#Gregory in a business suit he’ll yes

[diegolego91]

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

Beside you in blinding bliss

Summary: “I can’t believe my little brother is getting married before me.” 

Alex took the suit jacket as it was handed to him and put it on, grateful to have something to do with his hands, if only for a moment. Initially Gregory’s offer of help had surprised him, but now he was glad of the company, his brother’s presence dulling the nerves that were swirling in his stomach. 

“Well, if you wanted to get married first, you should have done it sooner.”

-

Set in s04e13. Gregory helps Alex get ready for the wedding.

Word Count: 986

[Also on AO3]

-

“I can’t believe my little brother is getting married before me.”

Alex took the suit jacket as it was handed to him and put it on, grateful to have something to do with his hands, if only for a moment. Initially Gregory’s offer of help had surprised him, but now he was glad of the company, his brother’s presence dulling the nerves that were swirling in his stomach.

“Well, if you wanted to get married first, you should have done it sooner.”

Greg scoffed as he grabbed the flower resting on the dresser, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger a few times as he waited for Alex to finish. The jacket was new, but it fit perfectly. Actually, the entire outfit was new, courtesy of Isobel Evans of course. The second Michael had announced him as his fiancé, she had wedding plans flying out of her ears, condensed timeline be damned. They didn’t want to wait any longer and she had obviously been planning it in her mind for long enough to know exactly where to buy everything in the limited time they had given her. How she knew Alex’s size though, he would never know.

Her support was heart-warming. In fact, the excitement radiating off all his friends at the thought of going to their wedding was something he never imagined he’d see. Liz, Maria, Kyle, they’d all pulled together to make it happen and he couldn’t quite put into words how appreciative he was.

Asking Greg had been a shot in the dark, knowing full well that his brother was busy with his studies, but he shouldn’t have been surprised to see him turn up at his doorstep. Not after everything they had been doing recently to make sure they were there for each other.

“Thank you.” He said quietly. “For being here.” 

“Like I’d be anywhere else.” Greg replied around the pin clenched between his teeth. Alex could have laughed at the determined look on his face, his brows pulled low in concentration as he tried to line the flower up perfectly above the jacket pocket. “You know Clay would be here if he could. 

“And Flint?”

Greg was silent for a moment, taking a breath as he pinned the flower in place.

 “…He’ll come around eventually.” He smiled sadly, his downcast eyes lifting to meet Alex’s. “Us Manes men can be very stubborn when we want to be.”

Alex scrunched his nose at the reminder of that age old saying and all the baggage that came with it. Well, maybe that won’t include me for much longer, he kept to himself. Greg wasn’t wrong though; they all had that stubborn streak in them.

And his had almost been his downfall not twenty-four hours ago. 

“There. Perfect.” Greg beamed, unable to resist straightening Alex’s tie before directing him to the mirror.

Alex didn’t know what he had expected. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d ever worn a suit before, there were occasions dating all the way back to high school where he’d had to don the formal attire. But looking at himself now, he felt the butterflies return in full force.

He looked…good. 

He’d managed to style his unruly hair somewhat nicely, his skin no longer held the deathly pallor he had returned through the portal with and his suit, his wedding suit, sat perfectly atop his shoulders, all ready for the next chapter of his life. 

He smiled cheekily as he spoke to Greg through the reflection.

“Is it bad that I kinda wish dad was here to see this.”

“Yes.” Greg gave him a pointed look, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Even if the look on his face would have been priceless.”

“He’s probably turning in his grave. Not only am I marrying a guy, I’m marrying an alien…” Alex trailed off slowly as a realisation suddenly slammed into him full force and Greg, observant as ever, instantly noticed the change in his brother’s demeanour. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, stepping closer.

“I’m getting married.”

“…Yeah?”

“Like— this is actually happening.” He couldn’t hold back the nervous chuckle, nor the confused grin growing on his face. Greg clearly couldn’t hold back the eye roll either.

“I didn’t think this would ever happen.” He continued after a moment, his voice almost a whisper as if the words were a closely guarded secret—one that he had never admitted to anyone out loud before. “And not just because I didn’t think I was making it out of the pocket dimension. I just mean…” 

He gulped, the words suddenly getting stuck in his throat. This moment right here had been an impossible daydream for so much of his life, for so many reasons.  His father, his family, his own inability to let himself be happy. You name it, he faced it, but here he was, free of everything that had been holding him back.

He ran a gentle finger along the twisting flower petal, noticing how the white stood out against the dark gray of the suit, how it reminded him of Michael, his light in the dark through everything that had come before.

Greg squeezed his shoulder in silent understanding. Of course his brother didn’t need to hear the end of his sentence. Though their father had targeted them in different ways, they had both lived through his torment and everything that had followed. Greg had witnessed Alex’s decades long struggle to become his true self and though he hadn’t been able to help much when they were younger, having his brother here now meant more than he could say.

“Come on,” Greg patted him on the back just as he felt his eyes begin to water. He was already halfway out the room as he called back, “we don’t want to leave your future husband waiting.”

Husband.

Yeah, he liked the sound of that.

[husbandits]

I saw your requests are open. Can you please do Arthur and a male reader going to a ball dance. Thank you

Yeah absolutely! Srry this took forever, but hopefully it’s worth the wait!

I went with a semi-realistic thing for this, and then it got… long

The two of you don’t get a lot of opportunities for intimacy, beyond the occasional trip out into the woods, ostensibly for food, so when Arthur pulls you aside one evening to talk, you’re first thought isn’t that he’s got anything more than a quick kiss in mind

And its definitely not that he’s going to ask you to do anything romantic

Apparently, the landbaron that funds most of the businesses around your current camp is throwing a ball in a bit less than a month, and Dutch’s gotten the idea to infiltrate the party, to see if you can stir up any information about goings on. Or maybe just rob the thing, it isn’t clear yet

And with the rumors swirling around about how the rich playboy’s attentions swing towards the masculine…

You’re not exactly thrilled about Dutch exploiting your relationship like this, especially considering the pains Arthur’d gone through around telling the rest of the gang

But then that pleading look in his eyes hits, and you put the complaint aside for later

Instead you try to focus on the enjoyable parts of the situation

Getting to have a nice, almost relaxed outing to look forward to

Not to mention just getting to be open with your darling Arthur

The weeks leading up to ball are more than a bit hectic

Partly because the involved members of the gang are out of camp often, scouting the venue and getting information on the ball, and partly because Arthur is tripping over himself trying to smooth over the imagined issue with you and putting together all of the information and supplies Dutch thinks he’ll need

For your part, you’re busy looking into your target, Mr. Gregory Thane, yourself

You send him a polite, if generic letter first, not looking to expose yourself to him too much, before the plan can be solidified, but when he sends you back an enthusiastic letter asking for a little rendezvous, Hosea s that you go see him, if just to get your foot in the door

And, over tea and a nearly exhausting evening of dodging questions and trying to give him the ‘right impression’ without going into outright flirty territory, you’re well assured that, yes, Mr. Thane is, at the very least, quite comfortable around men like you

Once you’re confident that this isn’t some sort of elaborate trap, you’re a little more at ease

And a little flattered, when your alias gets an invite in the mail, not quite a week later, under the request that he ‘bring a nice suit and his endearing self‘ 

You bring the invite over to where Dutch and Hosea are going over the plan, eager to share this new angle of entry

You don’t catch the dark look that hangs over Arthur’s face for a moment, the way his expression showers when you hand the note over to read

It’s a bit of a shock when he admits, when you lie with your head on his thick chest that night, that he feels a little overshadowed, with such an impressive, open man vying for your attention

It’s a hushed confession, as if you’ll chide him for saying it, and you’re quick to assure him, turning over to press a kiss to the firm line of his jaw, that it’s not a silly thing to confess, that you’re happy he’s sharing this instead of bottling it up and getting hurt

And, of course, as your hands travel across the broad planes of his body, you remind him that you’re all his, and no amount of riches or luxuries could convince you otherwise

The next day you take him into town to go get outfits for the ball; you’ll need something fancy if you’re arriving as a special guest, after all

Arthur makes a big huff about getting dragged into your shopping trip, but he grins all the same, promising to help you into as many nice suits as you like

You can’t help but notice, as the two of you pick through the different designs, that his eyes keep going back to this dark gold ensemble, and if, by the end of the day, he’s got a new outfit or two to try on as well, it’s hardly anyone’s concern but yours

And then, the next thing you know, it’s the day of the ball, and there’s a heady feeling hanging over you; anticipation and expectations and all the worries you’d put away a fortnight ago

You end up whisking yourself off to Mr. Thane’s mansion hours before anyone else leaves camp, wanting to arrive towards the start of the party and get a chance to eavesdrop a little before things start going

You leave him with a kiss early in the morning, promising to find him at some point at the ball, and get some alone time

At the ball, you’re met with the staggering sight of fifty-some people, largely men of neighboring industries, gathered in the estate’s courtyard and sprawling out into the surrounding garden, and your breath catches in your throat for a second

It’s almost overwhelming, but you dive right in, after taking a moment to calm yourself

After reintroducing yourself to your host, you’re quick to slip off of his notice, attentions pulled to the dapper owner of a small orchard nearby, weaving out into the room and listening in on the chatter, taking note of anything useful you hear

Letting yourself get tied up in conversations about finery and wealth, which naturally lead to industry and banks, and from there you can glean all about how supplies get shipped, and all the measures that keep that money secure

That is, until you find yourself caught on the arm of a young magnate of some sort, drunk or inexperienced enough to not feel your hand in his pocket

By this point, the rest of the gang has arrived- you can hear Dutch‘s loud boasting, the distinct timbre of Hosea’s wheedle

And, as the tipsy merchant loses yet another hand at the impromptu poker game that’s sprung up, you catch sight of him, standing off to the side, watching the game being played from on your lap

Slipping your hand out of the gentleman’s jacket (and taking a weighty piece of jewelry with you), you bid the younger man goodbye, sauntering over to Arthur as if drawn to a siren

You can hear the man huff in dismay as you slide out from under him, murmuring something about being outclassed, and you can’t help but chuckle in response as you pause in front of your man

“Evening, mister,” You smile, watching him with a grin, “You looking for something?”

The reply he gives is halfhearted- he wants you to stay with him, but he knows you need to work, and you waste no time in dragging him off to a shady corner of the courtyard, away from prying eyes

By now, your host has gotten rather involved in the young man he’d had on his arm earlier, so there’s not many eyes on the pair of you, as you take hold of Arthur’s waist, pulling him into a dance. His hands are hesitant on your shoulder, as if afraid you’ll pull back if he holds you, but you just pull him a little bit closer and press the ghost of a kiss to his cheek

The two of you sway together for a while, you leading Arthur around the shaded edge of the garden, and slipping your hand around the curve of his back, enjoying just the feeling of being close to him

That is, until Bill’s nasally voice rings out across the courtyard, “Alright, hands where I can see them!”

The other half of the plan has begun

In a flash, Arthur’s at the ready. Pulls away, reluctantly, a quick squeeze on your shoulder as he does. Pulls his gun from his waist and starts on the robbery, following the others’ lead

You, for your part, jump into the role you’d been assigned after a few seconds of watching him go

With a terrified facade, you join the group of guests hiding in the corner of the courtyard by a very intricate looking fountain, your host seemingly panicking while the man he’d been flirting with is nowhere to be seen

His eyes meet yours, and then he grins in hope

“Sir, sir you must help us with these ruffians!” He pleas, “please, you’re, er,  a man used to dealing with villains like this, aren’t you?”

You balk at that for a moment, you’re not really supposed to play an active part in this phase, just collect some information and maybe sew some friendships with the guests. but now…

The moment of delay is passable enough to shock, as you weight your options

You nod, and the plutocrat sighs in relief. Gestures to the mansion at the other end of the courtyard, the prowling gang between you and it, “I-I keep a set of guns in the west end of the library, in the bottom of the dresser. O-Or maybe they’re in the safe in my drawing room? It has been,” he half-chuckles, “quite some time since they were of use, and they were a gift from a dear friend…”

A roll of your eyes at that, but you give something that passes for an affirmative, as he gives you the combination to the safe, and then you move to start sneaking around to the mansion

Predictably, as soon as you’re out of view of the guests, there’s attention on you, and one of the gang comes storming over, a warning thick on his gravelly voice

Arthur snarks something about having caught a handsome thing like you, grabbing your hand as if to drag you over to him, but his grip is feather-light

You can practically feel the side-eye from whoever’s nearby at that, but you don’t particularly care, playing along with a feisty retort about him being a bit too eager to have caught you

“A’right mister smart-mouth!” He growls, the hair on his beard light on your cheek as he pulls you close, voice dropping to a growl, “Yer gonna take them pretty lil’ hands a’ yours up to that fancy house an’ show me where all th’goods are...“

It’s impossible to suppress the groan you give at that, but hopefully, the gentlemen hiding around the corner can’t hear your excitement

Or the snickers from the rest of the gang, as Arthur pulls you away

With a barefaced grin, you lead Arthur through to the mansion, mock fear, and genuine anticipation giving you the slightest tremble

The two of you slip inside, while the rest of the gang finishes rounding up and robbing the guests, and head up to the study for some haphazard looting and very thorough one-on-one time

[iamonlypartlymajestic]

KAIJU FORCE (SPACE FORCE/GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS FANFIC)

*Co-written with @awildtrashcan*

AO3 LINK     CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2 - Mark and Mallory (and Fuck Tony and Sam) Go to Washington

Sam smiles when he sees Dr. Mallory walking towards him, but the grin wilts when he sees how annoyed the older man is as he walks closer. The Monarch director had already finished any work pertaining to his actual job and since he was already in the area, decided to make a visit to Space Force. He was having a quite invigorating discussion with Dr. Chan about the effects of MUTO radiation on terrestrial plant life (his PhD may be in computer science, but he’s always up for learning new things), when he noticed Dr. Mallory’s ID lying forgotten on one of the nearby tables. Having recently been informed about the upcoming budget hearing that day, he figured the chief scientist was with the general getting ready.

"Dr. Mallory, I saw you left your ID back in the botany lab."

Mallory's eyes widen in surprise as Sam holds his credentials in front of him, before he breaks into a relieved smile. "Thank you, Dr. Coleman. I was just on my way to grab it."

“No pro—blem?” Rather than take the ID from Sam’s hand, Mallory drags the younger man by his jacket down the path he just came from and through the main building, all the way into General Naird's office waiting room, and pushes him in front of a guard. Why do people in Space Force want to manhandle him all the time? However, unlike with Fuck Tony, Sam doesn’t want to be rude and resigns to letting the chief scientist do as he pleases.

Mallory silently holds Sam's arm which is still carrying the older man’s ID and pushes it into the guard's face. The guard squints to stare at the small rectangular piece of plastic attached to a random man’s arm. "Thank you,” he says pleasantly, “Doctor...Mallory."

Dr. Mallory abruptly drops his hold on Sam causing the younger man to stumble on the ground. “You knew that,” Mallory says utterly deadpan.

Sam stands up and straightens out his suit and tie when the general’s assistant, Brigadier General “Just call me Brad!” Gregory, informs him about General Naird’s last minute media prep with Fuck Tony.

Mallory just sighs deeply. And walks out of the waiting room.

“Wait! Dr. Mallory!” Sam picks up the dropped ID and quickly goes after the man.

                                                             ~O~

It was just supposed to be a quick hang out sesh with the science team, despairs Sam as he trails after Dr. Mallory. Now the chief scientist has asked (read: forced) Sam to pick up what is most likely the science team budget binder for the older man so he wouldn’t have to walk back to the lab himself.

Having finally found the general (and Fuck Tony), Mallory commands his new manservant to chase after the two.

“Gen-general Naird!” Sam’s voice cracks, his lungs tired after having to jog back and forth the entire length of Space Force so many times (he's definitely met his weekly physical activity quota within the last hour). Thankfully, the general stops, allowing Sam to take a break. He holds the binder out like a shield as he pants.

“Where is my rat blood pressure research funding?!” Each of Mallory’s words are emphasized as he walks up behind Sam.

Sam barely registers that the three men have started walking again when he finally catches his breath.

“Uh, er. Dr. Mallory?” He strides up to the two arguing men, “I hate to interrupt, but now that the general is here, I’ll just head out myself.” Sam wants to just go home and take a nap. He wasn’t expecting the sudden work-out today.

As Mallory takes the binder from him, General Naird stares at Sam with a raised eyebrow. The general hums and asks, “Isn’t one of your tasks in Monarch to speak in Senate hearings?”

Bewildered by the sudden question, Sam answers with a hesitant yes.

“Do they include budget meetings?”

“Um…” Sam glances behind the general’s shoulder at Fuck Tony’s obviously amused expression.

“Perfect! You’re coming with us.” General Naird continues walking, firmly ignoring any of Sam’s and Dr. Mallory’s protests. The two PhD holders look at each other in commiseration before following.

Outside, a young woman bounces up to the general. Sam, Tony, and Mallory stand a couple feet back as General Naird and his daughter speak. Sam takes the time to look at the pilot waiting in parade rest and the helicopter behind her. It’s been a while since Sam has been in a helicopter as Monarch typically uses an Osprey to carry multiple passengers as well as important cargo over the long distances between outposts. Having looked his fill, he turns back to the conversation in front of him.

“...gave the teacher the finger,” says the general’s daughter proudly.

"Nice! Y’know, one time my history teacher gave me a C so I planted drugs in his desk, and now? He lives under a bridge like a troll!" Tony excitedly informs the teenager. He elbows Sam in camaraderie and wiggles his eyebrows.

"I never went to high school,” Sam pipes up after Tony, but quickly finishes his sentence when the general turns around to give him a hard look. “I mean—I graduated university at fourteen...so I didn’t have to?” Sam gives the older man a pained smile and tells himself to shut up.

Tony rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Nerd.”

Sam doesn’t miss Dr. Mallory’s nod of approval, however, and tries hard not to blush.

The three men watch the very uncomfortable (at least for Sam) conversation between father and daughter. General Naird then commands the pilot of their helicopter, Captain Ali, to basically babysit his teenage daughter, which Sam honestly thinks is uncalled for.

Sam gives the captain a sympathetic smile, who returns an unamused glare. A bit scared for his life now, the Monarch director hurries after the three other men into the helicopter.

“At least someone else here knows how to fly,” General Naird says gruffly as he sits himself onto the pilot’s seat. Sam’s surprised but pleased that the general remembered. Nervous about the awkward start of their first meeting, Sam had told the older man about having a pilot’s license as to create some common ground between the two.

“Kiss ass,” Fuck Tony calls him in a hushed sing-song voice. Sam rolls his eyes and refuses to answer back, buckling up his own seatbelt. As the youngest, they were both delegated to the back seats of the helicopter with Dr. Mallory up at the front passenger’s next to the general.

Sam wishes he could say he gets the last laugh upon learning how freaked out Tony gets during their flight, but the brunet man is an utter nightmare to sit next to on an aircraft.

After flying for a few minutes, Mallory takes the time to continue his argument, “Rat hemoglobins are substantially—”

“Jesus, just let him fly the fucking thing!” Tony ends up screaming into Sam’s ear as the asshole bends closer towards Dr. Mallory, who’s in the seat directly in front of Sam. “You’re talking, he’s gotta fly!”

Sam pushes the panicked man off of him, and not one to be so easily deterred, Fuck Tony pushes back, which eventually leads to a slap fight between the two younger men.

"Oh, for the love of—I will turn this helicopter back around if you don't knock it off, do I make myself clear?!" The general yells at the two behind him who quickly stop and settle down.

Sam just hears Mallory sigh wearily over the microphone.

                                                              ~O~

"So why'd you come here?" Tony asks him, eyes still fixed on his phone. The two younger men sit on wooden benches outside of the Chief of Staff Gold Room, waiting for General Naird. Unlike Mallory, who settled himself right outside of the door, he and Tony are in an empty hallway nearby, not wanting to disturb the other visitors.

"What?" Sam says, taking a pause from twisting and flexing his fingers (a nervous tic he’s developed since childhood from his need to constantly tinker with something).

Tony finally looks up from his phone and waves a hand at Sam, gesturing...something. Sam doesn’t know what. "It wasn't that surprising to see you act like Mallory's personal gofer, you science dudes tend to travel in packs. But letting Naird drag you with him? You do know the general doesn't really have power over you, right? He's your business partner, not your boss."

"I...I just thought I'd help him out? Since we're business partners I may as well make sure the group I'm working with doesn't implode weeks into our partnership." Sam chooses to ignore the fact that Fuck Tony has a point, embarrassed at his own lack of a backbone.

"Well, if you say so. Honestly, he'll need all the help he can get." The brunet sends Sam a pointed look.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sam stretches his fingers even tighter, his eyebrows furrowing in worry.

"You'll see," Tony says in a tone implying lots and lots of experience with the matter, and goes back to playing with his phone.

                                                               ~O~

As they walk into Capitol Hill, Sam feels his back straighten automatically, holding his head up higher to show he’s much more confident than he really is. A Pavlovian response that formed from having to speak to several crowds on behalf of Monarch.

It probably doesn’t work considering many senators still tend to disregard his existence.

Sam startles at seeing a balding senator grab the general in a forceful hug and almost bumps into Dr. Mallory in front of him.

“Well! That was awkward and horrible,” Tony declares with a grin. And Sam is about to agree until the other man continues, “The man is about to grill you, let him bring it in for the real thing. Remember!” He points a finger to emphasize his point, “You gotta embrace to get those dollars for space!”

“What? No!” Sam blurts out. Unfortunately, his warning goes unheard when an older woman passes by.

The secondhand cringe Sam gets seeing General Naird give his own non-consensual hug to Representative Pitosi makes the younger man’s skin crawl.

“What the fuck, Fuck Tony?” Sam whispers and gives his own look of disbelief towards the brunet as they wait to be let inside. The Monarch director then turns to the general and says placatingly, “Maybe you shouldn’t follow Tony’s advice, sir.”

Tony cocks his head toward the shorter man and narrows his eyes. "I'm sorry, since when were you the PR guy?"

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” Sam gives Tony a sarcastically pitying look, “I’m just the man whose job is to speak at these things.”

"Great job you're doing when you tell the general's daughter to skip school as you're telling her not to skip school." Tony raises his eyebrow and crosses his arms.

“What the hell does that even mean?!” Sam throws his hands up in the air.

“Gentlemen…” Dr. Mallory’s voice creeps up from behind the two, irritated by the noise. Sam and Tony face the chief scientist. His eyes stare coldly at them.

“Sorry, sir.” Sam says meekly.

“Whatever,” sneers Tony at the same time.

                                                             ~O~

Sam closes his eyes and focuses on breathing slowly so he doesn't end up bashing his head into something as he's forced to listen to a fucking flat earther that somehow got a position in Congress. Granted, considering the fact that the current POTUS is a Piece Of Shit he really shouldn't be surprised but holy crap, he is losing brain cells by the second. Brain cells that are very important to MUTO research, thank you very much…why the hell is here, again?

Tony obnoxiously lets out a fake guffaw and pats Sam’s shoulder harshly as the general makes a joke. Sam gives his own awkward giggle since the rest of the crowd behind them laugh along.

He really doesn’t want to be here.

Tony pulls his phone out yet again and starts typing away. Sam’s already beginning to tune out the whole hearing when his phone vibrates inside his jacket pocket. He ignores it.

Tony continues to text. Sam’s phone continues to vibrate.

Sam’s noticing a trend here. He pulls out his own phone, staring disapprovingly at Tony and then at his messages.

                                                                                               Told you so

                               You enjoying your front row seat for the cringe show?

                                                                                                     Saaaam

Sam takes a quick peek at the senators sitting above them and then leans towards Tony, whispering, “Why are you texting me right now?”

Tony presses a finger against his own lips and shushes him, “It’s rude to talk when others are speaking.”

Sam huffs and returns to his phone. What an asshole!

You’re an asshole. Stop texting me.

                                                         bold words for someone texting me

Sam leaves Tony’s messages on “read” and tries to refocus on the meeting. Representative Pitosi is holding a stack of documents filled almost entirely with black lines.

Wow. And people thought Monarch—a literally secret (or rather semi-secret now) science organization—had a problem with being open about their experiments and research?

Sam frowns as he sees the general begin to tap a pencil on the desk and clear his throat an unnecessary number of times. The Monarch representative glances around in case anyone notices him and then types out a text.

Is Naird ok?

                                                dw this happens anytime all of us depend on                                                   him being able to talk like a human being :/

Wow How does Space Force function?

                                                                                                          we dont

Sam doesn’t even bother to reply back, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Jesus…,” he whispers.

It also doesn’t help Sam’s anxiety when the general seriously says—out loud, he wants to emphasize—that “Space is hard.” He receives another text.

                                             "Space is hard." - General Mark R. Naird, 2020                                                                                                      #newmotto

Sam sinks deeper into his seat.

But then straightens up again as General Naird continues to speak.

“...I want her to have a taste of the Earth and remember what she’s fighting for.” The general’s voice trembles slightly but stays strong as he talks. It shames Sam to say this, but before this moment, he hadn’t realized how passionate General Naird is about Space Force and its role in helping society. The older man’s speech reminds him of Dr. Serizawa. How the Monarch scientist would speak in their own Senate hearings, fighting for the respect Titans deserve as fellow beings living with us on Earth. If we took care of our home and its inhabitants, they would take care of us in return.

A symbiotic relationship, if you will.

Sam smiles, his regard for the general increasing.

Incoherent chanting echoes from the back of the room. The crowd turns around to find a group of women wearing Handmaid’s Tale costumes and holding up signs with various “Pro-choice” slogans.

Bad timing, but good for them, Sam thinks.

Tony shakes him as they watch the protestors leave. “Hey, quick! Take a picture of me with them.”

“What?! Do it yourself.” But Tony has already thrown his phone at the other man and leaves Sam to juggle to not drop it. He quickly takes the picture and gives Tony back his phone. Sam’s own cell vibrates not long after.

                                                                 cant even take a proper pic smh

Below the message is the photo Sam just took. More than half of the picture is covered by his thumb, completely obscuring Tony’s face.

Who said it was accidental?

He sends Tony the middle-finger emoji.

Tony sends three back.

Sam sends a GIF of a group of people flipping off the camera.

                                                                         You win this time Coleman                                                                                                      this time

Sam smirks and puts away his phone. Just in time for Dr. Mallory to classily put the young senator on blast. He could see the woman get increasingly more embarrassed from his front row seat.

Sam wants to be like Dr. Mallory when he grows up.

Representative Pitosi finally dismisses Space Force, and Sam and Tony quickly get up to follow the general and chief scientist.

Fuck Tony glides through the center walkway, holding his hand out for high-fives along the way. However, unlike the social media director, Sam is not a child and just stares admiringly at the two older men as they walk out of the room.

"So, Dr. Coleman," General Naird turns to him and Sam has to physically shake his head to remove the heart filter over his eyes. "How was our first Space Force budget hearing?"

Sam's casual smile vanishes into a thin line. He brings his hands, palms pressed together, over his mouth and inhales sharply. Next to him, Fuck Tony grins.

[alindakb]

Dear Harry / Forever Yours, Draco - 25 September 1992 - by Alinda

25 September 1992

Dear Tom,

I believe I made an even bigger mess of everything. Because of this situation with Harry, I’m losing all my real friends. Ron and Hermione cornered me last week. Hermione demanded to know what was wrong with me, asking if I didn’t realise how much I was hurting Harry by behaving the way I do. She said that Harry didn’t deserve this. I wanted to tell her that she’s right, that I also believe that Harry doesn’t deserve the pain I’m causing him. Only I couldn’t. I wish I had known what to say, to make her understand. However, Pansy and Daphne sat right next to me. One wrong word from me and I would have been off to Durmstrang.

It could even worse after that. Ron decided he needed to include himself in the argument. He called me a dick head. I wanted to respond, however, Hermione pushed Ron out of the way and asked me if I thought this was all one big joke or something. I was fighting tears by then and that just made me angry. How could Hermione think like that? Doesn’t she know me? Like I could ever think off all of this mess as a joke. It’s breaking my heart to see Harry so unhappy. The look Hermione gave me made me so angry that I lost my temper. And I tend to do stupid things when I lose it like that. This time was no different. I called Hermione a Mudblood. Harry heard it, as soon as I said it I saw him walking towards us. The disappointment in his eyes was the worst. I had promised him to never use that word again and just like that, I had broken another promise. The shocked look on his face is edged in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes. He must really hate me now.

Ron tried to hex me after I called Hermione a Mudblood, however, his spell backfired. Slugs came out of his mouth and it was kind of funny. Pansy and Daphne started to laugh and I joined them, just to make sure they wouldn’t think I cared about Ron’s wellbeing. I’m sure you will understand that this made Harry even more upset. He helped Hermione to escort Ron away without another look at me. I don’t think I can expect him to wait for me any longer. I screwed everything up.

So you saw Ron and Hermione as your friends and they are now siding with Harry?

Yes, Tom, we all used to hang out together at the end of last year. Harry, Hermione & Ron, Neville, Blaise and me. And now it’s just me. Not that I’m alone, Pansy and Daphne or Theo and Vincent are always tailing me. They never seem to leave me alone. It’s just that I don’t want them around me. They don’t understand. Gregory is the only friend I have left. He said he was sorry that he couldn’t be a bigger help. I asked him if he could tell Harry about what is going on, however, he doesn’t think Harry will believe him. Not after everything that has happened last year. And he’s probably right. It’s just hard to see things going from bad to worse.

I’m sure it’s going to be okay, Draco. But you told me about Ron and Hermione. What happened with Neville and Blaise. Why don’t they hang out with you anymore?

Well, Neville is Ron’s best friend, so he follows Ron everywhere. So when Ron decided I’m not his friend anymore, Neville took his lead and also started avoiding me. Blaise is a different story. He still talked to me until a couple of days ago. He cornered me and asked me to explain myself. However, Theo was in the same room so I couldn’t tell him. So I told him it was none of his business. He said I was an ass-hole and he hopes I would get dragon pox for the way I was treating Harry. I lost my temper again then. It’s just so hard to keep all these feelings inside, to hide them from the world. I started to scream at him, told him he would never understand. Though he might be able to. He’s used to living among all our pure-blood crazies and knows how obsessed some of us are about bloodlines, appearances and keeping the magic world muggle free.

And these other people that keep trailing you, can’t you be friends with them?

No Tom, I will never be friends with Theo and Vincent again. Not after what they did to Harry. They still tease him on a daily basis. Sometimes I’m scared they might start assaulting him again if they get the change. Blaise is still sticking up for Harry now and then, I’m glad about that. It holds them off a little. Pansy and Daphne are okay. We have nice conversations, even though they both try to convince me that it would be good to start dating Daphne. And I know they will betray me as soon as they would find out that I still hope that one day I can be with Harry again. Luckily I still have Greg to cheer me up from time to time.

Well, you still have Greg, and by the sounds of it, you are also building a friendship with Pansy and Daphne. It’s not a lost cause. And with everything that is going on, the others not knowing why you are being mean to Harry, I think it is normal they are siding with Harry. Once everything gets cleared up, I’m sure they will see that you didn’t mean to hurt or insult any of them. You will have them back as friends before you even know it.

Maybe. I hope you are right. They were good friends. Hermione is an extremely smart girl and it was always nice to talk to her about schoolwork. She was the only one that understood my drive to score high marks, or who could keep up with me when subjects got more complicated. I miss her. Gregory is just not smart enough to understand most of the things I talk about. And Pansy and Daphne are less obsessed with schoolwork, they prefer to spend there time drolling over Professor Lockhart. I know he’s good looking, however, he’s not my type. His smile seems fake and his hair is styled too perfect. And his eyes have the wrong colour. I think only green eyes do it for me.

So you won’t be falling for the professor than?

No, never. He’s also old, like around my parent's age. It’s just wrong. Hearing Theo joke about Harry shagging professor Lockhart makes me sick. And not only because it’s Harry and I want him for myself, but also because Lockhart is old. And there is another reason why I won’t ever fall for Professor Lockhart, I don’t think I will ever love anyone else than Harry. Is that stupid of me? Giving my heart to someone I’m losing because I can’t tell him how I feel? Because I’m too big of a coward to go against my father's wishes? That I’m afraid to stand up against Theo and Pansy?

No, of course not. Like I said before, the heart wants what it wants. Do you really think Harry is your one and only?

Yes, I think so. He’s perfect, Tom. He’s nice and always thinks of others first before he does anything. He’s so cute when he acts all shy and his smile is beautiful. It lights up his face, giving his eyes a sparkle I could drown in. His hair is always a mess and I think it suits him. His voice makes my heart jump every time I hear it and I feel like the luckiest man alive for just having known him and been his friend for a short time. Oh, and his flying skills are amazing. I hate it that we never got the change to fly together. And his magic is strong when he lest himself really use it. I’m not surprised at all that he was able to defeat the Dark Lord when he was just a baby. It’s only a shame he doesn’t see how powerful he really is.

Wow, you really love him. I know you’ve said a couple of times, but this really proves it.

And you mentioning this Dark Lord reminds me. I had wanted to ask you about that. You also mentioned him in your last letter to Harry and I was wondering who this Dark Lord was and how Harry had defeated him?

You don’t know about the Dark Lord?

No, I think it was after my time.

Well, about twelve years ago there was this wizard who my parents called the Dark Lord. He was evil and terrorised the wizarding world for years. His name was Lord Voldemort, however, I don’t think that was his real name, because there are no mentions of a Voldemort in any records before he started gaining power back then.

Do you think he used a nickname?

Yes, I think so. However, I’ve never been able to figure out what his real name was.

And how is it that he was defeated by a small child?

I’m not familiar with the details. What I do know is that the Dark Lord went after Harry’s parents. He killed both of them when Harry was only one year old. Harry said he can’t remember any of it, and that he only knows what others have told him. Though it seems that the Dark Lord also tried to kill Harry, however, his spell backfired and hit himself instead. The Dark Lord disappeared afterwards, never to be heard of again.

Wow, that’s an interesting story. So nobody knows what happened to this Dark Lord?

Well, he did show up again last year. Only to get defeated by Harry for a second time. The Dark Lord tried to steel the sorcerers stone, however, Harry stopped him. He almost killed Harry in the process. However, he didn’t get his hands on the stone. He needed it to get his human form back. I don’t know what he is now, he needs others to survive. He’s still out there somewhere and I know my father hopes he’ll come back someday and reclaim his place in the wizarding world. I hope he dies and we never see him again.

But he’s still alive?

Yes, he is.

That’s scary. Why does your father want him to come back?

Oh, father was one of his followers. I think he even was in the inner circles. He was important anyway. So were my aunt and uncle Lestrange. They are locked up in Azkaban for the crimes they did in the Dark Lord’s name. That’s one of the reasons I hope he never comes back to power. I don’t want to fight my entire family, because I know I will take Harry’s side if it comes down to it. I have to, I love him too much to fight against him.

Yes, that would be problematic, having your family on the other side of a war. And what if Harry wants nothing to do with you anymore? Will you still take his side, or will you stay true to your family?

Even when Harry doesn’t want me, I’ll still fight for him. I promised him I’ll never go to the dark side, and I intend to keep that promise. I’ve already broken too many promises when it comes to him. I hate myself for doing it. Do you think he will ever be able to forgive me?

Of course, he will, if he loves you as much as you love him you’ve nothing to worry about. I’m sure he’ll understand once you get a chance to explain.

Only there was no reason for me to call Hermione a Mudblood. Nobody forces me to treat them all this bad. I just have to stay away from Harry, so I can stay here at Hogwarts. However, I’m scared they won’t understand what it’s like living with my father. How mean and angry he can get. Like I wrote to Harry, I saw a side of him this summer I didn’t know excited. It scares me. He could hurt me, or Harry if I aggravate him even more. I’m scared of him, Tom. I’m scared of my own father.

Draco, the only thing I can advise then is to stay away from all of them so you don’t get the change to do more damage. And when you feel lonely you can always come talk to me.

Maybe you are right. You are a good friend, Tom. I’m glad I at least have you, even now that I’m losing all my other friends because of this mess. It is nice to have someone how understands. However, it is getting late and I think I’m going to sleep now.

Talk to you later.

You’re also a good friend to me, Draco. You have no idea how much you are helping me.

Looking forward to speaking to you again.

[illuminating-dragons]

By Any Name (10/11): London II

Chapter Summary:  Back in London, John and Sherlock have a few friends to see...and one old enemy (though they've never been introduced).

Read on AO3

When they finally got off the plane, John was stunned by how at home he felt.

Heathrow hadn’t exactly been a source of happy memories—limping off the plane from Afghanistan with no one to greet him was the worst—but everything was suddenly, absurdly British. From the accents of the customs agents to Costa coffee, it felt like they’d just been on holiday for a few days and were now back to their own world.

Then Sherlock was walking swiftly towards a man in a painfully boring suit with a sign for ‘Mr. Wilson’, and John remembered that they were not quite out of the woods yet.

At least they were English ones again.

John thought they’d be going to the Diogenes Club—it was, after all, a Saturday, the only day Mycroft seemed to have off and the only day Sherlock found him there without fail (if he thought that John didn’t notice Sherlock sending several texts each Saturday with a gleeful look on his face he was an idiot). Instead, they drove deep into central London, up to an oddly normal set of flats.

The boring suit bloke (he didn’t even provide a fake name) stayed in the car, so John and Sherlock went up alone. Sherlock seemed to know the way, not pausing to even check the number of stairs. John followed, suddenly nervous. He’d spoken to Mycroft once or twice on the phone, and sent emails and texts, but he hadn’t seen the man face to face since he’d shouted at him before Sherlock’s funeral. The words ‘biggest disgrace of a brother he’d ever seen’ might have been said.

Mycroft’s flat was on the third floor, the only door in sight other than the lift. It occurred to John that Mycroft must be rich. It made sense—important government position, unlimited usefulness (except in getting his brother to cooperate)…if he was Mycroft’s boss he would give him anything.

Sherlock didn’t even bother knocking, he simply drew a tiny key from under his watch and waved it in front of the peephole. The door swung open without a sound and Sherlock strode in, John behind him.

The flat looked oddly…normal for the lair of the British Government. A small living room greeted them— a chair next to a fireplace, walls of books and a cabinet of odd objects John couldn’t even hope to guess at. There was a door leading off the room at the far end. John glanced towards Sherlock, but before he could suggest knocking Mycroft came through the door, stopping dead in his tracks just over the threshold.

Sherlock stepped forward, his shoulders suddenly tense. “Hello brother.”

“Sherlock.” Mycroft’s face twitched, just a little but enough to make Sherlock straighten his back. John was braced for some sort of lecture about breaking into the flat, or taking too long, or something along those lines.

He was not at all expecting Mycroft to surge forward and pull Sherlock into a tight embrace.

Judging by Sherlock’s squawk, he hadn’t been expecting it either. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake…”

“Quiet,” Mycroft ordered, not letting go even as Sherlock attempted to make himself as angular as possible. “I’ve been concerned.”

Sherlock sighed deeply, but John noticed him leaning into his brother’s hold. “As you can see, we’re both fine. Now let me go.”

Mycroft appeared to notice John for the first time as he let go of Sherlock. He looked at John in that same piercing way he had the first night they’d met, when John had been perhaps a little bit afraid of him. Then he held out his hand.

“Thank you, John. For bringing him back.”

John did not let his mouth drop open, though he came close. “You’re welcome.” He shook Mycroft’s hand firmly, trying to show a little of his gratitude for all the help on their travels.

Mycroft let go and turned abruptly to the bookshelf. “Well, let’s get to business, shall we?” He pulled an old, battered book off the shelf—except it didn’t quite come off. There was a soft click and a section of the bookshelf swung open, revealing another room with a desk, chair and several computers humming quietly.

“Brilliant,” John whispered.

Sherlock glared at him, but Mycroft looked gratified. “I do still need to work from home occasionally.”

Sherlock strode into the hidden room. “You mean you work from here whenever you can find an excuse.”

Mycroft looked like he was going to retort, but John got between them. “Can’t you two stop pretending you don’t care about each other for more than three seconds at a time?”

“No,” came from both Sherlock and Mycroft.

“Of course not,” John agreed, rolling his eyes. “What was I thinking? Can we please talk about this murder?”

Mycroft nodded. He crossed to the desk and tapped a few keys on a modest-looking laptop. The screens around the room lit up with a news article headed HEIR’S DEATH STILL UNSOLVED.

“Ronny Adair, twenty-six, had a fiancée but they broke it off last year when they both came out, still good friends, found dead in his childhood bedroom by his mother and sister.” Mycroft read the facts off with complete disinterest. “He was staying with them for his sister’s birthday—otherwise lives alone in Kensington. Frequent visitor to a lot of the gay clubs in the area, well liked, no known enemies.”

John frowned. “Doesn’t sound like he’s involved in the Web at all.”

“He isn’t.”

“So why would Moran kill him? Does he want to draw us out?”

“As far as we know, Moran is unaware that Sherlock is alive and that you are anywhere other than America,” Mycroft answered. “Moran chose not to follow you because coordination of the Network from another continent would have been a nightmare. Sentiment may have also had something to do with it.”

“Sentiment?”

“Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty were lovers. Didn’t you know?”

John stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. They appear to have had a quiet love affair going on for some time.”

John closed his eyes. “Right, fine. Is there anything else we should know about Moran? Other than that he’ll shoot me on sight if he knows Sherlock’s alive?”

“Any pertinent information was in the file I sent you last night. Did you not read it?”

“He’s a sniper, went bad in Iraq, came back to London, was secretly Moriarty’s right-hand man that we somehow never knew about…also Moriarty’s lover, since when do psychopaths feel love?”

“From their correspondence it appears to have been more sex than love,” Mycroft offered. “They kept La Fiore busy for nearly a year until she refused to be their ‘sext owl’ anymore.”

“Lovely.” John briefly wondered when this had become his life.

“I said dangerous, and here you are,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Yes, thank you, I know,” John snapped. Ignoring Mycroft’s bewildered look, he gestured to the screens. “Back to the question at hand—why did Moran kill Adair?”

“Moran and Adair have been seen together at a few clubs; they don’t appear to be lovers but there’s certainly some connection there.” Mycroft waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, this is your chance to catch Moran and have something to pin on him legally. He’s been very careful so far, this is the first murder where he’s actually left some evidence. The gun he used is one of a kind in Europe, at least; Scotland Yard can’t pull it together for that very reason. You give them Moran, and that’ll be it for the Web and for any danger to you two from Moriarty’s will. You’ll be free to concern yourself with little problems again.”

Sherlock cracked his knuckles. “Well, we mustn’t stand about. We’ve got to go see Mrs. Hudson and get her ready for her part—”

“Not to mention telling her you’re alive,” John interjected.

“That’s what I just said!”

“We can’t just waltz in…”

“You can sort this out on your way to Baker Street,” Mycroft said firmly, indicating the door. “Do call when you have everything sorted out, and I will notify the police.”

“We can do that ourselves,” Sherlock snapped as he walked towards the door, “we’re going to see Lestrade…”

But before Sherlock could say when they were planning to see their Scotland Yard friend, the front door opened and Greg Lestrade stood there, more gray hair than before and worry lines etched deeply into his forehead. Nevertheless, he was smiling, but when he saw Sherlock and John all the colour went out of his face.

“Gregory, step in, quickly,” Mycroft said urgently. Greg obeyed, his face slack with shock. John shifted uneasily, the guilt at deceiving their friends he’d been swallowing all year coming into his throat.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Smoking again, Lestrade? Those things will kill you.”

John wanted to strangle him. He thought Greg might be about to, just for a moment.

The Detective Inspector growled. “Oh, you bastard.”

Sherlock wisely realized that perhaps that might have been a Bit Not Good. “Graham, I—”

“Shut up,” Greg said firmly, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. “You utter, utter, mad bastard.”

John’s throat went tight as he watched Sherlock hesitantly return the hug. “I had no other choice, but I realize this must have been…difficult.”

Greg gave a strangled laugh and let go of Sherlock, holding him at arm’s length. “Bit of an understatement, that.” He turned to John. “And you knew the whole time, did you?”

“Not the first week,” John said immediately. “I swear, Greg, I didn’t—”

This time John found himself being squeezed half to death. “You’re both bastards,” Greg said, voice muffled by John’s shoulder. “Not much of a surprise, really.”

John swallowed around the lump in his throat. He hadn’t quite realized how much he’d missed Greg. “Sorry,” he replied. “We did have a good reason, though, there were—”

“Snipers, one for you, one for me, and one for the lovely Mrs. Hudson?” Greg pulled away, grinning at John. “Yeah, Moriarty was a twat. Good job he offed himself, it’d be a shame to arrest someone for his murder.”

John’s head was spinning. “How did you know that?”

Greg blinked. “The Yard—well, some of us—have been working on it all year, with some help from your Homeless Network and a couple of others. Your names are cleared, you’re welcome.”

John sighed with relief. “Thank you.” Mycroft had told the two of them not to worry about the tabloids and Richard Brook, that he’d deal with them, but the worry had still been there.

“That’s why I’m here,” Greg went on. “We were going to celebrate—although now I see there was more to be glad for.”

“We?”

Greg glanced at Mycroft. “So you didn’t tell them, Myc?”

Sherlock stared between Greg and Mycroft. “What did you just…” His eyes widened with horror. “No. No.”

John caught on. “You can’t be—you two?”

Mycroft blushed.

John shook his head in amazement. “I can’t believe…” he looked at Sherlock and started laughing. Sherlock looked like someone had told him Father Christmas wasn’t real.

“Congratulations,” he finally managed to wheeze. “Didn’t expect that, but…congratulations.” He tried to get a grip on himself, looking anywhere but at Sherlock and Mycroft.

Greg grinned, looking a bit sheepish. “Thanks, mate.”

Sherlock still looked shell-shocked.

“Well,” Mycroft said, clearly trying to salvage the situation, “you two had better get to Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson may need some time to recover from the shock…”

“She’s not the only one who’s had a shock,” John said slyly.

“And you will need to get yourselves into position,” Mycroft continued, blush still high in his cheeks.

“Because it’s already past one, and Moran will definitely come to shoot someone before dark,” John agreed. “We do need eight hours to cross the street.”

Mycroft glared at him, but John just smiled. “Come on Sherlock, Mycroft’s right. We should go home. Let’s leave them to their lunch date.”

Sherlock nodded. They left quietly, not speaking as they went down the stairs. John didn’t dare look at Sherlock again.

The boring suit bloke was still there, standing almost at attention next to the car. Sherlock got in and sat stiffly. He only spoke when the car started moving.

“Do you think we’ll get a happy announcement sometime later in the week?”

John gave up and howled with laughter.

*******************************************

It felt strange walking up to Baker Street in disguise, but the last thing they wanted was Mrs. Hudson shrieking on the street—there was still a certain amount of surveillance around Baker Street. John had already spotted two lower-level recruits of Moriarty’s, and almost ‘tsked’ aloud at how sloppy they were.

Glancing quickly at Sherlock—he seemed to have recovered himself, though a strange half-smile, half-frown was pulling at his lips—John rang the doorbell.

A few moments later Mrs. Hudson opened the door. John winced as he saw the increased lines, the weary half-smile, the pain in their landlady’s eyes.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

This was supposed to be John’s line, but he suddenly found that he could not speak.

“We’d like to take a look at your basement flat,” Sherlock said. His voice had gone croaky.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. “I suppose so. Come in, please.”

They followed her in. Sherlock shut the door with a bit more force than necessary. Mrs. Hudson spun around, clearly about to be indignant, but Sherlock pulled off his fake beard and wig, rising to his proper height. “Apologies, Mrs. Hudson,” he said briskly. “Though I suppose it’s better than gunshots.”

Mrs. Hudson stared at Sherlock, backing up a few steps. “Sherlock?”

John quickly removed his own disguise. “It’s really him, Mrs. Hudson. I know it’s hard to believe—we’re so sorry, we owe you a huge apology, but we’re back now…” he cleared his throat. “Can we come home?”

Mrs. Hudson sobbed and wrapped them both in a tight hug. “Of course you can…I can’t believe it…you’re h-home…”

John hugged her back as tightly as he could manage, closing his eyes tightly. He’d missed Greg, and even Mycroft to some extent, but this woman, their landlady-housekeeper-counsellor…the closest thing he had to a mother…now he really felt like they’d come home.

Mrs. Hudson finally let go and stepped back, dabbing at her eyes. “Are you back to stay?” she asked hopefully.

“We will be,” John said hesitantly. “We need to do something first, and we’ll need your help for that.”

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Hudson smiled. “I’ll get the kettle on, and some food into you, you’ve both lost too much weight. No arguments, Sherlock,” she warned. Sherlock didn’t even bother protesting.

***************************************

Close to nine hours later (Mrs. Hudson insisted on hearing their stories and telling them all the gossip of Baker St. for the last year) John and Sherlock were in position across the street. The old empty house was due to be condemned soon, but the floors were still mostly sound and the top windows looked directly onto their flat.

In other words, it was the perfect place to watch for a sniper.

Mycroft had arranged the rest that afternoon (Sherlock kept texting him asking for ‘details’ about the lunch date; Mycroft had ignored all thirty). There were cops somewhere on the street, a government sniper stationed in case something went wrong, and two dolls in Baker Street.

John thought that part was a bit silly, but Sherlock had insisted that the sniper would need targets. The dolls were remarkably lifelike, and with the curtains partly drawn there was no way to tell they weren’t the real Sherlock and John. Even squinting through binoculars, John couldn’t see Mrs. Hudson, who was positioned in the room behind one of the chairs, moving the dolls every so often to make sure they seemed alive.

John glanced sideways at Sherlock. The other man seemed relaxed, but his jaw betrayed his tension. This had to work, otherwise they would have to keep hiding. Thinking of going back underground, when they had just gotten home…John shook his head. No, everything was going to be fine.

The next few hours passed in absolute silence. John passed the time by trying to spot the Yarders—Mycroft had said six, and he spotted four before eleven—and remembering other stakeouts like this, both during their travels and long before the Fall, when they were just looking for ordinary thieves and murderers. Was it wrong, he wondered, to wish for those times again?

The only thing that made him sure that time was passing was the striking of the city clocks, and even they seemed slow that night. Was it really only fifteen minutes past twelve? John’s legs were cramped, but they had to stay by the window, they had to see where the sniper shot from…

And then there was a creaking behind them.

John didn’t even think; he grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him away from the window and behind the old chair in the far corner. It was a tight squeeze for the two, but it was the only cover in the room.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

This house was the perfect place to watch for a sniper. It was also the ideal place for a sniper to shoot from.

A tall, thin man came in, face hidden in the shadows. He carried a violin case over one shoulder, but John had a feeling the man wasn’t going to play them a sonata.

The man opened the case and began taking out…were those pieces of a Nerf gun?

John watched in absolute shock as one of the most dangerous snipers in the world assembled a child’s toy. Was it meant to be a joke?

And then the final piece was added, a simple metal tube that replaced the regular nozzle, and it stopped being funny.

Because of course, there were no ballistics tests for Nerf guns. Especially not modified Nerf guns. That was what was so odd about Adair’s wounds.

The moon came out for a brief moment, illuminating Moran’s face as he shouldered the gun. “This is for you, Jim,” he whispered, aimed out the window, and fired two shots. Glass shattered twice—once in the room, once across the street and John heard someone scream.

Moran stood, a savage look of—not joy, not even happiness, just a horrible relief. Then Sherlock leapt out from behind the chair, John an instant behind him.

The next few seconds were a blur; Moran was caught by surprise but quite adaptable; he nearly had Sherlock by the throat before John could get the cuffs on him. Even when he was cuffed John had to slam him against the wall to get him to stop struggling. “Enough, Moran,” he snapped. “Game’s up.”

Moran stared at them, wild eyed. “You fiends,” he whispered. “You clever, clever fiends.”

John smiled tightly, hands firmly restraining Moran. “Nice to actually see you.”

Moran’s face worked, then hardened. “I can’t say the same.”

His eyes were dimming, the passion going as the situation sunk in. John looked closely at the man who, only a year ago, had a gun trained on him as he stood in front of St. Bart’s.

“You were his, weren’t you?” John asked, suddenly understanding. Whatever Mycroft thought, it hadn’t just been sex between Moran and Moriarty. At least not on Moran’s part.

Moran nodded jerkily. “From the beginning. Even if he didn’t think so,” he added bitterly. “He’s gone now, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

John recognized the tone; that desperate, lonely tone. “I’m sorry for your loss, Colonel,” he said sincerely.

Moran stared back at him in confusion, then lowered his eyes. “Thank you, Captain.”

Greg Lestrade and—oh, lovely—Donovan and Anderson came into the room, guns drawn. “Everything alright?” Greg asked. The other two were staring wide-eyed, and John felt a savage satisfaction.

“We’re fine,” Sherlock said, “although this wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I asked for an ideal vantage point.”

“To be fair, we did get an excellent view,” John pointed out.

Sherlock hauled Moran to his feet, and Greg took charge of him, the sniper putting up no resistance. “Sebastian Moran, you’re charged with the attempted murders of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.”

“No, no, no, not for that,” Sherlock moaned. “There’s no need for that. Arrest him for Adair’s murder, he’s the one that did it.” Greg stared at Moran. “Did you now? Right, excellent. I’ll get your statements from you two tomorrow, shall I? think there’s a few people at the Yard who’d like to see you.”

“You also don’t want them thinking you’re mad and seeing ghosts,” John answered.

“We’ll be there, Greg,” Sherlock confirmed.

“For the hundredth time, it’s—” Greg stopped. Then he shook his head. “Only took you half a bloody decade.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Graham,” Sherlock huffed. John snorted.

“Do I really have to listen to this nonsense?” Moran asked.

“Donovan, Anderson, take the Colonel down, please,” Greg said by way of answer. They did so, Anderson sneaking looks at Sherlock and John the whole way out of the room.

“Want to join us for a nightcap, Greg?” John asked.

Greg hesitated.

Sherlock grimaced. “Mycroft is in the area. He will want to hear a report. He may as well join us now.”

Greg blushed. “Right, then.” He started to leave, then turned and looked at them both. “It’s over now, isn’t it?”

John looked around the old, lonely room with the odd gun and the broken window, the remnants of their last battle with their worst enemies.

“It is,” he said in awe. “It finally is.”

“Marvellous,” Sherlock said. “Now let’s go home.”