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tsrookie · 3 years ago

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Always In My Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Alyssa Brooks)

A/N: On today’s episode of ‘I have no idea wtf I’m doing’, we have something that I cooked up because I had terrible WiFi and no other app but Google docs would open up.

Trope: Fluff, but a tiny bit of angst?

Rating: General

Word Count: 2.3K

Warning(s): Mentions of character death

Summary: Their son has a very important question to ask.

——————————

The delicious aroma of chicken and rice wafted through the Brooks-Ramsey household. The couple worked side by side in the kitchen as they had all those years ago, the only difference being that it was now a dinner for five and not just two.

Allison Dolores Brooks-Ramsey came into their lives nine years ago, and while it was earlier than they would have wanted, they didn’t regret a second of their lives ever since they first heard her voice.

The twins on the other hand, were planned, but nothing had prepared them for the chaos that Nathan and Natalie would bring. A new broken object every week, a dozen fights for the TV every day, and yet were nothing short of tiny tornadoes when they joined forces.

It couldn’t be more perfect.

“What time did Jackie and Emilia say that they would bring the girls back?”

“6:30, I think.”

“Ah. So we have time till 7:00.” They shared a knowing smile. Two aunts taking their nine and six year old nieces to the mall meant a complete raid of the toy store, and a new guitar.

“You need to stop letting everyone spoil the girls just because you have a soft spot for them, Ethan. Ally’s grown old enough to understand that she has her daddy wrapped around her finger, and we don’t need Nat coming to that realisation as well.”

“I don’t- I can’t believe you would accuse me of not loving all my children equally!”, he exclaimed in mock offense.

“Mhmm. So why did I have to come up with an explanation to tell Nathan why his dad wasn’t on board with ordering dessert when he asked for it, but relented once his sisters kept bugging him for another five minutes?”

He opened his mouth in protest, but decided against saying anything for his own good. “Well what can I say? They’ve inherited their mother’s persuasiveness. And I can’t really say no to you, can I?”

Alyssa’s lips curved upwards at that. The playful look in her husband’s eyes caused her to finally break into a grin. “At least you’re self-aware.” Stuffing the rice into the bird she added, “But I can’t exactly tell our son that his dad is too in-love with his mom that he sees her in his daughters and hence can’t say no to them. He’d gag in disgust.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head in the crook of her neck. “That he would. Alright I’ll try a little harder to resist their charms. Wouldn’t want my only son to end up hating me.” He said it without a hint of worry over it becoming true someday. Over the years, he’d learned to put aside his fears of not being a good father, and with the help of some therapy, and Alyssa’s unwavering love and support, he’d locked up his insecurities in a box and let it sink to the bottom of the ocean.

They took the stuffed chicken and put it in the oven, washed their hands and plopped down on the couch for some rare downtime.

“Crap.”

“Everything okay?”

“Fred’s mom got called in, so she’s dropping Nate off on her way to work.”

Ethan sighed. “There goes the hour I planned to spend with my wife, who I barely get to spend enough time with these days.”

“I swear, you were never this busy when you were chief. I have no idea why my workload’s ten times bigger.”

“I do.” Ethan smiled with pride. “One usually does have a lot of work when they’re at the front lines of the battle for making free healthcare accessible for every single person in the country. My brilliant wife, though she could choose to leave most of the work to her very competent team, opts to take it all upon herself. So that’s probably the cause behind all the extra workload she complains about.”

She smirked and perched herself onto his lap. “Well your very brilliant wife also knows that you called my team very competent just to avoid hurting my feelings, and that you and I both know that they’ll be running around like headless chickens without me taking care of things.”

“I know, love. But you can still make them do a little more instead of working yourself to the bone while still making sure that you have at least one meal with the kids every day.”

She sighed. “Yeah, to make sure that they don’t forget what I look like.” She leaned in closer. “Besides, are we really going to spend our last few minutes of peace talking about work?”

Just as she uttered the words, the door burst open, and Nathan kicked off his shoes and jumped onto the couch as Alyssa slid down from Ethan’s lap. She shot him a look that very clearly meant What did I just say?

Ethan gave her an apologetic look and ruffled his son’s hair. “Hey buddy. How was your day at Fred’s? I know you wanted to spend more time with him.”

“I did, and we were just about to open his new LEGO set when Mrs. Watson told us that she had to run up to her office for some emergency meeting.”, he pouted. “But it was a nice day. We watched Thor: Ragnarok and Luca, and we would’ve watched another movie if his dad didn’t tell us that two movies were enough for a day.”

Alyssa shot him a mildly stern look. “Well he was right. You’re too young to have movie marathons just yet. Two are more than enough, unless you want to have a headache.”

“But mom, I’m not too young! I’m a big boy! I can swing along the monkey bars at the park faster than Natalie, and soon I’ll swing across buildings just like Spider-Man!”

“Well Spider-Man got bitten by a yucky spider before he swung across buildings. Do you want to be bitten by a gross and poisonous spider?”

“Mommy, not all spiders are gross and poisonous. Dad told me that when I was four and got scared of them at the zoo.”

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to her husband to convince her kids that insects were anything short of creepy and disgusting. In reality, they were, but as someone who ran a mile away at the sight of a butterfly, she wasn’t going to accept that.

“That’s right, Nate. Some of them are certainly very poisonous and dangerous, but that doesn’t mean that you should be scared of them. If you maintain your distance and admire them from afar, there should be no problem at all.”, he said with a pointed look at Alyssa, who just huffed in annoyance.

Nathan giggled, his brown eyes lighting up with amusement. He loved watching his parents playfully bicker. It was way better than seeing them- ugh, kiss.

“We were pretending to be superheroes and Fred used his full name for his pretend name cause it sounded cool, and it is. Fredrick Anthony Watson sounds like something from that show you and mom watch with the guys in the stuffy suits.”

“When did you see us watching the show with the guys in the stuffy suits?”, asked Ethan with a slight hint of concern. Whatever he and Alyssa watched on their free nights was definitely not kid-friendly.

“I don’t remember. Maybe a few months ago.”

Their year old puppy, Ivy, woke up from her nap and bounced into the living room to jump onto her favourite person. Nathan squealed with joy as the fluffy hair of the dog tickled his nose.

Ethan and Alyssa smiled at each other. Getting another dog after Jenner was a decision that took a lot of convincing, but their kids were responsible enough and it was impossible to say no after two years of constant pestering.

“Fred told me that he was named after his great-grandfather William, and that he was this really cool guy who saved a bunch of guys from getting mugged in a dark, dark alley.” He turned to look at his parents as Ivy snuggled into his lap. “Who was I named after mom?”

The question caught her off guard, and she glanced at Ethan for backup.

When they knew that they were having a boy, they immediately knew what to name him. They hadn't, however, anticipated Nathan Daniel Brooks-Ramsey to ask such a question this soon.

Seeing his wife at a loss for words, Ethan spoke up. “C’mere Nate.” He pulled him closer and pressed a kiss atop his head. “We once had a friend named Daniel. He worked at the hospital as a nurse, and he was close to your mom and Aunt Sienna when they were interns.”

Having found her voice, Alyssa joined in. “He was an amazing friend. He was the only nurse in the hospital who helped me out when things got messy, and cheered up Aunt Sienna when no one else could. He’d join us for picnics and movie nights, and you could always count on him if you needed something at the hospital.” She took a deep breath, and Ethan nodded. “Things were going well, but then in my second year, something really bad happened.”

“Oh no.”

“There was this bad guy, who wanted his revenge on another bad guy, and he was ready to risk his own life, and the lives of everyone around him to do so.”

“That’s horrible! Who would want to do something like that?”

Ethan smiled wistfully. “A lot of people in this world actually do. You’re a good person, so you know that it’s wrong. But some people aren’t, and they don’t care about other people getting hurt because of their actions. That night at the hospital, Danny tried to tell the bad guy that it was wrong, and to think things through. But he didn’t listen, and did something that hurt both himself, Danny, Uncle Raf, another friend of ours, and your mom.”

His little eyebrows creased with worry, Nathan asked, “What happened then?”

“He… he died. Along with our other friend, Bobby. Do you remember what we once told you about an autopsy?” Nathan nodded his head. “Well Danny asked for his body to be autopsied, and thanks to him, we were able to find out what was wrong with mom and Uncle Raf.”

He fell silent for a moment, remembering the horrors of the day, and how eternally grateful he was to Danny for being the reason he didn’t lose everything. He couldn’t imagine a life without the love of his life and his children, and he wouldn’t have either if not for the sacrifices that were made.

He looked up at Alyssa, and she squeezed his hand in support. “We’ll tell you more when you’re older, but to make it short, you’re named after a hero too. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have you, your sisters, or mom here with me.”

Nathan wriggled out of his dad’s arms, and set Ivy down so he could hug his mom as tightly as he could.

“Well… if you can hear me Mr. Daniel, I just wanna thank you. Thanks for saving my mom. I love her so much and I’m so thankful that I got to meet her because of what you did. I wish I could’ve met you, you sound like a really cool person, and I’m sure you were. So yeah, thanks. A lot.”

Alyssa’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and she held her son as she expressed her silent thanks along with Ethan.

What they had was precious.

Fifteen years had passed since they first met, and yet each day they fell in love a little more like they did when they held hands for the first time in the dim light of the NICU watching over little Ethan, or when she finally got to see the real him the first time she visited his place; the first time in years he let someone know a little of the worries residing deep in his heart.

With all the odds against them, it was a miracle that they survived, even more so that they managed to raise three perfect children who had more love to share than they could ever comprehend.

And they’d never forget all the reasons that made it possible for them to survive.

Ding!

The timer on the oven went off, and they got to their feet to get the chicken.

“Was he a good cook dad?”

“I… don’t really know, Nate. Your mom knew him better than I did.”

“Well there was this one time where he helped Aunt Sienna bake an amazing cake, so I guess he knew his way around the kitchen.”, Alyssa recollected fondly. It was for Jackie’s birthday, one of the few nights where the competition was completely forgotten about.

Nathan’s face melted into a glowing smile. “I love cake. So I guess I really would’ve loved him.”

She mirrored his radiant expression. “You definitely would’ve.”

“Why don’t you go play with Ivy while mom and I get the food ready? You can help us with the dessert later.”

“We’re having dessert?!”

Ethan grinned at his son’s excitement. “You bet we are.”

“Yay!” They watched as Nathan ran off to go play fetch with Ivy in their enormous backyard.

Ethan pulled Alyssa in for a sweet, lingering kiss as soon as he was out of sight.

“You’ve been wanting to do that for a while now hmm?”

“Something like that.”, he murmured as they broke apart.

She could see the ever-increasing strands of silver in his brown hair, and the faint wrinkles along the sides of his forehead, but his clear blue eyes were just as loving and devoted as she remembered from over a decade ago.

“We have a pretty good life, don’t we?”

Ethan kissed her again. “No, we have the perfect life.”

——————————

A/N 2: Aaaand I’m going MIA again. Honestly though, to everyone who’s read so far, thank you so much for sticking around. Means the world💙

P.S: I finally chose Chyler Leigh as my face claim!

Taglist: @whimsicallywayward15 @aleynareads @starrystarrytrouble @dxnicaramsey @decadentwinnerjudgedream @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @the-pale-goddess @ohchoices @wellhelloramsey @mvalentine @swiftlydarcy @utterlyinevitable @akshara16 @sushiharrington @drethanramslay @lion-ess24 @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @drariellevalentine @perriewinklenerdie @blossomanarchy @stateofgracious @takemyopenheart @open-heart-ramseyyy @maurine07 @udishaman @queencarb @ethanramseylover @rookiemarsswiftie @aworldoffandoms @lsvdw-blog @n03lia @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfan @jamespotterthefirst @senseofduties

Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist!

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart #playchoices #ethan ramsey fanfiction

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this-is-my-procrastination · 4 years ago

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The Arcana Main 6 taking care of Sick!MC

Asra:

The minute he hears you starting to sneeze and sniffle, Asra’s head shoots up

He stares at you for a solid minute, anxiously scanning your body and noting how flushed your face is

“(Name) - what’s wrong? Here, lay down and let me take your temperature.”

He already lost ya once, his heart’s been broke too many times to ever risk losing you to sickness again

Consequently, Asra hovers around you the entire time

He will force you to stay in bed if he has to, and he tries to stop you from helping around the shop too

Asra tries to ease your discomfort as much as he can using magic and his knowledge of herbs

He’ll stick by your bedside, stroking your hand gently

It’s to soothe both you and him

“Get better soon, angel. I’ll take care of you until then.”

You repeatedly remind him that it’s just a cold, but he will refuse to stop doting on you

Julian:

“Don’t worry, babe, I’m here to help!!”

He is a doctor, and he’ll remind you of that 24/7

Julian knows how to treat you, so he’ll make sure you get plenty of sleep, water, and he’ll make sure you take your medicine too

Your stuffed nose might make you feel gloomy, but Julian acts goofy and does the stupidest crap just to get your spirits up

Also suddenly becomes a master of dad jokes (bonus: he def discovered the world of dad jokes as he was looking for ways to cheer you up)

“(Name), what do you call a sick pony?? A little hoarse!” cue plague doc laughter that’s way too real for that kind of joke lmao

But at least you’ll never be bored

He’d do anything to make you feel better; seeing you weak and bed-ridden genuinely pains him

Even if you’re sleeping most of the day, he stays by your bedside to make sure your cold doesn’t suddenly get worse

It’s almost a given that Julian will catch your sickness after

Being a doctor should teach him to avoid contagions, but he can’t help it! He always gives you a kiss before leaving for the day!

Julian just loves taking care of you and feeling needed, especially since you can be pretty independent

“Don’t be afraid to lean on me. I’m at your beck and call, princess~”

Nadia:

She goes all out to make sure you’re taken care of

Nadia makes you stay in bed, forcing you to let her attend to you

And she takes care of you very enthusiastically, which can be excessive sometimes

But you really appreciate her, and Nadia makes sure you have the best quality everything, from medicines to even the blankets and pillowcases

Want a snack? She’s already got a chef preparing a few of your favorites. Need a tissue? She brings you an entire box. Thirsty? Nadia has multiple bottles of the purest water she can find brought to you on a tray. TL;DR: Nadia’s got you covered.

“It’s my pleasure. Trust that you won’t want for anything under my watch, darling.”

After she’s done with work for the day, she unwinds by sitting at your bedside for a moment to watch your peaceful sleeping face

If you’re awake, you two can talk until early morning, conversing about literally anything

Nadia’s super easy to talk to, especially since she meets so many unique people throughout her day that make great conversation starters

She’ll sometimes give you a nice massage to loosen your stiff muscles that’re used to lying in bed all day

When you recover, she places a kiss on your forehead and affectionately tells you that she’s proud you pulled through

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better - although, I admit that I’ll miss taking care of you.”

Portia:

She immediately noticed when you started getting sick

You were cuddling when she felt your forehead and exclaimed that you felt feverish

“Don’t you worry! With me helpin’ ya, you’ll be healed before you can blink!”

Even though Portia’s super busy with her palace duties, she still makes time to check on you and make sure you’re doing ok

So whenever she has a break, she’ll just pop her head into your room

“Hellooo? Hey hon, you still good? Not too bored, are ya?”

She’ll make sure you don’t feel too trapped in bed

Before you can feel even an ounce of boredom, Portia’s already got some board games and a few movies ready

Portia activates all her mother hen instincts around you while you’re sick

“Babe, I made some chicken noodle soup for you! Here, say aah~”

Lucio:

“D-did you just throw up? Wait, let me get a doctor! You’d better not die on me or I’ll be super mad!”

So dramatic, he’ll act like you’ve contracted the plague (hm sounds like a certain someone and it’s not you)

He’s freaking out with worry, but he’s also terrified of getting sick

Immediately hires the best doctor in Vesuvia, sparing absolutely no expense

Lucio also oversees all your appointments with a laser eye, and he’ll question the doctors on every little thing

“Are you SURE that’s the best you can do? Listen here, doctor, my darling had better heal soon, or else you will face consequences!”

Extra AF with everything

The dude brings out a notepad during appointments; he’s putting in all the effort he can so you’ll get better ASAP

His main motivation is to cuddle with you again

Misses taking you into his arms and actually kissing you

He buys a meter stick to keep you distanced, but he’ll also blow kisses at you every other second

So yup, even though you hoped to get some peace and quiet with the extra distance, Lucio still finds a way to *lovingly* pester you

Muriel:

He didn’t realize how sick you were at first

Like he heard you sniffling and thought nothing of it

Until, later that day, he saw you sweating profusely with a flushed face as you tried to start cooking dinner

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick? You should take care of yourself... I guess I have to help you now.”

He acts embarrassed to be taking care of you, but he’s immediately by your side when you even remotely struggle to do something

Like the moment you try to get out of bed, Muriel is already rushing to push you back down

He has the most stricken look on his face, too, like he can’t believe you’re risking yourself so much by getting out of bed

Muriel prepares multiple poultices and herbal teas to help you feel better, and he even cooks your favorite comfort foods for you

With how whipped and eager-to-please this man is, you could probably convince him to hand-feed you

You can get maybe a couple bites before he self-combusts with a completely red face

Innana lets you cuddle her, so that makes you feel a lot better, even as you cough and hack up phlegm

Meanwhile, Muriel is panicking and rushing to bring you tissues and more herbal remedies

So relieved when you recover; his hut is really small, though, so you may or may not have to care for a sick Muriel after

“(Name), I was... worried. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

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lovehugsandcandy · 4 years ago

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Fine. (ColtxMC, RoD)

A/N: Happy Epilogue Day! I had started this for MC Day but didn’t quite make it. (I was listening to Jasmine Thompson’s stripped version of Funny and the line ”I guess freedom didn’t free you like you thought” just vibes with me.) @rodappreciationweek

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~2,100 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (Infidelity. Not explicit but there are references to sex. Swearing.)

Summary: Ellie’s built a new life out East and it’s all fine.

“I’m fine.”

The response is automatic, floating off her tongue easily; she doesn’t consider it, not anymore, just lets her lips move and her brain wander.

She’s been fine for eight years, fine through her time at Langston and through grad school and dissertation and post-doc, fine through first dates and relationships and now her tony engagement, fine through every single second since she sped away from her past behind the wheel of a refurbished sports car and stepped back into shoes that had never known exhilaration, passion, or heartbreak.

That’s such a heavy course load! No one takes six classes. I’m fine.

Are you sure that you want to jump right into grad school? I’m fine.

Are you stressed planning your wedding? I’m fine.

How are you? Fine, fine, fine.

She’s fine. Everything is fine.

She ignores the hollow ache, right behind her rib, throbbing every time she thinks of how her life could have been, maybe should have been. She’s lucky she’s not in jail. She’s lucky she’s alive, thousands of miles from home, enjoying business dinners and boozy brunches and the trappings of success that sometimes feel like shackles.

Everything’s fine.

~~~~~

She shouldn’t be here.

Ellie should never have agreed to this; the memories LA holds replay vividly behind her eyelids and the juxtaposition of reality with the images she sees nightly makes her dizzy. It’s as if she never left, the haze still blanketing the city and enveloping familiar streets in a thick gauze. It’s a struggle to breathe, to exist here, but Edward was insistent that they marry in her hometown and her lips formed the answer before she could think it through. Fine.

She has a week to finalize the arrangements, clock counting down to when her steps would take her down the aisle, toward her future and away from a past that everyone knew she needed to leave behind. (Sometimes, the gap between what people know and what her heart yearns for gapes so wide that the ache physically chokes her, longing shaking her awake and leaving her to pace the apartment, dangerous thoughts screaming in the darkened silence.).

So she definitely shouldn’t be here, edging through the crowd, craning her neck for an unobstructed view of the starting line. When the engines roar, it vibrates through her chest and her heart leaps; she feels young again, soul awakening for the first time in forever, and, for a moment, the dull ache quiets.

The cars speed off, jostling for position, taillights fading into the night, flying as fast as in her memories. The crowd stirs, anxious for them to return, and she scans the lot, eyes tracing over vibrant colors and gleeful faces.

Eyes wide, she turns and the shock that runs through her body is the closest to lightning she’s ever experienced. The crowd ebbs around her, and she can only see one figure through the bodies, posture tense and hands stuffed in his leather jacket. Colt looks like he’s seen a ghost, shock and disbelief painted across his flawless features, but she’s never felt more alive, cars roaring their return to the finish line, unable to pull her eyes from the electric stare in front of her.

She moves first, tentative steps making their way over to where he stands, stock-still.

“Hi,” she murmurs, with the bit of breath she can force through her lips.

He stares at her, unblinking, until his eyes crinkle in the corner. “Looks like you’re in the wrong place, sweetheart.” She laughs; the spell has been broken, but she can feel herself falling prey to an even more seductive, dangerous pull. “What are you doing here, El?”

“I’m in town for a week. Wanted to check out some old haunts.” He studies her, eyes probing, and she cautiously slides her heavy left hand into her pocket. “How are you?”

“Good. Shop’s back up, crew’s doing good.” He shrugs. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” The words come easily, quickly, off her tongue and she flushes under the intensity on his face.

His face pulls into a frown and his eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m…” Her shoulder quirks up and, for a moment, she hesitates; the words are heavy and bitter in her mouth, but she forces them out, anyway. “I’m fine.”

“Do... do you ever think you should be…” His eyes search her face carefully, and her left cheek trembles with the effort to maintain the same plastered-on smile she’s kept on her face for the past eight years, one month, and twelve days. And, like always, he doesn’t miss a thing. “More than fine?”

She doesn’t remember her response, the ride back to the garage. She must’ve held tight, fingers curled into leather and cheek resting against his shoulder blades.

She definitely doesn’t remember reconsidering.

They fall into bed as if no time has passed, as if she were 18 again, as if he were still grieving a father, as if she were still simultaneously dreading and hopeful for what her future holds. He takes her apart inch by excruciating inch and, when he finally slides into her, she is an absolute mess, voice cracking over his name, tears slipping down her cheek and breath hitching with every inhale.

She can’t bear it.

He fucks her like he’s been waiting years for it, desperate and wanton; she leaves teeth marks in his shoulder to stop the words from leaving her mouth, but tears spring to her eyes when she mouths them, desperately, silently into the curve of muscles.

When she was 18, she had no idea what her next second would look like, let alone her life years in the future. And now that she is living in this future, she only wants the next second to stretch on forever.

She clings to him, fingers clenched and unwilling to let go; finally, the dull ache in her chest recede and her mind quiets.

~~~~~

They don’t spend the entire week in bed.

“You sure about this?” He asks, eyebrows raised, smirk fully planted across his lips, but he’s relaxed in the passenger seat, and the confident angle of his limbs puts her at ease. He trusts her.

“I’m sure.”

She would have stayed in bed with him all week; hell, in her weakest moments, she never wants to leave, and the thought is far less terrifying than it should be. But Colt insisted that she take him for a drive, so she’s clutching the steering wheel of a Santagata worth more than a year’s salary back East and he’s grinning at her, all teeth and bravado, and she is powerless to do anything but pop the clutch and slam the pedal. His joyful whoop makes laughter bubble from her lips.

When she parks the car and the bay doors close, she dives across the console, adrenaline coursing through her veins and his lips heated on hers. Her hands burrow inside his jacket, seeking the warmth of his skin, and the metal of her engagement ring collides heavy with the zipper.

She pauses, only for a second, before her hands continue and she rolls her hips and it doesn’t matter who she belongs to because she can only sob his name into the curve of his neck.

She doesn’t know what she feels (desire? shame? abject terror?) but one thing is certain.

She’s not fine.

~~~~~

She sneaks out one morning, when the sunlight is just peeking dull rays over the mountains and the tide laps slow and rhythmic against the sea walls, manor rising into the sky like a castle from a fairy tale.

Her heels echo as she walks on marble floors, and she ponders the difference between a castle and a cage. She talks about place settings (silverware glinting in the chandeliers like headlights in the night) and napkin colors (red like blood blooming on the shoulder of a blue suit) and her head spins with details and numbers.

She’s fine.

She slides her ring into her jacket pocket in the parking lot, metal cool to the touch, and slides into his bed before his eyes open. He’s still asleep, and she watches the rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic and slow, and the splay of his palm on her back is comforting, solid.

They eat at Kelso’s and she is transfixed by the curve of his smile as he takes her in; the yellow neon sign dims the counter and, even in a hazy tint, he is still the most attractive person she’s ever seen. Her heart patters in her chest, syncopated beat stuttering as she shoves a french fry in his mouth, and, for once, her heartbeat isn’t painful.

They race up the PCH, her hands clasped in leather and helmet resting against his back; they fly, the scenery racing past, faster and faster, and it’s unsettling when she blinks-when she closes her eyes, she sees one view and when she opens them, buildings disappear, flowing into pavement and fields and shopping malls surrounded by a sea of cars. They are speeding, flying over the pavement, and the world spins around her.

Blink and you’ll miss it.

She blinked, and eight years passed.

When she splashes into the ocean, hand tightly clasped by his, the water is warm but he’s warmer, pulling her close until she’s on fire, sun and heat flashing through her limbs, sea and sweat bringing salt to her tongue, and the world explodes into a blaze that rivals the midday sunshine overhead.

She’s not fine.

She’s amazing.

~~~~~

“Cheers!”

The champagne glasses clink and Ellie plasters on that smile. She hasn’t worn it in a week and it’s unsteady, awkward, her cheek trembling with the movement. The liquor is sweet when it hits her tongue, bubbles and cheer colliding with the acid on her tongue.

She’s getting married tomorrow. The thought is bitter as bile.

“How are you, really, El?”

“I’m...” She trails off, and Riya furrows a concerned brow. Behind her, Ellie can see her dad, beaming as he embraces her fiance, and Ingrid swirls around in a cocktail dress while Darius inhales fancy hor d’oeuvres and men in suits talk jovially and it’s like she’s in a different life. “I’m…”

She can’t finish the sentence.

Riya pulls her outside and holds her close as tears pour onto the silk of her dress.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Riya mutters into her hair and Ellie can only shake her head.

She doesn’t think it will be.

~~~~~

He’s under the bike when she strides through the bay door, steps purposeful, surging forward as if to hide her bloodshot eyes and trembling fingers. He stands, wiping motor oil onto his jeans, and his work boots are loud on the concrete; when he sees her face, he pauses, eyes cautious under the fluorescent lights.

They stare at each other for minutes that stretch like hours, and Ellie sighs before she speaks. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.” She glances down at her left hand; it’s naked, bare, princess diamond left on the nightstand of the hotel, glinting goodbye as she hung her head and slipped out the door.

“I know.” He crosses his arms and waits.

“But… this week… I just...” She took a deep breath. “It’s like you were doing everything in your power to make me stay.” His expression doesn’t change, eyes still guarded, but she knows. She knows him, and the lack of reaction speaks volumes. “Colt…”

“I wanted to make your decision fucking hard. I figured you were going back, but I wanted to make-“ His voice catches and she can’t pull her eyes from his. “I wanted to make it fucking hard to walk to down that aisle.”

Her shoulders drop; he had made it impossible. “Colt...”

“Did it work?”

Her eyes fly to him and she takes him in, really studies him, from the things that are the same (leather jacket, tilt of his smirk) to the things that are different (the scar bisecting his eyebrow, the inexplicable softness in his eyes). Things have changed for both of them in the years that slipped away, and she doesn’t want to miss another moment.

“Ellie, come back.” The tears start again but, instead of the despair when she fell apart in Riya’s arms, now her smile beams through her fingers. “Ellie, don’t marry him. You belong here. Just come back.”

Her hair flies behind her as she races forward, slower than a Santagata but just as fast as she needs to be, and the leather under her fingertips and stubble tracing her jaw is solid, firm, real.

She’s not fine.

She’s alive.

Tags (I am so sorry. I am really bad with tags PLEASE forgive me I am trying but life and Tumblr and everything is hard and I apologize if I miss you but I also apologize if I am bothering you):

Perma @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard @desireepow-1986

ROD @mskaneko @lovemychoices @burnsoslow @troublemakerinspace @omgjasminesimone

Colt

@deimosensblog @alegria1580 @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices @maxwellsquidsuit @liamzigmichael4ever @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @theeccentricbibliophile @dancingboba @tempesrature

#playchoices fanfic #colt kaneko #colt x mc #rodaw #n*fw #ride or die: a bad boy romance #cw: infidelity #cw: cheating #amy writes

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chinateacup · 4 years ago

Text

Commission for @asrasdarling

So thankful to @asrasdarling for being such a lovely customer. This commission was super delayed thanks to covid 19, but it’s all ready now! 3k of fluff with MC and Asra having fun with their friends!

Fandom: The Arcana

Characters: Asra, Nadia, Julian, Portia, Muriel, OC

Pairings: Asra/OC, (briefly implied Nadia/Portia)

No rating required

“Camping trip, camping trip, camping trip!”

Julian groaned, tipping his head back. “Pasha, I am begging you to stop chanting that.”

“Come on, Ilya,” Asra shifted the bag on his back, and nudged him with his elbow. “Maybe she’s worried we’ll forget why we’re here.”

“Yes, thank you very much, Portia,” Jenna smiled. She had a picnic basket in her arms. “That explains all the luggage and tents.”

The fields surrounding Vesuvia were beautiful, of course, and usually, Jenna would jump at the offer of a walk in them. But as she was discovering, in the middle of summer, the yellow grass was glaring, and the heat haze made her eyes hurt. The sun beat down heavily on the group of five, and she wiped her brow, gulping water from the canteen Asra had packed. She’d insisted she wouldn’t need it. Thank goodness he’d ignored her.

Despite the punishing weather, Portia still grinned, swinging her arms as she led the way. “You are welcome for the reminder. Come on, it’s just round the corner.”

“Traitors,” Julian muttered. “Both of you.”

“Are we nearing this little spot of yours, Portia?” Nadia called from the back of the party. “I don’t feel it’s fair to let poor Muriel carry all this much longer.”

Jenna looked over her shoulder, and winced. Muriel’s torso had practically vanished under the sheer number of bags slung around his shoulders, not to mention the ones piled high in his arms. Suddenly her picnic basket felt much lighter.

“I don’t mind,” he said quietly. Jenna believed it; he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Not to worry, milady, because…” Portia ducked under a branch that proceeded to smack Julian in the chest.

“Ouch!”

“Shush you. Let’s see… it should be right around… aha!” She ran forward past a line of trees into a clearing. Jenna followed close behind, tugging Asra after her, and gasped.

Pine trees surrounded them, the shade cool and welcome against her skin. A tiny rock pool babbled on the edge of the clearing, half hidden among a thick cluster of purple wild flowers. The yellowed grass had given way to mossy cobblestone, cracked and slippery, with the odd tiny sprig growing between the slabs.

Asra sighed blissfully, tilting his face towards the sky like a satisfied cat. “This place is beautiful,” Jenna whispered, and he hummed in agreement.

“Ta-da!” Portia gestured with a wide sweep of the arm. “Was it worth the trek?”

“It’s incredible,” Julian blinked at his surroundings and dropped his bags at his feet. “When on Earth did you find it?”

“Oh, y’know,” she shrugged. “I used to come here to blow off steam about… stuff.” She glanced over her brother briefly, smile wavering, before it returned in full force. “…But that’s all solved now, so no reason not to share it! And we’ll get a perfect view of the meteor shower tonight!”

Nadia beamed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for sharing it with us, Portia. We’re very grateful to you.”

Portia shrugged the compliment off, giggling. “Yeah, well, it’s – it’s no big thing,” she protested weakly, though her face had gone very red.

Jenna glanced at Asra. He winked knowingly.

Near the treeline, Muriel had already set up three tents on the cobblestone, tracing a protection rune in chalk in front of each one. An old habit, and one that he didn’t seem to be growing out of any time soon. Jenna set her picnic basket down while the Devoraks struggled to spread out a blanket, squabbling over which of them was twisting it the wrong way.

She exhaled slowly, and left them in favour of the rock pool. The water looked clean and clear, so she rolled up the hem of her pants, and sat on a large rock to soak her tired feet.

Asra sat right beside her, smiling softly. “You okay, Jen?”

“Yeah,” she replied, yawning. “Worn out.”

“It was a long walk,” he agreed, kicking away his boots and dipping his feet as well. His lips parted in a soft sigh, kicking his legs slowly. “This place kinda reminds me of Kitha.”

“Kitha?” Jenna leant her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

“I never told you about Kitha?” Asra chuckled, breath tickling her hair. “It must have been years ago now… Such a cute town. I spent a few weeks down there one Summer. It was burning hot and in the middle of nowhere, and so, so gorgeous. So dry they could build their houses out of tightly packed sand, like an igloo.”

“Mm hm.” With her head pressed against him, Jenna could hear how Asra’s voice rumbled soothingly in his chest. His arm had found its way around her waist, thumb stroking her hip in slow circles.

“Anyway, when I told them I was a magician, they got really excited. One of them literally grabbed me by my collar, and dragged me to their mayor’s house. I thought I might choke.” Jenna smiled weakly at the image, half asleep. “When I got there, the mayor begged me to help them with their drought. It hadn’t rained there for years, and there was only one small well for the whole town to share.”

“Hang on,” Jenna opened her eyes. “You’ve told me this one.”

Asra blinked at her. “Have I?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. The owner of the well had made a deal with a demon so no rain would fall in the town, and people would have to pay to take his water, right?”

“Oh. Yes.” He thought for a moment, before brightening. “Okay, but have I told you about when I first visited Prakra?”

“When Nadia’s sister didn’t recognise you and tried to have you arrested for breaking into the palace?”

Asra bit his lip. “…Kamanar?”

“You convinced Muriel to come with you and they mistook him for a minor deity.” Jenna grinned, pressing their foreheads together. “I know all your stories, my love.”

“That can’t be true! I’ve taken so many trips…”

“And you’ve talked my ear off about them all,” she tucked a curl behind his ear, cradling his face in one hand. “As well you should.”

“Right, I have a goal for this camping trip,” Asra placed a hand on his heart, and his other on Jenna’s. “I swear that by tomorrow morning, I will find a story I have never told you.”

“Aw, just what every relaxing vacation needs. A time-based challenge.”

He giggled, cupping her jaw and kissing her softly. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, and he sighed against her lips, pulling her into his lap. The kiss broke, and Jenna looked down at Asra, flushed and staring up at her with an expression of wonder.

“Excuse me?” Nadia’s voice broke them from their trance. The group was already halfway through their picnic, sat around a blanket that (despite all odds) had been spread out quite nicely. She gave them a wry smile. “I hate to interrupt a tender moment, but you should know that I can only protect your share of the cookies for so long.”

“Ooh, tasty.” Asra stood, not even a little embarrassed, and tugged Jenna over by the hand. They sat crossed-legged on the blanket, and he stuck a pastry under Muriel’s nose. He went slightly cross-eyed trying to look at it. “Muri, please eat the tarts. We packed them for you.”

He rolled his eyes, but took it anyway. “Thanks.”

Asra grinned, holding one up to Jenna’s face as well. She smiled, tucking her hair out of the way before taking a bite. “Thank you,” she said around the mouthful.

“You’re welcome,” he winked. “So, Jenna and I were talking, and she seems to think I’ve told her all of my stories.”

“Well, that can’t be true,” Julian poured boiling water over a tea bag, bobbing it up and down by the string, “because I happen to know hundreds of Asra stories. Jenna, have you heard the one where the two of us broke into the palace’s wine cellar in the dead of the night –”

“The Count brought a party in there, and you hid in a barrel for three hours before climbing out of the window with half a dozen bottles stuffed down your pants.” Jenna quirked a brow, smirking. “That all you got, Doc?”

“Oh, she’s good.”

Asra groaned, burying his face in his hands. Nadia leaned over to pat his shoulder. “Come now, don’t look like that. I think it’s rather sweet you know one another so well.”

“Yeah, milady’s right,” Portia took a look sip from what looked like a cup of lemonade. “I mean, that’s what everyone wants in a relationship, isn’t it? Someone who knows all your stories.”

“I will find a new story,” Asra straightened, voice determined. “Mark my words, I will find Jenna a story.”

“Alright, what now?”

“You twist it.”

“I can’t twist it.”

“Twist it.”

“It’s already twisted!” Julian huffed, holding a very wilted bunch of purple wildflowers. “I’m not very good at this.” Muriel snorted in response.

Jenna bit her lip, trying to fold and twist the stems into a crown like he’d showed them. Asra looked down at her lap. “You’ve… almost got it.”

She pouted. “I really don’t.”

He smiled, placing his own creation on her head. The flowers were a little loose, but they held in place nicely. “This is a good colour on you.”

Jenna smiled gently, before breathing a sigh. “Okay, tell me why.”

Asra blinked. “Why what?”

“Why is it so important I haven’t heard all your stories?” Jenna dropped her crown in her lap. “Portia’s right. Isn’t it a good thing that we know each other so well?”

He shrugged half-heartedly. “I don’t know. You deserve a good story.”

“And you have given me more than enough. What is it? Are you sad about losing your ‘wandering magician’ reputation since we settled down?”

“Don’t be silly,” Asra chuckled, guiding her hands to help weave the flower stems together. “I happen to like my ‘always doting on his apprentice magician’ title much more. Though let’s be honest, at this point you could be my teacher.”

Jenna snorted, despite the blush she felt creeping up her face. “You should be so lucky.”

“Yeah, I should,” he grinned shamelessly, but his eyes were still distant. “Look, I just think that… if you know all my stories, and I definitely know all of yours, then where does that leave us?”

She frowned, distantly registering Portia celebrating her finished wreath. “What do you mean?”

Asra shrugged helplessly, not quite meeting her gaze and fumbling with the petals of a flower. “We’re finally done getting to know each other.”

If his voice hadn’t been so earnest, Jenna probably would have burst out laughing. She smiled widely instead, restraining herself. “Asra, I’ve known you for years. We’ve been partners for years! I’d like to think I know you pretty damn well!”

“But what happens now?” He asked, scratching his head. “With us, I mean. Now that we know each other.”

“We keep getting to know each other,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “People don’t stop growing, and they don’t stop changing, no matter how well you know them. Look at Muriel. You thought you knew him inside and out; doesn’t he still find ways to surprise you?”

“Surprise me?” Asra laughed. “A year ago if you’d told me he’d come on a trip like this, I’d have had a heart attack.”

“Oof, that would’ve been bad for us,” Jenna winced, clutching at her chest with one hand. He swatted it away, giggling.

“Hey, speaking of!” Asra beamed at Muriel as he trundled over to them. “A surprise.”

Jenna snickered, and Muriel looked between them, confused, before clearly deciding it wasn’t worth dwelling on. “Do you need any help?”

“Not at all,” she smiled, holding up her very loose, very messy, not at all connected flower crown. Well, it was more of a chain really.

He looked it over with a very serious expression, chewing his lip thoughtfully. A few flowers fell away. Asra giggled.

“It’s, um…” Muriel took a moment to find the right words. “It’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Jenna nodded. “It’s great.”

“It’s perfect,” Asra agreed vigorously. “We should have it pressed and framed. Hang it behind the counter.”

“Please don’t do that,” Nadia called over. She was wearing her own finished crown. Of course it was lovely. “I don’t mean any offense, really, but I must say it out of concern for your business.”

“Aw, don’t feel bad, Jen!” Portia plopped herself down next her, and perched her grass wreath on Muriel’s head. He blushed, mumbling his thanks. “Ilya made some art as well. I call it ‘Very Dead Flowers.’”

Asra smirked. “I’d call it something else.”

Julian pouted, cradling two wilted stems in his hands that could have been flowers once. It was hard to tell. “I really did try my best!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Poor flowers never saw it coming,” Jenna said solemnly.

“Oh, leave him be,” Nadia tutted, removing her own wreath and placing it gently on his head. “There. Now no one will ever know.”

Julian flushed beet red, barely stammering his way through a thank you before Portia groaned loudly. “Yeah, yeah, real cute of you. Who has the best crown though?”

“Yeah, Muriel,” Asra backed her up, nudging his friend on the arm. “Who’s the winner?”

He blinked. “Was… this a contest?”

“It is now, apparently.” Jenna motioned with her hand. “So who won?”

“I, um…” Muriel shrugged half-heartedly. “Nadia won.”

“Ah, I think you’re confused,” Nadia said smoothly, shaking her head. “I was not taking part in the competition. I do, however, feel that Julian’s crown is particularly lovely.”

Julian blinked. “Wait, what?”

“No, you can’t do that!” Portia puffed out her cheeks, huffing. “That’s cheating! He couldn’t even make a start!”

“Well that makes no sense,” Nadia tilted her head, smiling playfully. “If he couldn’t make a start, where did the crown come from?”

“You gave it to him!”

“Nah, Nadi’s right,” Asra winked at Jenna. “Congrats, Ilya.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” she nodded quickly. “Good job.”

“Cheats!” Portia pointed between Nadia and her brother accusingly. “Dirty cheats, the lot of you!”

“Thank you very much,” Julian grinned smugly at Muriel, tipping the crown like a hat. “I will wear this victory like a badge of honour.”

Muriel didn’t return the smile. “You didn’t win.”

“Shush now.”

“Nadia did.”

“I won.”

Asra leaned over to whisper in Jenna’s ear. “We both know who really won, right?”

“Of course we do,” she replied. “I did.”

“Obviously.”

“Is everybody comfortable?” Nadia lay back beside Portia, head resting against a plush cushion. The sun had long set, but it still wasn’t dark. The summer sky was lit up with stars, scattered like gems across dark blue velvet. It made Jenna grateful they’d hiked all the way out to the fields; in Vesuvia, the stars had fallen to earth and arranged themselves neatly on a circular grid. Not that she didn’t like the brightness and bustle of the city, but it wasn’t exactly the best place to view a meteor shower.

Asra was laid on his back, legs stretched out, hands folded on his belly. Jenna lay beside him and linked their arms together just as a comet started to trail across the sky.

Portia made a squeak of excitement. “There’s the first one! Quick, make a wish!”

“Two steps ahead of you, Pasha,” Julian bumped his shoulder against Muriel’s. “What did you wish for, big guy?”

Muriel’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say.”

“Oho, keeping secrets are we?” Julian crooked a brow, pouting slightly. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

Jenna chuckled. “No, Julian, you can’t tell someone what you wished for. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

He went quiet. “Ah, right. Of course not.”

Asra rolled his eyes, smirking, and Jenna leaned her chin against his shoulder. “You’re not still upset about your epic tales of misadventure?”

He crossed one leg over his knee so his foot swung in mid-air. “You know what’s wrong with the stories I’ve been telling all these years?”

“How often you tell them?”

Asra snorted, pulling her close with an arm around her waist. “No, the fact that you’re… not in them. They were from a different time in my life. When you weren’t around. Jen, when I lost you, I…” His voice wavered, and he paused, swallowing thickly.

Jenna cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his mouth, feeling him sigh against her lips and relax in her arms. “…Things are different now,” she whispered when they parted. “Different for both of us. I want to make new stories now, happier ones. With you.”

Asra searched her eyes for a moment, before beaming, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “I love you so much.”

Jenna smiled. “I love you too.”

“Is everybody watching us right now?”

“They absolutely are.”

“I was not,” Nadia said smoothly. “However I think one of the Devoraks may be crying.”

Asra laughed. “I bet I can guess which one.”

Portia cackled while Julian spluttered helplessly. “Sh-shut up, you three,” he cleared his throat, pounding a fist against his chest. “Just watch the stars, will you?”

Jenna hummed, resting her head against Asra’s chest just as another meteor left a pale stripe above them. “Hey, there’s another one. Make a wish.”

Asra tucked her head under his chin. “Would it be cheesy if I said I’ve already got mine?”

“Massively,” Jenna mumbled, already half asleep. “But I’m glad that you said it anyways.”

#hope it was worth the wait!#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fanfic #commissions #my writing #the arcana asra #the arcana nadia #the arcana julian #the arcana portia #the arcana muriel #asra x mc #asra alnazar

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toldbymae · 4 years ago

Text

𝐆 𝐑 𝐀 𝐕 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 ~ 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐮

C H A P T E R O N E: BEGIN AGAIN

Fandom; Choices stories you play

Pairings; Ethan Ramsey x Mc (Lucky-Rae Longford)

Summary; Emotions are the luxury you can’t afford as a Doctor, consider this something Ethan Ramsey learned early. When the sun sets, all hope seems lost. That is, until a wide-eyed young intern tumbles, quite literally, into his life and the sun has never shined brighter.

Warnings; Swearing, Graphic descriptions of injury, Alcohol consumption, NSFW, Character death, Violence, Mentions of stillbirth, Physical abuse.

Word Count; 1.4k (1,467 including this and the above.)

Author Note; This story is an au and starts at the beginning of open heart book one. The storyline won't entirely be the same, some aspects will change eg; Miss Martinez won't end up dying because of mc...instead it'll be because of someone else. In this story, you’ll hate Landry even more.

𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝘆; 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵, 𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘀.

Enjoy!

LUCKY-RAE

After a six and a half hour flight, Lucky got off the plane and made her way through security, grabbing her suitcase and making her way through the crowd of loud and rowdy people. Most of them wore a smile, running into the arms of friends and family, while others were crying and watching as they bid goodbye.

Life is something precious.

It's strong and yet, it's so fragile and easy to take away.

The automatic doors opened and, almost instantly, she was hit with golden rays of the sun. Boston, she smiled and began venturing down the street.

Lucky couldn't wipe the irreplaceable smile off her face, nor did she want to. This is going to be the start of something new. Something good. Something...unimaginable.

The sudden vibration of her phone drew the redhead from her thoughts as she hastily grabbed it out of her pocket.

Landlord guy; 27 Ilford terrace, be there at 3 pm and I'll give you your keys. NO LATER.

Lucky; Sure thing

She tucked her phone safely back in her front pocket and called for a taxi, told him the destination she was heading to, and sat comfortably in the back seat, after putting her luggage in the boot, with the much-needed assistance of the driver.

25 minutes.

The car set off and Lucky leaned her head against the window, watching everything pass her by.

A smile crept back onto her face.

It's happening, it's finally happening. All these years of dreaming, believing, and working hard have led her to where she is right now, where she will be in the future.

Edenbrook Hospital, one of, if not the most, prestigious in the country. Widely known for its efficient and dedicated health care and team.

It hadn't always been her dream to work there, nevertheless, Lucky was determined now more than ever, not to allow the past to cloud her judgment or decisions.

All the people she'd save...all the people she'd be able to help...and those who she can't save...

Seconds descended into minutes which soon felt like hours and the taxi pulled up outside her new home. She thanked him, paid, and dragged her suitcase behind her as she walked up the steps and patiently waited for her landlord to arrive. She spotted him making his way down the road, wearing a blue shirt and loose-fitting black trousers.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person Mister...."

"Just call me Farley." He said delving his hand into his over-sized pocket and fishing for the keys.

"Thank you, I promise to take good care of the property...Mister Farley."

He laughed, "I know you lot will."

She paused, you lot. But there's only one of her...

"What did you mean?" She asked.

"Oh..." He laughed again, "Go inside and you'll see, Doc."

And she did. She unlocked the door and trekked up the stairs and wished there was a lift.

Lucky's breath was instantly taken away. The view was simply spectacular, the apartment was spacious, too spacious.

"This isn't all for me, is it?"

"Turns out you really are as smart as you look." He retorted, turning his head and pointing out all the other bedrooms which would be accommodating other people. Lucky shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't worry." He reassured, "I'm sure you'll get along with them just fine." Without another word, Farley departed leaving Lucky alone.

Her momentary peace was interrupted at the sound of voices and the door flying open. Five people walked in, luggage trailing after them, and meek smiles.

"He really wasn't lying..." Someone moaned, a slim and tall man with wild curly, hazel nut-brown hair, with baby blue eyes.

"I got one can't wait!" The voice of a short, brunette squeaked, smiling from ear to ear. Lucky couldn't tell whether or not she was being genuine.

"What are the odds of us all Woking at ED?" Another woman rolls her eyes and makes her way into the kitchen and raids the fridge.

"Well...I guess I should introduce myself?" The uncertainty in her voice caused Lucky to internally cringe.

"Lucky." She extends out her hand and the small girl, no taller than her, shakes it.

"I call dibs on the largest room." Says the girl whose name Lucky is yet to know, who is currently stuffing her face with a chocolate bar, "I'm Jackie, that's Sienna, Elijah, and Landry."

"Pleasure to meet you." Lucky replies. Sienna smiles at her, "I think we're gonna get along just great and I love your voice, are you, Welsh?"

"Irish, from Killarney."

"Well, is anyone hungry might as well order something." Elijah says getting his phone and looking up nearby takeaway restaurants.

Hours of talking and unpacking later, the interns sat at the table eating pizza and watching TV, feeling nothing except mixture exhaustion and relaxation.

"There's this bar down the road called Donahue’s, wanna go?” Jackie suggests, earning the attention of her new fellow roommates.

Landry shrugged, “I mean I don’t mind...but we’ve orientation tomorrow so...let’s not drinking too much.”

“Alright, let's go.”

...

ETHAN

The bar was still and quiet as the diagnostician drank the last of his whiskey and motioned for the bartender, his long time friend Reggie, to get him another.

"You sure you want another?" Reggie asks, hesitant.

Ethan almost instantly nods and the sound of voices filling the once empty bar drew him from his thoughts.

One in particular caught his eye.

Her laugh sounded like a melody he could listen to every day.

Her eyes, glassy, pure, and ruby green. So beautiful and mesmerizing.

Her hair, long, curly, and auburn shade of red.

Her freckles, as golden as the sun, spread across her face like stars in a midnight sky.

Ethan forced himself to turn away, unable to get the image of her out of his head.

He wouldn't see her again.

Or her dark red lips, so kissable.

He drank the remainder of his drink and decided to call it a night, much to Reggie's relief.

From the corner of his sky blue eyes, he sees her stumbling and about to fall, glass in hand. He catches her just in time and she smiles and drunkenly laughs, before throwing up a river on his green jacket and white top. Ethan sighs and helps her walk over to the nearest booth and sits her down.

“Shit...” She says, “I’m such a lightweight. Sorry, I uh...you know.” Her eyes dart to the ground and her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you some water.” Ethan walks over to the bar and Reggie gives him a bottle of water, he opens the bottle and passes it to her. Lucky smiles gratefully and drinks it.

“You're a lifesaver...sorry again about your-

“It’s fine, really.”

A hesitant silence falls upon them until Lucky speaks, “I’m not usually like this.”

“I’m really, really, really nervous about tomorrow...”

“What’s tomorrow?” He asks.

“My intern orientation at Edenbook Hospital. Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah, I certainly have. I don’t think you have anything to be nervous about. You're going there for a reason, remember that.”

“...You know exactly what to say. I like that.”

He sits down opposite her, properly able to see her golden freckles in the soft and warm glow of the light.

“I haven’t asked.” He began, “What’s your name?”

She laughs, playfully slapping his knee, “My parents named me something, like, super weird...don’t go laughing okay?”

“You have my word.”

“Lucky. Lucky-Rae to be exact.”

...

The following morning felt like a complete nightmare. Ethan was in the shower and for once, not even lukewarm water could calm him down.

He dreamed about her.

What was wrong with him?

Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined her long red hair tickling his skin as her lips pressed tantalizingly against his flesh, traveling lower and lower...

His eyes darted upwards at the clock and the time was five minutes past six. Ethan didn't bother wrapping a towel around himself and turned the shower head off before getting dressed and making his way to work.

The traffic was even more so annoying than usual.

Cars sped past him and all could hear were the screams of the couple arguing in the car in front and a baby crying in the car behind. Ethan resisted the overwhelming urge to gouge his ears out. Half an hour passed and Ethan was walking in the hallways of Edenbrook, watching the nurses organize patient files.

An hour later the interns arrived and the hospital wasn’t silent anymore. A sudden commotion corrupted, he turns his head and a woman has collapsed and isn’t moving. Without another thought, he rushed over and ushered for space.

Ethan looked around and noticed an intern rushing over, long red hair, dark green eyes...golden freckles. As if this day could get any worse.

#choices #choices stories you play #open heart #pixelberry choices #mc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan jonah ramsey #Watdafwack

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mxdanni · 5 years ago

Text

He Wasn’t Meant to Hear

📍Dr Ethan Ramsey x m!MC fic. feat Sienna Trinh

📍Part of series. Check out my masterlist

📍MC is Dr Cheng Lee

“I’ve decided to look on the brighter side,” pointed out Cheng as he leaned at the side of nurses’ station. He glanced behind the counter but both nurses seemed to be busy looking for the files for him and Sienna. So Cheng leaned in and whispered, “I mean, he also did say he believes in me. Which was like, wo-ow out of the blue but turns out you can never know what that the man is thinking, huh?”

Sienna just smiled. She might have considered saying something yet only tilted her head a little, her smile growing even warmer.

“That was huge!” Cheng drummed his fingers on the counter. “First half of everything I believed in the past seven years to crash down on me, I was helpless, there was nothing I could do to– well, you already know.” He winced then quickly shook his head and went on, “It hurts, I won’t lie. What happened to Mr Collins, what is to happen rather–

“There you go,” Cheng yelped at the soft voice by his side, “Dr Lee, Dr Trinh.” Danny handed them the files.

“Oh, thank you– I spaced out, sorry.” Cheng smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, as the two nurses hid their smiles, and Sienna chuckled. “Thank you. See you later.”

With that Cheng started walking down the corridor, and soon Sienna followed.

“Then the other half of everything I believed in came down on my head too,” whispered Cheng and sighed. “I thought Dr Rasmey was the bad guy, I basically got so far to prove him wrong and, damn… He still remembers Cassie, he didn’t let her die, oh, and he still remembers me too. Although he didn’t know it was me until last week.”

Cheng shoved the files under his arm and stuffed his hands into his coat’s pockets. “So you know what I have decided?” He grinned and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Sienna looked back, she was now a few steps ahead of Cheng and stopped walking too.

“I’ve decided I still have a reason to be here. I’d be the best doctor I could ever be so that Cassie would have been proud of me. Plus, I still don’t very much like Dr Ramsey treating patient’s like test material, even for the greater good. I’m bringing a change into that attitude of his.” Cheng gestured, which made the files slip, and he darted to catch them. “And, yeah, I remember you said I need to quit my emotionally unhealthy pattern where I keep pushing myself too hard to prove somebody else wrong because I really hate their guts but… old habits die hard?”

Sienna nudged him.

“Hey!”

She smiled and stepped closer to Cheng’s side. She was a head shorter so placed her hands against Cheng’s shoulder and rose on her tiptoes to reach his ear.

“You don’t sound like you still hate him now.”

Cheng groaned. There were back to that topic. Again!

“You don’t go from hating somebody’s guts to liking then over a week!” he shouted in a carefully hushed whisper.

Sienna just laughed and nudged him again.

“Alright!” Cheng whirled his head around but they were alone in the corridor. “I don’t appreciate his attitude or methods, yet can’t deny he’s smart and, huh, apparently, clearly knows what’s he is doing.” He strode off with Sienna following on his heels. “So I might be rethinking my he-the-worst-doc-ever but not to the Landry’s fanatics?” Cheng looked away to hide his face. Or not to see Sienna’s grin. “Don’t tell the others.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she whispered back.

“Thanks.” Cheng paused and glanced her way. Something in Sienna’s smile was clearly unnerving him, but Cheng couldn’t place it. “I am also to continue my research so my improvised lab stays in the living room.”

“Oh, I think it really nice–“

“Jackie hates it,” noticed Cheng.

Sienna’s smile faltered for a moment. “Jackie hates it,” she did admit, a mischievous smile touching the corner of her lips. “Do you hate him?”

Cheng stopped just as he was about to call the elevator. “Who?”

“Dr Ramsey,” persisted Sienna and pushed the button herself.

Cheng grimaced and gave her an odd look. Or was that supposed to be a glare? Cheng felt too confused to know. “Where did that even come from?” He sighed and watched the numbers change on the screen. “I kinda… don’t hate him now? Ugh. I don’t like him but I don’t hate him anymore. Not by choice, it was more of I can’t hate somebody who believes in me more than I do? Something. ”

“Ooow, I believe in you too,” Sienna cooed and hugged him.

Cheng grinned and leaned into the embrace. Those always felt so warm, so comfy. As if he was back home with his gran and had nothing to care about.

“We got your back,” said Sienna and lightly patted his arm.

“I don’t mind getting used to it,” Cheng mumbled into her shoulder. “Your hugs are the best.” Then came a ping! and the elevator doors finally slid open.

The two doctors stepped in and went on with their shifts. What, or rather who they didn’t notice was…

Dr Ethan Ramsey was on his way from his office. Some patient files in his hands, as Ethan was leafing through them, he was not exactly looking where he was going.

“Dr Ramsey.”

The usual scowl tugged on the corner of his lips. There went the tolerably good mood after the cup of coffee he just had.

Ethan glanced up – to notice that nobody was calling out for him. Now, he almost relaxed again when he saw them. Or better to say, first, heard him. Rookie.

“Where did that even come from?” grumbled the intern.

Ethan stopped. His eyes easily found the two interns waiting by the elevators. From where he stood by the corridor turn, they probably wouldn’t notice him unless they turned around. Ethan, however, could see both quite well, his gaze lingering on the taller figure just a little longer than he would care to admit.

Were they talking about him? It seemed that way.

“I kinda… don’t hate him now?” muttered Dr Lee. “Ugh, I don’t like him… ” his voice grew too quiet for Ethan to hear.

Ethan might have craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the intern's expression, and yet all he could see was the back of the said intern’s head. Dr Lee was telling the other intern something more. Dr Sienna Trinh was her name as Ethan remembered. Before, he didn’t realise those two were that close.

“Ooow, I believe in you too,” cooed Dr Trinh.

“Of course, you should,” thought Ethan, and his fingers tightened on the files he held just a little bit. “He’s brilliant. Wait–”

Dr Trinh giggled, threw her arms up and pulled rookie into a hug. And rookie smiled, grinned so happily and leaned into that embrace.

Then came a ping! and the elevator doors slid open, the two interns leaving the next moment.

Ethan didn’t move for some time.

“Ugh, I don’t like him… ”

It was for the better. Was it? They are an intern and an attendant, it’s more normal to dislike one’s boss, right?

Ethan shook his head and stepped out in the corridor. He had work to do, patients waiting for him.

“Why am I even remembering what rookie has said about me?” His lips tightened into a thin line at the thought.

Ethan grabbed the files slipping from under his arm and strode towards the elevators. Several steps away, he suddenly winced and stormed off to the left. For a reason he couldn’t explain, he took the stairs instead.

“Dr Lee, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t it be Dr Lee? As if it could slip Naveen’s attention that I only have a nickname for one of the interns. There is no purpose behind it. It stuck the first day I saw him, that’s all…”

And Ethan decided he definitely was not wondering just how close was Dr Lee with Dr Trinh.

“…don't hate him now?” Yet why did that sound so comforting?

- - -

to these series belong:

• When Push Comes to Shove

- - -

Taglist: @msjpuddleduck @warning-fangirlapproaching @x-kyne-x @lilyofchoices @rookie-ramsey @lapisreviewsstuff @fuckingelfstolemyliver @lauren-choices @givemeoneethan @potbam @trashyandco @commander-rahrah @furiouscloddonutpeanut @journeesblog @snivellusim @archieandrewsbf

#open heart #ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #dr ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #mc x ethan ramsey #mc x ethan #choices open heart #oh male mc #choices male mc #ethan ramsey x male mc #ethan ramsey x m!mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #oh m!mc #male MC #male mc fanfiction #sienna trinh #dr sienna trinh

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good-intentions-if · 6 years ago

Text

A Quick Evans Vignette

Morning all.

I --quite literally-- dreamt up a cool scene for Agent Hancock last night, but aside from the fact that I haven’t written it yet, it also covers some spoiler territory so I couldn’t share it anyway.

So instead I wrote a quick Evans vignette. I’m not sure if I want to consider it “canon” as, to be perfectly blunt, I banged it out in ten minutes and didn’t exactly put a huge amount of effort into it. It was more of a thought exercise in “what do the other characters do when the MC isn’t around?”

Anyway, here’s a thing:

The door of her rustbucket old Ford creaked and groaned in protest as she stepped out into the frigid night air. The discordant flashing red strobes from half a dozen police cars cast weird shadows up and down the filthy frozen alley, making the faces of the officers milling around the scene look strange and inhuman. Wrinkling her nose as a rogue gust of wind blew the stench of something old and rotting across her face, she shrugged more deeply into her coat and headed in.

Officer Jackson watched her approach, nodding in acknowledgment as she drew near.

“Hell of a night for it, Detective.”

Evans sighed, replying, “It’s never a good night for a murder.”

“Yeah, but this one is…” Jackson trailed off, eyes going distant for a moment. Refocusing on Detective Evans she continued, “It’s bad.”

Evans’ lips compressed into a tight line for a moment before replying, “Then I guess I’d better go take a look.”

Stuffing her hands into her coat pockets, she really wished she hadn’t forgotten her gloves at home. Icicles hung long and heavy from the looming buildings on either side of the narrow alley, and the ground was slick with black ice where it wasn’t covered in dirty gray snow.

Navigating the treacherous terrain, she passed by the cordon of cars and caught the first sight of tonight’s call. A young man, dressed only in a pair of stained white boxers, lying sprawled across the frozen, cracked cobblestones of the alley. The ME, Kazinsky, was standing nearby, puffing on a cigarette and looking like he wished he were anywhere else. She couldn’t really blame him.

“What do you have for me, doc?” she asked as she crouched down to examine the dead man. The skin of the corpse had already taken on a blueish tint, and was covered with a light dusting of frost. Her eyes were primarily drawn to the gaping wound in his chest though. His ribs had been sawed away, and in the space where his heart should have been there was only a dark hole.

“Well, I’ll need to thaw him out back at the morgue and perform an autopsy to be sure, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say the preliminary cause of death was cyanide poisoning.”

Evans sighed deeply. “That makes five in the last two months.”

Kazinsky nodded, adding, “I’m afraid so. Just like the others, this poor soul was dumped here post-mortem. Not nearly enough blood in this alley for it to have happened here.”

“They took this one’s eyes. That’s new.”

“You’ve got a real sick one on your hands here, Detective. And they seem to be escalating.”

Nodding grimly, Evans was about to rise when something caught her eye.

“Hey Doc, give me a hand here. I need to get his jaw open.”

Crouching beside her, Kazinsky worked at the rigid, frozen muscles of the man’s jaw, straining against the rigor until he managed to part the tightly clenched teeth just enough for Evans to snake two fingers into his mouth and retrieve the object she had glimpsed.

It was a small scrap of paper, with a message on one side written in neat cursive.

“Seven Hearts for the King. Seven Eyes for the Queen. And What of the Prince? Seven Days and Seven Nights Until Paradise.”

“What does it mean, Detective?” asked Kazinsky.

“I’m not sure yet. All I do know is that whoever is behind this isn’t going to stop until I catch them.”

Grim determination in her heart, Evans rose and stalked back to her car, mind ablaze with questions and theories.

#Detective Evans #Good Intentions #those pesky serial killers

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sugar-booger · 7 years ago

Text

One More Adventure Ch.2

An Endless Summer fanfiction ( Jake x MC)

Hey guys! I didn't expect such a good batch of reviews for the first chapter in fanfiction.net! Thank you so much! I do hope you'll like my take on this post-ending fanfiction. Shoutout to the wonderful person who put my fic as a recommended read on Reddit. Sending so much love to you, and everyone who's reading.

Anyhow, enjoy! Critiques and reviews are always welcome. I would love to know what I can improve on!

"I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me… you're gonna be the one that saves me, you're gonna be the one that saves me…"

Jake strums the last of the chords until the echoes fade, and he sighs. He sets aside his guitar on the floor, himself sprawled across the messy comfort of his bed. He closes his eyes. Another night goes by. Los Angeles was a little too noisy for his taste, but it is what it is. Rebecca's here, LAX pays well and gives him the flexibility to choose his routes and schedules, and it was busy and loud enough sometimes to keep him distracted. Good number of bars too, a number of places to get the kind of whiskey he liked.

But their reunion at La Huerta was now a turning point; no whiskey or noise could erase such thoughts in his mind— it was Taylor. Taylor. Taylor all over again, for five months.

Behind closed eyes, Jake tries to remember every detail about her—her blue eyes, her goddamn smile, the curve of her lips and how soft they were every time he kissed them, her voice, her hands, her waist, her body, the way she talked, the way she handled things—everything, he tries to keep all the small things that make her in his mind, memorizing them.

He wouldn't forget her. He doesn't want to.

Vibrating beneath tangled sheets, his phone rings. He opens his eyes lazily, greeted by the slightly grimy ceiling with a lone, dim light bulb. Large windows at the west side of his room filled mostly the illumination, casting faint colorful lights from the city streets and buildings outside.

He yanks the phone from under the blanket, near his leg. Eyes widened at the caller ID.

"Malfoy?"

"I know it's late there already. Sorry to interrupt your sleep," Aleister answers from the other line.

Jake sits up, pulling down his scrunched shirt. He could hear the indistinct traffic from Aleister's end. "Nah, it's fine. Wasn't sleepin' yet… You got something for me?"

It takes a few seconds of noise and screeches, and then Grace's voice takes over. Jake swears he heard swerving and some honks. "Jake, sorry… Aleister's driving. We just came back from London, and, er, we may need to regroup as soon as possible. How long do you think you could fly to Craig and Zahra's apartment in Hartfeld?"

"What?" Jake blinks. "LA to Massachusetts?"

"Yes. It's the safest place that we could discuss things. We… The PI finally located the Prism Gate and is ready to hand us some encrypted data we're giving to Zahra. It's still in Northbridge, and we've been given directions to its site but Silas Prescott completely rebuilt and fortified his security, so we may need to— Hello?"

The phone was on loud speaker, perched atop his cabinet. A notification pops up—a reply from a fellow pilot to Jake's message a few seconds ago if he would be able to pull some strings and get Jake to hop on the next flight to Boston.

"Five hours."

"What?" Grace asks.

Jake pulls out a duffel bag beneath his bed, quickly stuffing it with some clothes and his wallet. He starts getting dressed. "I'll get on a plane right now. Be there in five hours. Everyone's comin'?"

"I still need to call up Quinn, Michelle and Sean, but the rest are headed there. We'll be there in an hour."

"Countin' on it. Thanks. See ya." The pilot hangs up, his eyes lingering on the screen of his wallpaper, before nodding to himself and getting a move on. This was a risk that he'd take if it meant a chance to get to see her again.

He darts out behind the apartment they lived in, towards a figure hidden under a black cloth. Beneath the oil-tainted fabric was a sleek, custom-built street motorcycle with a lustrous combo of green and black. Jake unchains it and slips on the helmet, securing his duffel bag behind, and speeds off into the blaring scenario that is the busy, gaudy night life of LA.

The pilot slips neatly into the traffic, through narrow spaces between cars and limousines that pollute the hectic roads. People in their glitzy and swanky clothes line up in front of the biggest clubs and bars, the lot of them arguing with bouncers. He shakes his head.

The colors and lights blur into the hazy background of buildings and establishments, and Jake skids to a stop at a red traffic light. 90 seconds. For the period he waited, there were flashing colors of red, blue and white from a shop, and Jake is reminded of Taylor again. Up at the control tower, the day they landed on La Huerta. It was the moment he really looked at her up-close—this woman he learned to appreciate, admire, and love over the next few weeks.

Taylor was a tough, resilient woman who balanced wit, compassion and fairness. Beauty and humor was just a bonus. She was someone who exhibited courage and bravery, putting on the armor for others when trouble was coming.

In the recording, she told him that it's because of him she had the strength and confidence to make that final decision. But Jake knew otherwise. He knew Taylor would be ready to give up everything for the good of everyone.

But that was what made things more painful. In exchange for the world's fate, for everyone's future, Taylor had to not be a part of it anymore. She never did belong to this world, but she fit perfectly in their lives. In his life, his heart. But he wanted to believe she made the right decision.

What would life be if they had chosen to stay in La Huerta together? If they had gone with Rourke's offer, would he be able to find her and fall in love again, in a world where they would never have met?

12 seconds. Jake clutches the throttle of his bike. He then sees Rebecca out patrolling, coming out from the corner of the street. Jake winks at her and does a finger gun gesture.

"Where—"

But he never gets to hear whatever she was about to say; he hustles further into the road to the airport as the light switched to green. In a matter of minutes, he reached his destination and boarded the plane smoothly, although he may have bribed some security personnel and fellow workmates for it.

In four and a half hours, Jake rouses awake as the plane descends into a calmer landscape. He quickly hops in a taxi that breezes by the quieter streets of Boston in the early morning, brown trees with crisp orange and yellow leaves peppered along the road and a serene view of the seaside just beyond. Right now, his body is screaming for coffee.

He checks his phone, the screen lined up with Rebecca's messages. Jake chuckles.

'Sorry, I'll be gone for a few days. Kinda needed to fly. Take care.'

The golden rays of the sun paint the pale sky as he goes further, and the scene melts into an array of smaller establishments and commercial spaces as they enter the town of Hartfeld. Hartfeld University covers almost the entirety of his journey. They stop in front of a sleek apartment complex, an intimidating building with six storeys and a polished black, white and grey façade.

He smoothens his sandy blonde hair and makes his way to Zahra and Craig's apartment, up on the fourth floor. He waits. A series of clicks could be heard from the other side.

"Yo, 'bout time." Craig greets him upon opening the door. He clears his throat. "Er, I mean, welcome to the… party! So nice of you to join us Jake, and we're totally just doing some happy reunion, yeah?"

Jake raises his brow at this attempt of concealing their meeting. Craig grins nervously, darting eyes looking for anyone behind Jake, or maybe some bugged device, a tracker, anything—and then Aleister calls from inside the room.

"Just please get him inside."

Craig ushers the pilot in and shuts the door, securing it with a number of locks. Jake meets seven other faces gathered around the living room area—Raj, Grace, Aleister, Diego, Varyyn, Sean, and Quinn. On the center table was a tray of freshly brewed coffee, and Raj offers him a cup. "Creamer and sugar are just here in case."

Jake graciously takes the black coffee. "Sweet Jesus, this is all I need. Thanks."

Grace leans forward. "Now that we're here, we will just wait for Estela to arrive. Zahra's in her office, and she'll call for us when she's laid out what we have. She's um, she said better not to disturb her."

He keeps his bag away and sits down beside Diego, sipping from the mug. "Is Sarah Connor fighting off Terminator?"

"She'll be arriving anytime soon." Aleister replies, putting away his phone after a seemingly stressed reading from his e-mails. "Her flight from San Trobida takes about three hours. It's the fastest I could get for my… er, her."

A slightly uncomfortable silence hangs in the air, until—

"So, like… She's your sister, right?" Craig asks.

"I… suppose so," the blond answers, his head low. "Besides Reginald and my father, she's the only relative I have. I'd want to have a good relationship with my own... sister. It's been five years, but we've… not quite bonded as siblings should."

"I'm sure it'll be okay," Grace assures him with a warm smile. "Estela would naturally choose to stay in San Trobida instead of here in the US, so you really don't get much time together. Maybe we can go out someday soon as a family?"

Aleister's pale cheeks flush a faint pink, but a grateful smile replaces his frown. "Yes, that's… That would be lovely."

Jake scans the gang again. "Doc Maybelline?"

Sean sighs, leaning against the recliner. Raj offers him a bowl of nachos garnished with bacon and cheese, to which the football star declines politely. "She hasn't exactly left the hospital since yesterday. Northbridge citizens have been in and out lately with the superheroes versus super villains casualties."

"She said she'll try to come as soon as she can after her shift." Quinn says with a smile. On her lap was Furball, munching on a nacho and leaving crumbs on the redhead's shorts. "It's been really hectic for her."

"Yeah man, Northbridge is always on the news! That Talos guy sure is a cool hero," Craig says with a grin. "Then there's Minuet and Diamante, and they're really kickin' some ass lately too!"

"These heroes you mention, they are the ones with bronze for a body, a masked woman in gray, and another woman with a red cape?" Varyyn inquires, a curious gleam in his bright yellow eyes. Diego had him dressed in a comfortable hoodie and sweat pants for the season.

"Yes, my man, yes." Craig says proudly, fishing out his phone and showing some digitally made artworks, albeit seeming like drafts, for the Elyyshar. "Our team is planning to make a video game out of the Northbridge heroes and I am so pumped!"

"But the more superheroes come forward, the more villains pop out too." Diego says, putting three teaspoons of sugar into his cream-colored coffee. "Northbridge's reconstruction of buildings is non-stop, and a survey from their Mayor's office says that half of the city wants to evacuate if this keeps up."

"Man, that sucks." Sean shakes his head. "But heroes always win, right? Maybe it's tough now, but eventually the good guys will find a way to restore peace and order. Hopefully that kind of problem with super villains don't spread out to other places."

A knock comes from the door, and almost everyone jumps at the sudden noise. It takes a moment for them to look at each other, and Craig strides to the door nervously and presses his face to the peep hole. "Yo, she's here!"

It takes another series of unlocking and clicks before Craig pulls the door open to welcome Estela, who steps in with her usual wary look. "…Good morning."

"Mornin' Estela! Coffee?" Raj bounds to her cheerfully with a mug, which Estela takes with a grateful nod.

"Er, I hope your flight proved to be alright…? Did you have any problem?" Aleister stands up, trying not to show the worry and uncertainty in his smile. He's failing.

Estela simply shakes her head and stands at the side of the sofa, mug in hand. "It went alright. Thanks." She pauses, avoiding Aleister's eyes, and finally mutters, "How's… Reggie?"

"He's chipper and healthy. You should visit him soon." Aleister answers briefly with a smile. Estela nods with small smile, although warm and eager.

Furball jumps off Quinn's lap and nuzzles against the Colombian's leg, to which she would give a small, gentle pat on its head. She tries to conceal a smile as her fingers brush against its soft fur. Everyone resumes talking as they waited for Zahra.

Jake savors the warm taste of rich black coffee. He turns to Grace from across the table, who was watching some videos of their kid on her phone.

"Missing him, eh?" He smiles.

Grace's head snaps to him, her expression surprised, but she relaxes and nods proudly. "Mom's taking care of him while we're here… It's something of an apology from her, but she's actually really fond of her grandchild. Reginald's been a handful, but that's okay. He's happy, we're happy, and I think that all that matters."

"Good to hear that," Jake says briefly, sipping from his mug. He takes a few seconds before sucking in air sharply. "You… mentioned about the Prism Gate being in Northbridge. How far is that place from here?"

"It's an hour drive to the west of Hartfeld. It's a pretty big city, and as you may hear…" She looks at the rest of the gang, with Craig surveying who was their favorite hero. "It's been unsafe and alarming. Over the course of five months, a lot of casualties and superhero conflicts had happened. It was tough for the PI to investigate."

"Yeah, that… Anything you might wanna share? Brief us or something."

The group falls silent as Grace takes a minute to organize her thoughts. "The PI shared some interesting matters over the last five months. When Craig asked last time if the Prism Gate is any way connected to the superheroes, I said yes. The initial discovery was that all the super humans so far had a trace of the crystal's particles in their bloodstream."

Craig whistled. "Daaaaaaamn."

"Additionally, Silas produced a liquified version of the crystals which he called the Liquid Prism. The news says these things have been stolen and passed on from criminal to criminal, and with the rising rates of supervillains, the conclusion is that these Liquid Prism have been consumed to produce such an army."

Varyyn appears surprised. "This is… the potential of Vaanu's crystals have more to offer than what we know. Such power was not discovered by anyone in the Vaanti."

"We don't know for sure if these crystals have been harnessed differently by the Prescott Industries to have this kind of effect on humans." Grace says. "They've been studying these for 25 years. Maybe we'll get some answers once Zahra gets access on the files."

"This is why Silas Prescott has likely increased security in his properties." Aleister continues. His hand intertwines with Grace's, thumb gently grazing over her skin. "The rampant rate of super villains grows day by day, and stronger. Who knows which mastermind would get their hands on the Liquid Prism next if he would not secure them."

The discussion is interrupted as a disheveled Zahra throws open the door of her office. She doesn't say anything. Her eyes are wide, looking at everyone gathered.

Craig jogs to her side. "Z? You okay?"

"God, and I thought we were doing something illegal." Zahra shakes her head. "Guys, you have to see this."

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bun2tacute · 3 years ago

Text

nitrinos Porch light off best tipper hat on cum in hair shaved beard no voting no marriage no shared accounts no mowing the lawn no making fun of feeding birds no doing dishes loud toilet seat down keep phone sanitized wash food oil body mouth boil sink clean laundry dishes trash sanitizing bills use airmail wear mri and penicillin bands everyday journal water food pedometer run workout durations salt intake calenders ovulation green x red x period appointments thunder and rain stick at least one hour of face pull and grab exercise vacuum vents with pink face Wayfair hetty vacuum

USPS passport visa testing tie around mask Uline Chanel bag icelandic obsidian switch money careem talabat ticket restaurants cards Coin beaches bodegas rivers kitchen hotels jails rollercoaster wet wipes clear eyes

Windows

apple

cricket

Netflix

Amazon/hbo prime

Hulu Xfinity PayPal progressive chase pubg qq Fordeal duo Facebook only fans chatzy telegram Tumblr

YouTube email maps Mico fruit ninja hdmi Roblox sonic dumb ways Mario kart ohshc Dreamcast basketball racing elfen lied magi Garfield Richard scarry bee movie Rosario vampire petshop mha purble place VR chat Fortnite switch 7 days to die monster high fall out far cry ps2-4 psp toy story Xbox sonic little big planet mortal Kombat

Shows: Garfield paper heist ohshc Rosario vampire Clarence uncle grandpa tlc aqua teen hunger force doc mc stuffing moana dre hughes dayjia Sofia the first doc McStuffins Rick and Morter Bob gumball cyberchase Mickey mouse club house mha film snake in woods shark in pool Richard scarry ruby gloom strawberry shortcake pjmasks miraculous wonder pets Scooby Doo and the witches ghost Winnie cave woods Easter christmas flood Arabic Korean singing or baby vhs wizard of oz a Christmas story Tinkerbell one piece one punch man f is for family

Looney tunes and Tom and Jerry

Bomb Snapchat lol for a McLaren get pubg help from an Arab qq help from made in China

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bloojayoolie · 6 years ago

Photo

Being Alone, Apparently, and Birthday: Doc Id 51731, 1 Yr, 49 lbs., at the Manhattan ACO A baby puppy, doe-like in his sweetness, innocence and ganalu, awkward pu playfulness. A cuddler, a snuggler, a lover of other dogs! A total sweetheart! pp TO BE KILLED - 1/14/2019 A super sweet, gentle, doe like boy – all gangly, sweet, bouncy, awkward, gentle, and polite puppy playfulness. DOC is a gem. He is great with people, great with other dogs, eager to please and easy to love. Just watch his videos. He has such an innocence about him, a vulnerability. He has no idea how dangerous and precarious his position is and that at any moment, if he contracts the dreaded shelter cold, he will be on the list to die. A cuddler, a hugger, a baby who has only reached his first birthday and looks at the world with wonder. Don’t let his life be cut short and his last days be spent in a cage. Hurry and save his life. Message our page right now or email us at [email protected] right now for assistance fostering or adopting him. A volunteer writes: What's up with Doc? Two perky ears, one wagging tail and lots of bouncy hugs and play bows! He's a very curious puppy who explores life with all his senses and when not cavorting with four-legged friends in playgroup you'll find him eagerly snuffling his way to the bottom of everything from a leaf pile in the park to the bag of treats in your pocket. Doc knows commands for come and sit, appears quite house trained and has no problem sharing his toys or treats so he makes for a wonderfully fun play date. He's a strong leash puller, especially when greeting other dogs, but always eager to please. With a little more training I'm sure his walking manners can be polished to the same sparkling perfection as his social skills. Handsome Doc is ready to start taking names and breaking hearts as soon as possible and he'd love to be your new sidekick. Ask to meet him today! MY VIDEOS! Doc is a playful Cutie! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqA3TddEkRo I’m delightful in doggy playgroup! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnFN2P5XJXg DOC, ID # 51731, @ 1 Yr. Old, 49.4 lbs. Manhattan ACC, Medium Mixed Breed, Chocolate / White, Unaltered Male Surrender Reason: Stray, 1/3/2019 Shelter Assessment Rating: LEVEL 1 (see bottom of post for rating system notes) Medical Behavior Rating: 1. Green SURRENDER NOTES – BASIC INFORMATION: Doc is medium mixed breed sized dog. Doc is friendly and will allow to be collared, leashed, and walked. He also loves to play and lick. Doc also likes to be pet as well. Doc is highly energetic and loves to jump around and play. Doc allows petting and will sit for you for treats. OWNER SURRENDER NOTES – BASIC INFORMATION: Princess Dancer is a 9 month old, medium mixed breed female who was not spayed prior to coming into the shelter. She has no known health issues or injuries and last saw a vet a year ago. Princess Dancer was in her previous home for 9 months and was surrendered due to personal reasons. She lived with 3 adults. Princess Dancer is friendly and outgoing when meeting new people. She does greet people with a high energy and jumps up on them. Princess Dancer has spent time around children and is playful and affectionate around them. As stated, she does have a high energy level and can knock down small children. Princess Dancer has not spent time around dogs before. Princess Dancer lived with a cat and has gotten into altercations with her that resulted in her having to be separated. Princess Dancer does not guard her toys, treats or food. She has no bite history. She is partially housetrained and has a high energy level. Princess Dancer has never had any medical issues. Other Notes: Princess Dancer is not bothered by having her food or toys touched. She allows her owner to bathe her and brush her but she has not trimmed her nails. Princess Dancer will alert bark when someone comes to the door. For a New Family to Know: Princess Dancer is described as being friendly, affectionate and playful. She likes to follow her owner around when she is home and plays with balls, stuffed toys, squeaky toys and chew bones. Princess has been mainly an indoor dog but walks on leash outside for exercise. Princess sleeps in her owners bed, eats dry food and is house trained to go outside and on newspaper inside. She will chew shoes and house hold items when left alone in the house if they are left in reach of her on the floor. INTAKE NOTES – DATE OF INTAKE: 12/30/2018 Princess Dancer had a loose and wiggly body during intake while outside. No handling was done by counselor. ACS took her straight to ISO. SHELTER ASSESSMENT – Date of assessment: 6-Jan-2019 SUMMARY LEASH WALKING Strength and pulling: hard Reactivity to humans: none Reactivity to other dogs: none Reactivity other: none Leash walking comments: Pulls very hard on leash SOCIABILITY Loose in room: Moderately social Call over: Approaches with coaxing Sociability comments: Sniffed the room then approached handler with loose body. HANDLING Soft handling: Accepts contact Exuberant handling: Seeks contact Handling comments: Social, leans into pets AROUSAL Jog: Engages in play with handler Tug: Tugs, drops toy Comments: Moderately playful with toy RAISED VOICE No response Comments: None TOY Grips, relinquishes Comments: None PLAYGROUP NOTES – DOG TO DOG SUMMARIES: Doc may be most compatible with other social, playful dogs. 1/3: When introduced off leash to the female greeter dog, Doc is soft and gently playful. 1/4-1/8: Doc engages in running and bouncy play with male and female dogs. INTAKE BEHAVIOR - Date of intake: 3-Jan-2019. Summary: Active, social, allowed handling. MEDICAL BEHAVIOR - Date of initial: 3-Jan-2019. Summary: Allowed handling. ENERGY LEVEL: We have no history on Doc so we cannot be certain of his behavior in a home environment. However, he is a young, enthusiastic, social dog who will need daily mental and physical activity to keep him engaged and exercised. We recommend long-lasting chews, food puzzles, and hide-and-seek games, in additional to physical exercise, to positively direct his energy and enthusiasm. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION: Level 1 Behavior Asilomar - H – Healthy MEDICAL EXAM NOTES 8-Jan-2019 Progress Exam. Vet Notes: 2:36 PM. SO: recheck diarrhea; ongoing since ~1/3. Has apparently been resolving with increased consistency to stool. EN -- eyes and nose are clear with no discharge. A: diarrhea r/o diarrhea r/o stress, intestinal parasites, dietary, other. 7-Jan-2019 Progress Exam. Vet Notes: 9:17 PM. Hx: Diarrhea almost daily since arrival on 1/3. Most recently, diarrhea on 1/5, 1/6 and this morning. Pt is currently on metronidazole 22 mg/kg PO BID. S: BAR in kennel, barking at me with tail wagging. O: No coughing, sneezing or nasal discharge. A: Diarrhea since intake - R/O stress vs. dietary intolerance vs. other cause. P: Change diet - start with hypoallergenic diet, (z/d), consider other brands as they become available. 1088 5-Jan-2019 Progress Exam. Vet Notes: 4:05 PM. SO: BAR in kennel. P has had multiple bouts of diarrhea for 2 days. Diarrhea is loose, cow patty in consistency with slight amount of blood at the end. A: diarrhea r/o stress, intestinal parasites, dietary, other. P: metronidazole 500mg tablet -- give 1 tablet PO q12h x 7 days, proviable capsule 1 capsule PO q24h x 7 days. 3-Jan-2019 DVM Intake. Vet Notes: 3:23 PM, DVM Intake Exam. Estimated age: Estimated 1-2 years old based on dentition and overall appearance. Microchip noted on Intake? Scanned negative on LVT exam, MC placed at that time. History : Stray, no health hx available. Subjective: Alert, walks well on leash. Observed Behavior - Initially slightly tense, eats tuna and chicken, wags tail and allows all handling. Evidence of Cruelty seen – None. Evidence of Trauma seen – None. Objective: BAR-H, MMs pink and moist, BCS 5/9, EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted. Oral Exam: Clean adult teeth. PLN: No enlargements noted. H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupnic, no coughing or sneezing. ABD: Soft, not distended, non painful, no masses palpated. U/G: Male intact, testicles S/S. MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat. CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities. Rectal: Normal externally. Assessment: Apparently healthy. Prognosis: Excellent. Plan: Neuter, placement. SURGERY: Okay for surgery. 1088 3-Jan-2019 LVT Intake L V T Notes: 7:50 AM Microchip Scan: Negative. Evidence of Cruelty: No. Observed Behavior: Green, Allows handling. Sex: Male intact. Estimated Age: 1 yr. Subjective: apparently healthy . Eyes: clean. Ears: clean. Oral Exam: no tartar. Heart: normal. Lungs: normal. Abdomen: not distended. Musculoskeletal: normal. Mentation: BARH. PLan: need DVM exam. * TO FOSTER OR ADOPT * HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! * STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: https://newhope.shelterbuddy.com/Animal/List Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account \ Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU CANNOT GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications.

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Being Alone #Apparent

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dominodebt · 8 years ago

Text

a lick and a promise

“Nice place,” the boy comments.

Angela declines to reply, neatly giving the speaker her back—still keeping him in her line of sight by using the reflective surface of a stainless steel tray she has propped up on the counter for this exact purpose.

He cocks his head to the side, and she watches in the reflection as his matted hair falls unevenly into his glittering, coal-dark eyes.

“You ain’t one for talkin’, are ya?”

She loathes his accent. She loathes everything about him, truthfully—the dirt he tracked in, the sly smile he’d tossed her way, the fact that she knows this is the same member of the Deadlock Gang who shot Torbjörn—but his accent is at least near the top of the list she’s been writing in her head since he was brought to her infirmary.

“I am very vocal when there is something worthwhile to discuss,” she returns coolly, eyes trained on the syringe she’s prepping.

She can practically feel his cocksure grin.

“Yeah, I’ll bet yer pretty vocal. Uptight gals like you are always the loudest in the sack.”

He chuckles at his own joke, and she turns to give him a look of dead disinterest over her shoulder.

“How vulgar,” she remarks, not a glimmer of interest in her voice. Reyes owes her for this, he has no idea—

He flashes her a grin that prominently displays a chipped tooth that she can’t help but catalogue, even though there isn’t a chance in hell she’s going to do anything about it.

Make Reyes hire a damned dentist. It’s not her problem.

“Sweetheart, you ain’t seen vulgar yet,” he promises her in a low, gravelly voice that she knows is something he’s fabricated. There’s no possible way the natural cadence of this skinny beanpole of an arms dealer sounds like that.

But Angela has a choice to make. Because on the one hand—he’s bluffing. Rather impressively so, if she’s being honest, but a bluff is a bluff and she can call them with utter confidence. He’s scared, cornered, and injured, so his natural course of action is to lash out and establish dominance.

Her lips twitch at the thought.

Dominance? Over her?

Not in this lifetime.

She turns to face him, leaning up against the counter and arching an eyebrow.

On the other hand: she’s Angela fucking Ziegler.

And no one—not the President of the UN and certainly not some some lanky American punk—is going to treat her with disrespect in her own damn infirmary.

“The only one who is going to be any kind of fucked is you if you insist on harassing me instead of letting me do my job,” she tells him, voice cold and hard with authority. “Which, for the record, is preventing the untimely end of your very sad existence.”

Silence. The boy just stares at her, cocky grin long gone, eyes somewhat wide.

She flashes him a smile that’s all teeth.

“Begreifen?” her native language is even harsher. She watches as his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow.

“I…uh…” he fumbles for words, still just staring at her. “Sorry?”

She rolls her eyes, giving him her back again as she returns to the syringe.

“Keep your tastelessness to yourself,” is her dismissive answer. “I like to keep my infirmary clean.”

She can still feel his gaze across her shoulders—while his entire countenance is rather underwhelming, his eyes are sharp as a fresh knife—and does her best to ignore it as she goes back to readying the medicine. Manners aside—the boy is in rough shape. Reyes hadn’t given her much of an explanation when he’d brought him in. She had no files, no medical history.

Reyes hadn’t even told her the kid’s name.

“Y’ain’t gonna kill me?”

Angela blinks, frowning to herself as she stills her movements.

“What?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder, peering at him from around an errant lock of hair.

He’s staring her down. She refuses to duck his gaze.

He gestures to the syringe in her grasp—the movement takes both of his hands, as he’s cuffed at the wrists and ankles. Angela had insisted to Reyes that it wasn’t necessary, but he’d hauled the hogtied arms dealer in anyway, all but throwing him up on her operating table before storming out.

“Of course I’m not going to kill you,” she tells him, frowning back. “Why would I do that?”

The boy just shrugs noncommittally. His eyes are buckshot dark, and Angela can feel the weight of them keenly across her back when she turns again.

“I’m a doctor,” she says, because maybe he doesn’t know? She picks up the syringe, an alcohol wipe, and a bandage before turning back.

“Yeah,” he says, eyeing her warily as she steps up beside the table. “An Overwatch doctor.”

Angela’s brow furrows as she rolls up his sleeve—his shirt is dark and crusted with dirt and old blood, his skin littered with scars—and wipes down his bony shoulder with the alcohol pad.

“What do you mean by that?” she asks softly, peering up at him.

He glances over to meet her gaze, and she’s struck again at the ferocity she sees there. His body is falling apart, but his eyes remain overbright and wild.

“Jus’ go ahead and put me out, Doc,” he tells her, his voice leaking with sudden exhaustion.

She gives him another hard look—she’s going to have a long talk with Reyes after this, that’s for damn sure—before readying the syringe.

“I will see you when you wake up…” she trails off, hesitating, suddenly feeling embarrassed at her slip. “Er…what was your name?”

She braces herself for a smartass response, or maybe just a dead stare.

Instead, he flashes her a quick grin—a sly, practiced thing that she knows intuitively is familiar on his face.

“Name’s McCree.”

-0-

“He’s got to go.” Morrison’s voice leaves no room for argument.

“You haven’t even given him a chance, Jack!” Reyes argues back.

“He had his chance. And you know what he did with it? Joined up with the Deadlock Gang—”

“He was forced into that and you fucking know it—”

“If we give every outlaw we come across a second chance—”

“Well if we just haul off and kill ‘em then what makes us any better than the fuckin’ gangs in the first—”

“Overwatch is not a gang, Gabe—”

“It’s not a dictatorship either!”

Angela sighs to herself as she sits outside the infirmary. Her infirmary, as it happens. The one that Reyes and Morrison have repurposed into goddamn arena.

But she knows better than to step in between a spat as bad as this one is shaping up to be, so she just sits with her back to the wall, leafing through reports as she waits for the soldiers to stop acting like children.

She wishes Ana were here. No one can call those two to order like the sharpshooter.

Angela’s turning over another form—she’s hesitant to clear Reinhardt for combat because she knows his shoulder is still bothering him—when she hears the telltale thud that she knows without a doubt belongs to a pair of goddamn cowboy boots.

“McCree,” she grumbles without looking up, finishing off her signature with an angry flourish before raising her gaze to see the outlaw himself ambling towards her from down the hall.

“What are you doing?” she demands, pushing to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

He looks pretty good for someone who had been just a little dead the last time she saw him. His hair is clean, his wounds patched and wrapped under pristine white bandages, and the shallow, gaunt look to his face has filled out. He’s wearing a spare Overwatch shirt, and she’s only mildly surprised that there’s a real, actual human underneath all the dirt and grime and blood.

He’s a long way from full recovery, but he’s no longer loitering on Death’s door, so Angela will take the victory where she can.

Still. He shouldn’t be out of bed.

His expression had been drawn and dark when she’d first spotted him, but now that he’s caught, she watches it bloom into that arrogant smirk he’d fixed her with back in the infirmary.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he greets her, but she notes the nickname lacks some of its previous bite.

“Don’t hey there me,” Angela warns, stepping closer with a frown. “And don’t call me sweetheart unless you have a death wish.”

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Whatever ya say,” he relents. “Darlin’.”

“Call me Angela or Dr. Ziegler. Or—better yet—don’t call me at all.” She sort of pushes him back away from the infirmary, unsure how to best get him to bend to her will. “Now get back to bed. You aren’t supposed to be on your feet for another day at least.”

He doesn’t budge under her hands, and she blinks in surprise as the sudden tensing of his muscles. For a scrawny arms dealer, he’s got some brawn.

“Dr. Ziegler?” he questions, peering down at her in confusion. God, what she wouldn’t give to have about four more inches so she wouldn’t have to look up at him.

“Yes, doctor,” she makes a shooing gesture. “As in, the one who can easily alter your medical itinerary to keep you in bed for another week and a half, darlin’.”

The Southern sobriquet sounds awful in her accent, but McCree doesn’t even rise to the dig. He just keeps staring at her, slowly walking backwards as she keeps pushing him towards the med bay.

“Yer a doctor?” The disbelief in his tone is insulting to say the least. Besides, hadn’t they covered this? He really must have been out of it their first meeting. Not that he missed anything spectacular.

“I am,” she confirms, following him through the halls, passing a few other agents who look up in mild confusion to see Angela Ziegler herding the scrappy outlaw Reyes’ had hauled in yesterday around the base. “So some respect wouldn’t be the worst idea you’ve had here.”

“Yer like—” he gestures pointlessly with one hand. “Fifteen!”

Angela bristles, eyes narrowing to slits.

“I am twenty-one, thank you very much,” she snaps at him. Not exactly true—she’ll be twenty for about six more months, but he doesn’t need to know that.

McCree pulls a face. “What kinda doctor is twenty-one?” he demands. “Did ya come outta the womb with a fuckin’ college degree or—?”

“The kind who got accepted to University early and finished a seven-year program in four,” she throws back at him. “And you don’t have any room to talk. You can’t be any older than me!”

That cocky smirk returns as Angela keeps forcing him backwards towards the med bay, and her hand itches with the need to punch it off his face.

“I’m twenty-five,” he brags, flashing a grin.

“Oh bullshit,” she retorts rolling her eyes. “Absolutely not. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“An’ you expect me to believe that Overwatch hired on some eighteen year-old?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Show me yer license and maybe I’ll believe ya.”

She huffs and he smirks. He’s toying with her. Fucker.

“You expect me to believe the Deadlock Gang took on some scrawny teenager?” she asks harshly, giving his chest a solid shove to push him through the door to the med bay, glaring up at him.

McCree’s coal-dark eyes go flat. She’s touched a nerve.

“I don’ really expect much from anyone. ‘Specially doctors.”

He spits her title like it’s toxic. She pulls her lips back in a snarl.

“It’s not wise to make enemies with the person responsible for saving your life, you know,” she tells him sharply.

He just scoffs at her. “You lost yer chance at the upper hand. You want me gone? Shoulda let me die on that table.”

Silence falls between them—heavy and tense.

Angela knows she should leave—there’s nothing to gain from a fight with him—but her pride rails at her until she gives him one last push, forcing him to sit down hard on the edge of his cot.

“I will tell you this, McCree,” her voice is dark and deadly, and the outlaw freezes, clearly realizing the end of Angela’s light temper and the start of true anger. “You had better hope—to whatever it is you put your faith it—that you never find out what kind of research I do, and the kind of medical advancements I have made.”

She gives him one last severe look before turning to stride out, keen to grab a guard and use whatever bullshit authority she has to station him outside of the outlaw’s room so she doesn’t have to see his face for another twenty-four hours.

“Why not?” McCree calls after her, unable to let things go.

She turns to assess him over her shoulder, eyes supernova bright.

“Because that means you’d be dead.”

-0-

The next time she sees McCree, he’s wearing an enormous cowboy hat.

There’s still an uncomfortable tension—they haven’t quite patched things up, and she still absolutely hates his guts—but McCree makes the first move at what she assumes is his idea of a peace offering.

“Like it?” he asks when he catches her staring, flicking the brim and lifting it up just enough to reveal his eyes—shiny and black as oil with a quicksand draw.

“I hate it,” she answers breezily as she steps into the infirmary, dropping her gaze to look over the chart in her hands. “So, Reyes wants to get you cleared for the strike team?”

She asks the question with a practiced nonchalance—like she hadn’t heard Reyes and Morrison arguing about it while she made herself instant Mac and Cheese in the mess hall at three in the morning.

From what she could gather, Reyes was pushing the redemption narrative—“Give the kid another chance, Jack. I served with soldiers who had been in gangs, it doesn’t define you for the rest of your life.”—and Morrison was sticking to his holier-than-thou mantra—“The Deadlock Gang has been a thorn in our side for years, Gabe, I’m not going to waste any more time and resources on them!”

But, due to the medical checklist in her hands, it would appear that Reyes won, which is not surprising in the slightest.

Angela, personally, doesn’t care one way or another. On the one hand, Morrison’s excuse of wasting resources is utter trash—one word to Reyes and Angela could have anything in the world she wanted or needed within the hour. On the other hand, she’s not sure why Reyes wants to actually bring the boy onto the strike team, which is, you know, only the most elite military operation in the—

“Darlin’?”

Angela jumps, snapping her head up to see McCree peering at her, head titled to the side from his seat on the operating table. “Y’all right there?” he asks. “Thought ya powered down er somethin’.”

She gives him a frosty look for the comment.

“I’m not an Omnic.”

“Coulda fooled me. Ya sleep about as much as one.”

She clicks her pen, declining to comment.

“So, Jesse McCree,” she drawls, glancing up to see if the use of his first name rankles him. He gazes back at her passively. She dips her eyes back down with a silent curse. “You have never had any kind of medical check-up in your life.” She skims the list. “No previous doctor, no past treatments, no prescriptions, no surgeries, no medical history whatsoever.”

Her tone drips annoyance, and her gaze is accusatory when she lifts it back up to his. McCree just shrugs.

“While you were off grauduatin’ early an’ curin’ cancer, I was…doin’ other things,” he answers. A pause. “Cutter once made me down a fifth of vodka ‘n dug a bullet outta my leg. Does that count as surgery?”

“No,” she replies mildly, scribbling down some notes. “My apologies to Dr. Cutter. His credentials didn’t hold up.”

McCree snorts at her quip, and she glances up to see him smirking—but not that awful, cocky smirk he likes to flash. Just a genuine twist of his lips.

“What?” she asks, frowning.

“Whaddya mean, what?” he retorts, still half-laughing. “Yer such a goddamn weirdo.”

“I beg your pardon—”

McCree cuts across her indignation. “One second, yer makin jokes about shit, an’ the next yer looking at me like the damn Undertaker, tellin’ me I gotta die to learn about yer fuckin’ research.” He spreads his hands. “That’s weird. Yer weird.”

“I’m not weird,” she argues. “And I didn’t say you had to die to learn about it, I said if you did learn about it, it means you’ve already died!”

McCree throws his hands in the air. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means don’t die,” she retorts, still somewhat sore. “And I’m not weird.”

He just shakes his head, chuckling. “I didn’ mean to upset ya, Doc.” He holds up a hand. “Cowboy’s honor.”

She rolls her eyes. And yet she’s the weird one.

Silence returns, but it’s much less prickly than the last time they’d squared off. She finishes most of the document while McCree loiters around the infirmary, occasionally reaching for tools that Angela orders him to leave alone without even looking.

Finally, she can’t take it anymore, and she flicks her gaze up to see him fiddling with the cuffs of a flannel button-down she suspects Ana had some hand in purchasing.

“Why did you join Deadlock?” she asks quietly, watching him carefully from around her bangs.

He glances up in surprise and they cross gazes—flint-stones and sapphires.

“Why’d ya join Overwatch?” he questions, peering at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

Her lips quirk, though there’s no amusement in her eyes.

“Fair enough, McCree,” she tells him, holding the checklist to her chest. “My professional advice to you—assuming you somehow actually see combat as an Overwatch operative—is to stay behind Reinhardt’s shield and do whatever Ana tells you.”

He frowns at this, but she just offers him a sunny smile and turns to leave.

“Wait, which one’s Ana?”

Angela snorts to herself. “She’s the one who shoots better than you,” she mutters to herself, before something occurs to her and she turns back.

“Oh, and I checked over your genetics. You’re twenty as well, but good try.” She smiles sweetly again. The one with all the teeth.

McCree looks appalled. “You checked over my what?”

-0-

“You asked for my opinion and my answer is no.”

Angela rakes a hand through her hair—her fingers catch on a tangled knot and she ends up tugging it through roughly, pain spiking as she yanks on the strands—and clutching the communicator to her ear with the other.

“Yes, but Dr. Ziegler—”

“There’s no but!” Angela shouts back. “Lacroix is not cleared for combat, and he will not be cleared until such time that I—the medical professional on this base—deems otherwise!”

Silence on the other line. Angela chews her lip, anxiously awaiting a response.

“Very well, Doctor. If that’s what you think—”

“It is,” Angela cuts in hotly.

“I’ll pass that along, then. Thank you for your…insight. Good day.”

Angela’s expression sours as the connection ends, and she leans against the counter, frowning down at the device.

“Well, someone’s in a mood.”

Angela glares, setting the communicator down on the counter as she glances up to see McCree loitering in the doorway of her infirmary, still wearing that damnable hat. With a huff, she pulls the hair tie out, letting her hair tumble down messily around her shoulders.

“Do you need something?” she asks unkindly, dragging her fingers through her hair to try to work out some of the knots. She wonders vaguely when she last brushed it.

“I think,” he begins, and she gives him a dark look that clearly communicates how much she doesn’t care what he thinks, “that when they ask fer yer opinion, they really jus’ what ya to tell ‘em what they wanna hear.”

“I am aware,” she replies, probably a bit more prickly than strictly necessary. She sweeps her hair back up, tying it off in an untidy ponytail. “I also don’t give a shit.”

His lips split with that crooked smile he’d given her back in the med bay after her quip about Cutter. She notices his tooth is no longer chipped and wonders idly who fixed it.

“Yer ornery.” He says it like a statement of fact.

She narrows her eyes. “I’m a professional.”

His smile grows. The rim of his hat hides his eyes, but she can still feel them.

“What did you come here for, McCree?” she asks sharply, hands on her hips. “I really prefer not to be bothered arbitrarily.”

He freezes at this, and Angela arches an eyebrow, waiting.

“Suppose I needed somethin’,” he begins.

Angela sighs heavily, lifting an annoyed eyebrow. “Don’t play games. Talk straight or leave.”

He grimaces at her no-nonsense tone, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans.

“I need a favor,” he rushes out.

There’s a beat of absolute silence in the infirmary.

“A favor.” Her words couldn’t be flatter.

“Please. I’ll owe ya. And a debt from me ain’t nothin’.”

Angela huffs a sigh. She doesn’t even want to think about the kind of debts McCree has fulfilled in the past.

“It depends,” she answers, leaning up against the counter. “If it’s not related to the infirmary, I can’t really help you.” She gestures to the phone that lies facedown beside her. “As you can see, I’m not exactly good at currying favor.” Her eyes narrow. “And that assumes I’d want to help you at all.”

McCree shifts his weight between his feet, bouncing a little with the action. Her eyes snap to the movement, cataloguing it as a nervous habit.

“It ain’t…exactly related to medicine,” he confesses.

Angela frowns. Then why is he asking her?

“What is it?” she demands.

“I have a belt buckle,” he explains quickly. “It’s been mine since before the Deadlock Gang—since ferever. They took all my stuff when they picked me up. Reyes gave me m’ hat back—mostly ‘cause I wouldn’t stop pesterin’ him about it—but he won’ gimmie the belt buckle.”

Angela just arches an eyebrow, almost daring him to continue wasting her time.

He does.

“They still have my gun, an’ all my bullets, which I get. But my belt buckle ain’t gonna hurt anyone.” He folds his arms. “I was hopin’ you could sweet talk it outta Morrison’s claws. Ya follow?”

“A belt buckle?” she repeats dubiously. “McCree, be serious please.”

“I’m bein’ serious!” he insists. “C’mon, please?”

Angela sighs. If the item really is being held by Morrison’s people, it wouldn’t be that hard for her to get it back. She could weave together some bullshit excuse easily. She’s done it before, though never for a damn belt buckle.

Giving him a stern look, she reaches for the communicator. “You owe me,” she reminds him fiercely.

He nods earnestly, and Angela rolls her eyes, dialing the number.

Some tech picks up, and Angela wastes no time in dropping every name she knows, and a few she probably doesn’t have the authority to mention, as she rattles off a dozen-odd ridiculous reasons as to why she needs whatever belt buckle they have in their possession.

“The…the one from the Deadlock Gang, ma’am?” the tech asks feebly a moment later.

“That’s the one,” she affirms, twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger, already making a mental list of things she can ask McCree for in exchange for this horseshit.

“The one that says…um, excuse me…BAMF?”

Angela flicks her eyes up to glance at McCree, who’s standing idly in her infirmary, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his pants. He catches her look and offers an awkward smile.

“That’s it,” she says, lowering her gaze. “Just…send it to the infirmary, please.”

The tech agrees and hangs up, and Angela sets the communication device back on the counter with a sigh. It couldn’t have been normal. Of course not.

McCree is eyeing her so she glances up to meet his gaze with an arched eyebrow.

“So…yer really like, the end all be all authority on this base?” he asks, looking at her curiously.

Angela scoffs. “Hardly. That was a bunch of hot air.” She sighs, absentmindedly pulling down cleaning supplies from a cupboard.

“I’m…not officially on Overwatch’s roster,” she explains. “I’m here because I was handpicked by Reyes, and backed by Morrison and Amari. My duty was really just to continue my research, but when Overwatch’s big three put their stamp of approval on you, you can kind of do whatever you want and nobody looks twice.”

She feels his eyes on her—like lightning, or like the flash that runs before the hot report of thunder—but ignores it as she goes about wiping down a tray at her side.

“Ya get attached.” His voice is quiet, but still rough.

Angela scoffs to herself, coloring slightly. Why had she run her mouth like that? Stupid.

“Something like that,” she bites back, working at a particularly tough stain. “Now leave me alone. I’ll give you your belt buckle the next time I see you.” She gives him a hard look. “Mister badass motherfucker.”

McCree goes scarlet. Angela just arches an eyebrow.

“They, uh—” McCree coughs into a fist. “They told ya what it said?”

“They sure did,” Angela returns, voice void of any real emotion. “You can leave now. And for the record, you’re going to owe me every time I have to look at that belt buckle and remember this conversation, got it?”

He mumbles out an affirmative and ducks out of the room.

-0-

“Angela, look!”

There are few people who can catch and command Angela’s attention with only a word or two, but Fareeha Amari is definitely one of them. She stops in her tracks, glancing back to see the young girl standing as tall as she can, hands on her hips, grinning from beneath an enormous cowboy hat that practically engulfs her head.

“What in the world?” Angela turns around completely, half-laughing. “Fareeha, where did—”

McCree steps into her line of sight from the end of the corridor—looking hilariously out of place without his typical hat, his hair an unholy mess atop his head—and he strides up the hallway, scowling at Fareeha with a playfulness that Angela isn’t used to seeing around Overwatch’s base.

Fareeha squeals when she sees him, dashing up to hide behind Angela, peeking out at the approaching gunslinger from behind her.

“Angela’s base!” the little girl announces triumphantly, sticking her tongue out at McCree, who puts his hands on his hips, face falling into an exaggerated expression of shock.

“Base?” he repeats, and Angela cracks a grin at the mock outrage in his voice. “No sir, little miss. Not in my game.”

Fareeha just cackles to herself, hugging Angela tighter.

“You look good, Jesse,” Angela tells him, smiling lightly. “You look…very not dead, which is not always the case with you.”

“He started taking shooting lessons from Mom,” Fareeha explains, pushing up the hat with two tiny hands so as to better see Angela.

Angela lifts an eyebrow, looking over at McCree, who’s turned mysteriously red and won’t meet her gaze.

“Has he now?” she asks, small smile turning into a grin.

“Yep!” Fareeha chirps.

McCree does look better, she notes. He’s sporting a kind of breastplate now, and a set of chaps. The shoulder of his shirt proudly displays the Overwatch logo, and a bright red bandana is tied around his neck. Angela has to catch herself from calling the entire collection endearing. He’s still a dead shot, and a fully-fledged member of the strike team.

“Well, then congratulations,” she says. “You’ve survived Ana Amari’s training. Consider yourself lucky.”

“I get all his stuff when he dies, though,” Fareeha interrupts, tugging on the hem of Angela’s shirt to get her attention again. “He promised.”

Angela frowns. “Well, nobody’s going to be dying any time soon, Fareeha.”

The young girl waves her comment away impatiently. “Not soon,” she corrects. “Like, in fifty years or whatever. When he’s super old and can’t shoot anymore.”

Angela snorts at this, looking up to see McCree fighting a smirk of his own as they both listen to Fareeha’s continued ramblings.

“I get his hat, his gun, his bullets, his spurs, and—” she ticks the items off her fingers, looking up to fix Angela with a grin. “His belt buckle.”

Angela’s stomach bottoms out.

“Oh, um, I…are you sure about that, Fareeha?” she asks hesitantly. “I don’t know if that’s…really your thing?”

“BAMF,” Fareeha announces, and Angela winces. “McCree told me it means bad at making friends. It’s funny!”

Angela shoots him an accusatory look over the young girl’s head. McCree splays his hands uselessly.

“Run along, Fareeha,” a voice calls from down the hall, and she jumps to attention as Ana strides up, arching a dark eyebrow at her daughter.

Fareeha mumbles a farewell to McCree, gives Angela’s waist a fierce squeeze, before traipsing off, but not before McCree can snatch his hat back off her head and giver her hair a quick ruffle. She shrieks in indignation, ducking his hand, and McCree responds by scooping her up by her underarms and spinning her around, pacing away from Ana and Angela as he does. Fareeha’s laughter rings out in the hall, and Ana smiles to herself.

“So,” Angela begins, shifting her weight. “Fareeha says you’re training him?”

“He’s good,” Ana answers, still watching as McCree sets Fareeha down and she slaps at his breastplate, begging for him to do it again. “Really. I had my doubts, but…” she trails off with a shrug, looking down to flash a smile at Angela. “I hear you’re darlin’ now, is that true?”

Angela colors darkly, rearing back from the sharpshooter.

“Absolutely not,” she protests. “I cannot believe you actually listened—”

“Oh, relax child,” Ana soothes, reaching out with a gloved hand to smooth some of Angela’s wild bangs down. “I’m only teasing. He is a charmer though.”

“He’s horrible.” She sighs as Ana drops her arm around her shoulders, pulling her into her side.

“He’s family,” Ana counters, voice low and serene. She glances down at the young doctor, quirking an eyebrow. “And I don’t think I need to tell you, of all people, what the means.”

Angela huffs out a laugh, watching as Fareeha mimes a finger gun at the gunslinger, who slaps a hand to his heart, swooning in false death. She listens to Ana’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear. A heartbeat she’d fought on many occasions to keep going strong and steady when there were others she hadn’t the chance to save.

Yeah, she knows a thing or two about family.

“I suppose,” she answers.

-0-

“This,” Angela announces, not bothering to hide the haughty anger in her voice, “is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday night.”

McCree snorts, then winces at the pain the action brings. She slaps at his leg to still him, leaning far into his personal space as she inspects a thick gash that runs from his ear to the edge of his jaw, bleeding sluggishly down his face.

“Yeah, ‘m sure ya had so many plans,” he gripes back at her, staring sullenly at the wall as she works. “Gee, should I stay in an’ fill out reports, or stay in an’ reorganize the infirmary?” He widens his eyes in mock surprise. “So many options!”

She slaps his leg again. “Shut up,” she returns irritably. “There’s nothing wrong with doing my job.”

“When it’s all ya do,” he counters, sliding his gaze over to meet hers, still frowning. “Seriously, Ange. Have you ever taken a night fer yerself?”

“Of course,” she answers immediately, though no such night comes to mind.

He just scoffs, looking away, and Angela keeps gingerly cleaning his wound.

“Fontaine really did a number on you,” she muses softly, eyebrows knitting together. “Isn’t there some kind of saying about guns and knife fights?”

McCree grunts crossly. “I wasn’t gonna shoot the bastard,” he snaps. “An’ I sure as hell didn’t think he’d gut me like a damn fish.”

“You’re not exactly the most popular agent here, Jesse,” she reminds him. “There are a lot of old wounds tied up with the Deadlock Gang. Fontaine can hold a grudge.”

“Fontaine can kiss my ass—”

She hushes him softly, rolling her eyes at his temper.

Silence settles, like it always does. She works as quickly as she can, noting the distinctly displeased set to McCree’s jaw. She fishes around for something—anything—that will make him listen, but eventually decides to just speak plainly.

“Morrison doesn’t need another reason to dislike you,” she warns him quietly. “Reyes’ favor can only get you so far.”

McCree scowls. “I don’ need anyone’s favor,” he gripes.

Angela sits back in her chair, frowning at him.

“I’m only trying to help, Jesse,” she reminds him. “I know you’re not used to being looked after, but you need to trust that you are. Reyes, Reinhardt, Morrison, Ana, Gèrard…” she trails off. “We look after each other. We trust each other.”

He slides his gaze over to hers—eyes flashing, like fire through canon smoke—and she can only stare.

“I trust you,” he mutters, frowning like she’s stupid for doubting such a thing, eyes hard like he’s daring her—anyone, really—to challenge his statement.

She smiles faintly back at him.

“I’m glad,” she says. And she is.

“Now relax your jaw so I can stitch this shit up, okay?”

-0-

Angela lets her breath out steadily, relaxing her shoulders and exhaling slowly through her nose.

Peering down the aisle of the shooting range, she chews her lip, displeased at her performance. She sets down the gun and yanks off her headphones and goggles, vaguely annoyed. She knows marksmanship isn’t the find of thing you improve at overnight, but she’s also not accustomed to lagging behind in anything she puts her mind to.

“Yer a terrible shot.”

Angela just sighs, not evening looking back.

“Do you ever get tired of sneaking up on people?” she asks, still looking down at the target. Her gun lies on the stand before her, still warm from her last round.

She feels him settle at her side, leaning against the opposite wall in the booth. She glances up to see him rubbing his jaw as he studies the target.

“Ya barely clipped his ear.”

“I’m practicing.”

“I hope so.”

She bristles, slamming her fist on the button that will swap out her old target for a new one and turns to face him, arms crossed.

“What do you want, Jesse?”

He glances down at her, arching an eyebrow.

“I could give ya some tips,” he offers, trying for casual and missing by yards. He coughs awkwardly. “If…if ya wanted, I mean. I’m no Ana Amari but…I know some stuff.”

Angela looks up at him curiously. No one—not even Reyes—had ever offered to give her any kind of advice on firearms.

“Why?” she blurts out before she can think better of it, and McCree’s face goes slightly red.

“’Cause…’cause you clearly wanna be better. And you’re gonna halfta be better if ya wanna get tips from Ana,” he says, gesturing lamely at the gun, goggles, and headphones that lay before her. “And…I dunno…” he trails off, hand leaping up to cup the back of his neck in a nervous habit he can’t seem to shake.

She considers pressing him, but decides against it. She moves the conversation along to safer grounds for her, uncomfortable with the uncertainty of where he could take this dialogue.

She doesn't like not knowing. Period.

“Who taught you how to shoot?” she asks, tilting her head as she reclines back against the wall of the booth.

He flicks her a sideways look, apparently surprised by her question, but just shrugs.

“Nobody. I jus’ watched people, I guess,” he explains. “Trial an’ error…mostly error, fer a while anyway.”

Angela’s lips quirk up in a small smile. He continues.

“I kept at it, y’know? Got tired of bein’ outdrawn, gettin’ left behind. Wanted to make myself useful. It was…” he gestures kind of vaguely with his hands, but Angela knows what he’s trying to express. “…it was a bad time. I mean, now I’m glad I did it, but, the actual act of learnin’ to shoot…” he flashes her a smirk—the one she doesn’t like, the one that’s more mask than anything else—and Angela is reminded of weeks she spent holed up in her room during med school, reading and studying and writing and memorizing and critiquing until she felt like she was going to honestly die. She had to. It had never been optional.

If she wasn’t the best, then what was the point of her? Why had she survived, if not for this?

She nods. “I know what you mean.”

His eyes snap to hers—angry, like he doesn’t believe her comparison—before they go dim, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he remarks. “Yeah, I bet’cha do.”

She picks at the sleeve of her shirt, watching McCree size up the targets in the range. She wonders if she’ll have to prompt him to shoot them all down or if he’ll jump right to showing off all on his own.

“I was the best shot,” he mutters after a moment. “In Deadlock, I mean. An’ that ain’t just talk. I could really outshoot anyone.”

Angela shrugs. “I believe it,” she tells him. And she does.

He frowns at her from the edge of his vision like he doesn’t buy her sincerity, before he just shrugs. “It’s a good thing too,” he adds. “If it weren’t for my aim, Morrison probably woulda had his way.”

“They never would have killed you,” Angela tells him firmly. “Not with Reyes there. Not with—” she breaks off, looking away quickly.

McCree’s eyebrows vanish behind his hat as he glances down at her, waiting for her to continue.

She doesn’t, and he doesn’t push her.

They’re kind of alike, that way.

“I would like to take you up on your offer, though,” she eventually murmurs, crossing her arms and looking down at the new target. She glances up at him through her bangs. “I’d like to…be a slightly less terrible shot, if you’d be willing to help.”

McCree’s lips quirk. “Yeah?” he asks, and she nods. “Ya fancy yerself a field medic, Doc?”

She frowns at the question, freezing as she reaches for the gun again.

“Field medic?” she repeats, glancing up at him.

He nods. “Sure. I mean…I dunno. You always seemed real hands-on. I was kinda surprised when you didn’t just come out into the field with us all.”

Angela arches an eyebrow. “I’m not cleared for combat,” she states flatly.

That fucking illegal grin is back. “Not yet, you ain’t.”

She just snorts, waving him off, but her mind begins turning. It’s not as though she’d never considered the prospect—there’s very little in the medical field she hasn’t considered—but she’d never allowed herself to make concrete plans about it. Her thoughts turn back to a suit—winged and armored, allowing her to quickly get to patients, a halo-shaped headpiece…

“Can I say somethin’?” he asks softly, and Angela jumps in surprise.

“Sure,” she says quickly, shoving those thoughts away for now.

He hesitates—she shoots him a sideways glance and sees him working his jaw, like he’s tasting his words—before seems to make up his mind.

“I’m very, very glad yer on my side,” he tells her. He smirks down at her then, the friendly one. The one that pulls a smirk out of her too.

“Terrible shot ‘n all.”

-0-

“So,” McCree drawls as he sits down beside her at the table.

Angela lets her gaze flick over to his with a raised brow. They typically don’t sit next to each other in the mess hall—partly because Angela is in the habit of taking her meals alone at two in the morning and partly because McCree’s usually preoccupied with harassing some agent or another—and she feels more than a few gazes on them.

But she just sips at her coffee as he settles alongside her now, broad shoulders brushing against hers, brim of his hat upsetting the smooth fall of her bangs as he inclines his head down towards hers.

“So,” she repeats, lacing her fingers around the mug. “What’s up?”

McCree sets down his plate—generously full with breakfast food—and glances around like he’s missing something. Angela pushes her unused fork forward, and he nods.

“So,” she prompts again, arching an eyebrow.

“So,” he agrees, picking up the fork. “I went lookin’ fer Fontaine today.”

Angela cocks an eyebrow. “For purely diplomatic reasons, I’m sure.”

McCree snorts, seemingly momentarily distracted at her own lack of a breakfast. He picks a muffin off his plate and plops it in front of her. She ignores it.

“An’ wouldn’t ya know it—I couldn’t find the bastard.”

Angela takes another sip. “Tragic.”

“Ain’t it? So I asked around.”

Angela’s fingers tense for a moment on the handle of her mug, but she relaxes soon after.

“Asking for help? Are you feeling well?” She reaches up to press the back of her free hand against his forehead, but he ducks it with a sour look.

“An’ you’ll never guess what Lacriox told me,” he continues, giving her a pointed look.

The doctor swallows. She has a guess.

“He’s been relocated,” McCree stabs a forkful of scrambled eggs, arching an eyebrow at her, “to Antarctica.”

A beat of silence passes between them. Angela takes another sip of her coffee, dutifully avoiding McCree’s gaze by staring down at the muffin.

“I hear it’s lovely there this time of year,” she eventually offers. “Also, penguins. Antarctica has penguins, right?”

“Angela.”

“Plus that cold air is brilliant for clearing out the sinuses.” She picks at the muffin’s wrappings, wondering what flavor it is. Blueberry?

“Ange.”

“What?” she demands, finally setting her mug down and turning in her seat to scowl at him. “What do you want, Jesse? A confession? Fine—I did it. You solved the case. Congratulations.”

She glares up at him, awaiting his response—she hadn’t expected him to follow up with Fontaine, and she’s not overly fond of being found out this way, thank you very—

She starts as McCree snakes a thick arm around her shoulders to pull her in for a quick squeeze, and she wrinkles her nose as the hair on his chin scratches against her cheek before he pulls back.

“Thanks,” he tells her, voice low and honest, giving her a slightly lopsided smile. “Fer lookin’ out.”

“Yes, well,” Angela smooths out her lab coat, loops loose hair behind her ear, clears her throat. “It was the least I could do.” A pause. She glances up at him seriously. “Really, that was the least life-threatening thing I could have done.”

McCree chuckles. “Ya make it sound like ya had a list.”

Angela goes still as McCree reaches across the table for a napkin.

The gunslinger glances back at her, frowning at her silence, when he sees the look on her face.

“Ange, you didn’t.”

“I makes lists about everything!” she snaps back at him, faintly flushing. “It’s how I best organize my thoughts!”

He just shakes his head, sitting back on his chair.

“Yer a mess.”

Angela nurses her coffee, watching as he ducks into his breakfast.

“Probably,” she agrees.

McCree snorts through a mouthful of grits. “Eat yer damn muffin.”

-0-

“Paraguay?”

“Poor pronunciation, but yes,” Angela returns, quickly ducking the gunslinger’s hand where he’d shot it out to try and tug on the end of the Santa hat Ana had bullied her into. She looks up to flash him a smile. “Paraguay.”

McCree shrugs where he’s lounging idly on the desk in Reyes’ office while Angela busies herself with gathering the last of the documents he’d filled out. It’s not as though Overwatch has anything like a winter break—the Omnic Crisis doesn’t exactly take a holiday—but Reyes had told the pair of them they had the next week and a half off to do whatever they did for their seasonal holiday of choice.

McCree had promptly announced his plans to get trashed.

Angela had mentioned Paraguay.

“Not really a touristy kind place,” he comments lightly. “Do they even have beaches there?”

Angela snorts as she marks a certain pile of documents for delivery, shaking her head.

“I’m not going for a vacation, Jesse. I’m going to work.”

He frowns, looking up from where he’d been scratching a penis into the corner of Reyes’ desk. “What?”

She shrugs. “You know, extended international aid. Doctors Without Borders. That kind of thing.” She makes another quick note on another sheet before looking up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just…helping out where I can.”

He frowns. “And Overwatch is okay with that?” he demands.

Angela pushes herself upright, crossing her arms as she studies him with a slightly bemused look.

“Yes?” her confusion makes it a question. “Honestly, Jesse. If they’re okay with you going to get shitfaced I can’t see why—”

“Ain’t it dangerous?” he cuts her off. “I mean, South America is still pretty heavy on Omnics, right?”

Angela shrugs. “Probably. I hadn’t really looked into it.”

He gives her a flat look. “Really.”

“Really,” she says again, shrugging. “I go where people need me, Jesse. Omnics be damned.”

She feels his gaze on her as she turns around to stack up the rest of the documents, but ignores him, unable to see his issue.

“And yer family’s okay with that?” he asks, frowning hard at her. “Like, ya ain’t got presents to unwrap? Fuckin’ carols to sing or whatever?”

Angela goes still, hands hovering over the stack of documents.

Right. Because that’s what happens when you don’t tell people things. They eventually stumble into them, full of love and live and good intentions, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less—

“Ange?” She hears the desk creak as he pushes off of it, hears the frown in his voice. She still hasn’t moved. “Ange, what’s--?”

“They’re dead.” The words tumbled out, almost clumsily, like when you say ouch even though it doesn't hurt, or sorry even when it’s not your fault.

She swallows, refusing to face him. “They died years ago, in the initial waves of the war.”

Silence. It’s not as comfortable as it usually is, she notes with detachment.

“Angela…” McCree sounds as lost as she feels. “I...I’m sorry, I had no--”

“Of course you didn’t,” she mutters, finally kicking herself back into gear and scooping up the documents. “I never told you.”

She finally turns, papers held to her chest, to see McCree watching her closely. His eyes--sharp as ever--reveal a mixed bag of compassion and hesitance. A desire to help but a strong understanding of the boundaries they’ve set so far.

“Right,” he eventually offers. “I, uh. I woulda remembered that.”

More silence. Angela wonders--off-handedly--how many time a single person can fuck up in one lifetime. Surely she’s nearing her quota.

“When ya leavin’?” he eventually asks, voice softer than it had been before.

She tosses a quick glance at the clock. “Umm…they’re flying me out in about twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Angela starts slightly as McCree forces himself off the desk to stand over her. “Jesus, Ange, were ya ever gonna say somethin’?”

She blinks at his sudden aggression. “I mean…I was planning on sending you a really tacky postcard, if that counts?”

He glares at her steadily. She guesses that’s a no.

“Do you…do you want to come with me?” she asks, confident that’s not the answer but unable to work out why he’s upset.

He snorts. “Yeah. A fuckin’ smartass ex-con. I’m sure that’s just what the doctor ordered.”

She spreads her hands. “Then what do you want, McCree? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you? I’m sorry I’m not going to get drunk in a bar with you on Christ—”

She breaks off in surprise when he steps closer, reaching out to wind an arm around her waist and draw her up close, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Jus’ be careful, ya big weirdo,” he mutters. “Come back in one piece, alright?”

She nods, touched, and he pulls back.

“An’ I’ll be expectin’ that tacky postcard, got it?”

She smirks back, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Sure thing,” she calls back. “Just let me know what bar to address it to.”

-0-

Angela hears the chime and is already moving through the halls before she knows what she’s doing.

It’s a noise she’s long memorized—and one that sometimes haunts her dreams—that subtly rings through the Gibraltar base, requiring medical attention at the landing pad for whatever party has just returned.

Angela’s coat whips out behind her as she turns a corner sharply and rushes up the hill to the tarmac.

McCree. Reyes. McCree and Reyes. Whose fucking idea was it for them to go on a mission together, and to hunt down the Shimada heirs of all fucking things—

Someone catches her arm, pulling her to a stop, and Angela whips her head around, gaze absolutely murderous, teeth half-bared—

Morrison holds up his hands in defense.

“They’re gonna be fine,” he tells her quietly.

“You don’t know that,” she snarls back, and takes off again, Morrison behind her.

They burst onto the tarmac, where the jet has just touched down, and Angela’s heart seizes when she sees Reyes standing there, watching whatever is happening inside the belly of the jet, one arm slack at his side, clutching Jesse McCree’s stupid fucking hat—

“Reyes,” she gasps, reaching out to grab his arm when she trips to his side, Morrison on her heels. “Reyes, what happened?”

He glances at her, then his eyes go higher, probably meeting Morrison’s gaze over her head, before dropping back down.

“Go back to the infirmary,” he tells her, and his voice is ruinous.

Angela feels like she’s moving through a dream, or fighting through some kind of current as the next half hour drags by. McCree is brought in on a gurney, looking like hell warmed over.

Angela almost breathes a sigh of relief—she’s seen him in far worse states than this, this is nothing, if he can come back from that fucking disaster in Ilios, he can come back from—

Then she sees his arm.

Or, rather, she doesn’t see it.

She’s sitting at his bedside, glaring at his vitals like she can bully them into improving, when he finally comes around.

For a moment, they sit in silence. Just quietly taking in each other’s presence.

Then he heaves a sigh, and Angela braces herself.

“’M arm’s gone, inn’it?”

Angela stares down at her hands. “Yes, Jesse,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, it…it was gone when you got to me, I did everything I could. I wasn’t there, I don’t know what—”

“Shhh…” he hushes her tiredly. “Enough, Ange.”

She falls silent, daring to lift her eyes to his. He’s staring up at the ceiling, buckshot eyes glittering in the soft morning light.

“Did Reyes get it?”

Angela’s heart cuts all ties with her chest and leaps into her throat.

“Did…did he get…?” She can’t even finish the question. McCree sighs heavily, letting his head roll over to look at her.

“’M hat, Doc,” he says. “Did Reyes pick up my damn hat er naw? ‘Cause if I hafta go all the way back to Hanamura just to pick up that thing, I’m gonna—”

“No,” she rushes out, nearly knocking her chair over in her haste to get to the counter, where she’d set the hat. She snatches it up, scrambling back to his side. “No, Jesse, it’s—it’s right here, Reyes brought it in…” she trails off as she sits back down, holding it up for him to see.

His lips quirk in a small smile.

“Well. That’s somethin’ at least, ain’t it?”

Angela hesitates slightly, unsure what to do with it. It seems pointless to put it on his head when he’s obviously going to be bedbound and sleeping for the foreseeable future. She runs her fingers across it, pondering, and feels his gaze—the heat of his eyes mocking the roar of a fire—and she makes a snap decision to jam it on her head.

McCree blinks, looking up at her as she gives the hat a quick tug to adjust it. It’s a little too big for her, but she stares back at him evenly from beneath its brim.

There’s a beat of silence. Then McCree coughs out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Ya look ridiculous.”

Angela’s mouth falls open in protest. “What?” she demands. “This is your stupid hat!”

“Yeah, ‘n it belongs on my stupid head.” He’s laughing, and Angela smiles back. There are tears in both of their eyes. Neither address them.

“Keep it, fer now,” he mutters, offering her a small, sleepy kind of smile. He’s got so many different drugs pumping through him, Angela likens him to a walking pharmacy. “If Morrison gets ‘hold of it, he’ll fuckin’ burn it.” A pause. “Who knows, maybe you’ll shoot decently fer once in yer life it ya wear it.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Maybe it’ll trick Ana into giving me lessons,” she adds dryly, and McCree closes his eyes with a quiet chuckle.

“You’ll halfta give it back,” he murmurs. “When I get sent packin’, I mean.”

Angela frowns. “You’re staying right here,” she tells him firmly. “This is where you belong, Jesse.”

He offers her a smirk that reminds her too much of that disastrous first meeting. A fake twist of his lips meant to hide his thoughts and misdirect those he flashes it at.

“We’ll see, Doc.”

-0-

Angela smells the alcohol well before she sees him, and sighs quietly to herself.

She pulls her lab coat closer, folding her arms as she steps slowly into the abandoned mess hall, drawn to the only faint light in the whole room.

The refrigerator door is propped open, bathing the surrounding area in a soft yellow glow that makes the nearby bear cans shine. Angela can’t necessarily see who’s behind the door, due to her approaching angle, but the cowboy boots sticking out give her some idea.

She carefully negotiates her way around glass bottles that litter the floor, frowning hard at an entire handle of Fireball that winks in the light—completely empty.

She turns, peering around the refrigerator door to see one Jesse McCree sitting slumped up against the interior of the refrigerator, his amputated arm still heavily bandaged, his other hand holding a beer bottle.

“Jesse,” she breathes.

He looks up at the sound of her voice, and she frowns, disliking the way his razor-sharp eyes are dulled by the alcohol.

“Evening, Doc,” he greets her, offering a crooked smile that’s far messier and less practiced than his usual charmer’s grin. “Wha’s a fine lass like yerself doin’ out here?”

Angela just crouches at his side, taking his chin in her hands to turn his face towards her, searching his eyes for vitals.

“Please tell me you did not take your medicine before drinking all of this,” she says, voice deadly serious. She scans the room for a bottle of medication, but McCree just offers a husky chuckle.

“Naw, not tha’ dumb,” he tells her. He pulls his chin back to break her hold and takes another swig from the bottle. “’Sides, there’re easier ways to go than that.”

Angela glares hard at him. “You aren’t going anywhere, Jesse,” she tells him fiercely.

He tips her a clumsy wink. “Tha’ you know of.”

“Stop trying to be clever,” she chides him with a frown. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m both.” He smiles up at her. He looks terrible.

“Come on, then,” she mutters, ducking low to loop his good arm around her shoulders. She tries to brace her legs and push herself up, but huffs at the resistance. “Why are you so heavy—”

“Leave m’ be,” McCree grumbles, and she realizes he’s not assisting her at all. “I’ll fin’ my way back.”

She blows out another breath, straining under his dead weight as she struggles to pull him to his feet.

“No, you won’t,” she retorts. “You’ll drink yourself into a stupor and then—with your luck—Morrison will be the one to find you, and that’s not a problem any of us want or need right now.”

McCree snorts. “He’s already gonna gimmie th’ boot, don’t see why you ‘n Reyes are so hung up on it.”

Angela’s eyes flash in the darkness of mess hall.

“No one is giving anyone the boot,” she argues fiercely, still trying to tug him upright. “You are staying—right—here!”

She grunts with effort, and McCree starts as she actually lifts him off the floor a few inches, before gasping and letting him fall back down, where he lands hard on his backside.

“Ow.”

Angela huffs, facing him with her hands on her hips. “Well, if you’d just let me help you, that wouldn’t have happened!”

“I’m a gunslinger with one fuckin’ arm, Angela!” he yells back, voice echoing loudly in the empty hall. “The fuck they gonna keep me ‘round for? Charity?”

“It isn’t charity,” she tells him stiffly, hands fisted at her side, voice low and angry. “It’s taking care of family.”

That seems to catch him off guard, and he peers up at her in the near-dark of the mess hall, questioning.

“You trust me,” she tells him softly, reaching down to brush hair out of his eyes. “Remember? You told me you did.”

He stares back at her, eyes cloudy and dull.

“I ‘member,” he mutters. “Do…do you trus’ me?”

Angela stands there—trying to haul a drunk, one-armed gunslinger with an impressive rap sheet and a missing medical history to his feet—and gives a firm nod.

“With my life,” she tells him, voice deadly serious in the quiet of the mess hall. “So let’s go, okay?”

He stares at her a little longer, and Angela holds out her hand—and offering.

After a moment, he gives a slow nod, swallowing hard.

“Alright,” he mutters tiredly. “Alright, I’m comin’.” He pauses to squint at her extended hand. “Stop movin’ yer hand.”

Angela blinks. “I’m not…” she just sighs, rolling up her sleeves and ducking down once again to loop his arm around her shoulders.

-0-

“A skull, huh?”

McCree twists his arm in the light. Angela observes the metal flash as it turns—he’s already managed to scratch it, of course he has—and keeps her expression expertly schooled, knowing he’s watching her face like a hawk.

“I dunno,” he remarks. “Thought it might be cool.”

She snorts to herself, shaking her head, unable to stop a smirk from quirking her lips.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she tells him pointedly, glancing up with humor in her eyes, and he grins back.

They’re on the roof of the main building of the Gibraltar base—a hideaway that Angela used to scold at him endlessly about but had since become a space they share when they need room from everything but each other. She assumes, somewhere in the back of her mind, that this is what friendship is.

“Reyes said he liked it,” McCree retorts, a hint of pride in his tone.

Angela rolls her eyes. “Of course he did,” she mutters. “Remember when Ana had to talk him out of getting that barn owl tattoo? This is exactly the kind of thing Reyes likes.”

“To be fair, that looked wicked.”

“It looked horrendous and he was drunk,” Angela counters. She shifts her weight, eyes tracing the shiny exterior of the prosthetic.

McCree just sighs, giving her a look.

“I know ya wanna touch it,” he tells her. “Go ahead.”

Angela’s hands are on the arm in a moment, chattering—half to him, half to herself—as she runs her fingers over the surface, pokes at the hinges, pulls it closer to inspect the neon blue accents that mark the energy pulsing through it.

McCree fields her questions as best he can: yes, there are sensors that let him feel touch and temperature, no, it doesn’t itch, yes, it’s weird to sleep with it but it just takes getting used to, yes, I can crush metal with it, no, I didn’t try it on that UN member’s car out front, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Angela.

“Awfully curious there, Ange,” he notes, not bothered but intrigued at her dogged questioning.

“I’m starting to bring Omnic technology into my research,” she answers thoughtlessly, eyes still on his prosthetic. “I’ve been talking to Torbjörn and I’m thinking I can really reduce the amount of post-surgery recovery and general physical therapy if—”

She breaks off, glance up to meet his gaze, looking slightly alarmed.

She never talks about her research. Ever.

McCree watches her warily, like he expects her to bolt.

“Ya don’…ya don’ halfta tell me anythin’,” he offers when the silence grows uncomfortable. He shrugs. “I mean, I know yer pretty private—”

“I…” she bites her lip, flicking her gaze up to his. No one outside of Ana, Reyes, and Morrison know about her research, and even Ana and Morrison only know the bare bones.

“I…I work with…death,” she explains quietly, eyes on his prosthetic.

She can feel McCree’s dubious look.

“Ya don’t fuckin’ say.”

She huffs a sigh, crossing her arms and looking up to frown at him.

“Specifically ways to…bypass it altogether,” she adds stiffly.

A beat of silence. They stare at each other.

“Ya cheat death,” he verifies slowly, searching her eyes from beneath the brim of his hat. She wonders if she could even get away with lying under those eyes. Probably not.

“That’s the idea,” she says, shrugging like this is an idle conversation not worth pursuing.

She fiddles with the belt loops of her jeans—a habit she'd picked up from McCree.

“I mean, if I had to pick someone to have that kinda power,” he says with a shrug. “I’d pick you.”

Angela’s chest loosens where it had been unbearably tight. She can’t stop a small smile from blooming across her face, cheeks turning red at his praise.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“I mean it,” is his steady response.

She suddenly seizes him in a fierce hug, and he hesitates for a moment, thrown at her unexpected move, before his arms snake around and he holds her close, pressing his cheek against the side of her head where she buries her face in the crook of his shoulder.

“Please don’t fucking do that again,” she whispers.

She feels his responding chuckle more than she hears it.

“Didn’t mean to upset ya, Darlin’,” he murmurs.

She digs her nails into his back where she clutches handfuls of his shirt. “Don’t joke,” she orders sharply.

He runs his new hand across her back, and she can feel its coldness through her shirt.

“Hurry up an’ finish yer field examination,” he mutters. “Then ya can run away from magical fuckin’ dragons right along with me.”

Angela pulls back, frowning. There are tears streaking down her face, but she looks more confused than anything. “Dragons?”

“Yeah.” McCree reaches out to wipe away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Fuckin’ dragons.”

“Reyes mentioned the Shimadas had a…certain supernatural flair—”

“Did he also mention my arm got eaten by a dragon?”

“Um,” Angela sniffs, wiping her nose with the cuff of her sleeve. “No?”

McCree heaves a very put-upon sigh, turning around to hook his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they begin to walk across the roof back to the stairwell.

“So we were in Hanamura, right? Lookin’ for the Shimada whatevers. And outta nowhere, this fuckin’ asshole who needs a damn haircut pops out, shoots an arrow, and then the arrow turns into a fuckin’ dragon.”

Angela can’t help but laugh. “Did you shoot him?” she asks.

He scoffs. “’Course I fuckin’ shot him. I gotta reputation to uphold.”

She smiles, pressing closer to his side. “Jesse McCree: Dragon Slayer.”

“Somethin’ like that,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Didn’t do a whole lotta slayin’, per se.”

“Guess I’ll have to take care of that then,” she says, elbowing him in the ribs with a smile. “Since I’ll be with you next time and all.”

He tosses her a smirk—her favorite one—his eyes glittering from beneath his hat.

“I guess ya will, Doc,” he replies. “I look forward to seein’ it.”

RISES FROM THE FUCKING DEAD

WHAT’S GOOD KIDS

it’s your local disaster domino, back from hiatus hell. how’ve y’all been.

Anyway, pre-canon Mercy and McCree shenanigans? Sure. Why not.

Shoutout to my Bibi @gaynervousdog who read this over and made it a lot less shitty than it could have been.

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#Overwatch #Jesse McCree #Angela Ziegler #McCree #Mercy #Ana Amari #Gabriel Reyes #Fareeha Amari #Jack Morrison #Not My Circus Not My Monkeys

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