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “I'm not sleeping here tonight,” he said bluntly. He wouldn't explain himself, didn't want to share his trauma with the group, but the sterile hospital bay felt just a little too much like Gold’s lab for comfort. He gazed at Belle defiantly, challenging her to disagree with him.

“I'll poof you out.”

It took a moment for The Saviour's words to register. He looked at her curiously. “Come again?”

“I can - I can poof you out.” She quickly looked away from him and turned to Belle. “You're worried about him being seen? If I take TS home -” Killian noted curiously that she didn’t use his real name, despite clearly knowing it “- he won't be. Can do a few spells to keep him safe and I'll bring him back here in the morning.” She looked from him to Belle and shrugged.

“If you wanted to spend the night in my bed, you only have to ask. I'm sure we'll need to use - I mean, I need to have, protection.” She rolled her eyes but kept her eyes locked on Belle, while he poked his tongue in his cheek suggestively.

“Whatever, I'll do the spells and run.”

A dozen more flirty taunts ran through his mind, but she still wasn’t looking at him and he was tired. Too tired for it all.

“Well? Can I be released? I'm sure if Gold really wants me dead it won't matter where I sleep.”

Belle frowned at his poor attempt at humour. “Fine, but seriously, let The Saviour protect you, okay?”

He turned to The Saviour. “Come now, love, my life is in your hands.” He meant it as a casual comment, but it felt far too close to the truth.

She took his hand in hers, a cloud of smoke surrounded them, and when it cleared they were in his apartment.

He expected her to let go of him at once, but she lingered, her fingers gently stroking his hand before she parted from him with a sigh.

“I'll just -” she motioned around vaguely “- set up some protection spells.”

“Thanks. And I'll... I'll be in my room. Checking my phone. Seeing if I was missed.” A curious expression flashed across The Saviour's face. His heart clenched, had he just insulted her by suggesting that she hadn't missed him? But, it wasn't as though they saw each other every day. In fact, how had she known to come looking for him?

He stepped inside and looked around curiously. Someone had been here. Or had he left the room in a mess? It wasn't like him to do that but he'd had a lot on his mind the day he left on his ill-fated mission. His bed was unmade and his closet open. Clothes had been roughly pushed to one side and his secret compartment was open. This was incredibly careless. Had he really left his secrets exposed like this? He shook his head, he was exhausted and not thinking straight. That was all that was happening here. It must be. Surely.

He took his phone from out of his bedside table and switched it on, busying himself with straightening up the room while it started up. It buzzed right off the table with the alerts of missed calls and texts. Only one of each from Emma.

“Thanks for telling me about your last minute vacation. I hope that you’re enjoying yourself.”

He read Emma's message several times, until it clicked that Regina had probably been forced to explain away his absence. He clenched his jaw in frustration. He'd been suffering and she'd believed him to be sunning himself in a beach somewhere? That hurt.

“Um, TS?” He looked up as The Saviour peered around his door. “I'm finished. I should probably go.”

I'd feel safer if you stayed. He longed to tell her. Hell, why not go full on cheesy romance novel while he was at it? Let's tear off the masks we wear, and let our hearts beat as one as we make passionate love.

Yeah, no. That wasn't going to happen. She continued to hide herself from him and however much that hurt, he had to accept her decision. What exactly was he thinking might happen? That they'd cosy up on the couch with her in full superhero gear? That she'd happily curl up in bed with him with her face still concealed? It was absurd and yet he wanted her with him.

“Thanks.” He felt awkward and desperate for her to stay. He switched to an old tactic - beating down his feelings with innuendo. “If you'd like to stay the night I'll be sure to show you how grateful I am.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, right,” she said dismissively, giving him a forced smile.

“I might need protecting in bed. Is leaving a risk you're willing to take?”

“Goodnight, Survivor.” She disappeared in a cloud of smoke and he was left alone wishing desperately that he could tell her how much he really wanted her. He may have been unmasked but he was still disguising himself around her.

Considering how tired he was, sleep should have come easily. He knew that he needed to be on top form to live through a confrontation with Gold. But the memories of his days of torture were there every time he closed his eyes. Late into the night he tossed and turned, consumed by anxiety.

The beast took such pleasure from his pain that despite the cavalier attitude that he maintained with the Nevengers, he was nervous about his fate. He didn't want to get lost in such worries, but Gold’s vindictiveness was limitless and he had escaped from him. He shuddered to think what might happen if he fell into Gold’s clutches again.

He tried to force thoughts of his ordeal from his mind. When that didn't work he remembered the moments when he felt like Emma was with him.

Emma.

He'd say she must be worried sick, but, no, she thought he'd disappeared on a trip. He couldn't blame her for that, Regina could be very convincing and she was used to being abandoned.

A terrible thought struck him. If something were to happen to him, he would be just another name on the list of people who abandoned her.

He had to talk to her, she had to know his secrets before their mission, she had to know that he wouldn't leave willingly.

He almost lept to his feet in his eagerness to confess. Perhaps if he told her, she would permit him to hold her tonight and draw comfort from her presence. He might actually get the sleep he so desperately needed. But it was too early to bother her for his own selfish reasons and deep down he knew that if he woke up with her in his arms he wouldn't ever let her go. He'd happily let the world burn if she consented to be his. She deserved better, The Saviour had taught him better.

No, he would call her tomorrow, before their mission. Perhaps the conversation would be better in person, but respect for The Saviour’s protection - and the certainty that he wouldn't be strong enough to leave Emma if he saw her - meant a phone call would have to suffice. If he were to be captured again, at least she would truly know how much he had cared.

With the decision made he was able to fall asleep, dreaming of holding Emma close at last.

He checked his watch, not long until The Saviour came to collect him. He really hadn’t meant to leave this until the last minute, but he’d overslept. He scrubbed his hand through his hair in distress. Maybe telling her now, over the phone, when he had so little time to talk wasn’t the best plan.

But when he considered the possibility that he may end the day back in Gold’s lab - or worse - he knew he had to make the call.

He picked up his phone and hit Emma's number. He gathered his courage as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Morning, Swan. Did you miss me?” He winced at his own forced bravado.

“I. Um. I...”

His heart fell at her spluttering. “Oh, I see, didn't even notice I was gone?”

“No! I noticed! I…”

He closed his eyes, what was he teasing her for? It wasn't fair and he didn't have time for it. “You know, that doesn't really matter. I called to explain where I've been.”

“You weren't on vacation?” There was a strange note to her voice that he couldn't explain.

“No. You see, I'm - I'm Hook, or The Survivor, depending on who you ask.” He paused to see if she would react but was met with nothing but silence. “I know it's a lot to take in, but I didn't abandon you, Emma. I was. Well. I was captured. I would never deliberately leave you without a word, I couldn't do that to you. I know you're good at knowing when someone is lying to you, so please believe me.”

His words came out in a rush and he was tense, waiting for her verdict.

“I do. Believe you, that is.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you -”

“Why are you telling me now?”

“I'm off to save the world, it's a dangerous job. I'm sure you understand.”

“Yeah, but. Don't you do that a lot?”

“Been keeping up on my alter ego's exploits? You're not a superhero groupie, are you? I remember the time I caught you reading that magazine article about me.”

He could practically hear her roll her eyes. “I just want to know why this time is different.”

Because I'm scared. Because I could save the world but lose you. Because I don't know what Gold will do to me this time. “I just want to be honest with you.”

“Well I -” Killian's Nevengers phone beeped. Right, showtime.

“Sorry to cut you off, but I have to go. We can talk when I'm back.”

“OK…” He was about to hang up when he heard a small “Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't disappear again.”

“As you wish,” he replied with a chuckle. If only it were that easy.

“I mean it, come back to me.”

His eyes softened at the sincere request. He wished that he were with her, he wanted to kiss her so badly. After. He'd kiss her when he returned with no secrets and no lies between them. “Of course, Swan, you don't need to fret, I'm The Survivor.”

“Good,” she said simply and hung up.

He stared at his phone for a minute, stunned by how easy that had been. God, why hadn't he just told her sooner? He turned off his phone and slid it into his bedside table, his first mission of the day completed.

Now all that was left was saving the world.

***

Emma slumped into a couch in HQ, she was exhausted and should really go to bed. But she was too wired to do that, and suspected it would be a long time before she'd be able to stop fidgeting.

At very least, she needed to stay for long enough to know if Killian was alright. There was no chance that she could relax as long as she had the thought that he might still be in pain niggling away at her.

“You did good, Saviour.” She turned to see Henry dropping down beside her and gave him an unsure smile. “Seriously. You saved your man, you can sleep now.”

“He's not my man.” Her reply was automatic, but the words made her heart clench painfully. She hated how true that was.

“Right,” Henry chuckled, “so we're just going to pretend that you don't have to just say the word and you'd be together? It’s a choice. Not one I’d go with, but it’s a choice.”

Emma barely registered his words, drumming her hand against the couch beside her. Sparks flew as she hit the surface harder and harder. She didn't even notice until Henry put his hand over hers. She looked up at him, feeling a wave of guilt as she noticed the grimace that crossed his face. She'd hurt him and she felt like a monster.

“I'm sorry, Henry!” she blurted out.

“It's nothing.” She frowned at him, highly skeptical that that could be true. “What's wrong, Saviour?”

“You really think he's going to be OK? Killian - I mean, TS?”

He shrugged. “Sure, he's invulnerable, isn't he?”

“Yeah.” She chewed on her lip.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Gold can block powers, can’t he? Or take them away altogether? What if he does that to Killian?”

“I have something to say that you maybe aren’t going to want to hear.” Emma looked at him. “Gold had The Survivor - or did you say his name’s Killian?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, he had Killian for three days. Three days. He could have easily done all those things you just mentioned in that time, but he didn’t. I think Gold needs him alive for some reason.”

“But he could still hurt him!”

“He could. And if he does, you’ll save him. That’s what you do, right?”

“I guess.”

“Hey, stop that. What do they call you?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. What do they call you?”

“The Saviour.”

“And why do they call you that?”

“I told them I’d wipe them all out with my powers if they didn’t.” He cocked his head at her and quirked a brow. “They nailed me to a cross.” He sighed. “OK, because I save people.”

“Right, so it turns out that The Survivor, who you have some kind of weird romantic thing with, is this guy Killian, who also seems to be special to you, and you expect me to believe that you wouldn’t march right down into the underworld itself if that’s what it would take to save him? Come on, have a little faith in yourself.”

She was about to answer when Belle’s voice rang out over her phone. “Saviour, can you meet me in the hospital bay?”

“Sure thing.” She smiled at Henry. “Thanks for the pep talk it, er, it helped.”

She poofed herself into the hospital bay and was confronted by the sight of Belle with bloody sheets in her arms.

She closed her eyes in disgust, that was his blood. Killian’s blood. Killian's blood had painted the sheets crimson. God, how much had he been through?

“Deep breath, Saviour. You're glowing.” Emma opened her eyes and was surprised to find Belle stood before her. The sheets had vanished and she had her hands on Emma's shoulders. She watched her intently.

Emma could see herself surrounded by a near-blinding aura reflected in Belle’s eyes. She worked on breathing in and out, noticing as the light dimmed and eventually disappeared entirely.

“Killian's OK.” Emma's scepticism must have been written all over her face. “I can give you the full medical prognosis if you like?”

“Wow, you're a doctor too?”

“Well, I read a book.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. “I absorb skills from them remember?”

Emma shook her head, smiling. “How are you not running the world?”

“Patriarchy.”

“You and Beyoncé will fix that soon I'm sure. So, what did you want?”

“The Survivor explained The Dark One's plan -”

“How does he know it?”

“He was monologuing.” Belle rolled her eyes. “Classic super villain crap. Anyway we need to act fast and we need Regina fighting for us again -”

“But she's under his control.”

“I've created a device that should be able to counteract the effects of the Dagger, the A.C.E. -”

“Ace?” Emma pulled a face at the stupidity of the name.

“Anti Control Equipment?” Belle shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “The name doesn’t matter. Until we know if it's worked we'll have to play it safe - treat Regina with caution and keep her away from Killian.”

Emma's skin crawled at this mention of Killian her magic writhing in alarm.

“Wait, you think she'd hurt Killian? But.. but.. why would she do that? She couldn't do that, right?”

“Hopefully not, but I don't like to assume - Gold always had it in for Killian and now that he's escaped.. Well, best case scenario she takes him back to Gold.”

“And what's the worst?”

Belle couldn't look her in the eye. “Well, she - she kills him for Gold.”

Emma looked stunned at the thought. “But she can't do that, right? I mean he's - he can't be killed, right?”

“It's not a risk I'm willing to take.” Belle looked grim and Emma's heart beat wildly at the thought. Belle looked down at Emma's hand and she was surprised to note that her skin was glowing. But then, she shouldn't have been surprised, her magic always threatened to revolt when Killian's safety came into question. When she looked back up to Belle’s eyes she was watching Emma cautiously, but shook herself and got straight back to business. “The plan is that we tell her that we need to run tests using a holding cell to work out if I can counteract the forcefield on Gold’s base with a device I've made. We know it’s actually the A.C.E. and that it should actually break Gold’s power over her… Well, that's the idea anyway."

Emma tried to keep her breathing steady to avoid completely losing her cool. She didn't really understand what she had to do with this plan. "What do you need me for Belle?" she asked as evenly as she could muster.

"We tell Regina that I'll run tests on both of you but really you're there to back me up. If anything does go wrong I'm going to need your help."

Emma thought of Killian lying on that table. She knew it wasn't actually Regina's fault; that she had been a weapon that Gold had wielded against them; that she was likely to be as angry as them all - if not more so after being used as a puppet. But still, she had years of suffering at Regina's hands in the office and off clearing up the Evil Queen's messes, it was hard not to let the weight of that get to her. She thought of all the times Regina had told her off in her dismissive and icy way - the one that made it clear that she didn't think Emma was worthy of her time - and she felt the rage bubbling up inside.

“You're happy for me to do whatever it takes to stop her if she goes all Evil Queen on us?”

“Saviour, I'm counting on it.”

“Great so when are w-” Emma broke off as the room filled with purple smoke that surely signalled Regina's impending arrival. Belle’s eyes widened in alarm. If she was here early it could only mean one thing: Gold had sent her.

The sudden fear in Emma joined forces with her anger, leaving her itching for a fight.

The mist around her was thinning and it was clear that Regina had come alone, if she had come for a fight she would have brought her minions. Gold clearly needed her to play double agent - so she needed to think everything was well.

Emma took a quiet, calming breath, soothing her magic even as it hissed with rage at the unwelcome sight.

“Regina! I was just about to call you,” Belle said with a smile. “I have great news: I have invented a device, the A.C.E. -” Regina raised her eyebrows at the name, Emma had to cough to suppress a laugh. Belle ignored both of them.  “- that will allow us to keep our powers in any conditions. It'll mean that we can all infiltrate Gold’s HQ instead of just you and The Survivor when we have a second run at that mission.”

“I'm glad to see that you have found something useful to do.”

Emma frowned at Regina. Even when she was supposed to be on their side she still found a way to undermine her fellow superheroes. Who hurt you? she found herself wondering - not for the first time.

“I'd like your help running some tests on the A.C.E..” Belle carried on as if Regina hadn't been an insulting mix of patronising and dismissive. Emma marvelled at her ability to stay calm in the face of such a slight. “Regina, I'd like you to transport the two of us to our holding cell, Emma, you come alone. You shouldn't be able to get in assuming that the forcefield is working correctly.”

“Are you testing me, bookworm?”

“Merely checking that our defences are working so we know for sure whether the A.C.E. has worked or if our forcefield was just down.” Belle’s tone was still polite but her clenched jaw betrayed her irritation with Regina.

“Fine.” Regina took Belle’s hand and they vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.

Emma sighed with relief, she had taken the bait. She closed her eyes and attempted to poof herself to the cell. She had the strange feeling of knocking into something hard, she bounced off it and landed in a heap on the floor. She looked up, Regina arched a brow at her, but contented herself with shaking her head.

Emma's eyes narrowed and a childish image of using her powers to fly pencils at Regina while she ran away shrieking, her trademark composure gone. She smiled at the thought. Many a brutal dressing down at work had been survived only thanks to such visions.

“Have either of you seen Hook?”

The question brought Emma’s attention back to the here and now - and she was startled to see that Regina was already in the holding cell, with the door shut tight behind her.

“Not since last Tuesday,” said Belle.

“Same.” Emma narrowed her eyes at Regina. So, Gold sent her to find Killian. “Why?”

“Wanted to reschedule our reconnaissance mission after we had to cancel on Wednesday - unless you’d prefer it if we gave up on defeating The Dark One altogether?”

Strange how I can’t tell that’s a lie, Emma thought to herself. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know she’s lying? Whatever the reason for her failure to detect the lie with Regina in her current state, it made her uneasy. She was too easy to manipulate if her power had loopholes - especially ones that she didn’t even know about.

And people get hurt when your powers fail, hissed the little devil inside who was always there to remind her of her shortcomings. Nothing bad would’ve happened to Killian if your powers worked properly.

“... Shall we get started?” Once again Emma had lost the train of conversation. She was too tired for this. She had to focus on the task at hand - getting Regina back to her usual sassy but helpful self.

“I’m ready,” said Regina in answer to Belle. She had her arms folded across her chest and she looked bored.

Belle took out the A.C.E., it looked just like a sleek retractable pen. Emma grinned, impressed by the old school spy vibe the design gave the A.C.E. “Nice one, Q.”

“Thanks.” Belle grinned, clearly pleased with her handiwork.

“What exactly am I meant to - oh.” While Regina talked, Belle had pointed the A.C.E. at her and clicked the button. Emma watched as her expression transformed from disinterested to confused to downright horrified. “Oh God. Hook. What have I done?” She walked up to the thick glass separating them and looked desperately from Belle to Emma. “Please tell me that he’s OK. I didn’t mean to - I really am trying to change.”

“We know. Gold used the Dagger on you, didn’t he?” Belle asked and she nodded in reply. “The Survivor is recovering.” She looked unconvinced. “He's OK, Regina. I promise.”

“Gold is furious. If I found him here I was to bring him straight back. He's got half his minions out looking for him.”

“You'd better get back to him then - we'll be meeting later to discuss strategy. We need to move quickly. I'll let you know when.”

Regina nodded, flicked her wrist and nothing happened. She looked at her hand in confusion and tried again. Emma smirked, taking childish glee from the sight.

“Regina?” Belle said, “you're in a cell that blocks powers. I'm sorry, but I couldn't risk you being on the loose if the A.C.E. didn't work.”

Regina huffed and walked to the door, Belle hit a button and it sprang open, she stepped outside and with a curt nod to each of them, disappeared.

“So, what now?” Emma asked Belle.

“Tea?”

Emma nodded. “As long as we can just act like I didn't discover Gold doing his crazy scientist routine on my best friend, who bizarrely turns out to be the superhero I fight crime with. I will pay good money to talk about literally anything else.”

Belle laughed. “Don't worry, we don't have to have a deep and meaningful conversation, I'll settle for tea and silence if that's all you want.”

“Then let's do this.”

Emma should really have been paying attention to the mission talk, but she was exhausted, still reeling from the night's revelation and following traumatic events. She contributed and she did take in all the important details: Gold had a very important event the following morning and they should take advantage of his absence to infiltrate his HQ. They just needed to find his Dagger - the original - and then they'd be able to control him. And they were going to use that control to make him use his own weapons against himself and remove his own powers.

So, of course, Henry had deemed the mission Operation Kryptonite.

Speaking of Henry, the news that he was going to have to go into the field with them didn't sit right with her - or Killian or Regina apparently. (She would wonder at the Evil Queen's attachment to Henry, if she didn't know him to be charming, funny and - most importantly - friendly to all - despite the potty mouth.)

She knew that she herself had left home at 16 and was in no position to judge; but a bit of shoplifting and sleeping in a stolen car were hardly as dangerous as going up against the most evil super villain she'd ever encountered. She saw Henry as the brother she never had and the thought of him in danger brought out a maternal side to her that she was surprised to discover she had. Somehow she'd assumed being abandoned at just a few hours old meant any motherly impulses she might have otherwise had were forcibly removed by the trauma. It was nice to know that she was wrong about that.

Still, her nerves over Henry's hands-on involvement were nothing to the dread that filled her when the time came to leave.

“I still don’t know about you leaving here today, Killian.”

Emma's heart clenched at the implications of Belle’s words. She had a sudden vision of Killian strapped to that table - a violent image that was so much worse than any horror her anxiety had conjured up in the months since she'd realised that she loved him and that she had to keep her distance to keep him safe - and almost vomited at the thought.

Protect him, her magic hissed at her, for she knew if anything bad were to happen to him she would surely die herself.

Funny how learning her best friend - the man she loved - was invulnerable had done nothing to ease her anxiety over his safety. If anything, knowing how much danger he was in on a nightly basis compounded that fear, knowing that the snark and swagger of The Survivor was hiding Killian's soft heart filled her with a dreadful sense of foreboding that she could not shake.

Yes, he should stay here where he would be safe. Possibly even in the holding cell where no powers could penetrate. Oh. Of course he didn't want to be locked up again, not even for his own safety.

Especially not for his own safety, Emma thought bitterly.

“I'm not sleeping here tonight.”

“I'll poof you out.” The words were out of her mouth before she had chance to think twice. Yes, if she took him home, she could make sure he was safe. If she didn't, he'd only do something dumb like try to sneak out. Unless they literally locked him in that cell - and tempting though that was, she couldn't trap him like that after what he'd just been through.

She tried not to notice when Killian looked at her with surprise and confusion. “Come again?”

“I can - I can poof you out.” She quickly averted her eyes from him, not trusting herself to not break down over her worry about him, and instead looked at Belle. “You're worried about him being seen? If I take TS home he won't be. Can do a few spells to keep him safe and I'll bring him back here in the morning.”

She glanced at Killian before looking back to Belle with a shrug, trying not to give away how much she wanted to do this. How much she needed to.

“If you wanted to spend the night in my bed, you only have to ask. I'm sure we'll need to use - I mean, I need to have, protection.” She had expected the innuendo, but couldn’t help but roll her eyes all the same. She avoided looking at him so he wouldn’t see how much part of her was longing to take him up on his offer.

If she stayed with him, she would have to tell him who she was and she couldn't do that. She'd come so close to losing him and they weren't even together. No, if she succumbed to her desire he would surely be doomed to die. Even allowing him to get as close to her as he was had clearly been risky.

“Whatever, I'll do the spells and run.”

To her surprise he dropped the innuendo completely. “Well? Can I be released? I'm sure if Gold really wants me dead it won't matter where I sleep.”

“Fine, but seriously, let The Saviour protect you, okay?” Belle replied.

He turned to Emma and held out his hand. “Come now, love, my life is in your hands.”

She reached out and took his hand, poofing them into his apartment in a cloud of pure white magic. She felt the reassuring warmth of his hand in hers, absent-mindedly stroking the back of his hand with her fingers.

When she realised what she was doing she dropped his hand and stepped away from him. Feeling a blush rising in her cheeks at what she’d just done, she briskly moved onto business. “I'll just set up some protection spells.”

“Thanks. And I'll... I'll be in my room. Checking my phone. Seeing if I was missed.”

She winced as the thought of the message he had waiting from her came to mind. She was a little ashamed of how angry she had been with him - and to think he’d been suffering while she’d been sending him snide texts.

She busied herself with casting every protective charm, enchantment and magical barrier she knew. The only way she could be any more certain of his safety would be to spend the night, and that just wasn’t an option.

At last, when she’d reached the limits of her knowledge, she took a deep breath and looked in on Killian in his room.

“Um, TS?” He was holding his phone and looking exhausted and sad. Her heart ached for him in that moment. She wanted to comfort him - but she wasn’t sure if she should. “I'm finished. I should probably go.”

“Thanks. If you'd like to stay the night I'll be sure to show you how grateful I am.” The banter was there, but his delivery was off. He looked hopeless and unhappy - what he really needed was sleep, not an uncomfortable night with her.

“Yeah, right.” She meant to sound breezy - teasing him in their usual way - but the air was heavy with their exhaustion and the weight of saving the world was sitting heavy on her soul.

“I might need protecting in bed. Is leaving a risk you're willing to take?”

She was sure that the note of desperation she thought she heard in his voice was just a projection of her own desires. “Goodnight, Survivor,” she said and poofed into her living room, abruptly ending their conversation before he could persuade her to stay. She longed to go back to him, but a voice inside whispered that she was doing what she needed to do to keep the man she loved safe. She crumpled into a heap on the floor and sobbed.

She spent her night fretting until at some point exhaustion claimed her and she dreamt of being wrapped in Killian’s embrace. When she awoke at last she was surprised to see that he wasn’t there and she found herself feeling terribly alone.

She moved sluggishly, eating pop tarts and drinking coffee in quantities that she knew would make Killian wince if he were here. She tried not to think about the fact that she could be spending the morning with him, if only she were a little braver - or a lot more selfish.

There was just a few minutes to go before she had to collect Killian when her phone rang. She groaned and looked down at it and was surprised to see his face grinning up at her on the screen.

Talk about bad timing - why is he calling when we have to go save the world in a minute?

“Hello?” she asked, utterly confused.

“Morning, Swan. Did you miss me?” It was disconcerting how normal he was being. What on earth was going on?

“I. Um. I...” she stammered, not knowing how to react.

“Oh, I see,” his voice sounded small, “didn't even notice I was gone?”

“No!” Emma blurted out in horror, this was the worst conversation ever and they really didn’t have time for this shit. “I noticed! I…”

“You know, that doesn't really matter,” he cut her off. “I called to explain where I've been.”

Her heart stopped. Was he about to unmask himself to her? Oh God, he was. She felt like an even bigger asshole for not telling him the truth about herself already, but they just didn’t have the time. “You weren't on vacation?” she said, hoping she sounded cool.

“No. You see, I'm - I'm Hook, or The Survivor, depending on who you ask.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! she screamed internally. You have to tell him now, you have to. “I know it's a lot to take in, but I didn't abandon you, Emma. I was. Well. I was captured. I would never deliberately leave you without a word, I couldn't do that to you. I know you're good at knowing when someone is lying to you, so please believe me.”

“I do. Believe you, that is.” because I’m The Saviour. Surprise! God that sounded lame, but she had to tell him. You have to protect him, whispered another voice. She was too confused to handle this right now.

“Thank you -”

She felt irrationally angry at him for springing this on her. “Why are you telling me now?”

“I'm off to save the world, it's a dangerous job. I'm sure you understand.”

“Yeah, but. Don't you do that a lot?” She tried to keep the irritation from her voice. He was her best friend and she should care about him revealing this to her. She was a terrible person.

“Been keeping up on my alter ego's exploits? You're not a superhero groupie, are you? I remember the time I caught you reading that magazine article about me.”

She rolled her eyes - trust him to bring that up at a time like this. “I just want to know why this time is different,” she pressed.

“I just want to be honest with you.”

Fuck.

She had to be brave and do the same. She could be honest with him, this was Killian, her Survivor, her best friend, her love.

“Well I -” her Nevengers phone beeped, sparks crackled from her fingertips as her frustration swelled.

“Sorry to cut you off, but I have to go. We can talk when I'm back.”

“OK…” She knew she couldn’t tell him the truth now, but she couldn’t send him off like that. “Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't disappear again.”

“As you wish,” he replied with a laugh. She could hear the strain to stay confident and upbeat in his voice.

“I mean it, come back to me.”

“Of course, Swan, you don't need to fret, I'm The Survivor.”

“Good.” She hung up and sighed deeply, that was the best she could offer him in that moment. Tears pricked at her eyes as she tried to soothe her emotions, which had been frayed to near breaking point by the conversation.

Her phone continued to beep. She jabbed at it to shut it up. She had a sudden moment of clarity. She knew what she had to do.

She poofed into Killian’s apartment.

“Ready to -” she strode up to him, grabbed him and kissed him, cutting him off mid sentence.

It was brief, but the feel of his lips hot and wet against hers was enough to send her heart racing and make her feel light headed. She was delighted to see that he looked every bit as awestruck as she did.

“For luck,” she breathed. “When all this is over, we really need to talk.”

He nodded, gazing at her in wonder. “Of course.”

She smiled, knowing she’d done the right thing. One look like that from him and she felt ready to conquer the world - and all she had to do was defeat The Dark One.

She took his hand. They were going to save the world. Together.

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[recentanimenews]

Great Pretender – 10 – Throwing Off Gravity’s Chains

When Abby asks Luis about his role in the bombings that killed her folks, he’s really in the mood to come away from the conversation with his life intact, so he says what he thinks will provoke her into killing him the fastest: “taking a dump” on Baghdad was doing his duty, and he couldn’t give two shits about whoever died because of it.

That does the trick; both he and were fully ready to let things end bloody. Then Makoto tackles Abby before she can do the dead. It’s his first step in, well, I can’t call it a “con” per se, but it’s definitely a scheme to create a different kind of end: One that could mean redemption for both tortured souls.

Taking advice from Cynthia, Makoto doesn’t pry into what happened with Abby and Luis, but is simply there for her as she looks out onto the city, wrestling with her grief, rage and helplessness, assuring her she’s not the only one suffering. Interestingly, he already had a bit of an effect on Abby when she spots a capsule toy dispenser and decides to buy one as a fortune good luck charm.

Abby thinks Makoto is full of shit, but she also doesn’t know what else to do. Fortunately, the figurine she acquires has special significance to her situation: historical “bad guy” Akechi Mitsuhide, who betrayed his lord like Brutus did to Caesar—presumably because they didn’t share the same values.

As Isabelle shares with Makoto (with Abby listening close by), Luis suffered PTSD after his tour of duty, and took up stunt piloting in order to satisfy his need to continue putting his miserable life on the line, a pattern virtually identical to the similarly-scarred Abby’s.

When they grudgingly meet with Makoto as a go-between, Luis points out that he and Abby won’t agree on much as long as they’re still alive, as if their beating hearts are anomalies in the universe that must be snuffed out in order to restore balance.

But again, Makoto thinks he has an equitable solution which will break both parties out of their respective funks. It starts with putting Luis back in the cockpit, in Abby’s place. When she pulled a knife on him he stood up from his wheelchair, leading Makoto to deduce that his physical injuries weren’t sufficient to keep him out of a plane. Instead, he needed an emotional reason to get back in: a chance to settle a score with his protege Clark.

When he’s back in the cockpit, it’s as if a switch is flipped. Having calmed down from their earlier scuffle, Luis brings Abby in close before he takes off, and says something she had no idea how much she needed to hear. It was only two words—I’m sorry—but they mean everything, because he means them.

Laurent put Makoto in Clark’s hanger so he could sabotage the engine when the time came to pit Abby against Clark, but he doesn’t sabotage it. In order for this race between Clark and Luis to matter, it has to be real, and make no mistake: Clark prefers it that way just as much as Luis having taken no pleasure in his role in the fixed results.

What results is the best race sequence the show has yet delivered. Photoshoppy color banding aside, the dogfighting planes against the vivid Singapore skyline have never looked better, and there’s a nice bittersweet symmetry to their air ballet being set to the same music as Abby’s last recital years ago.

In the end, Clark manages to eke out a win over his master, who after all hadn’t been in a cockpit in years. Still, it was close and thrilling. We know who wins because the color of the fireworks matches the victor’s plane color. Sam may have bet everything on Clark, but since Laurent arranged for a special doctored video feed and installed color-changing cellophane on the casino’s windows, Sam believes that Abby won, and that he lost everything…

Of course, he does lose—just not due to betting on the wrong pilot! In this regard, Laurent & Co. relied on quite a bit of luck in their win, as the winner of a no-holds-barred race between Clark and Luis was not altogether known. By the time Sam realizes he was swindled, Laurent, Kim and Kudou have already fled with the cash to a yacht.

In a way, just as Clark was able to learn through Luis how to be a better pilot (and let’s be honest, he’s definitely the more honorable of the two brothers), by watching Luis essentially regain his desire to live up in the sky serves a similar experience for Abby.

If that old fart can put the past behind him and take back his life, maybe she can to. His genuine apology also goes a long way towards her ultimately forgiving the guy, since that’s the first step in her moving on to whatever’s next.

When Abby and Makoto visit the abandoned casino, they are trapped and shot at by Sam and his men. Thankfully, Abby is still in her flight suit, so Makoto embraces her and leaps out the window to “give dying together a go”. The chute works and they land safely in the water for Laurent to fish them out.

It’s without doubt the scariest thing Makoto has ever done, and his face says as such, but damn it all if it’s not worth it to finally see Abigail Jones’ genuine, radiant smile! That makes for one hell of a strong ending to the Singapore Sky arc.

By: sesameacrylic

[yesbpdcatra]

Adora + V please ^^

V. an empty or abandoned place ; adora

Quiet as a mouse. While on patrol, you gotta be quiet as a mouse. Those were the orders and the recommendations every cadet used to receive. She couldn’t count how many simulations of patrolling occupied territory or the Fright Zone’s borders she did during her life, but this time it was different. This time it was not fake. This time there was no space for jokes—not that usually she used to go big on those. This time it was active duty, and it required an entirely new type of cold blood. She could have actually encountered an enemy. She could have had to kill them. This promotion wasn’t only a prize, it was also a responsibility. And she knew that from the beginning. Despite this, she wished Catra was there too.

“Your area is North East, bordering the Whispering Woods. Do not go in them.” The orders of her superior in the chain of command were stark and free from deniability. “You just check nothing comes out of it with the intent of invading our perimeter.”

She militarily nodded and stood to attention, while the other members of that night’s patrolling team were getting their orders too. Then, when everything and everyone was ready and waiting, they marched towards the skiffs where each soldier was given a vehicle, with the thoughtful and careful reminder that it didn’t belong to them, just like their life didn’t and never would. You’ll suffer harsh punishments if it gets back damaged in any way, the instructions used to say. Adora wasn’t impressed or scared, it was nothing but business as usual: she would have handed herself in anyway if she really was to damage Horde’s property. There was nothing as sacred as Horde’s property, simply because in was the Horde’s and there was the power of the once-existing stars in the Horde’s actions. There was the fairness an ordered society and the right of the dominant species to use what had been given to them. Also, any small piece of tech would help them take a step closer to victory against those violent instigators, and as such it was fundamental. Wasn’t it?

It’s like there’s more insurance against property damage than against our soldiers’ death, she found herself thinking in a single moment if weakness, before she readjusted her own mind process and shut the thought out, burning it to the ground and throwing salt after its passage so that it would grow back no more. She wasn’t expected to think such a thing. It wasn’t her place. She had never doubted. It was just like Shadow Weaver had said: this is what she’d always wanted since she was old enough to want something.

She left the Fright Zone without looking back, without asking for a hint of solidarity from her fellow teammates, and started slowly monitoring the border she was assigned to, eyes darting left and right in the silent twilight full of reds and oranges and violets. The engines were humming gloomily. There were small shimmers of light coming out the woods, infested by fireflies and weird traces of flowing energy. Something she didn’t know and couldn’t understand. What she could understand instead was what seemed to be a human shadow behind tree branches. Her inner alarms flared. Her heartbeat fastened. Her brain rapidly analyzed her possibilities. There was someone. A potential rebel to be captured. Don’t go into the woods, they had said, though. How could she not go if a potential threat to Etheria’s security was out there, unrestrained? She had to breach the order. It was for a common, shared purpose. And strangely enough, she felt somehow compelled to go.

She sighed heavily and turned the engines off, taking the electric goad and the whole Horde equipment with her. She jumped out of the skiff, her shoes crashing against the grass riddled with flowers.

“Ok, Adora. Don’t screw it up. Don’t screw it up,” she told herself, in low, tense voice. “In and out. You just have to check this one out.”

She moved slowly, quiet as a mouse, quiet as a mouse, and she wished she was like Catra, able to sneak everywhere without making a single sound with her cat-like feet. Actually, she wanted her to be here not just for utilitarian reasons: it had always been their dream to finally see active duty together, as a squad, looking out for each other. It wasn’t up to her to decide, though. Her desires had never really mattered to anyone, there were more important, collective values.

She walked across a shrub, she bent to avoid a branch, she crawled in the mud when she heard some weird noise, but there was no trace of the shadow she had seen before. I just wasted time for nothing. And yet the calling was still there, stronger every step forward, until she realized she was walking on an ancient mosaic. It was chiseled and adorned with abstract symbolism that didn’t mean anything anymore, a language so old and forgotten that only dust and sand could speak it by that time. Adora looked around, astonished. It seemed a sacred space, an old temple or something. She didn’t even know what a temple was but the word just came to her mind as if it’s always been there.

She wandered around, oblivious to her patrolling duties, and rubbed her hand against the surface of the nearest ruin, pyramidal shape that stood out against the sky now dark. She couldn’t say what she did, what she touched, but somehow she unlocked something. Next thing she knew was her widening her eyes and repressing a scream, when the temple opened like a seashell, inviting her to enter.

Go back to the skiff and stop. You are letting Shadow Weaver down. You are letting Lord Hordak down. They have placed great trust on you, you gotta be perfect. Go back.

She moved a step forward. Go back. Another one. Go back. And another one again, until she was in, surrounded by darkness. She stood there, aghast, then stumbled into the unknown, trying to figure out the area’s perimeter. Finally, she reached what seemed to be a control pad, and she just tapped blindly, until a sudden light appeared right in front of her, glaring on her face and on the walls. It was a screen, not so different from those found in the Fright Zone or on trackpads. It looked like a regular video recording, probably done by some fixed security cameras like the ones the Horde had placed everywhere they could in order to try and spot rebels. It was a small town near the sea. War bots she knew too well were attacking everyone on sight. The Horde symbol was fluttering in the wind and being sprayed on people’s homes. There was a voice coming from the film, a voice screaming continuously “Take down those animals! Take down them all!”

Adora jerked back. It was impossible. The video must have been a fraud, fabricated by the Rebellion in order to discredit them. She couldn’t believe what she just saw. The Horde was not that. The Horde was good. The Horde wanted nothing but a better world. Yes, killing was part of the plan, but only if necessary, only against hostile militias. She couldn’t believe it, and yet the video was still going, showing soldiers with the Horde symbol torturing innocent civilians live. Something broke inside of her. She didn’t want to believe but she couldn’t help but feel that punch in the guts, that know in her bowels that told her ‘you know it’s the truth.’

Her legs shivered and she fell to the ground, tears in her eyes. How long since the last time she cried? She couldn’t remember, but it felt so scary and so relieving. Her heart threatened to explode, her breath threatened to choke her. She started sobbing and for once she didn’t force herself to stop.

By the time she had finished her last remaining tear, the video had ended. She was about to leave to a future of uncertainty, when another recording started, much older, much more different in quality and type. It was… less palpable, as if it was an hologram. There were elegant men sit around a sleek, dark table, folders opened in front of them and classy jackets hanging on the coat hanger. They had a weird vibe around them, as if they came from a civilization totally unknown to Adora.

There was audio this time, too, but it was extremely clunky and full of static, as if the recording had been compromised. Adora was panting, unable to breathe normally, but she obliged herself not to run away. She needed to know what else there was.

“The research is clear. Our sector should end right now if we were to stop climate change from happening,” one man said.

“Exxon is not going to thwart its own profit for some fear-mongering material,” another snapped, annoyed.

“We are slowly modifying and killing life on this Planet and all you want to do is go ahead with it? Just bury everything and pretend it’s not happening? This is gonna end badly.”

She didn’t know what they were talking about. She couldn’t inquire. But a voice in her head couldn’t stop muttering. It’s the same old story, dearie. Wicked people destroy what they can’t control.

Not so long afterwards, as a member of the newly formed Princesses’ Alliance and as an enemy of the Horde, she would have wondered. If she was a former Horde soldier and a First One in blood, was that bound to make a destroyer of world out of her? Or was her heritage the exact reason why she could make up and build a better world?

AO3 Link

Ask me something for the Minific Meme!

[ryodan]

I was wondering what interested you about your religion enough to convert to it,I'm sorry if This is to personal a question,and I hope I haven't offended you.(I myself am not religious)

I am fine with personal questions, anon, so it’s okay. Well to be honest with you it was a lot of things that drew me to Islam. First off, I’d like to say that I’ve always been a very logical person. I like clear cut, direct facts, and that’s why I’m a physics student haha. When I was first in my ‘religion search phase’, most of the ones I had come across were based off spirituality and all these lovely things that I personally couldn’t find a religion in as they seemed more like an ideology than a religion to follow. I gave Judaism some thought, but although I have come to have a soft spot for their familial values, It wasn’t enough for me to convert. As for Christianity, and I know a lot of Christians say this chapter is allegorical, but I was ready to rule it out by the first chapter of the book of genesis. As I said as a person who likes facts, reading something like the Earth and plants were created first and then the sun was a bit too far fetched to commit to. I did continue reading, and searching, but that only made me shy away from it further. I think the quote i’d use her is ‘so you began to follow a religion and called it “love” in disguise because love can be good but love can be blind’. The worshiping of Jesus is also a man made invention so again, Christianity is a religion I heavily shy away from. When I came to read the Quran (I am half arab so I started reading it in Arabic, altho it was very hard at times, it is the only way to see its beauty, none arab Muslims get shown this beauty by either going through the steep road of learning Arabic, or us Arab speakers doing our prophet given duty of teaching the message of God to humanity when they ask to ofc) I think I was really surprised by how phonic and beautifully strung it is. The internal rhythm, the rhyming that lasted an entire chapter, the words were always strong, never even remotely colloquial, and I always still say the book you truly feel the power of a God from is the Quran, in fact in the shortest chapter of the quran there are 11 linguistic devices used in 3 words, including a prophecy that came true. And that is not even a new concept to the Quran, the language of it in itself is a miracle, there is a nice example of this in a lecture i quite like https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84Z25CLXE1w. And a good chapter showing how phonic it is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WvHMNuhH3Y   I also really appreciated how even if the words were incredibly poetic, it was still a very direct book. I liked the morals behind it. Equity, freedom of thought, justice, freeing of slaves, kindness, compassion, pity, tolerance, brotherhood, love, it’s peaceful but it’s not pacifist, the power of God truly comes to show in the format that’s like ‘here is why you should believe, here are things you should keep in mind if you do..if you dont want to, there is no compulsion in anything, its not exactly like God who created this entire universe needs you, but if you do want to save yourself from a hell so gruesome it makes your days on earth feel like hours,then I suggest you have an open mind’. I also liked the story of creation, in the sense that it wasn’t a damnation onto Earth as in the bible, I also liked how the angels themselves predicted how humanity would act with the blood shed and corruption. Stories of prophets even though had their fair share of glittery miracles, were still logical. For example: Jesus’s birth in the Quran is a lot less fun than in the bible, there are no mangers or Josephs or singing angels, it’s a woman in hard labor, in the middle of the desert screaming in agony, at some point even hoping she would just die instead of face all of this pain and probable future humiliation on her own, until God comforts in a miracle her through her own child, and surprisingly it feels a whole lot more authentic and touching than a singing angel. I personally prefer this to be the first miracle rather than water to wine one haha ‘So she conceived him, and she withdrew with him to a remote place.And the pains of childbirth drove her to the trunk of a palm tree. She said, “Oh, I wish I had died before this and was in oblivion, forgotten.” But he called her from below her, “Do not grieve; your Lord has provided beneath you a stream. And shake toward you the trunk of the palm tree; it will drop upon you ripe, fresh dates.So eat and drink and be contented. And if you see from among humanity anyone, say, ‘Indeed, I have vowed to the Most Merciful abstention, so I will not speak today to [any] man.’ ”Then she brought him to her people, carrying him. They said, “O Mary, you have certainly done a thing unprecedented.O sister of Aaron, your father was not a man of evil, nor was your mother unchaste.”So she pointed to him. They said, “How can we speak to one who is in the cradle a child?”[Jesus] said, “Indeed, I am the servant of God . He has given me the Scripture and made me a prophet. And He has made me blessed wherever I am and has enjoined upon me prayer and charity as long as I remain alive And [made me] dutiful to my mother, and He has not made me a wretched tyrant.And peace is on me the day I was born and the day I will die and the day I am raised alive.”

Okay, so if there are so many miracles which seem outside the scope of logic, and you are a person of science how did you convert? I think the actual time where I started crying realizing I was already a Muslim was when I was reading the verse ‘And the heaven We constructed with strength, and indeed, We are [its] expander.‘. The Quran is full of science that in no way shape or form was known to the 7th century arabians living in a desert. From the expansion of the universe, to the embryonic development, to the orbit of the planets, to the reflection of light and to the finger prints we have. There is a video mentioning most of the scientific miracles of the Quran here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7d16CpWp-ok&t=304s. It also predicted battle outcomes after the prophets death, and identified points in the land that were yet to be known to humanity and then it hit me that all of this was revealed to man 1400 years ago,to a man who could not read or write but would just recite what he was told. That was when I fell in love with not only the merciful God of islam (who said when he first created the universe he decreed upon himself that his mercy precedes his anger) but truly the greatest man to have walked this earth Mohammed Ibnu Abdullah. If I were to explain this mans appeal, and how strong his message was I’d use his followers to vouch for it, The first muslims were tortured severely, and the first martyr in Islam was  a woman named Sumayah, who was stabbed in her privates,spat on, and murdered but she still would not go back on her faith no matter what they did to her. Another story of a companion,a black slave called Bilal Ibn Rabah who was forced to labor with a sizzling hot rock on his back, as well as whipped and yet proclaimed ‘ahad, ahad’ ‘one God, one God’ to the pagans of Arabia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49SpfNxy4_8 

what drew them individually to Islam was (at first) the man who’s message demanded for womens rights at a time were women were buried alive, and demanded rights for black people saying that there is no difference between a black man and a white man except by righteousness and good action. He was soft and lenient, but still a respected leader. A man who he didnt even let animal rights out of his sight, forbidding his followers from even showing the cattle the knife when you slay it to eat it as not to scare it ‘you have no right to kill the animal twice’, a man who entered the city that tortured him, threw him out with his head hung low saying ‘today is the day of forgiveness’ , a man who walked through a city that stoned him until his shoe was filed with his blood yet harbored no ill feelings to the people, saying there might be a future believer among them, a man who just as God stated is ‘a mercy to all of man kind’ Here is a series about him https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=al8VKtn3ilI and a slam poem about terrorists tainting his name https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQVMdh6d3h0

Reading his stories, his sayings and the book of God that he recited made me whole heartedly believe in this religion. Islam brings me ease of mind, I love it more and more the more I read and search into it (i recommend the blog @partytilfajr for clearing up any questions you might have and I can help in any way too), it makes reasonable and scientific sense and yet it is such a beautiful miraculous message. It mixes ideology and faith, but still encourages free thinking and freedom and I am proud to say I have submitted my will to God and I bear witness that there is only one God and Mohammed is his final messenger 😊 

To my past atheist self I say

He Was The Creator of the Universe, for all we know even Moreand So Whatif we can’t see him, i mean what you acting like our universe is smalli mean there still so much we’re still yet to explorei mean there’s still so many things as human beings we still haven’tseentouchedheardor sawi mean our eyes can’t even handle the sight of the Sunso how can we possibly handle the sight of our Lord

[crimethinc]

“Solidarity with the Police”: Debunking Excuses for State Violence in Hamburg

When the government concentrates 20,000 police in a city to violently suppress protest and people respond by defending themselves, it takes a real fascist to argue that the problem is “left extremism.” Yet this is precisely the kind of opportunism we are seeing from politicians and pundits in response to the G20 protests in Hamburg. The strategy here is simple: spread fear, terrorize the general population, and if anyone dares to resist, use that as a pretext to demand even more violent repression. Everyone who was in Hamburg knows the police struck first, carrying out unprovoked attacks nearly a week before the summit began.

(Deutsche Version unten.)

Policing at the G20: rhetoric vs. reality.

Sure, some anarchists and other opponents of totalitarianism traveled from outside Hamburg to support local organizing against the G20 summit. Many people considered it unjust that the summit was being forced on a city that didn’t want it��a typical example of how the policies of the G20 are forced on unwilling populations. And after seeing the kind of policing that took place during the G20, who could fault anyone for wanting to show solidarity to the residents of Hamburg?

But—could a thousand “left extremists” armed only with the paving stones beneath their feet have defeated 20,000 police dressed head to toe in body armor and equipped with water cannons? Of course not. It took tens of thousands of people to beat back the police—and a large number of them were Hamburg locals, not “left extremists” at all. Even if some people did come to the protests with the intention of breaking things and acting unruly, the situation only went so far because so many “ordinary people” got involved.

Police were intent on picking fights in Hamburg from the very beginning.

Many of the people who participated in the clashes in Hamburg did not start the G20 as avowed enemies of the police. It was only after they saw the violence and poor sportsmanship of the police on Thursday, July 6 that they realized they had to take a side. That’s why the resistance was so much stronger on Friday, July 7, the second night of confrontations. By Saturday night, at the end of July 8, almost all of the activists had left the streets, leaving only locals who had been drawn into the conflict over the preceding 48 hours.

Despite this, politicians, corporate media, and far-right nationalists are trying to use the reaction provoked by this heavy-handed police repression to justify it retroactively. Olaf Scholz, the mayor of Hamburg, has gone so far as to deny that there was any police violence in Hamburg at all. They are lying to you outright: cynically, they are assuming that you will believe anything they tell you. For example, everyone who was in the Schanze neighborhood on the night of July 7 when the police were forced out for a few hours knows that it was much safer inside the barricades than it was in the parts of the city where the police were still attacking people. Paramedics report that when the police finally reentered the district, they stormed spaces where injured people were being given medical care, threatening to shoot both caregivers and injured.

When politicians and corporate media say “violence,” they don’t mean police threatening to shoot people. They don’t mean tear gas grenades, water cannons, batons, phalanx charges, or punching arrestees. They don’t even mean police pepper-spraying reporters. They only mean the things people did in response, like building improvised barricades and using projectiles to keep police away from demonstrators.

An advertisement thanking the police and comparing demonstrators against the G20 to the Islamic State and the NSU, a German Nazi terrorist group.

In the same spirit, the conservative newspaper Bild called the police “heroes” for the dubious public service of violently attacking people in return for a paycheck—and urged readers to show “solidarity with the police.”

Solidarity with the police! Grab a stick and hit yourself over the head! Open a fire hydrant, stick your face in it, and water-cannon yourself! Take a hot pepper and stick it in your eye! Shut down the streets of your neighborhood and trap your neighbors in their homes—and charge them money for it! Then give yourself a medal for being such a good citizen!

Bild directed people to a fund supporting the officers who were in Hamburg. It’s not enough that your taxes already go to pay for these thugs to run around beating and gassing people—apparently they deserve even more of your money. Maybe someone should organize “Solidarity with the G20 Leaders” too, so we can all give Donald Trump additional donations out of our own pockets? Surely the billionaires and the cops who serve them won’t have enough money until every single officer can drive around in a water cannon of his own, dousing the world in pepper spray!

Elsewhere in Bild, we learn that nearly 500 policemen were injured during the G20. This is pure mendacity: it came out immediately after that the number was only 231 officers, only 21 of whom couldn’t continue performing their duties. This statistic includes 130 officers from Hessen who exposed themselves to their own gas. We are supposed to feel sympathy for officers who hurt themselves with the same weapon they were inflicting on everyone else, even though they were the only ones with taxpayer-funded protective gear.

As for the 101 officers not included in the Hessen group—have you ever heard of offensive injuries? It would be interesting to learn how many of the 101 injured officers hurt themselves while punching, beating, or chasing demonstrators—and how many of them were injured by “friendly fire” from other police officers. And again, they were all protected by many thousands of euros worth of body armor, unlike the victims of their attacks.

In any case, if it’s so dangerous to run around gassing and brutalizing a mostly unarmed population, perhaps the answer is—don’t. If the authorities really cared about these officers, they wouldn’t make them beat up civilians in the first place.

The same dishonest Bild article interviews an officer who says he slept less than an hour for two nights during the G20 protests. The wonder is that any of these officers ever can sleep! If the rest of us sold ourselves as mercenaries to beat and humiliate civilians, our consciences would keep us up all night, every night.

Here we see the torturer expecting sympathy for a hangnail while he tightens the thumbscrews—the Grand Inquisitor complaining that he has burned his finger while setting fire to a witch. Sure, it’s hard work being an asshole to people all the time—but you don’t have to do it.

In Vienna, fascists defaced an anti-racist poster: “Stop Left fascism! Hamburg is a warning!”

The fact is, though, that the world of the G20 would not be possible without violence like this. You can’t force an extremely unpopular order on people without tear gas and water cannons. The police violence in Hamburg shows that Merkel and Macron do not really represent an alternative to Trump, Putin, and Erdogan. All of them rely on the same police tactics, the same exertion of brute force. The experience on the receiving end of each of their governments is increasingly identical: escalating surveillance, control, and brutality.

So the question is: when you see storm troopers assaulting people, do you identify with the storm troopers or the people? This is the most fundamental political question of the 21st century. On one side, this question gathers together politicians and pundits of all stripes alongside policemen and outright fascists. On the other, it gathers anarchists, rebels, and ordinary people who don’t wish to see tyranny in the streets.

The lines are drawn.

“Fenster klirren und ihr schreit. Menschen sterben und ihr schweigt!”

Windows break and you cry. People die and you remain silent!

Just like Trump, Erdogan, Putin, and Macron, Merkel’s power rests on a foundation of police violence. Here, we see her thanking the police for their conduct during the G20.

Thanks to our comrades in Unicorn Riot for some of the above footage.

„Solidarität mit der Polizei“

Über die Ausreden, die die Polizeigewalt in Hamburg legitimieren sollen.

[Video und Fotos findet ihr weiter oben im Text.]

Wenn die Regierung 20.000 Polizist_innen in einer Stadt versammelt, um Demonstrationen mit Gewalt zu unterdrücken und die Menschen sich in Reaktion darauf verteidigen, braucht es schon eine ordentlich faschistoide Grundhaltung, um zu argumentieren, dass das Problem der „Linksextremismus“ ist. Dies ist schierer Opportunismus. Die verwendete Strategie ist einfach: verbreite Angst, terrorisiere die Bev��lkerung und wenn es jemand wagt Widerstand zu leisten, dann verwende dies als einen Vorwand, um noch mehr gewalttätige Repression zu fordern. Jede_r, die/der in Hamburg war, weiß, dass es die Polizei war, die zuerst zugeschlagen hat, als sie fast eine Woche vor Beginn des G20-Gipfels grundlos Übergriffe durchführte.

Sicher, einige Anarchist_innen und andere Gegner_innen des Totalitarismus waren von außerhalb angereist, um die lokalen Vorbereitungen gegen den G20-Gipfel zu unterstützen. Viele Menschen betrachteten es als ungerecht, dass der Gipfel einer Stadt aufgezwungen wurde, die ihn nicht wollte – ein typisches Beispiel dafür, wie das Regelwerk der G20 unwilligen Bevölkerungen aufgezwungen wird. Und nachdem mensch die Polizeiarbeit während des G20 sehen konnte, wer könnte es jemandem übel nehmen, Solidarität mit den Bewohner_innen Hamburgs zeigen zu wollen?

Aber – hätten tausend „Linksextremisten“, bewaffnet mit nichts als den Steinen unter ihren Füßen, 20.000 von Kopf bis Fuß gepanzerte und mit Wasserwerfern ausgerüstete Polizist_innen besiegen können? Selbstverständlich nicht. Es brauchte zehntausende von Menschen, um die Polizei zurückzudrängen – und eine große Anzahl von ihnen waren Hamburger Bürger_innen, und keine „Linksextremisten“. Auch wenn einige Menschen mit der Absicht zu den Demonstrationen gekommen waren Dinge zu zerstören, konnte sich die Lage nur so weit zuspitzen, weil so viele „normale Menschen“ mitgemacht haben.

Viele der Menschen, die an den Kämpfen in Hamburg teilgenommen haben, sind nicht als erklärte Gegner_innen der Polizei zum G20 gekommen. Erst als sie die Gewalt und das unfaire Verhalten der Polizei am Donnerstag, den 6 Juli sahen, verstanden sie, dass sie sich für eine Seite entscheiden mussten. Deshalb war der Widerstand am Freitag, den 7. Juli, in der zweiten Nacht der Zusammenstöße so viel stärker. Samstag Nacht, am Ende des 8. Juli, hatten die meisten Aktivist_innen bereits die Straßen verlassen und nur die Hamburger_innen, die in den vorangegangenen 48 Stunden in den Konflikt gezogen worden waren, blieben noch übrig.

Trotz all dessen versuchen Politiker_innen, Mainstreammedien und Rechtspopulisten die Reaktionen, die durch die unbarmherzige polizeiliche Repression hervorgerufen wurden, zu verwenden, um eben diese Repression im Nachhinein zu rechtfertigen. Der Bürgermeister Hamburgs Olaf Scholz ging sogar so weit zu behaupten, dass es keine Polizeigewalt gegeben habe. Sie lügen dich unverblümt an: zynischer weise gehen sie davon aus, dass du nicht in Hamburg warst und dass du alles glauben wirst, was sie dir erzählen. Zum Beispiel wissen alle, die in der Nacht des 7. Juli im Schanzenviertel waren, als die Polizei für ein paar Stunden aus dem Viertel gedrängt wurde, dass es innerhalb der Barrikaden viel sicherer war als in den Stadtteilen, in denen die Polizei weiterhin Menschen angegriffen hat. Als die Polizei zurück in das Viertel kam, berichten Sanitäter_innen davon, dass sie und die Verletzen, die sie gerade in einem Haus versorgten, mit scharfen Waffen bedroht wurden. Nichtsdestotrotz: wenn Politiker_innen und Mainstreammedien von „Gewalt“ sprechen, meinen sie damit nicht Polizisten die drohen Leute zu erschießen. Sie meinen auch nicht Tränengasgranaten, Wasserwerfer, Pfefferspray, Polizeikessel oder Polizist_innen, die Gefangene schlagen. Sie meinen die Reaktionen der Menschen auf diese Dinge.

In diesem Sinne nannte die konservative Bild die Polizei „Helden“, um ihren fragwürdigen öffentlichen Dienst zu würdigen, bei dem sie jeden Befehl, Menschen brutal anzugreifen, ausführten, um ihr Gehalt zu erhalten – und forderte ihre Leser_innen dazu auf „Solidarität mit der Polizei“ zu zeigen.

Solidarität mit der Polizei! Nimm einen Knüppel und verprügle dich selbst! Öffne einen Hydrant, halte dein Gesicht rein und spiele Wasserwerfer! Nimm scharfes Chili und reibe es dir ins Auge! Lege die Straßen in deiner Nachbarschaft still, halte deine Nachbar_innen in ihren Häusern gefangen – und verlange dafür Geld! Und dann überreiche dir selbst eine Medaille dafür, dass du so ein guter Bürger bist!

Die Bild animierte ihre Leser_innen dazu Geld für die Polizei zu sammeln. Es scheint also nicht ausreichend zu sein, dass diese Schläger, die herum rennen und Leute schlagen und einpfeffern, bereits von deinen Steuern bezahlt werden – nein, sie verdienen anscheinend sogar noch mehr Geld. Vielleicht sollte noch wer eine Solidaritätskampagne mit den G20 AnführerInnen organisieren, damit wir alle Donald Trump noch ein bisschen extra Geld aus unserer eigenen Tasche geben können? Sicher werden die Milliardäre und die ihnen dienenden Polizisten nicht genug Geld haben, bis jeder einzelne Cop in seinem eigenen Wasserwerfer durch die Gegend fahren und die Welt in Pfefferspray einnebeln kann.

An anderer Stelle in der Bild erfahren wir, dass fast 500 Polizist_innen während des G20 verletzt wurden. Das ist eine reine Lüge: relativ schnell kam heraus, dass es sich nur um 231 verletzte Polizist_innen handelte, von denen nur 21 nicht direkt wieder ihre Pflicht ausüben konnten. In dieser Statistik sind zudem 130 Polizisten aus Hessen enthalten, die in ihr eigenes Gas rannten. Es wird nun Mitgefühl von uns erwartet für Polizisten, die sich mit den selben Waffen verletzen, die sie gegen alle anderen anwenden, wobei sie die einzigen sind, die staatlich bezahlte Schutzkleidung dagegen trugen!

Was ist mit den anderen 101 verletzten Polizist_innen? Es wäre spannend zu erfahren wie viele davon sich selbst beim Schlagen, Treten oder auf der Jagd nach Demonstrant_innen verletzt haben – und wie viele von denen durch „friendly fire“ ihrer Kollegen verletzt wurden. Und nochmal: dabei waren sie alle durch eine mehrere tausend Euro teure Ausrüstung geschützt, im Gegensatz zu den Opfern ihrer Angriffe.

In jedem Fall – wenn es so gefährlich ist, herum zu rennen und eine größtenteils unbewaffnete Bevölkerung brutal einzupfeffern und einzuschüchtern, dann wäre es vielleicht besser es einfach bleiben zu lassen. Wenn die Autoritäten wirklich um das Wohlergehen ihrer Beamten besorgt wären, dann hätten sie sie vielleicht nicht dazu bringen sollen die Zivilbevölkerung zusammen zuschlagen.

Die selbe verlogene Bild interviewt einen Polizisten, der angibt während der G20 Proteste nur eine Stunde in zwei Nächten geschlafen zu haben. Das wirklich verwunderliche daran ist, dass überhaupt einer dieser Polizisten je schlafen kann! Wenn sich irgendeine_r von uns als Söldner_in verkaufen würde und dann die Zivilbevölkerung schlagen und demütigen müsste, würde unser Gewissen dafür sorgen, dass wir kein Auge mehr zu kriegen, in keiner Nacht.

Wir können hier die Folterknechte dabei beobachten wie sie Sympathien für einen Nietnagel beim zuschrauben der Daumenschraube erwarten – den großen Inquisitor, der sich darüber beschwert sich beim Anzünden einer Hexe den Finger verbrannt zu haben. Sicherlich ist es ein harter Job, wenn mensch die ganze Zeit ein Arschloch zu allen sein muss – aber niemand muss Bulle sein.

Es steht fest, dass die Welt der G20 ohne Gewalt wie diese gar nicht erst möglich wäre. Es lässt sich keine äußerst unpopuläre Ordnung ohne Tränengas und Wasserwerfer aufzwingen. Die Polizeigewalt in Hamburg hat gezeigt, dass Merkel und Macron keine wirkliche Alternative zu Trump, Putin und Erdogan darstellen. Sie alle verlassen sich auf die selben Polizeitaktiken, auf die Ausübung brutaler Gewalt. Die Erfahrungen auf der Empfängerseite ihrer Regierungen werden immer identischer: steigende Überwachung, Kontrolle und Brutalität.

Also – wenn du siehst wie Sturmtruppen Menschen verletzen, identifizierst du dich dann mit den Sturmtruppen oder den Menschen? Dies ist eine der wesentlichen politischen Fragen des 21. Jahrhunderts. Auf der einen Seite versammelt diese Frage Politiker_innen und Expert_innen aller Richtungen, zusammen mit Polizisten und erklärten FaschistInnen. Auf der anderen Seite versammelt sie Anarchist_innen, Rebellen und gewöhnliche Menschen, die die Tyrannei auf der Straße ablehnen.

Die Fronten sind klar.

“Fenster klirren und ihr schreit, Menschen sterben und ihr schweigt!”

[msbigredmachine]

Into The Deep End - Chapter 37

Sasha has always tried to play it safe, to keep her life as simple and risk-free as possible. Things change, however, when she garners the interest of a handsome, charming, younger man from a completely different world than hers. As she starts to question her own rules, is she ready to take the biggest chance of them all? Will she let herself take that dive? Roman Reigns/OC.

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CHAPTER 36

Opening his front door, Joe was greeted with a bouncing Mia, her smile as big as her afro.

"Hi Joe!"

"Hey little lady," he said cheerfully, "Where have you been? Mama's been hiding you away, huh?"

Sasha laughed at the statement as T.K. gave Joe a quick fist bump before sweeping into the living room and making a beeline for the home entertainment system. It was the weekend and the kids insisted on coming to visit, their first since Joe's injury. She watched with raised eyebrows as her daughter and her boyfriend did this little handshake thing, complete with sound effects, that she'd never seen before. "When the hell did you come up with that?"

"A long time ago, Mama," Mia beamed. "It's top secret."

"Yeah, for club members only. And you're not allowed in our little club," Joe winked.

"Oh, I'ma club you right now," Sasha took a playful swing at him, laughing when he ducked and retreated into the kitchen. "Where's your mama at?" she asked, following him. "You said she took you to your appointment."

"She went grocery shopping. She should be back soon. Can't wait to eat white rice again," Joe grinned as he shoved a bag of popcorn into the microwave.

"Oh snap! You got the new Call of Duty, Joe?" T.K. called excitedly from the living room. "It's not supposed to be out until next week!"

"Main roster perks, my man," replied Joe.

"Oh man! Come on. Let's play."

"You sure you can take on me? 'Cuz I'm gonna kick your butt," Joe gloated.

"Yeah right," T.K. scoffed. "Bring it!"

"Be there in five. Prepare to beg for mercy," the Samoan continued to talk smack, smiling at Sasha shaking her head and muttering 'boys'.

"When Mom comes back are you gonna take off again?" Joe gave Sasha a pointed look, rolling his eyes when her expression became uncomfortable. "And they call me the baby."

Sasha withdrew a bottle of soda from the refrigerator and retrieved two glass cups. She looked for her daughter, the little girl circling the pool table in the corner of the room. "Mia! Come take this for you and your brother." She'd asked about Patricia only out of obligation. Joe's recovery process had caused the two women's paths to cross again, and though they were civil, they said very little to each other as their unpleasant confrontation in Pensacola still hung over both their heads. If either wanted to apologize, neither seemed to want to take the first step.

Joe leaned against the counter, his muscular arms crossed. "You two are going to have to clear the air soon, y'know. This walking on eggshells thing ain't cuttin' it."

"We'll figure it out," said Sasha, her tone uncertain, however, "We women have our way of handling things."

"If you mean being completely awkward around each other, then yeah, definitely 'your way of handling things'," Joe quipped, tipping the popcorn into a glass bowl before going to the living room to join T.K. The two boys played video games in the living room while Mia watched from the sofa behind them.

The front door opened, and Patricia shuffled into the house armed with big bags. "Leati, where are you? I need some help with..." She stopped short at the sight of the new faces in the living room. "Oh. I didn't know you had guests."

Joe smiled and approached his mother. "Hey Mom. Any more stuff in the car?"

"A few. If you could fetch them I'd appreciate it," she said. As Joe went outside, T.K. came over. "Let me help you with those, ma'am," he offered, retrieving the bags from her.

"Why thank you, young man." She smiled graciously at him, and then down at Mia who had also wandered over. "And who might you be?"

Sasha put an arm around T.K. "Patricia, this is my son Tyson and my daughter Mia." She introduced them proudly. "Kids, this is Miss Patricia, Joe's mama."

Another pleasant smile lit up Patricia's face. "Hello. It's nice to meet you both."

Mia's head tilted to the side, her eyes filled with awe. "You're very pretty, Miss Patricia."

Patricia's smile widened, visibly taken aback by the unexpected statement. "You sweet child. You'll make an old woman blush."

Sasha couldn't help but smile proudly. Her little girl always knew how to turn on the charm. If she had her way she would win Patricia over in no time.

Joe returned with the rest of the bags and T.K. helped him take them into the kitchen. As Joe disappeared to retrieve something from his room, Sasha watched his mother sort out the food items on the kitchen countertop. "We'll be gone soon. The kids just wanted to hang out with Joe," she said.

Patricia raised an eyebrow. "What's the hurry?"

"Come again?"

"Do you have somewhere urgent to be?" the older woman asked, and Sasha shook her head. "The kids came to hang out with Joe, yes?" Sasha nodded. "So let them hang out. Stay a while. Besides, I'm making lunch."

Sasha stared at her. "Are you sure?"

Patricia smiled. "Of course. Mia, darling, would you like to help me out?"

"Yes, Miss Patricia!" Mia bounded over to Patricia's side, and Sasha looked on, at a loss for words. Deciding to let them be, she quietly slipped away in search of her boyfriend, overhearing Patricia asking Mia to tell her about herself as she made her way upstairs. She found Joe in his bedroom changing into a cleaner t-shirt. "Your mom's being nice to me. I'm scared!" she blurted out, chewing on her lip.

"Isn't that a good thing?" he questioned, snickering at the distrustful expression on his girlfriend's face. "Believe it or not babe, my mama ain't as vindictive as you think she is. Relax."

That remained to be seen, but she kept those thoughts to herself. Suddenly craving her man's warmth and closeness, she walked up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. Joe hugged her back, pursed his lips against her forehead. "You okay, beautiful?"

"I'm fine, handsome," she answered, going quiet for a moment. "You've been a good boy lately. I would say thanks but I think I'd rather show my appreciation." She looked up at him, her gaze loaded with want.

Joe stared back, his grey eyes brightening. "What do you have in mind?"

She didn't answer, merely giving him a sly smile. Gripping his hand, she stepped backwards into the bathroom, tugging him along with her. Kicking the door shut, she backed him up against it and gave him a sensual, passionate kiss that dazed the Samoan. "Wow..." he breathed. His girl was already a great kisser, but that lip lock just short-circuited his brains.

She placed her finger on his lips. "Shh. No talking. Let me take care of you." Again she kissed him, her hands sliding down his body, and he moaned into her mouth as she reached down to rub his crotch through his sweatpants. "Mmm, you're so big, baby. I want it," she whispered.

"Take it," he replied, "You know it's all yours, doll."

Sasha smiled at his words, biting her lip seductively. There was a conspiratorial expression, a mischievous twinkle in her eye that Joe liked. A lot. It usually meant that very good, very pleasurable things were coming his way.

To Sasha, Joe's bathroom was an absolute dream. Beautiful, modern and spacious, it was almost as big as her entire apartment and provided plenty room to experiment, which they'd done on a few occasions before. Right now though, since they had visitors downstairs and he couldn't have sex yet, she needed the quickest, most satisfying route for him, and decided to go with a classic.

"Step out of your pants and take a seat, baby," she instructed.

He did as she asked, shutting the toilet seat and sitting on it. She stood between his parted legs and bent at the waist, pressing her mouth to his once again, with Joe running his hands up her thighs and cupping her ass. She smiled at his groan of protest when she pulled her lips from his, the hitch of his breath and his darkened irises when she sank slowly to her knees in front of him. Lifting his shirt, her eyes fell upon the horizontal incision just above his most private area, the scar from his recent surgery. She placed a small kiss upon it before moving on to his boxers, stretching the elastic until she revealed his hard, thick erection resting on his stomach. Spreading his thighs further apart, she dipped her head and pushed his dick towards him with her mouth, running her tongue from the base all the way up to the tip, dragging a lustful hiss from his lips in the process. She kept at it, her tongue warm and teasing, the act made only more maddening when she refused to touch him. It was torture, pure torture for Joe, and he nearly wept with joy when she finally grasped him and took him into the warm confines of her mouth. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he leaned further back, his hazy stare fixated on his girlfriend. Gripping him in her fist, she tilted her head and sucked him up and down, like a Popsicle, leaving wet trails of saliva along his swollen length.

"Shit baby, that feels fuckin' amazing," he grunted, gripping her hair tightly, watching her lips pull and slide along his erection. Her eyes were on him, and she made little sounds, like she was pleased to be pleasing him. Swearing softly, he closed his eyes again. He couldn't see her and feel her, it was too much. His mind was empty save for the feel of her hot mouth bobbing on his rock-hard dick, the slick slide of her tongue over his flesh, her hand stroking him from base to head. Also, the fact that someone could walk in on them at that very moment made the whole thing even hotter to him. He wanted it to never end even though he was seconds away from exploding. When she took him all the way inside her mouth and sucked hard, what few coherent thoughts he had left were replaced by electric currents jolting his entire body. "Fuck!" he bellowed, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. "Oh my god..."

He was getting closer, she could tell. He grew harder in her grip and his breaths were shallow and erratic. Staring up at his handsome features, scrunched in painful pleasure, she twisted her hand around his dick repeatedly, smiling when he moaned loudly in reaction. "Come on big boy," she purred, pulling at his testicles with her free hand. "Bring it home, handsome. Come for me." And licking the length of him one more time, she swallowed him again.

Rendered speechless, Joe's head fell back once more, his breathing speeding up as the sensation in his belly intensified. Another suction of her mouth and a gentle squeeze of his tightened balls set him off. The sound he made as his hot seed gushed forth came from the deepest trenches of his being, expelled in the most powerful sensation he'd ever experienced. Vaguely, he heard Sasha's moan, felt the continuous tugging on his length as she swallowed him to the last drop. Joe stared up dazedly at the ceiling, breathing hard, his big frame slack and helpless as he recovered from the intense orgasm. "Fuck, baby girl...Wow."

Sasha finished up with a self-satisfied grin, ensuring she licked him clean. As he caught his breath, Joe looked down at her, his vision still blurry with pleasure. She started to stand up, but was stopped when he grabbed her hand, tugged her astride his lap and kissed her long and profoundly. Unlike most guys he had zero qualms tasting himself in his girl's mouth. "I needed that. Thanks."

"Anything for you, baby," she answered before getting back up and smoothing her hair back into place. "Now come on, before your mama starts wonderin’ where we are."

Together they descended down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Patricia was pulling out a long baking dish from the oven. "Nice to see you two finally join us," she spoke, shooting them both a knowing glance. Sasha hid her face in shame against Joe's back, discreetly smacking his arm when he chuckled.

Lunch was delicious, a beef casserole that made Sasha consider shelving her pride and asking Patricia for the recipe. The kids politely thanked Patricia for the meal and helped her clean up before returning to the living room with Joe, leaving the mothers at the kitchen. Sasha followed the older woman's gaze, set on the three figures in the living room. "You have beautiful children," Patricia spoke softly. "So well-mannered and polite. Mia is a precious little angel."

Sasha cleared her throat. "Thanks."

Uncomfortable silence fell between the two women, both staring awkwardly at the other. Then, with a deep sigh, Joe's mother broke the ice. "I should have apologized to you sooner, Sasha. I said some caustic things."

As much as she didn't want to admit it, that day still hit a raw nerve. "You were being protective of your son. I understand."

"I could have made my point without being rude," said Patricia, "I had no right to pass judgment and you had every right to be angry with me."

Sasha shrugged. "I'm getting used to it. Time and again I've been made to feel like I should apologize for not being rich and for having kids out of wedlock, and now for being older than your son. People have tried to make me feel bad for as long as I can remember. But I won't apologize because I've done nothing wrong. I know who I am and what I stand for. I know how hard I work and I've never needed anyone to provide for me, and Joe knows that too."

"I know he does." Patricia paused, staring thoughtfully at the younger woman. Admittedly, she admired her fire and confidence, how she never let anyone disrespect her. Those qualities were rare among women of today, sadly. "I've watched you with him this injury period. You two remind me of me and his father whenever he was out of action. He would throw tantrums and be rude and obnoxious, but I'd suck it up. Because he needed me and honestly, I was simply head over heels in love with that man." She chuckled quietly as she reminisced. "I know Leati's the same. I'll be honest with you, I'm surprised you kept coming back. Dealing with a wrestler is never easy, injured and otherwise."

Sasha tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "He needed me."

"That, and you're head over heels in love with him. Otherwise you wouldn't have stayed." Patricia's smile was gentle as she held her counterpart's gaze. It wasn't a forceful statement, and the soft acceptance with which it was spoken caused Sasha's eyes to water. Was she finally convinced of her feelings for her son?

"And he loves you too," she continued. "Women have come and gone from his life but he has never looked at any of them the way he looks at you. His father still looks at me the same way, even after all these years. Leati was miserable when you two separated. That was when I knew it was for real. He's never fussed over a woman like that. And no woman has treated him the way you have. You don't see him as a god or a trophy or a meal ticket."

She glanced over at her boyfriend, still trash-talking to T.K. as they duked it out on the Xbox. "That's because he's not a god or a trophy or a meal ticket. He's a man. A good, kind-hearted, respectful man that loves his job and loves his family. And that's why I love him, Patricia. I love him so much and I would move mountains for him."

"I know that now, dear." Patricia smiled, putting her hand over Sasha's. "An old woman like me will always worry. I want to say it's not personal but we both know when it comes to family it will always be personal. All I want is for my boys and girls to be happy. Being with you makes my son happy and I accept that."

Sasha was beaming, tempted to give the woman a hug. "Thank you Patricia. Your words mean so much to me."

From the comfort of his recliner Joe looked on, a plethora of emotions stirring within him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but to see the women he loved smiling and seemingly putting what bad blood they had behind them was a great comfort and relief. Maybe now he could move forward with his plans.

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The news Joe had been awaiting for the past two months finally came. He could work out again. He couldn't return to action just yet, but it was a huge boost for him; at last he could properly kick start the process of returning to the ring. He couldn't wait to get started, and there was a particularly enjoyable workout routine that he wanted to begin with.

"So what do you want to do today?" Sasha asked as the two entered his house, having accompanied him to his appointment. He'd been grinning from ear to ear ever since they left the Doctor's, and she figured he was just happy about the progress he'd made with his rehab. He deserved it. He had worked very hard to get better.

Taking her hand, he started to pull her towards the stairs. "Nothing, other than make love to you for the rest of the day," he said.

Her eyes went wide as she let him lead her up the stairs. "Are you allowed?"

"I talked to the Doctor just before we left and he gave me the all-clear."

"Oh. That's good. You must be very glad about that."

"I am," he agreed, a look of longing in his gaze. "I'd love to keep chattin', baby girl, but it's been a long couple of weeks. I'm not going to be fit for normal conversation until after I'm buried deep inside you." There really was no sense in beating around the bush.

"Oh." She blinked, clearly bewildered, but he could also see how her eyes had darkened and her nipples had hardened through her thin blouse. His sexy little MILF wanted to fuck, too. "I guess you should get on with it then."

"Thanks," he said with a small smile as they reached the top of the stairs. He walked into his bedroom and turned to face his woman. She was giving him a flirty toss of her hair, gazing up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Sexual tension oozed between the couple. Standing in the middle of the room, Joe drew her body flush against his. He teased her with soft pecks on her cheek and jaw before sealing her mouth in a kiss that coaxed a sigh out of her. Gradually, hands started to roam, pushing and pulling and tugging, ridding the other of their clothes until they stood naked in front of each other. With one hand on her face, his other fingers skimmed up and down her spine, teasing her mouth with touches of his tongue and causing more tremors to flutter through her body. As the kiss intensified, he lifted her in his arms and her legs instantly went around his waist, her fingers tunneling in his hair as he carried her to the bed. Quickly strapping on a condom, he covered her with his body, his legs between hers. He leaned down and wrapped his lips around hers, both moaning as his tongue slid in and out of her mouth as they kissed. He ran his right hand up her left arm and linked their fingers, resting them next to her head. Sasha planted the bottom of her foot on his leg, rubbing it up and down his calf as she thrummed the fingertips of her free hand along his back.

"You are so fuckin’ beautiful," Joe murmured against her lips, the smooth baritone of his voice never failing to kindle a fire in Sasha's soul.

"You make me feel beautiful," she whispered back. Uttering a low groan of appreciation, he deposited small kisses along her throat down to her breasts, swiping his tongue over one nipple before scooping the hard bud into his mouth. "Man, I've missed your titties," he said, molding the other full, fleshy mound in his palm. "My titties," he corrected, ash-colored eyes flicking to hers as he suckled her breast.

Sasha's body was about to explode. " Baby please...Gimme that big dick," she rasped.

He could never deny his lady a request. His mouth left her nipple with an audible pop, having had his fill of her succulent bosom – for now. He kissed her again and sucked her bottom lip, groaning when her tongue slid between his lips. Sasha felt his hand on her lower back lifting her hips off the bed, and she gasped as he invaded her walls, one delightful inch at a time, until he was buried as far as he could go. "Oh, fuck." 

It had been way too long, being inside her like this. He cradled her head in his muscular arms, his massive body cocooning hers, then started to move in and out of her, kissing her the whole time. She caressed his back and shoulders and hitched her legs higher up around his body. He moved tortuously slowly, whispering how much he loved her, how good it felt to be inside her again. His hips flexed forwards and back, finding her most sensitive spot with long, gliding strokes, and Sasha's gasps morphed into moans as sparks began to fly through her. Her dark eyes fluttering shut, she surrendered to sensation, to his kiss, the amazing rhythm of their joined bodies sliding together in a familiar dance that only got better with time.

Joe just about stopped breathing. Damn it, she was tight and wet and it felt so good every single time. Her body was wrapped around his, and the impassioned look in her eyes, reflecting the love and desire he felt for her, took him to another level. Unable to stop himself, he forgot about slow, about finesse, about coaxing her to her orgasm, and took her hard with urgent, desperate thrusts. Sasha moaned uncontrollably, her face tucked in his neck as she voiced her pleasure. A sharp groan left Joe's lips at the feel of her fingernails sinking into his back. Closing his hand over her ribcage, he pounded her pussy, seeking out his release, his breaths staccato and the big bed bouncing from the force of his rabid movements. Over the sound of the blood roaring in his ears he could make out Sasha's voice, wild with ecstasy as she pleaded with him to keep going, and just when he thought he couldn't hold out for much longer she came with a cry, her thighs trembling and her fingernails scraping his shoulder blades. He groaned loudly moments later with one final hard thrust, exploding in an orgasm that had him forgetting his own name. It was amazing. He could honestly say that nothing, no Superman punch or triple power-bomb ever felt as good as the moment when he pulsed inside Sasha, his whole body tense and his brain empty of anything but the way it felt to be buried deep inside her, and the look in her eyes, the look of sensual triumph and satisfaction, was the perfect reward.

After their breathing and bodies had calmed, he gathered her in his strong arms, accepting the kiss she offered him. "Sorry, got a little rough there at the end," he said bashfully.

She giggled as she searched his face. "That was great. How do you feel? You alright?" she asked.

"Hell yeah. I'm a tad rusty but with a little practice I'll be back to a hundred percent in no time." He winked at her, making her laugh.

"If that was rusty then Lord help me," she groaned, and he laughed with her before they kissed again, languidly, basking in their contentment. He eased out of her, hissing softly as he did, and strolled into his bathroom, and Sasha was happy to look on, staring at his fine derriere the whole time. She stretched lazily on the bed, finding herself to be a bit sore, but she didn't mind one bit. It was great to have sex again.

He returned to the room and climbed back into bed, hugging her tight. Tracing her fingers along his huge arm, she eyed him, noticing how intently he was watching her all of a sudden. "What?"

"What are you doing this weekend?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Nothing special. Why?"

"Come to Pensacola with me."

A couple of seconds ticked by. "What's the occasion?"

"It's my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary and they're throwing a big party. Mom asked if you could come."

"She did?" Sasha said, surprised.

"Uh-huh. We get there Thursday evening, the party is Friday night, and we'll have the rest of the weekend to ourselves." He took in her skeptical expression and willed himself not to fidget as there was every possibility that she could say no. "It's a getaway, nani, a break from all the rehabbing and me stressing you out. I know you don't have fond memories from the last time we were there but I want to change that. It's gonna be just us. No work, no rehab, no drama, nothing."

Her hair fell to the front of her face, and she tucked it back impatiently. "I'll have to check how many vacation days I got left. I am gunning for the Assistant Manager position on a permanent basis, you know."

"I know. But don't sweat it." Lying flat on his back, his eyes were half-shut and he was in a state of complete relaxation. "Reg knows how hard you work. You'll get the job."

Sasha laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," she replied, snuggling against him. "So the party...is it a formal event? Does one need to wear anything special?"

"Don't worry about what you're going to wear," said Joe. "I'll take care of it."

She stared quizzically at him. "Sounds like you've got everything planned already."

"Let's just say I'm brimming with confidence right now." He gently squeezed her hip with his hand in a further attempt to persuade her. "So how about it, Sash? Will you come?"

He stared at her with a hope and nervousness in his grey eyes that she thought was adorable. Caressing his long hair with a warm smile, she said, "Yes baby. I would love to go to Pensacola with you."

Joe grinned widely. Well hot damn, it was confirmed. They were going to be together for four straight nights with no intrusion or interruptions. The thought was almost enough to give him another erection. "We're gonna have a great time, baby girl. You'll see," he promised.

"I can't wait to see what you got planned." She leaned in and brushed his lips with hers. "More importantly, I can't wait to be alone with you."

The grin on his face had to be surgically removed. "Me too."

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

Should Sasha go?

CHAPTER 38

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

CSUAPR prt 45 update

Lance didn’t see it as running away. “Running away” suggested he could run, not simply rolling himself around in the wheelchair that Shiro insisted he use until he was safely out of sight. He hadn’t given up his baby sitting duties, not once Krolia was released from the pod, nor when Curtis was released. His friends were all being overly careful not to mention Keith’s status. A status that had only sent him into a deeper pit of depression. After a movement in the damn pod, Keith had finally been released. Lance should have been happy, his husband was released after all... only, he hadn’t woken. One quintant ticked into the next, then the next... and the next, and into a whole new movement. Keith had been left in a coma, despite being placed into a pod within vargas of the attack. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He could touch him. He could hold him, but no matter what he did, Keith wouldn’t respond. Now Lance was striking out on his own... through a series of what Keith would call “bad choices”. First came disregarding Shiro’s insistence that he rest. Keith was moved into the same room as him and Curtis, and after what had felt like a movement of hellish torment, all he’d wanted to do was curl up with his husband. At the time, no one had predicted that Keith wouldn’t rouse from his stint in the pod. Cuddling into him, Lance had been determined to be there when he woke. Then when Keith hadn’t, he’d gone slightly mad... slapping his unconscious husband hard across the face when he refused to wake up and show him those deep amethyst eyes he loved so dearly. Shiro had pulled him off, ordered him to sleep in his own bed, livid with him for his actions. That was when he started planning. Feeling guilty that his boyfriend had woken when Keith hadn’t, Lance had managed to get his comms returned to him by manipulating that guilt uncomfortably, he’d then called through to obstetrician and okayed the surgery that he hadn’t wanted when Keith was there to babysit him and keep a watch for any symptoms he may miss. Surrounded by friends and family, he shouldn’t have felt as alone in his pregnancy as he did. Without Keith to ground him, he felt lost and reckless. He had no idea what to do or what choices to make. He didn’t have the right words to make everyone around him feel better. Pity was plastered on the face of everyone who’d visited him, Zethrid and Ezor were no exception to that. No one wanted to look him in the eyes, leaving him feeling like he was a leper shunned from society. Shay has tried to perk him up by finally asking what an Earth wedding was like, that soon came to an end when Shiro shooed her off “because Lance needs his rest”. He didn’t need rest. He didn’t want rest. He didn’t want Shiro pestering him over if he wanted Coran or Miriam to come stay with him while he was confined to his hospital room. His Mami had made it very clear that she wanted him to come back to Earth while Keith lay there comatose. Veronica had explained everything to her, he could see it in her eyes as when they’d spoken. The way she paused that fraction of a tick too long as she tried not to reveal the truth of the matter to him. Everywhere he looked was another “betrayal”. None more so than his husband who refused to wake up.

“Sneaking” out the infirmary as everyone slept wasn’t easy. Shiro heard the creaking of the wheelchair when he’d climbed out of bed jolting awake mid-snore to ask where he was going, Lance smoothly lying as he stated he was going to pee. His catheter had been removed when they finally let him shower himself, and he wasn’t afraid of blood so his IV cannula was soon removed too. They were someone else’s problem. With the bathroom next to the room’s door, Shiro didn’t move from Curtis’s side as the door let out its usual soft whoosh. Kosmo’s nails clicked on the stone flooring as his fur son stayed by side. Once sure that his footsteps wouldn’t arouse suspicion, he climbed from the wheelchair only for Kosmo to growl at him until he sat down again. His wolf was a dirty rotten traitor, but he also knew how well loved he was and how to use those big puppy dog eyes on him. Rising slower, Kosmo growled again, his mouth finding Lance’s hand in an attempt to stop him

“I know. I know, Kosmo. I have to go. It’s for the sake of the twins”

Kosmo may be the dumbest wolf in the universe, but that was only when he wanted treats and pats. Lance knew he understood everything perfectly. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t react to situations he did. Whining at him, Lance ruffled the fur between his ears

“I know you don’t like it, but it needs to be done... I can’t stay here. It’s... it hurts too much. I keep waiting for your dad to wake up, but he’s left me here and I can’t go with him or to where he is... I’m not strong enough to keep watching over him like this... he won’t wake up... no matter what I do...”

Kosmo whined at him, not happy he’d left the company of the others but Lance had made up his mind. He was falling apart from the inside out. He knew he was breaking in an entirely different way and to stay would only cause troubles.

Creeping through the corridors, Lance headed to Keith’s quarters. He had clothes at the outpost, but he needed his work comm back. Shiro hadn’t let him have that one, so when Krolia had lent him her comms to show him a video of Kolivan sitting up and snoring with Korra asleep in his arms, he’d set up permission for him to take a pod and have wormhole to Erathus opened. He felt guilty betraying her, yet he’d never get off the damn planet if he hadn’t. Opening the door to Keith’s quarters, he jumped visibly as he was caught in the act. Krolia was sitting on Keith’s bed, Korra and Kolivan not there to witness his shame

“I had a funny feeling I’d be seeing you tonight”

Rubbing his stomach to hide how much Krolia had scared him, Lance stared at his baby bump, suddenly fascinated with the fabric of his plain black top

“What are you doing here?”

“I was notified you’d left the infirmary. I’m well aware of the arsenal that Keith keeps under his bed. I cannot allow you see Krystaal in your current state of mind”

Krolia thought he was going to see Krystaal? Dios knew he wanted to. He wanted to shoot the arsehole in the face, but he was smart enough to know that he couldn’t get down there to see him without everyone knowing

“Who said I wanted to see him?”

“Lance...”

Lance shot her a glare. He was tired of all this tiptoeing around

“Krolia”

“You should be resting...”

“I’m done with resting. I’m sick of that room”

“You haven’t...”

“I haven’t what, Krolia? Go on. Tell me what I haven’t done. Tell me what I don’t know. I’m done Krolia”

“Lance, Keith wouldn’t want you...”

“He wouldn’t want what?! He wouldn’t want me talking to Krystaal? He wouldn’t want me talking to the piece of shit who put him in a fucking coma?! He wouldn’t want me being treated like I’m made of glass? What am I supposed to do? He might never wake up! And none of you are treating me...”

“We’re worried about you. You were doing so well. Then you took my comms and scheduled a wormhole to Erathus. What were you going to do? Kill Krystaal? Take him hostage? He’s not talking to anyone”

Lance let out a bitter laugh, twisted with a touch of madness

“Of course this has to be about Krystaal. You couldn’t imagine it being about anyone else, could you? I was doing well? You mean I was keeping my damn mouth fucking shut and letting all of you decide everything for me. Tell him the damn truth, Krolia. Keith won’t wake up. He might never wake up. He’s as good as dead”

Flying off the bed, Krolia stormed over to him, slapping him across the face. Shocked, Lance clutched his cheek, tears welling and rushing to roll down his face

“I’m disgusted how little you believe in him”

“That sounds about right. I’ve always been disgusting. The only difference is that now you all have Keith to explain it away. Poor Lance. Who do we pass him onto now that Keith’s up and gone? We can’t leave him alone. We can’t let him make his own decisions or even let him leave the planet to see his obstetrician. No. He’s a murderer. Obviously he’s planning the murder of Krystaal! Everything has to always be about Krystaal!”

“You’re the one obsessed with Krystaal! Your medical care has been transferred here”

“You decided that! Keith knew that wasn’t what I wanted. He knew! I’m brain damaged, not stupid. I know I can’t see him. You all this in too fucking fragile too handle it! None of you trust me. I’m done with being treated like this!”

“You’re the one...”

“Don’t you dare turn this back on me because you can’t make him talk! Hack his memories. Inject him with a truth serum. Torture him! Do something fucking more than acting like you care when all you care about is the fact I’m carrying your grandchildren! Rest. You all tell me to rest because I’m pregnant. You tell me to rest because of the twins! Don’t get out of bed because it’s bad for them!”

Krolia grabbed his left wrist so hard he felt as if it was bruising immediately

“You think it’s that easy. I have never seen you act so childish”

“You’re hurting me!”

Growling at Krolia, Kosmo raised his hackles. When Krolia shot him a glare, his cowardly fur son sat, though he kept his teeth bared.

“What’s going on here!”

“Let me go!”

Saint Shiro had found him far too fast, Krolia also seemed surprised that a former Black Paladin’s presence

“I’m taking Lance to see Krystaal. He seems to think we’re all relaxing while Keith remains unresponsive”

Tugging at his wrist, he couldn’t get free of Krolia’s hold. Part of him was seriously starting to panic with his plans being so thoroughly unrailed

“Let him go, Krolia”

If anything, Krolia’s hold tightened causing him to whimper

“He’s given up on Keith. He used my comms to approve a wormhole off planet”

Krolia was so angry that Kosmo growled at her again, pawing towards him as he didn’t know what to do with two of his humans fighting

“Lance? You were planning on leaving?”

Shiro sounded hurt. Great. Just fucking great

“He was planning on taking his revenge of Krystaal then leaving. He’s given up on Keith. He said we should tell Krystaal Keith is dead”

“No I wasn’t! I told you it had nothing to do with him! Let me go!”

Shiro caged him in from behind, reaching around him, his fingers started prying Krolia’s hand off his wrist

“Then what were you doing? You never planned on coming back from the bathroom, did you”

As Shiro’s hands start trying to free his wrist, Krolia let go. Lance clutching his wrist to his chest, with Shiro continuing to remain behind him

“Lance? What were you planning on doing?”

“I have an appointment with my obstetrician... I wanted to go to my appointment but none of you cared about what I want. You took it upon yourselves to decide all of this and to tell me nothing. At least Kolivan as honest with me. He told me what was going on... I came to get a few things because I wanted to do this on my own. I can’t keep watching him sleep. He won’t wake up... I can’t wake him up”

“Lance... you could have talked to us”

“You keep telling me to rest. You keep talking at me...”

“Shiro, his medical care has been transferred here, to us”

Shiro knew his issues with previous obstetrician. He also knew how happy they were to have found someone who treated him like a human

“Krolia, let Lance talk. Lance, you have an appointment?”

Lance nodded, Krolia shifted her weight causing him to bump back into Shiro who placed his hands on his shoulders

“She was... my doctor was formulating a plan to help with the bleeding, if I was still bleeding. And with my medication... and stuff. You know what it was like... but she was confident. We liked her. We were supposed to be planning things together. She tells me the truth”

“You should have told us. You can’t go running off when things get to hard”

“Krolia, that’s enough. Lance, you can’t leave on your own. Did you call anyone to meet you there?”

“How could I when none of you let me have any privacy?”

Shiro sighed deeply. Yeah, Lance was going to hold onto his anger over that. They’d all treated him exactly how he hated to be treated, except for Kolivan but he was Krolia’s partner so it’d be weird not to be slightly mad at him... but he wasn’t mad at him the same time. The man was more awkward than Keith had ever been

“You’re not going on your own”

“Then I’ll call Daehra. I can’t do this Shiro, I’m not as strong as you. I can’t sit here and wait for my husband to maybe wake up... He left me... He wanted... I was bleeding and he chose you... I could feel it and he chose you... when I begged him not to go. If I’d been stronger he... he wouldn’t have had to shield me. He wouldn’t be like this! This is my fault... all my fault. Please... please let me go. I need to know what’s happening with his babies”

Shiro forced him into a tight hug. Still scared from Krolia’s outburst and his throbbing wrist. Disappointment had clouded her expression, he felt sick to the stomach from being the cause of it

“Why do you always keep it inside until it comes to this? I can take you. Curtis is awake, watching over...”

“No. Dios... I don’t want a baby sitter! I don’t need a baby sitter. I want to go. I need to go”

“Lance, you can’t. What if you had a seizure? What if no one was there and something went wrong?”

“Then it happens... if Keith isn’t awake, then what does any of this matter? Everything is broken and once again I came second best to you. We can’t compete with you...”

Each word was a spiteful barb aimed at Shiro’s heart. He was lashing out with words he didn’t want to say but had no way of stopping them now that he’d snapped. He didn’t care if he died mid-surgery. He could be a good father to their sons without him. He couldn’t even take care of himself as they’d all proven

“... I want to go back home. Back to my outpost. I want to go back to where I don’t feel like this... I want my brother... I want Marco”

Marco would help him figure this out. Veronica worries too much, as did his Mami. Marco worried but he worried in the right ways... not this “lock down and wrap him in cotton wool” quiznak style everyone else was employing. He didn’t know he’d wanted Marco until he’d said it...