#I WAS LED TO BELIEVE FROM WHAT IVE SEEN THAT THE ROAD TRIP WAS THE END OF THE WHOLE THING

[angelstrawbabie420]

IVE BEEN DRAWING IT OUT IVE HAD TO SIT AND PROCESS IN BETWEEN BC THESE FIRST TWO EPISODES HAVE BEEN INSANE WHAT THE FUCK

happy monday i completed all my stupid chores and little tasks now im going to watch the last 5 episodes of house consecutively and then cry like a little fucking baby

[kianely]

”LORD KNOWS, IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME”

i. PAIRING — Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

ii. SYNOPSIS — Leon saves you from the unlucky predicament you found yourself in when you decided to take a rewarding vacation overseas. He ends up liking you a little too much though, and not just in a platonic way. And naturally, you’re pretty love struck by him too.

iii. CONTENT — Mostly fluff, mentions of trauma (from what the reader saw while being rescued), mentions of Leon’s survival guilt, Leon’s smitten with you, fluff, tension and kissing at end, banter, he gives you a flip phone, work gathering, motorcycle ride, he finally gets a vacation, inaccurate depictions of the government, coercion to work for the government, RE4 Leon

iv. WC — 7.2k

You knew a lot. Too much. All because you decided to go abroad as a reward for finally getting a white-collar job. Your countless years spent in post-secondary education whilst having a part-time job paid off, and before you started your new job, you decided to indulge in a trip overseas.

You never expected to get lost during one of the tours, much less to find yourself stumbling across what seemed to be a ghost town that had a few…peculiar citizens. They told you to get lost when you asked for directions, and the one time you found a map plastered on a wall, it was an outdated one that didn’t even show the modern roads, no use in that.

That’s what led to your current situation. Somehow, you were lucky enough to make it out of there with the help of a particular someone. You never expected to board a helicopter in your life, you felt your stomach churn as you glanced out the window and reflected on what you had just been through.

All the thoughts revolving in that mind of yours were the freakish events and sights you had been an unwilling witness to. Ones that would undoubtedly throw you right into therapy, and have you tossing and turning in your bed at night like a scared child with a night light thinking a monster would seep out from their closet or underneath their bed. You would never set foot into a movie theater to watch a well-done horror movie ever again, all the things you had seen in the last couple of days topped all of that.

You wished you could wash and reset your eyes after all the mutated and downright monstrous creatures that flashed through your brain now and again. Hell, you now believed that every single urban myth or legend was a complete possibility, probably lurking out there somewhere. Every moving object just made your heart drop like from when limbs had reached out to try and grab or swing at you. You wanted to curl up into a little ball and be cradled by a parental figure, to be coddled and rocked back and forth until you fell asleep with no worries on your mind.

The murky fluids carried by the bodies of water in underground tunnels that were potent with diseases and infections were the same ones that had dried up on your once damp and soaked pants. You were damn lucky you hadn’t gotten an open wound anywhere under your upper thighs, how horrible would it be for you to escape and end up dying a day later from an infection?

The heavy gunfire and explosives left your ears physically hurting, you hoped the lingering buzzing noise would eventually leave. The only soothing sound you would hear throughout your utterly traumatic experience was the voice of a certain strong agent urging you to “hurry up” and “stay close behind him.” The same one that reassured you and checked up on you whenever the two of you got a chance to relax and take a breath, he would look you in the eyes and tell you that it was all going to be okay. And you believed him.

“You doing alright?” Ah, there was that familiar voice.

Your internal response? Absolutely not. But then again, you didn’t have the heart to tell the source of the question the truth. After all, Leon had been protecting you and had even taught you the basics of self-defense and combat moves for extra measure. All out of his own generosity, too. You had picked up on why he was sent to the site. You weren’t a priority to his job, not at all. Yet, he had gone through hell just to make sure you got out alive.

So, you resorted to masking your response with some sarcasm, by now, you knew he’d appreciate it. It felt like you had known him forever. “Peachy. I don’t think I’ve ever been better, you?”

You were still in denial, accepting everything would be too hard right now and you’d crumble on the spot. You were trying to think of anything else: your first meal after all this, maybe you’d need to buy new clothes now so a fun shopping trip was in order, Leon’s perfect face — no, not that.

Leon scoffed — the corner of his lips tugged up in response to your sarcasm. “It’s okay to tell the truth, y’know. You went through a hell of a lot more than you should’ve had to. Give yourself some credit.”

“But I’m fine,” you insisted, slumping against your seat and scratching the nape of your neck. Your mind was all over the place, you wouldn’t even be able to articulate all your worries without stumbling over your words. “I made it out without any major injuries, thanks to you.”

The only injury you had gotten were some cuts on the palms of your hands from all the times you had toppled down onto the earthy ground or wooden floors and had to use your hands to catch yourself and dodge…whatever the hell was chasing after you. The damn bastard didn’t even have a name. Your back wasn’t doing so well either, you definitely wouldn’t be able to reach your toes or stretch properly for a good while.

Leon sighed at your stubbornness, finding himself in you, he understood you better than most people could. He reached over and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and he smiled. “Don’t thank me for that. You did good and made it out alive. Plus…you did well at defending yourself, that leg strength of yours is no joke.”

His dazzling toothy smile stirred butterflies in your stomach. It felt genuine, a far cry from the close-mouthed smiles he had cast your way before. You wondered how he could muster up such a smile with that job of his.

You couldn’t offer anything more than an appreciative smile of your own as you looked down towards your lap, murmuring a small, “Guess so.” His praise made you feel a little light-headed, or maybe it was the gentleness within his gaze that had that effect.

He would’ve liked to hear those same words he just told you back during the incident of 1998, maybe even a small pat on the back accompanied by a “you did well, rookie.”

His missions involved so many casualties that it pained him, he had never grown desensitized to it despite his long years in the field. He’s too human for that, the angel perked on his shoulder wouldn’t allow him to be numb to it.

But you.

He managed to save you. And that was a couple fewer pounds that could’ve been slumped onto his shoulders — the ones that threatened to snap and give out on him from the years of massive and overwhelming guilt of everyone he had watched die. It didn’t matter that the two of you were essentially strangers, it would’ve crushed him if you had died on his watch. Through the short time you guys had been together, he had learned a lot about you.

Plus, he liked you. Romantically, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the meek and weak type. No. He liked mature people, those who could challenge his witty banter, who wouldn’t be clingy, and who could understand his baggage. You. You had spunk, the same kind he found himself yearning for in a companion when he went back to an empty home. He was fond of you, it made him wonder if he would be able to have you in his life.

Maybe, just maybe, whatever God was out there would grant him some mercy and give him what he wanted for once.

The helicopter had landed, and your leg was bouncing up and down out of anxiousness. Where the hell were you even at? You had nothing, not an ounce of technology or identification on you aside from your DNA and fingerprints.

Leon was feeling tense too, not for the unknowns but because he knew. He’d been forced to kiss the government’s ass and he was familiar with their way of thinking, they’d likely interrogate you, and if you had some use for them then they’d find a way to keep you around. He felt some solace in knowing that you didn’t display the same physical capabilities that he did, otherwise, they would snatch you up, train you into a machine, and send you out into the field in a couple of years if you made the cut.

Leon was the first to get out of the helicopter, extending his arm and offering his hand to help you. He knew you were feeling uneasy, he didn’t plan on leaving you alone to your thoughts. “Was this your first time on a helicopter?”

“Yeah, first time.” You gladly accepted his assistance, feeling the calluses on his skin as you cautiously got out. “Not how I imagined it to be like, but…”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you took it like a champ, no motion sickness or anything.”

“You must be used to flying all the time, right?”

Leon nodded, letting out a sigh before sharing his thoughts on the topic. He figured some honesty could go a long way. “I’m actually kind of sick of flying — planes, helicopters, everything. But if I ever get a vacation? I’m leaving behind a cloud of dust and making a beeline for Italy.”

“Italy, huh?” You made a mental note of that, for future reference. You just hoped there would be a way to keep in contact with him after everything was said and done.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to go. Never have the time though.”

There was only so much conversation that could be held until you curiously took a look at your surroundings. You took a breath, feeling a bit daunted by some of the important-looking personnel whose eyes were boring into you.

“This place looks…pretty intimidating.”

Leon’s hand hovered over the small of your back so he could keep you close and guide you inside. “You’ll be okay.”

After that, the two of you pretty much got separated. He had to give a full report about the mission, and also explain how he had strung you along. The higher-ups had to run a background check on you and were going to monitor you. But he made you a promise, he’d come to see you when he was allowed to.

Leon always told himself he’d start minding his own damn business. You were well and alive, that should be more than enough for him. He didn’t deserve to indulge in someone who could make his life brighter, that was selfish. But, he so desperately wanted to have you in his life.

Whenever he got attached to someone, it all went south. But, he knew you were alone. He’d been in your situation — alone and with unimaginable baggage, a deadly mix. He needed to do something.

On the other hand, you were taken into questioning about what you had seen, and how the state of the town you had been visiting before everything went to shit. You hated having to talk about it, stammering over your words, and taking long pauses because it was too much. Broke down sobbing after one session. The denial phase progressively diminished, it was painful. They then transferred you to a more isolated area to monitor your physical health. They didn’t give a damn about your actual well-being, even if you had been injured they wouldn’t have tended to you.

You lost track of time, a couple of weeks had gone by.

You were a pitiful sight, all alone in a room with high-quality technology surrounding you — machines monitoring you just in case anything irregular popped up in your health that was connected to the bioweapons you had been exposed to.

But alas, the day finally came, and you could leave. You relished the clean clothes they gave you in place of the gown you had been required to wear for the monitoring. You sat on the twin-sized bed, gaze cast to the floor as you thought about what the future held.

Some gentle knocks on the door made you jump a little, your eyes immediately darting over to see who it was through the glass on the door. Leon. God, he was a sight for sore eyes. He looked concerned, the knit of his brows made that clear.

Mustering up a small and weak smile, you beckoned him to come in. If there was one person that could bring you some solace, it was him. He would’ve come sooner, hell, he would’ve visited you every damn day you were stuck here. But he wasn’t allowed to under strict orders, not until the day you were to be released.

Leon entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was carrying a bag of takeout in his free hand, holding it up for you to see. “The food here is pretty bland, figured you could use this.”

The sight almost made you groan, anything sounded more appetizing than the soup and packaged food you had been given the past few weeks. “God. Yes. Please.”

He chuckled at your reaction, setting the medium sized drink by your bedside before sitting down next to you. He opened up the bag and then handed you the plastic utensils, napkins, and the container.

“I’m glad you came, I was getting lonely.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Leon knew how deafening the silence could be, nothing good came out of being left to your thoughts.

“I owe you a meal someday,” you told him as you began eating. “You have to pick though, I don’t know any of the restaurants around here.”

“I’ll be sure to make a list then. I’m paying though.”

“What? That’s hardly fair.”

“Shh, eat your food.”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled something under your breath, but you knew he meant well based on the lightheartedness of his voice. So, you complied.

Meanwhile, Leon was mentally brainstorming places he thinks you would like in the area — somewhere pretty, he wanted you to have a good time.

After you had finished, Leon let out a sigh and pulled something out of his pocket. A flip phone. He gave it to you. He wordlessly handed it to you.

Woah. What?

You cast him a curious glance before reaching out for it. “Uh, what’s this?” You knew what it was, but why?

“Well, your phone broke.” He placed a hand on your shoulder. “I saved my number on it already, so just give me a call if you ever need anything.”

Could a man be more perfect? A flip phone was simple, easy to call and all. He knew that you’d likely get an actual smartphone in a couple of days, but he was worried. He just wanted you to be able to contact him whenever and wherever.

You laughed a little, taking a minute to toy around with the buttons on the flip phone. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“How much did it cost?”

“Not much, they’re pretty cheap these days.”

With the topic of technology brought up, you had the chance to ask something you had been mulling over. “So, how come I’ve never seen you on the news before? You’re like a knight or something.”

Leon was mildly amused by the sudden inquiry, humming softly to himself as he stirred up a response.

“Well, I’m not too sure people would believe a headline about half of the things I deal with. It’s pretty much kept undercover.” There was a lot more to it than that, but he kept it simple. “Plus, I’m just doing my job — it’s no biggie.”

“Bummer,” you sighed out, “you’d have tons of fans.” It wasn’t even a stretch. A man as attractive and heroic as him? With the size of his biceps? He’d be trending every other week, and some portion of the population would definitely have posters of him. A bit unfitting considering the contents of his job, but not unlikely.

“Would I? Why’s that?” The concept was foreign to him. Sure, he’d gotten compliments on his looks, but that was about it…nobody actively tried to pursue him. And the couple of times he had tried to ask someone on a dinner date, he got a no. He wasn’t insecure about it, though — the only people he had tried to ask out were people in his line of work, all the baggage made relationships and dating tricky.

His question caught you off guard, you knew the answer but you couldn’t say it out loud. “Well…” you trailed off, meeting his gaze before immediately darting your eyes away. “You know, just…”

“No, I don’t think I do.” His voice was one of humor, spoken through a chuckle — he wanted to know.

You let out a long exhale before recomposing yourself. “You look like you could be the heartthrob of the decade. And your personality isn’t half bad either.”

He was quiet for a moment. Now it was his turn to look away, attention now on his hands as he pretended to pick at some of the calluses. Eventually, he voiced his next question. “Would you be one of my fans?”

You snorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yeah. With pom poms and all, maybe I’d even come up with a cheer or something.”

His lips tugged into a small smirk at that, one that was barely visible — he really liked you. “I’d be sure to take a picture to make it last longer.”

“You wish.”

“A guy can dream.”

The government could have very well sent you on your way out into the world when you essentially had absolutely nothing. But, you had some close ones back in your hometown, so, if you just suddenly vanished and your family panicked when they thought you were returning from a vacation…then that would make some things more difficult. The mystery of how you ended up in DC without any of your belongings would be concerning.

Plus, they looked into your file backgrounds. Intelligent, you had the brains, and now the knowledge of bioweapons. Surely, there’d be good use in keeping you around. Possible training to become a field operations support was in your future. They could kill two birds with one stone: gain another worker, and keep you close to the headquarters just in case you tried to expose what you had seen.

It was easy for them to do through blackmail and threats to hurt your loved ones if you didn’t comply with their orders of living in DC. They made you record some bullshit lie to your family as to why you were here.

They printed out all your personal documents that you had lost so you could get a job nearby and get back on your feet, helped get your credit card replaced, and that was it. Any physical cash you had was gone, but at the very least you did have enough money in your bank account to crash at a motel while you sorted things out.

Bastards, really. Yeah, at least you had necessities now, but it was purely for their own benefit.

The prices for even renting a place in DC were just… jaw-dropping. You’d have to search for a small place, and honestly, a car was the last thing on your mind. Having a roof over your head was the most important part. The good news is that with your resume and educational background, you bagged a job fairly soon — though it was nothing compared to the job you were supposed to have.

It had been months since the whole fiasco. You managed to find a small apartment, nothing fancy of course. That was for the better, having a spacious place all to yourself would drive you to the brink of insanity.

You were still very jittery: jumping whenever there was a knock on your door even when you were anticipating a delivery, needing the television on just for the sake of not being left in silence with your thoughts, and sleeping with all the lights on even if your electricity bill suffered as a result.

You thought you would be able to muster up the courage to go to therapy, but would that even be possible? It’s not like you could truthfully talk about your experiences. Even if you did, there’s no way anyone would believe you. And again, it was too much money.

By now, you had gotten a smartphone. But you never discarded the flip phone that Leon had gifted you. You used it to give him a call on a couple of occasions, but you never kept him for over five minutes, not wanting to disturb him for too long, you knew he was busy. Sometimes he didn’t pick up, but after a couple of days, he would return the call and tell you what had kept him from doing so: another assignment, long meetings, all that jazz. Even so, those calls always left you smiling for hours afterward.

Unbeknownst to you, the man on the other side of the phone was equally as thrilled. His pearly whites were always on display whenever you called him. Whenever he got back from work, the first thing he did was check to see if he had any missed calls or voicemails. No matter how battered and sore his body was, your voice alone managed to make him feel all better.

The days blended in together, and oftentimes you found yourself asking what or who was your motivation to keep up with this routine. The only answer that immediately came to mind aside from your loved ones was him. Leon.

Washing the dishes? Hm, you wonder what kind of food Leon eats. Watching TV? Leon mentioned he liked watching movies when he had free time. Struggling with opening a stubborn jar? Leon could definitely open this. Typing a text message? Would Leon use emojis? Abbreviations? Maybe he was one of those people who texted slow as hell and only used their index finger for each individual letter. You should know by now, but the two of you only ever called, and never texted.

The point is, he was flooding your thoughts.

In your mind, you justified it by thinking the only reason you wanted him in your life was to repay him for all the help he had been. But, that was far from the truth. Not when the memory of him flashing you a smile was enough to make your heart do tiny flips or the way his voice was so deeply engraved in your brain that you longed to hear it all the time. And the way you started spending more time on your appearance, just in case you happened to bump into him somewhere — slim chances, but you’d take them.

And naturally, you knew you would feel safe and content with him keeping you company. What you would give to roll your eyes and scoff at one of his puns or lame movie references, or to maybe catch the glimmer of endearment in his gaze whenever it shifted to you.

Would you ever be able to love a man who didn’t understand what you had gone through to a degree?

The sensation of your smartphone suddenly vibrating in your pocket made you flinch and snap out of your thoughts — a frown tugging on your lips as you scrambled to pull it out and answer.

Oh boy, your time at the headquarters wasn't short-lived. And that job of yours? You’d have to resign soon. Seems like the plan to train you to become a field operations support was coming up. Your presence had been requested at a work gathering, collaboration and teamwork skills were essential. So with this event, trainees and recruits could converse with those who were more experienced, to break the ice a little bit. So you convinced yourself you had to go.

Here you were a week later — sitting inside a fancy looking room, moving your now empty cup around. You had been here for thirty minutes and you weren’t sure how much more small talk you could handle. If you were asked the question, ‘So, how’d you land this position?’ one more time, you’d feel physically ill.

Getting ready for the gathering had driven you insane, you took an entire two hours to get ready, mostly because you kept pacing in front of your closet, indecisive about what to wear. Assuming Leon was going to be there, this would be his first time seeing you in actual clothing that aligned with your fashion style, enough said.

You stood up, ready to go outside for a couple of minutes to get some fresh air from this otherwise suffocating environment. But as you looked towards the door, a certain man caught your attention.

There he was. Leon Kennedy in all his glory. When was the last time you saw him in person? A few months. So, why did it feel like you were seeing him for the first time again? You were blown away by his beauty.

He was talking to a taller man who was pretty hunky and had the body of an agent. You assumed they were good buds, seeing the way they patted each other and seemed to be having an interesting conversation rather than a forced one.

You had no idea how long you stood there, but it felt like only a couple of seconds since you were busy admiring him. Maybe he felt your eyes on him, because he eventually looked over directly at you and then dismissed himself from his friend.

Leon almost looked like a puppy as he made his way over to you, his eye-lit gaze set on you despite the plethora of other people he knew in the room. With a couple excuse me’s, he finally reached you.

You had a lot of time to think of a way to greet him, and yet your mind turned to mush the second he was near you. A simple hi, hey, what’s up? No, that wouldn’t suffice. It would feel forced.

“No offense, but this doesn’t strike me as your kind of scene.” You eventually told him, a sly smile forming on your face.

He placed a hand over his chest and scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Like a dagger to my heart.” After a shared chuckle between the two of you, he gave you a genuine answer. “It’s nice sometimes, gives me a chance to catch up with some people and nurse a drink. But generally? No, not really my scene.”

Before you could say anything in response, he gestured towards you with his hand. “You look stunning.”

“I’d hope so. Though, I think anything is a step up from what I was wearing when you met me.”

“Oh c’mon. You pulled off the look.”

How? He had witnessed you wearing dirty and muddy clothes with scrapes all over. You had definitely not been in the most presentable state. Though to be fair, he had been in the same boat — he did all the combat, so he ended up with ruined clothes and blood all over. Then again, his pretty face and killer body blinded you from those details.

“Well, what can I say? Guess I’m just that charming,” You tried to come across as confident, but the giddy grin on your face in response to his compliment gave away just how much his words affected you.

Cute. Did he make you happy? Years of unsuccessful romance led him to believe that it’s not a big deal, it’s just a natural response to being complimented. But…there was a hopeful voice in his head that said otherwise. No no no, he was being silly. He saved you, he shouldn’t even be thinking about asking you to dinner. Shouldn’t be thinking about how you’d look sitting across the table from him, with a glass of champagne in your hand and that perfect smile plastered on your face from the conversation at hand. He wanted to know you. And he knew he was a goner when he woke up one morning upset because he felt like something was missing — you in his arms, curled up against him.

“So, you’re a trainee now?” Leon knew you were going to be here, it was the reason he had unconsciously put more effort into his appearance.

“Yeah, it’s surreal to think about…it sounds stressful.”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all this.”

“It’s not your fault. Things could be worse, I’m just glad I’m back on my feet.”

“You’re pretty optimistic.”

“Mhm. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to talk to you over your earpiece one day.”

Leon almost froze at that. The thought was appealing. Maybe he should feel selfish for thinking of this in a positive manner when the government had been responsible for the switch up in your life. Even so, he knew that his spirit would be boosted if he heard your voice giving him intel and instructions. Plus, how come you didn’t seem so upset over that?

“In that case, I’m looking forward to that.”

“Yeah? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten sick of my voice after all those voicemails I’ve left you.”

Ah, the same ones he replayed over and over when he couldn’t sleep. The same ones that managed to keep his post-mission loneliness at bay. The same ones that prevented him from getting a bottle of beer from his fridge and spiraling.

“I could never.” The nearly whispered answer gave away just how sincere he was. Not a quip, not even a tug of his lips.

It made your breath hitch, those three words made you melt like an ice cream left out on a hot summer day. How was it that everything blurred out except for him? The nearby chit-chatter, the blur of people moving around in the background, the clinking of plates and glasses — nothing mattered, nothing took your attention from him.

“You sound pretty confident in your answer.”

“I am.”

“How come?”

Would it scare you if he chose to be sincere? “It’s just nice hearing your voice, y’know, I don’t get many phone calls.”

No, he had to give you more, that sounded too casual. “And uh, they help me…make me feel like I’m not completely alone or lost in this world.”

“I’ll be sure to keep calling you, then.” You were being honest.

He became aware of the semi awkward conversation he had caused, Leon cleared his throat and gestured to the table with drinks. “Shall we?”

Mostly everyone had left after two hours, the only vehicle left in the parking lot was Leon’s bike. You got here through public transportation, you really had to get a car eventually. But, it was hard with your financial situation.

You let out a low whistle when you caught sight of his bike, it suited him, honestly. He took good care of it. “Sweet ride.”

It was his pride and joy, one of his only belongings that gave him a thrill and an escape. And he really wouldn’t mind letting you into that part of his life.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He could give you a ride if you were willing. He kept two helmets anyway, an older one just for nostalgia, and then a newer one. “Ever ridden one?”

“No way,” you laugh, you’re intrigued though. You meet his gaze and see that he’s smiling — and you manage to piece together what he’s offering. “No way.” You repeat incredulously as if asking: Seriously!? You’d let me?

“Way.”

He walked over to his bike and patted one of the helmets. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Promise.”

“What if I fall off?”

“I won’t let you fall off.”

Oh, what the hell? After all Leon has done for you, you trusted him with your life. You approached him, catching onto the subtle flame in his eyes. “Fine, I’m up for it.”

He knew the nearby layout of the area pretty well, so when you told him your address, he knew what route to take.

“Hold still.” Lifting the helmet, he made sure to put it snugly onto you, buckling the chin strap so it wouldn’t fly off or be loose. It made you feel some kind of way. He was so close. If you didn’t have the helmet as a barrier, you’d be tempted to kiss him.

He took a step back to look at you, unable to resist from mumbling out a small ‘cute’ under his breath. Somehow, you hadn’t heard.

“Comfortable?” He asked. You nodded. Why did his voice sound raspy all of a sudden? Leon then worked on putting a helmet on himself. Your throat felt dry as you idly stood by and watched, he always looked good…but the sight of him with a helmet on was something you could get used to. With his handsome face now hidden, your attention was drawn more to his body, you tried to not stare at the way his shirt fit tightly against his muscles. Then you realized your eyes weren’t all that visible due to the helmet and dark night. So…you stared.

He taught you how to mount and dismount the bike, he prefers to get on first and for passengers to get on afterward, and for you to dismount the bike before he did. Naturally, he also went over some of the rules for passengers, when to lean, to be cautious of stops, etc. He just wanted both of you to be on the same page. With some trial, error, and a couple of laughs over it, you eventually managed to get the hang of it. So here you were now, all ready to go.

“Hold on tight, I wouldn't want you to fall off or anything.” By now, he knows you’re used to his joking.

“Thanks.” You deadpanned, though you couldn’t help the sliver of amusement that slipped into your voice. “Very reassuring, Kennedy.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, you could feel all the muscle he had gained throughout his years of nonstop physical activity.

Leon was smiling underneath his helmet, feeling your body warmth against him. He never really thought he’d be able to have someone else on his motorcycle, especially not someone he had grown to adore so much. The feeling of your arms around him put his heart at ease. “Okay, here goes. Remember, if anything happens just tap me twice.”

At first, it was pretty steady — merely navigating out of the parking space and into the streets, stopping at some red lights, getting a kick out of the way Leon purposely revved the engine for you to hear, and the way you could feel the rise and fall of his muscles as he breathed. It was a soothing pattern, one you’d like to feel more often, perhaps with your head resting comfortably against his stomach.

Entering the ramp to the freeway was an entirely different experience, the breeze suddenly increased tenfold as Leon sped up now that the speed limit was higher.

It felt exhilarating — a stark contrast to how you had felt when you were cooped up all alone in your apartment with nothing but silence. The loud engine of the bike roaring through the freeway drowned out any doubts or worries before they even had the chance to surface to your consciousness. It was so fast that the lights of the cars almost turned into a blur, but the nighttime made it seem so pretty. It felt good.

Honestly, it felt like you were there for hours when that was far from the true reality of a short five minute ride, your heartbeat slowed back down along with the speed of the bike as Leon cautiously drove in the lonely and dimly lit streets of your neighborhood, relying on your input to reach the specific building that had your apartment in it.

Once he finally parked, you got the chance to exhale properly — having been so caught up in the pretty night scenery and the fact you had just gotten a ride from none other than Leon S. Kennedy. You were reluctant to unwrap yourself from him but did so anyway. “Woah,” was all you could say.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Much better than the bus I take, that’s for sure. Life changing.”

With the short lessons you had gone over, you managed to dismount his bike, maybe checking him out a little as he then followed to do the same. He took his gloves off before making his way to you and working on taking your helmet off. The entirety of the situation felt oddly intimate, like a daily interaction a couple would partake in.

“You have a lot of trust in me,” he muttered that comment under his breath as if it was meant for the breeze to sweep away like a leaf. But you heard it anyway.

“That’s pretty funny coming from the guy who quite literally saved my life.”

He merely chuckled, now taking off his helmet. Leon didn’t want to delve into that topic. In his mind, he didn’t necessarily ‘save’ you, he didn’t want to take credit for your own mental and physical strength. The way you were so happy despite everything that had occurred…he admired you for it. He didn’t want you to spiral into the same loneliness and self-guilt that he had, he swore he wouldn’t let you. God, how he wishes he had met you sooner. Late was better than never, though.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you to your door.” Dork. He didn’t even know which door was yours. It was sweet though, you led the way inside and up an elevator to your floor. Leon committed the way to memory, just in case he ever swung by in the future. He took a look around, making sure everything looked clean and safe, just a habit of his after his years in the force. It looked pretty cozy though, the halls were illuminated well, and everything was in great condition. Some of his worries were eased.

“Thanks for the ride, I had a lot of fun.” Honestly, you had a lot of things you could thank him for, but that would take you more than just a couple of minutes and you didn’t want to keep him since you knew he had to get home too. Internally, you hoped maybe the two of you could meet up — you liked being in his presence.

He brushed it off with a brief wave of his hand, “No worries.” He didn’t feel like you needed to thank him for anything. He felt a pit in his stomach as he watched you open up your door. It was too soon. He didn’t even hide the fact he was staring at you, you turned around back around to face him, ready to say bye, and awkwardly get inside.

This was his cue to leave. In any other situation, he’d say, ‘I’ll see ya around’. But he hesitated.

You felt like you were burning up under his pensive gaze, wanting to know what thoughts were occupying that mind of his. Whatever it was, he clearly had something to say. You felt your hopes lift. “Leon?”

The fact is, he had something to ask you. Some higher entity had listened to his pleas and he had gotten a week off, his godsent vacation was finally here.

Like he had mentioned to you once, he wasn’t a huge fan of planes. Vacation or not, he tried to avoid them, there was nothing more reliable than his gorgeous motorcycle. But, he made an exception, and maybe he’d feel more at ease with you on the plane with him. Truth be told, if you said no to his offer, he wouldn’t even go on a vacation abroad, he’d probably just stay at his place.

He was feeling a tad bit doubtful. He knew that your life had been flipped since you had gone abroad for a vacation, so maybe you’d say no. Regardless, he had to ask now. He could be given another assignment at a moment’s notice despite being granted a break, and your training was going to start in a while. He couldn’t afford to not make his feelings known, not with the kind of life he led.

“Hey, listen.” Leon broke the silence that he caused — taking a deep inhale before he continued to voice his thoughts. “I’ve been due for a vacation for a while, and I finally got some time off. I’m planning on taking a short trip.”

“Ah,” you remember a similar conversation, how could you not? You practically memorized every bit of information he told you. You closed your door and leaned against it, not wanting to seem like you were in some hurry to get in. “Italy, right?”

“Yeah.” He confirmed, smiling over the fact that you remembered that detail. “So, here’s the thing. I bought two flight tickets and booked a room for two. If you’re not busy or anything and if it’s not crazy for you to consider then—“

“Yes,” you responded immediately, like it was pure instinct, the word slipped through your mouth before your mind even had time to process it. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline you still felt from the ride.

He grinned, letting out a huff of amusement. “I didn’t even finish—“

He cut himself off when he felt you cup his face with your hands, you could feel the heat radiating off his skin — like warm and cozy laundry straight out of the drying machine. His Adams apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed thickly, feeling the tension rise when your lips inched towards his.

You were taking the opportunity, afraid it would slip from your fingers like sand if you hesitated for even a second.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice dropping to a whisper as your eyes searched his. After a few seconds of keeping his arms by his side, he lifted his hands to place them on your hips, coaxing you closer to him.

Leon felt weak to the knees, crumbling at the eye contact before his eyes flitted towards your lips longingly. Closer. He could feel your lips brushing against his, not a kiss just yet, but the contact was there and served as a complete tease.

“Okay,” he murmured out, warm breath fanning against your lips. He tried to keep his voice stable, but the close proximity was killing him. His hands gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “Consider a first-class window seat all yours then.”

“With gourmet meals and all?”

“Mhm,” he couldn’t think—he parted his lips in anticipation for yours. His gaze returned to your eyes, his own were half-lidded, looking like they might shut at any minute in preparation for the kiss.

“I thought you didn’t like being in planes?”

“I don’t,” he replied briefly, this felt like torture. His voice was low and rugged, eyes now closing and head tilting to the side slightly. “But with you by my side, it wouldn’t matter.”

God, he was perfect. You pressed your lips against his and he responded immediately, one of his hands snaked up to gently hold the back of your head and keep you in place. He felt an influx of dopamine hit him right away, losing himself in your suave kiss — he was hooked on your taste, it felt like a drug. Like he’d go through withdrawals if he ever had to go without this sensation again.

One of your hands slid to the back of his neck, your fingers curling around the ends of his hair. It was soft, feeling like silk. Your nails brushed against his skin on the nape of his neck and he shuddered, feeling the remaining air in his lungs vanish. He could keep going though, he’d drown in your kisses and suffocate by the sweet taste and press of your lips without a single complaint.

If love was possible just by a single kiss, then Leon had just gotten struck by an arrow. It continued, kiss after kiss. It felt right. The final piece to a puzzle — the perfect fit.

Not having a death wish, you eventually pulled back for breath. His lips chased yours, drawn to them like a moth to a flame, only pausing when he heard your soft laughter, one that made his heart leap and his eyes open to meet your own. He pressed his forehead against yours, a smile ghosting his lips as he took the moment in. “We’re uh, pretty good at that.”

“Mm, I dunno.” You shrugged out, running your thumb against his bottom lip. “I think we could use some more practice, don’t you?”

It was a clear ploy to continue on with the kissing. He took the bait with a chuckle. “Hey, I’m game. Just do a countdown and I’m ready whenever.”

“Someone’s eager, here goes. One, two, three…”

[hysterialevi]

Abraham - A RDR2 Fanfic

Fanfic summary [NO SPOILERS]: Lyle Morgan and his eleven-year-old son have a conversation about Beatrice’s death, only for the boy to witness a second one.

Warning(s): Mild language

Author’s note: Bear with me if not everything in this story is correct. I’m not entirely sure where Arthur’s originally from (all I’ve heard is that he’s from somewhere in the north), so I just made something up lol. Also, this fic will only be one part. Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

From Lyle’s POV

A FOREST SOMEWHERE IN MONTANA

SUMMER, 1874

Strollin’ through the tall, thick grass, I led my mount around the forest at a casual pace while my son sat on top, consumed by his journal as always. It was an hour or two before midday, and right now, there was a radiant blanket o’ sunshine bathing the entire forest, painting everything with a golden tint. It was beautiful, and I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day out here...but this feeling of annoyance just wouldn’t stop naggin’ me, and I knew exactly why.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder, peering at my son as he scribbled something down in the weathered pages of his journal.

A quick sigh escaped me.

I didn’t know who the hell Arthur got his interest in art from, or why Beatrice even bothered buying him that book, but that child just couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from it. Every time I came across the boy, he was always scratchin’ down some fantasy world of his, or creating images of a utopia I ain’t ever seen. It was pointless.

He spent more time daydreamin’ in that book than he did playing outside, or hunting, or fishing -- hell, he didn’t even know how to read -- and yet, Beatrice seemed perfectly content with it.

Or at least...she did.

Beatrice weren’t around no more. She was killed by bandits a few months ago. Robbed. Left on the side o’ the road for the crows to feed on. But Arthur didn’t know that. Sheriff told him it was a wild animal that took her. A wolf, to be exact. And he believed him.

I dragged a hand down my face, suddenly feelin’ exhausted just thinking about it.

Had I done the right thing, not tellin’ Arthur the truth about his own mother’s death, I wondered? I figured the kid didn’t need to know the morbid details, or even the entire truth, but I still felt like a piece of shit for not revealing the full story -- especially considering that them bandits who killed Beatrice...killed her ‘cause of me.

I had stolen something from them. Somethin’ valuable. And before it fell into their dirty hands, that “something” apparently belonged to a rich plantation owner who really wanted it back. Ended up gettin’ one of the bandits hanged, and left them thirsty for revenge. But they didn’t have the strength to go after the plantation owner. So, they came after me instead.

They chased me for quite a while. They chased me across the mountains, across the swamps, across the goddamned snow...until finally, they came to their senses and realized there were much better, more convenient ways of hurtin’ me. And thus, their paths diverted to my wife and son.

Those bastards managed to corner her while she was ridin’ to town to do some shopping. Found her on some secluded road between here and the nearest settlement, and ensured she would never return. That was when Arthur went lookin’ for help to find his missing mother hours later, and the sheriff assured him a wolf had gotten to Beatrice.

Christ. I really was a terrible father, weren’t I? Not only did I pay more attention to a bottle o’ whiskey than my own wife, I had also neglected Arthur for years on end, and indirectly gotten his mother killed. And the boy was only eleven.

He had spent half of his life not knowing a damned thing about where his daddy was, or even what he did, only to lose the one parent he already had before he could find out.

Lord...there had to be some way to make this up to him.

I looked back at the boy, suddenly feeling an urge to say something -- anything -- to him.

“Arthur,” I called out, catching the kid’s attention as his head perked up from behind the journal’s pages, “put that damned book away for a moment, will you?”

The boy hurriedly marked his place in the journal with a pen and shut it closed, resting the object on the saddle’s surface as he hung his head low in shame.

“...Sorry, sir.” He murmured.

I shook my head, lettin’ out a concerned breath.

“You spend far too much time in that journal. It was a mistake to buy it.”

Arthur’s eyes wandered to the trees towering around us.

“I’m sorry, dad,” he apologized timidly. “But I like drawing.”

I scoffed. “Yeah? Well, I like Poker. But I ain’t got time to play it. Too busy worryin’ about survival, and keeping the both of us fed. You can’t always do what you want, Arthur. You gotta provide. Things like drawing, gambling...they’re frivolous. We got better things to worry about.”

The child quirked a brow. “Friv-uh-less...? What’s that mean?”

“It means we don’t need to do it,” I explained. “What we do need, however, is to eat. So put that journal away and keep an eye out for deer. You was the one who suggested we come out here in the first place.”

Arthur frowned in a discouraged manner. “Yes, sir.”

I gave him a stern nod. “Good boy. Now...you said you seen a big buck out here?”

The boy pointed ahead. “Yeah. It was by the river.”

I gave the reins a little tug, urging my horse to follow me. “Then that’s where we’ll start. C’mon, Boadicea.”

Continuing our little hunting trip, Arthur and I traveled deeper into the lively woods as creatures of all types scurried around us, rustling blades of grass and alerting the tiny insects that hovered above the plants.

There was a rather peaceful mood to the forest today -- a welcome change considerin’ how chaotic my life usually was -- and I had to admit: some part of me enjoyed being here with Arthur. I rarely ever got to see the boy because of my work as an outlaw, and when I did, he always seemed reluctant to leave the house. Whether that was because he was more of an indoors person, or simply ‘cause he weren’t eager to spend time with me -- I didn’t know. But it was good to be with him regardless.

Approaching the large river, I came to a temporary halt as I crouched down and examined the ground, carefully searchin’ for any tracks that could’ve possibly led us to the buck.

The area here appeared undisturbed -- save for the fish flopping in and out of the babbling water -- and as far as I could tell, there weren’t no deer running around this section of the forest. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe they were at a different part of the river.

I took a closer look at the grass, only to be torn away from my thoughts when Arthur raised a question.

“Dad?” He asked softly. “Can I...can I ask you something? About momma?”

I paused, thrown off-guard by the sudden change in tone.

“Momma?” I repeated, slowly turning towards the boy. “Why you wanna talk about her?”

Arthur’s expression sank with sorrow.

“It’s just...you knew her better than I did. Or longer, I guess. And I don’t remember her that good. ...Do you?”

I gazed at him in a puzzled manner, admittedly still a bit taken aback by the abrupt question.

“...Clear as day,” I replied, unwilling to sift through the painful memories. “But that don’t matter. She’s...she ain’t coming back, Arthur. No one does, once they die. Ain’t no point in lingerin’ in the past when it can only haunt you. All we can do is move on. You understand?”

Clearly a bit hurt by my response, Arthur dropped the subject and averted his eyes from me, peering over at a nearby gathering of flowers instead.

He slouched despondently. “...I understand.”

That wasn’t good enough for me. I took a step towards him.

“Look at me when you say that, Arthur,” I demanded. “It’s important you look people in the eye when you speak to them.”

The boy brought his line of sight back to me, his face veiled behind a very subtle layer of fear.

He straightened his back a bit. “I understand.”

I nodded in approval. “Good. Now...let’s get back to huntin’ this buck. You sure it was around the river?”

Arthur gazed around. “I saw it this morning when I was playing with Copper,” he confirmed. “It was drinkin’ water right here. That’s when I came to get you.”

I observed the dirt underneath me, squinting my eyes as I searched for clues. The grass in these parts was quite thick, so that made it even tougher to spot fur, or dung -- and I still didn’t see any deer tracks -- but it certainly looked like another animal had been around here.

I kneeled down, shuffling the grass outta the way with my hand.

“It looks like some wild horses might’ve passed through this area,” I examined. “But no sign of deer. Oh, well...the day is still young, and we have some time, so we’ll keep looking.” I gestured to a nearby bridge. “Let’s try over there.”

Grabbing my horse’s reins, I continued to guide it through the woods as Arthur scouted the area for me, his big blue eyes scanning the sharp horizon while the sun escalated in the sky. There was a certain determination in his temperament now, and the longer we carried on trying to locate this buck, the more my son seemed to be enjoying himself.

Perhaps there was hope for us, after all.

“...Dad?” The boy called again, making me flick my eyes to the side. “What if there are wolves out here?”

I encouraged him to stay calm. “Now, don’t you go worryin’ about that. If we see wolves out here, we’ll be fine. We’re armed, we’re fast, and we’re smart.”

Arthur wasn’t convinced. “...Momma was smart.”

I sighed in a melancholic tone at that. “Yes...she was. But...Momma was killed by a different type of wolf.”

He tilted his head in a puzzled manner. “What d’you mean?”

I gestured to my rifle. “Not all wolves are the same, Arthur. Some use their teeth, some use their guns, and some use their tongue. You gotta be able to identify them when you see ‘em.”

The kid didn’t say it flat out, but I could tell he knew what I was really talkin’ about.

“Those sound more like people.” He replied. I let out a gentle chuckle.

“People can be worse than wolves, Arthur. In fact, I’d prefer a wolf over some o’ the people I’ve met.”

Arthur leaned forward in the saddle, his body swaying along with Boadicea’s steady speed.

“What kinda people have you met?”

I lowered my voice, thinking back to the bandits who killed Beatrice.

“Killers. Thieves. Deceivers. Men who will constantly betray each other even though they share the same motive: greed.”

I turned to Arthur with a remorseful look, hopin’ to do at least one right thing in my life, and use myself as a cautionary tale that money weren’t as clean as it seemed.

“...Greed,” I told him, “it breaks people, Arthur. They may not realize it, ‘cause greed can get you far in this world...but the reward ain’t worth it. Not compared to the things you have to sacrifice. In the end, you’ll have tons of cash, only to realize that there are luxuries not even millionaires can afford.”

His innocence took over. “Then why do they do it?”

That was a question I asked myself everyday. I shrugged in a disheartened fashion.

“Because they don’t care. So long as their pockets is heavy, and their bellies is full, they’ll keep on going. But like I said, greed poisons you. It kills you. And you won’t even notice until you’re already sittin’ in a grave. So promise me, Arthur, promise me that when you get to my age...you won’t become a wolf.”

Despite evidently bein’ a little confused, the child was able to make some sense of what I just said and agreed to the promise, reassuring me with a small smile.

“I promise.”

“Good boy,” I praised, bringing my mind back to the main reason we came out here. “Anyway, here’s the bridge. Why don’t you hop down and help me find this buck?”

“Okay.”

Sliding down the saddle, Arthur effortlessly climbed down and joined me, scurrying ‘round like a mouse while he searched for any signs of the buck. But so far, there was nothing in sight.

“See anything?” I checked. The boy shook his head.

I wiped some sweat off my brow, letting out a fatigued sigh. This animal was certainly proving to be a challenge to hunt down. We had already been in this forest for a couple hours now, and our efforts still hadn’t paid off. Part o’ me was almost starting to suspect if Arthur even saw a deer in the first place, and not some other kinda animal.

I decided to take a short break, and turned to ask the boy.

“You positive the buck was roamin’ around in these parts? Or that it was a buck at all? I haven’t seen any tracks so far.”

A soft rustle suddenly reached my ears, interrupting my conversation with Arthur as I reached for my gun, only to be stopped by a sound I didn’t expect.

It was a man’s voice.

“...Don’t even think about it,” the stranger warned, cocking his own gun. “I will shoot if necessary.”

Freezing at the intrusion, I remained perfectly still and didn’t utter a single word as a pair of footsteps steadily approached me from behind, followed by two more men coming in from the front on horseback.

They were all dressed in similar outfits donned with Nevada hats, and I couldn’t help but notice the star-shaped badges shimmerin’ blatantly on their chests.

Shit. These were lawmen. What the hell were they doin’ out here? I never expected the law to travel this far into the country. This was definitely odd.

What really puzzled me though, weren’t the fact that there were three lawmen just...waitin’ for us out here -- it was more the fact that Arthur didn’t seem phased by any of this in the slightest. Just what exactly was goin’ on?

Trotting closer to me, one of the mounted men glowered in my direction as he ordered his deputy to restrain me, his firm, steel eyes never wavering.

I recognized him instantly.

“...Sheriff Buchanan.” I muttered through gritted teeth.

He returned the greeting, scowling from under his hat’s rim.

“Lyle Morgan.”

I shrugged at him, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“What is this shit? What’s the sheriff doing all the way out here?”

Buchanan glanced at Arthur, standing in front of him in a protective manner.

“I told you I’d use every option I had to get you behind bars, Morgan...and I meant it. You made the choice not to heed my warning.”

Taking a second to process what he just told me, the realization suddenly hit me like a bullet to the gut as I stared at Arthur with a sense of immense betrayal, unable to believe what was happening.

There never was no goddamned buck.

Things was never gonna work out for me and Arthur.

This was all a trap.

My own...son...had turned me in.

He was the bait, and Buchanan was the true hunter.

I clenched my jaw in rage, doing my absolute best to shield my emotions as the deputy kicked me to my knees.

“...A-Arthur...?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The boy looked me straight in the eye, standing adamantly beside Buchanan as his deputies tied me up. I threw a glare at the sheriff, damning him till my last moments.

“You bastard, Buchanan...!” I cursed. “You turned my own damned son against me...?!”

The man showed no guilt and tightened his grip on his rifle, silently advising me to stay back.

“No need,” Buchanan denied. “You drove him to me all by yourself.”

He placed a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder and guided him towards the second deputy, ordering them to bring him back to town.

“Clayton, bring the boy back to the office. We’ll figure out where to send him later. For now though, just keep him safe, and look after him.”

“Right away, Sheriff.”

Preparing both his horse and mine for departure, the deputy left Arthur next to the sheriff as the boy stood firmly in place, his innocent yet damaged gaze never leavin’ mine.

Despite the hint of remorse clouding the child’s eyes, it was pretty obvious Arthur felt he made the right decision in turning me in. And just as Buchanan’s second deputy started to drag me away, I couldn’t help but notice a beautiful Whitetail buck wanderin’ around in the distance, its majestic antlers standing out like a crown on a monarch’s head as it bathed in the golden sunlight.

The animal swayed its head in my direction, almost as if trying to communicate with me.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Arthur whispered as he walked towards Clayton, blocking the buck in the process. “...But you made me promise.”

Taking his leave, the boy finally mounted up and steadily trotted away from the scene, only to reveal an empty spot where the buck once stood as he left the forest.

Well...I may have found the buck like I planned, but it weren’t my job to kill it.

And it certainly weren’t my place to look for it.

I could hunt them down to my heart’s content, and kill ‘em all I wanted for my own desires...but in the end, they would always be able to afford the one luxury I’d never obtained.

Peace.

[laythornmuse]

Where We Begin, Chapter 17

This Chapter is dedicated to Rupert, a character after my own heart.

Jamie was just leaving work when his cell phone came to life with the Hospital’s Security desk line. He had purposely set this number to an urgent ring tone, knowing Rupert would never call from this line unless it was an emergency.

Nearly dropping the phone in his rush to answer, Jamie pulled his car off the road to take the call.

“Rupert? What’s happened, man?”

“Get here now. I figured out what’s happened to Claire’s orders. You need to pick her up and take her someplace safe while the hospital and police figure this out.”

“I’m three minutes away,” Jamie answered.

“Good, I’ll explain when you get here.”

Rupert hung up the phone and looked down at Malva as she tugged at her handcuffs. “The police will be here shortly, and then my dear, you’re gonna tell us why ye’ gave Dr. Roth access to Claire’s security codes. And then after that, a quick chat about the pharmacy’s inventory. It should be a verra entertaining talk.”

***

Joe wasn’t sure why he was watching Dr. Harvey’s rounds and then surgery for the last two hours, but Rupert’s instructions were clear.

“Be discreet man, but don’t let him out of your sight. If he approaches Claire, ye make your presence known.”

He’d confided his suspicions about Harvey to Rupert last night, but surely he didn’t think having him watched was the way to solve this?

As Harvey finished closing up his patient, Joe closed up his notebook and stood to leave the observation room. Placing his hand on the doorhandle, Joe’s face fell as he realized the door was locked.

He looked back down into the surgical suite and saw Dr. Roth heading toward the locker room and let out a soft curse. He’d have to wait for the nursing staff to finish dressing the sutures before they could leave the OR to let him out. Sighing in resignation, his hand smacked the intercom button as he shot a friendly smile to the medical staff below.

***

As Jamie entered the hospital doors, the fire alarm sounded, and his eyes darted to Rupert’s across the way. As he jogged over to the security station, he saw two security guards look up from where a mousy looking young girl sat in handcuffs.

“Is that real?” Jamie yelled over the alarm. Rupert grumbled as his fingers flew over the display, locating the tripped alarm and the cameras in the research lab.

“Shiite, nah, no fire, but something else,” Rupert muttered. “Craig! Take Tony with you and go check the research lab! Keep Dr. Roth in your custody but get him cleaned up.”

“What the hell is going on?” Joe stammered, arriving at the security desk, out of breath. A few keystrokes and Rupert had the fire alarms turned off. “You were supposed to be following Dr. Roth!” Rupert hissed.

“I got locked in the observation rooms. I couldn’t…”

“Claire!” Jamie called out, his eyes locking on her as she fell to her knees. She slowly curled forward until she slumped onto her side, though Jamie was there a moment later, tucking an arm beneath her knees as he cradled her against him. He looked up and found Joe beside him, already moving his hands over Claire’s neck and face to check her vitals.

“Bring her this way. She needs a bed,” Joe said as he helped Jamie to his feet. Joe led Jamie down a side corridor away from the mass confusion, grabbing the folder of returned lab reports off the nursing station. Stepping into a small exam room, Joe quickly brought the room’s equipment to life as Jamie deposited Claire on compact hospital bed. Within minutes, Joe had her IV drip secured, oxygen level and heart rate monitored, and a heating blanket draped over her frightfully chilled form. Jamie secured a pillow under her head, trying very hard to stay out of the way, but after three minutes of silence he finally broke.

“Can you tell me anything, Joe?” He croaked, squeezing her hand. He nearly jumped when a soft moan escaped her lips. Joe cracked a smile, as he tore through the lab results, looking for her ID number.

“Well, I can tell you that’s a good sign, if I ever heard one,” Joe said, finding her results and putting them on top of the chart as he brought out his pen lamp. “Hi Claire,” He said softly, flicking the light into her eyes. “Thanks for coming back to us. You’ll be thrilled to know you don’t have a concussion.”

“Get…that light….away…” she groaned. Jamie let out a breathy laugh, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Joe, do you know why Rupert called me down here? He said Claire wasn’t safe…”

“I don’t know about that but…”

“I do,” Claire groaned. “Dr. Roth. He tried to attack me in the research lab.” Joe and Jamie exchanged a look and Joe immediately turned to lock the hospital room door.

“Start from the beginning,” Joe said, adjusting the hospital bed into a seated position.

***

Ten minutes later, Jamie’s face had taken on the shade of a cherry tomato, and his finger was tapping a frantic beat against his thigh.

“I may kill him…and…God, Claire…if this is Geneva? There’s no saving her,” Jamie growled.

Claire sighed, and laid back against the pillows. She closed her eyes briefly and squeezed Jamie’s hand. “Joe…the room is spinning.”

Jamie’s anger evaporated as concern took its place. Joe, who had been studying her lab reports, looked up at her, nonplussed.

“Well, you’re anemic, dehydrated, hormonally imbalanced, and malnourished. This is probably the worse case of hyperemesis gravidarum I’ve ever seen. You should be ashamed to call yourself a doctor, LJ,” Joe said with a glowing smile.

Claire’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in shock as Jamie looked between her and Joe. “Hyperemesis…What? What’s wrong with her?”

Joe stood. “Lock this door behind me. She’ll tell you once she stops gaping. I’ll be back with Rupert in a bit.”

Jamie locked the door, and turned to see silent tears streaming down Claire’s cheeks as she looked over the lab results. He slowly moved over to her side and squeezed her knee. She looked up at him, and finally a smile broke out over her face. “You arrogant, ridiculous Scot…I don’t know how…” She breathed out a laugh. “Oh…living with you now will be absolutely impossible…”

“Claire, you’re making little if any sense…”

She took his hand and pulled him down so his face was at eye level. “I don’t know how you did it, but I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

Jamie let out a breath that rattled his entire body before his lips split into a heartbreaking smile. “Och, I believe we both took part in it, love.” He leaned his forehead against hers as his own tears began to form. She let out a chuckle, and pressed her lips to his as his arms circled her waist and tucked her under his chin.

“You’re still sick though, aye?” He asked softly. “Is something wrong with the bairn?”

Claire sighed. “Probably not, but we’ll see. Hyperemesis gravidarum is medical term for extreme morning sickness, but it can be dangerous if not treated.” A blush burned her cheeks. “I’m…really pregnant…according to these hormone readings, almost ten weeks. To go so long without prenatal care can be risky.” Her lip trembled as he kissed her again. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry I didn ‘t…”

“Shhh, Sorcha…” he whispered. “It’s a wee bit of a shock, aye? We’ll manage.”

“We?” She sniffed and he produced a handkerchief from his pocket. “You mean you want to parent with the idiot doctor who didn’t know she was pregnant?” She blew her nose as he pushed her hair from her face.

“Aye. Snot covered, grumpy, pregnant, and all mine.”

***

When Joe finally returned with Rupert in tow, Rupert gave a full report on Dr. Roth as Joe had Claire wheeled towards their ultrasound wing.

Dr. Roth had initially denied any wrong doing that afternoon, until a quick 30 minute rewind replayed the scene Claire had survived. He was immediately taken into custody, and Malva was terminated with notice to have charges pressed. Geneva’s part in this however, was still vague. Malva had cracked immediately, but seemed confused when asked if Geneva conspired the plot.

Rupert finished his story looking to Claire and Jamie, who both were shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Dr. Alma will be informing the board of everything, and I’m sure more things will come about from this, but for now I believe you have your hands full,” he said with a smile as Joe readied the ultrasound machine.

“Thank you, Rupert, for calling me, and everything…” Jamie rasped, squeezing Claire’s hand.

With Rupert’s exit, Joe motioned to Claire’s stomach with the tube of jelly. “Start your engines.”

Claire lifted her shirt as Joe prepped her lower abdomen, squeezing Jamie’s hand like a vice as Joe searched for…

It was the tiniest little bean, with delicate wisps for fingers and a thudding heart, beating stubbornly against her womb. It shivered as Joe moved the wand, and he wordlessly took measurements before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Perfect,” Claire whispered to Jamie, who was pressing kisses to her cheek.

“She’s perfect.”

[itsyokythings-blog]

My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga. My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga. - Travel. Adventure. Yoga.

I’m a big believer in taking chances and getting out of my comfort zone. But it always pays to be a little prepared. A single can derail your trip — or your entire life! Read on to find out what happened when I left too much to chance on a trip to Cambodia and Laos.

What’s in this post?

1. 3. 5.

It was scorching hot outside but inside it felt like my organs were freezing over.

The shivering was like none I had ever witnessed, never seen portrayed on TV, certainly never experienced. It felt like an earthquake — a shaking so deep and powerful it could only originate from the planet’s core.

But unlike an earthquake, this shaking went on and on and on… each new wave was followed closely by a pounding nausea, so fierce that I couldn’t even breathe through it.

It was starting to dawn on me that something was seriously wrong.

Also don’t miss these posts:

20 unique experiences that you can do → 15 reasons to slowly → Could you handle being a nomad? →

sponsored stays in luxury beach resorts

and unsponsored stays in decrepit hostels, which was all I could afford on a blogger’s salary.

(Travel blogging is a fabulous job but it’s not exactly making me rich.)

On this trip, I had assigned myself the task of stretching my comfort zone and breaking out of it completely whenever possible.

I had learned to rock climb in Kampot, zip-lined for the first time in Mondulkiri, cycled to a remote island near Kratie, chased elephants through the forest outside Sen Monorom, and slept in a hammock in the jungle in Stung Treng.

Yup, that’s me learning to rock climb. It looks scarier than it was!

I was even getting good at striking up conversations with strangers in cafes — something I would normally never do.

After crossing Cambodia’s northern border into Laos, I checked into a riverside hut on Don Khon, one of the famous 4,000 islands created by a widening of the Mekong. I spent a few days cycling the islands, swimming in brown silty bays, and lying on my hammock for hours on end.

In retrospect, swimming here probably wasn’t the smartest idea but luckily, I didn’t contract Schistosomiasis.

One night, I had the strangest dream.

My body was filled with tiny wriggling black worms. They were racing through my body on the highways of my veins and I could see them wriggling just beneath my pale skin. When I looked in the mirror, I saw their inky black shadows behind my eyes, like something out of The X-Files.

Was it a warning? Or just a creepy nightmare caused by too much spicy Indian curry?

(This part of Laos is home to lots of immigrants from Tamil Nadu and they had been keeping me fed.)

Luang Prabang, revisiting one of our favourite cities of our two-year bike trip.

That morning though, in Pakse, a scrappy border town on the edge of Thailand, all of that felt impossible. All I wanted to do was curl up and dissolve into nothing.

Instead, I made a decision that probably saved my life.

I got out of bed, put on whatever clothes were convenient and booked a bus ticket to Ubon Ratchathani, in neighbouring Thailand.

My logic was this:

I’d probably be fine after a few days of rest but if I wasn’t, if I needed a hospital, I didn’t want to visit one in the poorest country in Southeast Asia. I wanted modern technology, well-trained doctors, and someone to speak English… and I had a much better chance of getting that in wealthy, relatively western Thailand.

I didn’t have much confidence in the medical care I’d get in Pakse, Laos.

A few hours later, I was on a mini-bus, this one headed across the Thai border. Only a few other people, one other tourist and a handful of locals, were going this direction — Ubon Ratchathani isn’t exactly on the backpacker trail.

I spent the bus ride in agony.

Busses are always cold in Southeast Asia. As long as the air con is working, the driver does his best to recreate Scandinavia in winter. This bus took things to a sub-arctic extreme.

Most people think of hell as a fiery place but I will always imagine hell as this bus. I experienced five hours of a cold so deep that I could almost feel my organs crystallizing into ice.

One day I was trekking in the jungle and a few days later I was in the hospital!

Of course, as always happens, I was feeling much better this morning. Just a little tired but not shivery or flu-ey. Even my nausea had mostly subsided.

The doctor took all my vitals and asked me a few questions in English — I could tell she had learned it in school but had likely not spoken it much since then.

After prodding me for a few minutes, she told me I was fine and sent me away. I wanted to believe her, so I grabbed a taxi back to the hotel, even though I knew she was wrong.

By that afternoon, all my symptoms were back with a vengeance.

That’s when I went online.

People always tell you not to research your symptoms online. It will only make you crazy, they say. You’ll decide you’re dying when you actually just have a cold.

I’m pretty sure that afternoon spent with WebMD, The Mayo Clinic, and all those other cheesy medical websites saved my life.

The next morning I was back at the hospital. This time, I insisted that I be tested for malaria.

The first doctor sent me away with a misdiagnosis and a cute lion plaster.

Today’s doctor all but rolled his eyes as he scoffed “Is there anything else I should test you for?”

An hour later, he was back, with an entirely different look on his face. It wasn’t pure panic but it was close.

“I’m admitting you immediately,” he said. “You have two strains of malaria.”

Once I was installed in my hospital room, wires connected, IVs dripping and machinery whirring around me, the doctor came back.

He explained that I had the two most serious types of malaria. I’m grateful that he didn’t tell me anything else right then.

When I tell people about this now, they seem to think that malaria is very common and isn’t all that serious.

But in this hospital, which neighbours one of the most virulent malaria regions in Asia, they hadn’t see a case of malaria for two years. They had to search around the neighbouring hospitals to even find the right drugs.

It was only later, after I was already cured, that I learned that the malaria I had had could cause blockages to the capillaries carrying blood to the brain, resulting in coma, brain damage, or death.

My hospital room in Thailand was very clean and well equipped. I even had WiFi!

That first night in the hospital, nobody was really sure if the malaria meds would be effective or not. There was a real chance that I would never leave that hospital bed — not until they carried me out.

My husband was in Europe, my parents in Canada, and everyone else I cared about was scattered around the globe.

Those three days in hospital and the following week of recovery in Bangkok were the hardest of my life — maybe of my entire life.

Not looking my best while struggling with malaria and waiting for my medication in Ubon Ratchathani, Thailand.

I’m lucky to be here, telling my story.

If you want to read about my what it was like to stay in a Thai hospital, read the article I wrote for news.com.au. There’s a whole other story there!

But here, I want to get on to the point…

Sitting on the Mekong watching sunset was fabulous – and also the perfect way to get mosquito bites.

Though I had been to both Cambodia and Laos before, I failed to research the areas I was going to very well. I haven’t been to a vaccination clinic for years and didn’t even think about what shots I might need.

(Most of my vaccinations are up-to-date and I tend to just rely on those.)

Since I had done so much ling by bike, I just assumed I didn’t really need to take anti-malarial pills. After all, I had never gotten malaria before, right?

As it turns out, if you look at malaria maps, the region I was ling in is one of the most malaria-prone regions in the world. Of course, I didn’t find that out until it was too late!

I should have consulted a doctor or a vaccine specialist before ling, even to a place I had been before.

Not doing so almost cost me my life.

SafetyWing. Unlike traditional insurance, they let you pay month-to-month, so you don’t need to know your exact end date. It renews automatically each month until you cancel it.

SafetyWing also give you limited coverage in your home country, so you can visit your family every once-in-a-while! Plus, they’re underwritten by a big insurance company, so the coverage is reliable and claims are handled by experts.

See if SafetyWing is the right insurance for you →

Getting malaria almost cost me my life. What it didn’t cost me — thanks to my insurance — was a lot of money.

Though Thai hospitals are inexpensive compared to Western ones, it still wasn’t cheap! I had two doctors and at least 5 nurses looking after me.

Me with the Thai hospital staff who saved my life when I got malaria.

The malaria medication they gave me was hard to find and not inexpensive. The head of the hospital came to see me every day and personally took care of me when I checked out. She even drove me to my hotel that night. That tells you just how much money they were making from my stay!

Since the hospital was so remote, I had to pay my entire bill when I checked out. After subtracting my deductible, my insurance company repaid the rest, plus they paid for my follow-up visits to the hospital in Bangkok.

It was a relief to know that I could seek out the best medical care, in the best hospital in Bangkok, and not have to worry about paying for it all!

If you’re getting ready to , don’t make the same s I did! Get to a vaccine clinic right away and make sure to get insurance!

♥  Happy adventures, Jane & Stephen

We’re not going to lie, it takes a LOT of work to create guides like this. But it’s easy to help us out! If you book or buy something using one of our personal links in this post, we’ll earn a small fee at no extra cost to you. Of course, we would never recommend anything we didn’t 100% believe in! Huge thanks in advance! –S&J

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The post This One Travel Mistake Nearly Killed Me – Don’t Let it Happen to You appeared first on My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga..

[snickerl]

Elixir Vitae

AU fanfic set around the time of IWTB.

A/N: This story is coming to a close now, this is why it’s taken me so long to get this last chapter done. As always, I’m a bit sad to finish a story, but also looking forward to writing new stuff. 

Find previous chapters here: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III / Chapter IV / Chapter V / Chapter VI / Chapter VII / Chapter VIII / Chapter IX / Chapter X / Chapter XI / Chapter XII

Full story here: (X)

Chapter XIII

She's weirdly withdrawn on our way home. Something's not right. She's been staring through the window without blinking for most of our trip and hasn't said a word since we left the precinct. My eyes shoot back and forth between her and the road in front of us. Her hands are clenched into fists on her lap. When I cover them with mine I almost flinch because they're cold as ice. I shortly direct my eyes back to the road ahead of us to make sure we're not drifting off before I look at her again. Her breathing has become rapid and shallow, she's almost hyperventilating I'd say, being the medical layman I am. I've never seen her like this.

"What's the matter, Scully?"

"I...I don't know," she answers feebly. "My heart's racing and my fingers are tingling."

One quick, hasty glance onto the road, then my eyes are fixed on her again. Her face is so pale. What is going on here?

"Five more minutes, Scully, then we're home," I tell her when I turn off the main road. I stop the car in front of the fence to our property. I observe her through the windshield while I operate the heavy metal gate. Within the few seconds it took me to exit the car and open it, her condition has become even worse. I realize that her hands are now pressed to her chest and I literally jump back into the car.

"Scully," I scream frantically, "what's wrong with you?"

"My chest. It aches."

"Are...are you having a heart attack?"

"No, I don't think so," she croaks, "this is something else, but I don't know what." She fusses with her blouse and more or less rips it open, I see at least one button flying through the air. "I'm so hot!"

Hot? Her hands were freezing cold just a few moments ago. I'm getting really scared now. What if this is a heart attack after all? We're miles away from the next doctor, and it takes an ambulance at least 30 minutes to get here. If she passes out, I'll be on my own.

I floor the gas pedal. Scully groans when the car lifts off a ground wave and hits the road hard again. I've never made it this fast from the gate to the house, I didn't even bother to close it behind us, which has never happened before.

I kill the engine, jump out of the car and open the passenger door.

"Can you walk?"

"I think so."

She offers me her hand and I pull her out of the car.

"The fresh air will do you good, Scully. Take a deep breath."

She leans her whole body against the car and closes her eyes, making no move to head for the porch.

"Do you want me to carry you?"

"Don't be silly, Mulder," she retorts, albeit with less insistence than I'm used to, "I'm fully capable of walking these few steps."

I'm glad to notice that she's still herself, although I'm not really convinced she's not overestimating her strength. I walk right next to her, ready to intervene and catch her any second. She's unsteady but determined to make it to the front door on her own feet. I miss to get the key into the lock twice before I manage to snap it open, then I push the door so hard, it crashes against the wall inside.

I walk over to the couch and brush the pillows away to make room for her to lie down. "Get over here, Scully," I urge her. When she's not coming, I look up and realize she's still standing on the porch, holding on fiercely to the banister.

"I'm so dizzy all of a sudden. I think I'm gonna faint," she whispers hardly audible.

I fly over to her and sweep her off her feet. So, I'm carrying my wife over the threshold a second time in a few months, but, honestly, in my imagination, I'd pictured it much more romantic, both times.

I lower her gently down on the couch and put a cushion under her head.

"No," she pants, "under my legs. The blood needs to flow back."

I do as I'm told and kneel beside her head. A few strands of hair cling to her clammy face and I brush them away. Drops of cold sweat appear on her forehead and her breathing becomes shallow and quick again.

"Scully, try to breathe in as slowly and deeply as you can. Through your nose. Come on, with me. In..." she follows my instruction, "and out through your mouth."

The air leaves her lungs, still too fast, but a bit more controlled than before. I continue to coach her through the exercise, "in...one-two-three-four-five. And out...one-two-three-four-five. Focus on your breathing, Scully. You can do it."

It takes a few minutes and several rounds of breathing in and out, but eventually, she seems to get better. She opens her eyes, and the look in them is not as frantic and terrified anymore.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Slightly."

"Tell me what I can do to help you."

"Something cold would be nice."

"No problem, hold on a second."

I rush over to the kitchen and soak one of the towels in cold water. When I return, I dab her forehead and temples.

"Aah, that's good, Mulder."

She takes the cloth from me and puts it to her throat and cleavage. She exhales heavily and in phases through her open mouth, still working hard to get her breathing under control. The worst anxiety seems to be gone but her movements are still agitated. Her legs are shaking and her eyes flicker restlessly.

"Shhh, Scully, you're doing good. Just keep breathing. I'm here, you're not alone."

I try to be reassuring and firm. I resume my kneeling position and stroke her hair. I feel her lean into my hand when I caress her cheek, so I dare expand my ministrations. I put one hand on her lower arm and the other on her thigh which is still twitching. I feel the muscles spasm even through her pants.

Slowly, very slowly, the symptoms of whatever that has been are on the wane. Her limbs stop trembling, her breathing returns to a normal rhythm, her eyes aren't empty anymore but focus on me. She shakes her head in disbelief. "That was so unreal, Mulder, like I was watching myself from a distance. I felt completely disconnected from myself and there was nothing I could do against it."

"What was this? I've never seen you like this, Scully."

I've seen her dying of cancer, shot, almost frozen to death, in a coma, but never in a tailspin like this.

"It might have been a panic attack," she diagnoses herself.

"A panic attack?"

Scully in a state of panic? The concept sounds odd to me, Scully never panics. She's daring and bold, methodical and poised. How often has she stood her ground in a hairy situation? I've never seen her paralyzed by fear.

"Episodes of panic attacks can occur at any time, even during sleep. There is every indication that it was a panic attack, the dizziness, breathing difficulties, hot flashes, chest pains, the sense of terror and loss of control."

"The lineup triggered it, didn't it? I should've never allowed it," I berate myself. "You weren't stable enough to go through a mental strain like that."

"Mulder," she cups my cheek, "I had to do it. I was in law enforcement for too long to let the chance slip away to pin down a murderer."

I kiss her forehead. "You can be proud of yourself. Thanks to you, that son of a bitch will be put on trial and hopefully rot in hell afterward."

She smiles weakly. He hand falls back on her chest, powerless. "I feel so worn out."

I remove the cushions from under her legs and put one under her head before I spread a blanket over her body.

"Close your eyes, Scully, and have some sleep. I'll watch out for you."

"Thank you," she murmurs, and already succumbing to sleep, she adds, "love you."

She must be really exhausted because now that the panic has subsided she drifts off quickly and I'm glad for the soothing and healing effect sleep will have on her. Her last words make me feel warm all over, though. She loves me.

I lift her head and slip myself under it, pulling it into my lap. I look at her face. Her delicate features have finally relaxed, the sharp line between her eyebrows is gone and her forehead is smooth again. Her jaws have slackened off, her lips aren't pressed together anymore but are slightly parted. Her lower lip is a bit swollen. She must've bitten it hard, there's some dried blood. She rests peacefully now, her eyes absolutely still under the lids. No fluttering, no twitching, no shaking anywhere in her body. Sleeping beauty right here in my lap.

It's like the quiet after the storm. My own body has been flooded with adrenaline I'm only slowly getting rid of. I feel my pulse going back to normal and my breathing mirroring her calm rhythm.

After a while, my thoughts start wandering. I recap today's events which have led us to this very moment. What does it mean for us that her ordeal has come back to Scully? Is it another step forward or will it throw her back again? The traumatic memories coming with it have the potential to further solidify the amnesia, although we still don't know what exactly had caused it in the first place.

My mind wouldn't stop at Pete calling me this morning, it pulls me further back in time. Moments are popping up in my head I haven't thought of in years. Like when this creepy writer, my short-term neighbor at my Alexandria apartment, told me Scully couldn't fall in love because she already was in love. To this day I can't believe how dim I was, asking myself who that lucky guy might be. Or when she threw me that look across the dance floor at the high school reunion of that unfortunate weather announcer, the one who created thunderstorms whenever someone hit on his secret love. That look of hers, that smile! Boy, at that moment, all I wished was that this was our high school reunion and she was my prom date.

I close my eyes and another situation creeps back to me. I'm beamed back to when I was strapped to a hospital bed, considered to be a danger to everyone who came near me. I remember feeling so helpless, defenseless against the accelerated brain activity I was suffering from that would eventually kill me. When I heard her voice outside in the hallway, demanding to see me, letting nothing and nobody keep her from checking up on me, immense relief flooded my entire body because I knew she'd get me out of this. For the umpteenth time, I was immensely grateful to have her in my life. 'I'm his doctor,' she said but she was actually my guardian angel, my savior.

Why am I walking down memory lane like this? How come these long-forgotten incidents are pushing themselves to the forefront just now? To remind me how precious they are? To rub my nose into how big of a loss it is to lack them? You can't miss what you don't know, right? There are a lot of memories I could do without, though. Me holding Scully at gunpoint, for example. Me treating her like shit after I'd woken up from the dead also falls into this category as is saying goodbye to William and her.

Stop it, Mulder! Stop making this about you!

I glance at the grandfather clock on the mantlepiece and can hardly believe two hours have gone by. No wonder my legs have fallen asleep, making themselves felt with a tingling sensation. I can no longer sit still, I have to move.

I cautiously slip my legs out from under her head and replace them with a thick cushion. She stirs a little, a silent moan escapes her chest, but fortunately, sleep is holding her firmly in its grip. I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I had woken her up. What're two tingling legs compared to the aftermaths of a severe panic attack? But her chest is rising and falling in a steady, slow rhythm and she looks relaxed and peaceful. I might as well leave her alone for a moment and run some errands. She deserves to be spoiled tonight with a home cooked meal and some Häagen Dasz.

In the following one-and-a-half hours, I break the second record today: I've never rushed through the grocery store at a lightspeed like this, pulling items randomly out of the shelves and throwing them into my cart passing by. I line-jump at the cashier, yelling at the customers in the queue and flashing my badge. I burn home on autopilot mode and curse the squeaking sound I elicit when I open the front door. My heart beat stops for a moment when I find her sitting upright on the couch.

Good grief, if she had another panic attack and I wasn't there. My insides convulse.

"Hey," I say gently not to startle her, putting the grocery bags on the floor.

She turns her head and...smiles. Thank God, she looks much better.

"Hey," she says back, sounding a bit groggy but collected.

I place myself next to her on the couch and examine her face for any remains of the terror that were there a few hours ago, and I'm relieved I'm not seeing any.

"Everything alright here?" I ask. "You were fast asleep when I left. I wasn't gone for much more than an hour."

"I'm fine."

When she realizes that this line is not particularly suited to calm me, she adds a reassuring, "really, Mulder, I'm okay."

"That was frightening, Scully. I thought you were having a heart attack."

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to scare you. I've never had anything like it before." She looks at me and in her eyes I see some of the residues the experience left behind after all. "It felt like I was going crazy like I was losing my mind. I was scared too, Mulder, believe me."

"Yeah, I can imagine. I wonder what that asshole Herman did to you that seeing him upset you that much."

"Seeing him actually wasn't the problem. The attack would've struck me in the precinct if it was, but the pressure in my chest didn't start to establish itself until we were on the way home, when I was contemplating in the car."

"Contemplating? Contemplating what?"

"What he kept telling me."

What does she mean by that? Telling her what? And when? In what setting? If Jensen had left her alone with him...the thought alone lets my right hand clench into a fist.

"I don't understand, Scully. Do you mean what Officer Jensen told him to say in the lineup? He didn't let him talk to you one-to-one, did he?" I clench my fist so hard, my knuckles turn white.

She moves her body to sit opposite me, takes my fist in her hand and unfolds my fingers gently one after the other. "No, there was no direct contact with him." She talks to me without meeting my eyes, staring at our now entwined fingers. "And I didn't mean what he said in the lineup. That was just some meaningless sentence. I remembered what he said to me when he was holding me captive."

"You remember something from the time you were with him?" I'm just trying to make sure because her nod is hardly visible and she's still not looking at me. "But that's wonderful, Scully!" I shriek, struggling to keep my exhilaration at bay which threatens to go overboard despite her more than restrained reaction.

"Wonderful? Well," she pauses for a moment and licks her lips before the continues, "he said that you were next door, that you were his captive just like I was, and that he was doing terrible things to you. It was horrible, Mulder."

"You believed him?"

"Not at the beginning, no, but when you're told day after day after day that the most dreadful things are done to the person you love more than anyone, eventually, the day comes you start asking yourself 'What if he's telling the truth?' I couldn't fight the pictures of you next door, Mulder. Beaten up. With broken fingers, pulled toenails, cigarette burns. Not allowed to eat and drink properly, let alone sleep. Being told I was raped, which I wasn't. It was killing me. It was so demoralizing and grueling that from a certain point onward, I couldn't ignore his stories anymore. They became a reality, and every day, I died a little more fearing for you, believing you were in so much agony."

I'm in a state of agony now, listening to her.

"One day, he showed up with a syringe in his hand, telling me he was going to launch the ultimate strike. I didn't realize it was meant for me until I felt the needle penetrate my skin. I remember the burning sensation," she strokes up and down her left upper arm, "and then everything went black." She buries her face in her hands. "Oh my God, Mulder, he injected me with something, a chemical substance, to make me lose my memory. Not to protect himself, to keep me from testifying against him, but to hit you."

"He wanted to take you away from me. He knew it would hit me harder than my own death. He was sick enough to be incapable of killing a woman who didn't correspond to his usual pattern, so he left her out in the cold to freeze to death. And just to make sure in case that wouldn't happen, that pervert filled her up with a drug of some sort to make her forget who she was in love with. That is so unbelievably insidious and heinous, it makes me nauseous."

"He reached his goal," she reminds me in a tearful voice, "you were hit."

"This is not about what he did to me, Scully, this is only about what he did to you. I'm being honest when I say I obtain satisfaction from the fact that he must know it was you who identified him today. He couldn't see you through the one-way mirror but he knew exactly who was standing on the other side of it, pointing her finger at him. He knew he killed all his victims but one."

I can't sit still anymore. To channel my inner unrest I get up and get a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen. On my way back to the couch, something else comes to mind.

"You have to talk to your therapist and tell her about the lineup and the panic attack. Maybe, we should've asked her whether you were in a condition to face him before agreeing to do it."

I hand her the glass. She takes a sip, passes it back to me, then folds her hands on her lap.

"There's something else I have to tell her," she says somewhat withdrawn.

Oh?

I look at her expectantly, but no words are coming out of her mouth. Will this be a recurring pattern from now on that she implies something, but denies any further explanation?

"Which. Is. What?" I cringe at how impatient I sound.

"Seeing him today has initiated the recollection of the time he had me under his control, that's how I was able to identify him. The panic attack, however, seems to have loosened some kind of major block in my brain."

Okay, and that means...?

Talk to me, Scully!

If she doesn't start talking now, I'm going to strangle her. My pulse has skyrocketed and both my legs are bobbing in a nervous staccato. I take it she needs time to process all of this herself, to put it in perspective, to evaluate the circumstances, but I'd really and truly appreciate if she let me into her world of thought.

"What block, Scully?"

I've scraped together as much of emotional control as possible not to scream at her. My composure is about to shatter into pieces any second. And then, just when I'm on the brink of letting my frustration erupt from my body, she whispers, "the block that locked up my memory."

"The block...that locked up...your memory," I repeat stupidly.

"You understand what I'm trying to say, Mulder?"

Are you fucking kidding me?

"No, Scully, actually, what you've been throwing me here are nothing but stripped bones. Am I supposed to read your mind? I know I was once quite skilled in doing that, but lately, I have no idea what's going on in your head."

Tears are brimming in her eyes.

Shit, I made her cry! I'm such an asshole drowning in my own self-pity!

"No, don't cry please," I try to soothe her. I stroke her cheeks and the tears begin to fall, leaving wet streaks on her skin. She starts sobbing violently and doesn't even try to control her emotions, which seen individually is so unlike her. I haven't seen her cry this hard very often, if ever.

"Dana, I'm-"

"It's okay, Mulder," she hiccups breathlessly, "these are happy tears."

"Happy?"

"My memory...it's back. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

I don't know what to say. She wouldn't make a joke about it, would she? The matter's too serious for a joke. Did she have to go through the hell of a panic attack to get her memories back? Would that be like a positive side-effect of the ordeal, because it was an ordeal, for her as well as for me.

"Don't you believe me? I'm not joking."

Apparently, my having difficulties reading her mind doesn't mean she's not fully capable of reading mine.

"When I woke up, I felt so strange. My mind was in an uproar, I couldn't control my thoughts. They were wandering around and I couldn't tell them to stop. I was flooded with images and I just couldn't stop it. Like when you put too much corn into the popcorn maker and the popcorn keeps popping out although you've switched it off already."

"Salted, I hope." One look into her face tells me that she doesn't appreciate being interrupted, especially not by a joke that lame. "Sorry. That's...good, isn't it?"

"Yes! Yes, it is! I was trying to make sense of it while you were away and it took me a while until I realized that those weren't random images my brain produced as a result of the panic attack but...memories. Real memories."

Her eyes are watery but also beaming in a way. She takes them off of me and directs them past me to a point somewhere outside in the distance. Her vision seems to go slightly out of focus so that I doubt she's actually looking at something. I can literally see the flurry behind her forehead, the energy of synapses reconnecting and nerve pathways passing on information. The corners of her mouth rise into a small lovely smile and her eyes are filling with more tears. I can only speculate what kind of images are pushing themselves forward just now.

"William," she sobs eventually, confirming my hunch.

I close my eyes and heave a heavy sigh. Memories of William. Of course. What else?

"No, it's okay, Mulder." She looks at me with clear but watery eyes. "I'd forgotten my baby," she hiccups and takes my breath away with it, "and I have him back now. I no longer have only two-dimensional images of him, stories you told me or the eight photographs we have of him, but my own personal memories of how it felt to hold him. What it was like to nurse him. How he smelt. What his laugh sounded like."

Wow!

"I knew you were kissing me when we brought him home. Knowing is a cognizant act, Mulder, something you do with your brain. But now I remember how sweet that kiss tasted, how happy we were. As a family. How elated I was at that particular moment. That's feeling, Mulder, and it has nothing to with the brain but only with the soul and the heart. "

"We were very happy, Scully, but we weren't granted to be a family for long," I state flatly, unable to share her elation.

"I know. After that, there was mainly pain. But...wasn't it worth it, Mulder?"

I don't know what she means, and I guess my face is showing my bewilderment because she goes on explaining. "My memories were erased and gone. They were lost to me, the good ones as well as the bad ones. The bad ones only feel so bad because of the good ones. You can only lose something you once had. Would you have rather relinquished having him to spare you the pain losing him has forced on you? Because that's exactly what happened to me, Mulder. I'd forgotten I ever had a son and with it the pain associated with his adoption was also gone, and you probably thought this was a good thing,"

She knows me so well.

"but I'd also forgotten how happy I was as a mother. His mother."

Her facial expression changes all of a sudden. I take it another memory is fighting its way back into her consciousness, and I just hope it's not what I believe it is. But then she puts her hands to her mouth and a silent cry slips out of her throat, and I'm pretty sure it's exactly what I've feared.

"Emily," she whispers.

I groan inwardly. How many good emotions can be related to that little girl? If any at all?

"I had a daughter!"

She stares at me, her eyes full of cognizance, but also full of questions, one of which she poses right away. "Why have you never told me anything about her?"

"Because it's a sad story through and through, Scully. Actually in a way even sadder than William's. You didn't know she was your daughter until she was terminally ill, and there was nothing you could do to save her. They wouldn't even let you adopt her, although she was orphaned and you were her biological mother. All you were allowed to do was witness her suffering. She died in your arms only shortly after you found out who she was."

The usually fine lines between her brows are deep and prominent now. I can only imagine how hard it is to recollect your past piece by piece as if you were putting together a million-pieces puzzle.

"She was created with my ova, right? I think I'm getting it. That X-File you made me read about my abduction..." Her hands go to her temples, wedging her head between her palms as though to keep the memories inside which threaten to disappear again. "They not only gave me cancer, they also harvested my ova. That was how I ended up barren, that was no ordinary Premature Ovarian Failure. And that's why we tried IVF and why William's conception was so unexpected. We didn't use protection because we thought I couldn't get pregnant, right? Having been conceived naturally by a barren woman, that's what made him a miracle, isn't it?" She drops her hands and lays her eyes on mine again, pleading with me, "you weren't lying to me when you told me we made him the old-fashioned way, right?"

Her troubled expression lets my heart freeze.

"No, I didn't lie to you. William was a child of our love."

"And Emily?"

"You got it all right, Scully. She was your biological daughter, but you didn't give birth to her. She was part of that sick plan you and I had been drawn into with the X-Files. It was something I thought I could protect you from after your amnesia. When I wasn't telling you the full truth about things, it was only to spare you what had already hurt you once. I didn't see any need to let it hurt you again."

She cups my face, and I gladly notice that her hands are still and warm. "I know, Mulder, and I love you for it. But you know what? I can't have only the good memories back, it's either all or nothing. I remember you beside me at Emily's service, and that's a good memory. I recall having a beautiful daughter, and I remember having a miraculous son. My life was blessed with two children, and although they're both not with me anymore, I still am a mother. And that's a wonderful feeling."

"So wonderful it makes you cry," I say, brushing a tear off her cheek. "Don't tell me these are happy tears."

"No, they're not. I am sad...but now I know what to mourn. Before there was just a black void, a huge nothingness I couldn't relate to. I felt the pain, and the grief, and a lot of anger inside me, but I didn't know why I was feeling this way. I'm so grateful for having my life back, with all its highs and lows. Herman took my life away with inflicting the amnesia on me, but somehow, he also gave it back to me today."

"With making you go through a panic attack? That's a weird way of seeing it."

If I ever had the chance, I'd beat the living daylights out of that sick son of a bitch.

She takes my hands in hers and squeezes them tenderly. "He's not important anymore. It's only us I care about. Promise me to leave him alone, Mulder."

She really knows me well.

"Promise!" she insists. "I don't want to see you thrown into prison for violent assault of a detainee. He's not worth it."

"Scout's honor," I say with my right hand up, and although there might come a moment where keeping my promise will be difficult, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. The last thing I want for her is to fear for me. I don't want her to fear for anything or anyone ever again.

"Thank you," she says, before she settles herself in my embrace, her cheek on my chest and her arms around my waist.

I engage her into a fierce hug, pulling her so close I'm almost afraid to suffocate her, but she doesn't complain. Her body melts into mine and I hear her sigh into my chest.

"I remember everything, Mulder," she whispers, and with a bit more emphasis, she repeats, "everything."

Her voice is a whisper, trembling with excitement, but smooth as velvet. She pulls away and her gaze wanders to a point behind me again as if there was a screen where the images of her life were popping up on for her to watch. The hint of a smile appears on her face.

"Your proposal," she gasps, "you proposed to me in a rental car, riding an endless highway through the Midwest." She releases a short chuckle shaking her head in consternation. "How apt!"

Her eyes meet mine again and I see amusement in hers.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't very romantic, I know. Unforgivable. You'd deserved two dozens of red roses and champagne with it, all I had to offer was stale coffee in a styrofoam cup and a Snickers bar. No flowers, not even buttercups."

"Don't be silly, it was perfect! It was so...so us," she giggles. "How you stepped on the brake once I'd said yes and jumped out of the car to shout it out to the desert for nobody to hear...that was romantic."

"You found that romantic?"

I remember exactly how I feared my chest might burst because the bliss within me expanded so rapidly. She'd said somewhat en passant 'yes, Mulder, I marry you' with her eyes glued to the straight road in front of us, and I had somehow been overcome with such an urging need to shout it out to the world that Dana Katherine Scully, M.D. and former Special Agent with the FBI, wanted for aiding and abetting a convicted murderer, had really and truly agreed to marry me.

"Yes, you were kinda cute in your boyish joy. Did you really think I'd say no?"

"Well, the first time I asked, you said I wasn't being very helpful."

Her eyes widen. She really does remember everything obviously, even the fleeting moment I popped the question completely out of the blue while she was consulting with me about a case over the phone. "You were really being serious that time you asked while I was on vacation in Maine? I thought my endless recital of the black arts had made you so dizzy that you didn't know what you were saying."

"I knew exactly what I was saying. And yes, you'd definitely made me dizzy. In the best sense of the word," I say with a grin.

"Jesus, Mulder, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Would you have said yes? Then? If my plea had been expressed less ambiguously?"

"Who knows," she replies in a tone that adds an unspoken 'probably', and butterflies are fluttering in my stomach.

I've asked myself many times what would've happened if we hadn't waited so long, clinging to a professional platonic partnership instead of confiding in each other and marrying years earlier. If we had quit the Bureau, leaving the darkness behind, would we be a typical American family now? Loving husband and wife with an adorable son? Did we ever have a real chance for a life like this?

"William wouldn't have been born out of wedlock," I hear myself say.

Fuck, Mulder, don't you have anything better to do than rubbing salt into this particular wound again?

"I'm sorry, Scully, for coming back to him over and over."

"No, it's okay. Don't apologize for mentioning him. He's our son, our love child." She sighs. "God, Mulder, we haven't talked about him much, have we? I don't want to withhold his existence anymore, I want him to be a part of our lives. I want to feel free to think of him, speak of him. I want to imagine what he looks like, what his favorite sport is, how he'd react in a certain moment. What his life is like."

"You haven't been ready to contemplate any of these questions so far, Scully. We mainly avoided talking about him. We thought it was a way to rule the pain, to make it manageable."

"But it kept fighting back."

"It sure did. With a vengeance."

She acknowledges my last remark with a simple confirming hum, leaving us both staring silently at each other.

The feeling of loss has always been there, dragging the pain in its wake. It's like a tinnitus, an ongoing sound in my ear, keeping me from sleep at night, and it's feeding me mercilessly with the facts I'm fully aware of anyway: 'he's gone, he's someone else's son now, he will never get to know you.' I can only imagine what the voice inside Scully's ear is saying to her. I bet it's reproachful and unforgiving and assuring the cut in her heart never heals.

"How do you picture him, Mulder?"

I can't believe she's asking me this, and what dumbfounds me even more is that I don't see a Scully riven by grief and guilt in front of me but one with a dreamy gaze and a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

What a heartwarming sight!

I let my mind travel to a possible image of my son. "He's a gangling 8-year-old who has lost all his baby fat due to extensive basketball practice. He's a Kicks fan, for sure." I hope he is. "He's got my height and your complexion, my obsession with things and your tenacity." A perfect combination of us both. "He drops his bike in the driveway, much to his father's chagrin, and always tries to weasel himself out of the household chores his mother tells him to get done. He loves pancakes soaked in maple syrup and pizza."

"With or without mushrooms," the mushroom lover in this house asks.

"I don't know. How much pizza with mushrooms did you have when you were pregnant? They say a mother transfers her cravings to the baby if she has a certain food a lot during a pregnancy."

"I ate healthily, Mulder."

"That means with mushrooms, I figure, to tip the scale more to the veggie side," I conclude and elicit a smile from her.

"That means no pizza," she answers, sending her right eyebrow up her forehead.

"No, of course not! What have I been thinking? Pizza, hmfff...Let's see. Salad with mushrooms? Stuffed mushrooms? Mushroom pie?"

"Some if it, yes. I had a wonderful recipe for spelt mushroom risotto."

"Yuck, no! Spelt? Seriously, Scully?"

"Contrary to bee pollen, there is scientific proof that spelt, if part of a balanced, healthy diet, has a very positive effect on both the mother and the baby."

"Ah, Scully, always the scientist, and a responsible expectant mother beyond all measure. I should've known," I say while I cup her face to place a soft kiss on her lips. "You never gave in to any cravings?"

"I might've had a chocolate donut once in a while," she admits, pursing her lips and chewing the inside of her cheek, swallowing the words rather than actually articulating them clearly for me to hear. "When my blood sugar level was too low," she then adds in a defensive afterthought and I have to bite my tongue now not to laugh right into her straight face.

"Sure. Only when your blood sugar was too low. Those were therapeutic donuts, so to say."

"So to say."

I smile and nod.

We never had such a lighthearted conversation involving William. Until now, we've tiptoed around him, avoiding the subject and anything remotely related to it, but just a minute ago, she started a conversation about him and didn't even backtrack when her pregnancy came up, a particularly sensitive topic as it covers one of the worst time spans of her life; as of mine, actually, I was lying in a coffin, six feet under.

Is this what they mean when they say that nothing happens without a reason? Is this new way of dealing with the loss of our child something we gain from what we had to go through since that psychopath has taken her?

I see a Scully standing in front of me who is relaxed and elated, who apparently enjoys talking about her son and her pregnancy, who's even engaged me in a little banter, and it's uplifting me more than I would've ever expected. It's like a harness has been taken off my chest, a straitjacket loosened allowing me to finally fill my lungs with enough oxygen to resuscitate my broken heart.

Was it really necessary for Scully to go through an abduction, mental abuse, drug-related amnesia, and a panic attack to make us understand that rejoicing over having been blessed with a miracle baby brings us closer to a content, happy life than hiding our grief from each other and silently crying over him by ourselves?

It apparently was. Damn.

"I'd like to do something special on his birthday next month," she surprises me yet again and puts an end to the pondering silence.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know. A day at the beach, maybe. Or a fancy dinner."

"Hmm."

Come on, Mulder, think! You can come up with something better than that!

"What if I took you to the Smithsonian Air and Space? They're having a traveling exhibit about the restoration of the Starship Enterprise. I hear it's well worth seeing. I bet he," no need to mention who I'm talking about, "would love to go. If you're good, in the end, you may even pick something from the gift shop."

A mocking snort slips out of her mouth. "Like what? A mug or a Tee with some kind of idiotic phrase on it, like 'live long and prosper'?"

Aaaah, how I love that sheepish smirk on her face when she's in a bantering mood.

"Nah, I'd go for a license plate frame. One that says 'second star to the right, then straight on 'til morning'."

I chuckle.

"I won't let you put something this silly on our car."

"Not even if I get us a new license plate saying SCTBMEUP?"

"No way! Uh-uh!" She stresses her words by banging her head so vehemently her hair flies through the air.

I decide to take this even further putting on my legendary pout. I've cultivated my skills at this to perfection, so I stick my bottom lip out, far, but not too far to overdo and make it look fake, letting my chin wrinkle slightly as I do this. Then I drop my head a tiny bit, not too much, as I want her to see my best puppy eyes peer up at her. I slouch my shoulders a little and loosely cross my arms in front of my chest. My voice is silent and flat when I finally mumble, "you're not nice."

Now she's the one who chuckles. Actually, she laughs wholeheartedly.

"Stop being eight yourself, Mulder." She shakes her head, obviously amused by my little performance. "It sounds like a wonderful idea, though, regardless, of your Star Trek fetish. If I'm allowed to stroll through the museum bookstore instead of the gift shop, you're on."

"You're allowed to stroll around wherever you want, Scully, as long as we're holding hands."

She tilts her head to one side and smiles at me. "You're adorable."

I can't but feel slightly proud of myself. I love it when applying my pouting bottom lip turns out to be this successful. I made her utter words of endearment, that's all I wanted.

I pull her towards me. "You're quite adorable yourself."

"Am I?"

"Yup!"

"Exactly how adorable?"

"Very."

"That's not exact, Mulder!"

"Is 'to the moon and back' better?"

"Hmm."

"You need more quantification?"

"I'm a scientist, I need proof."

"I see. Like a display of my adoration?"

"Would you be able to deliver a corresponding verification? One that might satisfy a scientist?"

"Like something tangible?"

"Uh huh. Something for me to see, hear or feel."

"Oookay, let me think."

I pull her yet a little closer.

"This is for you to see." My eyes find hers and I'm doing my best to let mine show her what I'm feeling at this very moment.

Then I put my mouth to her ear and breathe, "this is for you to hear: My adoration for you is indefinite, Scully, which to a scientist means without any upper or lower limits." I know that I'm at a very erogenous zone of hers and that I'm tickling her with my hot breath, but I don't care. Actually, I'm doing it on purpose.

"Now just one sense is missing," I say, laying my eyes on hers again. I have her right where I want her to be. She swallows, and her breath has become a bit shallow.

"Feel," she croons in an unstable voice.

"Yes," I growl, "this if for you to feel." I bring my face down and lightly brush my lips over hers, with a feather-light pressure at first, barely grazing over her mouth. I sweep the tip of my tongue over her lower lip, letting the words I'm going to say linger there. "Feel it, Scully?"

Instead of answering, she opens her mouth and invites me in. I slowly slide into her, moving my tongue around hers. She's reciprocating adequately, and when I retreat she follows me, chasing me into my domain. We're speeding it up for a moment, devouring each other.

God, she tastes so good!

I move my hands from her hips, around her back and up to her hair. Her arms are around my waist now and our bodies are pressed together. I need to touch her soft skin, so I cradle her face with my hands on her cheeks. When I feel her smile into my mouth, I pull back slightly but leave my forehead resting against hers.

"It that corresponding verification enough?" I ask in what I hope she perceives as a rhetorical question.

"It's always good to do a second test series. Scientists like to validate their first findings."

"I love scientists."

"I'm glad you do."

How can I not? I connect our lips again for another passionate kiss.

I've lost track of time when we finally break apart, both gasping for air. Scully releases a content sigh, nestling her head to my chest. With a breathy voice, she whispers, "we're gonna be fine, Mulder."

And I'm as certain as I've never been in my life when I answer, "yes, Scully, we're gonna be fine."

not to be continued, done

[psychicdan]

Samurai Jack: Renegade Samurai

Rating M for graphic depictions, language, violence and suggestive themes

Warning:

The following is a work of fanfiction and is not intentionally connected to real world places, events, or people, nor intended to copy others’ work. Samurai Jack is the work of Genndy Tartakovsky, his team and affiliated studios and companies. This is solely fanfiction for fun and not profit.

Chapter IV: The First Mistake

           A highway road stretched across small slopes of land, stretching off one such slope into the horizon of the midday sun. Surrounding these stretches on slopes were grass fields with cobbles of trees here and there, giving the impression of an outdoor country experience. Or it would, if it wasn’t for the disturbing discrepancies in this natural landscape. Doting the sloping landscape of grass and trees were craters and wreckage. Though old and some overgrown with fauna, their presence left a scarring presence. Some of the craters were still barren, leaving no room for life. Some of the wreckage was still intact enough to make out their origin, appearing as tanks, warships, and other monoliths of warfare. A skeleton some distance from the road was lying in this land of nature and battle long past till the sound of an engine approached. The source, a bristling motorcycle, disturbed and had shaken the skeleton slightly with its nearby presence for only a second before speeding along the highway, leaving the deceased to their rest. The rider, Jack, still caught sight of this despite not stopping, and he returned his gaze to the road with a troubled, somber expression. It had been like this since they had left the sight of the city, and the landscape around their motorcycle kept showing the same grim aspect. Despite the apparent nature, old signs of death and combat littered the landscape beneath such natural wonder, showing testament to the power and horror that occurred long before. Given this highway and how often these sights popped up, it was likely this was a common sight for all the locals, but it still left Jack a bit numb. He had seen somewhat worse sights in Aku’s future, sure, but often it was clearly the demon’s forces at work. This was something he couldn’t quite settle on. Sure, it whatever happened ended long ago, but the hanging presence still gnawed at Jack, as though the battle itself still lingered. “What happened here? The devastation stretches for miles and shows no signs of ending. Is this the war that is spoken of by the people of this land? But…why? To have so much catastrophe, how could this happen?” Jack thought, but never receiving an answer for his questions. He only received clues from the landscape of recovering nature and decrepit war remains. Jack decided he would find answers later, and tried returning his focus to the road, when a growling sound had interrupted him. He was surprised, as he didn’t feel his stomach make that noise, but turned his head to see Ashi with her gaze turned down. “Heh, sorry”. she said with an embarrassed smile. Jack smiled back to show there was nothing to be embarrassed for. “I suppose it is a good time as any to settled down for a meal.” Jack said. His gaze was brought to the highway signs above, as there was note about an upcoming exit that lead to a settlement. It was not far, and would only take a few minutes, according to the notice anyway. Jack decided to take the turn, taking the side road off the highway.

…

           Soon enough, Jack and Ashi saw a clearing with a settlement at the center. It was certainly not like the city they had left, as it would only take a walk to circle through it all, with only a few one-story buildings and some farming area, appearing to be just a fledgling outpost of a settlement. Though a Protectorate building was visible, there didn’t seem to be patrols, and Jack was used to walking in public and not attracting the wrong attention. He and Ashi just needed to be discrete and not stay long. They stopped and parked the motorcycle a little distance away from the entrance and stepped into the outpost. The settlers didn’t pay much mind, only glancing up before returning to their business. Jack saw a building that seemed to be a restaurant of some sorts. The restaurant was titled “Bartakovsky’s” and seemed lively enough, so they entered. The place appeared like a classic diner of sorts, with everyone casually sitting eating at burgers, fries, bacon and whatnot. Though when Jack and Ashi sat down and looked at the menu, Jack declared in pleasant surprise “Oh, they have sushi”. “Yeah, the proprietor’s a real aficionado for those eastern traditions and aspects, imported some of their delicacies and serves them in all his restaurants all over. They even say he went nuts over that, uh, bushido, or whatever it’s called. So, you’ll be having the sushi I guess, how about you, hon?” the waitress said, addressing Ashi now as she took Jack’s order. “Oh, I’d like the same, with a touch of wasabi” Ashi said as Jack was slightly startled. She took a liking to the food from Jack’s home, but he found that she was a little adventurous compared to the desert food stall. Strange squirming alien fish was one thing for Jack, but even familiar wasabi was a different story. As they waited, Jack could hear a couple of local men talking to each other from the booth next to theirs. “So, they make that delivery to the concentration area yet?” said one man. “Yeah, ‘bout last night. Don’t know why the Protectorate even bothers with them, those people deserved to be locked up there, it’s not worth the trip up road. Well, here’s hoping they get what they deserved” chuckled the other man. Jack was irritated at those words, aggravated at how some bystander was taking pleasure at how people were being abused by the Protectorate. He look at Ashi, and she held the same aggravation in her eyes as he did. They both affirmed with that gaze and a slight nod that they wouldn’t stand by. Just then, the sushi came around, with Ashi saying “Alright, I was starving” as they both thanked for the food and began to eat. Though Jack was pleased with the comfortingly familiar taste, he winced as he saw Ashi apply wasabi to the sushi in brave amounts and gulped them down with satisfaction. She noticed his gaze and suddenly had a devious look on her face that frightened him. “You want some?” Ashi said, holding in front of him some sushi covered in wasabi. “Oh, uh, no, no thank you, I’m-guh?!” he said incompletely as it was forced into his mouth. “Ah, come on, you can take a bite” she said in a mocking pleading voice. Jack gulped down the sushi as it already reached his throat, and after that, the overwhelming, burning flavor seized him. He laid one hand on the table as he was gasping with water flooding his eyes, unable to take the crippling taste that lingered in his mouth. He grabbed the nearby tea he prepared before as he drank it to help wash out the flavor. Meanwhile, Ashi was giggling at the sight of him. She didn’t like it when other people tried to harm the man she loved, but when it came to herself toying with him for the heck of it, that was another story. Jack looked up at her with an exasperated expression, and Ashi said “I’m sorry, but that was hilarious. You’ve been serious this whole time, so I thought a little heckling would help. Can’t believe you don’t like wasabi though.” “Believe me, it is much rarer to like it the way you do. Still, thank you for trying to lift my spirits. These moments are quite relieving, in a way.” Jack said, sharing a tender look between himself and Ashi. That was interrupted though as the overhead tv nearby suddenly changed programming. “We interrupt to bring you a priority message from the Magnus Protectorate. Approximately two days ago, a man of armed with a sword and dressed in white robes was found causing public terror in City Area 1B37, assaulting and killing several Protectorate personnel as they attempted to stop him from causing city damage and public distress. Attempts to catch the suspect in question have met with more fatalities, as he was later aided and abetted by a woman who has now been confirmed to have defected from the Protectorate. Both are armed and extremely dangerous, and have been responsible for the total deaths of more than 50 of our fine Cyber Troopers. The identified Renegade Samurai, Jack, and his accomplish, the defector Ashi, are still at large and yet to be apprehended. If you should see these two individuals or gain a clue to their whereabouts, please do not confront them, instead inform the nearest Protectorate personnel immediately.” the notice program declared. On the screen was surveillance footage of the events that transpired in the previous city, followed by the names and images of both Jack and Ashi, declaring them wanted fugitives. Murmurs had grown in the restaurant following that, sounding rather concerned. “Mommy, mommy, that man and lady there, weren’t they on the tv earlier?” said a little boy eagerly as he pointed to Jack and Ashi who realized with concern that they needed to leave. The mother pulled in her child close with a concerned look as the father pulled out his phone to call the Protectorate’s law enforcement line. Wouldn’t be necessary though, as two Cyber Troopers came walking through, armed and looking through the crowd. “Sir, we saw the fugitives, they’re right, huh?!” the father shouted in surprise as he realized the booth was empty.

…

           Following the close call at the Bartakovsky’s, Jack and Ashi rushed to the motorcycle and got back on the road. They didn’t turn back towards to the highway though, instead heading in the other direction that led up from the settlement. “So, we’re looking into that concentration area then?” Ashi asked, already knowing the answer. Jack nodded with a stern gaze on his face, stating “If there are people made to suffer under Magnus without reason, then we can’t leave it be.”. Ashi also nodded, still uncomfortable at how callous those men were about the whole situation of people being in prisoned. The motorcycle drove on as the sun was beginning to make its downward shift with the afternoon. Soon, they saw a fenced off area, with several towers with searchlights between every few stretches of steel wall, with a fortified gate at the front. Jack knew they weren’t getting in that way, so he stopped the motorcycle some distance away from the wall before he and Ashi made their way on foot. Checking to make sure they were not within sight of the search towers, Jack instructed Ashi to get on his back. She did so, a bit perplexed, then became surprised as he thrust himself in the air and over the wall, landing on the other side with no issue. “H-How…” Ashi asked, with Jack responding, “Jump good.”. Ashi smiled at him, saying “You better show me how to jump good next time then.” as she began to climb down. They pressed forward, keeping distance from the road as they followed it. Soon enough, they noticed an area with several buildings, some appearing to be living areas of the same look, and some appearing to be for Protectorate use. By the looks of it, this was the concentration area thy had heard of. They snuck into the area and could hear the sounds of grunting and shouting. They followed the sounds, and they saw a group of men and women chipping away at a granite block, which was now partially taking on the form of Magnus. The one doing the shouting appeared to be the Protectorate official in charge, a sergeant. “Come on, you worthless pieces of shit! The Lord Protector did not show you mercy so you could laze off, show your gratitude and make that statue the best damn statue you can get! You still got a bunch more to do before week is out!” the sergeant screamed. The men and women groaned in response. They appeared rough and weary, and were sweating to exhaustion. A common theme they all sported though, beside their prison attire, was the tattoo of what seemed to be a sparrow dripping in red. Jack saw one man collapse, breathing out his exhaustion as the sergeant advanced. “Hey, get back up! You don’t see these assholes taking a nap, do ya?! Come on, get up!” he said as he kicked the downed man in the chest. One of the imprisoned people, a stern-faced woman with a scar angled alongside it with disheveled hair and sharp muscle tone, decided she had enough. She ran to the soldier and punched him in the helmet as he fell down. “Gah, damn bitch, hey, troops, get in here and discipline these animals!” he cursed as he pulled out a firearm on the fierce woman. Jack’s bottled frustration finally took aim with his gun as he fired at the sergeant’s hand, disarming him in bloody manner as a bullet tore through his hand with him screaming. The woman took only a second to look at him and Ashi before stomping her foot down and crushing his throat. By now, the other troops arrived, numbering at around a dozen. Jack charged in, firing his gun as he closed the distance and shooting down two of them as he summarily stabbed one, slashed another, and cut off the firing arm of another, all dying from their wounds. Before the others could react, Ashi leapt in from behind, slitting the throats of two, shooting up another two with her SMG, and then kicking the last one own as she stabbed him in the chest. They looked from the carnage to the Troops’ captives. “Whoa, never saw anyone kill bucket heads like that. So, who are you, anyways?” the woman asked, impressed with the display. “Jack”, “Ashi” they each responded. “We heard about this “concentration area” and figured people were being held abused here. Guess that’s true?” Ashi asked. “Yeah, it’s true as hell. Those Protectorate bastards hauled us all the way here to make glorified statues of their son-of-a-bitch leader Magnus. Been like that for 10 years now, till you came along. Anyway, name’s Soldra, and this sorry lot’s what’s left of our people, the Blood Sparrows. So, you got a plan?” Soldra asked. Jack and Ashi looked at each other, realizing they had only thought to check out the place, not organize a breakout, so they shook their heads. “Well, making it up as we go along works too. All right people, we’re ditching this place. Let’s raid the armory and burst through the gates!” Sandra declared with clarity and pride. The Blood Sparrows, gaining some rejuvenation through the increasing morale, formed up and ran to a nearby building. When they came back out, they were armed with whatever they could get, from combat blades to firearms and even a missile launcher. “Hey, give that thing a test, show our “Lord Protector” our gratitude, huh” Sandra said. The Blood Sparrows smiled at that idea, followed with a fired missile at the statue. The explosion tore it to scatteredbits as the fractured face of Magnus landed near Jack. “All right, let’s move it!” Sandra said followed by cheers from the group they ran towards the gate, firing the rocket launcher at the gate, bursting it open. The guards from the watch towers that tried to stop them were shot down. Once they were outside, the Blood Sparrows cheered. “Hah, not so easy keeping us penned in when we’ve got the guns now! Listen, thanks for busting us out of that hell hole. We’ll remember it.” Sandra said. Jack and Ashi smiled as the Blood Sparrows marched forwards, pleased with their actions. They decided to make their own way back to the motorcycle, not yet realizing the full consequences of their actions.

…

           After prepping for a bit, Jack and Ashi set back on the road with the motorcycle. Since it led to a dead end at the concentration area, they decided to go back the way they came, deciding to try to keep distance from the settlement as they would make their way to the settlement. At least, that was the plan, but that was immediately forgotten by Jack and Ashi when they saw smoke in the direction of the settlement as they drove down. Jack pressed down on the throttle, and sure enough, the evening sky became blackened with fire and smoke, and the source of it all was the now burning settlement, with several of the buildings aflame or blown up. They could hear the sounds of screaming and gunfire, indicating whatever hostiles responsible were still there attacking the settlers. Jack stopped the motorcycle as it skidded in front of the settlement with him and Ashi running into the haze of flame and smoke. They saw several settlers screaming and others limping away with bleeding gunshot ones. Others around lay dead. They then saw something both surprising and traumatic. The same three-person family they saw in the diner was trapped in one of the burning buildings, pleading for help.  Before Jack and Ashi could do so though, a pair of Cyber Troopers rushed in instead, kicking down the door and running into the flames. They returned out a moment later, one carrying the parents on his shoulders and the other carrying the child on his back. Once they got away from the burning home, the troops gently deposited the family on the ground who were coughing. “Are you alright? We’ll evacuate the area and send word to the nearest outpost for backup, so let’s mo-GAHH?!” the heroic Cyber Trooper screamed in death as he was met with a bleeding gunshot to the back. The family became mortified with the death of one of their saviors, the boy huddled into the arms of his family, crying. The other trooper became alert and turned to the source. Out of the flames came two dozen, and as their silhouettes became clear, bearing ferocity in their steeled eyes and vicious smiles, Jack and Ashi couldn’t believe it. The killers were the Blood Sparrows. “War criminal bastards, I won’t let- Aghh!” the last Cyber Trooper yelled as he was met with a hail of gunfire, falling down in a small pool of his own blood. “Hey, why did you stop?! These wusses live under and serve that goddamn Protectorate, so their just as much targets as those bleddin’ bucket heads!” Soldra shouted, edging the others forward. “PLEASE, please just leave my family alone, I’m sorry we- uggh” the father pleaded as a shot went through his heart and he fell dead. “DADDY!” the son shouted trying to reach his deceased father in tears, the mother holding both him and her own tears back. The Blood Sparrows prepared to fire again when a shout came. “SOLDRA, STOP THIS!” Jack screamed in fury stepped forward to defend themother and child, Ashi bearing the same rage as him. “Wait, Jack, Ashi, wha, why are you stopping us? There damn Protectorate supporters, they do nothing, no worse than nothing, when they give everything to that ass Magnus!” Soldra retaliated. “Just because they’re his citizens doesn’t make them the same as his soldiers! These are defenseless men, women, and children you’re trying to slaughter! Why even bother, you’re free, there’s no need to fight!” Ashi counteracted. “Free, no need to fight, don’t give me that bullshit! Our people fought in the war 50 years ago, fighting for everything we could get. Then that damn Magnus put an end to that and tried to force his damn treaty on us! We weren’t taking that, so we kept fighting back, even as Magnus took more of our land and people accepted his goddamn protection! Our families and now ourselves kept the fight going for 40 years even when Magnus labelled us war criminals, and he decided to slaughter scores of us, claiming it was for the bloody peace! We were all that was left, and he eventually shackled us and threw us into that damn concentration area as “penance” for our crimes. We were treated like shit by the Protectorate for 10 whole years, and their people never spoke for us, they just mocked us as we were dragged away! We’re all that’s left, everyone else died fighting the Protectorate, and I say that’s how we’ll live and die too! Anything but kiss Magnus’s ass for life!” Soldra declared with no signs of remorse. Jack was shocked by all this. Though they were abused, the people before him were war criminals who denied any chance for peaceful resolution, and didn’t care who got caught in their vengeance against Magnus. Their anger was understandable, but to strike down innocents just to try and hurt Magnus, there was nothing righteous in it. He looked to Soldra, hoping to say something for compromise, but then held his tongue as she saw the look in her eyes. It wasn’t the same humbled gratitude as before, only maddened pain and rage was there, ready to slaughter anything for suffered injustice. Jack steeled himself, silently cursing himself for what he had to do. He drew his sword, and declared “Leave, now.” even though he knew that wasn’t happening. The Blood Sparrows readied their own weapons. Amid the burning wreckage and smoke, there was a long silence between the two groups that was only broken by the cackling flames until the words came. “Kill them!” Soldra shouted. The Blood Sparrows fired, but Jack and Ashi were ready, Jack deflecting shots with his sword as Ashi fired, breaking the enemy formation and taking out three of them. They were in close now, as Jack cut down two Blood Sparrows and stabbed a third. The others retaliated, bringing out combat blades to clash with the pair. Five had tried to corner and assault Ashi, thinking their numbers and superior blades would make it easy. They were wrong, as Ashi slashed the arm of the first attacker wide open, grabbed his blade, and now with two blades, parried two more attackers followed by sharp stabs. The last two tried a pincer maneuver, but Ashi blocked again, and took advantage of the lock to use her foot to break the balance one and stabbed them as thy fell. The other, a woman, tried to attack from behind while she did so, but Ashi, had grabbed her opponent’s arm without looking at her and threw her down in front of her. The Blood Sparrow opened their eyes to see Ashi bring her combat blade down to her forehead right before her death. Jack dealt with another five breaking the blades of two apart as he then slashed into the attackers, then blocked a third. He reached for his firearm and shot the unsuspecting opponent through the chest, followed by a couple of shots to the shoulders of the two remaining Blood Sparrows, causing them to drop their weapons as Jack sliced the Blood Sparrows apart. Including Soldra, 5 remained. “Hold that one off, I’ll deal with Jack.” Soldra said. The four Blood Sparrows closed in on Ashi, and as Jack tried to join her, he was intercepted with a blade from Soldra. His eyes furrowed in frustration as he now began clashing with her. While the clash was going on, Ashi had kicked the combat blade from one Blood Sparrow, cut him through the chest, parried and then stabbed another using her two weapons, and then ducked one attacker and slashed at her knees followed by a stab to the back. The last, enraged, tried going in for a frontal charge. It was practically suicide, as he literally charged in headfirst and then got stabbed through the skill, blood overflowing from the head. Returning to Jack’s fight, he had tried to go in for a parry and gunshot, but Soldra saw this and tossed his pistol aside. She then went in with a raged flurry of blows, Jack countering each one and trying to find an opening. He found it, and slashed across Soldra’s arm, not completely, but enough that it was a gruesome sight. Soldra collapsed from the sheer agony as blood spilled from her side, and now she was screaming in rage. “AHHH, YOU BASTARD! You damn bastard! You’re just like him, you’re just like that asshole Magnus! You think you can just make everyone see your way and make the fighting stop or else?! We could never accept being beaten by someone like that and follow his rules! Screw his rule and order, and screw you too! Whose side are on anyway?!”. Jack was stunned by the accusation, as he had never been cursed like this, to be seen as unjust, or be seen as anything like his enemy. He wanted to counter, but it actually hit home in some ways. He did think in how to make others see compromise, and often times used violence to resolve conflicts that came to violence. He hadn’t even thought of what to do if someone rejected his point to the end, but in times where it came to that, then he had to be the one who delivered the end. He always thought being neutral in conflicts was best, so to have that called out as the worse decision, it made him think in troubled manner. Ultimately, he came to realize, however much he wanted to reject it, how close his beliefs came to Magnus’s doctrine. “Well, what are you waiting for?! End it!” Soldra shouted. Jack looked down with distress on his face. Ashi came to his side, and she had heard what had been said and could read his expression and meaning. She placed a hand on his arm, indicating that she would see it through. Jack shook his head, as he knew he started this, and needed to accept the responsibility and consequences. So, with one clan stroke, he slashed across Soldra’s neck as her head toppled off. With that, the last of the Blood Sparrows, a warring people, had been ended by Jack’s hands. He turned to the mother and child, who were now crying over the fallen father. The surviving settlers had begun to gather around the scene, and began to recognize Jack and Ashi. “Hey, you’re the damn renegades the Protectorate warned everyone about! You let those crazy war criminals loose, didn’t you?!” shouted a settler. “No, wait, I…” Jack said before getting interrupted. “Get out of here, haven’t you killed enough of us already, or do you want slaughter all of us like they did?!” shouted another settler. Jack looked around in shock, realizing that all this destruction and death, it was the result of his actions. He looked to the mourning family. “I… I am sorry, I…” Jack said before the boy looked up at him with eyes filled with anger and tears. “You… you killed my daddy! I HATE YOU!” the boy screamed at the wide-eyed Samurai. Jack felt his soul writhing in guilt then, and could only close his eyes to try to accept the current reality. He simply picked up his gun, sheathed his sword, and walked out of the burning settlement, his own shame forbidding him from looking back. Ashi followed along, wanting to say something, but never able to think of the right words, only look at him with concern and grief. They returned to the motorcycle and began to depart into the blazing night. Ashi held her arms tight around Jack, trying to convey to Jack that it would be alright, that she would be there when he wanted to talk things out and would stand by him. Jack felt and appreciated the loving effort, but couldn’t bear to speak or even smile. In fact, the comfort of the hug made him feel a little worse in the end, as he felt he only deserved condemnation.

…

“Shit, this report accurate Xander?” Magnus asked in slight dismay. “Yes, Lord Protector. The Samurai Jack and his partner Ashi were sighted in the settlement nearest to City Area 1B37, and are believed responsible for the breakout at the concentration area. The Blood Sparrows went on a massacre, inflicting fatalities on our people. The Samurai and the traitor were then witnessed killing all of the Blood Sparrows.” Xander reported, grim from reading the details. “Those Blood Sparrows had always been a pain, never letting the war go and inflicting fatalities everywhere. By the time we were done cornering them to submission, they were so few, like they wanted to die fighting in vain. That Jack was a real dumbass, letting those lunatics loose.” Magnus mused. He had attempted numerous times to broker peace with the Blood Sparrows, but they always tried to kill his messengers in return. Trying to subdue them turned into a bloodbath with how resistant they were, and after a 40-year campaign, only 2 dozen were left to capture. It was a pity, and even though they wouldn’t want of it, Magnus thought they could be saved and redeemed if they labored and reflected on their actions. In the end though, it turned to a complete and bloody genocide. That was how foolish resistance to the death really was. “Well, we can add this to his list of crimes, but it goes to show what damage he’s really capable of. Xander, notify the 1st Class Inquisitors, tell them to bring down Samurai Jack, dead or alive, as soon as possible.” Magnus declared. “Yes, Lord Protector.” Xander stated as he left the room. Magnus then turned to the night sky and looked out over the lit city below his citadel. He would protect everything he had built, and see that no rogue elements, whether warring parties or a samurai, would threaten what he labored for. The Inquisitors would see to that. The 1st Class Inquisitors, no rogue element stands a chance. You will suffer the consequences, Samurai Jack. Magnus thought as he turned away from the view, confident he and his world would be free of the Renegade Samurai.

Author Note:

So, the tone changed fast huh. Near the beginning you had a funny, cute moment with Ashi force feeding Jack wasabi, and by the end Jack kills the people he helped in the first place. You’re probably thinking “Dan, why the hell are you making this dark?”. Well, I actually planned this chapter to be the first moment when Jack runs into a serious moral dilemma. He tried to solve one of this world’s conflicts using his same right and wrong sense, but it turns out horribly as things just aren’t that simple or black and white. I doubt the other moral conflicts will be this bad, but this was designed to set a very bloody first impression. Heck, I even allude to the war talked about so far, and it will be explained and have a heavy role in the backstory. Now, on the lighter things. Yeah, the whole Bartakovsky’s thing is a reference to Genndy Tartakovsky, the creator of Samurai Jack and other cartoon shows and movies. I planned for some time to do a diner in reference to him, but changed the name slightly to be cautious. It is just a joke, don’t want any plagiarism or unauthorized use accusations. Rest assured, Bartakovsky’s is going to pop up a few times in Renegade Samurai. I put sushi in the diner just because of how I wanted to give Jack a regular chance to have the taste of home, and reference how Tartakovsky had a fascination with Asian traditions like bushido. The whole wasabi thing was just for a tender and funny romance bit, and I figured that while Ashi is tough enough to handle it, Jack is tamer in comparison. You have no idea how funny the scene was in my head. Now then, next chapter will have Jack confronting another dilemma as he and Ashi are confronted by one of the Inquisitors of the Magnus Protectorate.

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 21

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Christmas brings about new beginnings for all, and for the first time in Feyre's life, hope. Final chapter excluding epilogue and bonus chapters.

Chapter 21

I woke up three days later on Christmas morning to a house full of people I’d never expected would be there again. For a long time I stayed in bed nestled under the covers staring at the little stars I’d painted on my ceiling. When I heard mom yell at Nesta downstairs that she was letting the bacon burn, I smiled and pulled the covers over my head.

At the end of a very long, taxing day at the hospital, mom had driven me home. She went to her apartment only long enough to get some clothes before returning. I was going back to the apartment with her after Christmas was over to spend the holidays with her, but once break was over, she was breaking her lease early and coming home so I could finish out senior year with as few road bumps as possible.

Nesta and Elain stayed too, though they were going back to their respective homes at school the day after Christmas. Too much grading and research they’d missed out on from taking emergency time off.

“I made French Toast,” Elain said, setting a delicious looking plate in front of me when I sat down at the table. It was hard passing the living room knowing dad wasn’t going to be sitting in his chair. We hadn’t even decorated the house. Neither of us had felt like it.

“It looks amazing,” I said. My sister beamed at me.

“Nesta - what did I tell you about the bacon!”

“Fuck all if I care.”

“OH!” Mom threw down her towel and stomped her foot. I broke out into a laugh. “You think this is funny, Feyre?”

“Actually, yeah, I kind of do.”

Nesta threw her head back and cackled. She mussed up my hair on her way to the cabinets for something or other and whispered, “I knew you were really on my side.”

Elain sank into the chair next to me trying to hide her grin behind her large coffee mug.

At noon, we drove to the hospital. Dad mostly slept, he was so heavily medicated. Part of me was grateful we didn’t have to talk. I was angry and sad for him all at once, but dealing with mom was enough for now. I didn’t think I could handle both of them at once just yet.

But watching him sleep and knowing he would live brought me some small comfort. It would be hard and we would all have to help him fight, not just me anymore, but he could do it. Every time I thought about him slipping away again and never coming back to me, I broke out into tears. That night finding him on the bed and screaming my head off was going to haunt me for a long while yet.

It was one of the biggest reasons I asked mom if I could see my own therapist. After spending the better part of a year resurrecting myself from the dead only to keep finding myself in pockets of despair, not always knowing how I got there, I decided it was time I needed help. I couldn’t keep fighting on my own anymore.

And mom was home. And my snarky sisters actually felt like real sisters for the first time maybe ever. And my first semester grades were halfway decent. Things were really looking up, especially when it came to -

My phone pinged. Rhys was waiting in the parking lot for me.

Should I come up?

Nah i’ll meat you outside.

Yes, darling.

…

*meet

Prick.

But a handsome prick whom you love for helping you read and write better.

It is your only talent.

Feyre, you wound me. I have many other talents as your lips well know by now.

That remains to be seen.

A slew of shocked face emojis flooded the next text and I smiled as I put my phone away and put my coat back on. We’d been at the hospital sitting with dad for well over an hour. Nesta never complained once about the time nor dad’s silence.

“Is it time already, Feyre?” mom asked.

“She’s in luuuuuv, mom,” Elain crooned, giving me heart eyes. “Time waits for no one when you’re in love.”

“This is the young man who was waiting with you when you came in with your father?”

She addressed this question to me.

“Yes, yes it is.”

“At six in the morning?”

My cheeks blushed and I lowered my head, pretending to straighten my hair to hide the redness. “Mhm.”

“It was Winter Formal the night before,” Nesta said. “So naturally, Feyre was up late.”

“You’re one to talk, Nesta.”

We glared at each other hotly. Mom simply said, “Well I hope you’re being safe. Both of you.”

“Oh my gosh, can we not?!”

“Bye honey,” she said with one of those mom smiles that took way too much pleasure in embarrassing the crap out of their kids. “And don’t think we aren’t going to talk about this Rhysand when you get home tonight, which you will do at a reasonable hour.” She kissed me on the cheek and spun me towards the door. “Have fun!”

“Yeah, got it, thanks!”

I ran out to Rhys’s car and flung myself into the front seat. “She’s awful!” I screeched, buckling myself in. “She wants to talk about you and I and, I think, about sex tonight when I get home. I haven’t had to have the sex talk with my parents since… well I can’t remember the last time!”

Rhys chuckled. “So she’s being a good mom again then?”

I sank into my seat with a sigh. “Yeah, she is. Heh.”

We smiled and sped off towards Rhys’s house. Morrigan showered me with her presence the moment I was through the door. I was the lone exception to the family-only rule today given that I wasn’t staying for the entirety of Christmas vacation while I went with mom and life had been kind of hectic. Rhys convinced his dad I needed a break.

“Feyre - hey!” Rhys’s dad came in from outside wearing a grilling apron and holding a metal spatula. A delightful mix of barbeque and herbs wafted in from the outdoor deck. Thank goodness for California weather for letting us get away with a barbeque in the middle of Christmas.

“I brought you this. Merry Christmas, sir.”

I handed over a small package wrapped in tinfoil. I think it took him by surprise. Rhys eyed me curiously as his dad opened it.

“Oatmeal cookies!”

“I told you she’s a knockout, dad,” Rhys said, coming to put his arm around me.

“You barbeque for Christmas?” I asked.

“Every year. Family tradition.”

“Rhys, get out here and help your old man for a second. Give Feyre a break from looking at your sorry face too much.”

Rhys whistled. “Well, I see where you and Mor get it from.”

“Hey!” Mor bumped into me and pulled me toward her. She was a physical one, Miss Morrigan. “I resent that. Come on, I got you a present!”

“You tell me you resent me by getting me gifts?”

“Shut up.”

She traipsed toward the tree and removed a small, flat rectangular package from underneath it and handed it to me.

“Well open it!”

I tore the wrapping paper off and discovered a simple wooden frame containing a picture - one of me and Rhys. It was from when we went camping together. Early morning judging by the faint yellows and pinks cresting the skyline along the trees. Rhys and I were nestled together in our sleeping bags up on the hill I’d found him on when Mor kicked him out. She must have woken up extra early to get this pic on her phone.

“I can’t believe you have a picture of this! Morrigan, this is magnificent. I could kiss you.”

“Please do, Feyre. I’d love to see my cousin’s face. He says you’re a good kisser. I can’t get him to shut up about it.”

“Just talk about how lovely Azriel’s tongue is. That’ll shut him up. How thick and hot and skilled it is, among other things I’m sure-”

“Feyre Archeron!” Morrigan blushed the deepest shade of scarlet I’d seen on her yet. “I shower you with gifts and look how you betray me.”

“You know it’s true.”

“What’s true?” Rhys asked, coming back in from outside.

“Nothing!” Mor shouted. Rhys cocked his head curiously and came up behind me, murmuring wickedly in my ear.

“What did you do to my cousin and how do I get in on it?”

I laughed heartily, much to Mor’s dismay and shoved the picture at him. “Look what she gave me.”

Rhys was startled when he saw what was held within the frame, but he broke into the most beautiful grin afterward and nuzzled into my neck. “A night I’d very much like to repeat now that I can kiss you, darling.” His lips descended onto my neck.

“Oh you two are pigs.” Morrigan huffed herself outside while I turned around and laughed myself silly into Rhys’s chest.

“That really was a wonderful night,” he said.

“It was. You know, I don’t think I’d have made it had it not been for that night. That entire trip, really.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was the first time in forever I’d felt like myself again. That I’d felt happy with friends.” I paused a moment, playing with the buttons of his shirt, finely pressed as always and today cherry red Christmas, before continuing. “I asked my mom about seeing someone - a therapist.”

Rhys’s brow flicked up in surprise. “Did you now?”

“Yeah, it’s time, I think.”

He took my hands and led me to the couch where we could sit down. I crossed my legs and sat sideways next to him.

“And how do we feel about that?”

“Good. A little nervous. But I think could have used this ages ago. I’m ready.”

He flicked me lovingly on the nose, a gesture only he could ever get away with, before tucking my hair behind my ear. I leaned in to the touch. “I’m proud of you. You’ve made a lot of progress and you’re kicking ass.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it.”

“Sometimes it won’t, but the important thing is you’re trying and hopefully sometime soon you’ll have more days of ass kicking then you do days you don’t.”

“You speak from experience?”

“Actually…”

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Rhys blew out hot air nervously before meeting me square on.

“I called Tamlin.” My jaw plummeted. “I thought that might be the reaction.”

“When?!”

“Last night. I told him I had talked to you and that it would be nice if we could move on in peace. He seemed grateful that I had called. I don’t think we’re ever going to be friends again like we were as kids, but… it’s nice to know we can pass each other at school now and not feel like we have to hate each, even if we don’t… well.”

Sliding into his lap, I kissed him slowly sending all the love and considerable warmth I felt about him into his lips. It was a chaste kiss. A sweet kiss. A kiss that said I love you.

“What was that for?” Rhys said, a little breathless when we broke apart.

“You’re not the only one who’s proud of someone today,” I replied. Rhys hummed low in his throat. “In fact,” I said sliding my fingers down his chest until I was dangerously close to his waistline an inch above his pants, “I’d say we’ve earned ourselves a reward.”

“My father is not more than sixty feet from this couch Feyre,” he said, but he chuckled over every word.

“You have a basement. Use it.”

Rhys stood scooping me up as he went. “As milady commands. Though you really should have told me about this doing it in public kink of yours before we started dating. I would have taken out an insurance policy given the risks.”

“Pft!” I scoffed. “Why? Scared you won’t be able to perform under pressure? Maybe I should take out the insurance policy. High risk of disappoint-”

His lips cut me off as his bedroom door opened. “Rhys?” his dad called from outside. We closed the door, pretending not to hear, and descended into his room in a chorus of hushed snickers and reckless kisses.

It was the most hopeful I’d ever felt.

The End

xx

[allofbeercom]

‘The only Olympic legacy I see is repression and war’ – a year in Rio’s favelas

Few visitors to Rio 2016 will see behind the wall of shame colourful murals that screen off the citys poorer communities. Here, young journalists from favelas look back on 12 months scarred by Zika, landslides and police violence

When the Guardian asked community journalists in three of Rio de Janeiros biggest favelas to start a year-long diary last August, few could have predicted just how tumultuous the following 12 months would prove for their city and Brazil.

The idea was for the young reporters Daiene Mendes in Alemo, Michel Silva in Rocinha and Thas Cavalcante in Mar to record life in their communities as the city geared up to host the 2016 Olympics and Paralympics an event that has brought R$39.1bn (9.1bn) in spending, but also far more police activity.

Many of their entries extracted below are filled with tension and violence as they describe being woken by police helicopters and going to sleep with the sound of shooting outside their homes. The number of killings is worse than some war zones. All too often, they write, the police are to blame.

Some of their views are contentious. For their own safety, the three reporters are limited in their ability to touch on the subject of the drug-trafficking gangs that still dominate their communities. Public security authorities dispute their claims that police pacification units (UPPs) in Alemo and Rocinha, and increased operations in Mar (which has no UPP) have led to more violence. Many academics believe the situation in Rio would be worse if police resources were only used to protect rich neighbourhoods. The city government says it has improved the lives of favela residents by building more roads, upgrading public transport and opening more schools and clinics.

But such benefits which vary enormously from place to place are overshadowed by conflict, which the diarists believe has worsened with the upcoming Olympics. They have also had to deal with the Zika outbreak, recession, government budget cuts, the impeachment of president Dilma Rousseff and (in Rocinha) mudslides.

By any measure, it has been an extraordinary year. But, what also comes through in the diaries is how residents in the favelas get on with their lives, celebrate festivals, share achievements and support one another. The Olympics and the police, it seems, merely get in the way. Jonathan Watts

Michel Silva, reporting from Rocinha. Daiene Mendes, reporting from Alemo. Thas Cavalcante, reporting from Mar. Photograph: Jonathan Watts for the Guardian

21 August 2015 Rocinha

A teenage resident is killed today during a shootout between drug traffickers and police. It barely makes the news. Rio de Janeiro is more focused on the Olympic test events in the richer areas of the city. Shootouts and killings in favelas are rarely reported. There are many clashes between police and gangs. When two armed powers operate in the same territory, confrontation is inevitable.

23 September Mar

My bus home is stopped by a protest. I dont discover the cause until I arrive home. Hours earlier, 11-year-old Herinaldo Vincius de Santana was fatally shot in the head on the way to buy a ping-pong ball. He is the second young victim this month in Mar. According to data released by Amnesty International, more than half of registered killings by on-duty police in Rio de Janeiro between 2010 and 2013 were of young people between the ages of 15 and 29. Of those killed, 79% were black.

30 September Alemo

At 10am, a young man, 20-year-old Deyverson Avelino, is shot dead in the Canitar neighbourhood of Alemo. The favela is flooded with police. Residents say Avelino died on the spot, but police claim he succumbed to his wounds at the emergency care unit. Sometimes the police lie. There have been times when I have seen something happen, then requested a press release from the police, who have provided a completely different story.

Favelas are often flooded with police. Photograph: Mario Tama/Getty Images

31 October Alemo

The NGO Voice of the Community, which I used to work for, holds a festival for children in Alemos Olympic Village, a large sports complex. The event lights up the community with the smiles of hundreds of local kids. It is a lot of fun. In the evening, the police hand out baskets of basic necessities in the Alvorada neighbourhood. It is an attempt to win over the residents. The gangs used to provide this service so now the police have sort of taken over the task.

17 October Rocinha

Rocinha is very tense after the shooting of two young men in the favela in less than 24 hours. One of the injured, Adson da Conceio Figueiredo, 24, was shot by police during a raid. The other, whose identity was never revealed, was shot while hiking from Rocinha to Chacara do Cu in Leblon. Angry residents block a highway in protest and the UPP commander requests reinforcement to control the situation. Police use teargas, pepper spray and rifle fire to suppress the demonstration.

24 October Alemo

Commerce in Alemo is ordered to shut down after police kill a drug-trafficking gang member, 26-year-old Paulo Ricardo da Silva, known as PL or Polho. The gang insists all shops close to mourn him.

2 December Rocinha

A pregnant woman has to be rescued from a landslide in the Trampolim neighbourhood of Rocinha after a thunderstorm hits our community. Storms are always a concern because people build houses on slopes where the ground is not stable. Construction is supposed to be prohibited, but everyone knows the authorities wont do anything.

I am infected by the Zika virus. I dont plan to get pregnant any time soon but, if I do, I will worry whether my baby will be born healthy. Photograph: Buda Mendes/LatinContent/Getty

5 December Mar

There is growing concern about the Zika virus in the news. It seems to hit favelas hardest. In Mar, Ive seen at least six people who have been infected. I am one of them. Often, when we get sick, doctors at public hospitals will not see us because they are not being paid their salaries. And when they prescribe medicines, we are left to pay for them. I had to go home and wait until I got better. The reports say it can cause problems in foetuses, but we dont have enough information. I dont plan to get pregnant any time soon but, if I do, I will worry whether my baby will be born healthy.

6 December Rocinha

Tour operators treat favelas like zoos, but that might end soon. A motion to reform the safari trips through favelas was tabled in the municipal government today by councillor Clio Lupparelli, who says the visits are arranged by companies from outside the favela who pay little heed to the cultural, historical and artistic aspects of our community. Instead, tourists just focus on degradation, poverty, violence and misery and leave without any interaction with local culture.

13 December Rocinha

Rocinha social networks were buzzing today with a community appeal to raise money for a family who lost everything in a fire. It is often the case that the community fills the gap left by social services. If we waited for the authorities, it would take too long because of the bureaucracy involved.

25 December Rocinha

Instead of Christmas cheer, there was fear in Rocinha after a shootout between police and locals that left one dead and six injured. Jorge Arui, a 49-year-old merchant, was killed on his way to the shops to buy bread. Locals said the gunfight started after the police demanded music from a party be turned off.

2 January 2016 Alemo

Its 5.40pm and I hear shots nearby. Over time, your ears grow accustomed. The volume and crack tell you how far you are from the gunfire and whether it is from a powerful weapon. I would rather not learn these things, but it is not a matter of choice: it is a question of survival. My ears are used to it, but my heart is not. The closer the shots, the stronger it beats. Each time, the symptoms are the same: pounding heart, cold trembling hands, eyes wide open and all senses on alert.

19 January Mar

The construction of the Factory of Tomorrow School a municipal educational project is underway. It has been a long time since the authorities invested so much time and money in our children. The promises came only after they announced the World Cup and Olympics. It will be good to have more schools in Mar but its frustrating that our demands are not met without political motivations.

Ongoing preparation at Porto Maravilha ahead of the Olympics. Photograph: Bloomberg via Getty

23 January Mar

The community is full of energy today as we celebrated summer in Mar with a pre-carnival street party. Our goal is to have this event recognised as one of the citys blocos or neighbourhood parades. Everyone met at the Lona Cultural, a hub for music and other events, in the heat of the afternoon and then we sweatily partied our way towards the Pontilho at night. This is an area that was taken over by the military but today we occupied it with dancing and festivity. The drummers kept up a strong rhythm, people painted their faces, mothers in brightly coloured clothes brought their young children along. We will have other blocos at the Pontilho. The police put their armoured cars there, but we bring baile funk and go to play at the nearby amusement parks and skating rinks. I think its important to occupy these areas as a form of resistance.

29 January Rocinha

My sister, Monique, witnessed a shooting and robbery inside the Rebouas tunnel, which links the north and south zones of Rio. According to the military police, a motorbike was stolen and the victim was shot twice in the arm. The incident caused panic. Drivers feared it was a mass robbery and abandoned their cars to run outside the tunnel. There is a frightening climate of fear in this city. People head off to work each morning, not knowing whether they will return home in the evening.

9 February Alemo

I go to a carnival party in Inhama, which ends in chaos at 2am when police try to drive through the crowd to turn off the sound. Locals throw beer bottles. Police respond with shots and stun grenades. For more than 30 years, the state had not been present in Rios favelas, and now it is mostly represented by military police. The police cant be the solution because they are protagonists and lack legitimacy.

22 February Mar

Today, I have one of the worst experiences I can remember. On my way to college, I am almost caught up in fighting during a police action. I take shelter behind a car and cover my ears. The gunfire is very loud. So is my crying. I drop my food and go to college in a state of shock. When I return home, there are empty rounds of ammunition on the floor. The news reports that 19-year-old resident, Igor Silva, 19, was fatally shot in the chest by an officer from the core special police unit. He worked at a local pharmacy, but the police insist he is a criminal. This is a day that makes me rethink my life.

8 March Alemo

Last night, there was such a fierce gun battle that I could not go home. My WhatsApp groups warned of the tension in the favela, so a friend offered to let me stay at her house.

A police officer walks past distressed residents in the Alemo favela. Photograph: Felipe Dana/AP

12 March Rocinha

Heavy rain turns the community into a river. Thats not news. It is always like this in a storm. One resident 58-year-old Carlos M da Silva dies after being dragged into a ditch. When it rains, the volume of water and garbage that comes down the hillside is huge. Residents say Carlos was trying to unclog a manhole and was carried by the force of the current and debris. He was a street cleaner and worked clearing ditches. He died trying to help the community, as he had always done.

23 March Mar

The countrys economic crisis is affecting many sectors of society. Teachers are on strike because of their low salaries. This has gone on for so many months that students have occupied more than 30 public schools to stake a claim to a better education. They sleep in the classrooms. My old high school where many Mar residents have studied the Viscount of Cairo College is one of the occupied schools.

17 April Mar

A very important day for the country the lower house votes on the impeachment of president Dilma Rousseff. We are experiencing a coup. There are protests across the country, but Mar does not raise its voice. We have not forgotten that the president approved the military occupation of all the favelas of Mar in 2014.

Life on the margins of Rios upcoming Olympics. Photograph: Mario Tama/Getty

21 April Rocinha

A newly built cycle lane collapses after being hit by a strong wave. Among the fatalities is a 60-year-old Rocinha resident, Ronaldo Severino da Silva, who used to go for walks along that cycle path on his days off. The construction, which was inaugurated in January, cost R$44m (10m) but failed to account for the impact of waves. This is absurd because it was built on the coast. But it is not an isolated accident Rio is full of botched work.

7 May Rocinha

The Olympic committee hosts a one-day festival in the Rocinha sports complex, from 8am to 1pm, where people can try out popular and unusual sports and children can pose next to the Olympic and Paralympic mascots. There wasnt much information about the event, and not many people come. It is the first time the mascots visited Rocinha. Until now, there hasnt been any legacy for the community. Just marketing.

12 May Mar

On the way home from my sisters house, I hear shots ahead of me. I call my mother to check whether it is safe to return. Later, I learn that a core special police unit has killed a local resident 24-year-old Oswaldo Rocha. This time, the lethal shooting doesnt even make the newspapers. Violence in the favela has become trivialised. People have a new topic of discussion when they chat at bus stops and in checkout queues and lifts: Rousseff has been removed from the presidency. And who will lose most from this? As always, it will be us. The vice-president, Michel Temer, who has taken over, has promised to reduce workers rights. Im worried about what will come next.

17 May Rocinha

The extension of Metro Line 4, which will finally give Rocinha residents a subway station, has been delayed and when it does open, we will not initially be allowed to use it because priority will be given to Olympic pass holders, including athletes, organisers and tourists.

The cable-stayed bridge that will carry the new Metro Line 4 subway line into Rocinha. Photograph: Mario Tama/Getty

10 June Rocinha

A court has awarded damages to the family of Amarildo de Souza, a Rocinha resident who was tortured and killed by military police in July 2013. About a dozen officers have been convicted for the case, which was a turning point in relations between the UPP police unit and the community. Since de Souzas death, the UPP has lost credibility with the locals. The number of police officers has been reduced and the level of violence has increased. I used to think the UPP programme was good but, over the years, I have come to feel cheated. There is no point investing in security if there is a lack of other basic public services such as health, leisure and education.

19 June Alemo

On TV, I follow the Olympic torch passing through several cities of Brazil. Nearer home, there is a major confrontation. Police are everywhere. I cannot leave the house the shots are too close. Instead, I wait. Another resident, 31-year-old Roseli Jesus, has a different fate: she is shot in the back and dies instantly. Another local, 19-year-old Luiz Felipe Alves, has to be hospitalised.

Ahead of the Olympics, police operations have become more intense. More people are dying. That could be my family, my friends, maybe even me.

Both police officers and civilians have been injured in shootouts in Alemo. Photograph: Mario Tama/Getty

22 June Alemo

A distressing day. Im outside the favela, but my phone buzzes with messages throughout the day as people simultaneously report hearing shots at various locations. I dont know how to return home. One resident, Isabel Martins, is hit by a bullet in the Alvorada community. It wounds her arm. In a shootout in my own neighbourhood of Nova Brasilia, a police officer is struck in the thigh. Given the terrible situation, the best response from the government would be to remove police from Alemo. The UPP has not worked. We want police who respect us as citizens.

24 June Mar

Today is the birthday of my older sister. We have spent the past week organizing a surprise party, but it proves difficult. We wake at 5am to the sound of shots. Live television coverage shows three armoured vehicles patrolling the neighbourhood. Amid all this uncertainty, my family decides to go ahead with the party. Outside, three men lose their lives. They are shot a short distance away from the house where we are. It is really sad to celebrate life amid so much death. But this is our way to resist.

29 June Mar

I go to sleep hearing gunshots and then I wake with them. This is becoming routine. BOPE special police forces have entered three Mar favelas. I have good news today I have passed a college exam. But any joy I feel quickly fades when I receive a call from my mother telling me to be careful on the way home from work. I spend the rest of the day fearing that something might happen to my family and friends. I want to cry.

The police operation lasts more than six hours. It seems a police officer is shot. So is a bricklayers assistant, Jos da Silva, who is killed by stray bullet. A hospital worker, Carmen dos Santos, is hit in the arm.

30 June Rocinha

Until 2014, favelas were almost invisible on the internet, which fed the stigmatising of our communities. But now, with the help of local NGO AfroReggae, Google has mapped streets, alleys and 3,000 businesses in 25 communities. This year, it aims to increase that by 25% with the help of community residents trained in digital cartography. Another digital-mapping initiative has been launched by the community newspaper Foreign Roca in partnership with the Memory and History Museum of Sankofa. According to the organisers, mapping is a way for the favela to assert its place in the city.

1 July Alemo

I am woken at 7am by shots that sound very close. The noise echoes through my little house. At times like this, I think about leaving Alemo, although I love living here.

On days when there is shooting, the whole routine of the favela changes. The climate of tension makes it difficult for people to return home and even the mototaxis stop working. That means there is less trade and less money for many families. A single bullet can impact the routine of 120,000 residents here.

12 July Mar

After foreign visitors arrive for the Olympics, they will have to drive from the airport past the colourful murals on temporary barriers that hide our favela. Mar residents have nicknamed this the wall of shame. It was erected a few years before the 2014 World Cup. Officials say the barrier is acoustic and reduces the noise of cars. I believe that is a lie. I think they are attempting to deny our existence, which is revolting.

The wall of shame, which hides the Mar favela. Photograph: LightRocket via Getty/Brazil Photos

1 August Daiene Mendes in Alemo

Over the past 48 days, I have counted at least 25 days of gunfights, two residents have died, and another five, including two police, have been injured. Alemo was better off in the past when it was abandoned by the state. Now, I believe the state looks at us with the eyes of an assassin.

I hope the Olympic Games is over soon because the only legacy I see is repression, militarisation and war.

Thas Cavalcante in Mar

In the past year, the situation in Mar has become more intense than in previous years and everything indicates that this is because of preparations for the Olympics. On the one hand, there have been countless police operations. On the other, there has been more public investment in local culture. Community journalists have had the opportunity to tell the residents side of the favela story, yet the commercial media continues to blacken the name of our communities.

Michel Silva in Rocinha

There is a new subway station near our community, but this should have been built long ago. Apart from that, there may be a short-term boost from tourism. But what happens after the Olympics? Many of the subway construction workers are from Rocinha. Now the project has almost ended, they have been laid off. The building workers union estimates 30,000 people will lose their jobs. Meanwhile, the shootings continue. Over the past year, five residents have been killed and 14 wounded in shootings or violence. The government is trying to make the city seem safe for international visitors, but it is not safe for residents. I am glad the Olympics lasts only 17 days. After that, we need time to put our house in order.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-only-olympic-legacy-i-see-is-repression-and-war-a-year-in-rios-favelas/

[themoneybuff-blog]

The death of Anthony Bourdain: Thoughts on productivity, pleasure, and depression

Shares 141 Warning: This is a rare GRS post that contains salty language. If you dont like salty language, dont read this article. Anthony Bourdain killed himself Friday morning. So what? you might be thinking. Hes just another fucking celebrity who didnt know how good he had it. Maybe youre right. But his death has weighed heavy on me all weekend. On Friday morning, as I wrote the weekly Get Rich Slowly email, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. On Friday afternoon, as Kim and I worked in the yard, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. On Friday evening, as we soaked in our new hot tub with a friend, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Yesterday, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Today, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Now Im writing this article as an act of catharsis. Maybe itll help me to stop thinking about Anthony Bourdain. The Depression Trap I believe Anthony Bourdains death touched me deeply for a couple of reasons. I was a huge fan. Since listening him read the audio version of Kitchen Confidential a decade ago, Ive loved his work. Parts Unknown was probably my favorite travel show: raw and real and filled with food. Bourdain connected with everyone he met. His joy for life was contagious and his mind was sharp.Like Bourdain did, I struggle with depression. All my life, Ive experienced periodic descents into darkness. The first time this happened, I missed five weeks of sixth grade. In the nearly forty years since then, Ive developed a variety of coping mechanisms but they dont always work. In recent months since the middle of March the darkness has deepened and I dont know why. (And just as I missed five weeks of school back then, Ive been unable to get my work done in the present.) Let me make it clear that I am not suicidal. Right now, the biggest symptom of my depression is my inability to get shit done. But whereas suicide seems strange and senseless to most everyone else, depressives understand the appeal even if wed never consider it personally. One of the many stupid things about depression is that the condition doesnt care how awesome your life is. It doesnt care how successful you are. It doesnt care how much money you have. Depression is not rational. If it were, itd be easy to think your way out of it. Paula Froelich, one of Bourdains ex-girlfriends, put it like this:

Bourdains death didnt just make me introspective. It also led to a couple of interesting conversations about pleasure and productivity and about what really matters in life. The Productivity Trap Friday afternoon, I received email from a GRS reader well call Michael: Im sure you saw Anthony Bourdain killed himself. This to me was a telling quote: When asked during a recent interview with The Wall Street Journal whether he ever thought about stepping back from the breakneck pace of a job that kept him on the road 250 days a year, he replied, Too late for that. I think about it. I aspired to it. I feel guilty about it. I yearn for it. Balance? I fucking wish.' Obviously I didnt know Bourdain personally, or even know much about him as a public figure, but I think that mentality is common: Once youve become successful, the thought of ever ratcheting back seems unthinkable. Obviously, suicide is rare, but I think this mentality is common among successful people they stay in an unhappy status quo simply because they have so much invested in their self-image and public perception of themselves as successful people. I think Michael is onto something. Ive seen this in my own life, in the lives of friends and family, and the lives of colleagues. They fall into what you might call the productivity trap. (Heres an article I almost linked to the other day about the productivity trap: If youre so successful, why are you still working 70 hours a week?) I have one friend, for instance, with an enormously successful career. He has a popular blog, a popular podcast, best-selling books, and even an annual conference that attracts attendees from across the planet. Yet hes never satisfied not with himself nor with anybody else. Hes always looking for ways to make things bigger and better. He seems unhappy with who he is and what he has. Hes written publicly about his struggles with mental illness, but he hasnt revealed its full effects. Its not just my friend. Its me too. I see this pattern in my own life, and its something Ive deliberately decided to approach more mindfully. Why do I want to have a hot tub or travel to Ecuador? Why did I repurchase Get Rich Slowly and how often should I publish here? Why do I keep agreeing to public speaking gigs? Do I really want these things? Are they aligned with my personal mission statement? Will they really make me happy? (Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the answer is no.) In his email, Michael continued: I think this is really the key to personal finance and early retirement actually stepping back and figure out what is important to you, and doing it, even if it seems like youre turning your back on a great career, or a nice house or whatever. That is the hardest part, which keeps most people in a life they dont want. They think I went to school X or work at company Y, so therefore I must live in this city or have that job or have that wardrobe and never ask themselves what, as individuals, makes them happy. The Pleasure Trap As our email conversation continued, Michael brought up another interesting point. He noted that our culture and this is especially true in the world of financial independence blogs is obsessed with experiences, such as travel. Yet in many ways, collecting experiences is no better (nor any different) than collecting things. Heres Michael again: [Bourdain] had the ne plus ultra of modern life: rich, famous, a job that 99% of the population would kill for, saw everything he wanted to see, ate everything he wanted to eat, Im sure slept with tons of women if that is what he wanted, took all the drugs he wanted. You name it, he had it. And, he hung himself in a hotel room in France, a twice-divorced man a continent away from his daughter and girlfriend. Im not bagging on him. I just think he illustrates something: A meaningful life doesnt consist of a series of cool experiences, or traveling or eating cool stuff. Bourdain did that stuff to an incredible degree, and it still didnt make him happy. I think that is what our society has forgotten. I feel like were always being told we should move a lot, travel a lot, be vaguely or overtly dismissive of the town or state we were born in, move for college and never move back homein short, basically be a free agent with fewer and fewer personal connections, or weaker connections. And, we get this [higher suicide rates]. [] I think this relates to personal finance. There is always this thought that thrift requires these huge sacrifices less travel, fewer new experiences, fewer new restaurants. But what if [these arent sacrifices]? What if irrespective of cost, that stuff isnt really a source of happiness? I mean, people accept that with respect to possessions nobody says a Cadillac or a 5000-square-foot home is the key to happiness but many, many people in our culture think new experiences are crucial to a happy life. It may be the opposite the continuity and free-time to invest in loving relationships may actually be the key to happiness. I told Kim about my conversation with Michael. Its the pleasure trap, she said. People fall for the lie that momentary pleasure equals happiness. But pleasure isnt the same as happiness. Shes right, of course. Happiness is like planting a garden, watching it grow, then enjoying the harvest. Pleasure is simply eating the fruit. Happiness is deeper and richer and longer lasting. Pleasure is fleeting; happiness is not. But happiness involves time and work and patience. Now, Ill admit: Im guilty as anyone else of falling into the pleasure trap, and in oh-so-many ways! I have to make a deliberate effort to look past immediate pleasure in order to consider long-term happiness. This often requires enduring unpleasant activities. Do I really want to go out in the cold and the rain to dig in the mud and plant my garden? No, not in this moment. Id rather sit in the hot tub. But if I dont plant the garden, Im sacrificing greater happiness in the future. Final Thoughts While I think that Kim and Michael are onto something the productivity trap and the pleasure trap are both real and both problematic I keep coming back to Anthony Bourdains battle with depression. During my recent road trip through the southeastern U.S., I talked with two friends who are fighting depression in their own lives. One friend has a spouse who cannot shake the condition despite counseling, despite exercise, despite a loving family. The other friend fights the condition himself and its led to weight gain and addictive tendencies. Therapy has helped some but its not a cure-all. As for myself, I havent yet returned to therapy although Im considering it. (Not so long ago, I spent a year working with a therapist to find ways to cope with anxiety and depression. It helped.) I want to stress again that I am not suicidal. But the depression has most definitely affected my daily existence, including my relationships, my health, and my work here at Get Rich Slowly. It sucks. It sucks. It sucks. But I know that itll get better someday. Shares 141 https://www.getrichslowly.org/death-of-anthony-bourdain/

[stonfordpines]

Ten Moments - Egobang

ten moments in Arin’s life that led him to date Dan Avidan

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i. The plane was about to depart, the last stragglers checking in. Arin runs from the other end of the platform, bag in hand and goal in site. He needs to get to the plane. He needs to get to that school. This school is supposed to be the place where his life actually starts. Just as he's about to stop in line, he finds himself crashing into another person. "Sorry," Arin mutters, quickly pulling himself and his bag up and hurrying off, not chancing a look to the stranger he hit- he did not want to miss this plane. Dan Avidan watches the stranger hurry off from his new place on the floor, a dreamy sort of look on his face. ii. Arin walked down the halls of his school, books in one hand and held up with the support of his hip. Right at his heels was the human embodiment of popularity, Dan Avidan. At first glance, you wouldn't say he was popular. But he definitely was. He couldn't walk down any hall without being fawned over by both men and women. He's worked his way up the social ladder by throwing his hands through his hair and singing songs and telling jokes and having a laugh that radiates his presence. It didn't help that he was also unnaturally kind and caring. People flocked to him. But he did turn all romantic endeavors down, seeking after one person, Arin himself. Arin personally had no idea why. Arin has shown no interest in Dan. But Dan persisted; over the years and no interest from Arin, yet Dan continues. "Hanson!" Dan says in an attempt to break Arin from his determined fast walking, Dan ran a hand through his hair for good measure, "Please! Give me a shot! This weekend?" Arin let out a huff of annoyance and rolled his eyes, "Avidan, yet again, the answer is no." And Arin continues on his way and Dan stops in the middle of the hallway, sadness etched on his face. iii. Anger rolls off of him in waves, coursing through his veins like poison. His fists are clenched and face red. He stares straight into the eyes that dared to challenge him. "Don't, you ever," Arin whispered in a deadly calm, inches from the other face, "mess with my friends again." Arin turns and is walking away but is interrupted by the smug voice of the man Arin was just walking away from,"check the attitude on that one! I can't believe that you fell for a bird like that." And then Arin is walking back, fist being brought back and then brought forward as hard as Arin could, hitting Brian Wecht straight in the nose. Brian Wecht was one Dan Avidan's best friends. Them, Barry Kramer and Ross O'Donovan were partners in crime. They were all horrible, from what Arin could tell. Personally, Arin didn't know them. But that didn't matter. Arin's seen what they've done to people. Arin turns away from the now heavily bleeding Brian to his friend who is sitting on the ground, Jon, who had just been bullied by Brian and his crew. Arin held out a hand for Jon, a sort of sad smile on his face. "C'mon, let's get out of here." There's jeers from Jon's other friends. Arin doesn't pay attention to them even though he knows they're for him. The school knows he's gay, but that's just something they'll have to deal with. Jon, however, doesn't seem to think the same way as Arin. He's nervously looking from Arin's hand to his friends. The next moment, a look of disgust washes over his face. "I don't need help from a fag-" Arin doesn't hear the rest of the word. Ice has turned his body to cold. He's frozen, face blank. Dan steps forward from where he was leaning on a tree, away from the action. "Hey! Don't you fucking say that!" Arin turns on him, a new flash of anger flowing through him, intense and raw. Arin walks up to him and puts a pointed finger on his chest, "so now you speak up to say something!" Dan looks like he's at a lost for words, "Arin- he just said-" "Don't you 'Arin' me!" Arin interrupts, "I know what he said! I don't need you fighting my battles!" "It looks like you were just fighting his battles," Dan murmurs, nodding towards Jon who was hurriedly picking up the contents from his spilled backpack in order to get away. Arin let's out a huff off annoyance, throwing his arms down like an angry child. "It was four against one! And I don't need you fighting for me, you, Dan Avidan, who thinks he's so high and mighty that I'll say yes to a date with him just because he's popular. Well, Dan, before you ask -because I know you will- I will not go out with you. Not now. Not ever. Even if it was a choice between you and the ass of a monkey." And with that final word, Arin turned and left, fire practically bursting from him. Dan was left speechless. iv. Arin sat on a bench, waiting for the bus to arrive. He had been reading a book, but it was left by his side as he was distracted by a site. Across the road, at the crosswalk sign, stood Brian Wecht on a ladder, fiddling with tools on the back, doing Arin has no idea what. After a few minutes, Brian seemed to have finished. He climbed down the ladder and then grabbed the ladder, disappearing behind a nearby bush. Just from around the corner, appeared Arin's old friend Jon, nose deep in a book. He wasn't paying attention, glancing up briefly to check if it was safe to walk at the crosswalk. The light said it was and Jon walked, continuing to not look where he was going. Arin then figures out what Brian did, he must have changed the light to appear it was safe to walk even though it wasn't; there was a car coming, not paying attention to anything but the green light saying it was still okay to drive. Arin was yelling Jon's name but Jon couldn't hear. Arin was too far away to do anything else. But then Dan Avidan appears from around the corner, already looking like he's ran a lot. He's sprinting, running full force at Jon and tackling him, sending him out of the way just before the car passes. Arin is standing now, hands over his mouth in a gasp. Dan's just saved Jon's life. v. Arin was walking the halls of his school, a new year just beginning. He had his books held at his side. He was humming a song, the sun making the day feel warm and happy. Arin turns the corner and abruptly stops. Sitting on the floor was a younger student, looking like they just had tripped. Dan was kneeling next to them, helping put a band-aid on their knee. He smiled at them and then looks up to see Arin there. His face flushes red and he has some sort of embarrassed smile on his face. "Oh, Hey, Arin." Memories of Dan saving Jon flash through Arin's mind. Arin doesn't know what to think of Dan. "Hey, Avidan." Dan turns to the injured student and returns to helping them. Arin turns and continues to walk to his class, he has an odd feeling in him. vi. Dan appears suddenly out of nowhere as Arin is walking, walking quickly in front of him and then turning around so he's walking backwards are they are face to face. "Hey Arin, I like your shirt!" And then Dan's gone, quick as he came. Arin stood in the center of the hallway, looking around confused. He looks down at his shirt. It's nothing special, but he still can feel his cheeks warm. vii. Arin's in the library, looking at a list of books he has and pulling certain ones of the shelf when he finds them. He pulls a certain off a shelf and can see to the other side. There, Dan is sitting with another student, papers and books surrounding them. Arin is intrigued, he watches them. "...And here, you just want to divide it by three so you can get the volume... there you go! You did it!" It seemed like Dan was tutoring the other student. He had real joy on his face when the student got the answer right. For some reason, that made Arin's stomach do flips and his hands feel sweaty. viii. Arin sat at a table in the lunch hall, he happily sat alone with a book opened as he ate. He hears someone sit down and looks over to see who it was. There, is Dan, holding something behind his back. Arin smiles at him, "what do you have there?" Dan reveals a rose, presenting it to Arin. "A beautiful flower, for you." Arin takes it, holding it close to his nose and smelling it. His heartbeat seems to quicken. "Thanks Dan." Dan smiles and stands up from the table, returning to his friends. ix. Dan and Arin are both sitting under a tree, a free period in between their classes. They lay on the ground and point out shapes in the clouds. "There's a turtle wearing full body armor..." "There's a decahedron..." They both share a laugh from their goofy attempts. Dan turns on his side and faces Arin and Arin copies. "Hey Arin..," Dan starts quietly, fiddling with the grass and not meeting Arin's eyes, "I was wondering, there was a concert this Friday night and wanted to know if you wanted to go." Arin smiled, Dan's nervousness was adorable, "Sure, I'll go." Arin didn't know if this was going to classify as a date but was too scared to ask. x. It was Friday night. Arin stood in the corner of the bar the band was going to perform at. He was waiting for Dan. He had come early, but as soon as the clock hit the time Dan said he was going to be there, the lights turned off and the smoke machines started. The band was coming out. Arin looked nervously over to the entrance. Arin looked back to the stage and his eyes widened, there standing was Dan himself, clad in costume and guitar. Arin couldn't help the grin that enveloped the entirety of his face. Dan had invited Arin to one of his own concerts. This was amazing. Then Dan was singing and it was the best thing Arin's ever heard. It felt like Dan was singing straight to Arin. Arin couldn't deny any longer that he was fully head over heels for this man. Arin didn't know how it happened- one second they hated each other, and then Dan saves Jon's life. That allowed Arin to see Dan in a new light. Dan turned into a new person who was kinder- he returned to the man Arin knew when he first met Dan, untarnished by the years of annoyance and pleas of dating. The concert was over way too soon, Dan sung his last word and strung his last chord. But he didn't go backstage, he put his guitar on a stand and walked down the steps, walking through the crowd like some sort of god right to where Arin was. Now that he was up close, Arin could see the sweat on his face. And the boots he was wearing, with heels on them. He was taller than Arin (Arin didn't know how to feel about that). But on his face was the pure joy of him enjoying performing for people. "Did you like it?" Dan asked, still breathless from stage. Worry was in his face for some reason. How could Arin not like it? But Arin didn't say anything, he just grabbed Dan's face and brought him down to Arin's lips. And they were kissing and it was the best thing Arin's ever felt. But then Dan was pulling away, concern showing in the scrunch of his eyebrows, "you aren't drunk are you? I don't want to kiss you if you are, and if you are we can just forget this even happened-" Dan was rambling and Arin started laughing. "I'm not drunk. But you're amazing for stopping when you thought I was." And they were kissing again. It was even better, Dan was kissing back more and their arms were wrapped around each other, Arin's hand making it to Dan's hair. Arin could only feel love at that moment, his heart swelling at Dan's touch, truly feeling alive for the first time.

[topsolarpanels]

China builds world’s biggest solar farm in journey to become green superpower #GlobalWarning

Vast plant in Qinghai province is part of Chinas determination to transform itself from climate change villain to a green energy colossus

High on the Tibetan plateau, a giant poster of the Chinese president, Xi Jinping, guards the entrance to one of the greatest monuments to Beijings quest to become a clean energy colossus.

To Xis right, on the road leading to what is reputedly the biggest solar farm on earth, a billboard greets visitors with the slogan: Promote green development! Develop clean energy!

Behind him, a sea of nearly 4m deep blue panels flows towards a spectacular horizon of snow-capped mountains mile after mile of silicon cells tilting skywards from what was once a barren, wind-swept cattle ranch.

Its big! Yeah! Big! Gu Bin, one of the engineers responsible for building the Longyangxia Dam Solar Park in the western province of Qinghai, enthused with a heavy dose of understatement during a rare tour of the mega-project.

The remote, 27-square-kilometre solar farm tops an ever-expanding roll call of supersized symbols that underline Chinas determination to transform itself from climate villain to green superpower.

Built at a cost of about 6bn yuan (721.3m) and in almost constant expansion since construction began in 2013, Longyangxia now has the capacity to produce a massive 850MW of power enough to supply up to 200,000 households and stands on the front line of a global photovoltaic revolution being spearheaded by a country that is also the worlds greatest polluter.

The development of clean energy is very important if we are to keep the promises made in the Paris agreement, Xie Xiaoping, the chairman of Huanghe Hydropower Development, the state-run company behind the park, said during an interview at its headquarters in Xining, the provincial capital.

Xie said that unlike Donald Trump, a climate denier whose election as US president has alarmed scientists and campaigners, he was convinced global warming was a real and present danger that would wreak havoc on the world unless urgent action was taken.

When I was a child, rivers usually froze over during the winter; heavy snowfall hit the area every year, so we could go skiing and skating people werent very rich, and nobody had a fridge, but you could still store your meat outside, the Qinghai-born Communist party official remembered. We cannot do that any more.

Sheep graze amid the panels at Longyangxia Dam Solar Park in Chinas Qinghai province. The plant has the capacity to produce 850MW of power. Photograph: Tom Phillips for the Guardian

Anders Hove, a Beijing-based clean energy expert from the Paulson Institute, said that as recently as 2012 solar power was shunned as a potential source of energy for Chinas domestic market because it was seen as too expensive.

No more. Costs have since plummeted and by 2020 China which is now the worlds top clean energy investor hopes to be producing 110GW of solar power and 210GW of wind power each year as part of an ambitious plan to slash pollution and emissions. By 2030, China has pledged to increase the amount of energy coming from non-fossil fuels to 20% of the total.

Earlier this month, meanwhile, Chinas energy agency vowed to spend more than $360bn on renewable energy sources such as solar and wind by 2020, cutting smog levels, carbon emissions and creating 13m jobs in the process.

The numbers are just crazy, said Amit Ronen, director of the George Washington Universitys GW Solar Institute, who described feeling awed by the scale of the Chinese solar industry during a recent trip to the country.

Activists now hope Beijing will up the ante once again following Trumps shock election.

Amid fears the billionaire US president will water down attempts by his predecessor, Barack Obama, to fight global warming, campaigners are calling on Chinas rulers to seize the mantle and position their country as the worlds number one climate leader.

As Mr Trump drops Obamas legacy, Mr Xi might establish one of his own, Greenpeace campaigner Li Shuo told the Guardian on Wednesday .

That campaigners are now looking to China for green leadership underlines the once unimaginable changes that have taken place in recent years.

While China remains the worlds biggest emitter, thanks to its toxic addiction to coal, it has also become an unlikely figurehead in the battle against climate change.

Longyangxia Dam Solar Park in Chinas Qinghai province. Photograph: Tom Phillips for the Guardian

Last September campaigners hailed a major victory in the war on global warming when China and the US jointly announced they would formally ratify the Paris agreement.

Our response to climate change bears on the future of our people and the wellbeing of mankind, Xi said, vowing to unwaveringly pursue sustainable development.

Ronen said: A decade ago, Chinas attitude was: You guys put all that carbon in the atmosphere growing your economy, we should be allowed to put a lot of pollution up there too to grow our economy. Now look at where we are.

Sam Geall, the executive editor of China Dialogue, a bilingual website on the environment, said Beijing viewed having a climate change denying US president as a rare and unexpected opportunity to boost Chinese soft power by positioning itself as the worlds premier climate change fighter.

[China sees it as] an opportunity for them to show leadership, he said. Ive already heard that from people who work in environment bureaucracy in China. They see this as an opportunity for China to step up.

Ronen said Chinas renewable revolution, which has seen sprawling solar and wind parks spring up across its western hinterlands, was part of a dramatic political U-turn that culminated in Beijing throwing its weight behind the Paris climate accord last year.

He said part of the explanation was air pollution repeated episodes of toxic smog have convinced Beijing it must take action to quell public anger and part was climate change.

They are very much impacted by a lot of these climate change weather patterns that are particularly troublesome: drought in the north, flooding they are very vulnerable to, Ronen said.

But Paulson Institutes Hove said the key driving force behind Chinas low carbon quest was economic.

Most of the things that China is doing related to the environment are generally things that China wants to do for the economy as well, he said, pointing to Beijings desire to rebalance the economy away from investment-led heavy industry-focused growth while simultaneously making itself the key player in an industry of the future and guaranteeing its own energy security.

Hove said Beijing saw a huge investment opportunity in exporting low-carbon technology such as high speed rail, solar power or electric vehicles to developing nations in Africa, south Asia and Latin America. This is a 20-30 year mission to develop [clean] markets, he said.

A recent report captured how China was already dominating the global clean energy market, pointing to billions of recent investments in renewables in countries such as Brazil, Egypt, Indonesia, Pakistan and Vietnam.

Xie, the Huanghe chairman, said his company was now making its first steps into Africa with solar and hydro projects under development in Ethiopia.

We are actively going global, he said, warning that the developing world could not copy the wests dirty development model without bringing about the destruction of the world.

Geall said one indication of whether China was prepared to become the worlds premier climate leader would be if it was seen helping to finance more low-carbon projects beyond its own borders such as a huge Chinese-built solar park in Pakistan.

Youd hope to start seeing more of those sorts of projects around the world being financed rather than [China being] just a source of cheap finance for dirty energy projects.

Not all are convinced China is ready or even willing to become the worlds top climate leader in a post-Trump world.

Zhang Junjie, an environmental expert from Duke Kunshan University, believed China would stick to its Paris commitments out of self-interest, particularly since the fight against global warming empowered its environmental agencies to crack down on toxic smog despite strong resistance from vested interests.

[But] if China needs to do more, to commit more, I dont expect that is likely, Zhang added, noting that China wanted to be a climate leader but not the climate leader. Leadership is not just power it is responsibility.

With Chinas economy losing steam, Zhang said tightening regulations on greenhouse gas emissions further would inflict major trouble on its manufacturing sector. Chinas clean industries were not sufficiently developed to provide jobs for all those who would be made unemployed as a result. I would say, dont count on [China to fill the gap left by the US], he said. China has its own troubles now.

Chinas push to develop renewables has not been entirely plain sailing either, with concerns about over-capacity, falling demand for electricity and curtailment, the amount of energy that is produced but fails to make it to the grid.

Hove said despite the rapid growth of the sector, wind still accounted for just 4% of Chinas electricity last year and solar for about 1%. Government subsidies meant many of the biggest solar and wind parks had been built in sub-optimal locations such as Qinghai, Gansu and Xinjiang, far from the southern and eastern metropolises where the energy was most needed.

Those behind the worlds largest solar park admitted obstacles such as energy wastage and transmission had yet to be overcome, but said there was no looking back as China forged ahead towards a low-carbon future.

New energy is surely the future … Its hard to predict the future but I believe that solar energy will account for 50% of the total in 50 years, said the engineer Gu.

Xie said authorities in Qinghai were now so confident the future of China was green that they were planning two massive new solar parks on the Tibetan plateau, with the capacity to produce 4GW of energy.

In a sign of the central governments support for the renewable revolution, Xi recently visited Xies company, urging staff to make every reasonable effort to develop the PV industry.

Xie, who hosted the Chinese president, scoffed at Trumps suggestion that climate change was a Chinese hoax and said such claims would do nothing to dampen his countrys enthusiasm for a low-carbon future.

Even if President Trump doesnt care about the climate, thats Americas point of view, he said. The Chinese government will carry out and fulfil its international commitments as they always have done in the past, and as they are doing now in order to try to tackle climate change.

Xie concluded: I dont care what Mr Trump says I dont understand it and I dont care about it. I think what he says is nonsense.

Additional reporting by Wang Zhen

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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