#Could not for the life of me tell you why the disk drive is white though because no other pic I found of a 4300 has that detail

[tehb3stsk4t3revr]

Nobody asked but I'm pretty sure Infected's computer is a Dell Dimension 4000 series from 2003 (most likely specifically a 4300)

[that-one-weeb-but-starwars]

My Love| Echo (part 6 beejesus...)

Notes: this ones short my bad, also this way shock you. I also have a strong urge to make hondo show up perhaps in the Future

Warnings: sad flashbacks, death and disease mentioned, cannablistic mentions (not eating anyone but like the word), cursing,

Reader: Male

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 3.5 | 4 | 5 | 6 (you're hah here)

Masterlist

That wasn't possible.

"What a shame." Maul spoke, turning himself around and walking away the Pyke leader following him.

This was wrong.

"If we came for this it better be important." Hunter spoke snatching the drive, "we leave now,"

"Me and Jacob they'll return you to your ship." The teen spoke up, "but be quick we'll need to leave with the transports."

It was a silent stealthy journey back to the ship, Echo being pushed along the way by Wrecker mostly as he was trying to process what was being told to him.

So...Y/n was dead? No that was possible- they couldn't of killed everyone.

He walked onto the ship the twins wishing them luck as they rushed back off into the darkness. He took a seat on his bunk, removing the head gear and mask, his gaze trapped within the grain of the metal.

"Tech get us out of here." Hunter demanded.

Wrecker watched Echo, his brows furrowed and in conflict.

"Hey. Kid." Wrecker spoke nudging Omega softly, "Good job out there."

"I just stuck to the plan." She smiled.

"Wanna do one more mission?" He asked playfully she nodded happily.

"Go find Lula. I think someone needs her." Wrecker spoke as Omega nodded rushing to find the Tooka doll.

Wrecker walked over to Echo, sitting across from the reg, Echo kept his gaze down.

"Hey."

"I don't, I don't understand." Echo responded, "I- I don't..."

"It's okay-" Wrecker tried to speak.

"But it isnt." Echo seethed.

The sudden jolt told them they had jumped to hyperspace. Echo rubbed over his eyes.

"What was Y/n's family doing associated with the Empire..." Echo spoke, "I...I don't..."

Wrecker frowned, Hunter watching the cockpits doorway, his brother lost and confused, let down and heart broken.

Walking into the cockpit the door closed behind him.

"You'll want to see this Hunter." Tech spoke, "Echo was right."

Hunter took a seat, "Y/n's code name is Rosyln then?"

"In a sense yes, yet It is many things." Tech informed, "It's multiple things, a name, a code name, a secret military operation."

" a what." Hunter demanded answers now.

"On this disk it says Project Rosyln was ment to help in implicating...hunger in a sense.."

"Hunger?" Hunter asked, "Hunger for what?"

"Flesh, sentinel flesh," Tech responded, "They had many failis dead on contacts, until. Rosyln."

"The dead brother of Y/n's Echo mention." Hunter spoke as Tech nodded.

"He survived it, partially, resulting in an outdated inner rim disease known as Cancer." Tech responded, "though it is not sepcified what type, he died young."

"So how does Y/n fit into it?"

"Rosyln was Y/n's younger brother by adoption law on corosaunt, and the Zabrack was not lying when he said The L/n family was ontop the imperals kill list, it was ment for them to go into hiding, to essentially metophorically and phsycially slip into the dark." Tech contuined.

"Okay so the kids?"

"Test subjects." He responded, "farm animals, future death troopers fueled by anger and loss, much more. Hunter, They weren't a family, those people they called there parents? Used them."

"Can we save any of them? Y/n? The older kids? The young ones? Anyone?" Hunter questioned.

"This here is a list of kids of Y/n's family," Tech spoke, plugging into the panel infront of him as the hologram formed, "red are dead, there eay of leaving is by there name. Jay here died of rejection of food, he starved to death. Siora drowned herself in the shower room-"

"Thats enough Tech. Who's alive." Hunter demanded.

"Y/n here is still alive, but that is all." Tech responded opening the file, "but has a number of unstablizing test ran on him, it shows here his diet was starting to change from normal foods to sential flesh, but before they could change him fully he escaped."

"How."

"Unknown."

Hunter was silent, for a moment as Tech closed the file, going through the others, "This also contains other information, such as helpful codes the imperals are now using, current inflation in imperal troopers, comn chatter and resources-"

"Don't let Echo see this." Hunter spoke.

"Hunter, I. I don't think this is a good idea." Tech told him, "You'e seen what he'll go through already to see him again. Hunter that was a sith he went up on, a Pyke leader."

"He doesn't need another thing to have a mental break down on. What happens if we find Y/n? Dead in a ditch-." Hunter argued, "if we can't fix him- we can't even help Crosshair None the less ourselves!"

"Hunter, he deserves to know." Tech defended, "let's be real here Hunter, we've nevee been there for him, we saved him from one hell to put into another, we can't help him because we don't understand him."

Hunter was silent, he knew Tech was right, "You're right." Hunter told him.

Tech pulled the disk from the panel looking back at Hunter, "Hunter I know this is hard. But this is his family. And I wish for a time in my life, I was wrong."

Hunter stayed silent walking out the cockpit, and down the small hallways, Omega trying to cheer Echo up with Lula and Wrecker with a supportive smile.

"Echo."

Echo looked back, "Tech wants to uh...show you something."

Echo got up without a word walking into the cockpit.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Omega questioned looking up at Hunter.

"Sure he will!" Wrecker tried to stay postive looking back at Hunter who kept his gaze down.

"Not this time Omega." Hunter told her, as she leaned in for a hug, he patting her head as she hug his stomach.

Tech walked out the cockpit, the doors closing behind him, "Echo wishes to take first watch while we rest," Tech informed.

"Where do we go next from here?" Omega spoke looking up at Hunter.

"We'll keep working jobs for Cid, seeing what we can do." Hunter responded, "Tech when Echo is done with that disk, see if anything on there has Crosshair on it."

"I have alredy copied the disk, I will look through it more on my watch after Echo's." Tech responded.

Hunter nodded

"hey kid." Wrecker spoke up, "lets go play a game together."

Omega nodded as Wrecker picked up Omega the two walking away to her room, Hunter mentally thanking Wrecker.

"How'd he react." Hunter responded.

"He hasn't." Tech responded, "I left it plugged in. He has the option. I just don't know if he's used it."

It was true, Echo had the option, the wanting, but he sat in his chair, staring at the disk sitting in the panel.

This was it.

This was the ticket, he could know, move on, grt some type of closure either Y/n was dead or alive. Even if Y/n was dead or alive he let Y/n's biggest secret slip.

'Just...I don't like people to pity his name.' Y/n told Echo, the two standing in all black together and umbrella over head as they walked the cemetery, 'he fought hard, that's all that matters, and there's no reason you should pity someone for when you loose,'

Echo nodded at him, 'I won't tell anybody, I understand to a degree, but if you need to talk, I want to listen,'

Y/n nodded, 'Thanks again for comin along Echo, not the best way to meet my baby brother,''

'I was glad to meet him, either way,'

Echo rubbed the back of his neck, finger's scratching at his nape. Standing up and walking over his hand hovered over the disk, should he pull it out? Should he press that small white button to let every fear he's had consume him?

He pulled the disk out, this was the right choice. Whatever he needed to know. He'd learn from y/n when he'd see him. Rubbing over the disk he slid it in his belts pouch and sat in the piolts seat looking out into the blue swirls. He was doing it again.

Sitting in silence, watching nothing new pass him by. Y/n was alive, if the others believed it or not was there choice, it was there opinion, he knew what he was saying was a fact, and he didn't need no disk to tell him so.

But the question still remained, Why was Y/n involved in crime syndicates and with Sith?"

The male turned himself around shoulder hair length, strings of white in his hair; stress induced.

"It's done." Lom Pyke spoke, "The kids are out, where is the spice."

"It's on the ship don't you worry." He spoke.

"You've returned the favor after I've said you returned the favor."

"Then we've returned the favor." Lom Pyke argued.

"I did everything you asked!" Lom Pyke argued, "I've stuck my neck out for you more than you can imagine you cannablistic bitch!-"

The pyke leader was cut off, lifted into the air as he gripped at his neck, and brought forward quickly, choking on the lack of air.

"Do you know who I am?" The man questioned quietly.

"L-let-" the pyke tried to speak stratching at his neck for breath, "let me g-go!"

"Oh...you don't?" The man questioned, "I was afraid once...not to long ago, afraid as you are now..."

The sound of choking made him pause adding slight pressure, "p-please!"

"I am no longer afraid...I am..." the man thought, any more and the pyke leader would die, "Well, funny thing is, I don't even know who I am anymore...but I do know, that, you, owe me much more than you think."

The man was dropped to the floor, attempting to catch air, "Perhaps, you wish, once to see who I was, to see how I became this thing you call a cannablistic bitch!"

"Please! No-" He defended, raising his head to look up in plead, "Not again! Not that place!"

A hand was placed on his head, as the Sith lord walked in. Within a matter of seconds the Pyke fell limp, the man pushing him over as he fell and rolled down the small stells of the elevated ledge.

"You're here for a reason Maul?"

"I am indeed, that clone, you told to meet us on Zut, there were clones."

"Entertain me Maul." He spoke, walking down the small steps, the hells of his boots clicking as he made it down the steps.

"Seems you're little buddy Captain dipshit isnt the only clone that's defected. That little Ray shit of your's hacked the imperal files." Maul spoke, his tone as usual, dark, broody, annoying to the mans ears, "Clone force 99, may just be on our side."

The man snatched the datapad from him, "and they have a child with them. How wonderful."

"Status' as of current."

"Like I said that dipshit of yours sursingly has his corners covered. Ray's tracking them as we speak." Maul told.

The man looked through the photo's there he was in all his glory, sure angry but just as remembered.

"Lets hope an ex sith lord, a fucked up group of clones, a cannablistic bitch kill, and some kids can help kill your old ass wrinkly master." The man spoke Maul snatching the data pad back and making his leave.

"Oh. And one know's who you are." Maul responded standing in the door way, "Before I gave them anything, one knew Rosyln is Y/n,"

[curiosi-tea-writes]

Surprise

Pairing: Din Djarin / Cobb Vanth

Modern AU

Summary: Din has never been a fan of surprises, he just doesn't like them. He'd much rather be on the giving side of said surprises, especially when it came to surprise dates with Cobb. But what he didn't know is that sometimes it pays off to have a good surprise.

(Aka, the author wanted to nerd out about space and Din is a perfect outlet. And if you have never been to a space museum before, you should.)

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

"Are you gonna tell me where we're going?" Din asked as he turned away from the window to look at Cobb.

Cobb chuckled and reached across the center console and took Din's hand. He interlocked their fingers and brought it up to his lips and gently placed a kiss to his boyfriend's knuckles. Din felt his face warm up as it always did when Cobb repeated the innocent and simple action. He found it terribly unfair that his boyfriend had so much power over him. "Would you please calm down, Darlin'. You're gonna love this."

It wasn't that Din didn't trust Cobb, of course he did. He was just typically the one to make the plans. But this time Cobb was the one to do it. Cobb was the one who asked Peli to baby sit for the day. He was the one who tossed Din's NASA hoodie at him and told him to get ready. He was the one who insisted on driving so Din wouldn't deduce where they were going. Its just that-

"I don't like surprises, Cobb, you know that," he mumbled.

Cobb chuckled and shook his head. "Trust me." He let go of Din's hand as he made a turn into a mostly abandoned parking lot behind a large building. Din couldn't see any sign of where they were. Though, he supposed that was Cobb's plan.

Once the car was parked and turned off Cobb turned happily towards Din. "Are you ready?"

Din chuckled nervously. "I suppose I have to be."

With both of them out of the car, Cobb led him until they were just about to round the corner. "Alright," Cobb spoke as he made Din stop walking. "Close your eyes."

Din's shoulders dropped. "Seriously?"

"Just do what I asked," Cobb pleaded.

"Technically, you didn't ask," he pointed out with a smirk. Cobb glared at him but a smile played on his lips that betrayed his upset look. "Okay, okay, grumpy."

Cobb held tight around Din's waist as he guided him. Din's grip on Cobb's 'free' had was tight as he tried not to stumble, not trusting his blind footing despite being guided. He felt the warm air of inside the build hit his face, a harsh contrast compared to the nippy winter chill outside. Excitement finally began to creep into Din's chest and replaced the anxiety. Din tried not to be sad at the loss of warmth when Cobb stepped away.

"Okay," Cobb stated happily and Din could hear his smile. "Open your eyes."

Adjusting his glasses, the first thing that really caught his eye was the dark ceiling which had small white lights sparkling another darkness. It took no time at all for Din to realize the lights made constellations and his smile grew impossibly bright.

He quickly snapped his gaze to Cobb's who stood beside him smiling anxiously.

A moment later Din was excitedly pulling Cobb to the different rooms. Cobb let his boyfriend read him all the plaques but it wasn't much of a choice, Din always spoke so dramatically when he read things at museums.

They floated from room to room as Din pointed to different parts of the model space ships and told him specifically what each piece and how they worked. Meanwhile, Cobb listened intently, taking in every single word.

"See this gold thing?" Din said quickly as he pulled Cobb across the room they had just entered to another model. When Cobb nodded he squeezed his hand and continued. "Its instructions!"

"Instructions for what?" Cobb tilted his head and took a closer look.

"For a record!" Din was suddenly extremely grateful that they were practically the only people in the museum so he could properly nerd-out. "They wanted to make sure that if there was life out there," he gestured vaguely up towards the sky, "that they'd be able to play the record. This was the case for the records."

"That was smart of them," Cobb stated with a nod and Din pulled him over to a plaque that had pictures of the records and began explaining what was on them. He could listen to Din talk about this kind of this for hours. This date was as much the perfect thing for him as it was for Din. When he talked about space he just got a sparkle in his eyes that nothing else could possibly compare to.

"So do you think there is actually life out there?" Cobb waved his hand, mimicking the action Din had done moments before.

"I mean probably," Din stated as they moved around the room. "I mean, there's so much out there, there must be something else. I'm sure in some galaxy far, far away, there's a whole bunch of planets with life on them. We just haven't found it yet."

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

"Did you know-" 

'Probably not but you're gonna tell me,' Cobb thought with a chuckle. 

They were walking down a long hallway to go to the next room. Din, still holding his boyfriend's hand, was walking slightly in front of him backwards, practically skipping. "-that if the sun’s diameter were eighteen and a half inches long, the diameter of Earth would be roughly that of a bb-bullet?”

Cobb could only laugh and shake his head. "What do you ever plan to do with all this space knowledge you've got up there?" He reached up with his other hand and ruffled his dark mop.

"Tell it all to you, obviously," Din said happily. "I can shut up if you want," his walk slowed a bit as he said it and his smile faltered just slightly.

Cobb squeezed his hand with a smile. "Don't you dare, Darlin'. I want to hear all of it."

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

About two hours later they were walking through the gift shop, Cobb watching as Din adjusted his glasses the way he did when he was focusing. Cobb excused himself for a moment for one last surprise while Din looked at the trinkets.

When he came back, he came up behind Din, placing a hand on his back looking over his shoulder. "Find anything you like?"

Din excitedly showed him a keychain with a plastic Saturn on it with a sweet little smiley face and a stuffed astronaut for Grogu. When he turned to head towards the register, he realized Cobb was holding a bag. "What'd you get?"

Cobb shushed him with a chuckled and waved him off towards the counter.

When Din returned, fumbling with his keys to add his new keychain. Cobb wrapped his arm around his waist and guided his boyfriend over to a bench where they had a clear view of a large screen showing a sideshow of pictures taken by the Hubble telescope.

Once they were comfortable and Din placed his keys back in his pocket, Cobb reached into the bag and pulled out a silver and red package. He laughed as he handed it to Din to inspect.

"Astronaut ice cream?" Din gasped which only made Cobb laugh harder.

"Its neapolitan, its your favorite," Cobb pointed out.

Din took a minute and just smiled at his boyfriend. After a moment he pulled out the second package in the bag and laughed before handing Cobb his freeze-dried peaches.

They sat in mostly silence, Din eating his ice cream sandwich and Cobb eating his peaches. Cobb would break the silence every so often to ask a question about the picture currently on the slideshow and Din would happily answer it.

Cobb took a slice of peach and offered it to Din who simply opened his mouth and let Cobb feed it to him. They both laughed for a month before Din copied the action, giving Cobb a bite if his ice cream.

"What would a peach and ice cream taste like together?" Cobb questioned.

Din gave him a slightly disturbed look. "Not good," he stated simply.

Cobb examined his last peach slice thoughtfully. "You don't think it would taste like peach ice cream?"

"No," Din scoffed. "It would not taste like peach ice cream, Cobb."

Before Din could even think to object, Cobb was grabbing half of the last bite of ice cream sandwich he had in his hand. Ignoring his boyfriend blatant protests and claims that it would not taste good, Cobb stuck the peach bite into the ice cream and popped it into his mouth.

They were both silent for a long moment while Cobb ate the combination. "So?"

Cobb hummed and finished the bite. "Not bad actually."

All Din could do was just shake his head, laugh, and eat his last bite.

Cobb and Din made their way out of the space museum hand in hand and walked happily back to the car. Once they were back inside the car, Din placed a hand on Cobb's wrist before he could put the key in. Looking over to see why Din had stopped him, he was pleasantly surprised by Din sliding his hand against Cobb's cheek, pulling him in for a soft kiss. It didn't last long but when they broke they rested their foreheads together. Din gently ran his tumb against the scar on Cobb's temple and smiled softly.

"You know," Din whispered, not wanting to speak too loud and break the moment. When he paused for a second longer than necessary, Cobb hummed, prompting him to continue. Din chuckled lightly. "I think I might like surprises more than I thought."

With another gentle kiss, they pulled away and headed back.

Cobb's heart ached in the best way possible when he dropped Din off at his apartment. Din with his cute thick black glasses and the stuffed astronaut tucked under his arm for his son, and his nerdy NASA hoodie. All Cobb could think about was how precious he found the other man. And how incredibly lucky he was to have him.

(Sources for fic below.)

“Both Voyager spacecraft carry identical copper disks that are specifically encoded with sound recordings and images from Earth. Each record is inside a protective aluminum jacket. [See picture above.] Symbols on the cover explain the origin of the spacecraft and how to play the record.”  -NASA/JPL - Caltech

Assignment done by yours truly in astronomy class. The dot in the center is a bb-bullet representing Earth and the yellow paper (with an 18.5″ diameter) represents the sun.

[nataliedanovelist]

C-137 Vs. 46'\

C-137 Vs. 46'\ = A Gravity Falls & Rick and Morty crossover fic for @stephreynaart! I meant to finish this, like, forever ago, but I did my best and decided this has stayed hidden in my files long enough. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Stanchez for life!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Placement: GF = after the finale (season 3) R&M = Between S1E10 and E11 (In S2E2, Rick dates 1/12/2015 on the drop-off papers for Jerry. Though Alex hates dating cartoons, it can be estimated that GF took place during 2013 thanks to Sev'ral Timez, so the next summer would be 2014. So… yeah. I put way too much thought into this.)

The vast galaxy in front of them was an endless sea of stars and space-clouds of many different colors. Some were green, some were blue, some were magenta, it honestly looked like a generic Hot Topic galaxy t-shirt.

But Rick didn’t give a shit about some fucking space-clouds or some fucking shop for teenagers who were trying too hard to be goth. Rick didn’t give a shit about the fact that Morty barely knew how to drive the fucking spaceship. Rick only have a shit about getting away from the other fucking spaceships that were after the humans, but he couldn’t drive because Rick had to repair the fucking weapon to kill those fucking bastards. Fuck.

“Aw, geez, Rick, hurry it up!” Morty yelled.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Morty!” Rick snapped back as he tinkered with the huge ray-gun that laid by his feet.

The spacecraft jolted to the side as a beam just barely missed it. Rick caught his screwdriver as it flew in the air for a second and he finished the final turn. Rick grinned maliciously and aimed the newest invention out at the enemy. He pulled the trigger and rather than a beam of light or a bullet escaping the gun, it appeared that nothing happened, until each spaceship seemed to be covered with blood and guts from the inside, covering the windows and halting the enemies’ spaceships.

“Oh my God, Rick, what the hell?!” Morty screamed.

“Relax, Morty, you’ve seen worse. It’s just a gun that released microscopic ninjas that slice people up from the inside until they’re nothing b-b-but guts.” Rick burped through the alcohol and leaned on the big gun proudly with a monotone voice and facial expression.

“No, Rick, what the hell IS THAT?!”

Rick looked ahead to see a wormhole of pink, blues, and whites glowing brightly in front of them. Morty was trying to turn the spaceship away, but they were being pulled in by gravity.

“Well, fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel was bouncing like she had springs on the bottoms of her shoes as she held her Grunkle Ford’s hand. They were both wearing ponchos and on their way to the magical part of the forest. Mabel, Dipper, Stan, and Ford had only been back in Gravity Falls for two days and Ford wanted to start off this summer right by bonding with his favorite grandniece in the Multiverse.

Ford felt guilty of the little time they had spent together the previous summer. True, he had arrived home a little late in the season, but he had spent plenty of time bonding with Dipper, leaving not nearly enough for Mabel. Ford loved her very much, but with Dipper things were more predictable. The boy was a lot like him, so Ford knew what to expect and how to bond with him, like playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons or working or investigating an anomaly together. Ford had no clue what twelve… thirteen-year-old girls liked and Mabel’s overwhelming flood of love and affection had startled Ford like an old alley-cat.

Still, he admired her positivity and loved to do arts-and-crafts with her. They had captured time last summer for her to make a beautiful hand-turkey on Ford’s six-fingered hand; she had said that the extra feather made it special. The old scientist had no idea what he had done to deserve Mabel… no, he didn’t deserve Mabel, but she seemed to like him, so he owed her some alone-time. Mabel seemed to like the supernatural almost as much as Dipper (Dipper took a more serious approach to it while Mabel seemed to accept everything with loving arms), so Ford offered to take her out to the magical part of the forest over breakfast and Mabel nearly choked on her Stan-cake out of pure joy.

Now, as the morning sun rose and was nearly above their heads, after about an hour of traveling and quietly talking, they were starting to reach the magical part of the forest.

“So, why do we need ponchos, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked as she used her free-hand to play with the yellow hood that was over her beautiful brown hair.

“Because the fairies we’re going to investigate are… rather messy.” Ford landed on. The Barf Fairies used to turn his stomach, but after traveling through dimensions for over thirty years, Ford’s stomach had hardened and since Mabel also seemed to have a strong gag-reflex, he decided that he would try to learn more about the less-than-pleasant type of fairies. “I would hate for them to ruin a Mabel Pines original.” Ford added with a smile down at the young teenager.

Mabel grinned braces-free (she had them removed back in February) up at the old scientist, loving it when he called one of her sweaters a Mabel Pines original, and her eyes twinkled when she saw the blue sweater through Ford’s poncho, the one she had made for him with a golden six-fingered hand on the front, like his old journals. “So, these are…”

“Barf Fairies.”

“Right. What do you already know about them?”

“Only that we should avoid whatever they eat.”

Mabel laughed along with him and said, “Okay. Well… I’ve actually never talked to or met a fairy before, so looks like we’re both starting from square-one. Did you meet any fairies out in the Multiverse?”

“Yes, but they were very different than the one here in Gravity Falls. I once landed in a dimension where the seasons changing was caused by the fairies, and in another dimension I met a giant fairy-queen that looked more like a slug with wings covered in glitter.”

Mabel opened her mouth to contribute to the conversation, but they both heard a noise and stopped walking in the woods. The sound had made them think of clanking metal and yells. They looked up and around at the trees, but a little puff of smoke confirmed that they had heard some sort of machine.

“What was that?” Mabel asked quietly.

“I’m not sure.” Ford said honestly and started to walk them to a clearing.

The two Pines left the cluster of pinetrees so they could look around the skies more clearly. It was a beautiful cloudless early-summer day. As they looked up at the heavens above, a flying-disk of a spaceship was whizzing over their heads, having trouble staying up in the air. Ford held Mabel close in fear of it crashing down near them, but the spaceship staggered over the woods and crashed landed from a safe distance.

“Aliens!” Mabel gasped. “Dipper told me about the one under the town! Do you think this is like that one?”

Ford, whose mind was racing, shook his head to try to think straight, and he said, “No, I… I think I know what it is, but… Mabel, I’m afraid the Barf Fairies are going to have to wait.”

Mabel peeled off her poncho and shook her hair free, revealing her purple sweater with a heart and sunglasses on it that matched her red skirt and headband. Ford also took off his poncho, pocketed both of the big yellow articles of clothing in his trenchcoat, but then pulled out his gun. He opened his mouth to tell Mabel to stay close, but she already pulled out her grappling hook and was standing behind Ford, waiting for him to lead the way.

Ford crept back into the woods with Mabel behind him. He had a good idea of what had crashed into Gravity Falls, but he had hoped that he was wrong. He didn’t want Mabel to meet him. Ford was hoping he would never show up in this dimension, but if he was still traveling around the Multiverse…

A low hissing noise from a busted engine told Ford and Mabel where to go. They only had to walk a minute before the spaceship came into view, landing in between two trees and leaving a trail of up-turned dirt in its path before coming to a halt. Ford and Mabel slowly moved towards the ship with their weapons in hand, but they found it unnecessary as a boy stumbled out and coughed into a fist, on his hands and knees and ruffled from the crash.

“Oh geez, oh man, we’re dead. We’re dead. We survived, but we’re dead.” The boy moaned as he slowly stood up. He looked about Mabel’s age, had short brown hair, and wore jeans and a yellow t-shirt with white sneakers.

Mabel pocketed her grappling hook while Ford let his arms fall to his side, but he kept the weapon in hand, just in case. “Huh. That was… not what I was expecting.” Ford said, more to himself than to Mabel.

Mabel stepped forward with her hands up kindly and she cleared her throat, gaining the boy’s attention. He blinked at the two humans and Mabel said in a soft voice, “Uh, hi, I’m Mabel. Are you hurt?”

“What?” The boy asked. He seemed jittery from the crash, his eyes darting and his forehead glistening with sweat. “Uh, n-no. No, I’m fine. I’m…”

“MORTY!”

The boy groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as he tilted his head upward. “Yup, that’s my name. Morty.”

An older man in a white lab-coat with blue-white hair stumbled out of the spaceship, and not out of drunkenness for a change. “Morty, you little…”

“Sanchez.” Ford growled and covered Mable’s ears. He knew this guy had a foul tongue, and while Ford and his brother might have sailors’ mouths, at least he and Stan knew to censor themselves around the kids. Ford’s old friend didn’t.

The old man in the lab-coat looked at Ford and his eyes widened in shock before he grinned. “Oh, no way! Good to see you again, Fordsie!” He laughed, amused by the scenario in front of him. “Great, another genius. Mind giving me a hand with this piece of… erm, crap?”

Ford groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, the sooner I can get you out of my home dimension, the better.”

The man Grunkle Ford had called Sanchez appeared shocked again and he dug around his coat. “Wait, wait, wait. Your home dimension?” Sanchez pulled out a white flat gun with a green bulb on top and he seemed to be reading off a tiny screen. “Huh. Dimension 46’\. This one’s way out of the loop. There’s no way I could’ve gotten you home with this thing. How did you manage to pull that off?”

“Long story.” Ford said and pocketed his hand in his trenchcoat.

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel piped and smiled up at the visitor. “Who’s this?”

Ford looked down at his niece and decided to share this piece of his thirty-year-long journey in the Multiverse with her. “Sweetie, this is my old acquaintance, Rick Sanchez. Rick, this is my great-niece, my brother Sherman’s granddaughter, Mabel.”

“Oh, hey, nice to meet you, little lady.” Rick said with a small smile and then jabbed a thumb back at Morty. “That little screw-up is my grandson, Morty.”

“Oh, yeah, like you could do any better, Rick.” Morty huffed with crossed-arms over his thin chest.

“I could do better, Morty,” Rick said and rounded on his grandson. “You know what else I can do? I can also leave you behind on Asteroid 3924987, but I won’t. I can also feed you to a five-headed mega-bird from Bird-Person’s homeworld, but I won’t. I can also send you to the citadel and trade you in for a new Morty, but I won’t, as long as you quit being a pain in the ass.”

“Rick, please!” Ford hissed.

“It’s okay, Grunkle Ford, I heard worse when I went to get a snack and Stan was watching football.” Mabel giggled, remembering the other night when Stan’s team was losing and he let out a long stream of colorful swears that made him turn red when he realized Mabel had heard him.

“Of course you have.” Ford groaned and shook his head. “Well, let’s see what the damage is, Sanchez. What caused the crash? Did your micro-verse battery finally start a rebellion?”

“No, because they know if they do, I’ll get a new battery, Genius. When we came to this dimension through a wormhole we hit a mountain side and a part broke off here…”

The two old men examined the spacecraft and were discussing ways to fix it, meanwhile Morty walked up to Mabel and rubbed an arm nervously. “So, uh… I guess they met out in the Multiverse, huh?”

Mabel nodded; she didn’t know how these two old men knew each other or why these two humans were in a spaceship, but based on context clues, Morty’s guess made the most sense. “Wait, so you two are from another dimension?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Morty said with a shrug. “This is 46'\, right? My dimension is C-137.”

“Wow, cool!” Mabel said with shining eyes that threw Morty for a loop. “So, what’s different over there? Was Benjamin Franklin a man and never accomplished anything? Are dinosaurs still alive? Oo! I bet your sky is lavender-purple all the time, right?!”

Morty laughed a little and rubbed his arm again. “Uh, no. It’s, I think, pretty much the same as yours. My Grandpa Rick says there’s an infinite number of realities that are just slightly different from one another. M-M-Maybe the difference between C-137 and 46'\ is so small and unimportant it’s not obvious.”

“Oh, okay,” Mabel peered over to watch Rick and Ford work together for a little bit and then she smiled back at Morty. “So, do you always go on adventures with your Grandpa Rick?”

Morty sighed in a shaky puberty-voice and nodded. “Yeah, he’s always making me go on these stupid adventures with him.”

“What?” Mabel gasped with a smile. “They’re not stupid! I’d love to go to a different dimension with my Grunkle Ford! I’ve already been on one with him and Grunkle Stan when they had to rescue me from Dimension Mab3L. The other mes were a little self-centered, but it was a lot of fun to punch myself in the face and rescue my great-uncles.”

“Yeah, but from the sounds of it, your - what did you say, Grunkle Ford? - is nice to you.” Morty pointed out. “My Grandpa Rick treats me like garbage all the time, but then again he treats everyone like garbage, so at least he’s only signaling me out to stay hidden from the Federation or whatever.”

“Oh.” Mabel said quietly and held her hands behind her back bashfully, unsure of how to respond, but she decided to try to make Morty feel better. “Well, my other great-uncle, Grunkle Stan, is a little tough sometimes, but that’s only because he cares about his family and is toughening us up for a tougher world. He’s my hero!”

“That sounds nice.” Morty said with a small smile. He didn’t think Rick cared about his family like this Stan guy, but Morty wasn’t in the mood to kill Mabel’s optimism. “I like your sweater, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Mabel grinned proudly. “I made it!”

Morty’s eyes widened. “Wow, really?” Mabel held out her arm so Morty could feel her sleeve. “Oh my God, that’s amazing! You’re really talented.”

“Hey, thanks! If you want, I can make you one!”

“R-R-Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Sure! What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh… y-yellow.”

“Got it!”

Ford and Rick walked up to the teenagers and the six-fingered researcher said, “Well, I’m afraid the ship lost a part we need, but luckily I have the materials we need to build one in the lab back home.”

“Great!” Mabel said and grinned. “Let’s go! So, how did you two meet, anyway?”

Ford and Mabel led the way with Rick and Morty closely behind. “We met about twenty years ago in a high-security prison. I remember feeling relieved to see another human. I had been without human contact for a little under two years at the time since I had been stranded on some desert planet.”

“Yeah, this nerd got into big trouble for the extinction of a few million species on Planet 8824816.”

“What?!” Mabel gasped and looked up at her great-uncle, unable to believe that he would cause such mass genocide. “Grunkle Ford, you didn’t?!”

“Of course I didn’t, Mabel.” Ford quickly reassured his niece. “That was the planet I thought was a sandwich. Anyway, at least I didn’t do what Rick was in for…”

“What did he do?”

“I purposely caused mass genocide on Sector 56, Dimension “”113.” Rick said in a scaringly monotone voice.

“What?!”

“Rick!” Ford and Morty both scolded at the same time.

“Hey, it was either me or the Valakawns!” Rick snapped back. “Those bloodsucking leeches didn’t see what hit them, until the Federation caught me hanging from a tree upside-down, passed out and drunk.”

“Alright, enough!” Ford said firmly. “Let’s just build the part we need so we can get you two back to your home dimension. And, Mabel, once they’re gone we’re going to patch the wormhole with alien adhesive.”

“Okay. Last thing we want is for Dipper to get stuck in Dimension Dipp-3R or something.”

“Who’s Dipper?” Morty asked quietly.

“My twin brother!”

“Oh, cool! I don’t have a twin, but I have met multiple versions of myself.”

“Hey, me too! I’ve met Table-Mabel, Explainble, Threebel, Military-Expert-Mabel, Brainbel, T-Rex-Mabel, Fire-Mabel, and even Anti-Mabel!”

“I’ve met an Evil-Morty with one eye-patch who worked for the worst Rick in the Multiverse. I’ve also… Well, let’s just say I’ve met a lot of mes.”

The two teenagers talked while the two old men chatted on ways to fix the ship as they got closer to the Mystery Shack. Rick looked up and down the place and then snorted, amused. “Huh. Not the kind of place I’d expect from Mr. Stick-In-The-Mud over here.”

“My brother had to make some… changes in order to pay off the mortgage.” Ford explained and led the way to the back door. He opened it and said, “My lab is downstairs behind the vending machine in the gift shop. I believe Soos is giving a tour, so it should be safe to enter.”

“Gift shop?” Rick laughed and poked Ford’s shoulder. “When did you get so soft?”

“I am not< soft.” Ford said dignified.

“You’re wearing a blue sweater with a gold six-fingered hand.”

“My niece made it for me!” Ford said proudly and puffed out his chest.

Mabel rolled her eyes with blushing chubby cheeks and a smile and decided to let the old guys fight. She took Morty’s hand and said, “Come on! I’ll show you my room! I have a huge sticker collection you’ll love!”

“Oh, okay!” Morty said and allowed her to drag her up to the attic; it was nice being dragged to something nice and safe rather than some new monster of a different dimension.

“But hey, you turned your lab into a gift shop.” Rick was saying while the teenagers did their own thing. “Least you’re making a profit.” Ford wasn’t sure if Rick was being sincere or not.

“Actually, it’s all my brother’s.” Ford said and waved the subject away. “We’re getting off track. Let's just get you and your grandson out of my dimension.”

“Geez, you used to be way more fun.” Rick said with sagged shoulders. “What happened to the guy who ranked up million on Lottocron Nine and got tattoos with octopus-armed piglets? What happened to the interdimensional criminal who once shot fifty Bureaucrats to save a fellow scientist’s ass?”

“He discovered what was most important, Sanchez.” Ford growled with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, HO!” A voice laughed as he shook his head and left the kitchen. “I know this guy isn’t talking about Mr. Goody-Nerds-Shoes!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wanted was for his twin and his old friend to meet, but it seemed like some greater being(s) really wanted this to happen, so here we go.

Rick grinned at the sight of a conman in his suit and fez, with a can in his hand, instantly giving Rick the vibe that this guy couldn’t be trusted but would be a hit at parties and wasn’t a total snitch. “Now THIS is what I’m talking about! Name’s Rick, Ford Two.”

Stan barked a laugh and shook his hand. “The name’s Stan, Genius. And please for the love of Moses you weren’t just talking about my brother?”

“Are you kidding, this guy was a total badass!” Rick jabbed a thumb back at the fuming scientist. “He was a total idiot, had no clue how the Multiverse worked, but he was always willing to barrel into whatever crap was out there and destroy some shit!”

“Okay, you and I need to talk.” Stan tossed him the can of soda and went into the kitchen to get some snacks. “I wanna hear more about what kind of crazy violent nomad Ford was back in the day!”

“You got it! Just tell me how the hell he ended up with a cool twin? What, did you inherit all the fun traits leaving him with hobbies like collecting alien stamps?”

Stan barked a laugh and was back, looping an arm around his skinny neck. “I love this guy! Now, please tell me you were there when he got his stupid tattoo.”

“Stanley,” Ford scolded. “We’re supposed to be working on building the part he needs so he can go home. Rick and his grandson are stranded here…”

“Please, I can make that piece of shit from scratch in my sleep.” Rick said. “And Morty’s fine. That niece of yours will keep his small brain entertained for hours.” He turned to Stan and asked, “You got any booze, we had a rough crash here and I need a drink.”

“I got a secret stash in my room,” Stan muttered. “I don’t like drinking with the kids here, but I guess you can have a shot of whisky to relax. Want some soda?”

“Sure, why not. There’s a bit in my flask to last.”

And the old men walked away for the ‘Employees Only’ part of the house, leaving Ford to grit his teeth in annoyance and then bite his lip in discomfort. This could only end one way and he was not looking forward to it.

To be continued...

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Cold Equations

Tom Godwin (1954)

He was not alone.

There was nothing to indicate the fact but the white hand of the tiny gauge on the board before him. The control room was empty but for himself; there was no sound other than the murmur of the drives — but the white hand had moved. It had been on zero when the little ship was launched from the Stardust; now, an hour later, it had crept up. There was something in the supply closet across the room, it was saying, some kind of a body that radiated heat.

It could be but one kind of a body — a living, human body.

He leaned back in the pilot’s chair and drew a deep, slow breath, considering what he would have to do. He was an EDS pilot, inured to the sight of death, long since accustomed to it and to viewing the dying of another man with an objective lack of emotion, and he had no choice in what he must do. There could be no alternative — but it required a few moments of conditioning for even an EDS pilot to prepare himself to walk across the room and coldly, deliberately, take the life of a man he had yet to meet.

He would, of course, do it. It was the law, stated very bluntly and definitely in grim Paragraph L, Section 8, of Interstellar Regulations: “Any stowaway discovered in an EDS shall be jettisoned immediately following discovery.”

It was the law, and there could be no appeal.

It was a law not of men’s choosing but made imperative by the circumstances of the space frontier. Galactic expansion had followed the development of the hyperspace drive, and as men scattered wide across the frontier, there had come the problem of contact with the isolated first colonies and exploration parties. The huge hyperspace cruisers were the product of the combined genius and effort of Earth and were long and expensive in the building. They were not available in such numbers that small colonies could possess them. The cruisers carried the colonists to their new worlds and made periodic visits, running on tight schedules, but they could not stop and turn aside to visit colonies scheduled to be visited at another time; such a delay would destroy their schedule and produce a confusion and uncertainty that would wreck the complex interdependence between old Earth and the new worlds of the frontier.

Some method of delivering supplies or assistance when an emergency occurred on a world not scheduled for a visit had been needed, and the Emergency Dispatch Ships had been the answer. Small and collapsible, they occupied little room in the hold of the cruiser; made of light metal and plastics, they were driven by a small rocket drive that consumed relatively little fuel. Each cruiser carried four EDSs, and when a call for aid was received, the nearest cruiser would drop into normal space long enough to launch an EDS with the needed supplies or personnel, then vanish again as it continued on its course.

The cruisers, powered by nuclear converters, did not use the liquid rocket fuel, but nuclear converters were far too large and complex to permit their installation in the EDSs. The cruisers were forced by necessity to carry a limited amount of bulky rocket fuel, and the fuel was rationed with care, the cruiser’s computers determining the exact amount of fuel each EDS would require for its mission. The computers considered the course coordinates, the mass of the EDS, the mass of pilot and cargo; they were very precise and accurate and omitted nothing from their calculations. They could not, however, foresee and allow for the added mass of a stowaway.

The Stardust had received the request from one of the exploration parties stationed on Woden, the six men of the party already being stricken with the fever carried by the green kala midges and their own supply of serum destroyed by the tornado that had torn through their camp. The Stardust had gone through the usual procedure, dropping into normal space to launch the EDS with the fever serum, then vanishing again in hyperspace. Now, an hour later, the gauge was saying there was something more than the small carton of serum in the supply closet.

He let his eyes rest on the narrow white door of the closet. There, just inside, another man lived and breathed and was beginning to feel assured that discovery of his presence would now be too late for the pilot to alter the situation. It was too late; for the man behind the door it was far later than he thought and in a way he would find it terrible to believe.

There could be no alternative. Additional fuel would be used during the hours of deceleration to compensate for the added mass of the stowaway, infinitesimal increments of fuel that would not be missed until the ship had almost reached its destination. Then, at some distance above the ground that might be as near as a thousand feet or as far as tens of thousands of feet, depending upon the mass of ship and cargo and the preceding period of deceleration, the unmissed increments of fuel would make their absence known; the EDS would expend its last drops of fuel with a sputter and go into whistling free fall. Ship and pilot and stowaway would merge together upon impact as a wreckage of metal and plastic, flesh and blood, driven deep into the soil. The stowaway had signed his own death warrant when he concealed himself on the ship; he could not be permitted to take seven others with him.

He looked again at the telltale white hand, then rose to his feet. What he must do would be unpleasant for both of them; the sooner it was over, the better. He stepped across the control room to stand by the white door.

“Come out!” His command was harsh and abrupt above the murmur of the drive.

It seemed he could hear the whisper of a furtive movement inside the closet, then nothing. He visualized the stowaway cowering closer into one corner, suddenly worried by the possible consequences of his act, his self-assurance evaporating.

“I said out!”

He heard the stowaway move to obey, and he waited with his eyes alert on the door and his hand near the blaster at his side.

The door opened and the stowaway stepped through it, smiling. “All right — I give up. Now what?”

It was a girl.

He stared without speaking, his hand dropping away from the blaster, and acceptance of what he saw coming like a heavy and unexpected physical blow. The stowaway was not a man — she was a girl in her teens, standing before him in little white gypsy sandals, with the top of her brown, curly head hardly higher than his shoulder, with a faint, sweet scent of perfume coming from her, and her smiling face tilted up so her eyes could look unknowing and unafraid into his as she waited for his answer.

Now what? Had it been asked in the deep, defiant voice of a man, he would have answered it with action, quick and efficient. He would have taken the stowaway’s identification disk and ordered him into the air lock. Had the stowaway refused to obey, he would have used the blaster. It would not have taken long; within a minute the body would have been ejected into space — had the stowaway been a man.

He returned to the pilot’s chair and motioned her to seat herself on the boxlike bulk of the drive-control units that were set against the wall beside him. She obeyed, his silence making the smile fade into the meek and guilty expression of a pup that has been caught in mischief and knows it must be punished.

“You still haven’t told me,” she said. “I’m guilty, so what happens to me now? Do I pay a fine, or what?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why did you stow away on this EDS?”

“I wanted to see my brother. He’s with the government survey crew on Woden and I haven’t seen him for ten years, not since he left Earth to go into government survey work.”

“What was your destination on the Stardust?”

“Mimir. I have a position waiting for me there. My brother has been sending money home all the time to us — my father and mother and me — and he paid for a special course in linguistics I was taking. I graduated sooner than expected and I was offered this job in Mimir. I knew it would be almost a year before Gerry’s job was done on Woden so he could come on to Mimir, and that’s why I hid in the closet there. There was plenty of room for me and I was willing to pay the fine. There were only the two of us kids — Gerry and I — and I haven’t seen him for so long, and I didn’t want to wait another year when I could see him now, even though I knew I would be breaking some kind of a regulation when I did it.”

I knew I would be breaking some kind of a regulation. In a way, she could not be blamed for her ignorance of the law; she was of Earth and had not realized that the laws of the space frontier must, of necessity, be as hard and relentless as the environment that gave them birth. Yet, to protect such as her from the results of their own ignorance of the frontier, there had been a sign over the door that led to the section of the Stardust that housed the EDSs, a sign that was plain for all to see and heed: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL KEEP OUT!

“Does your brother know that you took passage on the Stardust for Mimir?”

“Oh, yes. I sent him a spacegram telling him about my graduation and about going to Mimir on the Stardust a month before I left Earth. I already knew Mimir was where he would be stationed in a little over a year. He gets a promotion then, and he’ll be based on Mimir and not have to stay out a year at a time on field trips, like he does now.”

There were two different survey groups on Woden, and he asked, “What is his name?”

“Cross — Gerry Cross. He’s in Group Two — that was the way his address read. Do you know him?”

Group One had requested the serum: Group Two was eight thousand miles away, across the Western Sea.

“No, I’ve never met him,” he said, then turned to the control board and cut the deceleration to a fraction of a gravity, knowing as he did so that it could not avert the ultimate end, yet doing the only thing he could do to prolong that ultimate end. The sensation was like that of the ship suddenly dropping, and the girls involuntary movement of surprise half lifted her from her seat. “We’re going faster now, aren’t we?” she asked. “Why are we doing that?”

He told her the truth. “To save fuel for a little while.”

“You mean we don’t have very much?”

He delayed the answer he must give her so soon to ask, “How did you manage to stow away?”

“I just sort of walked in when no one was looking my way,” she said. “I was practicing my Gelanese on the native girl who does the cleaning in the Ship’s Supply office when someone came in with an order for supplies for the survey crew on Woden. I slipped into the closet there after the ship was ready to go just before you came in. It was an impulse of the moment to stow away, so I could get to see Gerry — and from the way you keep looking at me so grim, I’m not sure it was a very wise impulse. But I’ll be a model criminal — or do I mean prisoner?” She smiled at him again. “I intended to pay for my keep on top of paying the fine. I can cook and I can patch clothes for everyone and I know how to do all kinds of useful things, even a little bit about nursing.” There was one more question to ask:

“Did you know what the supplies were that the survey crew ordered?”

“Why, no. Equipment they needed in their work, I supposed.”

Why couldn’t she have been a man with some ulterior motive? A fugitive from justice hoping to lose himself on a raw new world; an opportunist seeking transportation to the new colonies where he might find golden fleece for the taking; a crackpot with a mission. Perhaps once in his lifetime an EDS pilot would find such a stowaway on his ship — warped men, mean and selfish men, brutal and dangerous men — but never before a smiling, blue-eyed girl who was willing to pay her fine and work for her keep that she might see her brother.

He turned to the board and turned the switch that would signal the Stardust. The call would be futile, but he could not, until he had exhausted that one vain hope, seize her and thrust her into the air lock as he would an animal — or a man. The delay, in the meantime, would not be dangerous with the EDS decelerating at fractional gravity.

A voice spoke from the communicator. “Stardust. Identify yourself and proceed.”

“Barton, EDS 34GII. Emergency. Give me Commander Delhart.”

There was a faint confusion of noises as the request went through the proper channels. The girl was watching him, no longer smiling.

“Are you going to order them to come back after me?” she asked.

The communicator clicked and there was the sound of a distant voice saying, “Commander, the EDS requests...”

“Are they coming back after me?” she asked again. “Won’t I get to see my brother after all?”

“Barton?” The blunt, gruff voice of Commander Delhart came from the communicator. “What’s this about an emergency?”

“A stowaway,” he answered.

“A stowaway?” There was a slight surprise to the question. “That’s rather unusual — but why the ‘emergency’ call? You discovered him in time, so there should be no appreciable danger, and I presume you’ve informed Ship’s Records so his nearest relatives can be notified.”

“That’s why I had to call you, first. The stowaway is still aboard and the circumstances are so different—”

“Different?” the commander interrupted, impatience in his voice. “How can they be different? You know you have a limited supply of fuel; you also know the law as well as I do: ‘Any stowaway discovered in an EDS shall be jettisoned immediately following discovery.’”

There was the sound of a sharply indrawn breath from the girl. “What does he mean?”

“The stowaway is a girl.”

“What?”

“She wanted to see her brother. She’s only a kid and she didn’t know what she was really doing.” “I see.” All the curtness was gone from the commander’s voice. “So you called me in the hope I could do something?” Without waiting for an answer he went on, “I’m sorry — I can do nothing. This cruiser must maintain its schedule; the life of not one person but the lives of many depend on it. I know how you feel but I’m powerless to help you. You’ll have to go through with it. I’ll have you connected with Ship’s Records.” The communicator faded to a faint rustle of sound, and he turned back to the girl. She was leaning forward on the bench, almost rigid, her eyes fixed wide and frightened.

“What did he mean, to go through with it? To jettison me... to go through with it — what did he mean? Not the way it sounded... he couldn’t have. What did he mean — what did he really mean?”

Her time was too short for the comfort of a lie to be more than a cruelly fleeting delusion. “He meant it the way it sounded.” “No!” She recoiled from him as though he had struck her, one hand half raised as though to fend him off and stark unwillingness to believe in her eyes. “It will have to be.” “No! You’re joking — you’re insane! You can’t mean it!” “I’m sorry.” He spoke slowly to her, gently. “I should have told you before — I should have, but I had to do what I could first; I had to call the Stardust. You heard what the commander said.” “But you can’t — if you make me leave the ship, I’ll die.”

“I know.”

She searched his face, and the unwillingness to believe left her eyes, giving way slowly to a look of dazed horror. “You know?” She spoke the words far apart, numbly and wonderingly. “I know. It has to be like that.”

“You mean it — you really mean it.” She sagged back against the wall, small and limp like a little rag doll, and all the protesting and disbelief gone. “You’re going to do it — you’re going to make me die?” “I’m sorry,” he said again. “You’ll never know how sorry I am. It has to be that way and no human in the universe can change it.”

“You’re going to make me die and I didn’t do anything to die for — I didn’t do anything—” He sighed, deep and weary. “I know you didn’t, child. I know you didn’t.” “EDS.” The communicator rapped brisk and metallic. “This is Ship’s Records. Give us all information on subject’s identification disk.” He got out of his chair to stand over her. She clutched the edge of the seat, her upturned face white under the brown hair and the lipstick standing out like a blood-red cupid's bow.

“Now?”

“I want your identification disk,” he said. She released the edge of the seat and fumbled at the chain that suspended the plastic disk from her neck with fingers that were trembling and awkward. He reached down and unfastened the clasp for her, then returned with the disk to his chair. “Here’s your data, Records: Identification Number T837—” “One moment,” Records interrupted. “This is to be filed on the gray card, of course?” “Yes.” “And the time of execution?” “I’ll tell you later.” “Later? This is highly irregular; the time of the subject’s death is required before—” He kept the thickness out of his voice with an effort. “Then we’ll do it in a highly irregular manner — you’ll hear the disk read first. The subject is a girl and she’s listening to everything that’s said. Are you capable of understanding that?”

There was a brief, almost shocked silence; then Records said meekly, “Sorry. Go ahead.”

He began to read the disk, reading it slowly to delay the inevitable for as long as possible, trying to help her by giving her what little time he could to recover from her first horror and let it resolve into the calm of acceptance and resignation.

“Number T8374 dash Y54. Name, Marilyn Lee Cross. Sex, female. Born July 7, 2160.” She was only eighteen. “Height, five-three. Weight, a hundred and ten.” Such a slight weight, yet enough to add fatally to the mass of the shell-thin bubble that was an EDS. “Hair, brown. Eyes, blue. Complexion, light. Blood type O.” Irrelevant data. “Destination, Port City, Mimir.” Invalid data.

He finished and said, “I’ll call you later,” then turned once again to the girl. She was huddled back against the wall, watching him with a look of numb and wondering fascination.

“They’re waiting for you to kill me, aren’t they? They want me dead, don’t they? You and everybody on the cruiser want me dead, don’t you?” Then the numbness broke and her voice was that of a frightened and bewildered child. “Everybody wants me dead and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t hurt anyone — I only wanted to see my brother.” “It’s not the way you think — it isn’t that way at all,” he said. “Nobody wants it this way; nobody would ever let it be this way if it was humanly possible to change it.”

“Then why is it? I don’t understand. Why is it?” “This ship is carrying kala fever serum to Group One on Woden. Their own supply was destroyed by a tornado. Group Two — the crew your brother is in — is eight thousand miles away across the Western Sea, and their helicopters can’t cross it to help Group One. The fever is invariably fatal unless the serum can be had in time, and the six men in Group One will die unless this ship reaches them on schedule. These little ships are always given barely enough fuel to reach their destination, and if you stay aboard, your added weight will cause it to use up all its fuel before it reaches the ground. It will crash then, and you and I will die and so will the six men waiting for the fever serum.”

It was a full minute before she spoke, and as she considered his words, the expression of numbness left her eyes. “Is that it?” she asked at last. “Just that the ship doesn’t have enough fuel?” “Yes.” “I can go alone or I can take seven others with me — is that the way it is?” “That’s the way it is.”

“And nobody wants me to have to die?” “Nobody.”

“Then maybe — Are you sure nothing can be done about it? Wouldn’t people help me if they could?” “Everyone would like to help you, but there is nothing anyone can do. I did the only thing I could do when I called the Stardust.”

“And it won’t come back — but there might be other cruisers, mightn’t there? Isn’t there any hope at all that there might be someone, somewhere, who could do something to help me?” She was leaning forward a little in her eagerness as she waited for his answer.

“No.” The word was like the drop of a cold stone and she again leaned back against the wall, the hope and eagerness leaving her face. “You’re sure — you know you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. There are no other cruisers within forty light-years; there is nothing and no one to change things.” She dropped her gaze to her lap and began twisting a pleat of her skirt between her fingers, saying no more as her mind began to adapt itself to the grim knowledge.

It was better so; with the going of all hope would go the fear; with the going of all hope would come resignation. She needed time and she could have so little of it. How much?

The EDSs were not equipped with hull-cooling units; their speed had to be reduced to a moderate level before they entered the atmosphere. They were decelerating at .10 gravity, approaching their destination at a far higher speed than the computers had calculated on. The Stardust had been quite near Woden when she launched the EDS; their present velocity was putting them nearer by the second. There would be a critical point, soon to be reached, when he would have to resume deceleration. When he did so, the girls weight would be multiplied by the gravities of deceleration, would become, suddenly, a factor of paramount importance, the factor the computers had been ignorant of when they determined the amount of fuel the EDS should have. She would have to go when deceleration began; it could be no other way. When would that be — how long could he let her stay?

“How long can I stay?”

He winced involuntarily from the words that were so like an echo of his own thoughts. How long? He didn’t know; he would have to ask the ship’s computers. Each EDS was given a meager surplus of fuel to compensate for unfavorable conditions within the atmosphere, and relatively little fuel was being consumed for the time being. The memory banks of the computers would still contain all data pertaining to the course set for the EDS; such data would not be erased until the EDS reached its destination. He had only to give the computers the new data — the girl's weight and the exact time at which he had reduced the deceleration to .10.

“Barton.” Commander Delhart’s voice came abruptly from the communicator as he opened his mouth to call the Stardust. “A check with Records shows me you haven’t completed your report. Did you reduce the deceleration?”

So the commander knew what he was trying to do.

“I’m decelerating at point ten,” he answered. “I cut the deceleration at seventeen fifty and the weight is a hundred and ten. I would like to stay at point ten as long as the computers say I can. Will you give them the question?”

It was contrary to regulations for an EDS pilot to make any changes in the course or degree of deceleration the computers had set for him, but the commander made no mention of the violation. Neither did he ask the reason for it. It was not necessary for him to ask; he had not become commander of an interstellar cruiser without both intelligence and an understanding of human nature. He said only,

“I’ll have that given to the computers.”

The communicator fell silent and he and the girl waited, neither of them speaking. They would not have to wait long; the computers would give the answer within moments of the asking. The new factors would be fed into the steel maw of the first bank, and the electrical impulses would go through the complex circuits. Here and there a relay might click, a tiny cog turn over, but it would be essentially the electrical impulses that found the answer; formless, mindless, invisible, determining with utter precision how long the pale girl beside him might live. Then five little segments of metal in the second bank would trip in rapid succession against an inked ribbon and a second steel maw would spit out the slip of paper that bore the answer.

The chronometer on the instrument board read 18:10 when the commander spoke again.

“You will resume deceleration at nineteen ten.”

She looked toward the chronometer, then quickly away from it. “Is that when... when I go?” she asked. He nodded and she dropped her eyes to her lap again.

“I’ll have the course correction given to you,” the commander said. “Ordinarily I would never permit anything like this, but I understand your position. There is nothing I can do, other than what I’ve just done, and you will not deviate from these new instructions. You will complete your report at nineteen ten. Now — here are the course corrections.”

The voice of some unknown technician read them to him, and he wrote them down on the pad clipped to the edge of the control board. There would, he saw, be periods of deceleration when he neared the atmosphere when the deceleration would be five gravities — and at five gravities, one hundred ten pounds would become five hundred fifty pounds.

The technician finished and he terminated the contact with a brief acknowledgment. Then, hesitating a moment, he reached out and shut off the communicator. It was 18:13 and he would have nothing to report until 19:10. In the meantime, it somehow seemed indecent to permit others to hear what she might say in her last hour.

He began to check the instrument readings, going over them with unnecessary slowness. She would have to accept the circumstances, and there was nothing he could do to help her into acceptance; words of sympathy would only delay it.

It was 18:20 when she stirred from her motionlessness and spoke.

“So that’s the way it has to be with me?”

He swung around to face her. “You understand now, don’t you? No one would ever let it be like this if it could be changed.”

“I understand,” she said. Some of the color had returned to her face and the lipstick no longer stood out so vividly red. “There isn’t enough fuel for me to stay. When I hid on this ship, I got into something I didn’t know anything about and now I have to pay for it.”

She had violated a man-made law that said KEEP OUT, but the penalty was not for men’s making or desire and it was a penalty men could not revoke. A physical law had decreed: h amount of fuel will power an EDS with a mass of m safely to its destination; and a second physical law had decreed: h amount of fuel will not power an EDS with a mass of m plus x safely to its destination.

EDSs obeyed only physical laws, and no amount of human sympathy for her could alter the second law.

“But I’m afraid. I don’t want to die — not now. I want to live, and nobody is doing anything to help me; everybody is letting me go ahead and acting just like nothing was going to happen to me. I’m going to die and nobody cares.”

“We all do,” he said. “I do and the commander does and the clerk in Ship’s Records; we all care and each of us did what little he could to help you. It wasn’t enough — it was almost nothing — but it was all we could do.”

“Not enough fuel — I can understand that,” she said, as though she had not heard his own words. “But to have to die for it. Me alone...”

How hard it must be for her to accept the fact. She had never known danger of death, had never known the environments where the lives of men could be as fragile and fleeting as sea foam tossed against a rocky shore. She belonged on gentle Earth, in that secure and peaceful society where she could be young and gay and laughing with the others of her kind, where life was precious and well guarded and there was always the assurance that tomorrow would come. She belonged in that world of soft winds and a warm sun, music and moonlight and gracious manners, and not on the hard, bleak frontier.

“How did it happen to me so terribly quickly? An hour ago I was on the Stardust, going to Mimir. Now the Stardust is going on without me and I’m going to die and I’ll never see Gerry and Mama and Daddy again — I’ll never see anything again.”

He hesitated, wondering how he could explain it to her so she would really understand and not feel she had somehow been the victim of a reasonlessly cruel injustice. She did not know what the frontier was like; she thought in terms of safe, secure Earth. Pretty girls were not jettisoned on Earth; there was a law against it. On Earth her plight would have filled the newscasts and a fast black patrol ship would have been racing to her rescue. Everyone, everywhere, would have known of Marilyn Lee Cross, and no effort would have been spared to save her life. But this was not Earth and there were no patrol ships; only the Stardust, leaving them behind at many times the speed of light. There was no one to help her; there would be no Marilyn Lee Cross smiling from the newscasts tomorrow. Marilyn Lee Cross would be but a poignant memory for an EDS pilot and a name on a gray card in Ship’s Records.

“It’s different here; it’s not like back on Earth,” he said. “It isn’t that no one cares; it’s that no one can do anything to help. The frontier is big, and here along its rim the colonies and exploration parties are scattered so thin and far between. On Woden, for example, there are only sixteen men — sixteen men on an entire world. The exploration parties, the survey crews, the little first colonies — they’re all fighting alien environments, trying to make a way for those who will follow after. The environments fight back, and those who go first usually make mistakes only once. There is no margin of safety along the rim of the frontier; there can’t be until the way is made for the others who will come later, until the new worlds are tamed and settled. Until then men will have to pay the penalty for making mistakes, with no one to help them, because there is no one to help them.”

“I was going to Mimir,” she said. “I didn’t know about the frontier; I was only going to Mimir and it’s safe.”

“Mimir is safe, but you left the cruiser that was taking you there.”

She was silent for a little while. “It was all so wonderful at first; there was plenty of room for me on this ship and I would be seeing Gerry so soon. I didn’t know about the fuel, didn’t know what would happen to me...”

Her words trailed away, and he turned his attention to the viewscreen, not wanting to stare at her as she fought her way through the black horror of fear toward the calm gray of acceptance.

Woden was a ball, enshrouded in the blue haze of its atmosphere, swimming in space against the background of star-sprinkled dead blackness. The great mass of Manning’s Continent sprawled like a gigantic hourglass in the Eastern Sea, with the western half of the Eastern Continent still visible. There was a thin line of shadow along the right–hand edge of the globe, and the Eastern Continent was disappearing into it as the planet turned on its axis. An hour before, the entire continent had been in view; now a thousand miles of it had gone into the thin edge of shadow and around to the night that lay on the other side of the world. The dark blue spot that was Lotus Lake was approaching the shadow. It was somewhere near the southern edge of the lake that Group Two had their camp. It would be night there soon, and quick behind the coming of night the rotation of Woden on its axis would put Group Two beyond the reach of the ship’s radio.

He would have to tell her before it was too late for her to talk to her brother. In a way, it would be better for both of them should they not do so, but it was not for him to decide. To each of them the last words would be something to hold and cherish, something that would cut like the blade of a knife yet would be infinitely precious to remember, she for her own brief moments to live and he for the rest of his life.

He held down the button that would flash the grid lines on the viewscreen and used the known diameter of the planet to estimate the distance the southern tip of Lotus Lake had yet to go until it passed beyond radio range. It was approximately five hundred miles. Five hundred miles; thirty minutes — and the chronometer read 18:30. Allowing for error in estimating, it would not be later than 19:05 that the turning of Woden would cut off her brother’s voice.

The first border of the Western continent was already in sight along the left side of the world. Four thousand miles across it lay the shore of the Western Sea and the camp of Group One. It had been in the Western Sea that the tornado had originated, to strike with such fury at the camp and destroy half their prefabricated buildings, including the one that housed the medical supplies. Two days before, the tornado had not existed; it had been no more than great gentle masses of air over the calm Western Sea. Group One had gone about their routine survey work, unaware of the meeting of air masses out at sea, unaware of the force the union was spawning. It had struck their camp without warning — a thundering, roaring destruction that sought to annihilate all that lay before it. It had passed on, leaving the wreckage in its wake. It had destroyed the labor of months and had doomed six men to die and then, as though its task was accomplished, it once more began to resolve into gentle masses of air. But, for all its deadliness, it had destroyed with neither malice nor intent. It had been a blind and mindless force, obeying the laws of nature, and it would have followed the same course with the same fury had men never existed.

Existence required order, and there was order; the laws of nature, irrevocable and immutable. Men could learn to use them, but men could not change them. The circumference of a circle was always pi times the diameter, and no science of man would ever make it otherwise. The combination of chemical A with chemical B under condition C invariably produced reaction D. The law of gravitation was a rigid equation, and it made no distinction between the fall of a leaf and the ponderous circling of a binary star system. The nuclear conversion process powered the cruisers that carried men to the stars; the same process in the form of a nova would destroy a world with equal efficiency. The laws were, and the universe moved in obedience to them. Along the frontier were arrayed all the forces of nature, and sometimes they destroyed those who were fighting their way outward from Earth. The men of the frontier had long ago learned the bitter futility of cursing the forces that would destroy them, for the forces were blind and deaf; the futility of looking to the heavens for mercy, for the stars of the galaxy swung in their long, long sweep of two hundred million years, as inexorably controlled as they by the laws that knew neither hatred nor compassion. The men of the frontier knew — but how was a girl from Earth to fully understand? h amount of fuel will not power an EDS with a mass of m plus x safely to its destination. To him and her brother and parents she was a sweet-faced girl in her teens; to the laws of nature she was x, the unwanted factor in a cold equation.

She stirred again on the seat. “Could I write a letter? I want to write to Mama and Daddy. And I’d like to talk to Gerry. Could you let me talk to him over your radio there?” “I’ll try to get him,” he said.

He switched on the normal-space transmitter and pressed the signal button. Someone answered the buzzer almost immediately.

“Hello. How’s it going with you fellows now — is the EDS on its way?”

“This isn’t Group One; this is the EDS,” he said. “Is Gerry Cross there?”

“Gerry? He and two others went out in the helicopter this morning and aren’t back yet. It’s almost sundown, though, and he ought to be back right away — in less than an hour at the most.”

“Can you connect me through to the radio in his copter?”

“Huh-uh. It’s been out of commission for two months — some printed circuits went haywire and we can’t get any more until the next cruiser stops by. Is it something important — bad news for him, or something?”

“Yes — it’s very important. When he comes in, get him to the transmitter as soon as you possibly can.”

“I’ll do that; I’ll have one of the boys waiting at the field with a truck. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No, I guess that’s all. Get him there as soon as you can and signal me.”

He turned the volume to an inaudible minimum, an act that would not affect the functioning of the signal buzzer, and unclipped the pad of paper from the control board. He tore off the sheet containing his flight instructions and handed the pad to her, together with pencil.

“I’d better write to Gerry too,” she said as she took them. “He might not get back to camp in time.”

She began to write, her fingers still clumsy and uncertain in the way they handled the pencil, and the top of it trembling a little as she poised it between words. He turned back to the viewscreen, to stare at it without seeing it.

She was a lonely little child trying to say her last goodbye, and she would lay out her heart to them. She would tell them how much she loved them and she would tell them to not feel bad about it, that it was only something that must happen eventually to everyone and she was not afraid. The last would be a lie and it would be there to read between the sprawling, uneven lines: a valiant little lie that would make the hurt all the greater for them.

Her brother was of the frontier and he would understand. He would not hate the EDS pilot for doing nothing to prevent her going; he would know there had been nothing the pilot could do. He would understand, though the understanding would not soften the shock and pain when he learned his sister was gone. But the others, her father and mother — they would not understand. They were of Earth and they would think in the manner of those who had never lived where the safety margin of life was a thin, thin line — and sometimes nothing at all. What would they think of the faceless, unknown pilot who had sent her to her death?

They would hate him with cold and terrible intensity, but it really didn’t matter. He would never see them, never know them. He would have only the memories to remind him; only the nights of fear, when a blue-eyed girl in gypsy sandals would come in his dreams to die again...

He scowled at the viewscreen and tried to force his thoughts into less emotional channels. There was nothing he could do to help her. She had unknowingly subjected herself to the penalty of a law that recognized neither innocence nor youth nor beauty, that was incapable of sympathy or leniency. Regret was illogical — and yet, could knowing it to be illogical ever keep it away?

She stopped occasionally, as though trying to find the right words to tell them what she wanted them to know; then the pencil would resume its whispering to the paper. It was 18:37 when she folded the letter in a square and wrote a name on it. She began writing another, twice looking up at the chronometer, as though she feared the black hand might reach its rendezvous before she had finished. It was 18:45 when she folded it as she had done the first letter and wrote a name and address on it.

She held the letters out to him. “Will you take care of these and see that they’re enveloped and mailed?”

“Of course.” He took them from her hand and placed them in a pocket of his gray uniform shirt.

“These can’t be sent off until the next cruiser stops by, and the Stardust will have long since told them about me, won’t it?” she asked. He nodded and she went on: “That makes the letters not important in one way, but in another way they’re very important — to me, and to them.”

“I know. I understand, and I’ll take care of them.”

She glanced at the chronometer, then back to him. “It seems to move faster all the time, doesn’t it?”

He said nothing, unable to think of anything to say, and she asked, “Do you think Gerry will come back to camp in time?”

“I think so. They said he should be in right away.”

She began to roll the pencil back and forth between her palms. “I hope he does. I feel sick and scared and I want to hear his voice again and maybe I won’t feel so alone. I’m a coward and I can’t help it.”

“No,” he said, “you’re not a coward. You’re afraid, but you’re not a coward.”

“Is there a difference?”

He nodded. “A lot of difference.”

“I feel so alone. I never did feel like this before; like I was all by myself and there was nobody to care what happened to me. Always, before, there were Mama and Daddy there and my friends around me. I had lots of friends, and they had a going-away party for me the night before I left.”

Friends and music and laughter for her to remember — and on the viewscreen Lotus Lake was going into the shadow.

“Is it the same with Gerry?” she asked. “I mean, if he should make a mistake, would he have to die for it, all alone and with no one to help him?”

“It’s the same with all, along the frontier; it will always be like that so long as there is a frontier.”

“Gerry didn’t tell us. He said the pay was good, and he sent money home all the time because Daddy’s little shop just brought in a bare living, but he didn’t tell us it was like this.”

“He didn’t tell you his work was dangerous?”

“Well — yes. He mentioned that, but we didn’t understand. I always thought danger along the frontier was something that was a lot of fun; an exciting adventure, like in the three-D shows.” A wan smile touched her face for a moment. “Only it’s not, is it? It’s not the same at all, because when it’s real you can’t go home after the show is over.”

“No,” he said. “No, you can’t.”

Her glance flicked from the chronometer to the door of the air lock, then down to the pad and pencil she still held. She shifted her position slightly to lay them on the bench beside her, moving one foot out a little. For the first time he saw that she was not wearing Vegan gypsy sandals, but only cheap imitations; the expensive Vegan leather was some kind of grained plastic, the silver buckle was gilded iron, the jewels were colored glass. Daddy’s little shop just brought in a bare living... She must have left college in her second year, to take the course in linguistics that would enable her to make her own way and help her brother provide for her parents, earning what she could by part-time work after classes were over. Her personal possessions on the Stardust would be taken back to her parents — they would neither be of much value nor occupy much storage space on the return voyage.

“Isn’t it—” She stopped, and he looked at her questioningly. “Isn’t it cold in here?” she asked, almost apologetically. “Doesn’t it seem cold to you?”

“Why, yes,” he said. He saw by the main temperature gauge that the room was at precisely normal temperature. “Yes, it’s colder than it should be.”

“I wish Gerry would get back before it’s too late. Do you really think he will, and you didn’t just say so to make me feel better?”

“I think he will — they said he would be in pretty soon.” On the viewscreen Lotus Lake had gone into the shadow but for the thin blue line of its western edge, and it was apparent he had overestimated the time she would have in which to talk to her brother. Reluctantly, he said to her, “His camp will be out of radio range in a few minutes; he’s on that part of Woden that’s in the shadow” — he indicated the viewscreen — “and the turning of Woden will put him beyond contact. There may not be much time left when he comes in — not much time to talk to him before he fades out. I wish I could do something about it — I would call him right now if I could.”

“Not even as much time as I will have to stay?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then—” She straightened and looked toward the air lock with pale resolution. “Then I’ll go when Gerry passes beyond range. I won’t wait any longer after that — I won’t have anything to wait for.”

Again there was nothing he could say.

“Maybe I shouldn’t wait at all. Maybe I’m selfish — maybe it would be better for Gerry if you just told him about it afterward.”

There was an unconscious pleading for denial in the way she spoke and he said, “He wouldn’t want you to do that, to not wait for him.”

“It’s already coming dark where he is, isn’t it? There will be all the long night before him, and Mama and Daddy don’t know yet that I won’t ever be coming back like I promised them I would. I’ve caused everyone I love to be hurt, haven’t I? I didn’t want to — I didn’t intend to.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault at all. They’ll know that. They’ll understand.”

“At first I was so afraid to die that I was a coward and thought only of myself. Now I see how selfish I was. The terrible thing about dying like this is not that I’ll be gone but that I’ll never see them again; never be able to tell them that I didn’t take them for granted; never be able to tell them I knew of the sacrifices they made to make my life happier, that I knew all the things they did for me and that I loved them so much more than I ever told them. I’ve never told them any of those things. You don’t tell them such things when you’re young and your life is all before you — you’re so afraid of sounding sentimental and silly. But it’s so different when you have to die — you wish you had told them while you could, and you wish you could tell them you’re sorry for all the little mean things you ever did or said to them. You wish you could tell them that you didn’t really mean to ever hurt their feelings and for them to only remember that you always loved them far more than you ever let them know.”

“You don’t have to tell them that,” he said. “They will know — they’ve always known it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “How can you be sure? My people are strangers to you.”

“Wherever you go, human nature and human hearts are the same.”

“And they will know what I want them to know — that I love them?”

“They’ve always known it, in a way far better than you could ever put in words for them.”

“I keep remembering the things they did for me, and it’s the little things they did that seem to be the most important to me, now. Like Gerry — he sent me a bracelet of fire rubies on my sixteenth birthday. It was beautiful — it must have cost him a month’s pay. Yet I remember him more for what he did the night my kitten got run over in the street. I was only six years old and he held me in his arms and wiped away my tears and told me not to cry, that Flossy was gone for just a little while, for just long enough to get herself a new fur coat, and she would be on the foot of my bed the very next morning. I believed him and quit crying and went to sleep dreaming about my kitten coming back. When I woke up the next morning, there was Flossy on the foot of my bed in a brand-new white fur coat, just like he had said she would be. It wasn’t until a long time later that Mama told me Gerry had got the pet-shop owner out of bed at four in the morning and, when the man got mad about it, Gerry told him he was either going to go down and sell him the white kitten right then or he’d break his neck.”

“It’s always the little things you remember people by, all the little things they did because they wanted to do them for you. You’ve done the same for Gerry and your father and mother; all kinds of things that you’ve forgotten about, but that they will never forget.”

“I hope I have. I would like for them to remember me like that.”

“They will.”

“I wish—” She swallowed. “The way I’ll die — I wish they wouldn’t ever think of that. I’ve read how people look who die in space — their insides all ruptured and exploded and their lungs out between their teeth and then, a few seconds later, they’re all dry and shapeless and horribly ugly. I don’t want them to ever think of me as something dead and horrible like that.”

“You’re their own, their child and their sister. They could never think of you other than the way you would want them to, the way you looked the last time they saw you.”

“I’m still afraid,” she said. “I can’t help it, but I don’t want Gerry to know it. If he gets back in time, I’m going to act like I’m not afraid at all and—”

The signal buzzer interrupted her, quick and imperative.

“Gerry!” She came to her feet. “It’s Gerry now!”

He spun the volume control knob and asked, “Gerry Cross?”

“Yes,” her brother answered, an undertone of tenseness to his reply. “The bad news — what is it?”

She answered for him, standing close behind him and leaning down a little toward the communicator, her hand resting small and cold on his shoulder.

“Hello, Gerry.” There was only a faint quaver to betray the careful casualness of her voice. “I wanted to see you—” “Marilyn!” There was sudden and terrible apprehension in the way he spoke her name. “What are you doing on that EDS?”

“I wanted to see you,” she said again. “I wanted to see you, so I hid on this ship—”

“You hid on it?”

“I’m a stowaway... I didn’t know what it would mean—”

“Marilyn!” It was the cry of a man who calls, hopeless and desperate, to someone already and forever gone from him. “What have you done?”

“I... it’s not—” Then her own composure broke and the cold little hand gripped his shoulder convulsively. “Don’t, Gerry — I only wanted to see you; I didn’t intend to hurt you. Please, Gerry, don’t feel like that—”

Something warm and wet splashed on his wrist, and he slid out of the chair to help her into it and swing the microphone down to her level.

“Don’t feel like that. Don’t let me go knowing you feel like that—”

The sob she had tried to hold back choked in her throat, and her brother spoke to her. “Don’t cry, Marilyn.” His voice was suddenly deep and infinitely gentle, with all the pain held out of it. “Don’t cry, Sis — you mustn’t do that. It’s all right, honey — everything is all right.”

“I—” Her lower lip quivered and she bit into it. “I didn’t want you to feel that way — I just wanted us to say goodbye, because I have to go in a minute.”

“Sure — sure. That’s the way it’ll be, Sis. I didn’t mean to sound the way I did.” Then his voice changed to a tone of quick and urgent demand. “EDS — have you called the Stardust? Did you check with the computers?”

“I called the Stardust almost an hour ago. It can’t turn back; there are no other cruisers within forty light-years, and there isn’t enough fuel.”

“Are you sure that the computers had the correct data — sure of everything?”

“Yes — do you think I could ever let it happen if I wasn’t sure? I did everything I could do. If there was anything at all I could do now, I would do it.”

“He tried to help me, Gerry.” Her lower lip was no longer trembling and the short sleeves of her blouse were wet where she had dried her tears. “No one can help me and I’m not going to cry anymore and everything will be all right with you and Daddy and Mama, won’t it?”

“Sure — sure it will. We’ll make out fine.”

Her brother’s words were beginning to come in more faintly, and he turned the volume control to maximum. “He’s going out of range,” he said to her. “He’ll be gone within another minute.”

“You’re fading out, Gerry,” she said. “You’re going out of range. I wanted to tell you — but I can’t now. We must say goodbye so soon — but maybe I’ll see you again. Maybe I’ll come to you in your dreams with my hair in braids and crying because the kitten in my arms is dead; maybe I’ll be the touch of a breeze that whispers to you as it goes by; maybe I’ll be one of those gold-winged larks you told me about, singing my silly head off to you; maybe, at times, I’ll be nothing you can see, but you will know I’m there beside you. Think of me like that, Gerry; always like that and not — the other way.”

Dimmed to a whisper by the turning of Woden, the answer came back: “Always like that, Marilyn — always like that and never any other way.” “Our time is up, Gerry — I have to go now. Good—” Her voice broke in midword and her mouth tried to twist into crying. She pressed her hand hard against it and when she spoke again the words came clear and true: “Goodbye, Gerry.” Faint and ineffably poignant and tender, the last words came from the cold metal of the communicator: “Goodbye, little sister...”

She sat motionless in the hush that followed, as though listening to the shadow-echoes of the words as they died away; then she turned away from the communicator, toward the air lock, and he pulled down the black lever beside him. The inner door of the air lock slid swiftly open to reveal the bare little cell that was waiting for her, and she walked to it.

She walked with her head up and the brown curls brushing her shoulders, with the white sandals stepping as sure and steady as the fractional gravity would permit and the gilded buckles twinkling with little lights of blue and red and crystal. He let her walk alone and made no move to help her, knowing she would not want it that way. She stepped into the air lock and turned to face him, only the pulse in her throat to betray the wild beating of her heart.

“I’m ready,” she said.

He pushed the lever up and the door slid its quick barrier between them, enclosing her in black and utter darkness for her last moments of life. It clicked as it locked in place and he jerked down the red lever. There was a slight waver of the ship as the air gushed from the lock, a vibration to the wall as though something had bumped the outer door in passing; then there was nothing and the ship was dropping true and steady again. He shoved the red lever back to close the door on the empty air lock and turned away, to walk to the pilot’s chair with the slow steps of a man old and weary.

Back in the pilot’s chair he pressed the signal button of the normal-space transmitter. There was no response; he had expected none. Her brother would have to wait through the night until the turning of Woden permitted contact through Group One.

It was not yet time to resume deceleration, and he waited while the ship dropped endlessly downward with him and the drives purred softly. He saw that the white hand of the supply-closet temperature gauge was on zero. A cold equation had been balanced and he was alone on the ship. Something shapeless and ugly was hurrying ahead of him, going to Woden, where her brother was waiting through the night, but the empty ship still lived for a little while with the presence of the girl who had not known about the forces that killed with neither hatred nor malice. It seemed, almost, that she still sat, small and bewildered and frightened, on the metal box beside him, her words echoing hauntingly clear in the void she had left behind her:

I didn’t do anything to die for... I didn’t do anything...

[popculturebuffet]

Simpsons Review: Simpsons Comics #102 “Uncle Burn$” or Homercore Nudity!

Whelp out of all the commissions Kev has thrown me this one’s kind of a curveball. I mean it makes sense why cover it: It’s a pastiche of Donald Duck Comics done in the pages of the Simpsons long running comics. I cover duck stuff on here, and not only do I love the Simpsons but I tend to reference it for jokes a LOT. I just genuinely never thought of reviewing it till now, likely because earlier on in my new career of reviewing animated shows, I wasn’t really convinced I could do pure comedies. With my regular reviews of Darkwing Duck and as it comes out coverage of the Loud House (I still need to get around to Band Together), that’s no longer a real issue and I should consider doing the show in the future, especially since I have an unabashed love for the first 10 seasons and a few episodes beyond that. 

As you can tell, I love the Simpsons. While I do genuinely wish it would end and have no real intrest in the current seasons, though if you’d like me to take a look i’d be willing to. The show in it’s prime was funny, witty and each episode was crammed with jokes. And refreshingly for an adult cartoon show of it’s time,  the show genuinely wasn’t afraid to mix things up: Milhouse’s parents divorced and stayed that way for so long that them apparently getting back together decades later is itself a huge status quo shake up.  Lisa went Vegetarian which stuck thanks to sir paul mcartney, and then went Buddhist, both of which have never wavered since and both fit her well. Skinner and Krabbable started dating. Barney went sober for a few seasons. Apu got married. These are minor changes but the show does have things happen occasionally and doesn’t just snap everything back and it adds genuine tension to plots knowing they might stay the status quo They usually don’t but the occasional change gives things stakes. I could go on for days, but I couldn’t go on for 8 weeks, point is the Simpsons are awesome, and deserve the praise they get early on I just wish they’d stop as by this point people really have stopped carring and it’s time to pass the torch and Let Bob’s burgers be the wholesome family comedy that runs forever.. and even then that one should stop at 10 seasons. Or if not at least let the kids age dammit.  But that aside, while many of you simpsons fans looking at this probably have at least seen the comics, or a collection of them over the decades, many of you like me are wondering what the hell Bongo Comics is and how they managed to last so long. Bongo was founded by Simpsons Creator Matt Groening in 1993. Matt Groening had noticed that at the time there just weren’t any funny books on the shelves, funny books being comedy based comics primarily targeted for kids, with Archie and Disney being really the only ones left at the time. So he founded Bongo to rectify that, and given Fox naturally liked the sound of more merchandising dollars, the publisher was primarily used to produce simpsons comics, though looking at wikipedia there were one or two that weren’t including, of all things, a Coldplay comic tying into their album. Why did Coldplay publish a comic book at a primarily simpsons comic book company?

Though most series seem to be either short lived or one shots, there were a few exceptions: Naturally the company put out an annual Treehouse of Horror issue, there was a Bart Simpson ongoing focusing on him and the other kids of Springfield, I had a trade for that one once, and once Futurama premiered it too got a comic book that held through both cancelations. But standing above them all was Simpsons Comics, a 245 issue long runner that ran all the way up to the company’s closing, likely due to a combination of a lack of profits and the then upcoming Disney-Fox merger depriving them of the very heart and soul of the company. 

Naturally being a Simpsons fan I have a connection to these comics having gotten the trades out of the library multiple times as well as the collection of Bartman’s solo series, which was my favorite and I might cover some day. In addition to the Free Comic Book Day issues i also picked up scattered issues over my life since, much like Archie, Simpsons comics were a mainstay of bookstores and super markets and the decline of both comic markets is likely why the Simpsons comics started to peter out in the first place. The quality and memorability of the stories varied but they were a fun thing to have around and it’s sad to see them go, as well as see Disney not even make a remote attempt to bring them back or at the very least republish the vast library they now have access to. Also finally if your wondering yes, there indeed was a Simpsons/Futurama crossover. And no I have not read it.  So with that history, most of which I just learned some of which I already knew, in mind, it is very fitting the comic’s did a tribute to the Uncle Scrooge comics. Though it does feel very weird that I have yet to cover any Donald Duck or Scrooge comics.. yet i’ve already covered one of the Ducktales tie in comics and a Simpsons homage to it. I’m going to have to correct that but until then, join me under the cut as I dive into adventure with the Simpsons. 

This issue was written by Ian Boothby and drawn by John Delaney, I feel mentiong the writers and artists should be important in comic reviews and I kick myself for not having done that or gone into them as much before. Boothby was apparently the Ian Flynn of these comics, writing more simpsons comics than any other writer according to wikipedia and winning an Eisner for his work on the comic if sadly not this issue. He was nominated for an outstanding Canadian Writer award for it though so that’s good. Point is the guy is a decorated vetran of this series and it shows in how good this issue is and I felt he deserved some recognition as most Comic Book Readers, myself included up till now, likely weren’t aware he even existed nor took over the comic in the 2000′s. 

We open with Burns getting attacked by a mummy! Gotta say wasn’t expecting this as where we started out but the simpsons have started with wonkier premises to end up somewhere. I mean there was the time a bag boy strike ended up with them in Africa. Also i’d say Burns should call the police, being the kind of privileged white guy they actually care about protecting and all, but frankly the Springfield Cops don’t have the best track records with Mummies:

But no it’s just Smithers, who dove in heroically to save the company 15 dollars after Homer took a bet to see how many fire crackers he could jam in his computer’s disk drive. Lenny said 20 but he proved him wrong. And yes those are all actual jokes from the comic, this issue is very funny and feels very much like a Golden Age Simpsons episode. They also all gather to sign Smither’s cast.. which naturally is a legally binding contract.  Burns takes his loyal minion to get some quality medical care only to find an arcade because he traded the Medical Bay in for one during an outbreak of Pac Man Fever... again I really can’t top that and there may be a good reason why I haven’t covered the Simpsons till now. But yeah as Buns gives Smithers a roll of Pennies, he wonders who to have replace Smither’s on their annual summer treasure hunt.. which would come out of nowhere but we genuinely don’t know what they do most summers. I assumed Burns just road Smithers like a horse to play cricket while Smithers enjoyed it way too much. But a stray comment from Homer getting a Krusty Doll from a crane machine about being king of the treasure hunters leads to this. 

I mean it’s an easy joke but damn if it didn’t get a laugh out of me. So later at the old Simpsons place, because this comic is fantastic, Marge and Homer talk things over, but Homer insists Burns said he’d split the treasure, and Lisa wishes she could come along. And Marge says he should, especially for his own saftey.. and when Bart complains, says all the kids should go, she already packed their bags, she’s heading to Rancho Relaxo byyyyeeeeeee. Once again, this comic is amazing, and I would say this is out of character for Marge, but frankly that’s the whole point. Plus it really isn’t when she has to deal with 4 children on a regular basis, and her sisters, and a town gone mad.. yeah can’t blame her here. 

The next day at Burns Office, Homer is wearing his navy outfit.. or rather Donald’s Navy outfit. But given I did a quick google and found him having at least 4 different outfits during his time in the Naval Reserves, it’s not a stretch to assume the Simpsons Version of the Navy gave these out too. Seriously Ian Boothby has put more thought into continuity than most writers on the show proper. Also Simpsons Tide, season 9 episode, still very memorable and hilarious and not due to childhood nostalgia. Just looking up this bit had me laughing hard. 

I now  want to watch that episode sometime soon so thanks Kev. Anyway Homer seems to have misplaced his plants. Now I could spare you the image since I don’t do things panel by panel anymore and only use panels from a comic when relevant. Buttttt

This traumatizing of my audience brings me to a point about this issue and why it works. While there are tons of nods to the Donald Duck comics and what their homaging is very clear, the issue doesn’t REQUIRE you know them to enjoy it.  Knowing them I obviously enjoy it more, but most of the jokes aren’t reliant on you knowing anything about the barks comics and even someone with a passing knowledge of  the Original Ducktales can still get the reference if not why Donald is here. It helps this is less of a parody, with the exception of some jokes, and more of an homage, using stylistic elements of those comics while telling i’ts own story as a loving tribute to it’s predecessors. Speaking of one of those jokes poking fun at the source material, Burns is delighted Homer brought child labor, which kept me laughing for a good minute, and when the kids introduce themselves we get this bit. 

Not only am I 100% sure every version of Donald or Della did this to make sure they could tell them apart, very much including the reboot with Donald, but it’s a genuine hilarious bit. Donald’s response as they head off is “there’s somehting hooey Dewey and screwy about this. “ Also I will criticize the fact Bart isn’t the one wearing a blue outfit. For those wondering why, after all Maggie wears blue shouldn’t she get it, who haven’t seen this a LOT of merchandise early on had Bart in a blue shirt, due to early Merch being rushed out pre-show and since he wore one in some earlier concept art, he got to wear blue. He also wore it late into the 90′s. 

Sidebar: I just found this and while it isn’t a bad joke given his character it is  questionable to have a fourth grade boy tell you to buy him. Just saying. But the reason I bring it up is partly because the show itself referenced it at one point. 

As well as it’s sister show Futurama

And you remeber that Bart Simpson solo I mentioned? That one frequently, both in and out of story, had Blue Shirt bart show up for some variety. 

Also why yes each issue does have it’s own fun “Superman’s Pal Jimmy Oleson” Esque subtitle. And I love it so. Point is Blue Bart is part of the series legacy and this very comic company, so it’s VERY weird to not have that here. That being said there were  a few Green Shirt barts apparently as a printing error, so he could just as easily be 80 steps ahead of me. I just don’t know. 

Back at the plot Burns and the Simpsons show up at Frink’s lab, Frink rather obviously filling in for Gyro, with his own version of little bulb named F.L.O. who gladly shakes Lisa’s hand.. and releases a Pterodactyl but hey you can’t win em all. It’s a nice nod, though one only fans of the source matieral will really get, but the pterodactyl bit right after helps distract from it. Frink slotts into the roll well, as Frink has no reall affiliation with anyone and is basically, much like Gyro, there for various characters to go too when the story or joke needs him. Frink has two gadgets for them: Some Scuba suits that can go to any depth and a grappling claw that accidently gets him gripped to the pterodactyl. Also homer accidently switches suits with maggie, so we get an adorable shot of her serenely sleeping in a diving helmet while her daddy chokes to death. 

So the next day it’s out to the open seas where The Simpsons are doing all the work while Burns lounges.. which yeah this is a typical uncle scrooge adventure all right. While the man unlike Burns does work hard and do things for himself, he spent most voyages talking about the destination while putting all the hard work on Donald, in case you thought there was at least one universe where Donald isn’t miserable most of the time. Lisa wonders what he’s doing and we get this lovely bit. 

I just.. can’t stop finding that hilarious or a nice way to get the Uncle Scrooge bit in there while still fitting the Simpsons, and it at least explains what happened to Herb, whose been mentioned all of once in the 30 seasons since he last showed up. I checked. And yes for those unaware, which is fair, or who just now remembered Homer does indeed have a brother, one his dad had out of an affair who showed up twice, once with Homer unintentionally, and largely due to Herb’s own foolishness, ruining his life, the other time with Maggie helping him get back on top and him and Homer reconciling. He’s also voiced by comedic legend and your friend and mine, Danny Devito, whose still making us all laugh to this day and is a wonderful person from all accounts. Rock on Danny, here’s the only way I can think to honor you. 

But yeah it’s a good gag. Burns claims to be watching for a Giant Squid.. and turns out to be right. So it’s up to the simpsons to fight the giant squid, a sentence I genuinely didn’t expect.. I thought like the Griffins they’d just ignore it. 

I miss that show.. oh i’m aware Family Guy is still running but much like the Simpsons the show it USED to be is long gone. Anyways Bart tells a worried homer octopus suck out the innards and drink it first quipping “It’s not like you haven’t been drunk in the morning before homer. Homer chokes bart only for the squid to choke him which is easily the second best “Homer getting choked after Choking bart” gag i’ve seen.. the best being this one I found on youtube. 

Though personally my faviorite part of that whole bit is Bart’s proud “THAT’S BECAUSE I SOAKED HIM IN SLIME!” Anyways Lisa figures out a way to beat the squid, painting the likeness of each of them on it’s tentacles and letting the thing devour itself. Lisa lampshades it making no sense PHysics wise but with that she reluctantly accepts calling Mr. Burns, Uncle Burns and we’re off to our next location.  Next up is Mt. Donrosa, a very clear nod to Uncle Scrooge maestro Keno “Don” Rosa, an avid fan of Barks work who expanded on it and turned it into a solid continuity, most famously, and what got me into the ducks in the first place, with the epic “Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck” which I proudly own and.. well I did say watch this space didn’t I?  Enough hinting at the future as the Simpsons scale the mountain with Homer carrying burns up on a rickshaw. Burns however looses his lucky #1 penny, SUBTLE, and cuts Bart down to get it. We then get the best line of the issue:

Bart thankfully survives and we find out the Penny, much like Scrooge’s Dime is how Burns started his fortune.. for this issue and nowhere else but that’s standard for the Simpsons. Specifically loading it into a gun and threatning to kill Jasper’s grandfather with it during the gold rush, a nice twist. At the top of the mountain they find the fabled key of Strobl, which comes from the Taliaferro tribe.. more refrenes this time though I didn’t know them and had to google. Tony Strobl was an artist on the Duck Comics at one ponit  and Al Taliforino id forgotten about. He did the Donald Duck comic strip which I had heard of and weirdly hasn’t been collected yet despite Fantagraphics covering mickey, as well as reprinting barks and rosa’s respective works. 

The key is suspended in the air by what Lisa suspects to be magnetics, and while Burns plan is naturally “Have Bart swim in it and see if he surivives”, Bart, still pissed from the penny and not wanting to die today, grabs the Penny and uses his slingshot to fire it at the Key. The bad luck from the penny casues an erruption, but Bart once again saves the day and has them surf down, with naturally tons more great jokes.  The family enjoys some steamed Seafood, except Lisa whose eating Seaweed, while Homer enjoys a sting ray “It tastes as good as it stings, Ow, Ow.” ON to Goddfrodson Trench, an odd choice given Floyd Goddfrodson was barks equivalent for the Mickey Mouse Comics and not really a duck writer, but he still deserves the honor regardless.  Under the Sea, no accusations just friendly crustaceans here.. our heroes are close to the treasure but loose the map to the Jailbird Boys, aka Snake and his cousins, who found out due to Lisa’s blog. She didn’t want to loose any more readers to Sheri and Teri’s Olson Twin’s Fan Page.. which.. it’s 2004.. weren’t they dead by this point? Nope still alive? Still are today in fact? Alrighty then. Also this bit, and some of the other references are a bit heavy handed, I will admit that, but the jokes are high quality enough otherwise that it just comes off as a bit of an adorable wink more than laziness. 

Snake and co cut their air with Starfish used as throwing stars. 

The gang tie their air suplies to avoid dying, and Maggie, in a clever bit, talks with the starfish, since they communicate via sucking, to attack the Jailbird Boys. Again.. 

I genuinely don’t know, but our heroes find the fabled vault of Barks Billion.. named after Bark Barks, that polar bear from the sonic games.. no of course it’s named after Disney Duck God Carl Barks, who created the Duck’s share of Donald and Scrooge’s supporting cast: Uncle Scrooge himself, Daisy Duck, a fact I just learned but given he created her first short “Mr Duck Steps Out, shouldn’t of surprised me, The Beagle Boys, Magica DeSpell, Goldie O Gilt, Flintheart Glomgold, Gyro Gearloose, Gladstone Gander, The Junior Woodchucks as a whole, Neighbor Jones, John D. Rockerduck, The Number One Dime, Gus Goose, April, May, June and Whitewater Duck. Just the sheer impact he’s had on the comics on all continents cannot be overstated. He is also the one who refined Huey Dewey and Louie from hellraising little shits to the good little boys they are today.. well okay they were, thankfully the reboot has created much better versions. Point is what a man, what a man what a mighty good man, he is truly missed.  We get two great homer gags in the same page, one where somehow he’s put the giant key on a key ring and still can’t find it.. with Bart helpfully taking it from him, and then we get this, which I missed on my first read through. 

Naturally Burns betrays them, using a Gold Magnet, kay, to suck up all the gold and naturally planning to leave the Simpsons for dead to no one’s surprise. But thanks to Bart teaching Maggie how to use the spittoons, Homer gets one stuck on his head.. and starts getting sucked up with the Simpsons using them to escape. Naturally Lisa’s first instinct is obvious. 

But Burns weasels his way out by promising them free gold after their free lunch. Naturally the next day this turns out ot be a trick as their lunch came from frinks and thus, for now, their weightless.. but Karma gets Burns when he tries swimming in his new gold vault... only for the natural result of what happens when am an who never exercises and who doctors once described as having so many diseases packed into his body at once they tripped each other off and that a strong wind could kill him, trying to do with a similarly aged but still physically fit and well trained at swimming in money man does on a daily basis. 

We then close on a quick gag of weightless homer getting caught on fire and we’re out. 

Final Thoughts:  This was a really excellent comic. It captured the tone of the Simpsons at their best and while stiff in a place here or there, it’s mostly just really funny, entertaining and a nice and warm tribute to Donald and Scrooge’s long comics history, not really mocking it but instead just homaging it, while still throughly feeling like the Simpsons. It honestly feels like the Treehouse of Horor Segement on the shining, a bit that parodies something, but for the most part the jokes still feel firmly rooted in the simpsons and their cast. This was a treat to review and i’m glad Kev comissoned it and I may take a look at more Simpsons in the future. If you guys like this review, you can follow me on patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet, or if  there’s a specific simpsons or ducktales episode or a specific comic you want me to review, you can comission your own review for just five bucks. Just send me a direct message on here through Tumblr, or take a look at my ask box or submit. However you want to do it. I take payments through paypal and until next time: Happy Days are Here Again. 

[apocryphalfemme]

Designatory Date Night

Well, I lied.  I finally played Mass Effect: Andromeda a week or so back and I’m here to report that I love Vetra Nyx so completely that I was inspired to write some simply brain-rotting fluff.  (An entire two years ahead of schedule, I know!)  Und so, I give you Designatory Date Night.  Read it below the cut, or on AO3.

Love,

Clithroe

““Pathfinder?”

“Yeah, SAM?”

“If I may ask, what is it you’re thinking of doing?”

“I’m thinking...”  As she recalled her earlier train of thought, Ryder’s face lit up.  “I’m thinking I’ve got an idea for the best date night, ever.””

Or

Ryder leverages the privileges of her job to show Vetra a good time.

“Anwar, what the hell am I looking at?”

“It appears to be a... a solar system, Pathfinder,” Suvi murmured.  “The solar system, in fact.  I believe we’ve found Avaarus.”  Ryder drummed her fingers against her console, brimming with nervous anticipation. 

“But it’s in the middle of nowhere.  We’re not even in Heleus space anymore, right Kallo?” she asked.

“Confirmed, Pathfinder.  We’re in deep space, just a ways outside of home.  I should mention that the next known celestial cluster is the Boone Traverse and we’re not getting anywhere near there without a mass relay,” Kallo said.  “Whatever this is, it’s a lone entity.”

“So... what?” Ryder breathed, disbelieving.  “Heleus just lost an entire star and a handful of planets?  Did it wander off when the angara weren’t looking or something?” 

“Ryder,” Suvi piped up. “It’s possible that what we’re seeing here is one of the more dramatic effects of the Scourge.  If Avaarus really was originally located where angaran maps say, then the system may have been wholly ejected from the cluster as the Scourge spread.”  Their pilot chirped an incredulous noise.

“Is that even possible?”

“Come on Kallo, two whole years in Andromeda and you’re still asking questions like that?” Suvi teased.  Kallo cut back with something sarcastic, but Ryder wasn’t listening; her attention had been caught by what was orbiting their runaway star.

“Okay, no, that can’t be right.  Avaarus is supposed to have four orbiting bodies.  That,” she pointed, “is at least seven.”  That got their attention.  Kallo and Suvi’s conversation petered out as they each ran their own, individual counts of this bizarre, seemingly truant system.  Kallo was first to break the silence.

“With eyes alone, I’m actually counting nine, Pathfinder”

“I think I’m seeing thirteen,” Suvi reported.  SAM’s vox crackled to life over the bridge speakers, only to prove them all wrong.

“Pathfinder, there are at least sixteen distinguishable celestial bodies orbiting this star.”  Kallo gaped, shocked into silence.  Suvi giggled, a tad manic.  Ryder swore.

“Holy shit.  SAM, what… are they?  Where did they come from?”

“The majority appear to be planets in varying states of compositional decay, Pathfinder.  Preliminary scans indicate that many may have once been capable of bearing life.  Cross-referencing with what remains of old angaran star charts and the inferable ejection path of the star Avaarus, I believe it is possible that we have discovered what happened to several planets that the angara report as having mysteriously disappeared over the last several centuries.”

“Holy shit,” Ryder swore again, for good measure.  “So if this really is Avaarus… I guess our friend here decided it wasn’t going out alone, huh?  Stole a few planets on the way out the door.”

“Ryder, the implications of this are incredible,” Suvi babbled, ecstatic.  “We knew the Scourge was powerful, but to learn that it can generate gravitational effects significant enough to move entire stars… forget terraforming, this is stellaforming!”

“Tann’s going to have an aneurysm,” Ryder chuckled.

“Don’t forget why we’re here, guys.  We’ve still got a job to do,” Kallo said, gently reminding them of their purpose in hunting down this most elusive system.  

“Right, yes.”  Ryder ran a hand through her hair before tapping her mic.  “Jaal, can you come up to the bridge?  I think we may have found what we’ve been looking for.”  Their resident angaran’s voice crackled immediately back.

“Oh, really now?  Of course!  On my way, Ryder.”

“God, it isn’t half pretty, is it?” murmured Suvi, completely ignoring her instruments panel in favor of staring at the solar system projected before them with a slightly glazed look.  

Ryder had to admit that her science officer’s assessment was dead on: Avaarus was a gorgeous system and that was putting it lightly.  Around the titanic, vividly blue-white star, sharply violet shades of gas spiraled out in a tight corkscrew.  At the edge of the heliosphere, thousands upon tens of thousands of asteroids spun in a truly magnificent debris disk.  All throughout, a plethora of mostly ringed planets hung suspended in the void, bathed in astral gases, caught in the midst of their aeons-long cosmic dance.  It was a perfect celestial tableau.  The fact that Ryder had seen dozens of equally stunning systems did nothing to detract from the moment; this sort of thing was enough to steal the breath from your lungs and, for her, it still did, every time.

Vetra would love this, she thought.  Before that particular idea could go anywhere, however, the quiet reverie they had fallen into was interrupted by the opening whoosh of the bridge doors.

“Alright Ryder, show me what you’ve got!” Jaal called cheerily, sauntering up to them.  Ryder turned and grinned.

“Hey, Jaal.  Allow me to present, for your consideration... the long-lost Avaarus system!” she said, spinning back to fling her arms wide.  “Or at least, we think it is.”  Jaal laughed.

“It’s a start, to be certain.  Any luck in finding the colony?”

“Anj Guhloan was supposedly on the fourth planet from Avaarus, right?”

“Correct.”  Ryder hummed an acknowledgement and cast a critical eye upon the projection.

“Right, then.  SAM, scan everything that could be big enough for an angaran settlement to hide on.  With all the crap this star picked up on the way out, who knows if Avaarus IV is still where it should be.”  Only after the merest second of delay, her AI chirped his response.

“Done.  I have identified what may be the remains of an angaran satellite in orbit around the fifth planet.”

“Bingo.  Kallo, I know this place is a minefield, but can you get us in closer?”

“Oh, please,” Kallo scoffed.  “I could fly through this blindfolded.”

“As entertaining as that sounds, I’d rather not be on the ship while you attempted it,” Jaal protested.  Kallo chuckled to himself.

“Have it your way.  Approach vector clear, Pathfinder; taking us in.”  The ever-present hum of the drive core pitched up a little as Kallo wove through the debris disk and into the core of the heliosphere.  Ryder had to hand it to him: while he could be a little over-sure at times, he was, inarguably, a pilot of sterling quality.  The Tempest progressed at a healthy pace through a chunk of space so dense with detritus that a lesser navigator would have been reduced to crawl.  

It was only a few short minutes before they were close enough to the planet in question for Suvi to start taking more detailed scans.  Ryder was less than thrilled to see her science officer’s face falling as she pored over her gathered readings.

“That’s not a happy expression, Anwar.  What are you getting?”  Suvi muttered something unintelligible and tapped her mic to ping their AI.

“SAM, can you get me a scan of the star, please?”

“Of course, Ms. Anwar.”  As her eyes flicked across the new influx of data, Suvi spat something foul.

“Keep us in the loop, Suvi, what have you got?” Ryder asked.

“Bad news, I’m afraid.”  Suvi twisted in her seat to face them.  “It looks like the star Avaarus is well on its way to becoming a superluminous supernova; this system’s going to go off like a firecracker sometime in the next couple centuries.  Avaarus IV - or, Avaarus V now, I guess - if it ever really was Anj Guhloan, has been a molten, liquid hunk of rock for a long time now.  I’m sorry, guys.  The planet’s cooked.”  A hand pressed to her forehead, Ryder sighed.

“Damn.  I’m sorry, Jaal.  That is not the news I wanted to give the angara.”  She was surprised when Jaal smiled at her, apparently far less distraught than she had expected.

“Do not worry, my friend.  The angara, myself included, have accepted that, between the Scourge, the kett, and our own occasional stupidity, many of the settlements that once were are now undoubtedly gone.  Though I am disappointed the lost colony of Anj Guhloan was not waiting for us, I am thankful to have borne witness to its fate.  The angara who lived here will not be forgotten, for we now know what happened to them.”  Ryder smiled wistfully back.

“Well, I’m glad we could at least give you that.  SAM, send a report to Aya and update the Initiative’s maps.”  Ryder rolled her neck, eliciting a disconcerting crack in the process.  She groaned.  “And on that note, I think we’re done for the day.  Kallo, Suvi, go eat something and get some sleep.  And…” she trailed off as she checked her omnitool.  “Oh my god, guys, tell me when we’ve been going for longer than eight hours!”  Kallo and Suvi, now standing and working out their own muscular kinks, looked at her in surprise.

“I, uh… I didn’t notice, Pathfinder,” Kallo murmured.

“How long have we…?” Suvi asked.

“I believe you three have been up here flying for more than ten hours, actually.  Last I checked, that is,” Jaal said, grinning.  Head cradled in her hands, Ryder heaved another groan, this one infinitely more weary than the last.

“Then remind me instead to set an alarm next time, or something.  Alright, clear the bridge you lot, I’m going to get enough hell as it is from Lexi about overworking you.”

“Oh, come on, Ryder,” Kallo argued.  

Suvi cut over him, to say: “This is what we signed up for!”  Ryder pointed at the door, but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

“Out, now!  Food and then bed; we can poke around the system in more detail tomorrow.  Jaal, make sure they get some of that roast Drack made yesterday down their throats?”

“You’ve got it, Ryder.”  Saint that he was, Jaal gently but firmly shepherded her protesting bridge crew out and down to the galley.  The door slid shut behind them, leaving the Pathfinder by herself.  

Sometimes, you don’t realize how tired you are until you’ve a second to yourself; the newfound silence afforded Ryder both a blissful moment of recuperation and the recognition of the fact that she was, indeed, knackered.  She stretched her arms - damn, if she wasn’t stiff - and turned her attention back to the now rediscovered Avaarus system.  Exhausted as she was, she didn’t quite want to leave it yet, especially for something so trivial as sleep.  (Yes, she was entirely a hypocrite).  There was something equal parts forlorn and magical about watching the silver-blue star floating alone in the void; so far away from everything.  And yet, as if in defiance of its exile, Avaarus burned all the more beautiful.  Though, it wasn’t really alone, was it?  It had its stolen planets to comfort it through the coming explosion.  In much the same way as the ultimate fate of Anj Guhloan was beheld by Jaal, so too would the fate of Avaarus be beheld by its stolen audience.  It was a strangely reassuring thought.  As she gazed at the plethora of elliptical orbiters, a thought occurred to her.

“Hey, SAM.”

“Yes, Ryder?”

“What’s the plan for these planets?”

“Initiative protocol dictates that they be scanned, designated, and marked on Initiative maps.  Planets of note - those that could be potentially habitable or those with valuable resources - will be highlighted and the relevant officials made aware of their existence.  In the case of these particular planets, considering they are molten slag bar none and located a significant distance from the Heleus cluster, it is unlikely the Initiative will take any interest beyond the academic.  There may be some investigation into the stellaforming effects of the Scourge, as Ms. Anwar puts is it, but that is where it will likely end.”

“So this is as far as things go for them, huh?  At least, as far as we’re concerned?”

“That is correct, Pathfinder.  The Initiative has more immediate concerns.”

“That’s kind of sad.  Something so beautiful deserves a bit more attention than... wait, SAM, what exactly are these planets being designated?”

“I have tagged the orbiting bodies, in order, as H-977, H-978, H-979a, H-979b, H-.”  Before he could get too far into his alphanumeric monologue, Ryder cut him off.

“Okay, right, thanks SAM.”  Chewing at the inside of her cheek, she stared off into space, thoughtful.

“Pathfinder?”

“Yeah, SAM?”

“If I may ask, what is it you’re thinking of doing?”

“I’m thinking...”  As she recalled her earlier train of thought, Ryder’s face lit up.  “I’m thinking I’ve got an idea for the best date night, ever.”

“Ah.  I believe I understand.  Would you like me to ask Ms. Nyx to come up to the bridge?”

“Nah, I’ll go grab her.”  Ryder turned around and made for the door, but was arrested in her escape by SAM once more.

“Have fun, Ryder.”  Ryder beamed.

“Thanks, buddy.”  

With a hop, skip, and a slap to the face to keep herself awake, Ryder was away.  She didn’t bother with the ladder to the lower deck - as she jogged onto the clear plex of the catwalk, she unceremoniously jumped off the side to land on the ground below.  A combination of her biotics and sleep deprivation was enough to negate the jarring impact entirely and in the span of a heartbeat, she was off down the hall.  As she hustled past the med bay, she caught at the very edge of her vision Lexi’s head poking out to investigate the noise.

“Ryder, what on earth did you just-.”

“No time, doc!  Everything’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Ryder, you know full well that your telling me not to worry about something only ever makes me worry more!”  But Ryder was gone and heading into the cargo bay before Lexi could get too far into giving a proper scolding.  Lucky for her, it looked like just about everyone else was asleep - no one was around to see her eager jog over to what had become Vetra’s office.  

Slowing to a stop, Ryder took a moment to catch her breath.  She didn’t want to look excessively keen - though in a committed relationship she and Vetra may have been, she still had a calm and collected reputation to maintain.  It didn’t matter that Vetra knew it all to be, by and large, a conscious affect: it was the principle of the thing.  The Pathfinder was always composed - even in the face of giddying affection.  Once she had herself together, Ryder headed in.  The door slid open to reveal Vetra hunched over a mess of crates.  She was, quite impressively, stacking them with just the one hand while simultaneously checking them against the list projected on her omnitool, all while muttering obscenities under her breath.  Ryder crossed her arms and leaned against the frame, indulging in having caught her partner unawares and in her element.  Vetra was much more relaxed when other people - Ryder aside - weren’t around and it gave Ryder a sort of tender joy to see her so at ease.  But of course, such sappy sentiments would never stop her from teasing her girlfriend, not at all.  As Vetra straightened back up, Ryder announced her presence in as serious a tone as she could fake.

“Ms. Nyx, your assistance is urgently required on the bridge.”  Vetra turned around to meet Ryder’s gaze, crossing her own arms in the process.

“Is it now, Pathfinder?” she said, with a poorly constrained smile.  

“Indeed.  Life and death situation; fate of the cluster at stake.  The usual.”

“Mmm, I’m sure.  Unfortunately for you, Ryder, it just so happens that I’m currently having the time of my life processing requisitions.  Can your little ‘situation’ measure up to the sheer euphoria of cataloguing rolls of toilet paper?”  Vetra deadpanned the statement so completely that Ryder found herself staring at her partner in disbelief, mouth dropping.  Vetra, clearly delighting in Ryder’s bewilderment, had the gall to wink at her.  Too tired to retort, Ryder finally broke.  She sprang forward, proffering a hand and letting all her excitement shine past the bit.

“Oh my god, come on already, you silly turian, I want to show you something!”  Vetra smiled in turn and reached out to take said hand.

“Yeah, alright, I was getting pretty sick of checking for delivery discrepancies anyway.  So what have you - whoah!”  As soon as she had a hold on her, Ryder tugged Vetra into a jog, pulling her out of the office and around onto the cargo lift.  She punched the ascent and the thing began its slow, clunky climb.  Unfortunately, slow and clunky was something of an understatement; Ryder found herself tapping her foot with impatience as they rose ploddingly.

“Excited, are we?” Vetra poked.

“Trust me, babe, you’re going to love this.”  

“If it’s whatever’s responsible for you smiling like this, then I’m sure I will.”  Vetra slung an arm around Ryder’s shoulders, who in turn threw an arm around Vetra’s waist; overt affection came more easily when they were alone.  Additionally, being wrapped around each other had the added benefit of slowing Ryder down a bit: pulled close to Vetra’s side, she was forced to adopt a slightly more sane pace as they made their way back through the ship and up to the bridge.  Ryder didn’t mind.  It was totally worth trading speed for.  When they eventually came up on the bridge doors, Ryder called a halt before they could enter.

“Okay, close your eyes.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, I did it that time you tried to kill me with a blackened piece of cow.”

“Fair point.”

“Look, I’d cover them for you if I could, but I can’t help the fact that you’re absurdly tall.”  Vetra grinned evilly down at her.

“Well, I can’t help the fact that you’re a shrimp.  And don’t pretend you don’t love it, short stack.”

“Yeah, I do, now close ‘em, Nyx!” Ryder muttered, her face flushing a little as Vetra eyed her.  Apparently sufficiently appeased, her partner deigned to close her eyes.  Ryder guided her temporarily sightless charge through the doors and to the fore of the bridge.  With her implant, she signaled SAM to collapse the navigation panel and guided Vetra to sit on the now available ledge before joining her by her side.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”  Vetra did so and promptly gasped.

“Oh, wow.”

“Right?”

“That’s...”

“Right?!”

“Hot damn, Ryder.  That’s gorgeous.”  Ryder hummed an affirmation, thoroughly pleased with herself.  “You know how to pick ‘em, babe.”

“What can I say?  I’ve got exceptional taste in star systems.”  Vetra elbowed her affectionately.  

“You sure do.”

“So... do you wanna name them?”  Vetra spluttered, incredulously amused.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious!”

“Ryder, is that even something you’re allowed to do?”

“Aw, c’mon, I’m the Pathfinder.  If anyone can get away with naming a couple of planets, I think it’s me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”  Vetra shook her head, but Ryder knew she just about had her.  Her partner just needed the right incentive.

“I’m giving you dibs on naming the first one.”  That got her.  Vetra opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and peered curiously into space.

“Which one’s that?”  Ryder snorted and pointed.

“Purple-blue ice giant with the three moons, very edge of the heliosphere.”

“Oh, you spoil me.”

“I try.  So, give us a name!  What are you thinking?”

“Hmm.  I’m thinking… Not Dead Yet.”  Ryder stifled a chuckle.  

“Why that?”

“Looks like it’s almost been ejected from the system, but the big bastard’s clinging on something fierce.”

“A name the Initiative can relate to, I’m sure.”

“That’s the idea.  Alright, your turn, oh mighty Pathfinder.  What’re we going to call that one?”  The planet in question was a chthonian-in-progress; a gas giant in close orbit to Avaarus, its emerald-colored atmosphere in the process of being stripped away to reveal the molten aluminum-iron core.

“Stinky.”  Vetra burst out laughing.

“What?! You’re messing with me.”

“Look at it!  That thing is trailing bright green gas like no one’s business.”

“Ryder, I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty certain that’s burning atmosphere.”

“Yeah and it’s stinking up the neighborhood as it goes.”  Vetra heaved a much-put upon sigh, but the breadth of her toothy turian grin and the fluttering of her mandibles betrayed her amusement.

“Alright, fine.  Stinky it is.  Which one next?”

“That one.  Whatcha got?”  The planet Ryder was indicating was another gas giant, though this one was significantly prettier than the newly-dubbed Stinky.  Ivory clouds of gas billowed across it, cut though with the occasional twisting carmine storm.  It was a bloody, alabaster gem, stark against the black.  Vetra considered it thoughtfully.

“Would I sound crazy if I said it kind of looks like my sister?”

“Y’know... no, I see it, it kind of does.”  Ryder and Vetra gave each other a dubious, slant-eyed look at exactly the same time and erupted in giggles.

“Spirits, babe, Sid’s going to flip if I tell her I named a planet after her!”

“All the more reason to do it!”  Vetra huffed.

“Screw it.  Planet, I dub thee Sidera.”

“She’ll be thrilled.”  Falling victim to a yawn of massive proportions, Ryder leaned her head against Vetra’s shoulder and fought to keep her eyes open.  “Go on, you can do the next one too.”  Vetra cast her eyes around the system, searching for her next victim.

“How about that protoplanet?” she asked.  As Ryder murmured her sleepy approval, Vetra curled an arm around her.  “Well, as long as I’m being all sentimental… Prag’rath.”  Ryder scrunched her nose in confusion.

“Prag’rath?”

“The batarian mercenary who taught me to shoot.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“She’d kick my ass for it.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”  Though there were yet planets in need of names, tiredness and the sheer splendor of the system had Vetra and Ryder lapsing into a warm and comfortable silence, pressed close together.  The Avaarus system slowly and silently spun before them, its striking beauty framed by the stars so incredibly remote in the distance.

“Is this something normal couples do?” Ryder asked.  Vetra peered down at her.

“Naming planets?  I mean... no, probably not.”  Vetra brought Ryder’s hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.  “But I’d like to think it’s very us.  This was a lot of fun, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m glad.”  Ryder settled further against her partner and finally stopped fighting the exhaustion of the day, letting her eyes droop shut.  Though already half-asleep, she whispered, “Vetra?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you.”  The last things Ryder registered before finally succumbing to sleep were the pale, sparkling light of Avaarus and Vetra’s voice, murmuring in her ear.

“I love you too.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 2: You Can Run Around Infinite In My Head]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. 

Potentially a better love story than Twilight (we’ll let @killer-queen-xo​ decide when it’s all said and done 😉).

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Rome by Dermot Kennedy.

Chapter Warnings: Language, mentions of violence. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​  @killer-queen-xo​​ @maggieroseevans​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​ @escabell​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​ ​ @queenlover05​​ @someforeigntragedy​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​ ​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​​ @deacyblues​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​ ​ @brianssixpence​​ 

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Missing In Action

I wish she would stop staring at me.

Lucille sat at the Lees’ usual table and apathetically picked through a heaping salad. (Friday was salad bar day, which I appreciated considerably more than the chicken finger obsession that marred Mondays at Calawah University.) Every once in a while, Rami nudged her and Lucille would spear a cherry tomato with her fork and bite it in half with perfectly even, white teeth. But her large blue-green eyes—they reminded me of webs of seaweed tumbling in the cold, frothing La Push waves—always found their way back to me, strangely focused, inquisitive, perhaps accusatory.

Ben probably told them how much he hates me for whatever nebulous reason and now they all hate me too and I’m going to spend the next two years being death-glared by five ridiculously attractive and somewhat incestuous foster kids.

Chemistry was a three times a week class. Ben hadn’t shown on Wednesday, and I was 99% sure he would skip again today. I spotted him around campus periodically, always from a distance: dropping quarters into a vending machine, clandestinely vaping behind dorm buildings (what self-respecting pre-med student VAPES?!!), browsing YouTube videos in the library next to a tower of unopened textbooks, biology and chem and physics and calculus. He wasn’t home, he wasn’t sick; there was no attempt made to construct any sort of pretext. He was patently avoiding me.

I stabbed moodily at the serrated disks of cucumber in my salad. Jessica was blathering away about the latest season of The Bachelor and ranking the contestants’ eyebrows from best to worst. “...Like seriously, has she never heard of microblading?!”

“For real,” Angela offered, not especially invested but forever a good sport.

Lucille’s eyes settled on me again as she sipped a cup of steaming tea, staring until her forehead crinkled with the effort, staring hard, almost leering.

“What’s her problem?” I muttered.

Jessica shot a glance towards the Lee table and slurped her Sprite. The great mystery surrounding her potential Mormon-ness persisted. “Who? Lucy?”

Only Lucille’s friends called her Lucy. Jessica, a shameless aspiring socialite, presumed she was everybody’s friend unless they explicitly informed her otherwise, which of course no one ever did.

“Yeah,” I answered glumly.

“Maybe it’s your dress.”

“My dress? What’s wrong with my dress?”

Jessica wrinkled her nose and surveyed me as if I were a bug, and not a cute bug like a roly-poly bug or The Very Hungry Caterpillar or whatever. Like a really hideous bug. Like one of those spider-cricket hybrid things that hopped straight out of a hell dimension and into the dark, drippy corners of your basement. “It’s, like, very 1960s. But not in a sexy Woodstock way. In a ‘I’m about to join a hippie murder cult’ way.”

“I got it at TJ Maxx. It was on sale.”

Jessica snorted. “Probably for a reason.”

“That’s it. I’m giving all the hippies in my new murder cult your address.”

She and Angela laughed. Mike and Eric, the missing pieces of our daily lunch puzzle, were preoccupied with a campus protest to convert fried fish day (Thursdays) into tacos day. I sympathized with their efforts, but didn’t feel that my one-week tenure as a Calawah University student gave me much right to go around overhauling the dining hall schedule.

“I doubt she’s actually offended by a dress,” Angela said, nibbling on French fries that shed grains of salt like snowflakes.

Jessica sighed dreamily. “But Lucy’s just so fashionable...and that accent...” She drifted off into some daydream which began—I could only assume—with Lucy’s invitation to go shopping together and concluded with marrying Ben on some lush tropical island in the South Pacific.

Lucille was definitely fashionable, especially today: short black dress with sheer sleeves that ran to her fragile wrists, black polka dot tights, black heeled oxfords, dangling ruby earrings like beads of blood. She would have blended in perfectly at Paris Fashion Week. Rami was wearing a cardigan and khakis, per usual; Joe was in dark fitted jeans and a roomy U Chicago hoodie despite the fact that Forks was at minimum a thirty-four hour drive from the Windy City. What did Angela say his major was? Finance? No, Mathematical Economics. So he’s probably aiming at Chicago for an MBA or Econ PhD someday. Angela had told me that Joe was wicked smart. He better be if he’s entertaining fantasies of grad school at the University of Chicago.

Scarlett had come straight from Fencing Club and was wearing bright pink yoga pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out, sprinkling Hot Cheetos into her open mouth, her blonde hair secured in a tight French braid. You know those girls who are so irrationally, gluttonously, unfairly beautiful that it doesn’t seem possible the genetic lottery could spit out so many winning numbers at once, and you comfort yourself with the certainty that there must be some set of circumstances that would level the playing field—I bet she looks like anyone else without all that makeup, she just has a really good sense of style and knows how to maximize her assets, there are definitely some goofy oversized ears hiding beneath that hair and that’s why she always wears it down—and then one day you run into them wearing sweatpants and a ponytail in the tampon aisle at Walmart and they’re still so perfect it stings you, baffles you, makes you feel like there must have been some divergence in the evolutionary chain because there’s no freaking way you’re the same species? Yeah, Scarlett was one of those girls. Scarlett was the queen of those girls.  

Ben was conspicuously absent from the table.

Scarlett’s pink leopard-print iPhone rang and she answered. “Hello?” She turned to Joe. “Dad says you left your phone at home. Do you need it?”

Joe was gnawing his way through his third slice of pepperoni pizza. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

Scarlett relayed the message. “Dad says he’s going to bring it by just in case.”

“Oh my god, ScarJo, I’m fine! Tell him not to!”

“Dad says he doesn’t trust you and he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. He’s also bringing the Game Theory homework you left by the hot tub.”

Joe groaned and rolled his lively dark eyes as Rami grinned at him; Lucille was still watching me and entirely oblivious.

“Isn’t it weird that Ben and Lucille have accents?” I asked Jessica. “That they’re from the U.K.? I didn’t think fostering kids was an international thing.”

“It’s not that weird. Dr. Lee is British too. Maybe there’s some kind of exchange system, I don’t know. But you know what I do know?”

“What?” Now my interest was piqued.

She smiled. “That the British accents are hot.”

“Ugh,” I exhaled involuntarily.

“Please get a hobby,” Angela begged Jessica. “Start a YouTube channel. Make care packages for orphans. Grow marijuana. Adopt a cat. I have a shift at the animal shelter this Sunday morning, you want to come with me?”

“Sorry, can’t. I have a temple thing.”

Temple on Sunday. The mystery is solved. She’s a Mormon for sure. I mentally resolved not to let her set me up with anyone unless I was still single on Valentine’s Day. Which, obviously, assuming I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, I will be.

I gathered up my trash and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, well this has been a bizarre lunch to be completely honest, and now I have to go to Chemistry so I’ll see you later and hopefully we can brainstorm some more alternatives to Jessica’s current life trajectory on Monday. Because I am not looking forward to being a bridesmaid in these impending Lee nuptials.”

“Oh please!” Jessica lamented. “He doesn’t even know I exist. You, on the other hand...”

I scoffed. “Yeah, he wants to kill me. I truly have a gift.”

They waved as I left. I could feel Lucille’s eyes on me until I reached the door.

Sure enough, Ben wasn’t in Chemistry. I tried not to notice. I drew my atoms, wrote my equations, took my notes diligently and in my favorite sky blue ink. But I felt the emptiness in the chair next to me like a black hole, like an immense and dragging weight, like a snag in the fabric of all those interwoven strands of physics that orchestrate the universe like an immortal puppeteer. Why can’t I forget this guy? Why do I still feel like I’ve met him before?

Halfway through class, I hauled my emergency sweatshirt out of my backpack and pulled it on over my dress, floral and flowing and golden yellow like the sun, the sun that never shines here in Forks. I had liked it plenty under the florescent lights of the fitting room at TJ Maxx, and I had still liked it this morning; but Jessica’s words hummed around in my skull like wasps. The zipper of the sweatshirt was broken, but it accomplished the task of obscuring my dress well enough.

After Chemistry, I journeyed to the campus library to find a book I was supposed to read and present for a different class. I looked it up in the computer catalogue, spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out how the Dewey Decimal System works, eventually wound up finding the book on the highest floor of the library...and, to add a little extra peril to the mission, on the highest shelf. The book mocked me from its lofty, unattainable stronghold. The title was embossed in gold letters down the crimson spine. The Walruses And Me: A Transformative Experience. Idiotic title, I’m aware. It’s about some marine biologist who spent months alone in the Arctic studying the lifecycles of walruses. A noble pursuit, sure, but still a terrible title.

There wasn’t a chair or stepstool in sight. I tested my weight by stepping up onto the second-lowest shelf. The metal immediately squealed and shifted in protest. I retreated back down to the carpet, defeated by gravity. I scowled up at the book and sighed melodramatically. Ugh.

“Need something?”  

I spun around to see Joe in his University of Chicago hoodie and pale flawless skin and intangible magnetism, that bewildering trademark Lee ethereality. I instinctively crossed my arms, clutching the sleeves of my sweatshirt, shrinking inwards like a startled armadillo in the Arizona desert.

“Are you, uh, anemic...?” he ventured.

“Oh no, I’m not cold. I’m just trying to hide my dress. My friend said it was too hippie-murder-cult 1960s.”

I figured he’d laugh, make a snide comment, maybe just blink in confusion. Instead, he glimpsed down at my dress—what could still be seen of it, anyway—and shook his head. “The neckline isn’t right for the 60s. And you seem like you’ve showered at least once in the past two weeks, so definitely not a hippie.”

I smiled, completely unexpectedly. “I didn’t realize Econ majors knew anything about leftist counterculture.”

“Disparaging it is our favorite pastime. Are you trying to get a book or are you just disrespecting university property for entertainment?”

I pointed. “The big red one.”

“The Walruses And Me...?”

“I know, it’s a horrible title. Not my personal preference. It’s for a class.”

“Bestiality 101?”

“Good guess. Marine Mammals.”

“Ahhh.” He glanced up and down the aisle, tapped his chin with agile fingers, pondered something I wasn’t privy to. “Turn around for a second.”

“What? Why?”

He waved his hand mysteriously in front of his grinning face. “It’s a magic trick. I’m going to make your problem disappear.”

“You can’t climb that,” I warned. “You’ll fall and break your neck. Or you’ll knock the whole shelf over and cause a tragic domino effect and the university will withhold your diploma until you pay them restitution.”

“I’m extremely athletic.”

“Are you sure?” I appraised him with exaggerated skepticism for comedic effect. “My dad refers to you only as the spindly annoying Lee.”

Oh my god, WHY did I say that?

Now he would definitely hate me. Now I’d have two mortal enemies on one campus. I mentally calculated how humiliating it would be to transfer to some Florida college, any Florida college, after only one week at Calawah. Hi mom, yeah I’m coming to live with you and Paul, a gang of hot pasty foster kids wants to slaughter me.

Instead, Joe threw back his head and cackled wildly. A librarian—mid-fifties, angry red hair from out of a box, fuzzy cat sweater—glared into the aisle and shushed him.

“Chief Swan...he actually...he calls me that? Really?!” Joe managed, wiping his leaking eyes. “That’s hilarious. I’m so glad my life is in his hands. Okay seriously, turn around.”

“Why would you help me?” I asked suspiciously.

“That’s just what I do. I’m a friendly guy.”

“This friendliness must not run in the family.”

Again, Joe’s cheerful demeanor didn’t falter. “You mean Ben? Forget about Ben, he hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.” Then he added: “Plus, as I’m sure you know, we’re not biologically related. No overlapping genetic material whatsoever. I didn’t get the male supermodel gene, he didn’t get the irresistibly charming gene, life’s not fair but the world keeps spinning.”

“It sure does,” I agreed softly. Unexpected wisdom from my new favorite Lee. I turned away from him. “Fine, I’m not looking, go ahead and dazzle me with your supernatural friendliness—”

“Done.”

“What?” I whirled around. Joe held The Walruses And Me in his hand. “How...did you...?!”

He passed me the book as I sputtered incoherently. “I told you. Magic trick.”

“I don’t....?!” I gawked up at the top shelf, at Joe, back to the top shelf. Sure enough, the space where The Walruses And Me once lived was now just a vacant slit in the row of dusty books. How could he have climbed up there that quickly? How could I not have heard anything? “The shelves didn’t even creak,” I murmured shakily.

“Yes, well, that’s due to my conveniently spindly physique.” Joe winked. “Any other problems I can help you solve at the moment, Baby Swan?”

“No. And don’t call me Baby Swan, or I’ll push this whole bookshelf over and tell the feisty librarian lady you did it.”

“That’s cold, ma’am.”

I liked that Joe didn’t make me feel like Ben did: unworthy, unloved, infuriating. Joe made me feel something else, something lighthearted, casual, buoyant; like the world didn’t have anything in it worth worrying about, regretting, agonizing over. Like unadulteratedly myself was all I ever needed to be.

I heard a muted buzz and Joe slid his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. Dr. Lee must have successfully delivered it. “Whoops, I forgot that Ordinary Differential Equations existed. Got to go. See ya.”

“Bye,” I replied. And then Joseph Lee was gone, very quickly, a little too quickly, the same way that Ben had vanished on that first afternoon after Chemistry.

Forks is weird. Calawah University is weird. And the Lee kids are super fucking weird.

Long Walks On The Beach

“Can I ask you a random question?”

“You just paid me $100 for an oil change that took fifteen minutes. You can ask me anything you want.” He grinned, flashing bright teeth and deep dimples.

It was Saturday afternoon. I had shoveled down a Chipotle veggie bowl as Archer changed the 1999 Accord’s oil in a small garage with a cracked concrete floor and the searing pungency of gasoline fumes thick in the air. He had apprenticed all through high school and rented his own shop after graduation. Archer now had a loyal clientele that encompassed virtually the entire Quileute reservation and a growing chunk of Forks...including Charlie and me, of course. Archer was the only child of Larry Foxchild—Charlie’s best friend since they worked together at Dairy Queen as teenagers—and the closest thing to a son my dad would ever have. I guess that made him like a brother to me, something that seemed intuitive now that I’d thought of it.

After the Accord was serviced we drove it down to La Push to walk on the beach, climb the salt-lashed rocks, toss pebbles into the roiling surf, reprise our childhood enthusiasm for poking dead washed-up marine creatures with shards of driftwood.

“Do you know anything about the Lees?” I asked Archer, investigating a deceased green shore crab.

His brow furrowed. He looked so serious like that, suddenly so much like Larry: the same tan skin, jet black hair, umbral eyes like oil wells, strong jaw overlaid with the stubbled shadow of a beard. We really aren’t kids anymore, are we? “The doctor and his kids?”

“Yeah. The foster kids. They’re really pale and strange and half of them are British.”

Archer chuckled. “I know who you mean. They’re hard to miss.”

“Are they...” Just eccentric rich people? Traumatized from abusive childhoods? Government experiments? CIA agents? Secret murderers? The image of Ben in that first Chemistry class came roaring back to me, including the adjective that had flashed red behind my eyes like an emergency exit sign: fierce. Finally, I decided: “Dangerous?”

Now Archer full-on laughed, gripping his belly, shaking his head. Drops of saltwater flew from his short hair. “Seriously?!” he exclaimed. “Come on, they’re freaks but they’re not, like...that kind of freaks.”

“Are you sure?” I was starting to feel better already. Of course they’re not actual demons, you fucking idiot. This is Washington, not The Twilight Zone or Black Mirror. Not goddamn American Horror Story.

“Yeah.” Archer skipped a grey pebble over the water, something I’d never been able to do. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know them all that well. They usually keep to themselves. But I’ve never heard anything bad about any of the kids. And everyone respects Dr. Lee and appreciates him for taking the pay cut to come to some bumblefuck town like Forks. He’s insanely highly credentialed, has degrees from Harvard or Yale or somewhere like that. Super impressive. We’re lucky to have him. I definitely sleep better at night knowing he’ll be the one to fix me up if I ever get a few fingers ripped off on the job.”

“Don’t even say that. Then who would I grossly overpay for oil changes?”

Archer smiled, then sobered as he peered out over the Pacific Ocean.

“What?” I asked, feeling a plummeting in my guts like primal fear.

“Well...okay, so there is one thing that’s always bothered me. You remember Grandpa Foxchild?”

“Yeah, of course.” He had been an impossibly ancient man with long grey braided hair, a low rumbly voice, gnarled arthritic hands, ceaseless wrinkles. I remembered Charlie calling me when he passed away last spring. Renee and I had picked out a flower arrangement to send to the funeral.

“So,” Archer said slowly, like he was still puzzling it out himself. “Grandpa used to say things like ‘That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.’ Which of course makes no sense, the Lees moved here like two years ago. And I’d tell Grandpa that, but he completely ignored me. He would just keep repeating it. ‘That Dr. Lee shouldn’t still be here.’ ‘That Dr. Lee should go on home to where he came from.’ ‘That Dr. Lee isn’t right.’ Creepy shit like that. My dad and I always assumed it was the dementia talking, but...I don’t know. It just bothered me. Because Grandpa...he wasn’t just being gossipy or suspicious. He was angry. And he was afraid. Grandpa was at Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima and he would talk about that no problem, mention landmines or flesh melting off a soldier’s face like it was nothing. He was a tough guy. Immeasurably tough, I’ll never be half the man he was. But if you mentioned the Lees, Grandpa got scared. Why the hell would he be so scared of them?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, not a single word. I just stared at Archer, my eyes growing huge, my heart sprinting, blood pounding in my ears. He knew. Grandpa Foxchild knew there was something off about them, and now I know it too. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Archer tittered nervously. “Anyway, that was genuinely disturbing. But like I said. It was probably just the dementia.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“It had to be,” he insisted. “There’s no other logical explanation.”

“I guess,” I agreed, scooping up the green shore crab corpse with my bare hands. I hurled it out into the waves, imagined it sinking through murky water and suspended grains of sand, the body settling into prehistoric silt, the scavengers descending upon it, the inescapable wheel of birth and death and resurrection through those who unwittingly carry our atoms with them into the next generation, into the perpetual future.

That night my dreams were full of pale skin and scorching eyes, Ben and Joe and Rami, Lucille and Scarlett, crashing waves, cold water and bleached bones; and Grandpa Foxchild’s mistrustful refrain: That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.

Benjamin

I soared down the staircase and through the dining room. Gwil was working late at the hospital, Mercy outside tending the animals, everyone else presumably scattered throughout the house. I had to get out before anyone noticed me. I had to get out without Rami or Lucy knowing.

I yanked open the door to the back porch. Rami was waiting there.

“Good evening,” he greeted me in that slow, thoughtful drawl.

“Stay the fuck out of my head.”

“You know how it works, Benny Boy. I can’t ignore the loud thoughts. And you’ve been having some very loud thoughts lately.”

I stared down at my shoes, all black Adidas. Black is good. It doesn’t show stains. For example, purely hypothetically, splatters of human blood and organs. “I can make it quick. I can make it painless.”

Rami’s aura flared maroon; not enraged, no, not quite that, but certainly revolted. I was always finding new and horrifying ways to revolt them, whether I was trying to or not. “She has a family, Ben. A father. You know Chief Swan, you’ve seen him around town. He’s a good person. She’s a good person. You really want to do this? You really want to relapse like this?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. Hearing thoughts is a tricky thing, and not a gift that I would ever want; unspoken words are rarely a steam and usually a storm, disjointed and twisting, interrupting each other, bottomless layers of whispers and screams. But I was sure Rami could catch the important parts: that I didn’t know the difference between good and bad people, that I didn’t know what to think of people at all, that for me her blood was not a desire but a compulsion. I couldn’t stop envisioning it spilling over my tongue and teeth, down my throat, hot and pulsing erratically and fading. “Why can’t you hear her? Why can’t I see what she’s feeling?”

Rami shrugged, characteristically placid and restrained. It was maddening. “There are seven and a half billion people on this planet. So maybe every once in a while you get one that lives in our blind spots, there’s something chromosomal or psychological that puts them on a different frequency. I don’t know. How the hell should I know? All I know is that you definitely shouldn’t be seriously considering...well. What you’re considering.”  

“Have you ever met someone whose thoughts you couldn’t hear before?”

“No,” Rami admitted; and was that a ghost of unease that crossed his face?

“Please, Rami. Let me go. Pretend you never saw me.” My words come out strained, hushed, like a spilled secret, like a confession. I’ve never wanted anyone’s blood like I want hers.

He heard that; I could see the dismay in his eyes. Now his aura is dark grey, almost black. Disappointment. Resignation. Mourning. “I told you what Lucy saw.”

“What she saw is impossible and you know it.”

Again, Rami shrugged. That blind, mindless faith. I wished I knew what it felt like. “She’s never wrong.”

“Have you told him?”

“Who, Joe?! Of course I haven’t told Joe. He...”

“He wouldn’t believe it either?” I snapped, like it was a victory.

“No,” Rami amended carefully. “No, he would believe anything Lucy saw.” Lucy had visions: flashes of the future, the past, the present. They were rare and unpredictable, often fragmented, snapshots rather than arcs. But they were always true. Or, rather, the other Lees claimed they were. The real Lees. “I don’t know what he would do about it,” Rami said finally. “So I’m waiting it out. And killing one of the primary participants is definitely not waiting it out.”

I seethed as I glared at him, hating him in that moment, hating myself only slightly more; and he heard that too. But then that wispy, fleeting haze around him was a pink like the last threads of sunlight sinking into the Western horizon. Forgiveness. Attachment. Love.

“Come with me, Ben,” Rami said gently, opening the door. “Come back inside. You can beat this. You’re better than this. You’re a good soul. You wouldn’t be with us if you weren’t.”

I tried to laugh. It came out like a snarl. “I haven’t had a soul in a long time.”

[rainythefox]

Nightfall (Ch.10)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill. Rated M for eventual smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 10: Intentions

Claire was actually relieved that Chris hadn’t made it home yet. Wesker pulled into the driveway and parked the Jaguar. The evening was growing later, the sun had already disappeared behind accumulating clouds, gloomy and grey, but it wouldn’t be too much longer before it was dark. She was surprised the STARS Captain was even being courteous enough to drop her off, considering them being seen together could cause problems. But knowing Wesker, Claire was sure he had Chris’s schedule down among any others who could potentially spot them.

After her exchange with the informant earlier, Claire had gone to one other location with Wesker and done basically the same thing, although the next informant looked more like a wealthy businessman and talked even less than the hoodlum. And instead of receiving an envelope, she was given an unmarked floppy disk. Wesker didn’t say much about it, and so Claire could only wonder what was on it. With the crooked STARS Captain, it couldn’t be anything good.

Instead of waiting for her to get out, Wesker got out first and walked around the car and opened her door for her. For a cold-blooded killer, he at least had good manners. The college student stepped out and he pushed the door shut. The temperature had dropped considerably ever since the sun disappeared, and their breaths came out in white puffs. He immediately grabbed her ponytail and she braced, expecting him to pull hard, but he didn’t. He merely played with the tresses in his fingers, staring down at her through his shades.

“Chris is off tomorrow. I suggest you take advantage because starting the day after, you and I will be spending a lot more time together. Well into the night, even. So if I were you, I would come up with some convincing excuses for dear big brother.”

“Are you serious?” Claire’s chest constricted. Chris was already getting suspicious of her. And although she could probably string him along acting like she was going out with some friends, ultimately she would only be able to use it a few times at most. Chris knew that Claire usually chose to spend time with him over her friends when given the chance. “He might not fall for it.”

Wesker barely shrugged. “Not my problem. It’s up to you to keep your brother nescient, not me. I told you before, so long as Chris remains oblivious and you do as I say, I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”

“Until I’m no longer useful to you, right? Then you’ll get rid of both of us,” Claire groused.

The STARS Captain slightly cocked his head, lips barely upcurving. “You really think so lowly of me? I’m quite fond of you, dear heart. And I respect your brother more than you realize. It would hurt me more to dispose of either of you. That is why I am giving you a chance to pay me back for my generosity. Such risks I took for the both of you.”

Generosity my ass…

“I’ll keep Chris preoccupied.”

Something beeped. Wesker withdrew a pager and looked at it. He smirked and said, “I have faith in you, my dear. Chris is on his way home as we speak.”

He noticed her glowering at the device. She knew he’d been spying on her and Chris to make sure she stayed quiet and cooperated, but she soon found herself wondering just how much he was watching them…

“You should be grateful for my surveillance of you and Chris. I’m not the only one keeping tabs on you, but it is my influence that keeps the other wolves at bay.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He smirked after pocketing the pager. Claire barely had time to register him tighten the grip on her hair before he used his leg to buckle one of her knees, using her momentary off balance to shove her against his car. On reflex Claire swung her fist. Wesker caught her arm and twisted just enough in warning, earning him a short cry of pain from her lips. He held her in place, pinned against the car, her blue eyes searing into shades, seeing her reflection.

He slowly leaned his head down. Claire panicked, but with him pressed against her and keeping her arm in a position where he could snap it easily, she was helpless. Her heart rate tripled so fast, she became lightheaded.

“I’m looking forward to getting up to no good with you, dear heart,” he whispered in her ear. “Behave until then, my lovely Claire.”

The younger Redfield held her breath, heart pounding in her ears, trembling, desperately ignoring the heat pooling in her legs. She hissed, annoyed over her body betraying her more so than him, swallowing every biological reaction.

She glared at him, trying to wriggle free but it was no use. “Yours? You’re fucking delusional.”

His velvety chuckle rumbled in her ears and he pulled back just enough to where their noses were inches apart. “Am I? Your life is at my disposal." To make a point, he bent her trapped arm and she muffled a cry. "...and you better be grateful I find you...useful, in more ways than one.”

Wesker kissed her temple. It did terrible, wonderful things to her insides. She was relieved when he let her go, nerves afire. With shaky breaths, she flexed the arm he had held hostage, glaring at him. He was unfazed, smug smirk still in place as he stepped out of her way. Claire, still completely overtaken by mixed, confusing feelings, slipped by him and stomped towards the front door of Chris’s house.

“Oh, and dear heart?” Claire froze, looking over her shoulder at him. He had already opened the driver’s side door of his car. “Do remember to wash your sutures tonight...we wouldn’t want big brother getting worried, do we?”

She didn’t answer him and turned away, unlocking the door, as if the house was a safe haven she could escape to.

The Jaguar started up and pulled out of the driveway, driving off towards downtown. Claire almost collapsed once she got inside, her flesh burning where he had touched.

The younger Redfield sat on the couch, bent over, head in her hands. She was so screwed! In a way, Wesker had admitted what she had suspected all along. He wanted her. And if Claire couldn’t get a grip on herself, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop it. She no longer cared what he wanted to use her for as far as his schemes went. She now had a much bigger problem on her hands. The college student absolutely refused to admit that she was attracted to him. Trying to fight it was like attempting to stop an avalanche with your bare hands - it simply wasn’t going to work.

“Claire! There ya are, thank god.”

She snapped out of her thoughts, head whipping up. Chris was standing over her, concern etched into his tired face. Claire hadn’t even heard the truck pull in, too busy thinking about Wesker and what could possibly happen if she wasn’t careful.

Claire quickly buried all of her uncertainties and fears, smiling brightly and standing. “Chris, hey! How was work? I missed you today, Bro.”

“Where were you? I came home at lunch to see you and you were gone! There was no note, you didn’t call. I was worried all day!”

Her older brother wasn’t happy at all. He was more worried than angry, but both had taken a toll on him already, and he was about to blow. Claire was surprised that Chris even came home on his break, but then realized that Jill being off today may have caused him to break from his usual lunch habits.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I went to town.”

“How, without the truck?”

“Taxi,” she blurted.

Chris didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way he looked at her. He didn’t move, didn’t bother taking off his service weapon or utility belt of his STARS uniform. “Claire, what the hell is going on? You didn’t look good when I came in just now, you’ve been acting really weird for the past few days. You know you can tell me anything.”

Oh god please Chris, don’t do this…please don’t sabotage me...

Claire had to come up with a convincing story now. Their lives were on the line, and Chris had no clue.

“Dammit Claire, did something happen? Tell me! Does that guy in the BMW have something to do with it?”

It hit her. Just like that. Her heart nearly burst from relief. She held up her hands, smiling. “Well, he does, actually.”

Chris looked panicked despite her reassuring smile. “What did he do? Do I need to kick his ass? What happened?!”

She produced a fake giggle, waving him off, in full on actress mode now. “No! No, you have it all wrong, big brother. I’m babysitting for him! He has a daughter. Sherry. She’s so adorable. That’s what I’ve been up to. He’s paying good money for it.”

Her brother calmed down a bit, but still wasn’t completely convinced. “Well…why did you look so upset when I came in? And why didn’t you just come out and tell me sooner?”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I am a little upset…I promised him I would babysit some more, possibly during hours while you’re home where I can’t spend time with you. But he and his wife are really busy with work and need help.”

Chris was puzzled, but he was considerably less upset and suspicious, which is what she needed. As long as Chris bought her story, he would be safe…for now. “Why didn't you just tell me?”

Claire shrugged, frowning. “I guess I just thought since you didn’t know him, you’d pull your “protective big brother” crap and I didn’t really feel like dealing with it. Sorry. I guess I made it worse that way.

The older Redfield sibling sighed in relief and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…you ain’t wrong. Jesus, I was starting to think you got into some deep trouble or something. Sorry, Sis. I’m glad everything is fine.”

Her gut wrenched and it took all in her power to hold back burning tears. She smiled. “I’m sorry too, Bro. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“So, how do you know him? What’s his name?”

Claire knew her brother. He probably already knew William’s name at least by now, probably got his license plate from the other day and ran a scan. It was exactly shit like this that made dating so hard for her. Regardless, she figured she better tell him the truth of William’s name anyway.

“William. He’s…a friend of a friend.”

Chris smiled, opening his arms. Claire went right in, needing a hug from her brother. She hugged him tighter, even if he didn’t realize it.

“Good for you, Claire. Always nice to make some extra money on the side, and I know you get bored sitting around the house all day. If you have to go babysit a few times in the evening, it’s all good. We still have plenty of time to hang out.”

“Thanks for understanding, Chris.”

She frowned, her face hidden in his shoulder. Chris…please forgive me…

And to think she almost abandoned her post to go get a hot latte out of boredom! She almost missed this. Ada took a moment to recover from what she just heard and witnessed after Albert drove off and Claire retreated inside her house.

The agent knew that the Redfield girl had left this morning to obey her summons from the Devil. She knew it would be better to hang back, as Albert already knew she was spying on the Redfields and would know if she followed Claire around with him.

In hindsight, Ada realized she probably should’ve warned Claire of her brother’s growing suspicion, considering the phone call she intercepted where Chris informed his partner he looked up William’s information and asked a neighbor to keep watch. With Wesker’s spies lurking around and the older Redfield on his way home, it was best to stay put. Claire was on her own for now.

She seems pretty resourceful and should be able to handle it...

Her being able to handle Albert, however, was a completely different challenge.

Ada knew Albert must've liked Claire in some way. The risks he took to keep her alive and under the radar of Sergei and Umbrella and how he toyed with her made that clear. She wasn’t just one of the dime a dozen pawns that Wesker used and threw away. She was different to him - special. And Ada had been trying to figure out why until just a few minutes ago.

With his exceptional good looks, charm, and silver tongue, Albert Wesker could have any woman he wanted. But he didn’t work that way. Most of the time, he was focused on his research and work for Umbrella, as well as his nefarious crimes behind their back. He never bothered with easy women, especially the female researchers that constantly swooned over him. Albert preferred a challenge.

He tended to be drawn to women who were intelligent, defiant, dangerous, and temperamental. Claire certainly fit the bill. But even then, Wesker only tended to use them before moving on. If Ada recalled correctly, the last woman he genuinely cared about walked out on him (ahh the irony), and, according to William, it did something to him.

Wesker was used to being used and betrayed and backstabbed, just like Ada was. It didn’t faze him. But where Ada had used those experiences to adapt and improve to protect herself, Albert had evolved in a much more menacing way.

Albert’s capacity for attachment and loyalty was fragile at best. A rarity that oftentimes required conditions. Only the Birkin family seemed to have that fortune unreservedly, although Ada knew that Annette’s was only to an extent. It was probably a good thing that William didn’t realize how dangerous a weapon he had loyal to him - or maybe he did and was just glad to have him on his side. Perhaps that was why William was just as dangerous and ambitious, knowing Albert had his back.

It had been some years since the last woman Wesker pursued came and went. Claire was his new obsession now, if what Ada heard and saw was anything to go by. This wasn’t just about sex though. There was something deeper Albert was drawn to. Ada was willing to bet that he was beginning to develop some sort of attachment to her. Perhaps the rarest phenomenon of all.

Things were getting interesting indeed...and downright dangerous for Claire.

The senior staff chip on his ID bracelet blinked and with a chime the laboratory door slid open. Wesker checked his watch, rolling his neck and stifling a yawn. Other researchers walked by, some giving him a wide berth. NEST seemed to be a little disorganized this evening. He noticed several researchers running to and fro, arms full of files, and the intercom called for more people than usual.

He held a large styrofoam cup in one hand, ignoring the burn from the warm contents within. He wore a lab coat, needed if he was going to work alongside William for a few hours tonight. Wesker admitted to himself that tonight was probably not the best night for him, still processing the updates he received from the informants as well as being quite distracted over a certain Redfield. Normally, he hated distractions, but Wesker found himself not minding so much on this one in particular - not when the benefits of it looked so promising.

There was something about Claire Redfield that drew him in, addicting and alluring. She wasn’t just some disposable pawn like the others. No. She deserved to be put on a mantle. He wasn’t a man that usually allowed his more carnal desires to get the best of him, but Claire was a special exception. From an analytical standpoint, it made sense. She was young, fertile, and beautiful. Perfect for attracting potential mates. Furthermore, she was nothing like the countless chaff that filled the world, awaiting their inevitable winnowing. She was fierce, clever and quite...captivating. The stir in his groin being around her wasn’t strictly biological or venereal, but also of genuine interest, which surprisingly bewildered him.

Best of all, her reactions to him told him it wasn’t one-sided and if he played his cards just right, he would get to have her all to himself. And Wesker was a master at card playing…and waiting for the perfect opportunity.

After stepping through the decontamination chamber, he arrived to William’s laboratory. His special chip allowed him access, and the door slid open without a fuss. Wesker reluctantly put all thoughts of Claire aside and scanned the room for his partner and Chief of Research.

“Achooo!”

The STARS Captain sighed, stepping over to one of the research stations to the left. He found Dr. Birkin hunched over the table, scribbling notes, a tissue sticking from one nostril. He looked up, immediately grabbing a pistol and aiming. He relaxed upon realizing it was Wesker.

“Put that down before you hurt yourself,” Wesker commented drily.

“Hey, Albert! Sorry, been a little - achoooooooo! - ugh…just a little paranoid today.” His voice was strained from congested sinuses.

Wesker padded over to him and presented the large styrofoam cup. “A little?”

His partner lit up like a delighted child and snatched the cup. “Aw, Al! You shouldn’t have! How did you know I was sick?”

“Annette informed me.”

William loved apple cider when he had a cold. One phone call from Will’s wife apprising him of tonight’s proceedings, and Wesker knew what would cheer him up. After all, the less miserable William was, the less likely he would complain like a sick, whiny kid - and the less likely that Wesker would get a headache.

The Golgotha creator took a deep gulp of apple cider and sighed, as though the contents of the cup came from heaven. “I should hug you!”

“I’ll break your arm.”

William snickered and turned back to his notes on the table, sprawled out next to a sterilized container that encased a dead G-Embryo roughly the size of a cat.

“What is transpiring out there?” Wesker inquired. “NEST is in disarray and everyone seems a little flustered.”

“Huh? Oh…Well, Annette is gone and I’ve locked myself up here to finish these experiments and so I let Cartwright be in charge. Guess he isn’t running things all that swimmingly.”

“Shocker.”

“That’s okay, if he screws it up, he won’t see it coming,” William joked, and patted the G-Embryo’s box nearby. “Isn’t that right, spawn of Dr. Randall?”

His laughter soon turned into a sneezing fit. Wesker stepped back as his best friend blew his nose on some more tissue paper, scowling and sniffling.

“Ugh, I swear my next creation after G is finished is gonna be a cure for the common cold.”

He sat his apple cider down on the table and walked over to the small trash bin to throw away his snotty tissues. But as he returned to his previous spot, a spontaneous sneeze ejected from his nose right onto Wesker’s sleeve. Will winced, expecting a punch and quickly got out of range.

“Sorry…”

Wesker grimaced, grabbing a nearby sanitized towelette and wiped his arm. “Seems like a step back from revolutionary bioweapons, wouldn’t you agree?”

William scoffed. “I don’t care. I hate being sick! You’re never sick, I’m so jealous. I’ve known you since we were kids and never once have I seen you have even one cold. What is your secret?!”

Wesker shrugged. “Good genes, I presume. And maybe the fact that I actually eat right and exercise. How often do I advise you to take care of yourself and you don’t listen to me? Between you and Sherry, it’s a nightmare making sure you’re even eating at all.”

“Feh…I only exercise the one thing that matters.” And pointed to his head. “My brain! You know how much I hate cardio. If you ever see me running, you better keep up because it means something’s chasing me…probably an angry, escaped BOW at this rate.”

Wesker half-rolled his eyes and shook his head. He took his sunglasses off and slid them into his breast pocket.

William slurped more of his apple cider. “You only seem to get headaches, bud.”

Wesker glared at his partner. “That’s because you are my personal headache.”

The Golgotha creator smirked. “Aw…I love you too, Al.” He knew there were other reasons that Wesker got headaches, but didn’t say anything. Will turned to his experiment and sat his drink down. “Well anyway, guess we should begin.”

Wesker examined the lab table. There were notes, documents, laboratory utensils, tissues, and pens all over the place. William was usually clean, but his organization skills were chaotic to all except to those who understood how he worked. However, when he was sick, he turned into a haphazard nightmare. The bane of Annette’s existence. And since she wasn’t here, Wesker would have to take the full brunt of it.

Well played, Anne...

“You’re contaminating your work area, Will. You know how much this irritates me.”

William snorted and went to the nearby sink to wash his hands. “Says the guy who comes in here half the time covered in someone else’s blood. At least all of these germs are mine.”

“I’ll have you know, I did not kill a single person today.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He gasped. “Maybe you’re sick, too!”

“Very funny.” Wesker slapped William’s hand away when he made a show of pretending to check his friend’s temperature. Anyone else would have had their hand fractured.

Wesker put latex gloves on and helped William clean and organize their work station. He purposely got overzealous with the disinfectant spray, making sure to douse William right in the face. The Chief of Research hacked and waved his hands.

“You did that on purpose, you dick!”

Will yanked up his apple cider and sheltered it from the purge. After Wesker was satisfied, the two partners started their venture into dissecting the dead G-Embryo. They chatted while working, able to multitask easily since they were such a well-rehearsed team. Wesker ignored William’s sneezing and coughs and little breaks to blow his nose as the evening grew later.

“You know...there was something I was supposed to tell you...but it slipped my mind. I think it was important too.”

Wesker watched through the microscope at the still quite active G cells. “Something slipped your mind? I’m shocked,” Wesker deadpanned.

He didn’t have to look to know that William cast him a glare. He slurped his apple cider purposely loud to get under Wesker’s skin. It worked and he looked up from the microscope to shoot him daggers with his eyes.

Will was unfazed, presenting a charming smile. “So...did you get what you needed from the informants?”

“I did, actually. Won’t be long before I have Roth and his conspirators where I want them.”

William used his foot to swivel his chair side to side in boredom. “I still don’t get Claire’s purpose. How’s she holding up anyway?”

Wesker smirked. “And that is why I am the criminal mastermind and not you, dear William.” He ignored Birkin as he rolled his eyes. “Claire is doing just fine. I’ll soon have her where I want also.”

The STARS Captain wrote down some notes and then was curious of his friend’s silence. One look and he knew exactly what William was thinking. He frowned, but it was too late.

“I knew it! You have a thing for her! It’s why she’s still alive. And why you’ve been playing with her. You haven’t been this obsessed with the opposite sex since-”

Wesker shot him a warning glare that would have made most men die of fright.

William froze, mouth open. He swallowed awkwardly and made himself a bit smaller, clearing his throat. “Right...we do not speak of her…”

“Claire is just a pawn, William. Nothing more. Don’t read too much into it,” Wesker growled.

“Whatever, Al, you can’t bullshit me. Even your precious goddaughter was raving nonstop about your “pretty new girlfriend” earlier. Maybe you just haven’t realized it yet. If you just wanted to get into her pants, you would’ve done it already. Which, I wouldn’t blame you, because she is damn fine! Good genes and breeding, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I’m quite curious what I could find out with just a little blood sample to -”

William ducked, barely evading a petri dish that shattered behind his head. A wide grin broke on his face and he sniggered. “Damn! Alright...touchy…Really though, don’t tell Anne I said that. Forget I said anything about Claire being attractive, actually. I wouldn’t live past it if you did, and I still need to perfect the G-Virus...and Sherry still needs me...occasionally.”

Wesker pinched his nose, swallowing his irritation. “Speaking of Sherry, do you know how upset she was when you didn’t come pick her up? I swear, Will, if you make me have to explain to her one more time why you’re too busy to come get her, I will slam your head into a wall.”

It was both something that needed to be said and a convenient way to change the subject at hand. And his partner knew it. This time William became annoyed.

“Hey, you know how Spencer is. Jesus, Al, they’ve been down my neck since the beginning of the month, and now they’re changing all these policies?! Something ain’t right, and I know you see it as well. Why the hell do you think I’ve upped the security down here?” He paused to sneeze and blow his nose. “Ugh…it’s not like I meant to upset her, but Spencer’s got his goddamn fingers around my neck. I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes.”

Wesker frowned, relaxing. William had been slowly growing paranoid over the past couple of weeks, the stress taking a toll on him between finishing the G-Virus and meeting Spencer’s demands. Consequently, his old friend had become more apprehensive, hurting his usual ambitious and dauntless demeanor. He was subject to phases of paranoia, it certainly wasn't the first time. But Wesker needed William back to normal (by his standards) if they were ever going to succeed in their plans.

“You let me handle Spencer,” he stated. “You just keep doing what we discussed. It will pay off in the end. Be patient.”

William shifted uncomfortably, taking a sip of his now cold apple cider. “I hope you’re right. With the way Spencer’s running things, I fear our plan on getting me onto the executive board won’t come to fruition.”

“The entirety that I do behind Umbrella’s back is for us. There will come a day where you will get what you rightly deserve and gladly watch that wretch die at our feet. I’ll make sure of it.”

The Golgotha creator smiled weakly, not looking at him. “Ah, the ambitions of our younger days. Taking over the world, exacting justice how we see fit, rewriting history, shaping the future.” He sighed. “Seems impossible now.”

“Not impossible. Umbrella is just the stepping stone. Think of it as our dear mentor, James Marcus, only a bit more complicated. I promised you after he was gone you would rise to the top. And here you are...the leader of NEST, Chief of Research, Umbrella’s cream of the crop. Keep the image up, and once our research is complete, Umbrella will be our little puppet. Their rival company, the one Ada works for, will be the key.”

“And what of Roth? You say he’s collaborating with more than just the Ashfords. I mean...Alexander and Alexia have been gone for a while, but their goons are still snooping around. We both know that dumbass Alfred isn’t gathering research data. Who else could Roth be working for if not the Organization? What if he sells them my stolen research?”

“You don’t need to worry yourself over Roth. He’ll be dead soon enough.”

The phone rang nearby. Wesker stood up, checking the clock. It was nearly time for him to take his leave anyway. He went for the phone while his best friend mused over their discussion.

“Our time is coming, my friend. Until then, you just focus on completing the Golgotha to perfection. You know I won’t let anything happen to you, Anne, or Sherry.”

“Thanks, brother.”

He answered the phone. “Dr. Birkin’s ward, this is Dr. Wesker speaking.”

“Albert, why do you do this to me? You know I detest playing phone tag.”

He instantly recognized the silky voice. Wesker narrowed his eyes at William. The realization dawned on his partner’s face and he smiled sheepishly, rubbing the light scruff on his chin.

“Oh yeah…now I remember...Alex called…”

Wesker sighed. “I apologize, dear sister. You know how William can have a one-track mind.”

“Hey!”

Alex chuckled on the other side. “You boys getting up to no good in that dreary little town? Hun, I’ve got some news for you...per that favor you requested a few days ago.”

“Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”

In his peripheral vision, he saw William get up and stomp away. Wesker ignored it and focused on his sister.

“Someone’s got to,” she quipped. “Met your “comrade” the other day. One Nikolai Zinoviev. He’ll be arriving in Raccoon City tonight per a request from Colonel Sergei. He’s got your package. I hope you can trust him. He seems pretty chummy with our pesky Colonel.”

“And here I was hoping you would bring it to me in person. It is almost Christmas, you know.”

“I hate the cold, Albert, you know that.” She paused long enough to cover a deep cough. But...I might make an exception just for you. Unless, of course, our dear Lord Spencer decides to cut my vacation short. I do have a lot of work to catch up on in the UID.”

Before he could say anything, the line clicked and a familiar voice joined their little chat. “In my defense, I have a cold and had a long ass day, okay? Don’t listen to him!”

“William, darling!” Alex exclaimed. “You do sound a little stuffy. Take some medicine and rest, hun.”

“Rest is for the dead...unless they’re the undead, which I’ve had to deal with a few times down here. And let me tell ya, they are -”

“Will, hang up the phone,” Wesker ordered.

“Fine...catch ya later, Alex. Sorry, he’s a little moody tonight.”

William cut out. Wesker sighed, rubbing his eyes, phone still to his ear. He felt a headache starting to form. “Never mind him.”

“I swear you two act like old marrieds.”

“Not funny.”

Alex’s soft laugh was like the purr of a cat. “Get some rest, little brother. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Alright, Master of Unlocking, we don’t have all night here. We got a play to catch, remember?”

“Shush, Christopher.” Jill’s face remained hidden behind the menu.

“We both know you’re gonna get the number four. You do it every time!”

Claire stifled a giggle as Chris gave Jill a look and tossed his hands, mumbling something about his partner not being the Master of Dinner Decisions. To anyone who didn’t know any better, it would look like the two Alpha STARS teammates were a harmonized couple. They certainly had the bickering and bantering down.

The day had been a nice, peaceful one. Claire was able to breathe, having pushed back all of her worries to the back of her mind. She and Chris hung out all day and Jill joined them later after her shift at the RPD. They decided to go out and eat and then go watch a Christmas play at the theater.

Jill finally placed her order with the patiently waiting waitress (it was indeed the number four) and the three visited while they waited for their food to cook. The steakhouse was crowded for dinner time. Outside it was dark and trying to snow a little.

“So, anything interesting happen at work today?” Chris asked his partner.

Jill thought about it for a minute, sipping on her water. “Not really. Mostly paperwork today, which I guess is a good thing, although boring as all hell. Barry showed off his new Colt Anaconda .44 Magnum he bought from the gun convention and did weapon maintenance most of the day. Brad and Richard worked on the computers. I’m just glad that you and Joseph weren’t working because Wesker was in a mood all day and probably would’ve murdered you guys. I swear Forest almost got it.”

“Oh, thank god I was off. I hate when he’s like that. Was it from one of those light migraines or something?”

Jill checked to see if her utensils were clean. “Think so.”

Claire looked between them, suddenly interested but played it cool. “Light...migraines? What’s that?”

“He’s got...uhh, what’s it called again, Jill?”

“Photophobia. Light sensitivity. He sometimes suffers migraines from it.” She then stared directly at Claire, trying not to grin. “It’s because he’s got those beautiful light blue eyes.”

Chris gawked at his partner, a mix of horror, disgust, and annoyance (did Claire detect some jealousy and hurt there?) on his boyish face. Jill remained straight-faced, barely holding it together, as if knowing the remark would rile Chris up.

I mean...she’s not wrong...Claire sat up straighter suddenly, horrified that she even thought that. But so not the point, Jill! Please, joking aside, just fall for my oaf of a brother instead. It’ll be a lot safer, trust me...

“Oh,” Claire said tactfully, and decided to log the quite valuable tidbit of information away for future use. “That explains the sunglasses all the time.”

Chris laughed. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“So Claire, Chris told me you took a babysitting job?” Jill asked.

Claire nodded, wishing she wouldn’t have asked and answered vaguely. “Yeah. It’s good pay.”

“You sometimes babysit Moira and Polly, right?”

“Yeah, used to a lot more before I moved off to college.”

The younger Redfield’s eyes caught something behind Jill’s head. A familiar person that made her heart leap. Ada paused for only a moment to make sure Claire had seen her and covertly dipped her head, beckoning her.

“I...have to go to the restroom...sorry. Excuse me,” Claire said with an apologetic smile.

“Hurry back before the food comes or it’ll get cold,” her brother called at her back.

She padded past a few tables and turned a corner, following a wooden room divider and a large saltwater tank and completely bypassing the restrooms. She spotted Ada walking out the entrance door, dressed in really nice clothes and a stylish white coat.

She followed the agent around to the side of the restaurant where it was darker. Claire hadn’t brought her coat, and so the cold was immediately biting. She held herself and peered at Ada expectantly.

“I’ll make this quick before you turn into a Clairesicle,” Ada greeted. “I apologize for my poor timing but I needed to speak with you.”

“O-Okay...what is it? Did you find something out?”

The Eurasian beauty thinned her lips. "Well, yes and no. Listen...your brother is getting suspicious and asked a neighbor to keep watch for anything strange. This neighbor may end up having an "accident" if Albert finds out. Just so you’re warned."

Claire wondered who it could be. "Okay, but I think I may have gotten him settled. I told him that I'm babysitting for William."

Ada smiled. "Clever girl! Still, best stay alert and be careful. You're far from out of this mess."

"Do you know Wesker's intentions for me?"

The agent coughed and cleared her throat awkwardly, something Claire picked up right away because this woman was always so graceful and precise. She frowned. "Oh I know of something he's intending..."

The younger Redfield didn't like the sound of that. "W-What do you mean?"

Ada sighed. "Look...I saw and heard what happened when he dropped you off yesterday. Things just got a lot more complicated, Claire."

Claire's cheeks burned, her chest constricting. She didn't even care about her shivering anymore. This wasn't something she was ready to discuss…

"He's crazy. Nothing's gonna happen between us...not like that."

The small smile Ada gave Claire was piteous. "Albert always gets what he wants."

Claire scowled. "Not this time."

Ada's smile grew a bit more, her admiration growing proportionately to her worry. “Bold words, honey. But you have no idea how manipulative and persuasive he can really be.” She ignored Claire’s sour stare. “Point is...if he gets his claws in you, he’ll never let you go. Not unless he bleeds you dry. So whatever he’s using you for, we need to figure it out and fast. Has he said anything to you? Made you do anything while out with him?”

Claire thought it over while rubbing her arms, chilled by the bitter wind. “Uh...he hasn’t really said anything. He made me meet with two informants for him. One gave me an envelope and another gave me a floppy disk. They didn’t say much. One of them told me that if Wesker was going to “hit them” he better do it soon. And Wesker only said something about maybe cutting off the head of more than one snake.”

Ada tapped her expensive looking wallet against her thigh as she thought. “I wonder if this has anything to do with Finley and Crawford…”

That jogged the younger Redfield’s memory. “Wesker did say he killed a Crawford...I overheard it when he killed that Finley guy.”

“Did you overhear any other names?”

Claire chewed on her lip. There was another name...what was it? “Yeah...uhh...Rah...Roth! I forgot the first name.”

Ada sighed. “Aaron Roth. Yikes.”

Her gut twisted. “That bad?”

“Well, he’s not exactly a nice guy, but if Albert’s going after him, he’s got something else up his sleeve.”

“And that is?” Claire asked, apprehensive.

Ada gave a wry smile to her shivering form. “No idea.” She then dipped her head towards the entrance behind them. “You better get back inside before you catch a cold. They’ll be missing you shortly anyways. I’ll dig around some more and see what I can find out.”

Claire nodded. “A-Alright, thanks.”

Hugging herself, the college student turned and strode back to the restaurant's entrance. Ada hollered at her back and Claire paused. She looked over her shoulder at the agent, nestled in the darkness at the side of the building.

Ada considered her words for a moment. “Watch yourself.”

The younger Redfield nodded and returned to her pleasant company back within the warmth of the bustling steakhouse. She didn’t know the agent very well, but she had a feeling she wasn’t referring to her involvement in Wesker’s ploy against Aaron Roth...

[sunnyie-eve]

Somebody To Love (Part 12- An Epic Poem)

(Ben!RogerTaylor)

Word count: 1,566

Warnings: None

—————————————————

"You're what?" I finally manage to spit out. "I'm in love with you, Alice Grace White." He takes my hand and I was just a blinking statue. "Let me just say what I have to say. Alice, I have always actually had a crush on you once I actually started to get to know you. I didn't care what you looked like. I like what was on the inside of you. I was and still am jealous of how close you are with Deaky and Brian. I think being here has made me realize that I need to tell you how I feel before it's too late. Our conversation up on the hill about how we will both find our person soon... I want you to be that person." He looks me in the eye and I don't say anything but grab his face to kiss him.

"I hope that answers about how I feel about you." I smile and he kisses me back. "Rog, can we keep us a secret? Just till we actually know this will work out? We saw how my last one went with Brian." I bit my lip hoping not to upset him. "Of course, I'll do anything you want. I'll take this slow like a real relationship and not jump into things." He kisses me again and I push him away. "Okay, so like you interrupted my nap so leave." I get back underneath the covers and he does the same. "I'm tired too after all that singing." He cuddles me and we fall asleep.

~

Finally once the album was finished we headed back home, and I was thankful to sleep in my bed for one night. Roger was on his way to pick me up since we had to meet with Ray so he could here it. "It's open!" I yell as there was a specific knock at the door. "Well don't you look beautiful." Roger says gives me quick a kiss as I grabbed my bag. "Don't you look handsome." I kiss him back making sure to grab my keys as we head out. "Are you nervous?" I ask getting in the passenger seat. "I don't quite know. I mean, he didn't like the idea of it in the first place." Roger looks over at me as he drives. "Well he's stupid because it's a perfect album." I smile at him and he holds my hand.

When we park outside of EMI me and Roger give each other a quick kiss before meeting the other at the door. "Darling, you look beautiful." Fred kisses my cheeks. "Thank you, Freddie." I smile as we stand there for a few minutes. "Why did you give Alice a ride? She has her own car." Brian asks Roger who is caught off guard. "I'm low on gas so I called him." I answer for him since he was frozen. Once we head inside to the lift we walk into Ray's office, I sit at one end of the sofa followed by Roger, Deaky, and Brian standing behind us. Paul sits on the arm of the sofa and I move closer to Roger's side. "Yeah, get away from him." Roger whispers in my ear putting his arm on the back of the sofa behind me. Fred plays Ray Bohemian Rhapsody and once it ends I smile at Roger.

"Well... I'm not entirely sure... that's the album you promised us." Ray let's out a sigh. "No, it's better than the album we promised you. It's better than anyone's ever promised you, darling. It's a bloody masterpiece." Fred says walking in front of Ray's desk. "It is a good album, Ray." John says. "We prefer masterpiece." Roger turns his head to look at him. "It's expensive and as form... Bohemian..." Ray starts and I decide to help him. "Rhapsody." He looks at me, "Rhapsody. What even is that?" He asks and Fred answers him, "An epic poem."

"It goes on forever. Six bloody minutes." Ray says pointing at the sheet. "I pity your wife if you think six minutes is forever." Fred says and Paul sniggers while I giggle a little. "We're going to release it as our single." Fred said making Ray chuckle. "Not possible anything over three minutes and the radio stations won't program it, period. And what I'm earth is it about anyways? Scaramouche? Galileo? And all that Ismillah business! Ismillah?" Ray rants on while Fred looks out the window. "Bismillah." I correct him. "Oh aye. Bismillah. What's it about anyways? Bloody Bismillah?" Ray asks us. "True poetry is for the listener." I say and deep down I was wondering where I got all this courage to speak for the band.

"It ruins the mystery if everything's explained." Brian says and they still go on. "We need the radio. Format is three minutes, I have to agree with Ray." John tells the band. "I actually think the single's Love Of My Life." He adds, "No." Brian says. "How about John's song, You're My Best Friend? You know? Ooh you make me live... Catchy, stronger." He suggests. "What about I'm In Love With My Car?" Ray suggests and we just are wowed. "Are you joking?" I say while Deaky moves his head and Brian says Jesus. Roger looks at all over us then Fred kicks the table.

After a few minutes of arguing about how Bohemian Rhapsody will never be played, Miami gets Ray to shut it for a few seconds. "We're going with You're My Best Friend." Ray says final. "You will forever be known as the man who lost Queen." Freddie says and we all get up following him out the door and Roger takes my hand into his. "Fuck him, Fred. He doesn't know how much he just fucked up." I say was we get into the lift. "You're right and thank you darling... For speaking up for the band in there." He pats the top of my head before we head out.

"Oh I have an idea! Here Fred, throw it." I bend down picking up a brick handing it to him. "Darling, I love you." He takes it from me and throws it there the window. "You can take that out of our royalties! Twat!" Fred tells at him. "Wanker!" Ray yells back. "You can shove your gold disks! You made a mistake Foster!" Brian says as we walk off and I grab Roger's hand again. "That actually was a brilliant idea, Alice." Roger let's go of my hand to wrap his arm around my shoulder. "It was, I say we go out to eat?" Brian suggests to us all. "Sounds nice, I'm quit hungry." Deaky turns around smiling at us. "The usual place?" Roger ask as we make it to his car. "See you darlings there." Fred says getting in his car driving off.

Me and Roger get in the car and put on the radio. "I can't believe how Ray actually suggested your song. Not trying to be rude, but that's definitely not a song you and jam out to in your car." I laugh turning to look at him. "I swear you guys are never going to let that go." He glares at me making me lean in to kiss him. "Oh lighten up, babe. It's not as bad as I thought it was going to be." I smile at him and he kisses me quickly. "Thank you."

~

"I have a question, Alice. You and Roger seem a lot closer now. You actually hold his hand now, sit next to him, and well let him near you." Brian laughs as we were eating. "Yeah, I felt bad for him since I don't give him the same attention I give you and Deaky. Plus sharing a small bed with him back at the farm made us a little more closer. Roger here isn't as bad as I thought he was." I smile at Roger and he smiles back while the others nodded their heads. "That's good, we won't hear him whine about anymore." Freddie's says making Roger glare at him.

As we were waiting for Deaky and Fred to finish eating, I felt Roger grab my hand underneath the table. I let go of his hand and excuse myself to go look at the cakes they had. "Oh, I'll look with you." Roger jumps us and follows me inside from where we were sitting. "Follow me." Roger whispers in my ear and leads me to the big restroom. "What are you doing?" I asks as he locks the door. "I just fell the need to kiss you and I can't do it in front of the band." He smiles down at me and I wrap my arms around his neck. "We can’t be gone too long." I kiss him between each word. "I know." He pushes me against the wall making the kiss a bit rougher.

"Roger, can't you wait till we either go to my place or yours?" I ask as he kisses my jaw and neck. "You're right, then we can cuddle and watch a movie." He kiss my lips before opening the door and we go back to the table. "Nothing catch you eyes?" Deaky asks as we took our seat. "Nope, and this one was too picky to get one." I pat Roger's back as he takes a dink of his tea.

[myfandomrambles]

Message In A Bottle

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who: Virgin New Adventures - Various Authors

Relationships: The Doctor & Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor & Graham O'Brien, Thirteenth Doctor & Ryan Sinclair, Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan, Melanie Bush & Seventh Doctor

Characters: Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor, The Doctor (Doctor Who), The Doctor's TARDIS, Graham O'Brien, Ryan Sinclair, Melanie Bush

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, POV The Doctor (Doctor Who), Mentioned Past Companions (Doctor Who), Angst, Heavy Angst, Hypervodka (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor Era, Everyone Needs A Hug, Past Character Death

(CW: Alcohol Use)

Summary:

The Doctor gets a bottle with a message from a past friend. The trouble is with as much past as the doctor has, it can all be a bit much

The TARDIS was meandering in the Time Vortex. They had a rough few days of action so they were taking a day in The Vortex where almost nothing could really attack them. She might have told them nothing could hurt them they looked tired.

The Doctor did too, of course, The Doctor did need sleep. Honestly respected sleep, it was a good thing. But it was also a bad time for her, in general life had been going pretty good but when it got quiet, it all got very loud.

Nightmares, she actually had them for her whole life. Afraid of the dark, not to mention never being loved by her family and not being good enough for the Academy, the Time Vortex, the Cloisters and that was just on Gallifrey. Of course, life had not exactly stopped giving her nightmare fuel, Daleks, Cybermen, forced regeneration, human experiments, genocide, war, her friends dying, planets burning, universes collapsing. In other words, she never got a good night’s sleep.

So instead of sleeping, and inviting in the past, she was messing with the console. The TARDIS was making little noises at her, telling her thief her opinion on everything, as she always did.

The Doctor smiled at this, the TARDIS was her best friend. The one thing that had been with her for most of those nightmare-inducing events, always the place she wanted to run to and run with. Her friends were the best of her, every single one of them, but the TARDIS was her home.

The TARDIS stopped its friendly wheezing and a knock sounded on the door. The Doctor felt her eyebrows do the scrunch thing and she pulled up the view screen, it was a bottle, like just a glass bottle how did that work? Now she wanted to know,

“What we think? let it in?” Thirteen said rubbing her hands together.

She didn’t wait for her box to respond, this was weird, she loved weird.

Swirling space filled her view as she plucked the gas bottle in. Inside was an old disk, from a few consoles back, but TARDIS compatible. Not to mention turning it over she saw a wisp of paper reading “Doctor”. So, for her, exciting. Two bits of mail very close together must be getting popular.

The Doctor went to the console and was keenly aware she no longer had the hardware on her counsel, so this was an old message. Now she’d have to go digging.

Wandering the halls she looked for either an old desktop backup or a spare parts room, had plenty of those. Doing so she remembered something, or almost remembered something like it was on the tip of her tongue. The message was old so was being addressed to one of her older faces. But it was still making her head spin and old memories and thoughts come up.

‘Oh you really are thick’ her thoughts supplied, making her mutter “stupid Doctor” at herself and the voice of judgment that always sounded a step out from her.

‘Really can’t remember anything anymore, typical’ her mind supplied.

“Too much in my head.” The Doctor muttered again

“Doctor!” Ryan shouted

The Doctor jumped out of her skin and turned around, all three of her current companions were apparently following her, wondered for how long now.

“Oh hi,” The Doctor said smiling at her companions as best she could.

“What are we looking for?” Graham questioned.

“I have a bottle,” The Doctor said waving it around.

“I can see that,” Ryan said with a shrug.

“So I have to find one of my old console rooms, one with the round things in white.” The Doctor explained and kept walking.

“Doctor, did you happen to drink the contents of the bottle?” Yaz questioned stepping in front of her.

“I’m not drunk” The Doctor defended

“Right, well wandering in circles talking to yourself, being drunk is kind of the best explanation,” Graham replied leaning against the wall.

“I’m trying to find things, help me?.” The Doctor said, more to the TARDIS than anyone else. And of course, now that she had made a fool of herself the door opened.

“Found it,” The Doctor said proudly and spun showing off the console room, from before the eighth body at least.

“Wait this is like the front room yeah?” Yaz said walking to the console.

“Yes, and can be functional again if needed but right now we just need to be able to read an older file format.”

“So the main room is an updated version of this?” Ryan asked.

“Basically, though to be fair most of it is cosmetic, from her getting a feel for us, or just wanting to show off.” The Doctor explained pulling some wires around to get it to play to the view screen.

As she got it out of the bottle, she noted it was not a normal bottle. It could open up big enough to get it out. Cool, never seen this before.

“Message in a bottle” She explained handing the bottle to Yaz who placed it on the ground. The Doctor took the drive, and Graham interrupted.

“That’s like an old school game cartridge.” He laughed.

“Don’t diss it, this is Gallifreyan tech.” The Doctor said putting it and hitting play.

“What tech?”

But Graham got no answer, the screen was filled with an older red-headed woman in a bright pattern dress.

“Hello Doctor,” she said wiping tears from her eyes.

The Doctor stumbled back and the words, “Mel Bush”, tumbled from her lips.

“It’s been such a long time now, or not, guess member a really long time.” Mel laughed, “I really do miss you, even after the last time going a bit pear-shaped. I was angry, you played mind games with me. But I know the man I knew, and I know you’re still him. I hope you have someone with you, keeping you safe, keeping you together. And remember sweets aren’t a meal, not sure what the version of you now is like, I heard you face change again, a few times now I think.

The grapevine seemed to pick up after 2010, not sure why. Heard from a few people who knew an even older you. But that doesn’t matter. I promised you’d I do this, so I am. Because I hope you’re out there turning worlds better, saving lives, changing them. Hope you don’t let it keep making you harder, loosen up and have fun.

Even if the universe can be a cruel and mean place, don’t be a Valeyard or master right? You’re The Doctor." The girl bopped the lens with her finger,

"And be nice if someone’s there with you, for me okay? Make them want to stay.

Oh, I do love you Doctor, goodbye.”

The screen clicked off

Doctor you okay?” Yaz asked placing her hand on The Doctor arm, brown eyes warm with concern.

“Yeah, I think so, you know.” She shrugged.

“Who was that?” Yaz asked,”

“Melanie Bush, she travelled with me way back, thousands of years back.”

“Wow, always forget you’re so old,” Ryan commented, earning him a glare from Graham and Yaz.

“I am so old Ryan, so so old.” The Doctor agreed.

“She seemed very nice.” Yaz gave her a reassuring smile.

“She was, very nice. To me and most people.” The Doctor held in her hands, “I always mess up how do I always mess it up?” she said more to herself than the others.

“What happened Doc? ” Ryan asked, “You know if you want to share.”

“The last time we really saw each other, she told me she never wanted to travel in the TARDIS, because I’d lied to her about what was coming, why I wanted her to leave the first time on the Iceworld. And I got her roped into this mess with prisons, Eternals and creations of consciousness.”

“Oh well, not sure I understood every word of that. But you ended on a bad row, it seems she was okay in the end, forgave you.” Graham asked, “Isn’t the good though, closure and all.”

“She was good, spent a good portion of her life doing charity work. Saved her from some rough Sontarans, wanted revenge, don’t know why they went after aid workers but whatever didn’t have time to figure it out. Just wanted to see her.”

“She fought with you for that?” Yaz asked.

“No, I said the last time we really saw each other. That was when I was dying, wanted my ‘reward’ it was, I was in pain. Wanted to see everyone I’d loved before, I was vain, selfish didn’t want to go.”

“No one wants to die Doc, when I thought I was dying, all I wanted was people I loved,” Graham said.

“Wanting to see your friends isn’t selfish.” Ryan agreed.

“Thanks, guys, it’s just like a ghost talking to me,” The Doctor said walking towards the monitor, “Mistakes and good times. But I guess Mel was dependable, wanted to care about me, she’d keep her promises.”

“Yeah Doc, remember the good stuff.” Graham said, “The best right, keep it with you. What you told us.”

“Of course’ The Doctor turned to them with a smile, “Can you give me a minute though?”

“Sure Doc” Graham nodded.

Yaz came up to her and gave her a hug, The Doctor was a bit startled they hadn’t really become a hugging fam very much.

Yaz gave nodded and followed the boys out.

The Doctor turned to Mel and smiled, she took the cartridge putting it in the discarded bottle and took it in to her room for companion’s things, mausoleum, museum, or whatever it was. Passed the recently replaced Corsair message and walked to Umbrella’s friends. Noticed a place that had one of Mel’s bows and placed it in there. Under Peri, above Ace, she had a rather large drawer for her large life. Ace McShane, what had she made of her?

The Doctor looked up and down and broke. Being good, and kind, and laughing it had been her goal. But right now she didn’t care about being The Doctor she wanted to be old and sad and bitter. And guilty, ashamed, wounded. Just an old battered TIme Lady.

She walked from this room to her counsel room, she started banging on panels till one opened and River’s whisky was there, but she shut it. Not River, not now, and definitely not the Lethbridge Stewarts. That was so much guilt and sadness, to mention the last time people drank it she had been contemplating Time Lord equivalent of suicide. Not going that dark tonight thanks, stuff those thoughts way to the back.

So she wandered to a room that functioned as a liquor cabinet, Bowtie hadn’t liked the stuff, usually going for destroying property and/or putting himself in danger on bad days. But a bottle of hypervodka met her eyes and she smiled. She grabbed to bottles and went to the console room, it had so many ghosts they all blanked each other out, not personal to any of them.

She downed one whole bottle all alone, Time Lords had fast metabolisms and high tolerance. It was all the heart beating and thinking. No thinking, or at least not remembering, not working.

The second one disappeared as fast, maybe it would make her sleep, just at least sleep with nothing in her mind.

Not working, not enough. She thought and poured on more glass but her hand was caught causing her to flail out and saw it was Yaz’s hand.

“This bottle I did empty on my own.” She joked

Yaz did not seem to find her funny.

“What?” The Doctor asked.

No answer Yaz just stared at her with a look of judgment, with her other hand on her hip like a judgmental parent. Why was it Yaz’s business?

” I can drink my own vodka, in my TARDIS, by myself if I feel like it. I’m old enough to be your messiah, I can make my own decisions. So just go. Go away where you won’t get hurt.” The Doctor’s voice hit a tenor that made her age creep into the auditory world. Even if the power was dampened by the slight slur.

And Yaz looked hurt and very sad, she let The Doctor’s hand go her eyes growing wide.

“Doctor, what are talking about?” Yaz asked her hands hit the floor sitting next to The Doctor.

“What are you talking about?” The Doctor mirrored.

“You say your fine and next thing I know you’re trying to drink yourself to death.”

“I’m not as fragile as you, I can handle this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You could have talked to me, or Ryan, or Graham.”

“You don’t understand.”

“We don’t understand loss?” Ryan snapped from the dark.

“Yes!” The Doctor stood up, “Exactly. When were you one of two people standing in the ruins of the universe, watched hordes of people die in Dalek fire, had your friend turned into a cyberman, and another, and another. When did you walk a woman into the hands of a nutcase who took her ability to have children? Have you sat in a field of blood that you made, known people see you as a monster? Seen a child sacrifice himself for the world! When were your friends torn from you by your own people more than once? Did your children burn with all of your family? Don’t pretend you can ever understand” The Doctor’s tone went from angry, to despair, to just bitterness and scorn.

They all stared at her in that way she hated like she was something otherworldly, but not a magic hero. A vengeful creature.

“Doctor?” Graham said, ton and body neutral.

“Nope, Not The Doctor right now. Not sure who I am, but guess I’m just me. Huh, guess that’s why she’s been using that name.” Tears rolled down her face hot and Then The Doctor collapsed on the floor the world going dark.

_____

She woke up with Yaz sitting next to her.

“How mad are they?” The Doctor said to the ceiling.

“You told them, losing their wife and mother didn’t count as a loss. Then kind of told us you’ve killed people. We’re all a bit miffed.” Yaz said sarcasm dripping.

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Doctor I know you were in pain, but you can’t lash out at us. We’re your friends, you said we were your family.”

“I know I did, you are my best friends. I mean that I do. I shouldn’t have said what I did, it was wrong.”

“If you talk to me before it got too big to handle maybe it would be better.”

“Right try that next time.”

“Not to mention you lied. You said that one bottle was nothing but you blacked out.”

“That wasn’t just the drinking, it was that I hadn’t slept in way too long.”

“Why?”

“It’s louder when I sleep?”

“What is?”

“The screaming.”

After resting on Yaz’s orders she found Ryan and Graham using a gaming machine and library book respectively.

“I’m sorry.” The Doctor said, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

“I know that loss can make you act like a jerk Doctor, but you’re the one who says to let it make you a better person,” Graham said.

“Yes, I don’t follow my own advice enough.”

“Like using weapons when you say we can’t?” Ryan asked.

“Rule one, The Doctor lies.” The Doctor muttered to herself.

“That's not a good rule, I prefer don’t wander off,” Ryan said, looking pointedly at the screen.

“It was what my Bowtie face always said, Well more so what River said about me. But I was unfair, and I’m sorry. I know losing your wife hurts Graham, all of mine are dead. One comparatively recently and I know it hurts.”

He nodded she turned to Ryan, “ My people don’t have mothers in exactly the same sense, and the people I call my grannies it’s wasn’t the same as yours. My family weren’t exactly my biggest fans either. I should never have pretended it didn’t matter. I'm so sorry”

He nodded.

“I didn’t lie when I told you I carry them with me. I didn’t say that sometimes it’s too much. And I’ve done things I'm not proud of, but I have to be better than that, I have to try my best to be The Doctor. And I can't let it hurt the people I care about when I fail.”

They both nodded.

“If you want me to take you home I can” She offers pointing her thumb behind her.

“No Doctor, we had one fight.” Ryan said, “that’s not the end of this.”

“Doc, you're stuck with us for a while yet. But I think we should talk more yes?”

The Doctor nodded and turned around. She couldn’t help going to Bill’s room, and Nardole's saying her silent goodbyes again. Turning off the ache and noise was hard, she would just have to hide it better again.

[takadasaiko]

Second Chances Chapter Twenty

FFN II AO3

Summary: Obadiah shows Tony what he's capable of while Pepper fights for her family.

Chapter Twenty

Howard felt his world spin around him, and it had nothing to do with the blow to the head. He couldn't do anything but watch as Obadiah Stane - a man that he'd counted as a friend once - guided Tony out of the house with an arm around his shoulders as if the threat of what he'd do to them all wasn't left hanging thickly in the air. He watched the thugs that lingered behind, waiting to see if they'd leave with him or if they would remain at the house as insurance to make sure Tony cooperated with whatever Stane had planned.

It took a moment, but they followed after their boss without a word, leaving Howard alone on the kitchen floor. He stumbled his way up, and the SUV was pulling away from the house by the time that he made it over to the window.

"He went with them." Howard spun, finding Pepper already halfway down the stairs. Her expression was carefully guarded, but it hadn't been a question. She knew. She probably knew before she'd come out of the bedroom. He opened his mouth to respond and she shook her head. "You weren't going to be able to stop him. Trust me. Did they all leave with Obadiah?"

"As far as I could tell."

Her blue gaze swept over him, assessing something that she didn't bother sharing with him. Instead she started for the door. "Tony started designing this place right after we found out we were pregnant. Even retired and with half the population gone he knew there was always a chance of an enemy or two popping up, so he made sure Morgan had a safe place to hide if there was ever a worst case scenario."

Okay. So Morgan was safe. That had to count for something. He followed her out and across the yard. "How're we gonna find him?"

"We need to start by reconnecting to FRIDAY." Pepper frowned at the keycode on the garage and started searching the outside of the structure. She seemed to know what she was looking for, but she wasn't too quick to share. "Obadiah's group hit a SHIELD base, didn't they?"

"A storage facility, yeah. Cap, Peggy, and Bucky checked it out and got attacked on their way out."

Pepper loosed a frustrated sigh as she pulled a small device from where it was tucked out of immediate view. She held it out to give Howard a better look at it. "Tony's design. He put it together a few months ago for Fury when he asked."

Howard took the little disk, squinting in the dark at the red lights showing that it was active. "What's it do?"

"It's a localized EMP. The way it was positioned, it had everything in the garage knocked out. Our computers that connect to the Stark Industry's servers, FRIDAY's mainframe…"

"And the suits," Howard murmured. "All the defenses set up."

"Most of them, yeah." A slim finger moved over the edge and red lights faded. As they did the keypad on the door flickered and finally jolted back to life. Pepper keyed in her code and the doors opened. "Obadiah must have made modifications to it. After…." She grimaced a little, and Howard knew she was trying to decide how much to say. He might know it was Obie, but there were still a lot of gaps there. Finally she pulled in a breath. "After a security breach a few years ago he made sure to put safeguards in. Anything he gave to SHIELD shouldn't have worked on our systems."

"Did SHIELD tell you they'd gotten it?"

His son's wife snorted. "Oh no. That would have made things too easy. FRIDAY, are you back online?"

"Working on it," the AI answered.

"I need a secure line and I need you to pull any of our satellite footage that might have caught the vehicle Obadiah came in."

A holoscreen appeared in front of Pepper with a digital keyboard in front of it. Half of the screen showed a progress bar. "Pulling the images now. The line is secure."

"Thank you, FRIDAY," Pepper managed, and she reached for the keyboard. Just as she did a sound drew both of their attention towards the still-open door.

"Any chance Morgan got curious?" Howard managed.

"She can't unlock it from inside."

"Shit."

"Just get behind me."

Dark eyes blinked owlishly at that. "Listen, that's uh…." He jumped as blue and silver metal flew by, a piece of it nearly slamming into him as it did. It fastened around Pepper, encasing her in a suit not too unlike one of Tony's, and he let out a low whistle. "Whatever you say."

She put herself between him and the door, the charging repulsor beam in her glove the only sound as they waited.

                                            _________________________

The entire car ride felt like he was one turn away from the driver pulling over to put a bullet in his head. He hadn't felt quite like that since the humvee in Afghanistan sixteen years before. It didn't help that the same man that had organized the attack then sat next to him in the back of the SUV now.

"You look tense," his former mentor said and reached forward to a small storage area in front of them and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid like it was old times.

"Couldn't imagine why," Tony murmured as he loosed a breath, dark eyes taking in every inch of his surroundings. "Not like you dragged me out of bed and threatened my family or anything."

Obadiah chuckled and shoved a glass into Tony's hand. "I would have let you change, Tony," he said, motioning to the fact that he was sitting there in nothing but a t-shirt, sleeping pants, and his own bare feet, "but you seemed to be in a hurry to get out the door. Cute kid you had there though. She was very persistent that I didn't touch Howard. That's gotta be a story there."

Tony pushed a frustrated breath out his nose. "What do you want, Stane?"

"It's been a long time, and I understand that you were, uh…. heavily involved in bringing back everyone that was snapped out. I suppose I have to be grateful for that. It looks like it left a mark." He motioned at the scarring along Tony's right side and the younger man's eyes narrowed dangerously. Stane snorted. "Consider it an olive branch discussion. I think we can help each other. I'd like to help each other."

"If you think I'm going to give you anything, you never did know me very well, did you?"

"We'll see. Everybody has a price. Even self-righteous little pricks like you."

Tony finally cracked a smile. "You really think that getting me out of the house means you've won, huh? Let me guess. Your people are going back for Pep and Morgan. You think you'll be able to leverage them like you did Howard." He watched the older man's expression harden just before he hid it behind a sip from his own glass. Tony chuckled. "You're about to be disappointed."

"So this is how it's going to be?" Stane asked.

"You're not getting anything from me. You should have known that coming in."

Stane hummer lowly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small disk that Tony recognized as one of his own designs. A localized EMP. He lifted one dark eyebrow. "You planning to kill your car engine?" he asked flatly.

"Something a bit smaller."

The question never made it from his lips as Stane flipped the device on and the blue light under his white t-shirt suddenly went out. Tony jolted, head slamming back against the rest, and his whole body seized up as his heart desperately tried to beat without the reactor to support it.

"Do you like the modifications?" Stane asked almost pleasantly. He must have deactivated it again because there was another shock to his system and Tony felt his heart shudder back into a healthier rhythm.

"How?" he managed after a long moment.

"I assumed that if you were willing to produce this little gem for SHIELD that you would put safeguards in to protect yourself. I found a kid that can reverse engineer almost anything. Smart boy. You'd like him." Stane chuckled. "I'll tell you, he's a big fan of yours."

"What the hell do you need me for then?" Tony choked out, hand finally making it to his chest and his fingers wrapped around the glowing ARC reactor.

"Even he has limits, and your AI systems are beyond him. We can shut it down temporarily like we did at your house, but getting into it, accessing those files and protocols…. that's all you."

Tony snorted and leaned his head back against the seat behind him as the vehicle continued forward. He didn't dare close his eyes or he thought the exhaustion would pull him under. Instead he focused on the darkly tinted windows and his own drawn reflection there. They'd been in the car for…. a couple hours at least. He'd lost track of which way they were driving. It was like having a bag over his head. Completely disorienting. "You know, the terrorists you hired to kill me years ago tried to torture me into giving them my tech, and I'll tell you the same thing I told them." He turned, meeting those dark blue eyes he'd once known well. "I refuse."

Stane made a small, amused noise, almost like he was accepting some sort of challenge. Well, Tony had never shied away from one before, and if worse came to worst his family would be safe. Pepper had everything at her disposal to make sure they'd be okay. At the end of the day, that's what really mattered.

                                           _________________________

Data flashed across her screens. Five men incoming. Heavily armed. Not as heavily as she was though. Whatever Obadiah's people had been told to expect, Pepper was fairly certain that she wasn't part of the warning. They came in guns blazing, which was useless against the Rescue suit. Howard had jumped for cover in the back room, and as long as she could hold them, this would be over as quickly as it had started

Bullets pinged off her armor and she returned fire, precision blasts taking down one, two and three, and four managed a head shot that rattled the helmet painfully as it sent her tumbling. Well that wasn't a normal gun.

Pepper picked herself up off the ground, ears ringing and trying to shake off the fuzzy feeling that threatened to distract her. Okay. This was how Tony always managed to come out of the suit beaten and bruised despite the countless upgrades he'd made to better protect himself inside of it. Getting slammed hurt no matter how well insulated it was. It didn't help that her experience fighting in the suit had been out in the open and not in as close quarters as her husband's workshop was turning out to be.

"Time to stay down."

She looked up at the man that had come after her, temper flaring. "No." She was on her feet again and the blast from her chest piece met and overpowered the energy blast from his gun, slamming him back hard. He didn't get up, and according to the vitals that flickered across his screen he wouldn't for some time.

Pepper turned, scanning for the last man standing and found herself alone in the front of the workshop. A blast and the loud crash that immediately followed sounded from the back and she felt a cold chill sweep through her. Howard.

The suit moved before she'd realized she'd given it the command, scattering papers and loose debris all around the tables. She blew through the opened door to find the room was strangely quiet in the aftermath of the violent, albeit brief battle. She saw the intruder first, laid out like he'd been thrown into the side of the car that Tony and Howard had been working on since Howard's arrival, but the misplaced Stark was nowhere to be seen.

A groan caught her attention from the other side of the room and after a quick scan of the downed attacker her helmet snapped back and she made her way towards it. Howard was picking himself up, one of the Iron Man gauntlets strapped to his arm, and she choked on the relieved laugh that escaped.

"Glad you think it's funny," he huffed. "Damn thing threw me across the room. How do you and Tony do that?"

Pepper pressed her lips together, desperately trying to keep her amusement to herself and failing as memories danced across her mind. "Tony did the same thing the first time he tried it."

"Guess I'm in good company then." He motioned with his left hand towards the front of the workshop. "What 'bout the others?"

"None of them are going anywhere fast. FRIDAY?"

"Should I put the call through that you were trying to make earlier?" the AI offered.

"Yeah. Call Steve Rogers."

                                           _________________________

He'd been trying to make a call for the past ten minutes. He would dial, put the phone to his ear, and then Tony would sit back and watch the frustration build. Stane tried three times before Tony finally chuckled. "Your people aren't gonna answer."

That pulled an irritated glare his way. "What did you do?"

"Oh, not me. I'm right here."

"Howard then."

Despite his own precarious situation, Tony couldn't help the amused smirk that tilted his lips up as the SUV pulled to a stop. "You know, you always underestimate people, Obie. You use them and throw them away when you think you're done with them, but you don't see what they can be. It's the reason you couldn't kill me and it's the same reason there's no way in hell you're getting your hands on Pepper." He met the other man's careful gaze. "She's not going to let your people leave the property, much less get anywhere near our daughter."

Obadiah sat there for a long moment, the vehicle idling as he held Tony's gaze. Finally he tucked his phone away in his suit jacket. "Then I guess I'll just have to make sure you understand the stakes."

The only warning Tony had was the brief glimpse of the EMP disk before his body rebelled, the reactor going dark and his heartbeat trying to keep up with the new burden until everything went black.

                                           _________________________

TBC

Notes: Obadiah should already know not to mess with Pepper Potts. She's the one that blew him to hell sixteen years before... and she'd do it again in a heartbeat to protect her family.

[screamxqueenx94]

Wolf Moon/Teen Wolf Series- Part 1

Thank you to @mummybear, @ficus-fig and @mrs-mitch-rapp93 ,who gave me the confidence to go for it! You guys are awesome and I love you with all my heart! And to those who are reading this, thank you and I hope you enjoy it too!

A/N: So every part is going to have the same name as the episodes, but they will be told from the point of view of my OC, which means somethings will be left out because she wasn't present and some things will be added. You will learn a lot more about her throughout the series. I really hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And if you want to be added to my Taglist at anytime if you're not already, just ask :)

Pairing: Eventually in the series; Stiles Stilinski x OC! Charlotte 'Charli' Vérszívó

Warnings: swearing, some underage drinking, and mentions of deceased parents

Italics= inner commentary/ thoughts

Charli's POV

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It was difficult being in a new place. After everything I went through in the past year, my father and I were forced out of our old home and had to move to Beacon Hills after the incident that killed my mom happened. I don't really miss New Jersey too much, but I do miss my mom. She was the best. She was the rock for our family. She always had a smile on her face even when things were bad.

I miss hearing her sing around the house. I miss the smell of her perfume lingering after she already left the room. I miss being able to tell her anything and not worry about her passing judgements on me. She always knew when to be my best friend and when to be my mom. Most of all, I miss how much she loved my father. He wasn't the best at expressing his emotions, but my mom made him do that and when she died, he changed. He became cold, distant… almost hollow.

~

We pulled up to the new house and it was beautiful. It was something my mom would have loved. It was a huge gray and stone neo-eclectic style house with a two car garage, and a circle driveway. My father told me that there was an inground pool in the backyard, as if to make me more convinced to be here, but I didn't have a say anyways. I get out of the U HAUL and walk towards the house. I examine the front yard with a bunch of beautiful peonies, roses and snapdragons lining the front of the porch and hydrangeas lining the stone walkway leading to the front porch.

“What do you think, Charli?” My father asks as he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him.

“It's beautiful…” I trail off. “...I just wish mom could've been here to see it. She would love this place.” I continue quietly, looking down at my old beat up high top converse sneakers.

“I know… I wish she was here too…” He replied sadly. “But, this is our new life. We're going to get a fresh start here and we're going to make the best of it.” He continued with a slightly more positive attitude.

I sighed and looked back up at the house. My father let go of me and we walked into the new house together. When he opened the double doors, he let me in first. I looked up and noticed the double sided curved stairs that led to the second floor. Why the hell do we need all this space? It's literally just the two of us.

“There's also a fully finished basement for when you have friends over.” He broke the silence.

I looked over and half smiled at him. “Where's my room?” I ask quietly.

“Take your pick. There's at least five of them here.” He smirked.

~

It was night when we finished unpacking most of the boxes. I carried some crushed up boxes to the curb and threw them away. As I put the lid back on the trash bin outside, I heard a car coming up the road and pull into the driveway of the white house next door on the right side of us. I look up as the door slams shut and see a boy with a buzzcut in a grey cargo jacket get out. After he gets out, he starts walking up the drive, but I may have been staring for too long because he actually stopped to look at me. I quickly made myself busy by putting the boxes that didn't fit in the bin on the ground leaning against it.

He starts walking over to me and starts talking. “Are you my new neighbor?” He asks in a friendly tone. God he was cute.

“Uhh yeah-- yeah I'm Charli.” I answer.

“I'm Stiles…” he holds out his hand to shake mine. Holy crap! His moles are beautiful!

I shake his hand, then shove both of my hands in the pockets of my black zip up hoodie.

“So where did you guys move from?” He asked as he shoved his hands in his jean pockets.

“Jersey. We uh, we lived in Piscataway.”

“Oh cool cool… so did you guys just want a change of scenery or…?” He asked, trailing off.

“No, actually my dad got a new job offer out here and because it's not legal for a 16 year old to live on their own, I had to come along.” I answer as I tuck some of my long, chestnut hair behind my ear, making him chuckle at that last part.

“What’s he do?”

“He's a lawyer.”

His eyebrows raise a bit and he nods. There's a moment of awkward silence between us until he clears his throat.

“Sooo… I'm guessing you're going to be going to Beacon Hills High?” He asks, clearly not sure what else to really say.

“Yeah. My dad originally wanted me to go to a private school, but I convinced him to let me go to public school for a change.” I answer back. “Plus, I'd probably get myself kicked out anyways.”

“You're a rebel I take it?” He asks smirking.

“Only when I wanna be.” I answer back smirking as well, winking, making him chuckle.

We stand there for a minute laughing at how stupid we are. When we stop, he's about to say something until my father opens the front door.

“Charli, come inside. It's late.” he calls. Thanks, Dad…

“Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?” I ask, smiling as I walk backwards towards my front door.

“Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow.” He answers back, smiling.

“Goodnight.” I tell him, as my body is facing the door but my violet eyes are still on his honey brown ones.

“Goodnight.” He answers back then starts heading back to his own house.

I go inside and close the door. I have this weird feeling in my stomach. A feeling I never really had before. It was strange, I'm not sure I like it. My face was hurting from smiling so much. Is this what a crush felt like? I honestly don't know.

I take off my beat up high top converse sneakers by the front door and start walking towards the steps to go upstairs.

“Who was that?” My father asked, coming out of the hallway leading from the kitchen with a drink in one hand and a case file in the other heading towards his office.

“Just one of our neighbors.” I answer, trying to head upstairs.

“Yeah? A teenage neighbor?” He asked as he placed the case file down on the big mahogany desk with a raised eyebrow.

I sigh. “Yes dad, a teenager. A teenaged boy.”

“What's his name?” He asked, leaning against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Stiles.” It just rolled right off my tongue so easily, felt natural coming off my lips.

My father's face twisted. “What the hell kind of name is Stiles?”

“What kind of name is Ambrus?” I shot back.

“Touche… you little shit.” He commented, making me smirk.

“Well, I've had a busy day. I'm going to bed.” I declare.

“Don't you want some dinner?” He asks, holding up his glass to me.

“No thanks, I'll have some in the morning.” I call back as I head up the stairs for bed.

~

I wake up and get ready for school. I take a quick shower, brush my teeth and look through my closet. I pull out a tie dye t-shirt, ripped faded skinny jeans and the same black zip up hoodie from last night. Since my hair is a mess, as per usual, I decide to just do two loose braids and stop at where the purple dip dyed ends begin and then put on my ‘Anti Social’ beanie. I head downstairs and sit at the island in our open dark wood kitchen and my dad is already dressed for work in his tailored Armani three piece suit and tie.

“Hey, good morning sleepy head.” My father greets as he pours me a drink into a mug. “You excited for your first day?”

“Define excited.” I mumble, still tired because I could barely sleep last night.

“Hey, c'mon now, Charli. Cheer up! Besides, you're gonna have at least one new friend right? That kid, Stiles from next door?” He tries to pep me up as he hands me the mug.

I drink it all in one sip and wipe my mouth with the napkin he hands me. I toss it in the trash and head for the foyer where my shoes from last night and my backpack were. I put on my shoes and throw my bag over my shoulder. I'm about to leave when my dad calls out. “Did you forget something?”

I look up and he tosses me my keys. I catch them. “Thanks, Dad. Love you!” I call out as I head out to the garage door.

I walk in and sitting in the garage is my father's black Cadillac CTS-V Coupe and my purple 1962 Volkswagen convertible. I could've had any car at all, but I just wanted to keep this because it was in the family for three generations now and I'm a sucker for sentiment. I get in and open the garage door. I adjust my mirrors, take a deep breath, start it up and drive off to the school. As I drive, I turn up the radio and the disk jockey announces that she's going to to play ‘Lowlife’ by Theory of A Deadman. I turn it up louder and start singing along as I'm driving.

I get ready to pull into the school parking lot, but get cut off by some dickhole in a grey Porsche. I slam on my horn and flip him off and keep going. I pull into a spot next to an old beat up pick up truck and gather all my stuff together. My phone alerts me of a text and I check it.

Dad: Have a great 1st day Princess! I put ur schedule & money in the front pocket of ur backpack :)

I half smile and get out and walk towards the school. As I'm walking, I'm pretty sure I see Stiles talking to some other kid with shaggy black hair, but I'm not sure so I don't say anything at first. Before I say anything, a strawberry blonde girl walks past him when he tries to get her attention.

“Hey, Lydia! You look… like you're gonna ignore me.” He sounded so defeated. I felt bad, but at the same time, kinda happy because now I got to talk to him.

“Hey, Stiles.” I call out. He looks past his friend's head, smiles and waves at me.

“Hey!” he actually sounds happy to see me. Play it cool, Charli. Don't fuck this up too.

“Charli, this is my best friend, Scott… Scott, this is Charli, my new neighbor I told you about.” he introduced, gesturing back and forth between us.

Scott and I wave to each other and the bell rings. We all head inside and as I'm walking I pull out my schedule and try to look for my first class.

“Who do you have first period?” Scott asks.

“Mr. Westover.” I answer, not looking up until I feel Stiles’ hand on my shoulder.

“Lucky you, that's right next to us.” Stiles says smiling. “Scott, save me a seat, I'll be right back.” He continues as he leads me to the classroom.

We walk in and Stiles goes up to the the older man behind the desk.

“Mr. Westover, this is Charli, she's a new student here.” He states, leading me over to his desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Stilinski, I'll take it from here. Get to class.” He says in a monotone voice, as he sifts through papers.

Stiles gives him a sarcastic salute and looks at me. “I'll see you after class so I can show you your other classes.” He smiles.

“Now, Mr. Stilinski.” Mr. Westbrook's voice raises just a bit. Stiles leaves. “Take a seat anywhere, Miss Vérszívó.” he continues as he motions to the rows of desks facing the board.

I take the last available seat next to a tall boy with brown spiked hair and blue eyes in a leather jacket. I see in my peripheral vision that he's looking me up and down. I can't tell if he's checking me out or judging me, but by his appearance alone, it's probably judging.

“You're friends with Stilinski?” He asks, almost snobbish.

“He's my neighbor and was kind enough to introduce himself, so yes, I'd say so.” I answer back without making eye contact, just sifting through my backpack for a notebook and a pen.

“Well, if you ever decide to hang out with a more appealing crowd, you know where to find me.” He turns back forward, smirking.

“Cool, I'll look for you in the feminine hygiene aisle along with the other douches.” I shoot back as I'm opening my notebook and preparing to take notes. A kid with short black hair starts snickering behind him, which makes me want to crack a smile. The brown hair boy looks back and gives the other kid dagger eyes.

“Mr. Whittmore, is there an issue that needs to be addressed?” Mr. Westbrook calls out, making the brown haired kid's head snap towards the front of the room.

“No sir.” He said.

Mr. Westbrook turned back around to the board and continued writing on it. I looked over at the douche next to me and smirked.

~

I started looking for my locker and seen Stiles and Scott talking to a girl in the hallway.

“Can Someone tell me how the new girl is here all of five minutes and she's already hanging out with Lydia's Clique?” the pretty girl complained.

“Because she's hot... Beautiful people herd together.” Stiles said to her.

I chuckled and approached them. Stiles and Scott looked over at me and smiled.

“Yeah, toolbag over there just tried recruiting me first period.” I comment as I point to the guy I told off first period who had his arms wrapped around Lydia.

“Wait, Jackson actually tried to talk to you?” the girl exclaimed.

“Ugh… that's his name? Wow, he apparently has a typical douchebag name too.” I joke.

“What did you say when he talked to you?” Stiles asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I told him if I needed him, I'd look for him in the feminine hygiene aisle along with the other douches.” I answered.

Stiles and the girl bust out in laughter, which earns me a high five from Stiles. Scott was really quiet though, kept staring at the other new girl tentatively. As if he was listening to their conversation. I could hear it too, something about a party, but I was mostly tuning it out.

“Are you busy later?” Stiles asked after the other girl left.

“Just some more unpacking when I get home, but other than that, no… why, what's up?” he shoved one hand in his jean pocket and adjusted the strap on his backpack over his with the other.

“Well Scott and I have Lacrosse practice after school, but after we were gonna hang out… did you wanna hang with us?” He asked, almost shy.

“Yeah, that'd be cool.” I answer.

“Great, I can text you after practice if you want?” I nod and give him my phone to put his number in.

“Quick question: what's Lacrosse?” I ask.

Whatever I said triggered something because even Scott looked at me shocked. I look at them both. “What?” I ask.

“Okay, forget texting you later. You gotta come to practice.” Stiles exclaimed.

“It's only the biggest sport in Beacon Hills.” Scott adds.

I think for a moment, then I shrug. “Okay, yeah, I'll come watch."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

That's where I'm leaving off today , hope you guys liked it :)

@mummybear @ficus-fig @music-magic-mayhem @bold-sartorial-statement @zenawa @stiles-o-dylan24 @cry-btch @maaariiiooo13 @thekingofselfloathing @sporadiccookiebagel @bewarethebees @inschi @awesomeandromedablack @raugsmaug @wil2space @bansheeintuition @mrs-mitch-rapp93

[anagentinwriting]

To Catch a Thief - Part 8

Summary: Being an FBI field agent was your dream job but having been stuck behind a desk for most of your career you’ve almost given up. Fortunately, a series of robberies with minimal evidence forces you to assist a team in the field to help solve the case. But when the only thing left behind is a series of song lyrics, will you be able to find the perp? Or will the number of obstacles and lack of evidence keep you from solving the case?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 3970

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, guns mentioned

To Catch a Thief Masterlist / Main Masterlist

It was 8 o'clock sharp on Thursday night which meant movie night and take-out food at Peter’s. You haven’t hung out since your birthday, and you hated to admit it, but you missed him. Sure, you were tailing him all week and texting each other, but it wasn't the same.

“Hey, Peter. What’s up?” You barged through his front door not bothering to knock.

“Trying to figure out where to order from,” he answered, sifting through the huge stack of menus. “Any ideas? Mexican, Greek, Chinese, Italian….”

“I’m down for whatever,” you interrupted him. You didn’t need to hear all the different menus when we would end up ordering pizza from down the street. “Ah...Can I ask you a question that's been bothering me?” He hummed. “How do you know Yondu?”

“Oh, that…...” He set the menus down and spread them out and closed his eyes picking one at random. He looked at the menu with disgust, then did it again. This time he seemed satisfied and cleared his throat as his eyes ran across the menu.  “He was the first officer on the scene the night my father was murdered.”

“Oh, okay. Wait, hold up….your father was murdered?” You raised your brows as your mouth dropped open in shock. You knew this, but you had to play the part. “You only told me he died.”

“Uh yeah….petty details. Look, I don’t want to get into this tonight. Can we just hang out and forget about life’s problems?” He rocked on the back of his feet tapping the menu against his palm.

“Of course, sorry, it's my curious nature. What’s on the agenda tonight?” Peter seemed nervous, almost like something was bothering him with the way he changed the subject so fast. Did he figure out you were on the case? Is he going to ask you about it?  

“For starters, I’ve been meaning to give you this.” He stepped closer to you after grabbing a thin square covered in unicorn wrapping paper. “I was gonna give it to you on your birthday when we got back, but that didn’t happen so I waited. Then you got busy and finally your not busy, so.....”

“You didn’t have to get me anything?”

“I wanted to. Happy Birthday, YN.” He flashed you a gentle smile.  

You ripped it open as your eyes widened seeing what was underneath the paper. Inside was a vinyl disk with a colorful cover that read ‘YN Birthday Mix Vol. 1’. A mixtape via vinyl, you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. 

“I don’t know what to say, Peter. Thank you so much. I love it. No one’s done anything like this for me in….in a long time.” You turned it over and started reading the playlist.

Side A

Separate ways by Journey

Hooked on a Feeling by Blue Swede

I Feel the Earth Move by Carole King

Brandy by The Looking Glass

Nothing From Nothing by Billy Preston

Just the Way You Are by Billy Joel

Side B

Night Moves by Bob Seger

Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks

Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) by Elton John

Faithfully by Journey

“I’m glad you like it. You wouldn’t believe how long it took to find a guy who did this sort of thing but seeing the look on your face was well worth it,” he said with a cheeky smile on his lips.  

You stared into his green eyes and it felt like you were getting caught in his trap. How could he be a suspect in these robberies if he could do this for you? He’s a great guy that doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. His gaze shifts to your lips and he leaned forward until your noses touched. His lips were millimeters away from yours while your whole body tingled with anticipation. You wanted to kiss him, but what would this lead to if he turned out to be the man in the red jacket?

“Peter, what are you doing?” You asked not pulling away from him.  You needed to get yourself under control and not let your feelings get in the way of doing your job. You weren’t on the clock, but he was still your only suspect.

“Nothing,” he replied, feeling his warm breath across your lips. This sent goosebumps to your skin causing your breathing to become uneven. If it wasn’t his breath against yours, it was the way he smelt. He must’ve stepped right out of the shower before you got there because he smelled clean but dirty at the same time.  He let out a shaky breath sending a shiver through your body making your knees weak. With any slight movement from you, your lips would be on his and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

“What are you doing, Peter? Because if you’re doing what it looks like you’re doing, I’m not ready for that.”

“I agree, but that's clearly not what we’re doing.”

“Okay, then what do you call what we are doing?” You asked not breaking eye contact with his lips. Is this why he drove girls crazy? His constant looming over them until they finally gave in. He licked his lips, turning your stomach into knots, but you weren’t going to give in. You couldn’t.

“I call it...very close talking,” he replied with a hint of seduction in his voice.

“Ahhh..Ic. Do you have anything else to add?”

“Hmmm...” He thought it over for a good minute before shaking his head no. “No, I’m good for now.” He pulled away looking you up and down with his signature smirk plastered on his face.

“Okay.” When he pulled away, you felt yourself get dizzy as if he was the one holding you steady. You rubbed your lips together as you tried to get your mind back in order. “Ah...what movie should we watch tonight?”

“Your choice sweetheart,” he winked, plopping down onto the couch and draping one arm across the back of it.

You picked out a movie and slipped it in before joining him on the couch. You sat close enough to his side that you were touching.  He didn’t pull you in closer instead he kept his arm on the back of the couch respecting your space. 

As the movie started, he moved his arm between the both of you and grabbed ahold of your hand.  In an instant, you intertwined your fingers with his. You peeked through your eyelashes to see his eyes focused on the screen, but a smirk was present on his face. About halfway through the movie, Peters phone rings and you snuck a peek at the screen reading restricted.

“I gotta take this.” He gave your hand a squeeze before he let go as he crawled off the couch and went to his bedroom. A restricted call. Who was on the other end of that conversation?  This was the break you have been waiting for, this could finally give you the answers you needed. He came out of his room carrying his knapsack.  “I have to run a quick errand. You’re more than welcome to stay and finish the movie, I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“That’s fine, I can chill out here until you get back.”

“Perfect, see you shortly.” He nodded as he closed the door behind him.

As fast as possible, you ran to your apartment to grab your car keys and slip on some shoes. You charged down the stairs, skipping two or three steps at a time hoping to beat the elevator to the garage.  With seconds to spare, you close the door to your car as Peter walked out of the elevator talking on the phone. He got into his car, not suspecting a thing, and drives off with you following behind him.

You parked your car watching Peter enter an abandoned warehouse.  You popped open the glove box pulling out your gun and slipping the clip in. You exited your car, shutting the door as quiet as possible, and approached the building with your gun drawn. You scanned the sides for entrances noticing a side door next to a small window.  You eased the door open trying not to make any noise. Your eyes wandered the dim lit area, but no one was here except for large crates and metal barrels.

Creeping over to the area where the light radiated from, you crouched down behind a crate. There were five men present including Peter. Three guys were standing in front of who you suspected to be the man in charge. The man wore a fur coat and his white hair was standing straight up. Your eyes widened as you realized who it was. The Collector. And like every bad guy, his right-hand man, Ronan stood in front of him with two Trinkets you didn’t recognize. What was Peter doing? Did he work for them?

“About time, Quill. You're late,” Ronan yelled, The Collector smirked behind the three men.

“Traffic. It can be so unpredictable.” Peter stepped forward resting his hands behind his belt buckle.

“I don’t care. Did you bring it?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s in my knapsack,” Peter replied, rummaging through his bag and pulling out a square box. “Here it is you Big Turd Blossom.” Peter hands it over to him, and Ronan opens it as an evil grin spreads across his face.

“You’re by far a better thief than your father ever was. You have one more Infinity Stone necklace to go, so don’t fuck it up.” Ronan snapped the box closed handing it to the Collector, who nodded to Peter as a thank you.

What the fuck, Peter? He’s the guy you’ve been trying to find; he’s the one behind all of this. Why did he lie to the FBI? Why did he lie to you?

“Can I talk to--” Peter started to speak, but you snuck back out of the room. You found out the truth and you didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say.

You sat on Peter’s couch staring at your birthday vinyl disk on the coffee table. How could a guy give such a personal gift, if not the best gift you have ever gotten, and it turns out you don’t even know him. You wanted to confront him but what should you say? Or should you forget it happened and move on? You never second-guessed yourself because you always knew the right thing to do, but this time your heart was telling you one thing while your gut told you something else.  Peter committed these crimes, but you still didn’t want to believe it.

“Whoa, sweetheart you’re still here? I thought you’d at least go back to your apartment,” Peter said, closing the door behind him.  “Not like I’m complaining though.” He takes off his knapsack and jacket hanging it on the hook by the door.  He strolled over to you and sat down beside you on the couch.

“Sorry for leaving you hanging again. Everything alright?” He asked, putting his hand on your knee.

You stare at his hand and bit your lip contemplating what you should say.  “You know it’s funny how wrong you can be about a person. You think you know them and they turn out to be the exact opposite. And to think, this whole time I believed one thing and it turns out it was something totally different. Do you know what that feels like, Peter?”

“What do you mean?” He scrunched up his eyebrows.

“You must think I’m a fucking idiot.” You rolled your eyes, pushing his hand from your knee to stand.  “You orchestrated all these fucking heists, didn’t you?  Is that why you skipped out of dinner early on my birthday and why you left tonight?” He opens his mouth to say something, but you continue. “You’re working for The Collector and you’re the one stealing these Infinity Stone necklaces, and for what? Fame and glory, or is it the big payout at the end of this?”

He stands up, letting out a deep breath, and makes eye contact with you. “Your right…..I did it and I’m sorry. Look, I don’t know how you found out but there is more to it than you think---”

“I followed you tonight and saw every fucking thing.”

“You obviously didn't see everything if--,” Peter tried to reason, but you interrupted him.

“No, you don’t get to talk. You betrayed me. You know what that feels like. To trust someone, and get close to them, but to only have them let you down. I felt it every day after my parents passed away. I got to the point when I didn’t know who to trust, and it turns out I still put my trust in the wrong people.” You marched for the front door, only to stop and turn around pointing a finger at him. “You lied to me and to the fucking FBI, are you a fucking idiot? We could’ve helped you.”

“I was scared, okay? Is that what you want to hear?  I didn’t know what to do or how to deal with this fucked up situation.  You think I enjoyed lying to the FBI or to you. I hated it, but I had to do it in order to---”

“Save it, I don’t want to hear it.  Did you only want to get to know me because you found out I was on the Infinity case? Did you think you could get information out of me?”

“WHAT, NO! GOD NO!” You clenched your jaw, glaring hard at him. “Well at first, yes, but things changed.”

“So, you were using me, huh? You used me just like my foster parents and siblings did. And you want to know the worst part out of all this is, I actually started to care about you.” You said, swinging the front door open only to stop at his quick words.

“Hold on. Will you hear me out?” Peter begged in a shaky voice. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was hurting, you could hear it in his voice.  You wanted to run to him and hear what he had to say, but you couldn’t.  You've been down this road many times before. He did what every other person in your life has done. He used you, deceived you, and worst of all he broke your heart.

“You already had your chance and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for this,” you breathed out, slamming the door shut behind you.

You parked your car in the parking lot the next morning at work with an aching back and running on little to no sleep. Last night, you made the bad decision of sleeping on the couch instead of in your comfy bed. It was childish, but you didn’t want to sleep with Peter on the other side of the wall. More so, you didn’t want him to hear you cry. You didn’t even want to think about him, but it didn’t matter because he was the only thing on your mind.

Should you turn him in? He did confess to you, but why? Everyone has a reason for doing what they do, so what was his. Should you have listened to what he had to say last night or did you do right by leaving? You still didn’t know how to process this fucked up situation.

You enter the field office and something in the air felt off. Yondu was in this office pacing back and forth on edge, which meant the other agents on the floor were feeling the same way. The only people not feeling the uneasiness in the air sat at the front desk chatting away, Luis and Kraglin.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on this morning?”

“Well for starters, Wakanda held this huge press conference about how they’ve been hiding from the world. They also want to start sharing their knowledge and resources with everyone.  And the Wakandans have a lot to offer, so that’s cool I guess. Besides that nothing exciting has been happening this morning,” Kraglin stated with a half shrug. You stared at him with wide-eyed still not understanding why he thinks that is relevant at the moment.

“I meant more on the reason why Yondu is in such a tizzy?” You pointed over your shoulder at Yondu’s office.

“Ahhhh...I think it has something to do with Loverboy?” Luis chimed in with a knowing smile making Kraglin stare off in the distance confused. “Come on man, Peter Quill.” Luis hit him on the arm making Kraglin nod along as he put two and two together.

“Oh great, now what did he do? Steal Yondu’s favorite Mary Poppins figurine off his desk?”

“No why would he…..wait, you didn’t hear. Peter came in around 2 this morning saying he had information about the Infinity Stone necklaces,” Kraglin commented.

“What? Why would he do that?” You asked, looking between the two men waiting for someone to answer.

“I don’t know. Gamora is with him now trying to get information out of him, but he isn’t telling us anything.  He says he will only talk to you.”

“Where is he?”

You watched Peter through the window as he sat there with his eyes focused on the two-way mirror. Did he come here right after your fight? He had light shadows under his eyes, yawning continuously, and every time his eyes closed he snapped himself awake. No amount of caffeine was going to keep him awake.

“You ready?” Gamora asked, standing behind you.

“Whoa, I’m not going in there.” You turned around holding your hands up. You were still processing what happened last night while trying to wrap your brain around the fact that Peter turned himself in.

“He’s not talking to anyone else. He requested you.”

“I don’t care what he wants. I’m not doing this.” You crossed your arms across your chest and shook your head no.

“You’re going in there, even if I have to drag you in there myself,” Gamora warned you through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, okay,” you huffed out a laugh. She wrapped her hand around your arm and started to squeeze tight as she pulled you towards the door. “Ow, ow, ow.” You pushed her hand off your arm and glared at her. “What the fuck, Gamora? You know my history with Peter, why are you forcing me to do this?”

“YN, push your personal issues aside for a moment, and go in there and do your damn job,” Gamora countered in a harsh voice.

Gamora was right, you needed to be mature about this and put your feelings aside for a moment.  You had to forget about what happened last night and focus on why he decided to come forward. This was the job you signed on for and it was time to woman up. “Fine. I’ll do it,” you replied in a calmer tone.

“You got this girl. This case is riding on you,” Kraglin grinned, patting you on the shoulder. When did he get in here, was he in here the whole time?

“Thanks, no pressure at all,” you mumbled under your breath.

You walked into the interrogation room and took the seat across from Peter. You shot him your signature bitch face making him crack a lopsided smile.

“Good morning, YN.”

“Actually, it’s Agent LN.” You folded your hands on top of the desk and tilted your head at him.

“My bad,” he said, holding his hands up before setting them on the table right beside your hands.  “Sorry.”

“You keep saying that, but do you really mean it? You see, what I don’t understand is why you lied to everyone that wanted to help you?” You folded your arms across your chests glaring at him.

“I was scared. They told me there will be consequences if I went to the police. I didn't want my mom or the people I care about getting killed for my carelessness,” He responded with sincerity in his voice.

“Who’s the ‘they’ you keep referring to? Is it The Collector and his crew?”

“I will explain everything, but I want something in return.”

“You’ll get a clear conscience,” you sassed, forcing him to scoff. Why was he the one making demands? He already confessed to you, but one question remained; What was his motive?

“That’s not what I meant. If I tell the truth, they’ll come after me or worse they’ll hurt my mother. I need to make sure that no matter what she’ll be safe.”

“That’s all. You want Meredith kept safe. Like, put in a safe house and under protection until this whole charade blows over?” He gave you a half nod. “What do you want out of this?” You waited for him to answer, but he didn’t say anything. “Alright, well, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.” You stand up and make your way to the door, but stop when he speaks up.

“You know what I want.” You shook your head yes as his eyes remained fixated on you. “I wanna hit reverse on my life and go back to the way things should have happened between us. Where one night after a hard days work, you’d come into Trash Panda for a quick drink and I’d be working behind the bar. Every time I tried to pick you up you’d shoot me down. It wouldn’t just be the one time though but it’d happened on multiple occasions. No matter how hard I tried you’d never give in because you aren’t that type of girl. Then, one night by some dumb luck, I convinced you to go out on a date with me. Then, after our first kiss….or almost kiss things changed for the better, but all good things never seem to last do they.

“The thing is we are all on the same road called life.  We want it to be straight and smooth, but that’s never the case. Roads age, they crack, they need to be repaired, there are turns and curves and dead ends. There are no big signs telling us what is coming up ahead, no do not enter your life will only get worse signs and no u-turns for when you fuck up.  I may have taken the wrong turn, made some bad decisions but I do know there’s always another way to get there. I hope with time I can find the right turn to earn your forgiveness.”

You were speechless. He could have gotten pardoned for all his crimes or got his whole record expunged for information, but no, all he wanted was your forgiveness. You wished you could give it to him, but it’s not that simple. What he did is unforgettable. He betrayed you, used you, and this is something you don’t take lightly. With the right amount of time, sure, you could see yourself forgiving him, but right now, you couldn’t stand to be in this room any longer.

“Thank you, Agent LN,” he spoke up, before returning his gaze back to his hands. “I know you’ll try your best to keep my mom safe.”

Meredith’s safety wouldn’t be a problem once we find her and bring her in, but your concern was Peter willingness to speak the truth. Is he going to lie and give you some prepared speech The Collector gave him? Or will he be honest and answer the questions you’ve been trying to answer for the past three months. “How can I trust you to tell the truth this time?”

“Because I’m not afraid anymore.” His green eyes flashed to yours. “I have you behind me.”

A/N: The truth is finally out! This was my favorite part to write because who doesn’t love reading a little conflict! It makes things a bit more interesting, am I right! I hope I managed to trip you up at some point into thinking that maybe the thief wasn’t Peter. If I did, that’s what I was going for! Thanks for reading!

[babyboyoonie]

I started this prompt a while ago so I wanted to tell you I hadn’t forgotten it~ nor the others in my box, I’m just v v busy!!

Hope you’ll enjoy 💜

.

..

...

“To be honest, I didn’t know you’d go through with your big talk.”

Yoongi peers up at Jin from behind the straw of his drink. It’s pink, obnoxious, and not really what Yoongi would go with every day. Just like this place. But it’s cute, though, and perhaps Yoongi has a soft spot for cute things.

Just like the man in front of him.

The laugh Jin lets out is something dancing with nervousness and confidence. A strange mix, that Jin makes work anyway—because he’s, because he’s him. Because he’s a total flirt but his laugh never fails to make Yoongi relax. “Yet here I am.” The man makes a wide gesture around him, around them. Around the way too luxurious restaurant he deemed necessary for a first date. Their first date. Yoongi’s pretty sure Jin had quite the number in his book. Pretty sure that he’s one of the many conquests this lovely man wants to get in the pants of.

The thought doesn’t upset him as much as he thought it would. Yoongi’s not that pretty, actually. It was probably a dare, one he didn’t think Jin would go through, as he muttered out loud just a minute ago.

He sucks languidly on his straw again. Wonders why Jin eyes his gently puckered lips and the movement of his throat like he wanted to devour Yoongi here and there. That was—strange. “Yet here you are,” he ends up saying, once his lips leave his drink. Let his cheek rest on his fist as he gazes at Jin flustered chatting. The way he’d tug on his shirt, laugh too loudly even for himself, let out a flirty sentence once again before biting his lips and retracting just as fast.

Quite confusing, all of this. Amusing, too. “As pleasant as all of this is, hyung, don’t you have real preys to chase right now? I’d hate for you to end up alone tonight.”

Jin gasps, wide-eyed. “But...! I, I only want you, Yoongi-yah!”

Red cheeks and sincerely offended pout, hand reaching out to grab Yoongi’s. Warm. Grip desperate. Well, Yoongi would be desperate too if a simple dare took three months to finally accept a date with him. Jin’s a really, really good actor. Yoongi tells him so, because he’s a nice person, you know? “I understand how they drop their pants the moment they see you.” He nods, sincerely in awe. “If you want, I have this friend—“

Yoongi doesn’t finish his sentence. Blinks at the hands that just slammed on their table, recognize them immediately. The bracelets on the wrist, the watch, too. Bit of a quirk for the blazer-loving man, when he’s not decked in supreme and balenciaga. Hoseok’s cocky grin meets his gaze when he looks upward. “Pretty as always, angel.”

“Haven’t changed since the last time I saw you. Which was,” he checks his phone, pretends to be deaf to Jin’s complaints turned toward a still grinning Hoseok. “twenty minutes ago. You stalking me, Hoseok?”

“How could I not?” The man intones, quick to take a hold of Yoongi’s hand and hoist him on his feet. Yoongi barely manages to balance himself and not fall in the man’s arms—that would be way too cliché and he really isn’t in the mood for clichés. Isn’t in the mood for Hoseok’s sleaze either, yet that doesn’t stop the man’s appraising gaze on his body. “Look at you. That waist, those legs...driving all the boys around crazy.” He seems to stop short of saying other, dirtier things that wouldn’t be appropriate for the setting they were in. But his heated eyes say it all, the vague movement of his other hand as he gestures to Yoongi’s all-black outfit a statement enough.

Yoongi spies Jin looking too. Shakes his head with a vaguely amused grin. For, really, the prize of the bet must be high for them to be so damn insistent. He didn’t know fuckboys had that much time on their hand. “It’s becoming old,” he drawls, takes his hand away from Hoseok’s grip to grab his bag and saunter behind him. “You’ve been telling me this every day since I met you, maybe you should change disk. You’re not going to win if you keep this old tactic up.”

“But it’s not a game!” Hoseok whines; looks just as dumbfounded as he does when Yoongi rejects him. Which is really sad, because Yoongi’s been doing that for quite a while now. He gathers his composition quite fast, though. Hurried behind him with this pleading glint in his eyes that make all the girls go crazy. Too bad Yoongi’s not all the girls.

Too bad, nothing but a vague wave of disgust washes over him when Hoseok pursues Yoongi on the way to his class, as he mutters, voice like sex in a bottle, that Yoongi’s every gesture turns him on and that he spent his nights just thinking about him. Yoongi’s not interested in knowing what those thoughts were about, thank you very much.

He leaves them to bicker on his trail. Something about Jin playing dirty that he doesn’t really pay attention to. Too busy thinking about the assignment he has to complete for tomorrow, and too pretty fuckboys he wishes were more serious. But then again, they couldn’t have it all, heh? He would have sent them crying in their mom’s skirts with well-placed insults, but the thing was—the thing was they were good guys. Kind. Helped grandmas cross the streets and carried pregnant womens’ groceries. Kind in playing with cats behind the school’s gymn building and discussing candid video games, all boyish, all adorable.

But. They also ran after Yoongi at least once a day with innocent to downright dirty propositions. Why, he had no idea, but after three months he thought they would have given up already. Yet here they were.

Yet here Namjoon was, casual, nice suit on and biting his full lips as he looked at Yoongi. Appraised him from head to toes, before his eyes snapped upwards in guilt. Yoongi couldn’t figure out for the life of him why Namjoon insisted on being in this fuckboy crowd. Sweet Namjoon who, daily, liked to thank Yoongi for his existence. Paid him dinner and spent hours on the phone painting a breathtaking portrait of Yoongi’s being. Namjoon was corny. A total nerd. Shouldn’t be in this crowd.

Namjoon was also quite the pervert. Yoongi had never blushed harder than when the man decided it would be a good idea to share in precise details what he would do to Yoongi if the man agreed to date him.

So, perhaps Namjoon was a fuckboy after all.

“You stole my sight again, hyung,” the man says, rubbing the back of his blonde hair sheepishly. “You’re too gorgeous for your own well-being.”

“I never heard this one before,” Yoongi answers. Smiles, sweet and a bit fond as he passes him by. Pretends he doesn’t hear Namjoon’s sharp intake of breath when their hands brush, just so. “A bit corny. I like it, though.”

“Joon you lucky bastard!” Hoseok bellows behind them; and if Yoongi giggles when Jin hit Namjoon’s arm with a loud “Yah!”, then it’s probably because he kinda likes them, those silly fuckboys.

Even if—

Even if they like to walk in tightly-knitted crowd. Where there’s one, five other shouldn’t be too far behind.

And so, he doesn’t take more than a step or two before he’s met with Jimin. Red pants white shirt, gorgeous smile and puppy gaze, deadly spell to make Yoongi weak in the knees. He fucking hates this one dongsaeng. How’s Yoongi supposed to keep rejecting him when he’s—when he’s like that? When he’s all about knowing gaze and not-so innocent smiles? When he drinks in Yoongi’s every touch of attention like a starved man?

He knows Jimin’s shameless, had the displeasure—really?—to encounter the more forth-coming side of this one man. The side that likes to crowd Yoongi’s personal space and devour him with his eyes so hard, Yoongi looks away with burning cheeks and a sudden difficulty to speak.

“Hyung,” the boy says, hand reaching forward to touch Yoongi’s cheek softly. A bit more insistent, afterwards, when Yoongi doesn’t bat his hand away with a scowl. When Yoongi leans into it, just a little, just this one, just the way he pretends every damn time. “Why won’t you let me get close to you? How am I supposed to do that when you’re this beautiful?”

This is such a fuckboy thing to say, Yoongi screams, only for him to hear; wishing desperately his body would stop betraying him this way. But it’s been months and they’re still so damn insistent. It’s been months and Jimin doesn’t stop the love-sick puppy gazes, and, and none of them pursue anyone whose name isn’t Min Yoongi.

Yoongi retracts from his grip like he’s been burned, the moment he hears the others stalking closer. Jimin has his head cocked on the side. Eyes glinting, understanding dawning on him at the same side as a victorious smile stretches his lips.

So. Yoongi does what he gotta do. What any sensible prey would do when confronted with four (4!) predators.

He runs. Runs even though he hates running, knows he has to, this time. His facade is wearing off, and it won’t be long for them to realize he’s not as unaffected as he likes to pretend. Which—which would be a disaster, okay. For all their pretty promises, Yoongi doesn’t think they’ll stick around after they were satisfied with Yoongi spreading his legs just the way they liked.

That’s what fuckboys did, after all.

(Yoongi dutifully ignores the little voice that tells that—maybe, just maybe, they were different. He couldn’t afford a broken heart right now.)

He stops abruptly. Looks up like a deer caught in deer light, eyes wide, clothes disheveled and breathing cut of the blue. By the quick dash he took, or the sheer beauty of the man who gently caught his arms, Yoongi’s not sure he wants to know. Yoongi’s not sure about a lot of things, lately. Thrown in an sea of what’s right and what he desperately burns to do.

Sometimes, when confronted to one of those boys, Yoongi wonders if those two weren’t the same.

Quickly shakes his head at the nonsense. Because fuckboys, remember?

But Taehyung looks nothing like that in this instant. Taehyung’s burning gazes, staring intently in Yoongi’s eyes. Undiffused attention. He doesn’t blink and barely moves, looks and sounds like a man whose only reprieve could be found in watching Yoongi like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than by his sides. Fuckboys couldn’t look like that. Shouldn’t look like that. Had no right to make Yoongi feel like he was the only one on earth—melt happiness in his veins and color his cheeks red with only a glance.

Then Taehyung gets his tongue out. And, suddenly, Yoongi thinks it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to start running again after all. Watches disapationately as the man licks his lower lip, slow and tentalising. Pink tongue, eerie smirk that’s not really one; because Taehyung doesn’t need any of this shit to look sexy as fuck.

Taehyung’s genuine in everything he does. Intense in an out-of-this world kind of way. If only he wasn’t—

“God, hyung, have you looked at yourself? From your front to your back...”

—such a freaking fuckboy.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Bites the inside of his cheek in a desperate attempt to control his body. Its reactions. The sudden, pleasured shiver that wanted to takeover his body at the sound of Taehyung’s voice.

Like—his voice. That shit wasn’t real.

He doesn’t tell Taehyung that. Only sidesteps the man and hurry on his way, knowing he would stop the others from pursuing him. He was a fuckboy, but a considerate one. Knew when he said enough. Still a fuckboy though. “And from my head to my toes, yes yes, I’m gorgeous everywhere, yadda yadda. Goodnight.”

Taehyung lets out a chuckle. Short, deep, and latching in Yoongi’s blood like the strongest aphrodisiac.

Goodness gracious.

“I mean, I haven’t checked everywhere so if you give me the opportunity—”

“Goodbye, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung laughs again. And Yoongi, Yoongi doesn’t turn around. Even if everything in him yells at him to. Even if, at this point in the game, Yoongi might just be a stubborn motherfucker.

His dorm’s not too far now, he realizes, as he flicks his eyes around the familiar and dimly-lit streets. Thoughts of his comfortable bed and gentle roommate nudge at him in comfort. But, realistically speaking—he knows it’s not over. Whatever this might be. His heartbeats pick up, those traitors, as do the swearing of his palm, the strange heat vibrating under his skin because—

“Baby hyung.” A voice crowns just beside his ear. Just as his back hit the wall of narrow alley. Gently, it doesn’t hurt, but something in the grip on his shoulders possessive. Just like the voice, just like the young-faced man whose big eyes take in everything of his body.

Yoongi belatedly realizes he stopped breathing. Tries to do so again, clumsily. Upset at having been taken by surprise again. But what should he expect anyway, coming from a guy like Jungkook? He’s still wondering about what this man cannot do, and to this day, doesn’t have a single thing to add on the blank page. Jungkook’s just good like that. A little shit that grew up too fast and alternate between deep and full of wisdom moments, to redoing vines in the middle of his classroom without any care in the world.

Not that—not that Yoongi knows him well or anything like that.

But there are firm hands gliding down on his waist. Keeping him pinned to the wall. Big, dark eyes, so intent and full of heat Yoongi thinks he starts breathing funny. Pushes his own hands on Jungkook’s chest but only manage to weaken himself because hello, Jungkook was fucking built.

Jungkook all shy-like at the beginning, slowly turning into this dangerous specimen that has all the people at school dropping their pants for him. Jungkook all about tongues out and suggestives look, keeps to closed ones the fact he’s still a total and complete dork. Lame pick-up lines, obscure references and meme-master kind of dork.

But—

Toward Yoongi—

He showed an ardent and almost obsessive kind of interest. No simple flirting and trying to get into his pants; but the soft, breezy autumn leaves interest that colored with the need to know what made Yoongi happy. What he did when he day-dreamed, what made him laugh, what made him sad.

And so, Yoongi’s walls may or may not have broke for him. A tiny bit.

Because Jungkook knows. Knows Yoongi still draws the sun in the corner of his paper, that he never stopped drawing a smiley on it either. Jungkook knows. Jungkook smiles and nudges him. Beams at him as he proudly waves his drawing, adorned with his very own smiling sun.

Jungkook knows. He’s a fuckboy in the making, more nerdy than anything—

And maybe that’s why Yoongi lets himself be kissed tonight. Goes pliant under the fingers digging in his skin, the teeth nibbling on his lips and the hot tongue fucking into his mouth.

It’s one kiss, two, goes on three and Yoongi doesn’t count anymore. Feels a hand snake under his shirt to tease the pale stretch of his skin, the pink and hardening nub of his nipple.

Yoongi knees Jungkook in the crotch. Hard and swift.

Goes on his merry way after straightening himself up, cheeks heated, heart throwing a party in his ribcage. Not a look behind him at Jungkook’s surprised and pained groan, because mama ain’t raised no easy bitch.

...

Mama did raise a sentimental bitch though, so the day after, Yoongi relents and accepts another date.

Fuckboys will be fuckboys, it’s just a matter of time before they give up on him, right?

Right.

(Three months later, Yoongi finds himself with six new boyfriends.)

[thepinkwriterr]

Loner // IT 2017 Chapter Twelve

Rex Orange county - Untitled

--

I don't mind if you hate me

Cause if I were you

I'd hate me too

//

I woke up to Bill shuffling against my pale sheets. I smiled up at him. My legs were tangled between his. He smiled back,"Good morning."

"Good morning...I honestly expected you to be gone in the morning." "Never." He smiled, running his hands up and down my bare torso.

"Can I confess something?" He asked, his face suddenly serious. I nodded. "I've been in love with you since sixth grade. And when you stated talking to me, I couldn't be happier." I smiled wide, my shoulders coming up, accompanying a laugh.

"I used to imagine you were my girlfriend. I would hug my pillow when I was sad and pretend it was you. One time, Georgie walked in and caught me." He laughed. "Awwwe, that's so sweet." I hugged him.

"If I told twelve year old me that I was with you, he'd probably faint." He laughed again. I laughed too,"That is so cute."

"You were just so pretty, and I could never work up the courage to talk to you. I thought you would laugh at my stutter." "Oh, no, never. I thought your stutter was cute."

"Really?" "Oh yeah. You can ask-" I stopped at her name,"It was cute." I smiled. He smiled uncomfortably. "Are you hungry? I can make you breakfast." He asked. "That sounds great." I smiled, standing. I grabbed the first piece of clothing I saw on the floor: Bill's long-sleeve.

I pulled it over my bare torso, then pulled on a pair of black denim cut-offs. He slipped on his undershirt, then pulled on his jeans.

We walked down the stairs, laughing about a story he told me. Him and Eddie were arguing with Bowers and his dad ruined Henry's fun, making him look like a pussy in front of his friends.

When we got down to the kitchen Kali and James were finishing their breakfast. I ignored them, walking through the large room silently.

"So, what're we makin?" I asked, hoisting myself onto the kitchen counter. He shrugged,"What do you want?" I got off the marble counter and went to the fridge. I opened the door, alarmed at the lack of supply.

"Hmmm...We might need to go for a shopping trip..." I muttered to myself. "That's fine. Can I swing by my house on the way?" "Oh, yeah."

We walked to the front door, putting on our shoes and I grabbed my keys. "I knew you were mad at each other, but man, that was kinda awkward." He laughed nervously as I shut the door.

I shrugged,"It's their fault, not mine. You wanna drive?" I asked as I walked down the pavement of the driveway. "Sure." I tossed him the keys, waiting for him to unlock the car.

"Woah," He laughed as he pulled out of the driveway,"Your car is so different from mine." I laughed in response. "You still live here?" I asked as he puled over in front of his house. "Mhm. My whole life." He mumbled as he opened the door.

He came back out a few minutes later with light jeans on, he was throwing a multicolored windbreaker over his white shirt. "Alright, Freese's it is." He smiled, turning out of the street.

He pulled into a parking space, turning the car off. We walked into the small grocery store, feeling the air condoning hit our skin. "Where to first?" Bill asked, grabbing my hand. I smiled at his actions,"The frozen section."

We gathered out things in a plastic basket, bringing it up to the register. Bill and I put the items on the conveyer belt, talking quietly while the older woman rung us up.

She smiled,"You two make a cute couple." I looked at Bill as he looked to me,"Oh, we're no-I'm not-" I laughed, unclasping his hand. She laughed again,"Alright."

I saw Bill smile to himself as he grabbed the bag. "Have a nice day you two." The woman smiled again. "You as well." I smiled back. Bill nodded, intertwining his fingers with mine again.

When we got back to the house Kali and James's cars were gone. Finally. I walked up the driveway with Bill in tow. I got into the completely empty house, smiling at the silence.

After we made breakfast we decided to watch a movie. "Hmmm, you wanna watch Dazed and Confused?" I asked, pulling the DVD case out of the shelf. He shrugged,"Sure." I nodded, popping the disk out of the case. I put it in the movie player, then sat next to Bill on the sofa.

Pickford and his friends were handing out licks to the new Freshman when the phone started ringing. I sighed,"I'll be back." I walked to the kitchen, picking up the plastic receiver.

"Hello?" "Hey Danielle." It was Beverly. "You coming to the party tonight?" "Mhm." These people party too much. "Anyway, Jake and I are having lunch tomorrow, you want come with Bill?" "I'll ask Bill real quick."

I sat the receiver on top of the hanging phone and peaked my head out of the kitchen doorway. "Bill, you wanna have lunch with Bev and Jake tomorrow?"

"Sure." He shrugged. I nodded, picking the receiver back up. "We'll be there. Just tell me where to meet you guys." "Alright, see you then." " see ya then." I hung up the phone.

Bill's watch beeped a few minutes after I came back. "Oh-uh-I have to go. I'm sorry." His voice was gentle and soft as usual. "That's alright. Are you coming to the party tonight?" No one really knew whose party it was, we just went to the address given out.

"Uh, yeah, sure." He shrugged. "Oh, you want your sweater back?" I asked, grabbing the end of the sweater, preparing to take it off. "No, you can keep it." He smiled. "Thanks." I smiled back. He kissed my cheek, then turned to leave.

Where was he off to in such a rush? I thought as he closed the door. I sighed once he was gone. Alone. Again. I turned the TV off and went up to my room.

I laid out on my bed, Smiths playing. "Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head. See, the sea wants to take me. The knife wants to slit me. Do you think you can help me? Sad veiled bride, please be happy. Handsome groom, give her room." I sang along with Morrissey.

"Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly. Though she needs you more than she loves you. And I know it's over, but still I claim, I don't know where else I can go..." I turned over, closing my eyes to sleep. "If you're so funny, then why are you on your own tonight?" I heard as I drifted off.

I woke up to silence. I sat up groggily, wiping my eyes of sleep. I stretched, noticing the time on my watch. I jumped up, scrambling for my socks and shoes. I decided to wear what I was already wearing.

I ran down the staircase, grabbing my purse from the coat rack. I ripped the door open, slamming it shut behind me as I ran to the car. When I got in I smoothed down my hair.

I arrived half an hour late, which no one took too much notice to. I looked around, not seeing Bill anywhere. In fact, I don't see any of my friends here. Not even Kali.

I spotted the back of Eddie, standing against the base of the stairs. Maybe I'd strike up a conversation with him. "Hey Eds." I smiled as I walked over to him. I quickly noticed the look on his face.

He looked uncomfortable. "What's wrong?" I asked, standing next to him, leaning on the wall that held the stairs. He shrugged,"I can't find my friends." "Me either." I sighed. "But uh, hey, we can be friends." I offered my best friendly smile.

"Okay." He smiled back. It looked genuine. I asked him about history and his other classes. We were making casual conversation. "Have you gotten a drink yet?" Eddie asked. I shook my head. "Oh, you have to. Makes the party more tolerable." "Alright, let's go." I laughed.

As we walked to the drink table, someone trips Eddie. "Faggot." The guy spat as he turned to look at Eddie. "What the fuck did you just say?" I retorted. "He just seems like he'd be into that type of thing." "What? Getting fucked by dudes? So what is he was?" I asked, my brows furrowing.

The guy looked at me, mouth open, no rebuttal. "Yeah, fuck off." I rolled my eyes, turning around to the drink table. Eddie laughed,"Hey, thanks." I nodded, smiling,"Anytime." He laughed nervsouly.

"You know I wouldn't judge you if you were...y'know...gay." He nodded. I grabbed a red solo cup, downing what was in the cup. "Eck, that was disgusting." I scowled, laughing.

Eddie picked up a cup, downing what I assumed was vodka. I laughed, doing the same. "Alright, two's enough for me." Laughed again. "Three's my limit." He held up the 'okay' symbol with his hand.

We sat on the sofa, laughing. "Well," I said, standing,"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." I felt the alcohol affect me as I walked toward the stairs.

"Well, well, if it isn't Little Danielle Sinclair, once again." A familiar voice sounded. I looked up as Jake Marsh pushed his way through the crowd.

I smiled at him,"If it isn't Jake Marsh, once again." He laughed,"So uh, hows life been since yesterday?" He asked. I laughed at his stupid joke,"Better. Bill's a sweetie pie." He smiled,"You're having lunch with us tomorrow, correct?" I nodded.

"I'm actually only way to the bathroom, so I'm gonna get back to that." I laughed. "See ya tomorrow." I nodded, walking up the stairs.

As I walked the stairs I passed Richie. His dark curls sent me back to Friday afternoon. I smiled as he passed me. He narrowed his eyes at me, sending a dirty look my way. I threw an eyebrow up, confusion flushing me. Whatever. Richie's always been a dick.

I walked down the stairs from the bathroom, beelining for the living room to find the couch once again. When I arrived, Richie was sitting in my previous spot.

"Hey, uh, I don't want to be a bummer, but this is my spot." I told Richie. He laughed,"Good one. Sit on the floor." His face went serious during the second part of his sentence.

"Just get up!" Eddie yelled. We both looked at him, surprised.

"Dani!" Someone grabbed my arm, pulling me back. "Fuck off!" I yanked my arm back from Kali. She grabbed my arm again,"Just, please, come with me, you need to see this." "What is it? You fucking my brother again?" I retorted, tilting my head forward.

She shook her head,"Just come on!" She pulled my arm again. I sighed, giving up. I let her pull me up the stairs. As we reached a room, she put her finger to her lips. She pressed her head to the door, nodding.

"K-" She covered my mouth with her hand. She pressed her forefinger to her lips again. She grabbed the handle, twisting. The ripped the door open.

I saw Bill and Casey, kissing on the side of the bed. I covered my mouth with my hand. "Bill! What the fuck?" I screamed into the room. He looked up at me, at a loss for words.

Casey smirked. "W-we never r-really broke up-p." He put his head down, scratching the back of his head. "Fuck you, Bill! And here, take your stupid fucking sweater back!" I pulled off the red sweater, throwing it at his chest. I turned, running down the stairs.

I ran through the crowd of people as Kali and Bill called my name, running after me. As I left the house I kept running. My legs didn't stop as the tears rushed down my face. I covered my mouth to stifle my cries.

A car slowed next to me. The window rolled down,"Danielle?" Jake asked. I stopped running, my feet yielding to a walk. "What's wrong?" He asked. I stopped walking, turning to his car. I burst into tears.

He got out quickly, rushing me into his car. "Don't take me home. I don't want to be there." I shook my head. "Alright." He nodded, heading toward his apartment.

A/n:

Wowie! This story is usually a little over one thousand words, but this chapter is well over Two thousand!

Hope you enjoy

♡♡