#I don’t remember if I had my meds this morning but I suspect not

[vaya-mernda]

Having a high pain day and I just want to cry (some more).

[vampireloverz]

being alive

pairing: fem! reader x neo x trinity x morpheus

words: 3.7k

cw/tw: foursome (everyone, including reader, is bi and into each other), unprotected sex, mutual virginity loss for reader and neo (first times out of the matrix), size differences (reader is the same height as trinity but shorter than morpheus and neo), a few character x character moments

— Trinity surprises you by piping up, “Nothing like your first time after you wake up.”

You turn your attention to her, “Kissing or sex?”

“Both,” she says easily. —

You don’t have a totally regular sleep schedule yet, no sunlight really does a number on one’s circadian rhythm, you suspect hardly anyone on the ship does. Between preparing for the worst and risking your life in the Matrix, there isn’t much to do on the ship. It’s somewhere between late night and early morning as you meander up to the central hub, half hoping to run into Neo. You reach a hand out to trace the sinews and curves of the wires and metal by your side as you reflect on the tumultuous few months you’ve spent in the ship since being unplugged.

You’re still not sure why Morpheus decided to pull you out, you can’t seem to find whatever asset he sees in you but you’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if this new life isn’t so glamorous. But imagine your surprise when the next person to join the crew— The One, Morpheus calls him— was a familiar face. The real world had gotten a lot more interesting. 

You had hovered around Trinity and Morpheus, they’d hovered around Thomas— Neo— as his body lay in the med bay, slowly growing stronger. Late on one of those nights, Trinity asked you what he was like. You saw her smile for the first time when you confessed your friendship with him started because you’d always linger around the water cooler at the office just for the chance to watch him walk to his desk.

When Morpheus and Neo began combat training in the simulation, Trinity made room for you at her side. You had pressed shoulder to shoulder as she helped you read the code on the screen, and you decided then and there you wanted to get better, stronger. There’s no way you can keep up with Neo, he’s The One after all, but you’re pulling your weight and then some. 

As you climb up the ladder you remember why you’re here, Morpheus has invited you to train. It’s not often he takes his attention off of Neo so you appreciate it. It does surprise you when you see he’s not alone, Trinity and Neo are beside him at the computer, selecting appropriate training programs for the session.

“You’re here,” Morpheus says as a greeting, clapping you on the shoulder when you come into reach. You’re still not quite used to the way physical contact feels so… real, but the small smile he gives you puts you at ease, “Let’s get started.”

—

Late night snacks on the Nebuchadnezzar are really just another helping of the runny, nutritionally-dense porridge the crew eats for every meal, but a few hours of training leaves you starved enough for it to almost taste good. If you don't focus too hard you can halfway convince yourself you like it. 

Neo’s thigh is close to yours, the small metal table the four of you sit at doesn’t allow heaps of personal space but you enjoy being close to people, Neo especially. It makes you feel grounded, human, alive. You wonder if you’ll ever work up the courage to seek out more than fleeting touches.

“I think I could take on an agent for just a little bit of real sugar,” you sigh, pushing around a watery spoonful of your meal with a sigh. 

From the corner of your eye you can see Neo smile, it’s slight but it’s there.

“You’re making progress, but I’m not sure you’re ready for that,” Morpheus says with a touch of good-natured humor.

You roll your eyes but don’t disagree, “Every time I unplug I realize how sensitive my body is. I feel so strong there, but here… even a stubbed toe is still really painful.”

Trinity across from you nods, “Your brain and body are still adjusting to experiencing things physically for the first time.”

The room lapses back into quiet scraping of metal on metal again, each of you trying to finish before the food cools and congeals into inedibility. Your mind begins to wander, musing over the things in your life you thought you’d experienced but in actuality hadn’t. A memory surfaces; a teenage crush, an empty classroom, an inexperienced and hurried press of lips. You try and fail to suppress a giggle, Morpheus shoots you a curious look.

“It’s silly,” you shake your head at yourself, “But I guess that means I've never actually been kissed.”

Morpheus slightly nods his head in a you’ve got a point gesture. Neo lets out a sigh like he’s made a grand realization and the three of you turn to him, anticipating… something.

His face is stony as he says, “We’re virgins,” with such gravitas you bust out laughing.

You lean your head on Neo’s shoulder as his deadly serious expression fades, even turning into a smile when Morpheus chuckles and Trinity huffs a laugh. Comfortable silence descends and you sit up again, cheeks pleasantly tingling, but something still hangs in the air, unspoken.

“You could change that,” Morpheus says, like he’s offering another serving of porridge instead of telling his two newest recruits they should have sex. Your eyes go dinner plate wide as you stare at him. Morpheus pays you no mind, just continues eating with a slight smile playing on his lips.

Trinity surprises you by piping up, “Nothing like your first time after you wake up.”

You turn your attention to her, “Kissing or sex?”

“Both,” she says easily.

You keep your eyes on her as you feel her words, like a drug, seep into you. It takes a moment for you to look away, to look at Morpheus, finding him already focused on you. Finally, you turn to Neo, his eyes bright but not demanding. It seems like he’s waiting. You feel yourself nod before you can stop yourself, that’s all Neo needs. He turns to face you fully as he reaches for you, hands moving to your face slowly, slow enough for you to hear your heartbeat in your ears with each second. 

You’d often wondered what his hands would feel like, beyond the occasional brush in passing of course. It’s even better than you’d imagined, feeling cradled and held and solid— you’re not sure if it’s so amazing because you’re in real space or because it’s Neo. You press your cheek into his palm and try to smother an almost manic laugh, but a small sound escapes anyway. Neo smiles, his dark eyes scanning the curve of your lips.

You hear Morpheus murmur something to Trinity, something about the two of you, but it’s quickly forgotten when Neo leans forward and kisses you. Your eyes shut as you take stock of the new yet familiar sensation. 

The machines have to build a better system, you’ve never experienced a kiss like this while plugged in. Neo’s lips are warm and slightly chapped, pleasant as you both slowly find a comfortable rhythm. Your noses squish uncomfortably when you both try to shift in the same direction but Neo takes it in stride, angling his head the other way to kiss you deeper.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he whispers against your lips when you finally break apart to breathe.

Before you can process what that means, he lets out one breathy laugh and he’s kissing you again. You’ve both moved closer to each other on the metal bench, abandoning the pretense of a polite first kiss to something more, something heated. When Neo puts a hand on your thigh to steady himself your mouth opens on a gasp, the contact sends a bolt of something hot between your legs and you suddenly wish he was touching you there instead.

Both of you seem to forget you have an audience when your tongues touch, and unexpectedly you’re both bolder— your arms wrap around his neck as he all but pulls you onto his lap, hands firm on your hips. Just when you feel a moan perch itself under your chin, Morpheus coughs theatrically and you and Neo spring apart, startled even though he was there the whole time.

“Sorry,” you say, voice hoarse as you press your fingertips to your bottom lip.

Neo mutters something apologetic under his breath and one glance tells you he’s as flustered as you feel. Small comforts. Morpheus’ gaze flicks between the three of you, one eyebrow raises like he knows something you don’t and is greatly amused by it.

“Well?” he says.

“Well?” you and Neo parrot in unison.

Trinity takes a sip from her metal cup and eyes you over the rim. You’ve always found her hard to read, and now it’s worse. You feel naked, like she can read your mind’s innermost secrets— but it doesn’t take a mind reader to feel the energy that hangs in the room, especially between you and Neo.

“Let’s take this somewhere private,” she says, her tone only half a suggestion.

Your heart thuds against your chest when you realize what that means. What it could mean, if you move anywhere private. Wait— all of you?

Never in your life did you think you’d watch beautiful, talented, intimidating Trinity lead anyone down some hidden passage in Nebuchadnezzar, let alone with you in the group. Some distant part of you realizes this must be where she and Morpheus discuss plans and strategies, you feel the balance of secrets between you two tipped slightly back to even.

The large metal door closes behind Morpheus, shutting with a definitive clunk that makes you jump. In the lapse of a few seconds before the light turns on, Neo takes your hand, a comfort in as the unknown approaches. Nervousness bubbles up as the four of you stand and look at each other, each waiting for someone else to move, to speak.

Morpheus moves first, his eyes flick down to Neo’s hand holding yours as he approaches you but he says nothing. He’s about as tall as Neo but you really feel the difference in height now that you’re not sitting. Morpheus is physically larger; more years in the real world allowed him to build considerable muscle, an attractive quality that can’t be hidden by his thin, ratty sweater.

You squeeze Neo’s hand when Morpheus reaches for you, Neo reciprocates. You can’t help but continue to make comparisons now that you have the information to do so. Morpheus’ hand is warmer, hot even, and steadier on your cheek. He doesn’t linger there, trailing down over your pulse until he holds your throat. His hand is firm and dry against your neck as he holds you, not applying any pressure. You blink up at him and find his eyes glimmer with the same amusement you saw earlier.

“Go on.”

Neo’s voice surprises you, but Morpheus’ kiss surprises you even more. You’re at it with the comparisons in an instant, but you can’t deny it’s a damn good kiss. He’s confident, bold enough to trace the seam of your lips with his tongue after mere moments. You feel steadied by his hand on your throat when your knees weaken and you let yourself be swept into the tide of Morpheus’ kisses. You let go of Neo’s hand to grasp at Morpheus’ wrist, breath catching in your throat when he gently presses the heel of his palm against your throat. 

Somewhere in the room you hear Neo and Trinity, your brain dimly registers that they must be doing the same as you but your thoughts are quickly reigned back to Morpheus when his other hand grazes over your chest. You moan into his mouth when he cups your chest, strong hand surprisingly gentle as it cradles the weight of it. His thumb swipes over your hardening nipple and you shiver.

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed when you pull apart, all you know is that your body is buzzing, every inch of you feels like a live wire. It takes a deep breath and some effort not to stutter, “Wow.”

Morpheus smiles and ducks down to lay another kiss at the corner of your lips, “Wow is good.”

Trinity comes into view, taking your hand and gently moving you towards her as Neo and Morpheus find their way towards each other. You’re not sure which one of them moves to kiss first but you find it doesn’t matter as you watch Neo's eyes flutter shut so prettily, lashes fanning the tops of his cheeks.

Trinity captures your attention by running her knuckles along the hinge of your jaw. You turn to her, wondering if you’ll ever get used to how beautiful she looks as you idly brush back some of her short bangs. She cracks a small smile at the gesture. Her lips are softer than Neo’s, her cheeks don’t scratch you like Morpheus’ stubble, the way her arm curls around your waist makes your heart skip a beat.

“Take off your clothes,” Trinity pants against your mouth, slipping her hands under your sweater and squeezing your sides.

You nod dumbly as someone behind you begins to peel off your top and Trinity helps you shimmy off your pants. With your clothes cast aside, their hands are on you without hesitation— Trinity grips your hips and kisses you with fervor as Morpheus’ hands cup your chest from behind, both sets of hands are strong and sure. It’s nearly impossible to tell if it’s Neo who kisses along the curve of your shoulder, yet you’re sure it’s him.

You’re turned around to face Morpheus who kisses you before leading you to a makeshift bed in the back of the room. He pats it once as an invitation and instructs you to, “Sit.”

He kisses you again before giving you space to hop up, you let out a laugh when you realize Neo was watching your chest bounce with the motion. He looks away for a moment, cheeks flushing attractively, but he looks back when Trinity kneels at your feet and pushes your legs apart by your knees. 

She tilts forward to kiss your tender inner thigh and ask, “Can I?”

“Oh,” you sigh, excitement and anticipation roiling hot in your stomach as you scoot forward, “Yes, please.”

You catch a flash of Trinity’s small smile before she seals her mouth over your cunt, merciful enough to not tongue at your clit immediately. Neo and Morpheus move to fill in the space around you, Neo’s warm hands go to your chest while he kisses the hinge of your jaw and Morpheus starts to undress. Your brain short circuits when Trinity hums against your clit as Neo simultaneously rolls your nipples between his fingers, you don’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about the noises you’re making.

Motion in the corner of your vision catches your eye, Morpheus is lazily stroking his cock just in your reach. You can't help yourself, you reach for him and wrap your hand around his length, mimicking his slow, focused motions. He lets out a groan that encourages you to keep going, eager to see what other sounds you can draw from him.

Your rhythm becomes sloppy and distracted as your orgasm creeps up on you, you give up on focusing entirely when Morpheus’ hand curls over yours, using your hand to stroke himself while you buck your hips onto Trinity’s tongue. 

“Let go,” Neo mumbles between kisses along your jaw, “I wanna see you. Just let go, it’s okay.”

No orgasm in the Matrix could compare to your first one in the real world. No machine could ever code something that has your thighs trembling and hips bucking, your voice breaking on a desperate groan, falling apart with Trinity’s tongue on your clit.

Trinity is gentle with you as you come down from your orgasm, carefully, gently lapping at you while Neo and Morpheus murmur praise on either side of you. She leaves wet, sticky kisses along your thighs and stomach when she finally rises from her knees, her clothes falling away as she moves to sit between you and Morpheus. When both of you move to kiss her, it makes her laugh quietly. Morpheus plants a trail of kisses from her lips to her shoulder and you idly stroke your fingers along the seam of her thigh and her mound, petting the dark hair there with still shaky fingers.

“Can I?” you ask, purposefully imitating her self-assured tone when she asked you the same question.

“Yes,” she whispers against your lips, her voice surprisingly sweet when she moans at the feeling of your fingers circling her clit.

You find her wetter than you expected, you’d never thought you’d be in a position to make her feel so good. Trinity hums when you slip a finger inside her, the warmth of her pussy makes you shudder and you waste no time in slipping another finger into her, pumping and curling them until you find the spots and rhythm that draw out the best responses from her.

You feel her tightening around your fingers when you pass your thumb over her clit so you do it again, trying to alternate the curling of your fingers inside her and the strokes to her clit. You want to make her cum as hard as she made you cum, and you can tell she’s close. She’s soaking you down to your wrist and gripping your arm like a lifeline.

Trinity’s wavering moans rise in pitch as she tucks her face into your throat, clinging to you while she tips over the brink and rides the waves of her orgasm, her pussy gripping your fingers like a vice, hips rolling and back arching. When you feel her calm a little, you slowly slide your fingers out of her, rubbing her clit with her slick just to hear her moan again, but her soft sounds are muffled when she presses her lips to yours.

While you slide your tongue against Trinity’s, you feel a warm hand slip between your thighs, finding where you’re slick and warm in an instant to slip two fingers inside you. You and Morpheus moan in tandem at the feeling, Neo nearby makes a sound like he’s been punched.

Trinity breaks away from you to go to Neo, both of them reaching for one another is quite the sight, but Morpheus distracts you with another finger to stretch you and a kiss to your temple. You spread your legs a little wider for him, wondering if everyone’s first time in the real world feels this wonderful when Morpheus presses against the tender spot inside you that makes you keen.

Morpheus’ fingers tilt your chin upwards with his free hand, “Look.”

You blink your eyes open to watch Trinity slowly stroking Neo, her thumb passing over the head of his leaking cock makes you both whine. You grasp helplessly at Morpheus’ arm and try to calm your thundering heartbeat, “Please, I’m ready— I want it.”

You let your weight lean into Morpheus as he grips one of your thighs, holding you open with one hand and leisurely circling your clit with the other while you both watch Trinity line up Neo’s cock with your entrance. When you glance up at her you wish you could lean over and kiss her parted lips— then Neo slides into you and the stretch is heaven, erasing every other thought.

Morpheus kisses your hairline as you drop your head back onto his shoulder with a inhaled gasp, you can’t tell whose hand pinches your nipple but you enjoy the bright spark of painful pleasure anyway.

“How does he feel?” Morpheus asks when Neo bottoms out, his voice is all honey against your ear, amused and thick, you can feel his erection on your back but you can’t think clearly enough to mention it.

You fish for the words to describe even a fraction of what you’re feeling now but come up with nothing. How could you possibly articulate the way the hot expanse of Morpheus’ chest feels like an anchor, how Trinity’s cool hand on your thigh feels like reassurance, how Neo’s hips hitting yours with every thrust makes you feel more alive. All you can do is cling to them as they cling to you, allowing your moans and sighs to join the chorus of sounds that fills the room.

Trinity whispers something in Neo’s ear that has him surging forward to kiss you, changing the angle so quickly it makes you both gasp into the kiss.

“So good,” you murmur against Neo's mouth, “Neo, you feel so, so good.”

If you could focus on anything else besides Neo’s slow and deep thrusts you would have been more than vaguely aware of the soft, pleased sounds of Morpheus and Trinity kissing behind you, of Morpheus’ hips moving in time with Neo’s to rub his cock along your back. Neo’s thrusts gain more momentum now, finding a new, steady rhythm that has both of you panting.

Neo’s breath comes heavier now, whines and grunts with every thrust, “I’m going to— f–fuck, can I?”

When you realize what he’s clumsily asking for, you melt, “Yes, Neo, please,” you whisper, holding him tighter when he trembles, moaning out something that sounds like every expletive at once when he cums. Morpheus follows soon after, painting the small of your back with cum with a deep groan.

Neo’s hips keep bucking until there couldn’t possibly be any more for him to give, the stimulation making a mess of you both and hurtling you towards another orgasm. Tears prick at your eyes with the intensity of it, everything feels more intense now that Neo's filled you. You mourn the loss when he softens and slips out but he ducks his head to kiss your whine away as the four of you tangle together, arms and hands overlapping to hold each other.

The four of you stay curled together for a while, none of you willing to step away from the comfort of weight and warmth. Neo gently takes your hand and brings it palm side up to his lips, planting a hot kiss square in the middle. You both huff a breathless laugh as you curl your fingers around the heat he left behind, and you know he feels as alive as you do. 

[pinkantagonist]

I’m just gonna vent about adhd for a second.

A while back, I told my boss (past boss) that I had adhd. I was being converted from a contract worker to full time, so disclosing my disability seemed like a normal part of that process. I wanted to put my best foot forward at my new job, and ask for reasonable accommodations so I could do my best work. My boss and I had a good relationship, so I felt very confident about it.

He scoffed at me, said that “everyone has a little adhd”, and then went off about how kids are over diagnosed. I sat in silence for the rest of the conversation. Oh, and it took about 8 months for me to get my requested accommodations.

I have a different boss now, who is much kinder about it, but this really colored my experience of being a working person with adhd. Sometimes I forget that I’m disabled or I don’t consider myself as such, but the corporate world has a way of reminding me.

Well, this morning I fucked up. I was supposed to do a small presentation and I completely forgot, and missed about 90% of it (I work remotely and have somewhat flexible hours, for context).

I remembered at the tail end of the meeting, jumped into the call and apologized to everyone, and was able to finish it up, after my boss had so kindly stepped in and presented most of it for me. I made a real ass of myself and I’m trying SO hard not to spiral about it… it was absolutely mortifying.

Now, this was 100% my fault. I’m not trying to blame anything else, but damn is it just… hard. It’s so hard for me to like, be a person. And the adderall shortage is making it so much worse. I can only get the instant release tablets, MAYBE, if I’m lucky, and they just flat out don’t work as well as the extended release, which are impossible to find right now.

I have pretty severe TMJ, which is exacerbated by the instant release, so I’m constantly balancing being in so much agony and being a functioning person. The less pain I experience the more I fail at my responsibilities, and the more pain I’m in the better my brain works... And the more teeth I break. You don’t even want to know how much I’ve spent on dental work, and a mouth guard that my insurance refused to cover.

Basically, yesterday I chose to be irresponsible with less pain on my day off, which had major repercussions today. If I’m not like, 110% stressed out about everything 24/7 I WILL forget pretty much all appointments and commitments, but it’s unsustainable to live like this and my health is FAILING. I can feel myself becoming weaker and worn out. I’m killing myself just to appear “normal”. But I can’t do anything less, because if I get fired, goodbye health insurance! Then I wouldn’t even be able to get the shitty instant release tablets.

And it’s all invisible. No one suspects a thing. I can’t really talk about it. I told everyone we experienced a power outage, because the real reason just seems silly. Sorry, I took a day off from being a person yesterday because my daily life makes me feel like I’m drowning, and my meds didn’t kick in fast enough for me to remember on time! Sorry, I was distracted by having to pry my jaw open to brush my teeth when I woke up today since I already lost my $800 night guard! Sorry, I have chronic IBS which causes me so much pain that sometimes I can’t even move when I first get up, which was what delayed me taking my meds in the first place!

I don’t know what the point of this was. Happy disability month, I guess. It absolutely sucks here.

And if you think “everyone has a little adhd”, please go fuck yourself.

[scientia-rex]

This gets notes every time it drifts into leftist circles. But here’s the thing: I am a doctor. I have cared for children in hospitals. Vast, intricate supply chains that rely on functioning world governments with trade agreements are necessary to the provision of modern medical care. There is no way to work it so those kids can win if electricity, water, food, or medical supplies like sterile intravenous fluid bags or EKG stickers get interrupted. Forget even permanent disruption, a temporary disruption of the sterile tubing necessary for surgery would mean a lot of kids die of appendicitis. The generators we have as back-up are meant to last minutes, not weeks. And you can say “under my new system, the total violence done would ultimately be less than the violence done by the state,” but it’s easier to say that about a hypothetical kid than one lying on a gurney in front of you. When you’ve been responsible for a life—when you’ve lost a patient, when you’ve been through a Code Blue for a one-year-old—there is nothing you would not do in order to protect that life. I think all the time about what Devil’s bargains I would make for various situations; it’s one of the fucked up things I do. I can tell you that I would kill anyone who tried to cut power to my hospital, or I would die trying. There is no alternative.

The world is too interconnected to allow one part of it to go down. When Puerto Rico got slammed by hurricanes and the US did fuck all about it, we had a nationwide shortage of bagged IV fluids. I was working in hospitals through that. Things we normally do as part of routine medical care, like giving the puking kid with the migraine IV Zofran and Reglan, got a whole lot harder. I was working inpatient during COVID, when there were sudden shortages of pain and anxiety medications we relied on, like opioids and benzodiazepines. There was a nationwide shortage of lidocaine last year and we had to save it for biopsies of suspect cancers. Surgery requires not only a surgeon but an entire team of people and complex equipment to safely sterilize tools, most of which are now based around laparoscopic surgery that requires camera tools instead of the old-school open surgeries. You could not even say “but the surgeons can still operate” because no. They can’t. Not safely. Not with ether instead of succinate and fentanyl. I could deliver your baby after the apocalypse, but who’s staffing the blood banks when you have a post-partum hemorrhage and I don’t have three trained nurses with a kit of specialty meds to slow the bleeding? I still remember the time during the worst of COVID when I couldn’t fly a patient from our rural hospital to an urban hospital that could have done the operation he needed, because the hospitals were completely full. I had to buy time with heavy-duty IV antibiotics (the one and only time I’ve been allowed to use a -penem) while he lay there in agony for 12 hours until a bed came open and we could transfer him. If we couldn’t treat the pain and keep the infection from killing him long enough to operate, he would have died then and there, in front of us, while we stood there helplessly.

So how many kids are you OK with watching die from a ruptured appendix? That’s what comes in to the ED at two in the morning and within half an hour if you’re lucky has an ultrasound proving the diagnosis and a surgeon getting scrubbed in. If there isn’t ultrasound, ultrasound techs, pain medication, anesthesiologists, ventilation machine for when you’re under, light-up scopes with blades to allow for intubation bc then there’s direct visualization of the vocal cords, paralytic medications to keep you still, medications to keep you asleep, monitoring machines that read your blood pressure ans CO2 levels and pulse oximetry while you’re under, computer scheduling for OR time, post-op recovery nurses, gurneys, autoclaves, specialized small metal tools for the surgery—if there are interruptions in training or production of any of these and a whole lot more, anyone could die of a surgical problem, but it hurts worse when it’s a kid. Watch breast cancer come back into vogue, as we lose mammograms. You ever treated a woman who’s ignored breast cancer so long it’s now a fungating mass? Go Google what that looks like. Two cases have walked into my office and they are both dead now. One was schizophrenic. Without modern global supply chains, we don’t have lorazepam or morphine for humane death, let alone psych meds. How many people would deteriorate? Get specific. Which friends would you be willing to watch die? Which of their kids are expendable?

What kind of violent revolution are you planning where you are able to look a patient in the eye and tell them, “Your death is necessary to my vision,” and not understand that you are the villain?

You get to decide whether you want to end your own life for this glorious future. You do not get to decide to end my life or my patients’ lives or anyone else’s. You are not God and you do not get to make plans as if you are, as if you have the One Correct Vision and the rest of us just need to fall in line and follow the prophet. Fuck you. You think the Black kid whose treatment team I was on while he writhed in pain on a hospital bed because he had a kidney transplant and it was rejecting wouldn’t tell you to go fuck yourself about your violent revolution? Our society is no longer able to tolerate large-scale disruptions. We have built too much and we would lose too much. We are too big to fail, and although it’s easy to see that as a bad thing, what I keep seeing, over and over, is that transplant team. How the nephrologist and the resident and the nurses and techs and pharmacists and therapists were working together to keep that kid alive. The scientists who did the research, relying on impossibly complex systems that have taken hundreds of years to build. Collaboration is how we survive.

We cannot allow the vulnerable to die and call that progress. We cannot turn the lights out on any hospitals, because the people in the ICU on ventilators will stop breathing and die within minutes. Would you want that to happen if it’s your mother in that ICU? Would you tell your mother the answer to that? What if it was your child? What about your favorite sibling? How many of other people’s families are you willing to sacrifice for the sake of something that stands a virtually 100% chance of going up in flames immediately, when we look at prior attempts at creating a new government out of war and chaos? The massive impacts of even “small” shortages on patients is not theoretical and has killed patients since I’ve been an attending, starting three years ago.

You do not own the right to anyone else’s life.

And if you think you want a violent revolution, see how you do with your next toothache without pain meds, lidocaine, dental expertise, and composite that lets you keep the tooth and keep chewing. How long would you have to suffer to crack?

I think a lot about how, if the glorious violent revolution happens, every kid with significant medical needs in a hospital where power gets cut will die.

You can decide you're willing to sacrifice your own life, but you don't get to tell everybody else on the planet that they're acceptable collateral damage.

[silver-rings-and-rabbits]

Open Heart - Chapter 5

Relief

Later that night, Matthew and co sat at a Donahue’s table, eagerly discussing the announcement, speculating on the glamorous life of the diagnostics team and why they might have decided to train someone from the beginning. Bryce had even bought them a congratulatory tray of shots, though Matthew strongly suspected he was sucking up on the possibility that he would have an in on the diagnostics team. It would get him the best surgeries.

“You all know Chief Emery will want Ramsey to pick her precious Aurora,” Jackie pointed out (ever the optimist) as they clinked their drinks together.

Landry frowned. “But we still have a chance, right?”

“I think she’s not as bad people say,” Matthew said. “She just seems to be under a lot of pressure.”

“And? We all are,” Jackie growled. Matthew held up his hands in surrender.

“I just mean that I don’t think any of you have to worry about her.”

“’You’? Hang on…” Elijah gasped. “Are you not going to compete for the fellowship?”

“Wait, what?!”

His friends broke into surprised questions and outraged comments. Matthew let the shock wear off, spinning an empty shot glass between his fingers.

“The only reason I survived our first week was because of you guys. And I don’t want anything to jeopardise our friendship.”

“Actually, you’ve got a point,” Elijah agreed. “At my med school, the competitiveness was so heated, no one was really friends with anyone.”

Matthew nodded as Sienna gave him a squeeze, but Jackie still thought he was being a dumbass and missing out on a chance to jumpstart his career. Still, Matthew hadn’t considered a career without the diagnostics team until last night. His talk with Ramsey had given him a lot to consider.

“Interns! Hello!” Ines and Zaid had come over. Or rather, Ines had come over and Zaid had reluctantly followed.

“Hey Ines!” Elijah said cheerfully, raising his glass.

“I saw some of you have signed up for the competition already. I’m proud of you!”

“And I just want you all to know,” Zaid said, with an uncharacteristic smile, “that whichever one of you wins…you won’t deserve it,” he finished with a snarl that looked much more normal on his face.

The next morning, Matthew woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested until he focused on his bedside clock: it was 10AM. He had massively overslept.

“Crap!!”

He jumped up, scrambling for the closest piece of clothing, which was his jeans, only to put his foot through the wrong hole and tumble to the floor.

“Matthew, was that you? You OK?”

Sienna poked her head round the door and giggled at the sight of Matthew in a tangle of clothes.

“Why are you in such a rush, silly? You do remember it’s our day off?”

The relief crashed down so hard that Matthew couldn’t even be embarrassed.

“Wow, you’re right…I’d almost forgotten what a day off felt like!”

“Elijah has tickets for a baseball game and we’re all invited if you want to come with.”

“Absolutely! Er…” Matthew was about to get up when he realised he was in his underpants, wearing jeans on the wrong leg. “May I have some privacy first, please?” he asked, smiling sweetly. Sienna backed out the room, still giggling.

Once Matthew was properly dressed with everything on the right body parts and had eaten some cereal, the gang made their way to Fenway Stadium. Crowds of people were already filing through and the air buzzed with excitement. The Nighthawks were up against their arch-rivals, the Stingrays. Matthew settled into his seat with a corn dog in one hand and a frozen lemonade in the other. They had primo seats, right by the home plate dugout.

“Great seats, Elijah!”

“Gotta be fully close to appreciate the bloodbath!” Elijah chortled. He knew more about baseball than Matthew did. “Be loud for Guaron’s at-bat. He’s batting .316 this year.”

“He’s what?” Matthew could remember diseases and medicines that had twenty letters to their names, but he generally fell short at sport stats. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to explain everything to me.”

“Ooh, trust me, digging into the details is a baseball nerd’s dream.”

Matthew took a mouthful of lemonade and the sweet, tart slush danced across his tastebuds with the perfect sharpness. He loved frozen juices.

“How long have you been a fan?” he asked Elijah.

 “Always! Playing catch with my dad was one of the few athletic pursuits I got pretty good at.”

The five of them sat back to watch the game. Elijah explained the details to the two boys whilst Sienna and Jackie kept half an eye on the game as they talked about something completely unrelated. Elijah’s excitement rubbed off on Matthew and he cheered and booed with everyone else as the Stingrays built up a two-run lead. At the third inning, the Nighthawks manager walked out of the dugout to the mound and spent several minutes in discussion with the players.

“What could they possibly be talking about for so long?” Landry groaned, dismissively. “They’re just throwing a ball around.

Elijah laughed.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Lando. Baseball’s all strategy: each team plays one hundred and sixty-two games a year. Hundreds of at-bats, thousands of pitches, every one studied and analysed. Every moment is calculated. Infinite statistics.”

Landry looked back at the playing field with renewed interest. “I do love statistics…” He was right where Elijah wanted him.

As Landry and Elijah started discussing the game in more detail, Matthew zoned out a little, finishing his lemonade. He was content to let the buzz of the game wash of him in the company of his friends, the sun warm on his face. It was nice not to have lives depending on him, or residents like Zaid breathing down his neck. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.

A young pitcher stepped up to the plate for the Nighthawks and Elijah cheered encouragement. The pitcher – apparently named Jake Sandberg – was sweating profusely; when he took off his hat, Matthew could clearly see his forehead was drenched. So could Jackie, and they shared a look.

“He doesn’t look so good…” Jackie said, but before completing her sentence, the pitcher had vomited…and collapsed.

“Oh no!” Sienna gasped as confusion rose up amongst the fans and the infielders rushed to Sandberg’s side. The manager was frantic as he charged onto the field.

“Our team physician quit on us right before the game!” he groaned. “What are we gonna do? Is anyone here a doctor?”

Automatically, all five roommates shot their hands into the air. The manager blinked at them, completely flabbergasted. He clearly hadn’t expected a real answer to his question.

Sandberg was rolled onto a stretcher and his team mates carried him into the Nighthawks locker room, the doctors following close behind. One of Sandberg’s team mates was hastily dialling 911 as they gathered awkwardly in the doorway to give the doctors space to work. The manager tried to reassure them that Sandberg would pull through.

Elijah seemed a little dazed as he rolled towards the stretched that had been placed on a bench. Landry – who brought his doctors bag everywhere – was already listening through a stethoscope as Sienna reported shallow breathing.

“Sounds like fluid build-up…could be in trouble…”

Matthew turned back to the team.

“Can you give us some background on Sandberg? How long as he been pitching for you?”

The players explained he hadn’t been pitching with them for too long and, though he hadn’t complained about pain, he had been having a lot of ice baths, even on days when he wasn’t pitching. The manager looked awkward.

“He’s been struggling in the majors. I’ve been in discussion with ownership to send him back down to minors. You know how it goes with rumours, he probably started picking it up and got nervous.”

The nearby players nodded in agreement.

“He kept freaking out about it…hyperventilating and sweating.”

“Hyperventilating…how often?”

“I only saw it a couple of times…”

“He always seems tired though…”

“Definitely yawning a lot in meetings…”

“Was he on medication?” Elijah asked.

“He wasn’t prescribed anything.”

Matthew and Elijah returned to their friends – who had just ruled out heatstroke – and reported their findings. A flash of blue caught Matthew’s eye: a Stingrays player had just snuck in.

“Hey, you can’t be in here—”

Matthew shut up in surprise when one of the Nighthawks players stood up and hugged his rival tightly.

“Thanks for checking in, Ray. We’re just praying.”

The Stingray player looked at Matthew guiltily.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted to check in…”

“That’s fine, just…weren’t you fighting on the field just now?”

The Nighthawks player chuckled. “Yeah, we’re rivals on the field but only on the field. Me and Ray grew up playing baseball in the streets of Miami.”

“Sure, when we’re playing we’re a hundred percent focused on the game,” Ray added. “But when it’s over, we’re brothers again.”

“It’s really that easy?” Matthew’s mind wandered back to the hospital.

“It gets heated but only because we’re only pushing each other so hard. Iron shaping iron, y’know?”

Iron shaping iron…

“I think that’s it!” Matthew gasped aloud to no one in particular. He jumped back to his friends, leaving the players slightly confused behind him. “Drug interaction! I think he has meds that are amplifying each other!”

“That could be it!” Sienna gasped.

“Wait, what medications though?” Elijah asked.

“If he was already worried about being cut, he must have been taking something on the down low.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done that,” Jackie nodded.

“Maybe an anxiety medication?” Matthew suggested. “If he had an anxiety disorder and is in a high-pressure situation…”

“Oh! Fluoxetine? It’s not too difficult to get a prescription for that.”

“Say you’re right, what’s interacting with it?”

“If he was taking a lot of ice baths he must have had pains…it was most likely a painkiller.”

“Was it arthritic inflammation?”

“Ankylosing spondylitis!”

“Wait, wait…what are you on about?”

Their rapid conversation had left the manager and the team completely baffled. Jackie quickly explained the situation in layman’s terms: Sandberg was suffering from a form of arthritis that affected the spine.

“He’d have likely taken an NSAID for it, like celecoxib,” Matthew said to his fellow doctors.

“That kind of interaction could do irreparable damage to his kidneys. We gotta get him to a hospital,” Elijah said urgently.

The manager pulled Sandberg’s bag out of his locker and Jackie and Matthew dug through it. It appeared empty until Matthew found a zipped pocket. He opened it to find fluoxetine and celecoxib: exactly as they had suspected.

“Great,” Jackie said, on-point and no-nonsense. “Now we gotta get him to hospital before his kidneys take too much damage.”

As if summoned, the sound of helicopter blades cut through the locker room. The players seemed to collectively sigh in relief.

Being the strongest two of the group, Matthew and Jackie took charge of Sandberg’s stretcher. Elijah led the way, Sienna and Landry kept to Sandberg’s sides. The medivac chopper had just touched down and a female paramedic, with long, dark hair, jumped out immediately, preparing the loading equipment. As the blades slowed and stopped, the pilot jumped out and Matthew recognised him instantly. He broke into a smile.

“Matthew!” Rafael recognised him immediately too. “What are you doing here?”

“Right place, right time. The patient’s name is Jake Sandberg, twenty-two years old. He collapsed due to an accidental overdose of celecoxib interacting with fluoxetine,” Matthew explained to the paramedics as they loaded Sandberg onto the chopper and worked to attach fluids. Rafael looked back at him, impressed.

“Wow. You solved this already?”

“We all did.” Matthew indicated his friends, who were having their hands shaken off by the rest of the team. Sienna glanced over and gave Rafael a friendly wave, which he returned with a smile.

“Well done,” he said to Matthew. “I thought you were only in your first week!”

“We are.”

“You don’t sound like it.” Rafael spoke with one hundred percent sincerity. Matthew was surprised into speechlessness for a moment. The compliment from the paramedic had been so off-hand it felt like it should have been obvious, yet Matthew needed the third-party observation to be convinced. Maybe his first week hadn’t been as disastrous as he thought it had been.

“Do you want to come with us?” Rafael asked. “We could use a doctor on board. Plus my shift technically finished ten minutes ago so I could show you round a little afterwards.”

“Really?” Matthew looked over at the helicopter with a flicker of excitement. “That…would be really cool!”

Matthew rushed back to his friends to tell them he was going to assist the paramedics on the way back to Edenbrook and would see them at home. They noisily told him to get going before heading back to their seats, and Matthew rushed back to the chopper. The crowd was cheering as the blades started up.

Matthew strapped himself into the seat beside Rafael, whose colleague was in the back with Sandberg. Rafael handed him a headset and helped him adjust it with warm fingers.

“Can you hear me OK?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Lucie, are you strapped in?”

“Safe and secure!” The woman passed Matthew a clipboard. “Doctor, can you sign his medical chart?”

Matthew nodded, quickly scrawling Sandberg’s diagnosis and signing his name. Rafael steered the helicopter out of the stadium, then glanced over at Matthew.

“Are you adding your friends names too?”

“I’m telling you, it was a group effort.” Matthew grinned as he passed the chart back to Lucie. Rafael beamed at him before refocusing on flying. Excitement hummed in Matthew’s chest as he eyed the city beneath him. Buildings looked like matchboxes and cars were just little spots of colour. He could see for miles, the ocean glimmering behind the city.

“Look here.” Rafael indicated a spot below. “What do you see?”

Matthew peered and then his eyes widened. “Is that the hospital?” He laughed. “It seemed so big on my first day but from here it’s tiny!”

“Everything gets put into perspective up here, it’s one of the reasons why I like it so much.”

“How did you learn to fly?”

“My uncle was a pilot in the marines. He taught me to fly when I was still in high school.”

“Seriously? That’s young!”,

When Matthew was in high school, all he had done was study. His most extreme form of transport was horseback riding through fields.

“It was just a fun thing to do on weekends. It was a great way to spend time with a great man,” Rafael said, with a nostalgic smile. The admiration in his voice was sweet.

“Are you still close?” Matthew asked, but sadness crossed Rafael’s face.

“He died two years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“He was really active in our community,” Rafael said. “When he wasn’t flying he would organise food drives and buses for anyone struggling. He was so generous.” The sadness left Rafael’s face, replaced with contentment. “It was actually what made me want to be a paramedic; I wanted to help people too.”

That was touching, and it was cool to hear how Rafael had chosen his career. Matthew liked his dedication; it was similar to his own.

The helicopter touched down on the Edenbrook helipad, where an attending and a nurse were already waiting. Rafael and Lucie quickly unloaded Sandberg and handed him over to the medical staff. Lucie was staying at the hospital and she called back to Rafael ‘fly safe!’. Rafael ran back to the helicopter, his hair ruffled by the blades. His eyes were bright and he was flushed with adrenaline.

“He’s gonna make it, thanks to you,” he announced proudly.

“Couldn’t have done it without you either, flyboy.” Matthew was just as impressed.

Rafael’s smile was practically splitting his face as the chopper took off again. The sun was lower in the sky, making the skyscrapers glitter. Matthew spotted his apartment building.

“Let me show you my favourite part of the city,” Rafael said.

He moved the chopper over a flat, urban residential neighbourhood, plenty of trees and a few small parks. Mathew could just about see the shadows of people in the street.

“That’s where I grew up,” Rafael explained. “My grandparents immigrated from Brazil and bought an apartment. It was a cheaper market back then,” he chuckled.

“Do they still live there?” Matthew asked.

“No, they bought a nearby house later on. But my parents moved into their old apartment, so I got to grow up in it. They’re still there now and I currently live…just there, a few blocks away. I could never leave this neighbourhood.”

Rafael carefully angled the chopper as he pointed out the various buildings his family lived in. Matthew wondered what the neighbourhood was like to visit; there seemed to be fewer cars around here. He glanced back to see Rafael smiling down at the place happily. It clearly held importance to him. Matthew could easily picture him as the gentle neighbour who went round lending a hand to the community when he was needed, the same way as the uncle whom he admired so much.

“Sounds like you’re a family man.”

“Big time. Are you close with yours?”

That was complicated. Matthew had a great relationship with Holly and his Uncle Tony, but they had had a tough ride. Although he hadn’t officially cut off his father, they hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Kind of…?” he said awkwardly. “We’ve been through a lot, and it’s taken its toll.” He bit his lip as he looked out of the window.

“It looks like you’ve found a second family for yourself,” Rafael said after a minute, relaxing when Matthew smiled.

“You mean my roommates? Yeah, I’ve been really lucky there.”

“I’ll bet they’d say the same about you.”

Rafael had a twinkle in his eye. Matthew wondered if he was this complimentary to everyone.

Outside, the sun had started to set, tinting the city orange. Golden hour had never looked quite like this.

“It’s so beautiful,” Matthew murmured.

An idea took hold of Rafael.

“Want to see a really nice view?”

“I don’t think anything could be better than this, but you can try!”

With a laugh, Rafael turned the chopper away from the city and over to the coastline. Matthew watched eagerly and then his jaw dropped as Cape Cod came into view. The grey buildings gave way to the blue-green seaside landscape. The water reflected the bright light of the sun hanging low in the rosy sky.

“My second favourite part of the city,” Rafael said fondly. “Hell of a drive by car, but in the air it’s only fifteen minutes.”

Matthew couldn’t speak. Rafael watched him take it all in, his eyes wide and blue as the ocean itself.

Rafael kept the helicopter hovering, sitting in comfortable silence as they enjoyed the view. The ocean moved below them, with ever-present waves. Closer to the shore, white sailboats dotted the surf. Seagulls flew below them with wind ruffling their feathers. The sunset illuminated the whole scene, washing the sky in pink and orange rays and filling the cabin with warm light.

Matthew’s eyes roamed the view, trying to commit as much of it to memory as possible. He murmured something that Rafael just about picked up over the headset: “I can’t believe this is my life.”

Matthew finally looked away from the city – his new city – and back to Rafael with a shy smile.

“Thank you for showing me this.” His stomach fluttered, soaring alongside the birds. His life was on the cusp of something very special. “Maybe we could come back here sometime…stop somewhere…share a drink…”

Rafael’s cheeks darkened as he bit his lip to hide a smile. The sun behind him almost made him look like he was glowing. “I’d like that…but for now I have to get this chopper back.”

The sky grew darker as they flew back over the city, but the warmth never left the cabin.

Matthew couldn’t help feeling impressed that he’d correctly directed Rafael to his apartment building on the first try. Rafael lowered the chopper slowly.

“So I just climb out of an airborne chopper now?” Matthew asked, with an eager smile.

“Is that OK? I can set her down if—”

“No, I definitely want to climb down. I’ll feel like an action hero…kind of like you!”

Rafael laughed loudly – a rich sound that filled the cabin – as he turned away, blushing a little. Matthew carefully removed his headset and handed it back to him. Their hands brushed against each other as Rafael took it. Their eyes met, and butterflies started up in Matthew’s stomach. The corner of Rafael’s mouth flicked upward before he cleared his throat.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Matthew’s fingers were tingling where they had brushed against Rafael’s skin.

“Goodnight Dr Valentine,” Rafael said wistfully, as he released the ladder.

“Goodnight Rafael,” Matthew replied. He held Rafael’s gaze for one more second before he descended, leaping off the last few rungs off the ladder with ease. He stood and shot Rafael a wave.

The night had never been brighter as he headed for the door…only to find it locked.

“Crap…” he muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket and dialling. “Hey, Sienna, are you home? Great! I need a favour…”

As Sienna told him she was on her way to rescue him, Matthew looked back over his shoulder. Rafael was hovering. Matthew waved again, but he doubted Rafael could see him from where he was.

After another minute, the door opened to reveal Sienna. She had an eager smile.

“How was it?!” she asked, looking through the doorway where they both watched Rafael ascending and flying away. Matthew gave a contented sigh as he watched. Sienna practically tugged him back inside.

“Well?” she demanded. “How was it? What happened? What’s going on between you?”

“Sienna!” Matthew protested. “We took Sandberg to the hospital, and then we flew over Cape Cod for a while. Nothing to it.”

“Uh-huh.” Sienna clearly didn’t believe him. “He didn’t start a conversation with anyone else, or ask anyone else to fly.”

“Had any of you met him properly before today?”

Sienna admitted they hadn’t.

Matthew was still buzzing and bounced on his feet in the elevator. Almost as soon as he got through the door of the apartment, he started talking about Rafael and the helicopter, leaving his roommates no option but to wait for him to run out of steam.

“…If you guys get the chance to fly in a helicopter, do it! It’s the coolest thing…”

Matthew finally trailed off when he realised he had been talking too much for anyone to get a word in.

“Anyway, how was the rest of the game?” he asked, settling into the corner of the couch.

“You won’t believe this but, until Sandberg, Landry had been taking notes all game and then gave the manager advice that actually led to the Nighthawks winning!” Elijah crowed. “Unbelievable.”

“Well…all I did was look at the evidence and diagnose the problem…which is why you can all kiss that diagnostics position gooooood-bye!”

“Dream on, buddy, I’ll give you a run for your money!” Jackie pointed a butter knife at Landry and everyone laughed.

Matthew watched them happily as he thought back over the day. Iron shaping iron…

He jumped up and made for the door.

“I’ll be back soon, guys…there’s something I forgot to do…”

His friends all gave him knowing smiles…and the minute Matthew closed the door, they all exchanged looks.

“So we’re all agreed Matthew has a crush on the paramedic?” Jackie said.

“Really?” Landry asked. Elijah shook his head pityingly.

“You didn’t notice him talking a mile a minute? What do you think, Sienna? You saved him from the roof.”

Sienna nodded, knowingly.

“He’s crushing.”

Meanwhile, Matthew was hurrying through Edenbrook to Dr Ramsey’s office, where he knocked on the door and heard a muffled “come in”.

Matthew entered. Dr Ramsey looked up from his computer and removed his eyeglasses.

“Rookie,” he greeted.

“I want in.”

Ethan’s eyes slid over to the clock on the wall and Matthew’s followed: 12:01AM.

“I think I made it very clear that the cut-off was midnight,” Ramsey said, crisply. “So go ahead. Tell me why I should make an exception for you.”

“I want to help people the way you do,” Matthew said in a rush, without thinking about it. “The entire reason I ranked Edenbrook first on my application was because of you and the diagnostics team. Please give me a chance to prove how worthy I am to do that.”

There was a pause. Matthew suddenly wondered if he’d blown it completely.

“You had me worried there,” Ethan smirked. He opened a spreadsheet on his computer and added Matthew’s name to a very long list.

“Thank you, Dr Ramsey!” Matthew beamed.

“Don’t thank me,” Ramsey warned. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Matthew left the office with renewed excitement, giving himself a discreet, mini-fistbump as he closed the door. He was officially in the running.

[red-jaebyrd]

She Made Everything Better

Summary: Dick has his first cold since moving into the Manor with Bruce. All he wants is the one person he can’t have – his mom. Bruce does his best to fill the void as well as helping an ill and still grieving boy find safety and security in his new guardian.

For @ckbookish

There are many things that Bruce wasn’t prepared for when he took in 8 year old Dick Grayson. Little things like enforcing bedtimes and daily baths; to big things like no swimming in the pool alone and making sure Dick stayed off the front foyer chandelier…or any chandelier in the Manor. The other was taking care of a sick child.

Dick had only been living in the Manor for six months and had yet to come down with any kind of illness. Considering all the stories Bruce had been told by well-meaning co-workers of their kids coming home frequently with colds; he considered himself fortunate that Dick had remained cold-free.

Until one morning when he could hear faint coughing coming from the bedroom down the hall.

“Bruce,” Dick cried, dragging out his name followed by a series of more wet coughs.

Oh no, Bruce thought to himself. Those coughs didn’t sound good at all. He followed the cry and coughs to Dick’s room and saw the boy laying down on his bed bundled in blankets and surrounded by discarded tissues. His cheeks were flushed, his nose was red, and eyes were glassy.

“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed.

“My head hurts, my nose won’t stop running, and I’m coughing,” Dick answered, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

Bruce quickly went through a mental checklist of what the boy might need while dealing with a cold. By the looks of the boy’s flushed cheeks, he likely had a fever. What was that saying, ‘feed a cold, starve a fever’; that didn’t sound right to Bruce.

Dick coughed and then groaned, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts.

“Why don’t you drink some water. It’s important to stay hydrated,” Bruce suggested, walking over to Dick’s nightstand and handing him his water bottle.

“No,” Dick whined with a pout pushing the water bottle away. “Water tastes gross, and it hurts when I swallow.”

“Understood,” Bruce said, a bit bewildered by Dick’s whining. Set the water bottle back onto the nightstand. He sat on the bed in front of Dick reaching to feel Dick’s forehead with the front of his wrist. Dick shivered at the contact. “You feel warmer than usual. I’ll be right back with a thermometer.”

“No,” Dick moaned, reaching his hand out for Bruce from under his blankets. “Don’t leave me.”

“I know you’re feeling bad, Chum, but I need to get a thermometer to see if you have a fever,” Bruce soothed, sweeping Dick’s sweaty bangs from his forehead. He smiled, taking Dick’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “I’m not leaving I’m just going to your bathroom to get the thermometer.

Bruce walked toward the en-suite bathroom in search of the thermometer but came up empty. He searched all the cabinets, and they didn’t even have any children’s medicine, just polysporin, hospital grade antiseptic and, tons of band-aids. Bruce could have sworn they had children’s Motrin, but sadly there was none.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” Bruce said, closing the bathroom door and making his way toward the bedroom door.

“No, don’t leave,” Dick pleaded, reaching out frantically to Bruce this time with both hands. His eyes welled up with unshed tears. Bruce shoulders slumped and he sat down one the bed again, taking Dick’s cold hand in his and rubbing soft circles with his thumb.

Bruce furrowed his brow in concern at Dick’s behavior. It was extremely unusual for Dick to be this clingy and demanding when it came to Bruce. The two did spend more time together now that Bruce had changed his schedule a few months ago. Dick did like to seek attention from his guardian in the most heart stopping ways imaginable. Bruce quickly recalled the first and last time Dick backflipped off the second landing stairs nearly giving Bruce and Alfred a heart attack.

As Bruce had gotten to know Dick, he had learned that the boy liked being with people; liked spending time with Bruce and once Dick had got his fill of ‘peopling’, he’d be off outside or in his room playing alone. The boy liked attention, but he was far from clingy.

“Dick, I’m not leaving. I’m just heading to the intercom near the door to speak to Alfred,” Bruce explained, using his free hand to gently card his fingers through Dick’s hair and resting his hand on the boy’s cheek. “I’m not leaving.”

“Okay,” Dick sniffed, letting go of Bruce’s hand to rub his face with his blanket.

Bruce wrinkled his nose and handed Dick a fresh tissue from the discarded box on his bed. He then headed to the intercom near Dick’s bedroom door and pressed the button hoping Alfred was still in the kitchen.

“Alfred, I need a thermometer. Can you bring one to Dick’s bedroom, please.”

“Right away, Sir,” Alfred answered promptly.

Bruce turned and gave Dick a small smile, but the gesture wasn’t returned. He expected as much considering how poorly the boy felt. It warmed Bruce’s heart to know that Dick found security and safety in his presence. A little hand reached out to him from under the blankets. It made Bruce chuckle, so he made his way back to the bed and sat down taking Dick’s hand. Dick slouched low against his pillows blinking tiredly at Bruce.

“I wasn’t going to leave you. I told you I wasn’t,” Bruce reassured, trying to tuck Dick’s duvet around him with one hand and failing. Dick let go so Bruce could finish with both hands. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Just as Dick was going to answer Alfred arrived with a thermometer and a fresh box of tissues. He handed the thermometer to Bruce and set the tissue box on Dick’s nightstand. He then proceeded to collect the dirty tissues and deposit them in the trash bin.

“Will that be all, Sirs?” Alfred asked, moving the bin closer to the bed so it stayed within Dick’s reach near the nightstand.

Bruce stayed sitting on the bed and gave Alfred a rundown of all the supplies that they would need while Dick blew his nose. As usual Alfred had a pen and notepad on hand and wrote down everything.

“Anything else? Master Dick, would you like something to eat before I go?” Alfred asked, tucking the notepad and pen into his front jacket pocket.

Dick didn’t answer Alfred right away. The boy looked lost in his own thoughts, but mostly he looked tired. Poor guy, Bruce thought to himself, he must be feeling so out of it.

“Dick,” Bruce whispered, gently squeezing Dick’s hand to get his attention. Once the boy’s glassy eyes met his, Bruce took that as a sign to continue, “Are you hungry?

“Oh um –“ Dick stammered, and started playing with the hem of the duvet. “Would – would it be okay to have toast with cinnamon on top, please?”

“Certainly, young sir. I’ll get to it straight away.” Alfred replied and left the room closing the door behind him.

Bruce proceeded to take Dick’s temperature and just as he suspected after the thermometer beeped; he frowned looking at the number on the screen. Dick had a fever. Bruce was trying to remember if he should call a doctor right away or if he was supposed to wait two or three days if nothing improved. He’d likely call Leslie today just to be sure.

“Is it bad?” Dick asked, bringing the blanket up to his eyes.

“Well, it’s not good, 102.2, buddy. We’ll keep an eye on it. Make sure it goes down with meds. If not, I’ll have to call Dr Thompkins,” Bruce clarified, turning the thermometer off and setting it on the nightstand. “So cinnamon toast?”

“Mom would always give it to me whenever I got sick,” Dick swallowed thickly, looking down at his blankets. “She – she said the cinnamon had healing properties that would help make me feel better.”

“I’m sure it did,” Bruce said, brushing Dick’s bangs away from his face. “Moms are good like that aren’t they?”

Bruce tried to give Dick a smile, but it felt stiff on his face as he fought against the lump forming in his throat at the memory of his mom making him chicken noodle soup whenever he got a cold. He remembered loving the noodles and the broth but like all kids his age, Bruce hated the chicken and veggies. Over the years the soup was something that Alfred had tried to replicate, but to no avail. It just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his mom’s soup.

“My mom would –,” Bruce sniffed and then cleared his throat, but before he could finish his sentence; Dick’s face crumpled, and he started sobbing.

In the short time that Dick had been staying at the Manor, he had only cried a handful of times. Even after a nightmare, tears spilled down silently. Dick was always quick to wipe the tears away before Bruce could fully envelop him in a hug. Always pulling away from the embrace claiming he was fine as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. Bruce had never pressed as he never felt he had the right words to say. Because ‘I know how you feel’ and ‘I’ve been there too’ didn’t really seem like great words of comfort.

But maybe they were the exact words that Dick needed to hear.

“Oh Dickie, come here,” Bruce offered, his arms outstretched and his own eyes filling with unshed tears. He gathered Dick in his arms and settled him on his lap. The boy practically melted into his embrace.

“I don’t feel good, Bruce,” Dick bawled, his breaths hitching from crying so hard. “I want – I want my mom.

The last sentence was said in a whisper in between sobs. Dick’s fingers tightened as he clung onto Bruce in a desperate hug.

“I m-miss her,” Dick mumbled, trying to catch his breath and failing. “I miss how – how she made everything better.”

Bruce’s heart sank; his own tears finally falling down his cheeks. She made everything better. It echoed in brain and he couldn’t deny that the boy was right. Of course, Dick missed his mom; it made sense that he missed her. Every child who felt ill wanted their mom to be the one holding them, taking care of them, and making their favorite comfort foods; not some stranger they’ve barely known for six months.

He hugged Dick a little tighter and sighed. They had come a long way these past six months, dealing with Dick’s anger and trust issues that had only been fueled by Bruce’s incompetence and neglect in the guise of protection. While necessary changes to his schedule were made to fit Dick into his busy life and it had changed the dynamic in how they interacted with each other; the change still didn’t do much to help Dick feel safe enough to talk to Bruce about the loss of his parents. Until now, so naturally Bruce took advantage of a missed opportunity.

“I know you do. I know you miss her so much and I’m so sorry,” Bruce empathized, resting his cheek on the Dick’s head and rubbing small circles on his back. “I know – I know how you feel, chum. I really do. I’ve been where you are and it – well it sucks.”

Dick nodded in silent agreement and continued to cry.

“I know it feels like – it feels like the pain is so much bigger than you, but one day it won’t feel so big and overwhelming,” Bruce comforted, wiping away his own tears with his free hand. “And – and while the hurt won’t go away completely. It will get better in time. For you, that I promise.”

Bruce continued to hold Dick as his body calmed from his crying jag. The boy’s breaths slowly regulating from shuddering gasps to hiccups. Bruce was happy to finally be able to provide such comfort to Dick after so many months of him pushing him away. His feelings were never hurt from the boy’s rejection, Bruce understood firsthand that type of vulnerability and transparency in grief can be scary, especially in an unknown environment.

He had hoped that their conversation today would help pave the way to more talks and further healing for Dick. Bruce was confident the boy would be alright, but these difficult conversations had to be something that Bruce initiated and participated in as well.

“Any time you want to talk ab out your mom or your dad; come find me, okay?” Bruce offered, giving Dick a reassuring smile. He wiped away Dick’s remaining tears with his thumb. “Even if it’s in the middle of night. Understand?”

Dick nodded, his breaths finally evening out.

They sat on the bed in companionable silence. Bruce hummed a tune he remembered his mom singing whenever she was knitting or just needed to fill the silence. He could slowly start to feel Dick’s body going boneless against his chest with exhaustion; his breaths gradually getting deeper with sleep.

Just as Bruce was about to close his eyes a knock on the door startled him and woke up Dick.

“Here is your toast, Master Dick,” Alfred announced, setting a tray on the other side of the bed. “I also added a few digestives and the last juice box until I can get the apple juice you requested.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick sniffed, still clinging onto Bruce.

Bruce brought the tray closer to Dick so the boy wouldn’t have to move from his place of comfort.

“You are very welcome, young sir. If there is nothing else you require of me, I shall leave to retrieve the necessary items.”

An hour later, once Alfred returned with the medicine, Bruce was pleased to finally be able to give the boy some much needed relief from the headache and congestion. Dick still wouldn’t let Bruce leave, so Bruce suggested they move to the media room to watch a movie.

Bruce covered them with a blanket thin enough to make Dick comfortable, but not too thick to spike his fever. Dick settled himself right up against Bruce’s side, draping a thin arm around him and using Bruce’s chest as a pillow. Dick fell asleep ten minutes into the movie. Bruce stayed watching the rest of the movie, carding his fingers gently though Dick’s hair relishing the closeness and comfort he was finally able to provide his hurting foster son.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

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the spare // chapter five // darkwizard!tom hiddleston x plus size reader - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. If he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

words for this chapter: 3.2k

chapter warnings: graphic violence

Chapter Five:

The next morning I wake to a splitting headache. I roll over in bed, looking for the time on the bedside table and I gasp when I see my glasses, placed right in front of the clock.

I frantically reach for it, afraid it was going to disappear if I waited any longer. They slide onto my face, and the familiarity is instantly comforting. They wouldn’t help the headache I already had, but they would come less often now.

In the bathroom, I check the door to his room to see if it could be locked from the bathroom side. A sigh of relief when I see a latch only accessible from this side.

Now with assured privacy, I give the room a once over: looking in the shower, the medicine cabinet, and the storage under the sink. There is an in-wall shelf with folded towels. The medicine cabinet has the over the counter pain meds I usually use for these kinds of headaches, and I find an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink. I make quick use of these, nearly gagging on my enthusiasm to ingest drugs and clean my teeth.

Besides quick glances, I avoid looking in the mirror. I know if I look too closely, I’ll start picking at my skin. Even at 24, some days I have the skin of a teenager. Now that my facial hair is gone though… hm, I guess that does reassure me the slightest bit. One less thing to worry about.

When I’m ditching the simple white dress, I remember what the Healer said about my wound. I suppose it’s been a few days. While I wait for the shower water to warm up, I peel off the bandage. The bruising looks like it had gotten worse since I’d last seen it. I gently press my fingers into the discoloration for a moment. It doesn’t hurt, just a dull ache. The laceration is still scabbed over.

I don’t care to keep track of how long I’m in the shower. It’s too heavenly to rush. Long after every little crevice is scrubbed raw, the water finally runs cold, and I dry off. I finally leave the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that barely closed.

I stand for a moment in the middle of the bedroom. I was too excited by the idea of getting clean that I didn’t check to see if I had any clean clothes to change into. Checking the wardrobe, it is indeed stocked with its purpose. If anything will fit… that’s a different problem.

Surprisingly, it’s overflowing with clothes. New clothes. T-shirts, blouses, leggings… even underwear and socks. I pull open a drawer and find multiple bras. I grab comfortable looking underthings, a t-shirt, and leggings.

Another sigh of relief – everything fits. I doubt Malfoy went shopping for me personally, but I’m extremely grateful for whoever did.

Once I’m dressed, I can’t prolong my curiosity any longer. I creep out of the bedroom, and tiptoe down the stairs. The door to his room is closed. It was noon when I woke, so I suspect he’s been awake far longer than I have.

Throughout my exploration of the house, I’m… disturbed by the layers of dust I find on almost everything. Like whoever lived here died and no one came to collect what was left behind. Of course, given who owns this house now, that’s probably what happened. The old lady was killed, and now I’m here in her place.

I think the thing that surprises me the most are all of the No-Maj objects I find. Light switches, electronics, household appliances… Why would someone who hates them live in one of their houses? It makes me wonder how much choice he had in the matter.

After exploring the kitchen, living room, closets, and a small office, I’m relieved to not find him in any of these spaces. So I decide what my first task is. If he wants me to cook and clean, then I will. If anything, just to keep myself busy.

First, the living room. I vacuum, dust, grab things that look like they could use a wash, and throw them into a pile. I make sure to be gentle with the figurines and picture frames littered throughout. Smiling, unmoving pictures of people from decades ago.

I’m sweeping away some cobwebs by the front door when I hear birdsong from outside, and I pause. Didn’t he say I have free roam of the… property? That would mean outside right? The perimeter is at the front gate so that would mean I had access to the front yard at least?

I swing the front door open and get hit immediately with warmth from the sunlight. It’s a stunning May afternoon. Wildflowers grow unmanicured on either side of the stone path to the front gate, a birdbath poking through on one side. Taking a deep breath, I step outside, barefoot onto the stone entryway. The heat feels comforting, especially after being cold for what feels like forever.

Curious, I wander around the side of the house. The wooden fence remains in eye sight from the house until it becomes a stone wall that eventually disappears into the forest. I wonder if the barrier extends beyond what can be seen.

Deciding to explore it later, with shoes, I continue around to the back of the cottage. There was a cute little patio set near the house and a wooden bench just visible off another path, facing the forest. How I’d love to curl up with a book there on a day just like this.

The back door leading to the kitchen is unlocked, and I take notice of a cat door. The moment I do, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I pause in the doorway, looking back into the forest. My eyes scan the forest’s edge, looking for… I’m not sure. Whatever it is, I’m feeling uneasy. I step further into the kitchen, closing the door and locking it behind me.

Returning to the living room, I resume my cleaning.

~*~

The kitchen was the worst. Grime from who knows where, dirty dishes and moldy food from who knows how long ago. The whole room takes me twice as long as the living room did, and by the time I’m done I’m exhausted. I’m about to head upstairs when a tray of hot, steaming food appears on the kitchen table, complete with teapot, cup and saucer.

On cue, my stomach gurgles. I know I should be more cautious of random plates of food that appear in front of me, but my options for dinner were slim to none. Between a couple cans of vegetables and a box of Kraft – all of which expired in 2006 – this is a godsend. A plate of sausages with mashed potatoes and peas never tasted so good. Even the tea is delicious. I don’t even like tea.

As I’m eating, I ponder the knife in my hand. This is the first actual weapon I’ve seen in the house so far. I’d scoured the kitchen – nothing. Even the office and bathroom turned up empty of things like tweezers and letter openers, not even a stapler.

Once I’m finished eating, I bring the dishes over to the sink to give them a wash. Specifically, I’d like to see if I could hang onto the knife. When I set it down to dry, all the dishes disappear. Well, fuck. I guess in a crisis a frying pan will have to do.

I bring a small cast iron one to hide in my room. As I go back downstairs, his closed door beckons to me. I try the handle, and it is indeed locked.

Eventually I wander to the living room turning on a few lamps as I go, unsure of how to spend my evening. I could go to bed early, or clean some more, or… maybe read a book? There’s a small book case next to the fireplace. My eyes drift to the basket of yarn and I snort, thinking of my joke last night. Maybe I could learn to knit.

As I stand there contemplating, the front door opens, and in walks Malfoy. Dressed still in his Death Eater regalia. Dragon leather boots that climb up his calves, snug pants and button down shirt that left room for dexterity, but not much else. I can still make out the burn holes I left in his cloak from when we fought. I throw away the thought in the back of my mind that he looks hot.

He doesn’t see me immediately, his tired eyes jumping to the lamps. When they do find me, they don’t linger. He somehow manages to find every single little change to the room I made during my stay so far.

“I see you’ve played house today,” he snaps. He faces me now, looking at me, but… not quite seeing.

I snap right back. “Isn’t that what I’m here for? To play house?”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes do focus in on me now, roaming my face, and then wandering downward. Lazily, he begins removing his gloves, pulling off one finger at a time.

“Perhaps.”

My eyebrows shoot up and I blink in confusion. “Wha-“

“As I said last night,” he interrupts, “you really should be thanking me.”

“How?” I blurt out. “On my knees?”

His eyebrow that seems to always be quirked, goes even higher. I flush and look away scowling at the floor when I realize the double meaning in my words. I can’t believe I said that.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says. He begins toward the stairs. “If that’s what I wanted, it would have happened already.”

“But I thought last night you said –“

“Yes, mudblood, I know what I said.” He stops at the base of the stairs and turns, his expression brutal. I wince. Not because of the word, but because of his tone. “I am not like my colleagues. They might enjoy the idea of fucking filth, but I do not. Just because I have you to fuck at my disposal, do not make the mistake of believing that I want to.”

Malfoy sure does have a gift for making me somehow feel worse about myself. I watch as he climbs the stairs and listen for his bedroom door to open and tightly slam shut.

~*~

I hardly sleep that night. I might’ve been able to busy myself all day, but lying in the dark, there’s nothing to block my thoughts.

What does Malfoy want from me? I could hardly believe he bought me just for shits and giggles. He doesn’t seem to share a desire to rape and abuse his… Lot like the other Death Eaters so obviously did. They were thirsty for it, barely able to contain their excitement. He said he wanted me to cook and clean and when I listened, he seemed surprised that I actually did. Did he expect me to just sit around? Like a toy that’s just waiting for him to play with?

There has got to be something I’m missing. I think back to when we first met at his family’s estate. He’s been in my head, just as I’ve been in his. All I’d been able to see were a few memories of his childhood and scenes with people I’d come to know later. He and Bellatrix were the ones who kidnapped Luna to bring to the Malfoy’s, holding her hostage. I also knew that he and Bellatrix have a more… intimate relationship than they let people know.

Perhaps that explains why he has no desire to take advantage of me, besides the fact that I’m undesirable. At least to someone like him. He belongs to someone else, even though I now belong to him.

Maybe it was something he saw in my memories? Does he know about the Horcrux I killed? How I did my best to hunt the other ones?

Tears fill my eyes and I sob in the darkness. It’s been a few years now since Sam’s death, but in this moment it hurt all the same. I miss my best friend so much. She could never understand a single thing I told her about Ilvermorny, but she delighted in the simple little magic I could do without my wand. Even growing up, when I had to leave for school, we would write. My friends at school always thought I was nuts for using the actual mail service instead of just sending an owl. She and I liked to collect the stamps we sent each other. I had to use postal anyway because of my parents. There’s no way they’d get anywhere near an owl.

I miss my parents, too. Thank god they’re No-Maj’s in an entirely different country, away from all of this insanity.

And my heart ached for the boy who lived. Harry had been so kind to me, even with all of the stress he’d been under. Everything he did had been for nothing.

It makes me feel hopeless thinking of all that I’ve lost. The life I knew, the people I loved.

I hope I can survive whatever Malfoy has planned for me.

~*~

The next morning I wake to the sound of the shower running and I have the craziest idea.

I doubt he has his bedroom door locked while he’s home. Quickly I roll out of bed, throwing on the same shirt and leggings I had on the day before. The door to the bathroom is closed from my room. I open my door and tiptoe across the landing. His doorknob turns and I’m in.

The first thing I look at is the door to the bathroom. It’s cracked, steam drifting out. The room is only slightly larger than mine. It has the same amenities; unmade bed, wardrobe with a door wide open, side table. I take wide strides to the side table, opening and closing the drawers after rummaging. Nothing. Not even nail clippers. Next I dash for the wardrobe, and I find it empty for the most part. He has pants strewn across an open suitcase. I shove those aside, looking for anything, checking every pocket and crevice I can find.

“If you’re looking for my wand, I don’t think that would help you,” Malfoy says from behind me.

I whirl, nearly falling in my haste to face him. He’s standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel tied around his hips and his skin still damp. His hair looks almost black and is extra curly. I try to keep my eyes from drifting down over his muscular torso and shoulders, instead keeping them pinned to his face.

He tilts his head, eyeing me as well. “I suppose this is my fault,” he sighs, side stepping me. I mirror him. He’s going toward the wardrobe, and I’m angling for either the bathroom or the door. I notice his shoes by the door, an expensive looking shoehorn leaning against the wall. It has a metallic skull on top – perfect. “I should have locked the door. It was arrogant of me to assume you wouldn’t try anything while I was home.”

“Correct,” I say curtly, inching towards the door.

His eyes follow mine. “Do I need to stun you or are you going to behave?”

“I think we both know how this is going to go, if you remember from last time,” I taunt. I’m still taking baby steps towards the door, towards the weapon leaning against the wall. He must know I’m after something because his steps start towards me. “And you look a little wandless right now.”

He raises his eyebrows and flicks his wrist, wand appearing in his hand. Seeing this, I turn and dive for the shoehorn. I manage to grab hold of it, before he levitates and flings the shoehorn across the room, taking me with it. I scream when I tumble to the floor, the side where my wound is colliding right with the corner of the chair I land on. My brain numbs for a moment as the pain of my wound being ripped open overpowers anything else.

He’s on me in the next instant, wand at my throat, and hand holding down the wrist the shoehorn was still in. I know he’s straddling me almost completely naked, but I can only focus on the pain from where his knee is pressed into my side.

“Ha ha,” he mocks, “I win.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper breathlessly, unable to stop myself from wincing, tears in my eyes. The hand on my wrist slides up, his fingers slipping into my clenched fist, and I let go, releasing my only weapon. His weight shifts as he tosses the shoehorn far under the bed, knee pressing in more on my wound, and I can’t help but whimper.

His blue eyes narrow and I can’t tell if it’s from confusion or distrust. I try to shift under him, moving away from his knee. The pain is dizzying.

When he finally looks down, his expression instantly changes. Eyes wide open with shock, he sees the blood soaking through my shirt, no doubt onto his knee and the floor as well. He closes his expression off as he looks at it. Back in control.

I try to push myself up, my head begins to swim, no doubt from loss of blood and lack of food in my belly. He’s by my side in an instant, swinging my arm over his shoulder, and helps me stand. I start in the direction of my room.

“No, lay here,” he says. I don’t argue as he helps me lower onto his bed. I feel him pull my shirt up away from the wound.

He points his wand at the opening, and I look away, turning my head. I hear his deep timber murmur a healing spell and feel the wound close. Then he murmurs something else and the dampness from the blood is gone. The ache remains.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his voice closer. When I look back, he’s studying my face, his expression still closed.

My expression is wary. “Does it matter?” I say, defeated.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect you to be this difficult.”

He starts to walk towards his wardrobe. I’m impressed his towel is still in place. Must be a good knot.

I attempt to sit up. “Well, I didn’t –“ I stop abruptly, losing my train of thought. My head becomes very heavy and I sink back into the pillows. I give up on trying to speak.

My eyes are closed as I hear him dress. Maybe I’ll take a nap right here. His bed feels slightly more plush than mine.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he says. I squint at his fully dressed form, some black jeans and a sweater, heading for the door. He pauses at the doorway and I give him a lazy thumbs up. He waves his wand and the shoehorn comes flying at him. Malfoy catches it, and then leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Let me know what you think!

[spvce-cowboy]

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

**

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are. 

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.  

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

**

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

**

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

**

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me. 

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌 

[giorno-plays-piano]

Not good enough

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, implied stalking and kidnapping, kinda home invasion, reader is struggling with anxiety.

Words: 2055.

Summary: The stranger you had been texting for a few months is worried about you not taking care of yourself.

P.S. Yes, some more soft!dark!Steve because I need it 😣

__________________

“Tell me you love me.” 

Rubbing your eyes and trying to wake up, you stared at the screen of your cellphone, reading the message Cap sent you at 3 am. You hadn’t heard from him during last two weeks, but you knew it had something to do with his job, as always. Even if it wasn’t though, it was none of your business. He was just a stranger you had been texting for the last few months.

“Good morning, Captain.”

You hit the send button and sat in bed, yawning and stretching. You still felt exhausted, but mornings were always much better than evenings. Then you typed one more message, thinking whether the man (you supposed he was a man) had time to sleep tonight.

“I love you.”

Watching the three dots appearing on the screen, you realized he probably had insomnia or was forced to go to work despite returning late. You smiled, waiting for his reply before finally leaving your bed and absentmindedly dropping your phone on the desk when you headed to the shower. When you returned with a big white towel wrapped around you, you saw three more messages - Captain wasn’t really patient, but you couldn’t blame him for that.

“I love you too, little star.”

“How have you been doing? Are you taking good care of yourself?”

“I missed you.”

Your lips curled in a smile when you read all his messages. No, you weren’t taking good care of yourself, but you could do little about it. Your anxiety and panic attacks were still making your life pretty difficult. Well, not that Captain needed to know about it, considering he probably had a handful of his own problems just like everybody else.

You didn’t reply him right away, getting dressed first and applying some makeup before heading to the kitchen with a phone in your hand. Despite being hungry, you didn’t have strength to cook something, so you simply cracked two eggs into pan and turned the stove on, proceeding to make yourself some coffee after that. You were still proud you started eating any breakfast at all.

As you finally settled, a plate with fried eggs in front of you, your phone buzzed again.

“Please send me photo of your breakfast, honey.”

You laughed at that but did as he asked you before proceeding to eat. A part of you was happy at least someone still cared. Sure, sometimes Cap could be a bit weird and maybe even controlling, but he was the only one who wanted to see what you ate, not your naked boobs or ass. This was probably one of the reasons why you still kept in touch with him after all those months.

“No fruits or vegetables? This is not good. Your doctor wanted you to eat better.”

True, you thought, sipping your coffee. You couldn’t tell Cap you just had no strength to go shopping because he definitely wouldn’t like it. You simply needed to get yourself together and order delivery this evening after returning from work.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I’ll try to do better.” You sent him after finishing the plate.

“Are you alright, little star?”

No, you weren’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

“I am, thank you. I hope you are alright, too.”

With that you left your empty plate and cup in the sink, heading to the hallway and grabbing you bag before leaving for work. With or without Captain, it was just one more useless day you had to get through.

The office was busy with people making thousand phone calls, talking to each other about that new marketing campaign or a contract with an advertisement agency or what they brought today for lunch. This constant noise didn’t bother you anymore as you sat at your desk and put on your headphones - you didn’t have to deal with people as your job was to finish that damn sales report you’d been struggling yesterday and the day before. If only your boss was willing to buy a better software, you’d be done in a matter of two hours the most, but the man was the cheapest cheapskate you had ever met. 

Well, you were grateful to have a job, anyway.

“Are you taking your meds?” Cap probably had the day off today as he kept messaging you again.

“I do. Thank you for asking.”

He was really lucky he didn’t need any, though, of course, you didn’t know whether he lied or not. You knew well some people weren’t comfortable talking about such private things. Actually, you weren’t either, but Cap had somehow gotten pretty close to you comparing to all those strangers you were talking on the web from time to time. You knew you had no reason to trust him, yet again he had no reason to gain anything from it. You were no one. You had no money, no valuable possessions, no network, nothing special at all. You were just one more no one.

In fact, Cap was the only one generally interested in you and your wellbeing, and it was the one and only reason you kept messaging him despite his long absences. You suspected he had some kind of a hero complex because you had no other explanation whatsoever. 

“Thank you for everything, Captain. I really missed you.”

“I’m glad you did, little star.”

With that you hid your phone in your bag and tried concentrating on those endless numbers in Excel columns. Your eyes were already hurting from just a quick look on the report.

By the end of the day you were totally drained again, barely having strength to take a ride home. Did you promise yourself to order food from the nearest store? Nope, not today. You thought you couldn’t even lift your finger when you threw your bag to the floor along with your shoes and went to lay on the couch, not even taking off your clothes. It felt like you ran a marathon - despite the fact you weren’t doing any sports for at least a year, your body failing to engage in whatever activity but just get you moving from one place to the other.

Captain once mentioned he needed to be in a pretty good form to keep doing his job, and you were a bit jealous. You really wanted to be able to just wake up and not feel like you were working the whole night, so remembering him talking about jogging in the morning was making you jealous. Why couldn’t you have what he had? 

“I feel like you’re not completely honest with me, honey.”

You barely smiled, looking at your phone. Cap was always so perceptive.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good, but I’m trying my best.”

“I know you do. Can I help you? Do you need money?”

Huffing, you rubbed your nose. It wasn’t the first time he offered to help you, though you had never accepted this kind of help. You felt like it would make you obliged to him, and you wanted none of that. 

“No, thank you, Captain. You’re too nice, you know? I’m worried someone will eventually take advantage of you.”

“I promise to be careful.”

Laughing, you got up and went to your room: you never knew whether he was joking or dead serious. Captain admitted once he just didn’t get how to use emojis. Thinking of him writing something like “I’m too old for all this”, you burst out laughing again.

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“Yes, thank you. You’re already helping me. Sometimes I don’t even know why you keep doing it since I’m not the most responsive person on the Internet.”

“Because I love you.”

Dropping your phone to the bed, you just pushed your face into your pillow. You wished he was serious, but your knew he wasn’t. Anyway, who would? He had never even seen or met you. Only teenagers believed they could truly love some strange dude they’d been talking to on Twitter.

You wished there was someone, anyone, who would be by your side. Maybe then it would be easier to go through all this and finally recover. However, you couldn’t be sure Captain was as good as you pictured him. It could be all a lie.

Forgetting to take your meds again, you drifted off to sleep still wearing your suit. It was only 7 pm, and you were so tired as if you were carrying rocks on your back the whole day. 

Nonetheless, you weren’t given time to sleep properly - in an hour you woke up from your door chime ringing and hurried so much you almost fell of your bed. Damn. Who could it be? You didn’t remember inviting anyone. Hell, you didn’t even have anyone who would want to visit you now. 

Forgetting about how you looked in your wrinkled suit and blouse, you ran to the door, opening it without even checking who had come. It must have been a mistake, you thought. Or could it be your neighbor who came to talk to you about something?

But it wasn’t an elderly man who lived in the apartment next to yours. It was someone else. Someone you only saw on TV and a few promotional posters you stumbled upon in the subway.

“Hello.”

Steve Rogers smiled at you as you struggled to understand whether you were still sleeping or awake. Steve Rogers? Captain America? At you door? Oh, you should have taken your meds.

Staring at him with your mouth half open, you couldn’t utter a single word. It just didn’t feel real, you thought when he watched you with such kind expression it could make you cry. Why was he here? What for? Looking at him glowing with a euphoric grin on his face, you suddenly realized you were still dressed in that suit, and your makeup was probably smeared by now. Damn, what a great coincidence.

“Why are you looking at me like that, little star?” The man asked joyfully, entering your apartment and almost pushing you away, a big grocery bag in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Little star. It was a username you had when you started texting Cap a few months ago. You had changed it multiple times after that, but he always called you that, saying it really suited you. But how did Steve Rogers know about that, and, more importantly, why would he need to know that?

Cap. Captain. Captain America.

Oh shit.

“It can’t be.” You muttered, gripping your phone in your hand. “This just can’t be happening.”

Watching the man smiling at you, you felt nauseated and starting slowly losing control over your body, sliding onto the floor. Captain left the bag full of fruits and veggies immediately to help you to stay on your feet and guide you to the couch. Feeling his strong muscular arms holding you carefully, you started chewing your lips: apparently, Steve Rogers standing in the middle of your living room was real, and your meds weren’t at fault.

“You’re making me worried.” The man said as he helped you lay down on the couch and loomed over you, watching your face. “I see you’re not taking care of yourself at all. Do you want a glass of water? Do I need to call the doctor?”

You shook your head, staring at the hero intently while he bowed lower, touching your forehead with his lips.

“No fever, that’s good.” He mumbled and made you open your eye wide, then got back a little, giving you space. “I know you’re not talking your medication properly. Little star, this is no good.”

“How did you find me?’ You whispered, rubbing your eyes and smearing what was left your makeup completely.

Steve smiled. “It’s not as hard as you think, but you shouldn’t worry about it. I hope you are sorry for lying to me all this time.”

“W-what?”

“I see you can’t look after yourself like you should. Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I know it’s very hard for you, so I’ll be taking care of you instead. Give me just a minute to gather your belongings, dear.”

With that he smiled again and disappeared in your room as you stared at the ceiling in horror.

You certainly should have taken your meds.

_____________________

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[lovemesomesurveys]

Name a product you buy mostly because it has a cool package. Well, most recently I wanted to get a few things from Hot Topic cause I thought the packaging was cute. Like this Halloween lip balm and one that was an Eggo for Stranger Things.  Are you purposely hiding something from someone? No. What's the most intimate thing you've discussed with a stranger? I mean, I’ve shared a lot on here about my life. I’ve been pretty open and personal.  What flavor cake do you like for your birthday? I’m good with a white cake with buttercream frosting.  Is your house usually too warm or too cold in the Winter? It gets cold, but not too cold. I personally love it. I love my heating blanket.

Have you ever been in love with someone much older or younger than you? No. Are there any songs that make you feel angry inside when you hear them? No. When was the last time you sat on the ground, outside w/nothing under you? Not since I was a kid. I don’t sit on the ground even if I had something under me. Would you rather have someone ask to kiss you, or just kiss you? I wouldn’t mind if they just kissed me if I was into them and the moment felt right.  What the most recent thing to needed an Rx med for? I have a few medications I have to take now that were prescribed while I was in the hospital.  Have you ever had a job you loved? I’ve never had a job.  What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I like to get the fries.  Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Are you in an argument with anyone right now? No. What do you wish they would change or bring back on FB? I can’t think of anything.  Would you change your partner's hair color if you could? -- Do you like "are we alike" surveys? Not really.  Have you ever written a poem for someone? Yes, but I never gave it to them or anything.  What is a place you've vacationed at and would like to go back to? The beach places I’ve been to.  Do you eat samples at the grocery store? I have. Have you been best friends with someone of a different race? Yeah. Who's the last person who cussed you out in anger? No one has cussed me out.  Have you friended your parents on FB? I have my mom. What do you absolutely have to have to make your birthday feel special? I just like getting my favorite foods, ha.  What's the last tourist area you visited? A beach town back in March.  Where do you go out to eat for a special occasion? Depends what the occasion is and what we’re in the mood for.   When was the last time you went to a post office? It’s been a very long time, I don’t even remember.  Is there an item you are saving up to buy right now? I’m trying to save up for Christmas gifts.  Are you psychic in any way? No. Do you prefer a laptop or desk top? Which are you on now? A laptop, which is what I have.  you find $20, spend it before midnight or it disappears,how do u spend it? I’d give it to my mom for her birthday today.  Do you like wallpaper? I like the wallpaper/background on my phone, ha.  Mice or roaches? Uh, neither! Did you give or get any Valentines this year? My mom always gets me a few little things and some candy.  Have you ever been in a submarine? Only a ride version at Disneyland.  what is the last lie someone told you, or you suspect they told you? I don’t recall.  have you ever received a gift and truly did not know what it was? Yeah. What's your homepage? Google.  What was the last birthday gift you gave? I bought my mom a Loungefly Disney backpack. She loves those.  Do you have dessert after breakfast? No. Is there anyone who's grave you visit? No, my loved ones who have passed away have been cremated.  Would you rather drive during the day or night? I don’t drive, but I like leaving early in the morning when it’s still dark out when going on a trip. There’s just something nice and calming about that time.  Is there a thing you enjoy doing, but quit because you are not good at it? I’m not really good at anything.

[iamwhoami]

Crash (One Chicago)

One Chicago

   Y/N Voight gets into a car crash, leaving not only her father extremely worried but also her partner Jay Halstead and boyfriend Kelly Severide.

Warnings: Car crash that results in injuries

Requested = Yes

   It wasn’t usual for you to get time off from work but now that you were relaxing on your couch, you remembered why you hardly ever took days off.

It was boring.

   You spent the morning cleaning the apartment you and your boyfriend, Kelly Severide, shared. You did some yoga and meditation but by time the clock struck noon, you were running out of things to do.

So you decided to go visit Kelly at the firehouse.

   You texted Kelly a heads up before grabbing your keys. You figured you’d drop by the bakery on your way there, pick up some treats for everyone but that didn’t take very long.

   That brought you here. In your car with a box of donuts sitting next to you in the passenger seat where on a normal day, Jay should be in place of the donuts. 

But today was not a normal day.

   You sighed as you went on, thinking about how exciting your day could have been if you hadn’t decided that you “needed time off”.

   Suddenly, you heard the screeching of tires and a honk before you looked to your left, just to see a car coming straight at you. Your eyes went wide but before you could do anything you felt it smash into the driver’s door, knocking you unconscious.

~~~

“5021 George, I need an ambulance and a squad at the intersection of Jackson and Throop.” Jay said into his radio as he hopped out of the car.

“Copy that 5021 George, an ambulance and squad are on the way.

“Hey, hey, Jay!” Ruzek called out to his temporary partner as he got out of the car as well, “Isn’t that Y/N’s car?”

   Jay’s eyes widened and he ran over to the car.

“Oh shit,” He cursed when he saw your limp body in the driver’s seat. The seat belt had prevented you from being tossed when the car hit yours but your injuries still looked really bad.

“Ruzek, check on the suspect!” Jay ordered and ran over to the passenger side before flinging the door open and tossing the mushed box of donuts aside. He then crawled in to check on you.

   Jay placed to fingers to your neck, praying that there would be a pulse. When he felt the faint beating against his fingers, he let out a sigh of relief that you were still alive but he knew you were barely holding on.

“This is 5021 George,” He said into his radio, “What’s the ETA on that ambo?”

“Two minutes.”

   It felt like the longest two minutes of his life but Ambulance 61 did show up with Squad 3 right behind it.

“What happened?” Brett asked, grabbing the jump bag and heading over to where you were.

“We were chasing a suspect,” Jay ran a hand through his hair, “He smashed right into her car.”

   Severide’s eyes grew wide, “Is that Y/N?”

   Kelly didn’t need a reply to a question he already knew the answer to.

“How’s the driver?” Brett called out to the Foster who was checking on the suspect.

“Probably has a concussion but he’s stable,” Foster replied and then spoke into the radio, “Ambo 61 to main, we’re requesting a second ambo at our location.”

   Foster then hurried over back to your car, “How is she?”

   Brett shook her head, “We need to get her out of that car and to Med fast.”

“You heard her! Tony, Capp, get the suspect’s car attached to the truck and then pull it back!” Severide ordered, “Cruz, get the hydraulic claws so we can open this door once the car’s moved!”

   Once the car was moved and the door to the driver’s seat was open, Brett wrapped the c-collar around your neck before easing you onto the backboard that was laid on the stretcher.

“Is she going to be okay?” Kelly asked, watching as Foster and Brett checked you over. “She’s going to be okay right?”

   Brett bit her bottom lip, “She has a pneumothorax in the left lung. We have to get going so I’ll decompress on route.”

“Let me come,” Kelly took a step towards the stretcher you laid on and Foster and Brett shared a look.

“Alright, get in the rig,” Brett finally said and her and Foster started rolling you towards the ambo.

   Jay waved at them to go, “I’ll wait here for the second ambo and then I’ll meet you guys at Med!”

~~~

“Y/N?”

   Will looked down at his brother’s partner as she was wheeled into the ER on a stretcher.

“What happened?” He turned his eyes to Brett and Foster.

“Car accident,” Brett explained, “She has a collapsed lung, multiple lacerations to the face and neck from the glass as well as trauma to the whole left side.”

   Maggie nodded, “You guys are going to Trauma 3.”

   The paramedics wheeled you into the hospital room and Maggie looked over at Will.

“You and Nat got this?” She asked and Will nodded. “Okay, I’ll page Dr. Marcel.”

“Alright, move on my count,” Natalie grabbed one side of the backboard and prepared to lift, “One, two three!”

   While the doctors figured out what the best course of treatment for you would be, Kelly was desperately trying to see what was happening to you. The rest of 51 would be showing up soon as well since he had updated them on what happened to you on the way to Med.

“What’s going on?” Kelly asked Natalie as she stepped out of the room while they prepared to move you.

“Y/N is bleeding into her lung. Essentially, it means she’s drowning in it so we’re taking her up to surgery now,” Natalie explained, “I’ll keep you updated.”

   Before Kelly could ask any more questions, Natalie was whisked away to tend to another patient and a nurse was kindly escorting him to the waiting room where the family of Firehouse 51 was waiting.

“How is she?” Casey asked as Kelly slumped into a chair.

“Currently?” Kelly rubbed his eyes, “Drowning in her own blood.”

   A series of worried sighs and grimaces went around the room and Kelly nodded.

“God, I can’t live without her,” Kelly was hardly keeping it together.

“Y/N’s strong,” Chief Boden’s calm voice broke through the tense air, “We all know that, and we all know that she’s going to fight like she does everyday on the streets.”

   A murmur of agreement echoed and Chief Boden nodded.

“She’s strong.”

~~~

“Kelly Severide?”

   Kelly’s head snapped up to see April standing by the door that led into the ER.

“Y/N’s out of surgery.”

“Is she okay?” Herrmann asked. He had always been a fatherly figure towards you and joked all the time how you were practically his daughter.

   April nodded, “She’s in the ICU right now. The surgery was successful but she lost a lot of blood.”

“Can we see her?” Brett questioned.

“One visitor at a time,” April replied, “She’s really weak right now and needs a lot of rest.”

   Everyone agreed that Kelly should be the first person to see you so April led him up to the ICU floor and to your room.

   Quietly and slowly, April opened the door and let Kelly into your hospital room before closing the door again, giving the two of you some privacy.

“Hey...” You smiled at Kelly. Your voice was hoarse and the bruises looked scary on your face and arms but Kelly was just relieved you were alive.

“Hey yourself,” He took a seat in the chair next to your bed. “How’re you feeling?”

   You took a moment to remember what had happened.

“Is the other guy okay?” You asked, “He hit me right? Or did I run the stop sign? No, that can’t be right...I swear I was the only car there...”

“He was a suspect and was being chased by the CPD,” Kelly explained and put a hand on your shoulder, trying to calm you down, “It wasn’t your fault, plus, I’m pretty sure he just got off with a concussion.”

   You relaxed against the bed, “Oh...”

“Don’t do that to me again by the way,” Kelly scolded gently and took your hand into his.

“Do what?” You looked at him confused.

   Kelly reached over and caressed your cheek before answering your question.

“Don’t go and almost die on me again,” Kelly said, “And don’t even think about going and actually dying on me.”

   You smile and nodded.

“Alright.”

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 || Previous || NEXT

Elevator took her all the way to the highest floor. When she exited, the floor was back to perfect condition and several more plants were awaiting her. She promised them silently to check on them soon and went to the main office. She knocked several times on the doors, but nobody answered. Hesitantly, she pushed the doors open, but no one was in the office. After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

“Didn’t you cause enough drama…” Lila never got a chance to end that sentence, because Mari delivered a straight one strong enough to send her flying several feet back before she came crashing down. Blood pouring from her nose.

The girl was about to launch herself at the liar and pound her into the ground when two strong arms grabbed her. She noticed the characteristic spikes on the sides of black gloves and stated to trash around. “Let me go you overgrown furry!” She screamed. “I will mix her face with the concrete until it’s nice and even!”

She tried to wiggle herself out of his grip. Most of the class surrounded Lila and were trying to help her. It only served to irate Mari more. She kicked her leg back, hitting Batman’s shin. It was finally enough to let her go. The girl fell down... right into the embrace of Chloe and Adrien who managed to get to her on time. The two blondes hugged her tightly. 

“There. It’s alright Goldie. You got her good. Rest.” The girl cooed and pressed her best friend to her chest, muffling the sobbing. Adrien was just silently there and hugged them both. When Batman tried to approach again, the boy sent him an angry glare. The warning was clear and the vigilante didn’t really need anything from the girl right now. 

After a bit, Mari fell asleep in their embrace. The stress finally caught up to her and she couldn’t hold exhaustion at bay any longer. Chloe easily picked her up and started to walk toward a taxi that was conveniently parked nearby, waiting for them. 

“What!?” Angry Alya looked from Lila who was now being cared for by a pair of paramedics. She turned to Commissioner Gordon who was discussing something with Batman. “You!” 

The policeman looked at her curiously. Alya continued her shouting. “You’re letting her go just like that? She just assaulted Lila! She might’ve ruined her modeling career! Arrest her!”

“Miss.” Gordon shook his head. “These are some of the braves men and women in Gotham, but I doubt any of them would dare to try and arrest her right now. They don’t get paid enough.”

“What?!” Several kids started to protest, but Gordon just ignored them and directed Harvey to start taking statements. He wasn’t paid enough to deal with these brats. 

--------

Bruce sighed as he exited the Batmobile. Almost immediately, he was swarmed by the rest of his family. Jason and Dick practically carried him, still in the suit, to the movie room. 

“Now, Ladies and Gents, we have some of the greatest shows for you. We call it… The Demon Trashing!”

What followed was a clip taken from monitoring in the anteroom of the CEO office in Wayne Tower. He watched as Damian, dressed in civilian clothing, and carrying a simple ninjato on his back entered the room. He walked around for a moment before knocking on the main office doors, but whatever answer he got seemed to have irritated him given the scowl that formed on his face. He walked over to the PA’s desk that stood there, but no one was here. After a short moment, one could see the elevator doors open again and a small girl in a smart outfit walked in. Damian dashed to the shadows before she had a chance to notice him. 

Bruce resisted the urge to facepalm. He could already see where this was going. 

When the girl started to walk to the desk, his son suddenly reappeared with the sword drawn. He pressed the blade to her neck. From the angle, it was impossible to see either of them expressions. The man did not expect his son to kill a civilian for trespassing, but the amount of glee on Jason’s and Dick’s faces was suggesting that his headache hadn’t really started.

The girl suddenly grabbed the blade and pushed it away. Damian, probably acting on instinct, tried to cut her, but she just walked out of the way and disarmed his son before knocking him out. There was a short skip to when Jason and Dick entered the room. The small girl was clearly very much irritated with them from the start and when she reached her limits, she used a pencil as a projectile to open the elevator doors. 

A small smirk made its way to Bruce’s face when he saw her storm past his three sons, carrying the ninjato through a tissue. The video ended with Damian waking up.

“And that’s how Drake’s new PA trashed a certain Demon Spawn. I swear, she could probably give Luthor’s bodyguard a run for her money when it comes to being a badass” Jason commented on the silent video in his typical fashion. 

“Tt. She stole my sword.” Damian huffed.

“You mean the sword she later used to stab Riddler’s man before disarming him?”

“I still consider the best part of today when she called B. an overgrown furry,” Dick said trying to hold back on laugher.

“Wait. I have a new personal assistant?” Tim asked half-awake. 

“Yeah. She was supposed to be an intern, but apparently, Sarah hired her on the spot and quit.”

“Oh… Cool.” Tim said and took a swing from his gargantuan cup. 

“Did you manage to pull the video of her taking down Riddler?” Bruce asked.

“The cameras malfunctioned before she even entered.”

“It was me,” Tim confessed. “I was still in my office when the alarm sounded. I keep a separate copy of my suit in a hidden compartment. To save time I dressed there, but I had to disable the CCTV…”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.” Jason shut him up. “I also got the part when Damian’s eyes roll back as my new screensaver.”

“Tt. You’re lucky I don’t have my sword.”

“Don’t think you’re getting it back any time soon,” Bruce said in a stern tone and sighed. “What exactly do we know about her?”

“She is from Gotham, but she lives in Paris for some years. She said she was practicing martial arts since she was five.” Dick started

“She is also one bada…”

Jason was interrupted by Alfred, who entered the room with a plate full of cookies and tea. “A young woman just called. She asked me to forward a message to young master Damian.”

“Tt. What is it?”

“I quote. ‘Good luck getting your sword back now. Police took it as evidence. Suck it, Wayne.’ I believe the woman was young miss Chloe Bourgeoise.”

Dick, Jason, and Tim were literally rolling on the floor laughing. Bruce just facepalmed.

“No, you can’t break into the evidence room. You might jeopardize the whole investigation if you taint the evidence.” Bruce said in an exasperated tone. 

----------

It was late after midnight (or even early morning, depends on your definition) when the vigilantes returned from the patrol, only to meet Tim and Barbara working on something on Batcomputer in tandem. Whatever it was, they were completely devoted to it since neither realized they had company until Bruce made a coughing sound.

“Not now.” 

“What exactly are you doing?” The father inside Bruce resisted the urge to force-feed Tim some sleeping meds. 

“We’re doing the background check,” Barbara said while typing frantically.

“On my new personal assistant.” The boy supplied.

“oh?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Like… from what we found she is either the worst bitch on the block or strongest badass around.”

“Langauge master Tim.” Alfred scolded him. 

“Sorry. But like seriously! There are so many contradictions.”

“Check this out.” She pulled out a scan of a letter. It was largely creased, but still perfectly readable. “Her adopted parents one day disappeared, leaving her everything they owed sans some of their clothes. It was like they packed and left.”

“You suspect a foul play?”

“I’m not sure. The investigation was a joke and so was the follow-up proceeding. The interesting part is the custody battle that followed.” 

“Jagged freaking Stone and Parisian Mayor.” Tim interrupted Babs. “It ended with a compromise that Jagged was lawfully named her uncle and Mayor became her guardian. She was the one who suggested it.”

“How can one be lawfully named someone’s uncle?”

“Apparently one can in France. Or they just made some concessions to a celebrity. Seen weirder things.” He shrugged. “She was also his designer for years now. You remember that mysterious MDC?”

“The one you used to fawn over?” Bruce asked.

“She is brilliant so sue me.” The boy huffed. “Also, it stands for Marigold Désign et Création. She runs an internet boutique where she takes commissions from both commoners and celebrities.”

“What does it have to do with anything?” 

“I’m getting to that. Gee.” 

“Maybe I will get there?” Babs tried to take over. “She’s been working part-time as a babysitter to get funds to buy materials for new clothes and received nothing but praise. She also became a class representative. A successful one at that. She also holds the national championship in U-17 Mechastrike.”

“How is that important exactly?” 

“You wanted to know everything about her B., so we are giving you everything.” Tim sassed

“Just… get to the important parts.” He shook his head. What did he do to deserve this?

“Fine. Her school records are a mess. Skipping that they wouldn’t hold to any official inspection, they straight-up contradict each other.” Tim waved his hand in some undefined gesture. “On one hand, she receives nothing but praise from the teachers, but at the same time, there are multiple bullying reports and even several assaults in here. Most of them were met with harsh punishments.” Tim opened a separate file. “Too harsh according to the school charter.”

“It didn’t help that the letter from her parents also mentioned these kinds of things.” Babs chimed in, trying to regain control of the tale. Bruce just gave an exasperated sigh. He just gave up and allowed them to solve it, mentally already cataloging the information. 

“Except! There were statements from several people that contradicted this. Especially Chloe Bourgeois. She said, ‘Puh-lease! Mari is the kindest doormat in the world. I was mean to her for years and she still welcomed me back with open arms.’ Given her track record, I’m inclined to believe it.” 

“There was also this Drama, capital ‘D’, with MDC stealing designs. Several tabloids caught the wind of it and it even led to the police investigation. Only after Jagged Stone intervened, the thing quickly shut up.”

“Now onto the juicy parts!” Babs smiled. 

“And that was what? An introduction?”

“Yup. She has a certified black belt in two different martial arts, is a master gymnast, has an IQ of over 130 and owns two separate businesses in Paris.” She quickly read. “As we mentioned, she is the honorary lawful niece of Jagged Stone, but also designed for Clara Nightingale, Nadia Chamack, worked with Gabriel Agreste, was offered an internship from Audrey Bourgeois before she became her ward. She was seen hanging out with Kagami Tsurugi, world-renowned fencer, and Luka Couffaine, the rising star under Jagged Stone’s tutelage.”

“That was fast.” Tim summarised. 

“Yeah. Also, she was adopted some nine years ago. She originally comes from Gotham.”

“Do we know her biological parents?” Bruce asked, getting serious.

“That’s where it gets juicy. When I tried to pull out her adoption files, the computer shut down to avoid detection. There is some serious encryption on it. Probably due to who her father is. We got some of it. She described her mother as ‘wearing an outfit that showed more skin than her beachwear’, so we suspect she was a prostitute.”

“Hm… It’s not unheard of. You say she was with her mother until she was eight?”

“Between seven and nine the file said.”

“Hm… Do you think she is a threat?”

“No. But I have a different question. Why didn’t the league investigate Paris’ supervillain?”

“We were made aware of him only recently, after what our satellites mistook for Poison Ivy attack,” Batman said in an irritated tone. The fact that there was a supervillain running around for close to four years completely undetected grated on his nerves. “Diana Prince has been investigating for some time now. She has it under control.”

“The only problem I see is that she is only sixteen,” Barbara pointed.

“I mean I’m barely seventeen and I ran this company for two years now. And don’t act high and mighty. You started playing Batgirl at fifteen.”

“Played?!” She screamed. 

“You wore a hoodie and carnival mask at first.”

This quickly developed into an insults contest until Bruce finally had enough. He just shook his head and left. Alfred silently followed him, carrying a plate of sandwiches. 

-----

The next morning, Mari woke up in her bed, with Chloe and her curled together in a mess of limbs and clothes. Of course, she panicked and jumped up, waking the blonde.

“Honestly, Goldie, five more minutes. I need my beauty sleep!” She murmured.

“Um… Why are we in one bed?”

“Because you fell asleep hugging me yesterday and refused to let go at any point. I swear I wanted to get a crowbar. Ridiculous!”

“Sorry…” Mari gave her a sheepish smile.

“None of that! You ruined Lila’s face in one punch. Adrien texted me that in the end she lost seven teeth and will require plastic surgery for her nose not to look like a mashed potato.”

“No…!” Her eyes widened. 

“Yup.” Chloe grinned, popping the ‘p’. 

“That’s awful! I can already imagine how much the class will hate me now! And the employees that saw this! There were cameras there!”

“Some people actually applauded you. It could be also because you called Batman an overgrown Furry though…” Chloe’s voice wandered off. Mari collapsed onto the bed, head buried in the pillows.

“Kill me…”

“Can I kill you with hugs?”

“Fine…”

When the panicking bluenette finally calmed down, Chloe got her to sit down and showed her the headlines.

Brave WE employee saves dozens of lives!

A hero without a suit!

Civilian stopped Riddler!

Personal Assistant takes down a dangerous criminal!

They were all overly positive and showed much support. Only one tried to vilify her based on Lila’s comment and her being punched, but it quoted Ladyblog as a reliable source, so it was dismissed. The majority of the comments were also positive. The ‘overgrown Furry’ was already trending too. 

Only one of the articles contained the list of names of people killed in the attack.

Ted Black - a security guard, put himself between the bullet and another employee Sigfried Osborne - a security guard, died when he tried to stop them from entering Molly Bishop - a PR specialist, called the police when she thought the guards were busy Heidi Dickson - a security guard, killed in crossfire Craig Lloyd - an HR employee, wrestled the gun from one of the henchmen before he was shot in the back. Ethel Arson - A lawyer, killed in crossfire Christian Thorn - a security guard, shot two of the riddler’s henchmen in defense of a group of hostages.

Their room had several live plants on the rail. Mari walked to them and allowed her powers to flow. Slowly, the flowers bloomed. She picked seven beautiful flowers and put them on the table.

“Mari… I’m sure they will understand if you don’t come to work today…” Chloe placed a hand on her best friend’s shoulder.

“No… No. I won’t be scared into hiding by Riddler of all people.” She said with determination and some coldness in her voice. She stood up and walked to her suitcase. From there, she gathered a different outfit. Now she would wear a red shirt, a black blazer with the Ladybug logo on her right breast, a black pencil skirt, and black leather ballet shoes (she still hated heels). But the greatest change was her hair and eyes. She let go of her twin pigtails and allowed her wavy hair to run free. It was no longer black, instead turning dark blue with purple highlights. Her eyes also changed. Her bluebell eyes also changed. The iridescent green she used to suppress was now mixed with the normal eye color, giving an entrancing effect that was hard to stop looking at.

“It’s time to rock this place.” She smiled at her best friend.

------- (Play ‘Confident’ by Demi Lovato) --------

Marigold and Chloe entered the Wayne Enterprises in full stride. Flashing her pass, she got them through control without the queue or checking, much to the shock of the class (who still had no idea Mari was now technically their boss). Adrien showed the girls thumbs up. Lila was seething, but neither Chloe nor Marigold paid her any mind and guards didn’t let her follow them and straight-up kicked her to the back of the queue. 

Mari gave a nod to the receptionist, but they didn’t slow down. Elevator was about to close, but one of the employees held it for her. Once they entered, she quickly checked her tablet and the to-do list she had for that day. First stop: PR. Chloe was going to HR to receive a new mentor after… the previous day.

When she entered the Public Relations department, Mari didn’t stop to chat with the employee that looked at her in awe. Her goal was the department’s head office and that’s where she would go. Gently knocking on the doors before entering, she pushed the doors. While she was smiling kindly, her whole posture screamed professional. 

“Hello. Mr. Drake will need the Friday press conference plan adjusted in response to what happened yesterday. There needs to be a mention of the event, as we won’t want to sound too detached. The press would tear us apart. Some gesture to show the public that we care…”

“Maybe a memory board in the lobby? And perhaps schedule Mr. Drake to visit each of the families somewhere next week?”

“I think it will be okay…” For a short moment, Mari allowed her confidence to drop, but she quickly gathered herself and made a note in her calendar. 

“If that’s all…”

“I will also need a press statement no later than by lunch.” She said quickly. “Make it a priority and forward it to me to read before you post it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The man smiled. Mari was about to leave when he spoke again. “And thank you for yesterday. Many people owe you their lives.”

She stopped in her tracks, unable to say a word. Finally, she regained her composure. “Thank you. I… I’m coping.” 

As she left the office toward the elevator, Lila and Alya, who were interning in that department, tried to speak with her, but she didn’t even spare them a glance. Alya tried to grab her, but she was stopped by one of the older employees. As the elevator doors closed, Mari could see the girls receive a serious scolding. A grin made its way onto her face. Lila and Alya would have a really hard life for the next two months. Especially if she had anything to say about it. 

Her next stop was the security office. She entered it with a neutral expression, but it lasted only maybe five steps from the elevator. She didn’t tear up. She was a Gothamite inside. Right as one walked out of the elevator, there was a small bar, behind which a board was filled with pictures. Some looked really old, black and white or even sepia, while some others were high-quality and new. Roughly half of them were the clean pictures one would attach to a resume. The other half were profile pictures from social media. Or a photo that was taken in the forest. One was even a detailed drawing of a person. There were maybe fifty of them in total.

“It’s a reminder. Guards who lost their lives since the founding of WE” An older man said. “Silas Wayne started the tradition after he served in the Great War. You’re here for something miss?”

“Oh… Yes. The security on Friday press conference. We must increase it by about fifty percent. And make sure that only those with invites can enter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her.

“Um…” Mari suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable. 

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.” He said in a comforting voice.

“Thank you, sir.” She allowed a weak smile to enter her face before she left. Only two more stops. 

The elevator next took her to the Legal Department. She had many things that needed to be done here. Chloe met her as soon as she exited the elevator. Mari managed to regain her professional posture and once more emanated the aura of confidence. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up, but she was determined to show that she was okay. 

“I already forwarded your requests. At first, Madame McKinsley was reluctant, but apparently, our entrance is already the top corporate gossip. Good job Mari-bear.”

“Good. Thanks, Chlo. Now get back to work before someone sees me get friendly with an intern. I have a plan.” Before they separated, Marigold let a smile ghost her face. “One more thing. You’re free to unleash the foxes of war.”

Chloe lit up at that. Her whole demeanor changed to almost beaming light. She immediately started planning. Mari left her to the devious scheming and instead went to McKinsley office. The head of the Legal Department was a middle-aged woman with short, slightly graying brown hair and no-nonsense composure.

“Miss Bourgeoise informed me of your visit. I already had several documents prepared, but I will need clarification on several things.” She offered the young PA a chair, but Mari refused with a shake of her head. She opened her tablet and started to go through the list.

“First of all, the video that caused the attack was leaked by an intern. What actions exactly can be undertaken in response?”

“There are several options. We could terminate their contract entirely, but as it’s their first offense, it could’ve been seen as too harsh. It would also require to terminate all internships.” The woman was clearly unamused by the situation. Mari just raised her eyebrow and gave her a quizzing look.

“I’m not sure who in their right mind wrote their contracts, but when I track them down they are gonna get their ass demoted to toilet cleaner. It’s one big mess.”

“Don’t I know it…” Mari deadpanned. “So, other options?”

“We can move them between departments, so having them demoted to Toilet cleaners could also work, but it’s not exactly a legal punishment. The fact that it was Riddler really threw a wrench in any legal proceeding as he is clinically insane and the video was not directly calling him out and only speaking about him. I could give you the legal mumbo-jumbo, but the gist is that they are somewhat protected.”

“What about revoking their privileges?”

“Take that to HR.” 

“Will do. Now, about the next matter.”

“It was much easier. She can’t do anything to you, not even forward the bill. You were in shock and there are several recordings showing her taunting you. If she pushes it, she will lose. You’re a public hero right now. Good job by the way.”

“I was only doing what had to be done.” Mari brushed it, doing her best to keep a professional face. 

“Sure…” It was clear that McKinsley did not believe her.

“Now about the last thing?”

“Ah. The slander. I already directed it to our French and Italian departments, but it’s slow-going. That witch made it an international case. It will definitely bite her, but we have to be patient.”

“Brilliant. Thank you for your time.” Mari left the room with a grin on her face. Now onto the HR.

As she strode through the floor, people turned their heads to look at her. In the killing outfit, she looked older than she was and the aura of confidence and professionalism made her seem like a powerful woman. They had no idea just how powerful she was, but the way she carried herself was enough to make them shake in their shoes. 

----

When the doors of the elevator opened, Juleka and Rose were waiting for her. Both looked furious. Before either got a chance to say anything though, Marigold silenced them with a murderous glare that took away their voice. She strode past them looking fabulous. Any other employee removed themselves from her path to avoid her ire. The rumors were already circulating and the fact that she took down Riddler before Batman even arrived did wonder to her image. 

“Hello. I had an appointment.” She said when she entered the head of the department office. 

“Yes. Miss Dupain-Cheng. I was told you forwarded a list of topics, but an intern lost it.”

“Was this intern from my class?” She asked in a cold voice.

“Um… Yes actually.” The woman said after checking a small post-it.

“Then it was probably sabotage.” Mari spat the words. “I asked to have a list of possible punishments in regards to the newest intern group prepared. Two of them were responsible for the leak. Sadly, as one of them is the class representative, she is quite popular.”

“Ah. Well…”

“First of all, both Alya Cesaire and Lila Rossi are to have all possible privileges revoked for breaking the rules. They leaked or were involved in the leak of video. Neither of them is to be handed anything more important than refilling a stapler or bringing someone coffee, to ensure they are no further threat to this company. They will also receive an official warning and an entry to their acts. They are also restricted to the lower floors. If possible, I want their access to electronic devices restricted. Maybe assign them a pager each so it doesn’t negatively impact their work.”

“Hm… I will see what can be done, Ma’am.” The woman replied, already going through her notes.

“Good. Onto the next business, while it pains me to do it so fast, we need to hire more security as soon as possible. But make sure to triple check their backgrounds.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And the last thing. Why was Damian Wayne allowed to bring a ninjato into the building?”

“There is actually no restriction on bringing swords ma’am. We’re trying to fix it, but we’ve been blocked at every turn even when Mr. Wayne was the CEO.”

“And whose permission is needed?” Mari allowed a small grin.

“Yours would do. Sarah was always too stuck up to even leave her desk unless forced so she didn’t care that much.”

“Consider my permission granted. Forward the paperwork to me.”

“And if Mr. Drake disagrees?”

“He can try.” She said coldly, remembering how close she came to being cut in half.

“Oh…”

“Last thing. When is the top floor scheduled for repairs?”

“It should be done already. It was made to withstand an assault from a much larger force, so we only had to replace the furniture. Following the instructions that were left, we repotted the plants into bigger and more decorative pots. As per your request, we added some more plants.”

“Thank you. Plants always calm me down.”

“I prefer cat pictures.” She pointed at the wall where a cheesy calendar with a cat giving her thumbs-up was hanged. It took all of Marigold’s willpower not to burst into laugher at the image of Chat Noir posing for such a calendar.

“Good. Thank you.” With that, she left. This time, Rose and Juleka did not try anything. They were too terrified of her. 

Elevator took her all the way to the highest floor. When she exited, the floor was back to perfect condition and several more plants were awaiting her. She promised them silently to check on them soon and went to the main office. She knocked several times on the doors, but nobody answered. Hesitantly, she pushed the doors open, but no one was in the office. After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

----

NEXT

[thecaptainhelm]

Shut Your Mouth Pt.2

hahaha, daminette part two, wasn’t a one shot, gn gn gn.

Marinette sighed as the shower warmed up, rolling her neck and relishing in the light feeling of accomplishment. Ever since Hawkmoth had been defeated, a mere two days ago, things had been tense. Hawkmoth, now known as Gabriel Agreste, was arrested along with his assistant Nathalie Sancoeur who had since retired as Mayura the year before. It was a stroke of luck to discover that the Guardian had the ability to forcibly renounce a broken Miraculous. Something Gabriel hadn’t known, granting them extra time as he futilely tried to ‘fix’ the brooch. While that happened, she managed to finally convince Chat to at least keep him as a suspect if not out of suspicion, then to actually strike him from their list. It didn’t take long rack up evidence against him, especially after learning from the Bats of Gotham. 

The battle was quiet, in the early hours of the morning, where the city forcibly cut the power to the Agreste mansion, and it only took one Venom for each while they slept defenselessly. It took only a few minutes to find evidence that he was at least working with Hawkmoth, and when they found the miraculous pin and brooch, it was confirmed that he was, indeed, Hawkmoth with Nathalie working as his henchwoman Mayura.

Soon, with what was probably the fastest trial of the century, Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie Sancoeur were declared guilty and sentenced to serve life in prison and an insane asylum respectively. It had only shocked her for a moment that Mayura pleaded guilty and asked to be sent directly to rehab for mental help, by reason of insanity wrought by grief. What did surprise her was that she was the one to take the miraculous and give them to the Agreste couple as an anniversary gift, ultimately setting off a chain of unforeseen consequences.

That was a whole other cake she didn’t want to bake just yet, so she decided to finally just take a moment to breathe for what felt like the first time in five years. 

So it was only normal that her smartwatch chimed on the hook of the shower caddy, a picture of a frowny eagle glaring right at her. She cursed her luck, yeah, no breaks was still her usual routine. It must be real hard for the universe to break out that particular habit.

Then she remembered that she set this particular picture and ringtone for the one person who had never called.

Robin, the vigilante that she might have, kind of, definitely made an enemy of.

Who was also her crush, so that was just. Great.

In her defense, she was a human being, and human beings were capable of amazing feats. It was just that her amazing feats were more amazing bouts of stupidity. Seriously, why did she do it? Just where did her common sense escape to make her think that was even a remotely good idea, because she wanted to go there and never come back.

She had kissed-- no! She made out with Robin, the most notoriously ill-tempered member of Batman’s team. The only reason he didn’t deck her in the face was because, because, well she didn’t know! Was it mercy, a misplaced feeling of pity, perhaps?

No, actually, it was more likely that he was frozen stiff with rage. Marinette couldn’t blame him, heck, she’d be angry too, suddenly getting passionately smooched in the middle of livid rant. 

She had planned on giving him her contact information for the longest time, since they'd come to the understanding that they only wanted to do what was best for everyone, the kind of understanding that only leaders could have. And to maybe get closer to him as much as professionalism allowed. So, it stood to reason that she had to go ahead and ruin that, too. She really couldn’t believe herself sometimes, who randomly kisses someone, hands them their number, and then trots off back to work? Marinette Dupain-Cheng apparently.

In fact, it was about time he called. She had pretty much an entire year to prepare herself for what was sure to be a concise and frigid rejection, maybe even a “Stay for away from, lest I stab everyone in this room and then jump out of a window out of utter disgust”? She might as well get it over with and then move on to be alone for the rest of her life.

She wiped the water out of her eyes and squinted at the text message, before jumping out the shower with a loud curse. She hurriedly dried off and put on her clothes, before heading to the Miracle Box, rereading his message.

Emergency evac, one person, requesting Pegasus’ portal twenty kilometers horizontally above sea level precisely fifteen minutes after this message. Coordinates attached.

The message was sent ten minutes ago. How long was she catastrophizing for?!

Max was partying along with the rest of Paris while she took a breather in her art studio. Even with the full fifteen minutes she wouldn’t be able to find him in time. Shit, would she even be able to transform in time?

She grabbed the glasses from the box and Kaalki appeared in a proud flash. 

“No time, there’s trouble,” she panted. “Ready?”

“Hmph, of course,” Kaalki tossed her head. “Let’s go, shall we?”

“Kaalki, transform me!” She eyed the time, two minutes left. She memorized the coordinates as she searched for a suitable place for him to land, and realized she was going to have to catch him in her storage closet.

One minute left. She opened the door and cleared space in the center of the room.

Thirty-five seconds. She stood on an old chair that she moved into the center of the room.

Twenty seconds, and she called, “Voyage!” and threw the portal up towards the ceiling.

Zero. She braced for impact and caught a body that plummeted through in a free fall.

“Ow,” she closed the portal with a groan, amidst the shattered pieces of what used to be a pretty sturdy chair.

“Don’t complain, it could have been worse.” A deep voice rasped.

Wow, to think she missed him, that asshole.

“Shut up, Robi-- oh my god your arm! Get up, getupgetupgetup!” She hauled him up as gently as possible, annoyance giving way to concern.

Robin was, putting it lightly, a mess. He had lost his mask, his eye was swollen shut and his face was bruised with cuts all over, and he was sticky with blood practically everywhere she looked. It was his arm that she was most concerned about, however. It was set in a splint, but he must have been in a rush because it was set wrong, his thumb facing perpendicular lyaway from his body.

“I am fine,” he sagged into her, weary. “I just need a place to stay for the night.”

“If you weren’t so grievously injured, I’d throw you out for that,” she remarked. “But guess what? It’s your lucky night monsieur, and I’m a trained field medic.” Robin looked at her, maskless, and she had to dart her eyes away from his maskless face.

“Oh, so Ladybug finally started replacing her subpar lineup? About time, either she benched them or Hawkmoth would kill them at some point. They were woefully incompent.” Yep, this was definitely Robin, no doubt about it with that attitude.

She called off the transformation and was somewhat pleased when he reflexively jerked his head away. She pulled him into a princess carry and made her way back to the bathroom, inwardly delighting at his reaction. She would never let him live this down.

“It’s me, Robin. Ladybug. Pegasus couldn’t make it, so you’ll have to do with me instead of a random stand-in.” She raised her brow, not that he could see it.

“Unless that bothers you, Boy Wonder?”

“...I’m not,” he mumbled.

“Hm?”

“I’m not Robin anymore.”

What. What.

“What?”

“I’ve retired, effective as of nine months ago today, Robin’s cape has been hung up for the next generation.”

Relief didn’t come yet. “Oh, so you’ve taken on a new mantle? Or are you finally the next Batman, though it would take some time to fill those shoulders. Literally, I mean that literally, um.” She observed his downcast expression and once again started walking to the bathroom. When had she stopped?

“I’m not taking over anything,” he said sullenly. “I can’t. Not after what I did.”

“Come on, it couldn’t have been so bad,” she opened the door with her heel as she backed them towards the stool by the sink. She set him down carefully, taking full stock of his injuries.

“It was. Batman’s cowl has always represented a strict moral code, one that I’ve always...struggled to adhere to.”

Marinette bit her lip as she kneeled in front of him. He didn’t say anymore, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. She sighed and brought out her med kit from the towel cabinet. She was always like this with him.

With Robin (now not Robin?) she had always drawn a blank. She could read his emotions somewhat well, had a good grasp on his moods, and could have genuinely insightful conversations with him. It was only at crucial moments like this that she struggled. Even with Adrien she had always known what she wanted to say, but Robin was different. Everything about him screamed “one chance only” and that caused her mind to go blank. It was so unbelievably frustrating that she could scream.

Marinette handed the glasses to Kaalki and nodded towards her purse hanging on the door handle. The kwami zoomed towards it and soon disappeared into it with the miraculous.

“Robin,” she called gently. He didn’t move. “I’ll have to cut your shirt off, okay? I need to see where the blood is coming from.”

“It’s not mine.The blood.” He kept his gaze away as she froze.

“Well, we’ll have to reset that arm,” she tried again. “It’s not...it’s not looking good, to say the least.”

He looked towards his mangled right arm and nodded. 

It took some time to undo the splint and she tried not to think about where he had been for him to only have rotted wood and prison rags on hand. She cut his shirt off at the sleeve and down his middle, pulling it off and exposing a painful canvas of mottled bruises, scrapes, and cuts. She handed him her towel and he stuffed it in his mouth without a word. She gently untied the splint.

“Are you ready?” She gazed at him resolutely. He nodded and braced himself as best he could.

“On my count, one, two--” She re-broke his arm a count early on purpose.

“Arrghh! Ffuk!!” He jerked out of her grip.

“Hold still!” He spat out the towel and glared in response.

“Mizq dhiraei allaeaynat 'aw aidbitha!!!” She only understood ‘rip’ and ‘arm’ but she got the gist of his screaming.

“Alright it’s done now, I’m setting it, so stop moving,” She couldn’t help but sigh under his vicious scowl.

“Tsk. Be grateful that I can barely discern your features Ladybug. You’re on my shit list and I don’t feel like kicking your ass today.”

“Wow, thanks for saving me Ladybug, I could have died if it weren’t for you!” Marinette couldn’t help but snark at him.

“...tsk!” Yep, that was as good as she was going to get in his condition.

After years of fighting akuma victims she was able to observe the complex and hidden emotions of her opponents and the civilians that she rescued. And right now, her experience was telling her that Robin had more than his pride ruined. His self-confident, courageous, and taciturn nature seemed to be regressing as he fell back into what was probably a self-defense mechanism. For him to be like this instead of exhausted in his current state told her that he must have been through a lot since she last saw him.

She started to gently clean the blood off and noted the bruises underneath definitely came from an intense melee battle. Most of them were in places that made her cringe just looking at them. At least he doesn’t have any other broken bones, or stab wounds. Lucky him.

Robin put an ice pack to his face in the meanwhile and wouldn’t look in her direction.

It was quiet for a while. “So, what should I call you, then?” And she had to open her big fat mouth, didn’t she? Now it was awkward. It was awkward, and he hated her, and she was never speaking again, ever.

“Damian.” Uh oh.That didn’t sound like a moniker.

“Um, nice code name?” She started disinfecting his cuts and scrapes, trying not to panic.

“I no longer require such aliases.” Ok, process that later, heal Robin now. Process. Later.

“Ro--, Damian, uh, well,” She sighed.  “My offer still stands, you know?”

He made a quiet noise. 

“Last time I saw you, I mean. I had left in a rush,”-- after kissing you senseless-- “but I’m always here to listen if you want to talk about what happened.”

Robin, or Damian now, she still wasn’t used to that, froze. His brows furrowed and he strangely went red in the face, before sighing, slumping against the sink.

“I...the blood’s not mine. It hasn’t been my for a long time, but it might as well be for how long I’ve carried it. I’m not a good person so much as to blame myself completely, but I do recognize some of the fault as mine. I’d gotten help, and I was making progress, but it wasn’t enough. I started falling back into old habits and I hated it. I tried and I failed, and I kept trying and failing for months and I…” He gained a look of despair, the first real emotion she’s seen on him since he dropped in.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I just kept disappointing everyone and I hated it so much,” he dug his fingers into his matted hair.

“So, I left. I decided to go on a journey to try and repent, and it was working, at least I thought it did. But, then I had stumbled upon a Shadows base and I…” He peered unseeing at the floor.

“It was like I lost all sense of reason. I lay siege to the entire facility and found my way to the next base. It all turned into an endless cycle, all the way until I reached headquarters and inadvertently met up with high ranking members of the Justice League, teaming up to diminish their power. We were successful, but a candidate for the position of the Demon’s Head activated the self-destruct module. Everyone was scrambling to get out and suddenly my mind felt clearer than it had ever been.” He took  a deep breath and Marinette moved closer to offer some comfort. He leaned towards her gratefully.

“The Justice League had already had an escape route, but the Shadows were in disarray for some reason. After I was sure my old comrades were out, I locked all the doors, and dived down to a ceremonial bathing chamber.”

“And that’s where I came in,” she whispered. I think I’m starting to like him more than I should. What is wrong with me?! Who made me this way?! She had some complaints in regards to that.

“You saved my life,” he inclined his head in an informal bow. “Thank you, Ladybug.”

“...Marinette.” She croaked suddenly. She was left reeling from his info dump and her intense, romantic feelings. So, why not go for a confession? 

Damian whipped his head up in disbelief.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Enchanté, Damian.” She smiled at his bewildered state, wiping away a bit of blood under his chin. She opened her mouth to say more, but didn’t get the chance.

Damian leapt up, furious. “You fool! I knew you were a space cadet, but I didn’t think your brain drifted beyond the stars! How utterly moronic!”

“Wait, why are you so mad?!” She panicked. She kind of had a spur of the moment idea to kiss him on his split lip, but that was looking less and less likely to happen.

(Damn it.)

“You told me your name!” he shouted.

“Yes, and you told me your’s?” She retorted. 

“Have you forgotten Hawkmoth?! Your enemy that can read the minds of the emotionally disturbed should he decide to possess them!” He started to hobble out of the bathroom, still half-treated and mostly in pain.

Oh. 

Oh!

“I have to leave, now! If I can stay calm long enough to reach the trains then I’ll be moving too fast for a butterfly to suddenly get me.”

“Uh, Damian?”

“No, it might already be enroute to someone else and might even already be on board,” He winced and stumbled on the tassel rug in the hallway.

“Woah, hang on a second Damian,” she grabbed him before he could fall, but he pulled out of her grip.

“We don’t have time for this, I can guarantee that I would be one of the worst akumas you’ve faced in your hero career, nevermind the insider information I hold within my mind.”

“Yes, but listen to me,” Damian moved towards the small sitting area, not listening to her. 

Again.

“This safehouse should be around one hundred kilometers from the city limits, you’re safe for now, but Hawkmoth’s estimated rate of growth was--”

That’s it!

Marinette grabbed his jaw and slammed it closed. She had had enough.

“This isn’t a safehouse, we’re in my art studio,” she snapped. She could see the rage begin to build to new heights in his eye.

“No, shut your mouth, and listen!” A vein in his forehead started to pulse, but he didn't move to speak.

Good.

“Hawkmoth has been defeated as of last week, and the trial was concluded a couple days ago. Going by what you told me, you've been out the loop for almost a year, so you don’t know that my team and I had closed in on Hawkmoth’s trail some time ago and were able to build a solid case that’ll go through in a court of law,” She carefully let him go.

“So, you’re safe, I’m safe, and Paris is safe too.” She’d already started to calm down in the middle of her explanation, and idly noted that she should probably take an anger management class.

And sign up for therapy. Lots of it, preferably.

Damian nodded slowly as he rubbed his jaw and she couldn’t help her wince.

“Sorry, did I handle you too roughly? Come here,” she started to pull him back towards the bathroom. He resisted.

“No, it’s fine, no damage just from that much force,” he tugged his arm away but she quickly moved behind him and began to push him through the bathroom door.

“Well, I’m not done treating you, so get back in there.” He grabbed the door frame and pushed back, and her calm demeanor left as quick as it came. Was it even truly there to begin with?

“I said,” she picked him up and threw him back on the stool where he grasped for stability.

“Come here.” She leaned in close to his bruised face, and wow, the one eye that she could see was so very, very green. “I’m not done with you, yet.”

“...okay,” he whispered. He kept his head down.

It didn’t take long to finish disinfecting the rest of his wounds, and soon she started applying ointment to the worst of his bruises. She had enough, but she was definitely going to be restocking in order to play his nursemaid for the next week or so. She rose to her feet and started packing away her kit.

“I’ll give you some pain meds for the night, I’ll leave you to take care of the injuries under the rest of your clothes. Come find me in the kitchenette. I’ll make something for us, though it won’t be anything fancy.”

“That is fine.” Marinette frowned at the strange husk in his voice. Did someone try to suffocate him? Why hadn’t she noticed until now?

She kneeled beside him and reached around him for the water bottle she had left in there earlier, but noticed him twitch and start to blush. Did he get a fever too?

She observed his red face and clear, but dilated eyes. Merde, did she embarrass him from earlier? She knew he had a large ego, but it was his own fault for being stubborn.

“Here, get yourself some water from the sink,” she handed the glittery black bottle to him and hurriedly strode out of the bathroom, calling,

“Holler if you need me!” 

Completely aware of the flustered state she left Damian in. Though not for the reason she thinks, at least.

[redhairedwolfwitch]

Fixed The Sink - Chicago Fire - Gianna Mackey x Brett!Sister!Reader

A/n: Set season 9 episodes 1&2, mentions of brettsey and my sweet sweet Leslie Shay

Warnings: mentions of guns, violence, car accidents, drug overdose by minor character etc

“Is Joe’s tardiness going to affect your perception of me because I will, I will definitely deny knowing him-” Gianna was cut off by Casey.

“Too late, Cruz already told us you two grew up on the same block.”

“Damn.”

“Hm, it’s best we found out your association with this scoundrel before we were in too deep.” Brett chuckled before Gianna retorted.

“Well, everyone on our street knew the Cruz brothers, with the words ‘stay away’ on every mother’s lips-”

“Hey!”

“Gianna Mackey, you’re gonna fit right in. Welcome to Ambulance 61. Dismissed.” Boden replied with a smile.

///

“Hey, everyone, I would like you all to meet, Gianna Mackey. I have known her, all of her life and she is now going to be working with Brett over at 61.”

“So you grew up around Cruz?” Stella enquired, leaving Gianna to grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just a few years behind his brother, Leon.”

“Girl, you are gonna have to tell us some stories.” Stella chuckled as Cruz intervened before the alarms began to go off for a man down from unknown causes.

“Hey, Brett, you don’t happen to know a Y/n Brett, do you?”  Gianna enquired as she and Brett ran over to the ambo.

“Yeah, my sister, why?”

“Oh, uh, she fixed my sink once.” Gianna sheepishly replied before they drove out to the call.

///

You were on a lunch break when your phone buzzed, leaving you to swear under your breath in panic, about to call when you read the next text saying not to.

“Y/n, you okay?”

“I’m fine, just Gianna messaging me, she's on shift at her new firehouse today.” You explained as you walked towards your seminar. Your mind was buzzing after you read the message about Gianna and Brett being held at gunpoint by an overdose victim’s brother.

///

“How was Brett?” Cruz asked as he began to helicopter parent Gianna.

“Stone cold slayer.”

“That’s her, do you like her? Is she treating you alright-”

“Uh, yeah, by the way, remember how I’ve been seeing someone for a while now-” Gianna was cut off as Cruz continued his ramble.

“Are you liking everybody? I know you haven’t had chance to meet them all yet but you’ll like it here, I promise you-”

“Joe, oh my god, Joe, you have gotta bring it down-”

///

Gianna chuckled at Gallo’s staring as Cruz just stared at him back, his overprotectiveness crossing paths with the fact that he knew Gianna was already seeing someone, but he hadn’t met you yet.

Plus, Brett didn’t know you were even dating anyone. Or she suspected it and was waiting for you to tell her. It was one of those anyway.

Even though a selfie of Gianna had been your homescreen, six months after the two of you becoming official. Your lockscreen being a selfie Brett had taken with you after the two of you had bonded over you both being adopted.

“You’re the only who made these?” Casey asked after swallowing a mouthful of turkey, swiss and pear sandwich.

“Maybe.” Gianna replied, unfolding her arms to stand up from the wall as Casey made eye contact with Brett.

“Keep her.”

“Update from Chicago Med, that overdose victim from this morning, his heart gave out, they couldn’t revive him. CPD are going to swing by and give you an update on that brother that threatened you.”

///

“Hey, Blake Gallo.” Gallo introduced himself with an offering of an elbow bump.

“Yeah, Gianna.” Gianna replied, complying with the elbow bump.

“News of your call has been buzzing around the firehouse, you okay?” Gallo asked, leaving Gianna to brush it off.

“No big deal, police are already on it.”

“Well, if you need anything, let me know, one thing I learned here at 51, this house, we look after each other.” Blake replied with a timid smile.

“Thank you, see ya.”

“See ya.” Blake whispered back, watching Gianna walk away before he walked almost directly into Cruz.

“Uh uh, I’ve seen you Blake Gallo, not this one, not her, this is a good house and I’ve been hoping somehow, some way, Gianna would get a chance to work here-”

“I didn’t do anything-”

“Gallo, look in my eyes, I’m not messing around, plus, she’s seeing someone already!” Cruz warned Gallo who just froze at the mention of Gianna already seeing someone.

///

Brett had tried to ring you after she’d found the door to her apartment open but you were in a workshop.

“Tried the landlord?”

“I left messages. Y/n has a key but she’s been on campus all day, too.” Brett explained to Casey.

“Well, you got an extra pillow, blanket?”

Brett’s confused face had Casey elaborating.

“I’m staying, on the couch. Until we hear back, either from your landlord and Y/n or CPD when they have that brother is in custody.” Casey affirmed as Brett’s phone buzzed.

“Wasn’t Y/n, she’s just got back from being on campus now. Her university is doing lectures online but workshops and seminars in socially distanced groups on campus.” Brett explained as she looked at her phone.

///

You let out a breath when got back to your apartment, feeling your phone buzz in your pocket as you put your backpack down.

“Hey, love, how was shift?”

///

The structure fire that the whole Firehouse responded to the next morning had Gianna realising how much action Firehouse 51 saw everyday. This included a triage situation that Gianna hadn’t been in since training as Brett kept her calm.

Gianna chewed her lip afterwards, debating when you and her were going to tell Brett that the two of you were dating.

///

“Cruz just likes to mess with any guy who hits on me, especially when I’m already seeing someone...” Gianna chuckled before the alarms began to go off for Ambulance 61, wellness check.

“They weren’t kidding about 51 being a busy house, huh?”

“Yeah, some shifts I don’t even get to eat breakfast or dinner...” Brett admitted as she looked in the wing mirror.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not sure?” Brett replied, trying to get a better look.

“Oh my god! Call a 10-1!” Brett exclaimed as the ambulance was being rammed off the road.

“Emergency, this is Ambulance 61 requesting a 10-1!” Gianna was barely able to make the call before Ambulance 61 and the car trying to run them off the road both dived off of it.

///

You were at your apartment working on a lecture when your phone went off.

“Hey, hey, are you, are you okay?”

“Mack, what’s wrong?”

“I just, needed to hear your voice, that lunatic ran the ambo off the road but we’re okay...”

“Ran the ambo off the road, holy shit! Do you want me to-”

“Can you meet me at the usual place, I don’t want to be alone after shift.” Gianna replied, leaving you to go quiet as you remembered civilians weren’t able to go to the firehouse due to COVID risks.

///

“I basically just told Casey I’m in love with him, and now... now, my sister is calling which she doesn’t usually do when I’m on shift-”

///

Cruz found Gianna whilst you were on your way there.

“Joe?”

“Figured you’d be here. Whenever you had to blow off some steam, these bleachers would pay the price.” Cruz remarked, watching Gianna walk over before the two of them heard footsteps.

“I can leave if you two want to be alone-” You suggested but Gianna just waved you over as Cruz just looked confused.

“Wait, wait, wait, Y/n? What are you doing here?” 

“Uh, I fixed her sink-”

“Uh, we’re dating-”

“I’m so confused!” Cruz admitted leaving you and Gianna to exchange glances.

“We met when I was working at a plumbing place as part of placement for my undergrad degree. I fixed her sink.” You explained, leaving Gianna to explain the rest.

“Then we hit off and we’ve been dating ever since. That was two years ago.” Gianna explained leaving Cruz to splutter.

“Two years? You said you were seeing someone, not in a serious relationship-”

“Covid messed up our plans and I ended up doing a masters which I’m doing now and Gianna’s at 51 with you and my sister... who doesn’t know I’m dating anyone, but I’m pretty sure she’s crushing on Casey, anyway-”

“I don’t know if 51 is the place for me.” Gianna admitted, taking your hand to cut off your ramblings.

The two of you were wearing gloves to combat the cold Chicago air.

“I thought I wanted to be at a busier house, reality is, maybe I’m just not cut out for it. The way I acted at the scene, my head is spinning and Brett’s climbing out the rig to save the psycho that ran us off the road.”

“She’s been at this a while now.”

///

“I promised him, when he got sick, I would take care of you, it’s all I could think about when that went down, my obligation to your big bro and he truth is, he would be so proud of the woman you’ve become. I think 51 is exactly the right place for you.” Cruz stated, leaving you to smile.

“Couldn’t have spoken truer words.” You admitted, smiling more as as Gianna wrapped her arm around you to hold you closely as she hugged Cruz.

///

You hummed as you flopped down on the couch, chuckling as you felt Gianna wrap her arms around your waist. You could feel her warmth as she laid on you.

You kissed her forehead before she buried her face in your neck.

“God, I love you.” You admitted into her hair as her response was muffled by your neck.

“I love you too.”

///

“You’re here!” Brett grinned as she realised Gianna hadn’t transferred out of 51.

“A hundred percent, but I need to talk to you about something after.”

“Okay, well, I’m really glad to hear it.” Brett replied, giving Gianna a touch on the shoulder.

///

“Leslie Shay. I like the name. Did she ride on 61?” Gianna asked as Gallo stood besides her.

“Yeah, Shay rode on 61, she was part of the DNA of this firehouse. She was our friend. So much new blood at 51 these days, pretty soon the people who never knew Shay are going to outnumber those of us who did. They should whose shadow they’re walking in.” Severide explained, gently wiping down the ambulance door with Shay’s memorial on.

///

“Is Y/n coming tonight?” Cruz asked as he sat with Gianna at Molly’s Patio.

“She’s on her way, we decided we’re going to tell Brett about us.” Gianna explained before her face lit up, leaving Cruz to turn around, spotting you walking in with a nod to Hermann as you walked over.

“Room for one more?” You asked, leaving Gianna to grin as she scooted over.

“Hey, baby, you want a drink?”

“Herrmann’s got Stella making my usual I think, so, what’s the plan with Brett, because I have no clue and I don’t think she doesn’t think I’ve not been dating someone all this time. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t seen my home screen for the last year and half.” You admitted, leaving Gianna to chuckle as she looked at the photo.

“Yeah, that, that’s an obvious clue, so, anyway, what’s the plan?” Gianna asked as she spotted you had a message from Brett.

“Besides not tonight because uhh-” Gianna pointed out, leaving you to grimace as you looked over the text, typing a reply.

“She wants to be alone right now.” You replied, as Brett replied before she left you on read.

“Now, I need that drink.” You hummed, leaving Gianna and Cruz to laugh as Stella brought your drink over, grinning as she saw the relief in your face.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Eight)

Summary: Din, (Y/N) and their passengers are trapped on a frozen planet and must quickly repair the Razor Crest if they have any hope of surviving.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Eight The Ship (Previous Chapter)

Jolting awake, Din pushed himself off the ship’s dashboard and groaned; the last thing he remembered before being knocked unconscious was the ship falling through the ice that he’d landed on. He was still disoriented when he glanced down at his armor and noticed the thin layer of frost coating the beskar. He reached up and flipped several switches but before he could determine just how much damage the ship had sustained, a small whimper behind him made him quickly turn around; the Frog woman was curled up on the floor of the cockpit, violently shivering as her arms wrapped around herself to generate warmth. He knelt down and helped her back into her seat as she began to quickly croak at him and gesture towards the cockpit door. Her eggs, he suddenly remembered, they were in the cargo hold when we crashed…

“I’ll find your eggs, don’t worry,” Din promised her. “Gotta get you some blankets, keep you warm…” He hurried out the cockpit doors and jumped down into the cargo hold; there was a gaping hole in the side of the hull, through which snow and freezing-cold air was blowing, and different wires and cables hung limp from the ceiling. Storage containers were strewn across the whole floor, all covered in frost, and he found himself muttering a quiet “Damn it.”

It was then that he remembered the child and his partner, and he hurriedly opened his sleeping compartment only to see the child’s hammock empty. Fear clenched at his heart as he turned back to the cluttered floor. “Kid? (Y/N)?” The Frog woman’s frantic croaking echoed down and Din called up, “Hang on, I’m looking for your eggs!” He carefully began stepping through the mess and, after hearing a small noise, bent down and threw a tarp to the side to reveal the child, an egg in his hands as he stood before the open container. “No!” He quickly closed the lid and picked up the container of eggs to examine it. It was the second time he’d caught the child eating eggs, and he was worried that the passenger would eventually notice their absences. “I told you not to do that.” The Frog woman spoke out to him again and he answered. “Found them!”

“M-Mando?”

Eyes widening, Din set the container down inside the sleeping compartment and locked it before hurrying over to where the captain’s weak voice had come from. “Dank farrik!”

(Y/N) was at the end of the cargo hold, hidden behind a storage container with her left arm pinned underneath another one, and her lips were nearly blue from the cold. “I tried…I tried moving it, but-”

“It’s okay, alor’ad, I’ve got it.” Careful not to jostle her arm, he lifted the container and set it down behind him, his heart dropping in his chest when he realized that her shoulder was bent at an unnatural angle and that she was shivering uncontrollably. “Osik…I’m gonna help you up now, okay? I need to push that shoulder back into its socket as quick as possible and I’ve gotta get you warm…” He leaned down and wrapped an arm around her waist, helping her stand before walking her over to another storage container. “Just sit here for a second, I’m gonna bring the Frog lady down here…”

Once he helped the Frog woman down the ladder and returned her eggs to her, he handed her a blanket and hurriedly fastened another over the hole in the hull in an attempt to begin warming the space. Then, he fixed (Y/N)’s dislocated shoulder and used the spare bandages from the med pack to bind her arm into a makeshift sling; she stifled her cry of pain behind her free hand and squeezed her eyes shut, but not before Din spotted the tears in her eyes. He knew first-hand how painful that kind of injury could be, so he didn’t judge his partner for what others would perceive as weakness. Once he was finished tending to her wound, he carefully wrapped a blanket around her and went to dig his spare heater out of the wreckage, turning it on and urging his companions to sit near it as he prepared a little dinner for them. (Y/N) quietly accepted her tray of food, her smile polite but her eyes betraying her anger towards him; suppressing a sigh of frustration, he turned away from her to glance at the Frog woman.

“If you hadn’t guessed, we’re in a tight spot; the main power drive’s not responding and the hull has lost its integrity. I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls, and I’ll have a better idea of our prospects at that time.” He lowered himself onto the floor and leaned against the wall, making himself as comfortable as he could given the circumstances. The Frog woman began croaking urgently at him, gesturing to eggs while she did, and Din hopelessly answered, “I’m sorry, lady, I don’t understand Frog. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.” He looked over at (Y/N), who was picking half-heartedly at her tray of food, and continued. “I recommend you both get some sleep.”

The captain didn’t acknowledge his words but when he crossed his arms and glanced back down, he noticed the child waddle his way over and cuddle against his side beneath his cape. Well, at least there’s one person who’s not angry with me, Din thought dejectedly to himself; (Y/N) was right, he shouldn’t have run from the New Republic rangers, but he’d panicked. He didn’t want to put any of them in danger, but that’s exactly what had happened anyway.

Before he fell asleep, Din watched as (Y/N) quietly set down her food and stood, removing the blanket from around her shoulders and placing it on top of the Frog woman’s eggs before settling down on the floor opposite him and wrapping her uninjured arm around herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wake up, Mandalorian.”

Din quickly jolted awake as the all-too familiar voice rang through the cargo hold, his blaster in his hand before he could fully register what he was looking at. Zero, the droid pilot from the prison breakout job, was still in pieces and secured to the wall of the ship, but a wire was now attached to its head and its opposite end was being held by the Frog woman; when she croaked again, Zero’s voice emitted from the head. “This cannot wait until morning. Do not be alarmed, I bypassed the droid’s security protocols and accessed its vocabulator.”

As (Y/N) and the child began to stir, Din holstered his blaster with more force than necessary. “What the hell are you doing? That droid is a killer.”

“These eggs are the last brood of my life cycle.” The Frog woman explained, resting a hand on her egg container sitting beside her. “My husband has risked his life to carve out an existence for us on the only planet that is hospitable to our species. We fought too hard and suffered too much to resign ourselves to the extinction of our family line. I must demand that you hold true to the deal that you agreed to.”

“Look, lady, the deal is off,” He growled in frustration, gesturing at the wreckage around them. “We’re lucky if we get off this frozen tomb with our lives!”

The Frog woman was unperturbed. “I thought honoring one’s word was a part of the Mandalorian code. I guess those are just stories for children.”

Across from him, (Y/N) visibly flinched at her words and the child looked up at him with near-pleading eyes; Din finally capitulated, easing the child off his lap before clambering to his feet, grabbing his toolkit and storming outside to assess the ship’s damages. The ship was in a bad shape but as he continued to examine it, he determined that it could thankfully still fly, albeit with a fair amount of patches and repairs. He was busy rewiring some of the broken cables near the engine when (Y/N) slowly approached him, a look of apprehension on her face as she knelt on the snow beside him.

“It’s, um…it looks a lot worse than it is. If the repairs go well, we can be out of here as soon as tomorrow.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Good, good. I…well, on the off-chance that we don’t, I just…I wanted to apologize for using your Creed against you when we first met.” His brow rose in surprise at her words; out of all the things he’d been expecting her to say, that certainly hadn’t been one of them. “It wasn’t fair of me to throw it in your face to get what I wanted, and I’m sorry.”

Din was at a loss for words; almost from the moment he swore the Creed, people had ridiculed his way of life and would often try using it against him to gain an upper hand on him. It had bothered him at first but he’d eventually grown used to the jabs and insults, learning to ignore or shrug them off. (Y/N) was the first person he’d ever met who bothered to apologize to him for her words.

Seeing her begin to rise, he shook himself out of his astonishment and grabbed her wrist to halt her; she looked at him with widened eyes, and he cleared his throat before speaking. “Thank you. I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have run from those rangers, and I apologize for not listening to your warnings.” His partner’s usual cheery smile brightened her face at his words and Din blushed beneath his helmet, quickly turning back towards the ship and gesturing at the hole in the hull. “You should get some rest, alor’ad. Your shoulder-”

“Feels perfectly fine, Mando. I can still help you with…” She trailed off, looking past him and furrowing her brow in confusion. “I think the little guy’s trying to tell us something.”

Looking in the same direction she was, Din’s eyes fell on the child, who was babbling and pointing at something on the other side of the ship. With a sigh of exasperation, he called over to him. “How about you come over here and give us a hand? Make yourself useful.” Instead of waddling over to them, the child walked behind the ship and out of sight. “Hey, kid!” He exchanged a look with (Y/N) and they both got to their feet, hurrying off after him. “I said, hey! Where are you going?”

“Come back here, little guy!” (Y/N) added; they turned the corner and made their way over to where the child had stopped.

Din knelt down beside him, instantly noticing the fresh footsteps in the snow. “When did she go?” According to his helmet’s thermal scan, it hadn’t been that long. With a small sigh, he picked up the child and stood. “It’s not safe for her to be out there alone. C’mon, let’s go.”

They slowly made their way through the icy caverns, careful not to make too much noise as they followed the Frog woman’s footsteps. Beside him, (Y/N) had drawn her blaster and was holding it in her good hand while Din kept a tight hold on the curious child in the crook of his arm. They turned a corner and found themselves standing within a massive cave; icicles the size of mudhorns hung from the ceiling and strange-looking objects rested all along the snow.

The familiar sounds of croaking caught Din’s attention and he looked over to see the Frog woman sitting in a glowing hot spring, with all her eggs floating at the top of the steaming water. “There you are,” He exhaled in relief, hurrying over to the hot spring with (Y/N) close behind him. “You can’t leave the ship, it’s not safe out here.” He set the child down at the edge of the water and knelt. “Let’s gather these up…”

Their passenger made a sound of protest as he began carefully putting her eggs back in her container; while he worked, he noticed (Y/N) sit down by the edge of the spring and give the Frog woman a sympathetic smile. “I know that it’s cold, but night’s coming fast and we can’t protect you out here; in the morning, Mando and I are gonna start working on repairs and we’ll be off this planet in no time. When we get back to the ship, I’ll look through my clothes for anything that’ll keep you and your eggs warm, okay?”

Because of the stunt she’d pulled earlier with the decapitated droid, Din knew that the Frog woman had understood the captain’s soothing words and with a nod of her head, she began helping him gather up the floating eggs. He glanced over at (Y/N) and couldn’t help but take note of how the faint glow from the hot spring illuminated her features; without thinking, he blurted out, “You’re good at that. Talking to people, I mean, making them feel comfortable. I just usually tend to scare them off and-No! No.” Din scolded the child, who’d taken advantage of his distraction and tried reaching for an egg. The child, looking a little more than miffed, walked away and he continued placing eggs into the container.

“Well, you haven’t managed to scare me off.” (Y/N) remarked, the corner of her mouth curving into a teasing smile. “You must be slipping, Mando; I thought that bounty hunters, even former ones, were supposed to terrify everybody they come across.”

Just as Din was about to indulge in their usual playful banter, the child’s cry echoed throughout the cave and his head whipped around in alarm; the child was running as fast as he could towards them, fear evident in his large eyes, and it didn’t take long for Din to realize why. The strange-looking objects that were strewn across the snow were beginning to shudder and hatch, and pale spiders of differing sizes began to emerge.

Quickly standing, he hurried over to where the child was and picked him up before backing away from the hatching creatures. His eyes widened in panic as more and more eggs began to break open, covering the floor of the cave with an ever-growing crowd of spiders. While he closed the lid of the egg container and slung it over his shoulder, the Frog woman hastily threw on her clothes and (Y/N) ushered her out of the hot spring; an echoing growl made the three of them look up and Din’s jaw dropped when an enormous spider, easily the size of his ship, crawled out of a deeper part of the cave.

“Go, go, go! Back to the ship!”

All three of them sprinted out of the cave and into the maze of icy tunnels, closely pursued by the swarm of spiders. While they ran, (Y/N) aimed her blaster and began shooting at the spiders behind them and Din, seeing spiders beginning to appear in front of them, drew his blaster and fired. A tunnel beside them was quickly blocked off when the massive spider shot a web at its entrance, so they quickly hurried down another; the Frog woman leapt past both Din and (Y/N), who were forced to holster their blasters so they could run faster from the advancing spiders. Although he couldn’t see it, he could hear the largest spider pursuing them from above, the impact of its legs shaking the frozen ceiling of the tunnel. A sharp cracking noise above alerted him to danger and his free hand shot out to haul the Frog woman back just as the spider’s long leg broke through the ceiling and was pulled up.

“Take her and get back to the ship, I’ll buy you some time!” Din yelled to (Y/N) as they ran.

The captain frantically shook her head. “No, I’m not leaving you behind!”

Thinking fast, Din pulled out three bombs and threw two of them on either side of the tunnel, then threw the third at the ceiling where the largest spider was. The bombs exploded, causing the tunnel to cave in on itself and he turned to watch the creature’s lifeless body crash to the ground before running after (Y/N) and the Frog woman. His partner had drawn her blaster again and was shooting at anything that moved; Din quickly did the same but once it became apparent that there were too many spiders to shoot and kill, he holstered his blaster and pushed (Y/N) and the Frog woman behind him before igniting the flamethrower on his vambrace.

White-hot flames shot out towards the swarm of spiders and instantly burned them to a crisp, but as the three of them continued to run, even more of the creatures began pursuing them. The broken-down ship finally came into view as he and (Y/N) continued firing their blasters at the spiders, and Din silently prayed that they’d be able to get the ship into the air in time to escape the swarm.

“Cover me!”

(Y/N) continued shooting spider after spider while Din turned and handed both the child and the egg container over to the Frog woman; he’d just ushered their passenger into the ship when the captain let out a cry of alarm, and he turned to see that her good arm had been webbed to the side of the ship. A smaller spider leapt towards them and on instinct, Din caught it in his fist and crushed it before throwing it aside; seeing the spiders inching closer to them, he helped (Y/N) wrench her arm free before pushing her into the ship and following after her. He continued blasting at the spiders as they followed them into the ship, scrambling up the ladder and shooting at the creatures as they emerged from the hole.

Seeing that his efforts were useless, Din stepped into the cockpit and tried closing its doors but the influx of spiders kept them from closing all the way. Desperate, he began shooting at the spiders through the crack in the door and (Y/N) quickly did the same, firing at the spiders that were lower down. The child’s fearful cry rang out over the sounds of their blasters firing and Din looked over just in time to see the Frog woman shoot at several small spiders that had been attacking him with a small blaster; their gazes met and he hurriedly nodded in thanks before turning and using his flamethrower to take care of the rest of the creatures. The door finally closed, but the danger hadn’t yet passed; the spiders had begun crawling over the outside of the ship.

“Strap yourselves in!” Din dropped down into the pilot’s seat, pressing buttons and flipping several switches; his hands flew over the various controls as he prepared the ship for take-off, and they were soon joined by (Y/N)’s good hand. They shared a brief glance before resuming their work, and he muttered under his breath to her, “This better work.”

“From your mouth to the Maker’s ears,” The captain replied, reaching over him to press a final button and letting out a sigh of relief as the ship shuddered to life. “We’re good to go!”

“I’ve got limited visibility, so it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” He called out as they both pulled on the ship’s main lever; after a long moment, the engines began firing and the ship began to slowly rise. It continued to rise and as spiders began dropping off of it, (Y/N) glanced over at him with a hopeful grin that he couldn’t help but match underneath his helmet.

Their happiness was, predictably, short-lived. Something large and heavy landed on the top of the ship, slamming it back down into the ground; the force of the crash sent (Y/N) toppling onto his lap and while she struggled to right herself, Din watched through the ship’s viewport as the enormous spider he’d assumed had died prepared to pierce its leg into the cockpit. Quick as a flash, he wrapped his arms around his partner and pulled her closer to him just as its leg slammed into the space where her head had just been. Another leg slammed into the cockpit before being pulled out; all four of them watched in dread as the massive creature peered at them through the viewport. Somewhere behind him, the child whimpered in fear and he felt (Y/N) tense in his lap as the spider suddenly latched its mouth onto the viewport above them.

Its attack was stopped by an onslaught of blaster bolts and moments later, part of the spider’s carcass slid off the front of the ship. The sounds of blasters firing continued, illuminating the cockpit with red-tinted flashes; with her eyes widened in shock, (Y/N) turned to him and shakily asked, “Who the hell could that be?”

“I don’t know, but let’s find out.” He loosened his hold on the captain and let her stand before getting up; he made sure that the Frog woman and the child were unharmed before drawing his blaster and cautiously making his way down into the cargo hold. The entire space was covered in sticky spider webs and spider carcasses, and he was quick to shoot at one that was still crawling; with a brief glance at (Y/N), the two of them raised their blasters and slowly emerged from the ship to see their saviors.

“Son of a mud-scuffer, you’ve gotta be kidding me…” Din breathed out, watching as the two New Republic rangers sat atop their X-Wings and expertly shot down spider after spider that was still on the ship.

They soon stopped and watched as the two of them stepped forward, and the man on the right called out, “We ran the tabs on the Razor Crest. You have an arrest warrant for the abduction of Prisoner X-Six-Nine-Eleven.” Din kept his eyes on the two rangers but he could sense that (Y/N) was shooting him a look. “However, onboard security records show that you apprehended three priority culprits from the Wanted Register. Security records also show that you put your own life in harm’s way to protect that of Lieutenant Davan from the New Republic Correctional Corps. Is that true?”

“Am I under arrest?”

“Technically, you should be, but these are trying times.” The man glanced over at (Y/N), who had already holstered her blaster. “We also ran the credentials that you gave us, Captain (Y/N) (Y/L/N) of the Alliance Starfleet. According to your service record, you saved the lives of thousands of civilians during your years of service to the Rebellion; the New Republic owes you a great debt of gratitude.”

Clearing her throat, (Y/N) replied, “Thank you, Ranger.”

“Let’s say I forgo the bounties on those three criminals…” Din interjected, realizing that his partner was uncomfortable talking about her service record. “Can you two help me fuse my hull so I can get off this frozen rock?”

“Let’s say you fix that transponder, and we don’t vaporize that antique the next time we patrol the Rim?”

Fair enough, Din thought to himself as they watched the two X-Wings take off. They made their way back into the ship, where the Frog woman and the child were waiting for them. “All right, we’re gonna repair the cockpit enough for us to limp to Trask. There’s nothing I can do about the main hull’s integrity, so we’re gonna have to get cozy in the cockpit.” His words brought back the memory of (Y/N) sitting in his lap and he was thankful that his helmet could mask his growing blush. “It’s the only thing I can pressurize. If you need to use the privy, do it now. It’s gonna be a long ride.”

With (Y/N)’s aid, the repairs were quickly completed and he said another silent prayer as he sat down in the pilot’s seat; the Frog woman was already strapped into her seat, her canister of eggs resting in her lap. (Y/N) dropped down into her own seat with an exhausted sigh and rested her feet on her storage container; since they couldn’t fix the main hull’s integrity, she insisted on moving her things into the cockpit to keep them safe.

“Okay, the repairs are all done,” Din informed the Frog woman, holding the child in his lap as he pressed the final buttons. “Let’s see if we can get this thing going once and for all.” He slowly pulled on the ship’s main lever and the ship shook itself to life; they continued to rise and in no time, they were leaving the frozen planet’s upper atmosphere. He breathed out a sigh of relief before turning to look at (Y/N). “Wake me up if someone shoots us, or if that door gets sucked off its rails.”

(Y/N) bit back a smile at his bad joke, but the sounds of the Frog woman’s concerned croak made the captain quickly look over at her and shake her head. “It’s okay, ma’am, that’s not gonna happen…”

“I’m kidding. If that happened we’d all be dead,” He continued, watching in amusement as the captain threw him an exasperated look and continued to reassure their passenger. “Sweet dreams.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain Osik-Shit

Chapter Nine

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

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