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sleepymarmot · 4 years ago

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Opinion: MAG 187 doesn’t invalidate Helen’s more sympathetic moments

It is possible to interpret the episode as retconning everything the Distortion has ever said and done into a manipulation targeted at Jon, which would undo the character’s complexity and make them revolve entirely around the protagonist. The key for this interpretation seems to lie in the following exchange:

ARCHIVIST You worked to hurt us and help us, all with the same smile, until we can barely tell one from the other. Keeping us off-balance, constantly second-guessing our own opinions of you. Never quite crossing a line we could never forgive, but never putting yourself on the line either. And when one face finally stopped smiling, you just changed the face.

HELEN Fine. So if that’s all true… why? Why would I do any of that? What’s my actual motive?

ARCHIVIST I don’t think you even have one. It’s just what you are.

But I don’t think most of what was said here is new information.

Let’s go back to season 3. Here’s how the newborn Helen Distortion explains her identity:

HELEN Michael isn’t me. Not now.

ARCHIVIST What happened?

HELEN He got… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me. Lost my way.

In other words, the Distortion’s modus operandi is a long, long game of cat and mouse (see also: MAG 146 Threshold). Michael got sidetracked by his (or Michael Shelley’s) revenge against the Archivist(s) and decided to actually kill the mouse. But it was unnatural for the Distortion, so it shook off the troublesome identity, and Helen was both an instrument to get rid of Michael and a continuation of what was started by him and worked so well.

ARCHIVIST A-are you still going to kill me?

HELEN No. That was Michael’s desire, not mine.

The Distortion doesn’t want to send the Archivist into its corridors. Why would it, when it’s so rewarding to misdirect and mess with him in other ways?

Now, for episode 115.

HELEN I… I’m not… I’m not entirely sure. I’m… having trouble. I don’t think I was meant to be Helen.

ARCHIVIST I’m – I don’t understand.

HELEN Neither do I. Michael was… pulling away. His anger was interfering. I don’t, I don’t think I have a choice but to be Helen. Self is difficult.

ARCHIVIST Michael, he, uh, he, he wasn’t meant to be you either, though, was he?

HELEN No.

There’s an internal conflict between Helen and the Distortion -- just like there was between Michael and the Distortion. I don’t think the new episode invalidates or undoes that. On the contrary: it restated that Michael strayed from the Distortion’s purpose, which means Helen could have done the same.

HELEN Something happened when I became ‘Helen’. She wasn’t right, she wasn’t ready.

ARCHIVIST I don’t…

HELEN Before, talking to you made Helen feel better.

ARCHIVIST You’re not that Helen!

HELEN I just want… I just want to feel better.

Helen was supposed to be a meal that replenished the Distortion’s energy. But it seems that the food was not as fully digested as the Distortion would prefer, and tried to bite back.

ARCHIVIST Wh-what? Why should I believe… a-a-any of this? You’ve told me over and over that you’re… what was the phrase? The ‘throat of delusion’? All of this is –

HELEN I have never told you a lie, Archivist. I wouldn’t dare. I, I just thought you might understand.

ARCHIVIST Uh… How could I possibly…

HELEN We’re both changing, Archivist. I had hoped, that together –

The Distortion has never lied (and now we know why). The Distortion has truly changed. Its new face genuinely wanted Jon’s company, just like the previous face had wanted him dead. But both faces interact with Jon in a way that leaves him confused and upset, because such is their nature.

In MAG 131, Helen insists that her identity is not a mask but a new but inseparable part of herself. As we now know, she is not lying:

ARCHIVIST

You’re still wearing her face.

HELEN

Not this again. I’m not “wearing” anything, Archivist. I am at least as much ‘Helen Richardson’ as you are the ‘Jonathan Sims’ that first joined this Institute. Things change. People change. It happens.

We get a double confirmation that Helen is different from the Distortion’s previous incarnations in MAG 146, in the words of both Helen and her victim:

This wasn’t like before; there was no playfulness here, none of that malicious joy that I had always felt coming off it. Now there was just a cold hunger, a deep anger, as though I had no right to just stand there looking at it. The street was silent, but I could feel it screaming at me to open it.

HELEN (all business) Oh, well; the son, I was pursuing long before I was even Michael. And technically, I didn’t eat the old man. He passed away from terror long before I got a chance to open properly.

ARCHIVIST His son Marcus – he – he was fine when I read his father’s statement two years ago, but now, suddenly, I can’t get through to him.

HELEN No. I imagine not. I decided it was time to finish that game a few months ago.

ARCHIVIST You – Why?

HELEN Not sure. I suppose Helen didn’t have quite the same attachment to him as a project. I’m not quite as much for decades-long campaigns of subtle terror these days.

ARCHIVIST (soft) That’s horrible.

HELEN Is it? We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? (pointed) Don’t we, Archivist?

Helen Distortion doesn’t derive joy from terrorizing people for months or years with doors. That’s just food now. Now she gets the same joy from messing with people with the help of her humanlike appearance and personality.

An often-quoted line from MAG 152:

HELEN Even if it were capable of doing so, what possible reason would the Eye have to change how you feel, when it makes no difference to your actions? Helen was like you, at first. She felt such guilt over taking people. Until one day she realized she wasn’t going to stop doing it. So she chose to stop feeling guilty.

Again, the new episode confirms two things: 1) Helen wasn’t lying. 2) Helen was telling this to Jon to make him doubt his loyalties. And again, this is not new information! She laughs at his misery and confusion very openly!

Episode 157. Jon gets a shocking reminder that Helen is Just Here To Troll:

HELEN Because I have a good enough sense of what’s going on to know that it will be much more fun without my involvement! (begins laughing)

...

ARCHIVIST Just tell me what’s going on. Please.

HELEN (gleefully) Bad things, Archivist. Really bad things.

MAG 164, Helen’s first appearance in s5. There’s so much going on, let’s try to list at least some of it: she congratulates jonmartin on their relationship, immediately tries to play them against each other, cheerfully deflects all blame onto Jon and also Georgie and Melanie, admits to betrayal, announces she wants to be friends “again”, then expresses pity that Jon isn’t hostile to her enough. Absolutely everything she does is about creating relationship chaos.

MAG 166, second encounter with Helen post-Change, and she is delighted to see disagreement between Jon and Martin unprompted by her:

MARTIN Yeah, I, I, I think we should go for it, get our murder on!

ARCHIVIST (disbelief) Sorry, what?

HELEN (surprised delight) Yes, Martin!

In MAG 177, she moves the focus of ridiculously blatant manipulation and provocation onto Basira, and also doesn’t bother to hide she enjoys scaring her “friends”:

HELEN Not interrupting anything, Am I?

MARTIN Christ, Helen, you scared the life out of me.

HELEN [Insincere] Sorry, darling.

And finally, MAG 183. By now, everyone in the scene is aware that she’s here just to get a rise out of our heroes and metaphorically eat popcorn.

MARTIN Look. Listen, I’m getting really sick of all thi–

ARCHIVIST Leave it, Martin. She’s just trying to get under your skin.

MARTIN Yeah? Well, she’s really good at it!

HELEN Aww. Thanks, sweetie. But to be honest, I’m mainly just here to see which path you choose.

Which brings us to MAG 187. We already know that Helen isn’t Jon and Martin’s “friend” as in “ally” -- she hangs out with them to provoke strong responses and sow chaos. The plot twist is that she’s not just doing it for fun, like a human would -- it is her way of avatar feeding.

The Distortion has always been a trickster. I am glad that they died this way, instead of becoming either an over-the-top villain or a reluctant hero -- before the plot could corner them into becoming one. And as Jon said, the reason Helen had to die was not her trickster nature, but the side she picked on the “Eyepocalipse: keep or cancel?” issue.

The reveal in 187 does not contradict the information we had before, and so it doesn’t retcon or undo the complexity or character development that the Distortion had. The fact that the Distortion fed on Jon (and others’) reaction to them does not mean that they never had any motivations or thoughts beyond that. Jon says it himself: “keeping us off-balance” is not the Distortion’s motivation, it’s “who they are”, it’s the natural, instinctive way they conduct themselves. We have learned that the Distortion's behavior was Eldritch Trolling instead of Regular Trolling, that's all.

#the magnus archives #tma spoilers #mag 187 #helen distortion #blah blah blah

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faejilly · 4 years ago

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ashes of angels 6/6

Alec Lightwood vs Jia Penhallow. Neither knows how to take ‘no’ for an answer.

for @shadowhunterbingo square: training room shenanigans. [AO3]

Alec exhales, slowly, steadily.

He's ready for this. He woke up to a hug from Madzie, followed by Izzy and Jace and Cat and then finally Magnus. They told him what they did, what they found. They've filed all the evidence properly, they've got magical signatures, documented memories, his siblings' statements. They've even got fingerprints, and everyone is already in custody.

He crossed every damn t, and then some.

It's time.

He relaxes his shoulders and slides open the door to the training room that he knows the Consul uses in the afternoons, when the night shift isn't yet up and the day shift is usually still busy. He nods at the Consul's bodyguard, and slides the door shut again behind him.

He waits.

Jia doesn't make him wait for very long.

"Mr. Lightwood." She's leaning on a staff in the middle of the room, dressed in a sleeveless tank and plain black leggings. She looks at him, and doesn't say anything else.

He nods back in greeting. "I was wondering if I might join you, ma'am?"

Her eyebrows lift.

He waits.

She steps back, gestures gracefully at the now open space in front of her.

He takes two blades from the display wall, turns them over in his hands to get a feel for their balance before stepping into the middle of the room.

"Not many people are terribly comfortable swinging a blade at the Consul's head," Jia shifts her weight back, her gaze steady as she assesses him. "Especially not with witnesses."

Alec rolls his shoulders. "You should have had a parabatai then, ma'am. Mine's always delighted to swing a blade at my head."

Jia's lips twitch. "I'm not sure that's a selling point for most people?"

"Can't imagine why it wouldn't be." Alec allowed himself a slow swing toward Jia's side, lets his blade tap lightly against her staff after she moves it to block. He follows the motion to side-step around her, and she echoes, following to keep them facing each other. "And I'm certain you don't think so, either."

He steps back to avoid the counter move by her staff, though it isn't any more serious a swing than his had been. "Sure of me, are you?"

Alec allows himself a shrug. "Rarely."

She hums, and they exchange a few more easy hits and blocks. Neither of them are even breathing hard. She's shorter than him, as most people are, but she doesn't let his height push her into rushing or overreaching. He would have been disappointed if it had.

He's a little disappointed in her already, of course, but he's glad this isn't another thing to add to the list.

"You left the reception early last night."

Alec concedes that with a nod.

She waits through another half a circle, manages to make him parry three times in a row without pulling off a decent counter.

She doesn't seem particularly pleased by her success, her movements too sharp in comparison to the blank expression on her face. "None of the staff saw you leave."

Alec holds in his smile. He's made her come to him... he hoped he would. He doesn't say anything, just steps back far enough to entice her into attempting a sweep of his feet.

She doesn't fall for that, quite, but it's enough to make her frown. "Well?"

"Well, what, ma'am?" He offers his smoothest, least sincere smile. "There wasn't a question in there."

She jabs, sudden enough he barely manages to divert it from the center of his chest into a glancing blow along his arm. He grins at her. That's more like it.

"Is there a security concern I should be aware of?" She bites the words out, follows them with a flurry of swings that don't accomplish anything beyond a nice rhythm as her staff hit his blades. He wonders what she thinks he came here for, because that is petty annoyance at Magnus' ability to get in and out of Alicante, not anything serious.

"A Circle cell drugged me last night."

She misjudges a swing and almost trips over her own feet. She plants her staff and stares at him. "What."

"The entire group's in the holding cells of the New York Institute." He pauses, exhales slowly. He keeps his blades up, his guard steady. "Well, almost the entire group. One of them's in the infirmary."

"You will turn them over to the Inquisit—"

"I will not." Alec states.

She lifts her chin, her nostrils flare. "Are you refusing to follow protocol, and defying a direct order?"

Alec sighs, letting his disappointment show. "It's not protocol when they're members of the Inquisitor's Office."

Jia's lips tighten. He has a feeling she knows exactly who's been caught, even though he doesn't think she'd known about last night's plan. She's bad at faking surprise; she hates being caught flat-footed too much to even attempt it.

"You will turn them over to my—"

"No." Alec shakes his head. "I will hold them until the Silent Brothers determine the best location for a public Trial by Soul Sword."

Jia's voice is frosted as she somehow glares down her nose at him. "Are you implying you suspect impropriety from my staff, as well?"

"No, of course not." Alec pretends to relax and slowly lowers his blades. He waits until her spine loosens just a little in response before continuing. "I'm stating that out-right."

The bodyguard along the back wall tries and mostly fails to strangle a cough.

He doesn't lower his gaze, keeping all his focus on Jia.

She appears entirely impassive as she looks back, though he's reasonably sure she's considering ordering him taken into custody.

He wonders if her guards would let him finish talking, first.

He can tell by the way her glance flicks sideways that she's wondering the same thing.

She'll never risk an order she's not sure they'll follow.

He lets a hint of his smile free this time.

"Why." It's more a demand than a question. She knows he wants to tell her.

"Ma'am." Alec makes his voice as condescending as possible. Which is very, he's rather proud of himself. "No one hires a disgraced and demoted Institute Head to head up a project in R&D unless he's supposed to be a scapegoat."

"I had no awareness of Aldert—"

He scoffs, the noise derisive enough it works to cut her off. "We both know you're not that stupid, ma'am."

She shakes her head, clear sadness and regret. "While I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Lightwood, everyone can make mistakes."

"I'm sure your daughter appreciates that performance, Jia."

Alec stops speaking as the base of Jia's staff brushes against the front of his throat. Both bodyguards are stiff, their hands on their weapons, but neither of them move closer.

Alec waits.

Her eyes narrow. She knows him well enough to know he doesn't bluff, that if he's brought up Aline it's because he has something, no matter how small, that he thinks Aline would believe.

And that he has, for some reason, not used it before now.

All he has is this, that he's known her since he was a child, and he knows she's ruthless, and he knows she's smart, and he'd seen the briefest hint of fear in her eyes when she looked at Aline after Aldertree was deposed for a second time.

He knows she'll flinch.

She pulls her staff back an inch.

"What do you want."

He keeps his posture relaxed, his voice even. "Clean up your mess."

"My?" She lifts her eyebrows at him.

He shrugs. "Yours, my parents, your husband's. You're still protecting them, the old-guard, the Circle, still making plans as if the Downworld is the enemy, even now, when the Nephilim population's been decimated to the point that they're the only chance we have of surviving the next decade without the mundanes finding out about demons because we've lost."

She steps back, honest shock widening her eyes. "It's not that bad."

"It is, you just don't want to admit it."

She opens her mouth.

He stares at her, and she closes it again.

"Alright." Her shoulders sagged. "You win."

He sighs. That was too easy. Too well choreographed. "Prove it."

Her jaw firms.

He's offended her. Good.

"My word," she starts.

He finishes it for her. "Is bullshit."

The same bodyguard who'd almost reacted before choked, and Jia glares at her. The bodyguard lifts her hands in apology, and Jia turns her attention back to Alec, stepping closer and closer until there's barely a hand-breadth of space between them. "How dare you."

"They drugged me with pixie dust." Alec didn't move back, didn't flinch. He raised his voice just enough to be sure neither bodyguard would miss a single word. "In the middle of a formal reception, in the heart of Alicante, because they knew damn well they'd get away with, because they knew you'd let them."

Her eyes widen, and he knows she's run through every possibility of that. She can figure out exactly what could have happened, exactly what that would have done to him, to the Downworld, if he'd succumbed in public. Either Magnus would have been right there with him, demonstrating to the Nephilim that warlocks were depraved and untrustworthy, or he would have accidentally touched someone else and he would have proven to the entire Downworld that no Nephilim could ever be trusted, that they would always break any promise given to someone they considered lesser.

The fact that the first option would have broken something in Magnus, that the second would have destroyed Alec down to his soul, is something he's not sure he'll ever completely recover from. His own people had thought that sort of cruelty acceptable...

And if he'd died, Magnus would have acted, would have done something ruthless and justified and, in the Clave's eyes, entirely unforgivable.

In any possible scenario, the tentative peace of the Shadow World would have been over.

And despite everything, despite her tendency to plan for the worst case scenario, despite her distrust of Downworlders, despite her firm belief that they would always be potential enemies, her need to find a way to overpower them, just in case, Alec knew that Jia didn't want that.

But after it had happened? She would absolutely have closed ranks, would have refused to let a single Nephilim face consequences, because she would claim them as hers, because she would need them on her side.

She'll never apologize for it, but he knows, at last, that she's realized that she'd been played. This time when she steps back, he knows he'd gotten through to her. He knows that she'll listen.

For the first time in his entire life, she looks her age. "What do you want?"

"A proper tribunal for the trial, with representatives from everyone. Downworlders allowed as spectators all the way through, even during deliberations. No one trusts us to judge our own."

Jia shakes her head. "I cannot have Shadowhunters judged by Downworlders, we'll have a riot."

"Half and half, then." He'd expected that. "Warlock, seelie, werewolf, vampire, and four Nephilim to balance them out."

"And when they vote along racial lines and we have a tie?"

"You don't think you could find four Nephilim who would vote on the merits of the case?" Alec keeps his voice painfully smooth. "We have an overabundance of evidence."

He'd gone to the Infirmary at the Gard after he'd gotten the whole story out of his family, had a physical and a blood draw to make sure no one would have any ammunition if they tried to dispute Catarina's testimony.

Jia doesn't bother to answer him. They both know that they can't get anyone who would vote on the merits of the case onto the Tribunal, not this first one, not yet.

"The Inquisitor's always been the tie-breaker for Clave votes." Alec steps back, turns his back to her in order to put his blades back on the wall. "You just have to appoint a proper Inquisitor."

"Are you suggesting yourself?" Jia's voice is dry. She clearly thinks that's been half the point of this, that suggestion.

Alec shakes his head and turns back around. He settles into parade rest, his hands relaxed behind his back. "I'm the victim, ma'am. I can't preside over my own trial."

Jia looks at him with an expression he can't quite interpret, something softer than he's ever seen from her, especially softer than anything he's seen since Aline was a child. "You really aren't angling for the job, are you."

Alec snorts. "I have enough to do already, thank you very much."

"But who else would do it properly, Mr. Lightwood?" Jia leans forward, a light in her eyes that's frankly terrifying. "Who else would listen to the merits of every case, however much it pained him? Who else would the Downworld believe in when he passed judgement, who else would the Nephilim respect? You survived Valentine and his fanaticism, you went to Edom, you kept New York City from descending into chaos."

Alec blinks. She means it. "You want me to be Inquisitor?"

Something dark flickers across her face, and it takes a visible effort for her to speak. "Who else is left, Alec?"

He swallows. She has a point. They'd lost... a lot, the past few years. And they'd never really recovered from the Uprising twenty years ago, even before that.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

This time, she's going to out-wait him, he can tell.

He doesn't know, he can't... "I can't move to Alicante."

"You mean your husband can't move to Alicante." Jia raises her hand, and he doesn't interrupt. "We're going to have to let them in for the trial, aren't we? We're going to have to let everyone in. Anyone in who wants to see it, who wants to see us, everyone who knows we can't be trusted."

Alec nods, unable to find his voice.

"I'll ask Patrick to be Acting-Inquisitor." Jia smiles, sharp and somehow almost wistful. "He's former Circle, they'll all think it's nepotism to save them. They'll think you lost."

And then they will.

Alec considers it. He has to trust her at some point, doesn't he? Has to accept that she's agreed, that she doesn't want them to lose the war, not on her watch, not even if it means conceding this particular battle. "You'll need to start getting Idris ready to be opened."

"We'll send a formal invitation to the Spiral Labyrinth, to some of the most prominent Alphas and Clan Leaders, to the Seelie Court. Find out what they need, let them choose who to send."

"You should invite the Unseelie, too." Alec forces the words out, feeling them heavy in his throat. "Or we're just going to be right back here with them in a hundred years."

"Five and five then, instead of four and four?" Jia pauses. "I suppose you're right."

Alec shrugs. Thank you? He hadn't been sure he'd get any of what he'd come here to ask, much less...

"Are you sure, ma'am?" His voice is quiet this time, gentle enough to make her stop and look at him properly, no longer planning, but waiting. "If you do this, if you make this a real trial, if you give me the job afterwards... there's no going back."

I'll clean up your house, no matter what it takes.

She gives him the courtesy of really thinking about it, he can tell, in the way her gaze turned inwards, in the way she held herself still.

"Yes." She nods. "I'm sure."

He holds out his hand and she grips it in her own, firm and steady.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She shakes his hand, and he feels the finality of it, the sureness. "No, thank you."

She lets go and tilts her head toward the door. "Go on then. You have some things to discuss with your husband, I think."

"I do." Alec nods back. "Until later, Consul."

"Until later, Inquisitor."

#hmdiscord #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #jia penhallow #my sh fic #jilly writes #ashes of angels #shadowhunter bingo

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hachama · 5 years ago

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Democratic debate analysis

I’ve read the transcripts. I read the fact-checkers’ analysis. I have ranked them.

Due to the size of the field, I’ll be splitting my analysis into four groups. This first one will be the Please Do Not Make Me Vote For Them group:

Ryan, Hickenlooper, Williamson, Bennet, Delaney, O’Rourke, and Biden.

Under the break, I’ll be analyzing their debate performance, how effectively they represented themselves on the issues, and how much I hate them, in reverse order of preference. Let’s begin.

20) Biden

Biden is so… so out of touch. Even the moderators asked if he was out of touch, and when the moderators of a debate you’re participating in think you don’t know what you’re talking about? For a career politician, that has got to hurt. Frankly, they were right. Biden thinks that the reason people can’t pay their student loans without sacrificing everything else they want to do with their lives is because we’re not earning more than $25k a year, that freezing payments and interest until the graduated student crosses that threshold would magically make everything ok. If he were right, there’d be no Fight for 15. A $15 minimum wage, assuming full time hours, is more than $30k per year.

His response to accusations of racism was to point to his “black friend,” former President Obama, which… dude. You’ve got to know better than that by now. Please tell me you know having been the first and only black President’s VP does not immediately absolve you of being an old white guy who worked with Southern Segregationists against integrating schools.

His entire platform seems to be “remember when I was a senator/the vice president? Wasn’t I great, back when I had ideas and did things?” and I gotta say, No. No, you weren’t that great, Joe. Even his closing comments were lackluster, talking about “restoring the soul of America,” and “restoring the dignity of the middle class,” and “building national unity.” His answers to simple questions were, frankly, terrible.

Joe, what would you do, day one, if you knew you’d only be able to accomplish one thing with your Presidency? Thanks for asking, I’d BEAT DONALD TRUMP! Joe. Joe, that’s how you get to Day One. Unless you mean “grab him by the collar, haul him out on the White House lawn, and bludgeon him with heavy objects,” you’re not answering the question. Joe, which one country do you think we need to repair diplomatic ties with most? NATO! Joe. Joe, NATO is more than one country. I just… *sigh*

To his credit, Biden trotted out many of the same old campaign promises Democrats have been making for as long as I can remember. Closing tax loopholes, universal pre-K and increased educational funding, let Medicare negotiate prescription drug prices. These are tried and true campaign promises because they’re things we can all generally agree we want. But they’re old, a lot like Biden. They’re not the bold solutions we need. His newer ideas all sound pretty moderate and old, too: free community college (not 4 year public university), creating a public option for healthcare so people can choose between insurance companies and Medicare, rejoining the Paris Climate Accord, and instituting national gun buybacks. His suggestion of requiring all guns to have a biometric safety is also a vague gesture in the direction of a solution.

Biden is too old, too timid, and too arrogant to understand that he’s got nothing to offer in an election where Millenials and Gen Z are going to be the largest portion of the electorate.

19) O’Rourke

Beto, or as I like to call him, Captain Wrongerpants, got off to a roaring start by giving a non-answer in two languages. This incredible display of pandering, and wasting precious time, made him seem pretentious and obnoxious in twice the number of languages most politicians aspire to.

Possibly more than any other candidate, O’Rourke completely failed to answer any question he was asked. He presented a few good ideas, saying that he sees climate change as the most pressing threat to America and calling for an end to fossil fuel use. He supports universal background checks and reinstating the assault weapons ban. He wants comprehensive immigration reform, to reunite families separated by the Trump administration, and to increase the corporate tax rate.

Unfortunately, he wants to increase the tax rate from the new-for-2019 level of 21% to a lower-than-2018 28%. He wants immigration reform to protect asylum seekers, but thinks other immigrants should “follow our laws” and makes no guarantee to decriminalize undocumented border crossings. Like Biden, he supports healthcare “choice,” meaning that for-profit healthcare would continue in this country until everyone, in every city, state, county, and cave, can be convinced that insurance companies don’t care about them.

In short, O’Rourke reaches for relevance and relatability, and lands in pretension and centrism.

18) Delaney

John Delaney is the first candidate on my list to have been caught in a bald-faced lie by Politifact. Good job, John. His lie, by the way, was about Medicare for All. He claimed that the bill currently before Congress required that Medicare pay rates stay at the current levels, and that if every hospital in America had been paid at Medicare levels for all services, every hospital would have to close. The truth? The Medicare for All bill does not require that pay rates stay at current levels, and even if it did no one knows what effect that would have on the country’s hospitals. There is no data to support his assertion, even if he was right about the terms of the legislation being considered.

Unsurprisingly, John is another healthcare “choice” advocate. I think I’ve said enough about why this position doesn’t fly for me, so I won’t rehash it again.

In a discussion of family separation, he interjected that his grandfather was also a victim of family separation, which must make him feel so relevant. He also referred to company owners as “job creators,” a lovely little conservative talking point, and claimed that America “saved the world,” in some vague appeal to American Exceptionalism. He also agrees with Nancy Pelosi about not pursuing impeachment proceedings.

On the “I don’t hate him quite as much as Beto and Biden” front, he’s in favor of tax breaks for the middle class, increasing the minimum wage, funding education, family leave policies, a carbon tax (which he imagines would fund a tax dividend paid to individual citizens, rather than, I don’t know, paying for green infrastructure development?), thinks China is our biggest geopolitical threat, and is scared of nuclear weapons (a very sane, reasonable position, really).

If you want to pick a candidate based on who your moderately conservative uncle will yell about least if they win the White House, Delaney might be your guy. If you want to pick a candidate based on issues like student loan debt and healthcare, keep looking.

17) Bennet

I had never heard of Michael Bennet before the debates. In fact, I just Googled him to find out his first name. After the debates, though? You guessed it: I hate him.

His closing statement was an appeal to the American Dream. He thinks there are too many people in America to make a single payer healthcare system work. Asked to identify one country to prioritize diplomatic repairs with, he named two continents. And he believes the world is looking to America for leadership.

However, he did rate higher than three whole candidates, and here’s why: He supports a path to citizenship for undocumented immigrants. He wants to end gerrymandering and overturn Citizens United. He wants to expand voting rights and electoral accessibility. He considers climate change and Russia to be the biggest threats to America, and he didn’t use any obvious racist dogwhistles. He’s from Colorado, so he’s kinda proud of the state’s marijuana legalization and reproductive health policies, but he’s way too quick to see partnership with private businesses as the ideal path forward.

16) Williamson

Oh man. Marianne Williamson. I almost threw something every time she opened her mouth. She is like a walking, talking, uninformed Tumblr guilt trip post. At a nationally televised debate, she asked why no one was talking about… something. I didn’t write it down in my notes because I would have had to gouge out my own eyes if I had. According to Google, she is a self-help speaker and that explains So Much.

In her closing statement, Williamson claimed that she would be the candidate to beat Trump, not because she has any plans, but because she will harness love to counter the fear that fuels Trump’s campaign. I am not making this up and I wish I was.

She claimed that Americans have more chronic health issues than anywhere else in the world, and attributed this to all sorts of factors, starting with diet and chemical contamination and extending, I assume, to solar activity and Bigfoot. According to Politifact, the only American demographic with a higher incidence of chronic illness than other countries is senior citizens, and I’m going to guess that has a lot more to do with our crappy healthcare system than it does a lack of detox teas.

When asked what policy she would enact if she could only get one, she said that on her first day in the White House she’d call the Prime Minister of New Zealand and tell her that New Zealand is not the best place in the world to raise a child, America is.

When asked which one country she’d make a diplomatic priority, she said “European leaders.”

By now you must be wondering how she rated higher than the bottom four, and I can sum it up in eight words: She supports reparations and the Green New Deal.

Please, please do not make me vote for Marianne Williamson.

15) Hickenlooper

John Hickenlooper is the former Governor of Colorado, and proudly takes credit for everything good that has ever happened in the state. He is also proud of being a small business owner, a statement that makes me immediately suspicious of any politician.

To his credit, he supports “police diversity,” a charmingly non-specific term that could mean one gay Latine nonbinary single parent in an otherwise entirely white male department, or could mean he wants the demographics of the police force to match the demographics of the population being policed. He also considers climate change a serious threat, and China. The best thing he said all night? He supports civilian oversight of police, a policy which has improved police relations with citizens.

Sounds pretty good, right? Wrong.

He also supports ICE “reform,” as if there is anything redeemable about that agency, and thinks that the worst thing the eventual Democratic candidate could do is allow their name to be connected to anything socialist. He said it twice, it wasn’t an accident.

14) Ryan

That brings us to the last of the worst, Tim Ryan. Tim here cannot stop using conservative dogwhistles, like talking about “coastal elites,” and saying that acknowledging differences between people is divisive. He is a basic ass white boy in the worst, most boring sense.

He wants to bring about a green tech boom, supports decriminalizing border crossing, supports gun reform, and thinks China is a serious threat to America. He also thinks that, in addition to dealing with the issues that allow school shootings to happen, we need to address the trauma kids are growing up with as a result. Unfortunately, he thinks that school shooters are misunderstood victims of bullying.

His confrontation with Tulsi Gabbard was very instructive and possibly the most damning exchange all night. He mis-identified the terrorists who attacked the World Trade Center as being “the Taliban” (they were Al-Qaeda) and said that our military forces have to “stay engaged” for… stability? I guess? As a veteran, I’m with Tulsi on this one: that’s not acceptable.

#politics #democratic debate #there is not enough wine for this

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crossedbeams · 7 years ago

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ROSE REVIEWS… THE X-FILES - S1.E11 Eve

<<1.10 Fallen Angel ——————————— 1.12 Fire >>

I’m salty today and what better way than to transfer that into something positive than to finish this long overdue and almost certainly irrelevant recap of Eve. Read on for children who are almost as scary as their acting is bad, prison aesthetics and idiotic blithering by me.

THE PLOT

The fathers of creepy children are being exsanguinated on opposite coasts and Mulder wants to know the aliens have upgraded from cows. IVF suspicions run wild and with a little help from good old Deep Throat, the terrific two suspect genetic government experiments gone wrong may be responsible for the shenanigans. When the creepy kids go missing, things escalate and soda becomes a very dangerous refreshment...

Let’s go...

MY STREAM OF SEMI-CONSCIOUSNESS

Ah. The X-Files, the show that is always a scenic autumnal bath for my eyes…. And where under the leaves there is probably a dead person eaten by a molewoman or an alien. Honey? I’m home.

We find ourselves in an idyllic suburban neighbourhood, (always bad news on screen), where very concerned joggers approach an underdressed child and her stuffed animal. It’s hard at this stage to decipher whether the kid is creepy or just a really bad actor but the suspense synth hardly encourages us to give her the benefit of the doubt...

They head to the backyard, where peppy jogging neighbour fails to notice that the kid’s dad is dead coloured, posed like a corpse and basically, stereotypically and obviously dead... until he claps him jovially on the shoulder causing a tragicomic half slump of dead dad, and exposing vampiric looking marks. The kid screams, not sure why, she’s way too far away to see anything. This is the point at which I begin to suspect that she is both a bad actor AND entry #224 in the Vancouver local listing of Creepy Kids for Hire. Move over Conduit boy!

CREDITS!

This week we only wait 2.5 mins for our special baby Agents to materialise, Scully dressed as a Catholic grade schooler and Mulder wearing a tie designed, as far as I can tell, to look like mushroom soup with licorice allsorts floating in it.

Their poor fashion choices don’t seem to put them off them though, and we zigzag between lip biting (Mulder), making weird moany noises (Scully), and the level of inter office eye contact we’ve come to expect from these fluffy baby agents all set to a soundtrack of cattle mutilation chatter. And our series first (!) cow slideshow!

Scully is still naive enough to ask why Mulder believes cattle mutilation is linked to aliens. Give it a few weeks and you’ll realise that aliens is pretty much always the answer to “Why….” on the X-Files and that eyebrow is the only appropriate response before you just go with it.

I can’t wait :D

As Mulds and Sculls traverse some stairs, I realise that creepy kid #1 is called Teena. Spelled the same as Mulder’s mum. Because apparently the X-Files name bank isn’t only shallow in the male department. Also is Teena a normal spelling in the States? Here it’d only really be Tina….

I then get distracted by Scully in the biggest of purple coats. I’d love to see S1 Scully’s closet. A symphony of oversized pastels with overcoats to clash… don’t worry though hon. You’ll get some style later though for the bargain price of two (2) family members and also your ova. Poor Scully.

Scully also looks incredibly young in this scene, speaking all soft to the kid. Moments like this I struggle to believe that Mulder “never saw her as a mom” until Home. She’s all melty round the edges even though the kid is weird and creepy.

When creepy Teena starts talking about red lightning, the massively coached and unnatural pauses in dialogue and the trouble pronouncing exsanguination are just so glaring you can’t believe that this kid’s innocent charade will hold up as long as it does. But it all adds to the creep, just in time for…

**bring bring ** Scully leans in to kiss her spoopy partner tell Mulder there has been another murder. Darn. Seriously though. Close talkin to the power on uuuungghhh right here. No wonder this fandom is so thirsty.

We’re in Vancouver San Franciso, still in giant coats, for another exsanguination and what we now know is death by digitalis. Mulder says that the two estimated times of death were at the “exact same time” and I chuckle to myself like the pedant I am. Estimates cannot be exact dumdum. It also takes the edge off him mansplaining timezones to Scully. SHE IS A MEDICAL DOCTOR DAMMIT.

This scene has very nice warm, sunsetty lighting which is nice as our Spooksters demonstrate why the X-Files department is always over budget; they’ve flown cross country to do two laps of a crime scene while reading a file aloud and the kid they wanna question isn’t even in town. Where is she? I’m glad you asked, coz remember that sunny warmness? Well it’s over.

Back on the east coast, creepTeena is getting outcreeped by a thunderstorm and what appear to be disembodied footsteps at her door. We see nothing but a flash and then the door is open. It’s tense and I’m pretty sure this is never explained, raised as a concern beyond “she got abducted”?

A new day means new suits, Mulder in a tie inspired by parquet flooring and Scully in eggshell and pinstripes and a brown trenchcoat named regret. It’s a lot to process and they still don’t seem overly concerned about Teena’s kidnapping. Despite his post Samantha abduction PTSD, Mulder’s only contribution is a dramatic sky point and the suggestion the cops need to look up, but then dun dun dduuuuunh - there’s another one.

Sinister Cindy in the house. Literally.

She informs them she has lived there “since she was born eight years ago”. Zero inflection with that info and a sentence structure as unnatural as the phenomena Mulder wants to blame. Deffo a rent-a-creepykid. 100%. The woodenness only adds to it.

Commence super awkward kitchen convo where they Mulder and Scully try and fail to find a tactful way to imply Cindy might not be this grieving wife’s legitimate child. A birthing video is offered and declined. Thank god. Imagine is CHris Carter had to watch rushes of an actual woman’s vagina with a female child emerging.

Mrs Reardon’s insistence that Cindy was daddy’s girl is pretty horrifying once you know how it ends. Damn creepy kids. Listening in while watching politics, Cindy is infinitely creepier than Teena and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not for this kid “actor”.

Back in the car and Mulder is still pretty blase about Teena’s abduction/kidnap, though I forgive him because his flippant potato/potahto is adorable and he does hang out in the bushes to try and protect Cindy from getting nabbed sending Scully off to the IVF clinic alone. Ahh... the foreshadowing is out there.

At the Luther Stapes Medical Centre, a doctor mansplains IVF to Scully. She does not punch him. Another way that she is better than me.She does however, maintain super intense eye contact with him for the entire walk and truly it is a miracle she doesn’t fall over.

The next scene is pretty uneventful except that I can honestly say that Sally Kendrick is the last human I would want toying with my cervix. She’s...robotic and it looks like she has to work out how to sit down like a human. She could give Theresa May lessons.

Back at the hotel there’s some funky camera panning that I am here for and also I think there is some dialogue but let’s be honest.... this is more important

Yes Professor I would like some extra credit and may I also just smooth your poofy hair.

Even Scully knows it. Hence her confusion at being ushered out, for no obvious reason. She just wants to look at him and maybe get inside his shirt and ... and... Mulder’s “what’s a girl” is cute.... but this is cuter. (even more overanalysing of this scene here for ya glasses lovers).

Instead of meeting a girl, Mulder meets Deep Throat in an excessively aesthetically pleasing place. Honestly, Eve is a beautiful episode. Despite the creepy kids and imprisoned women. (Eve Aesthetic here). DT seems very concerned that Scully not be invited and while I’m sure that this has some link to the possibility of spy!Scully, it reads more as jealous older manfriend wants pretty Mulder to himself. And honestly I get it. God, fic has ruined me. Anyway, enough of that, enjoy this picture of pensive waterside Mulder and try to recall the specifics of the Deep Throat reveal. Project Blah. Boys called Adam. Girls called Eve. Clones. Bad. Disaster. EVE-il is at work. ¬¬ (sorry)

Mulder has brought sunflower seeds because meeting an informant without snacks = rookie error.

The important thing to note is that Deep Throat basically sets the stage for the Super Soldier Arc and everyone forgets about it when they actually get to the super soldier arc. God, for a continuity pedant, my fave is SO problematic!

Deep Throat finishes by telling Mulder he’s scored him front row seats to what’s left of the whole fucked up thing.

Cut to the most aesthetic Institute for the criminally insane and after some hot DAMN camera angles we get panic buttons and a tromp into the deeps where they keep all the government created monsters, including Eve 6.

I just wanna take a moment away from my snark and give a huge shout out to Harriet Harris who is SO good and creepy in this episode. A lot of the Season 1 extras/bit parts are average to the extreme and honestly, Harris makes this episode. Without her eyeball biting, jerky, wild eyed delivery, this ep would be as mediocre as the creepy twin actresses.

Now we’ve got that out of the way - we find out that Eve 6 screams when the lights are on but is fine with an industrial sized flashlight being shone all up in her face. Nobody’s ever got a good look at her... except presumably the person who undoes her straitjacket so she can pee? And now Mulder and Scully.

Eve 6 is my fave Eve tbh. She’s this perfect mix of terrifying and pitiful, alludes to the telekinetic connection that the younger Eve twins later reference, and is the kind of proof of government misdeed that and older Mulder and Scully despair of, delivered while they’re way too young in their partnership to do anything about it. She tells them that Eves are into suicide, psychosis and murder, and on exiting, our baby agents still don’t suspect the kids.

(Break for actual analysis) It struck me during this scene how this case tunes into both Mulder and Scully’s demons. For Mulder, it’s the missing girls and the incarcerated Eve represents a scenario that could explain Samantha’s absence in the most horrifying ways. What if she is a locked up experiment just like Eve 6? For Scully it’s a visceral representation of her struggle between scientific duty and Christian morality. The creation of Eve 6 is an aberration against both good scientific practice AND the divine right of Good to control life and death... and yet she is also a victim who did not choose too be engineered and while Scully tries to question her, maintaining composure, this face/stress swallow really says it all.

Just to double the sucker punch we cut to Cindy asking the lord to take her soul, her mother looking on with a mournful doomladen stare before telling her daughter how special she is. Cindy is unmoved, because she is special(ly evil) and Mama Reardon leaves, bereft of her husband and unacknowledged by her kid. We get it Chris Carter. Genetic experimentation BAD, family GOOD, foreboding, CHECK.... now can we just-

Mulder Scully stakeout! There is no iced tea in the bag and when Mulder posits that the adult Eves 7 & 8 did done the murders, Scully pulls this face, and mutters without much conviction that she was beginning to suspect the girls.

GOOD CALL SCULLY

Except Mulder then says “no no and here is why” and Scully just goes with it. The whole delivery at set up of this scene feels very Season 1, by which I mean Scully vacillates wildly between submitting to Mulder’s experience and being done.with.his.shit, Mulder gets all the big lines/theories/feelings/hunches and Gillian especially (and David to a lesser degree) seem unsure how to play their nuances and dynamic. Essentially it all becomes irrelevant because CRISIS takes precedent but being the super-nerd I am, this stuff fascinates me as evidence of them still learning their characters. No way S5 Scully gives up on a plausible theory so easily, even if it makes 8-yos into suspects. If cats can be evil, these staring, soulless kids can be too.

Cue Mark Snow jangles and Cindy and her similar to Teena’s bunny rabbit run away from her terrifying wall dolls and many crucifixes towards the window where she makes terrifying eye contact with Scully’s binoculars before getting grabbed by someone who is considerate enough to announce themselves by turning on the lights?!.

Mulder will take the back! (any time Mulder. Any way ¬¬ ) and sets off with his almost convincingly held gun/torch combo while Scully takes the indoors. This is, invariably, only going to go one way.

DOWN GOES SCULLY!

Sally Kendrick/Eve? leaps through the window where Mulder confronts her by asking her which Eve she is, allowing her a chance to pull a gun, shoot at him and escape and this is why you don’t want S1 Muldo and Sculls handling your home invasion. I mean who holds their gun like this, takes out a psychopath and ends the day without a hole in them?

Fox “Thinks he can outrun a car” Mulder is who.

I love his idiot face though.

Despite the fact that Cindy didn’t struggle/scream/react to her apparent kidnap at all, Scully’s remaining focussed on the adult Eves in support of Mulder’s dismissal of her earlier theory... well I already said it but - *sigh*

After Scully briefs the police and Mulder tries to reassurea distraught Mrs Reardon that her increasingly abnormal daughter will be found we get the kind of side by side, meaningful moment that I am here for all day long. Except that the height difference is so extreme that they never actually get Scully in focus!

And Scully’s “and then what” brings us back to unsettling truth that even if the kid gets found, things aren’t looking good for her given how much murder is in her genes. Poor Mrs Reardon.

Very X-Files, through-the-motel-sign shot and we see Sally Kendrick taking Cindy into motel to meet Teena. The girls look... creepy... and Kendrick looks weirdly and simplistically happy given that she has multiple abductees, severe genetic issues and the FBI on her back. Maybe poor old Sal just wants a normal life? Unlucky girl, this is the X-Files, no happy ending for anyone EVERR. Except possibly a two-faced rapist who likes Cher but that’s for another time.

Back to Sally Kendrick who is rocking a poloneck and showing a remarkable lack of nutritional concern for someone supposedly a genius. Pretty sure 8 cartons of fries are no better for psychotic murder-kids than regular ones. She begins to explain that she was pretty hopeful that she’s evolved the murdering out of her second batch of Eves but turns out she actually made it worse! Let’s pop a check in the box for “playing into popular concerns about genetic testing” and “reasons you shouldn’t do it yourself”. She tells Cindy and Teena she’s “disappointed” that they’ve done murders ahead of the curve. They are not bothered which is unsurprising given they don’t know her/are psychopaths.

Aesthetically this scene is very pleasing and the lack of stilted kid dialogue “we just knew” vs. long sentences definitely adds to tension. As does the total lack of background music. Hearing even these fairly limited actors candidly and remorselessly admit to murder is effective. And Kendrick’s slightly desperate plea that they not think that way, that they be “better” as she designed has the double effect of showing her own Eve-y instability and her very human desire to not have made a horrible mistake in creating this terrifying she-devils.

Sorry Sal.

Genetic destiny’s a bitch

And the X-Files narrative demands that when you play god you get dead. unless you’re the CSM in which case you probably drink digitalis and kale for breakfast to aid skin regrowth. Bye bye Sally Kendrick. Thanks for the creepers.

On attending the crime scene, Mulder and Scully are midway through being told that the scene is undisturbed when they hear stuff breaking. This prompts some X-Files-Action-MagicTM and some truly outrageous faces by Gillian.

Yup

What is most disturbing on rewatching is that with the scene secured, Scully confirms death and Mulder goes to gaze out the window while the Creeper twins cower and cry on the floor. Noe we know they’re guilty AF by this point, but in the narrative DumbScull and MulderingItOver haven’t quite got there because they’ve been too busy gazing at each other so we have two children just whimpering in the corner while Scully pokes a corpse and Mulder mulders about.

Scully does eventually go and pat them. And again I say fuck you CC and anyone else who “didn’t see her as a mother”.

Mulder volunteers to chaperone the creepsters to hospital and beyond and the guy in charge kinda just goes “meh”. Pretty sure some liberties have been taken with child service procedures but hey, at least this means we’re almost at the crescendo moment. Right?

Having loaded them into the car, where their spiffy red outfits match the velour upholstery and promised they’ll talk about “what happens next” (again, is this really FBI jurisdiction? Fox Mulder counselling bereaved kids seems like a HORRIBLE plan to me) , Scully and Mulder note the girls attachment and somehow miss the horrifying expressions of murder on their creepy little faces.

Again though #aesthetic

Cue some spangly night driving music, Mulder looking all pops over a red vinyl steering wheel, Scully playing mom and the creepsters plotting murder in the back. Ver ver X-Files. They pull up to a used car lot masquerading as a rest stop and go for a group wee,Mulder makes the rookie error of a) hyping evil kids with sugar and b) letting them order a murder weapon, and as soon as Scully’s distracted, one of the creepsters, possibly Sinister Cindy creeps out to spike the drinks.

Now at this point, honestly, I’m questioning the kids narrative motives. Yes they’re murderous, but aren’t they also meant to be hyper intelligent? Amd getting marooned at a nowhere rest stop, with the corpses of two FBI agents seems SUPER dumb. Like they’re a bit small and loudly dressed to hitch a ride to Vegas and make it on the strip. What gives, creepsters?

The waitress tries to stop her plan by insisting she wait to take the soda until it’s paid for, but is way too easily placated by the kids excuse. Stick to your guns lady, you might just stop a murder.

Although apparently nobody is paying any attention because THIS ISN’T SUSPICIOUS AT ALL IS IT?

Apparently Mulder doesn’t think so, even knowing digitalis is sweet and that there is something weird afoot, he doesn’t question his super sweet diet drink or the kids totally normal and not at all weirdly resistant to drinking sugar free soda and just does this. Seriously it’s like he wants to die in agony.

Scully’s not much better, simply commenting on the “syrupy” taste. MMhmm. Bitch. You’re a medical doctor with a previously voiced suspicion. Quit sipping the murder juice.

Fortunately, after some suspenseful drawn out paying and a forgotten key excuse, Mulder FINALLY twigs when he finds some green goop on the table. Apparently murderTwin is cackhanded when she pours and Mulder, having licked the poison just to check it’s murdery enough (I just cant even) rushes outside to karate chop Scully’s drink away from her in a way so unsubtle that the creepers escape.

Which is actually great news because it gives us all the chance for a nice dark, X-Files bread and butter cat and mouse around a truckstop, cool lighting and tubey-arty stuff sequence. Which I’m here for.

Despite some pants ruining puddles, the twins are quickly apprehended except for some gun wielding truckers interfere because in this universe regular citizens can hold law enforcement at gunpoint and prevent them doing their job/identifying themselves and anyway everyone almost gets shot and the kids run off again. I should probably insert some pithy political point here about arming the kids too but I’ve been writing this review for 84 years and I don’t have the energy.

Fortunately, at this point Mulder and Scully rediscover some investigative nous and having flashed an ID and truckboy, they trick Sinister and Creepy into thinking they’ve sped off after a school bus. Mulder goes full on child catcher and nabs them with a “gotcha” and is finally deaf to their “we’re just little girls” plea.

I’d like to take a second to flag up his response “that’s the last thing you are” because he’s wrong too. They are little girls, as well as psychopaths, and everyone’s insistence that they must be one thing or another is a device for narrative obfuscation as old as the bible. The appearance of beauty/youth/innocence is not mutually exclusive of the presence of malign intent or evil. Just ask Henry James/Oscar Wilde. Or me. I literally wrote a dissertation on this so. Yeah. They can be little girls and killers Mulder. Don’t be reductive.

But I guess we do need the simplicity of “this kid is evil” otherwise Mrs Reardon ripping her daughter out of a picture and burning it would be more conflicting and we’re only on season 1.

Likewise the disturbing concept of two eight year olds in a secure prison. I mean yes thy’re creepy but - duh duh dunnnnh - rescue is at hand! Eve 8 shows up for them and once again thy “just knew”. This is the kind of X-Files ending I love. This is the kidn of story I would have loved the revivals to pick up. Imagine (recast) grown Cindy and Teena, off doing murdery clone stuff. Yep. Okay. I’m done now. This is the end.

Except the score. Which is...

A solid “C” Grade (26/50)

Plot 6/10 - It’s entertaining and a good idea but I penalised it because it depends on Mulder and Scully being super slow on the uptake. That said, they do actually solve the case.

Mulder 6/10 - Mulder is in charge (thanks S1) and presents a mess of grieving brother, heroic car catcher and good cop. Good, in character stuff but not exceptional.

Scully 4/10 - Scully seems to forget she’d an MD and a badass here. She lets Mulder talk her out of (correct) suspicions, gets taken down in the action scene and generally second fiddles. She’s a cute mom but not the Scully we want to see.

USP 3/5 - This was an ambitious idea, beautifully presented, and while it didn’t quite get the polish to make it iconic it is memorable, creepy and a good representation of S1 bread and butter eps.

Other Characters 5/10 - These points are all for Harriet Harris. None for you creeper twins. None for you.

Bonus points 2/10 - One for being aesthetically pleasing. One for the dorky, cute, feeling out Mulder/Scully moments (motel urnghh) and also their mom and pop act at the rest stop.

That’s all for now folks. I’ll probably have the next one done this decade. Fire. Goodie.

<< 1.10 Fallen Angel ——————————— 1.12 Fire >>

#The X-Files #msr #Eve #txf #txf:1x11 #txf eve #txf s1 #rose reviews #rosereviewstxf #txf recaps #silliness #my gifs #RoseReviewTXF

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kiras-sunshine · 7 years ago

Text

The truth can’t hurt us now

Summary: "Fortunately, he is the master of hiding his true feelings somewhere deep, which makes him the reigning champion of pretending that he is not in love with Simon Lewis."

Simon asks Jace to be his fake boyfriend for a family dinner. Jace suffers.

also on ao3 (http://archiveofourown.org/works/12049494)

Author’s note: This is a birthday present for always amazing and awesome Jacky <3 Also, the title is from a song called ‘words’ by Christina Perri

It is a sunny autumn afternoon, the air is brisk and the colours of leafs are vibrant, and Jace strolls a narrow alley with Simon.

He cannot remember the last time he would have felt this content or peaceful.

There is something unexplainable about Simon and the way he always brings the best out of Jace. He changes his pace in the best possible way and manages to make him happy. It is the only way Jace can describe it.

Earlier, Simon had called him and asked if he had ever been to some hole-in-a-wall art gallery in Brooklyn, and obviously, Jace was not one of those people who were even aware of the place’s existence.

As soon as he told this to Simon, he had announced that he needed to cancel all of his plans because that was their destination during the afternoon.

If anyone else had suggested spending an entire afternoon in a stuffy basement looking at confusing contemporary art, he might have declined, but because it was Simon’s idea, he agreed.

The biggest reason why he agreed was that he loves spending time with Simon. He makes any place bearable and sometimes Jace finds himself being interested in the things Simon tells him just because he manages to make them seem interesting and exciting.

Besides, it is exactly the type of thing they do together. Ever since Simon found out he had never been to the museum of natural history, he has been dragging him around New York, showing him his favourite places whenever Jace has time.

He has taken him to countless restaurants and bookshops, a bunch of museums and musicals, and various art galleries and parks.

Jace cherishes all of their visits. Simon is always excited and keen to show every single place he can come up with and he tells stories about the places and explains their significance to him. His enthusiasm is almost contagious.

Jace really loves hearing Simon’s stories because they are so him, and sometimes Jace lies about not being somewhere before just because he wants to rediscover the place with Simon.

Simon chooses the kind of places Jace might like too, and he really manages to make any place feel special. Hell, he makes Jace feel special too, and he is eternally grateful that Simon deemed him to be worth of showing all these places to and share his memories with him.

Being friends with Simon is one of the best things that has ever happened to him. All would be perfect if he was not undeniably in love with Simon.

He does not know or remember when he fell in love with him. He only knows when he realised it. It had been an early morning after a long night of patrolling and he had stopped by Simon’s boathouse merely because he did not want to go back to the institute instantly. He had accidently crashed Simon’s guitar practice and instead of kicking Jace out, he had played for him.

It was the first time the thought of ‘I love you’ crossed Jace’s mind with such conviction and clarity that Jace instantly knew there was no going back.

It has been three months since that morning, and Jace has not told about his sudden realisation to another living soul. He suspects Alec might know through their bond, but he has not said anything because he probably also senses that the last thing Jace wants to talk about is his unrequited love for Simon.

He knows it is unrequited, even though he has not said anything about it. He knows it because Simon is Simon, and he can do better than him, and he cannot imagine what Simon would see in him.

He remains quiet because he cannot risk losing him as a friend. He does not want to ruin the thing they have because they are getting along so well and his feelings are not worth of risking their entire friendship.

Fortunately, he is the master of hiding his true feelings somewhere deep, which makes him the reigning champion of pretending that he is not in love with Simon Lewis.

He would be lying if he said that the pretending is not painful. It tears him apart at the times. Pining after him is like having a paper cut on his finger. Sometimes, the pain it causes is easy to forget, but at the times, it hurts more than it should.

However, he knows that he will eventually get over him, even though he is not actively trying to get over him.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Simon’s voice startles him from his thoughts and he flashes his brightest grin. “Of course.”

“What was I talking about?” Simon asks as he glances at him doubtfully, but Jace can see he is fighting against a smile.

“Something about a trash can and breaking your arm,” Jace answers immediately, even though he might have not focused all of his attention to listening to his anecdote.

“That’s all you got from my story?” Simon accuses but he breaks into a tiny grin as he shakes his head. “It’s your loss. It was a master piece of storytelling,” he deadpans.

“It was literally a story about you breaking your arm when you were eight years old,” Jace remarks and huffs out of amusement.

“In other words, it was an exhilarating thriller,” Simon concludes with a short burst of laughter. “Luckily for you, I didn’t invite you along because of your superior listening skills.”

“Why did you ask me then?” Jace asks with genuine curiosity.

He thinks Clary would be a better choice when it comes to visiting art galleries. She has a whole another level of appreciation for art than Jace does, but he is still glad Simon chose him.

“It wasn’t because of your pretty face either,” Simon tells with a mischievous grin, and Jace knows it is intended as a joke but it does unfair things to his heart.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, have you considered the possibility that some of us are immune to your charms?” Simon asks with another wave of laughter.

“It’s a possibility,” Jace answers with a nonchalant shrug. He hates how weak his voice suddenly sounds, but fortunately, Simon does not seem to notice.

Simon’s whole demeanour shifts quickly. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stares at the dirty pavement as if it had the answers to all unanswered questions in the universe. He attempts to kick an empty coffee cup but his foot misses it.

He sighs deeply and quickly looks at him with a grin, but his nervousness shines through it.

“We are friends, right?”

He speaks quickly, and at first Jace is uncertain if he heard him right. The unexpected question throws him off a little and he remains baffled and quiet as he tries to think what prompted Simon to ask it, and then he realises he needs to answer something.

“I spent three hours in a basement that called itself an art gallery listening to you rant about paintings that only had triangles on them, and I actually enjoyed it,” Jace tells truthfully. “I guess that alone answers your question.”

Simon rolls his eyes fondly and tiny, but genuinely happy, smile forms on his lips, and Jace could not be happier.

He still seems anxious and he twists the sleeve of his jacket, and it seems as if he is building up the nerve to ask something else.

“So, we’re friends, and you have rescued me from actual death and from few kidnappings and we’ve been through some other stuff, too. So because we’re friends, in a hypothetical situation where I’d need help, you would help me because that’s what friends do, right-“

“Simon,” Jace says gently, interrupting his nervous ramble. “What do you need?”

He would rob the moon from the sky if he asked for it, but he leaves that unsaid.

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” he says it quietly and tentatively. He ends up grimacing after saying it and Jace thinks it is due to the sheer horror on his own face.

Simon drops his gaze back to the pavement and breathes deeply. Somehow, Jace’s first thought after the initial shock and doubt is that this is not easy for either one of them.

“What?”

He is proud of himself for not stuttering it and while it is not the most intelligent thing to say, at least it makes sense.

He cannot help but stare at Simon perplexedly as his heart pounds in his chest. He wants to be certain he heard him wrong.

Simon stops walking and looks at him properly and with such intensity, that Jace cannot look away even if he wanted to.

“You need to be my fake boyfriend,” he repeats with more conviction without grimacing as if any of it even remotely resembles a good idea.

There are many things Jace wishes he does not hear ever in his life and while those words have not been on that list before today, they definitely belong to there now.

He has been aware for some time that Simon has the ability to make him feel a variety of things he does not understand or want to feel, but the emotional turmoil his request causes is on new levels.

On the other hand, it almost sounds like everything he has wanted for the past three months and a part of him desperately wants to agree, because he knows he does not have a real chance with him, but he knows perfectly well that his heart is going to break if he does say yes.

“I almost don’t even want to ask what you have done to get yourself into a situation where that’s required,” Jace replies wryly as he is unable to give any proper answer.

Simon mock punches him in the arm. “Why your first assumption is that this is somehow my fault?”

“Because I know you,” Jace replies with a half-grin, which earns him a fond but annoyed eye rolling from Simon.

“Then choose the option where you don’t ask,” he tells matter-of-factly.

“What did you do?” Jace asks amusedly as he crosses his arms, and even though he frantically tries to come up with ways to refuse, he is still genuinely curious.

Simon groans and buries his face into his hand for a moment. “Technically, it isn’t my fault. It’s only like a little bit my fault but I cannot be fully blamed for this mess. Do you remember the plan I had for telling my mom that I’m a vampire?”

Jace merely nods as a response.

“Yeah, it didn’t go like I planned,” Simon confirms, looking downright miserable. “It’s pretty difficult to tell someone you’re a vampire when they aren’t even aware about the existence of shadow world, so I might have trusted a little too much on the power of allegories. My mom misunderstood the whole thing and thought I was coming out and I panicked and I came out instead.”

“How did she take that?” Jace asks as soon as Simon stops his rapid ramble.

“Really well, actually,” Simon tells with a chuckle. “She was almost overenthusiastically supportive. I’m afraid she will get a pride flag to our yard’s flagpole,” he says with a mixture of mild horror and amusement.

“Congrats, buddy,” Jace replies sincerely.

Simon has had enough bad things happening in his life recently, and Jace is genuinely happy that he does not have to deal with unaccepting and bad parenting on the top of that.

“Yeah, it was nice,” he replies distraughtly, “but the problem is that she thought I was coming out because I wanted her to meet my significant other, so she invited me and my significant other to a dinner on Friday and I couldn’t say no because I’ve broke her heart already so many times by missing the dinner.”

“So you lied,” Jace concludes.

Simon glares at him and then ruffles his own hair with an agonized expression. “Yeah I did, and I know it’s wrong but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I kinda get why you did it,” Jace replies and he is almost a little surprised by the honesty in his own voice.

He still looks cheerless, but he nods and remains silent. They stare at each other without saying a word, and Jace is thankful for it because his thoughts are racing and spiralling.

“I know it’s a big favour to ask, but you’re the only one I can even imagine asking, and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to or feel uncomfortable. I don’t wanna force you into doing anything,” Simon continues in his rambling mode, and suddenly Jace realises there is only one outcome for this conversation.

“First of all, I wanna say this is a bad idea. Like a catastrophically terrible idea. One of the worst we have ever had,” Jace starts. He feels it in his bones, his every instinct is telling him this will not end well.

He could easily list all the things that can go wrong, and he knows that he is putting his own heart on the line.

Simon’s face falls as he speaks, and Jace swears he likes to make his own life more difficult than necessary, but then again, he has never liked the easy choices.

“But when would I have ever said no to a bad idea?” Jace says with a smirk, even though a part of him is screaming not to do it, but he decides to ignore it.

Simon stares at him wordlessly for a moment. His eyes are wide as plates and he looks baffled as if he had not expected him to agree.

��Seriously? You’re gonna do it?” He eventually manages to say with a faint smile.

Jace does not want to explain why he agrees. He is not completely sure, either. He just knows he cannot just stand by and watch Simon be upset and in distress when he could help him.

He is far more important than his own feelings.

“Against my better judgement, yes.”

***

Few days later, Jace has not regretted his decision. That is until he receives text messages from Simon.

[Simon 2.06 pm]

Come to Hunter’s moon unless you’re stopping an apocalypse or something like that. Then deal with that first and then come.

[Simon 2.07 pm]

Although, I doubt the end of the world would happen on a Wednesday afternoon.

[Jace 2.08 pm]

Is there a socially acceptable time for the end of the world??

[Simon 2.08 pm]

Monday seems more suitable. Definitely Monday.

[Jace 2.09 pm]

In the weirdest way, that makes sense.

I’m on my way.

***

Jace finds Simon in one of the corner booths of relatively uncrowded Hunter’s moon. He has spread a pile of papers to the table. He keeps writing something on the corner of one of the papers.

“Here I am,” he says as a greeting as he slides next to him in the booth.

He looks up from the paper, and grins so brightly that Jace is sure he lights up the dimly lit bar. He never thought someone could be so happy just to see him.

“Is this an emergency call or did you just get an urge to look at my beautiful face?” Jace jokes as he turns his head to read one of the papers in front of him. It has approximately twenty questions about favourite colours and the profound meaning of them. He decides it might be better not to ask.

“I certainly didn’t invite you here to stroke your already enormous ego,” Simon says without looking up from the paper, and then he starts going through the papers, obviously trying to find something.

He pulls a sheet of paper between other papers, and he looks almost grave as he hands the paper to Jace. “We have to prepare for Friday,” he says it seriously as if it would be an official mission briefing. “We have to agree on all the small details.”

Jace chuckles as he reads the questions. There are at least fifty meticulous questions and the topics range from favourite foods to deepest fears.

“This is ridiculous,” Jace exclaims and gestures towards the list. “Is it a cross examination or a dinner with your mom?”

“Those things can be horrifyingly similar,” Simon deadpans, “she can literally smell lies.”

Jace is almost tempted to ask why they are even trying it in the first place if they are doomed to fail, but there is something complex about Simon’s expression that tells him this is not the best time to make unnecessary jokes.

“Fine, let’s do this,” Jace agrees with a huff.

“I guess it’s easiest to stay as close to the truth as possible,” Simon says and taps his fingers against the table. “We just leave all the shadow world stuff out of it.”

Jace resists the urge to roll his eyes because that is easier said than done. Everything significant and defining about their relationship somehow relates to the shadow world.

“So we met through Clary,” Jace decides.

“Yes, we’ll skip the part where I thought you were her drug dealer and that we met on some graveyard,” Simon says and his mouth is curling up into a fond smile.

“You’re awfully determined to take all the romance out of it,” Jace deadpans as he pulls his stele out of his jacket’s pocket and starts to fidget with it.

“The beginning of a great love story,” Simon agrees with a laugh, and Jace tries to ignore the stinging and burning feeling in his chest. “It took us some time to become friends but then at some point we fell for each other as if it was the easiest thing we have ever done,” Simon continues casually as he writes it down, and Jace guesses they are truly sticking close to the truth.

“Do you want to explain these questions now?” Jace asks, directing the conversation into another direction, as he waves the piece of paper.

“It’s a list of all the little things we should know about each other because she might ask it,” Simon explains as if it would be the most obvious reason.

“You really think your mom is gonna ask me how long you can hold your breath for or which Hogwarts house you would belong to?” Jace asks with suspicion.

“She might,” he offers hopelessly, “besides if you don’t know my Hogwarts house my mom will never believe you’re my boyfriend.”

“That’s a surprisingly valid point,” Jace agrees. “Where did you get these questions?”

Simon sighs deeply and looks sullen. He points at Jace with his finger. “You have no idea how many women’s magazine articles I have read about basic stuff you should know about your significant other to complete this list of questions, so I appreciate my effort and read it.”

Jace hums as a response as he starts properly reading the questions and five minutes later, he looks up from the paper at Simon, who is now fidgeting with his stele.

“I know this stuff about you already,” he says as he could not find one question that would have been difficult to answer.

For some reason, he knows which childhood memories Simon always brings up, he knows what his pet peeves and allergies are and he even knows what are his favourite song lyrics and why.

“Uh, me too,” Simon admits almost sheepishly and puts Jace’s stele down to the table.

“So we can do this,” Jace says, trying to distract his own mind from the implications of knowing all these little details about each other.

“Yeah,” Simon agrees, but he sounds as if he is trying to convince himself instead, “it cannot be that hard to pretend we’re in love.”

For once, Jace agrees completely.

***

On Friday, Jace is even more convinced the whole thing will be a disaster.

He wants to run away to Canada, change his name and hide in the wilderness for the rest of his life. He knows it is the sensible solution to this mess, yet he finds himself on the steps of Lewis’ house, holding a bouquet of daisies.

He knows he should not do it because it is an atrocious plan, but he rings the doorbell anyway.

He is more nervous than while facing a greater demon, and he knows he is more anxious than he logically should be. He is grateful when Simon opens the door.

He smiles, and it is the kind of smile that gives Jace’s heart trouble to function properly.

He seems blithe and he is visibly more relaxed than during their last meeting in Hunter’s moon, and he looks great.

He is wearing similar clothes as always, a band t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and Jace always thinks he looks great, but there is still something different about him today.

“I almost doubted if you were coming at all. Rebecca already started doubting if I made you up,” Simon tells him with a brilliant smile as he leans on the doorframe.

“You don’t trust me, this relationship is doomed,” Jace deadpans, as he pretends to be hurt by Simon’s accusation, but his face breaks into a joyous grin as well.

“But look I was wrong, you’re here, you look great and you even brought flowers,” Simon says as he steps away from the doorframe to allow Jace to come in.

“Yeah, you once mentioned your mom likes them,” Jace mumbles as he steps in and he tries his best not to blush.

***

The dinner is a little awkward at first. Elaine adores the flowers and thanks him at least ten times and keeps asking about his ‘tattoos’ and wonders out loud how rare name Jace has.

The food is amazing, and Jace loves to see how much Elaine and Rebecca love Simon, and how much he loves them back. The atmosphere is nice and loving, and he feels welcomed and there are no awkward silences, but the conversation flows on.

Rebecca is definitely on a mission to embarrass Simon by telling stories about their childhood. She has already told about the time Simon got his leg stuck into a sewer, how he kept eating sand as a toddler and which words he pronounced wrong when he was young.

Simon holds his hand in his hand under the table for the entirety of dinner. Jace is not sure whether it is because he wants to offer him moral support or if he believes that his mother has a x-ray vision.

It is nice though, and Jace is not complaining. It is comforting and his hand is surprisingly warm and it sounds like an enormous cliché, but Jace is convinced their hands fit together.

The questions about them start during the dessert.

“So how did you meet?” Elaine asks as she hands plates full of chocolate cake to everyone.

“Clary introduced us,” Jace replies without missing a beat.

“Oh,” she sounds genuinely surprised. “How do you know Clary?”

Jace tries his best to come up with an explanation that would describe his and Clary’s relationship without making it sound too weird, but honestly, it is an impossible mission.

“She’s a family friend,” Jace eventually says and smiles politely, and Simon makes a chocking noise as if he would try to suppress a laugh. Jace glares at him and kicks his shin.

“That’s nice,” Elaine comments.

“How long you have been together?” Rebecca asks and there is certain doubtfulness in the way she looks at them, and Jace is starting to realise what Simon meant by his family and cross-examination being similar.

It is the one detail they had not thought about, but Jace tries to follow the truth as closely as he can with their entirely fake and pretended relationship.

“Three months,” he answers with a beatific smile, “best three months of my life.”

Simon looks at him strangely but then nods with a glowing smile. “Mine too.”

Rebecca stares at Simon, and she looks quizzical. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

Simon opens his mouth, but Jace is faster at improvising the answers. “That might be my fault, I’m afraid. I wanted to keep low profile with our relationship, because I really wanted to make this work without other people’s expectations.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Simon agrees, even though Jace knows he is looking at him strangely again.

“That sounds wise,” Elaine says with a warm smile, “and you do look happy now.”

“We are,” Simon answers and looks at him as if he would be the eighth wonder of the world and kisses the back of his hand, and Jace’s heart flutters.

“Where did you go as your first date?” Elaine asks, sounding genuinely curious, as she continues to eat the cake.

Jace’s mind blanks and he keeps eating his cake, letting Simon to deal with the question.

“Natural history museum,” Simon replies immediately, and Jace cannot help but smile delightedly. “It sounds kinda lame, but it was the first place we visited as friends, and it had significance to us.”

“It wasn’t lame,” Jace blurts out, but he means it whole heartedly. Any of the afternoons he has spent with Simon are nowhere near lame.

“It sounds rather cute, actually,” Rebecca remarks as she finishes her cake.

“So when did you two realise you were more than friends?” Elaine asks as she starts to gather the dishes away.

Jace feels Simon tense up next to him, but he almost immediately relaxes again. “I realised it when Jace almost chocked on a tangerine.”

Jace’s heart skips a beat or few, and he stares at Simon, perplexedly. The tangerine incident did happen few months ago, while Jace was at the boathouse and for unbeknownst reason to him he almost met his death by a fruit. As soon as the immediate danger was over, Simon had laughed so hard he cried.

Jace convinces himself Simon is just following his ‘stay-close-to-the-truth’ principle with his example but there is a part of him that wants to believe that Simon truly meant it. Yet, he knows that Simon is not actually in love with him.

“You truly are a romantic,” Rebecca says with a burst of laugh and Elaine chuckles as well.

“I realised when I crashed his place one morning after a night shift, and he was practicing some song, and instead of kicking me out, he played it for me,” Jace tells softly, and it feels good to tell the truth.

He could name a thousand other instances, too, but he decides he likes this one the best.

He feels the weight of Simon’s gaze on him and he knows that Simon remembers that one particular morning, too. He hopes he thinks he is lying for the sake of pretending, but secretly he hopes Simon could see through him and realise he is telling the truth.

***

Rest of the dinner goes well, and Jace thinks they are quite convincing at being a couple. Simon has perfected the way he looks at him as if it would be the centre of the universe, and for a one blissful moment, Jace forgets that they are pretending.

Elaine brings out the childhood photo album, Simon looks so agonized and Jace fears Simon might die again out of pure embarrassment.

Both, Elaine and Rebecca, tell on several occasions how adorable they are together. Apparently, they are visibly in love. Every time, Jace feels as if someone had stabbed him with his own seraph blade.

He ends up spending three hours at their house before he gets a text message from Alec asking him to come back to the Institute because of a mission.

Simon insists walking with him along their driveway, but before he leaves, Elaine hugs him and tells how happy she is that Simon has found someone like him. Jace numbly replies he is the lucky one.

As soon as Simon closes the door behind them, he starts his ramble. “I’m so sorry about the photo album and the totally inappropriate comments they made about your hotness,” he says with a groan and looks as if he is truly suffering.

“Great taste apparently runs in the family,” Jace jokes with a shit-eating grin as he jogs down the few stairs.

Simon groans again in anguish, but he follows him.

“Your mom and sister are spying us from the window,” Jace whispers as he takes Simon’s hand into his own again.

He can clearly see the silhouettes of Elaine and Rebecca in the window, trying to peer from between of the curtains, and apparently, Simon spots them as well.

“They are the worst,” Simon mutters under his breath.

He is aware they have hold hands for the better half of three hours, but he already missed the sensation of Simon’s hand against his.

The driveway is short and they reach the gate way sooner than Jace would like. They stop at the gate, but for his surprise, Simon does not let go of his hand.

“Seriously, thank you for doing this,” Simon tells softly, squeezing his hand.

His smile is almost beatific and radiant, it creates crinkles around his eyes, and his whole face lights up, and Jace is so in love that it hurts him.

If Jace did not know any better, he would say Simon’s smile resembles enamoured, but he does know better.

“It wasn’t exactly awful,” Jace replies with a shrug, and he is telling the truth. Not pretending to hide his true feelings, even for a one night, had been better than he could have ever imagined.

He feels almost crestfallen to go back to the pretending and constant lying to himself and others.

“I’m glad you think so,” Simon tells him so quietly it is almost a whisper in the cold night. He cautiously steps closer to him and with anyone else, Jace would consider it as a serious violation of personal space, but with Simon, he does not mind.

They are both grinning widely and there is warmth in Simon’s brown eyes, the time seems to stop under the bright stars, and the nearby lamppost illuminates everything in a light that seems golden.

The whole moment seems serene and unreal and they just keep staring at each other in a silence that seems deafening. Simon’s gaze keeps darting to his lips and lingers there, and Jace has difficult time to convince himself he is only imagining it.

He does not know what takes over him, but he kisses Simon. He lets go of his hand and cups his face with his hands, and crashes their lips together.

For a moment, the only thought he has is Simon. Every single of his senses are full of him and only him, and all he can feel is the warmth of his lips on his own. Suddenly, the night is no longer a cold one as Jace is certain every single cell of his body is on fire.

It is an incredibly tender and sweet kiss, Simon slowly kisses him back, and it feels as if it lasts forever, and everything seems perfect until Jace’s brain catches up with his own actions.

He is kissing Simon, and suddenly his brain goes into a full panic mode, because kissing Simon is the last thing he should do. It is the one thing he should never do.

He hastily pulls away, breaking the kiss. Both of them are breathing heavily the cold air and Jace stares at him with a stunned and alarmed expression and wonders if he has the right to feel shocked and confused when he is the one who initiated it.

Simon’s expression is unreadable, and Jace is sure his brain has followed the plan to escape to the wilderness of Canada because every time he opens his mouth, no words come out.

“I-I- need to go,” he finally manages to breath out, and he runs away.

Simon does not follow him.

***

It is Sunday, and Jace has 53 missed calls and 46 unread text messages from Simon.

He knows avoiding him in unhealthy and unfair, because none of this is Simon’s fault. He did nothing wrong. It is Jace who messed everything up in the worst way possible.

He has wallowed in self-pity and misery for almost two days and he knows he should get a grip and just face him, but he is not ready.

He is not strong enough to confront him or the inevitable rejection. He does not want to hear what he has to say because he wants to shield himself from the pain a little longer.

He does not even want to think the possibility that he might have ruined everything between them. Yet, he cannot stop thinking about it or the kiss and it causes him excruciating pain. It is an arduous task not to think about Simon.

The kiss is playing in a loop in his head, and Jace just wants it to stop.

Alec and Izzy march into his room on a Sunday afternoon and stage an intervention for him. They even have a small sheet that says ‘intervention’ in red and Jace asks where they got it, but Izzy refuses to tell. Instead, she just tells they are doing the intervention out of love and because they think that spending an entire weekend by cleaning the seraph blades in the weapon’s room is not healthy.

Alec keeps nodding beside of his sister and adds that he would like if Simon did not call to him again to ask if Alec can feel through their parabatai bond whether Jace has fallen into a ditch and died or not.

Izzy just repeats that he and Simon are both idiots and apparently, Clary agrees with her.

Jace knows he cannot avoid Simon for the rest of his life even if it does seem the most tempting option, so he accepts his defeat and picks up his phone.

His phone almost jams up when he tries to open his messages, but he manages to read the latest messages Simon has sent to him.

[Simon 1.37 am]

I have a gig tomorrow night in Hunter’s moon, come there if you want to talk

[Simon 2.04 am]

I really hope you come, even if you don’t want to talk

[Simon 4.55 am]

I miss you

The messages make him feel slightly better, because after all, Simon is his friend, and maybe it would require a little more than a kiss to make him hate and abandon him.

***

Jace rehearses an apology in his head as he walks into the Hunter’s moon in the middle of Simon’s gig and even though the bar is dimly lit, Simon instantly notices him.

He is on stage with his guitar and when he looks up, Jace is convinced he looks straight at him and the corner of his mouth twitches up, and he keeps playing.

That alone is enough reason for Jace to stay at the bar. He walks up to the bar counter and sits down at one of the stools and keeps glancing at Simon over his shoulder while brooding.

His singing sounds beautiful and the crowd seems to be mesmerized.

“What do you want?” Maia asks, as she dries couple of shot glasses with a towel.

“Something strong,” Jace says bleakly as he stares at the surface of the bar counter.

Maia rolls her eyes exasperatedly and gives him a beer. “You’re an idiot,” she says it almost gently, “he is also an idiot,” she continues gesturing towards Simon. “You’re both idiots and sometimes I don’t know which one of you is a bigger idiot, but it’s probably you.”

“You sure know how to give a pep talk,” Jace tells her wryly and takes a long sip from his beer.

“It’s one of my various talents,” Maia answers matter-of-factly.

The crowd starts applauding loudly as Simon finishes his last song, and Maia claps as well, even though he is looking at Jace firmly.

“Just don’t break his heart, Herondale,” Maia advices him over the loud clapping, and Jace offers her a weak smile.

Simon almost trips down on his own feet as he rushes down from the stage and grabs Jace by the arm.

“Maia, we’re gonna steal your back alley for a moment,” Simon announces, and Maia nods at him. Jace has no time to protest before Simon drags him through the back door, and he only lets go of him when they are at the alley.

Jace stares at a filthy dumpster and takes a deep breath before he turns around and faces Simon. “I’m so sorry,” Jace starts immediately, unable to bottle it inside of him any longer, “I don’t know what I was thinking when I kissed you and I’m so sorry if this ruins-“

“Jace,” Simon interrupts him and he sounds a little exhausted and doleful. “There’s no need to apologize I wanted you to kiss me.”

Jace is sure the world stops for a second, and all he can hear is his heartbeat. “What?”

Simon sighs and rubs his own neck. “I wasn’t lying about the tangerine incident,” he eventually says, and his eyes dart around the small alley and he ends up staring at a milk cartoon that lies forgotten next to the dumpster.

It takes Jace an embarrassingly long time to realise what Simon implies, and when he does, he is speechless and overjoyed.

He thinks this must be a dream and this is not really happening, but he also knows he could not dream the disgusting smell of rotten tomatoes so vividly, and he figures this is reality.

“Oh,” Jace manages to breathe out, and Simon lets out a joyless laugh. “You mean-?” Jace tries to ask, but he is unable to say the word love. It feels as if it would burn his throat.

“Helplessly,” Simon answers, dodging the word as well and he sounds despondent. “I do understand if you don’t want anything more. Nothing has to change between us,” he rambles on, but his voice slightly breaks and he cannot hide the sorrow from his voice.

“What?” Jace repeats again, overwhelmed and confused by Simon’s words. He had braced himself for the rejection, but Simon makes it sound as if Jace is the one rejecting him.

“I don’t know,” Simon shrugs, “you looked like kissing me was the biggest mistake of your life and then you ran away and didn’t talk to me for almost two days.” He looks chagrined and it breaks his heart a little.

He still refuses to look at Jace, and his voice is quiet, and Jace realises Simon really expects him to reject him.

Jace steps closer to him, but the space between them still feels huge. “Only because I thought I had ruined everything between us,” he explains softly, “and I wasn’t lying during that dinner, either. I meant what I said about that morning.”

He feels light and numb, and even slightly dizzy to finally to admit it, but the ecstatic smile that spreads across Simon’s face makes it all worth it.

“You remember that song I played for you that morning?” Simon asks almost timidly, and seemingly unable to stop smiling, “I wrote that about you.”

“Really?” Jace asks, flabbergasted, and he cannot hide his awe.

Simon slowly nods and reaches to hold his hand. He intertwines their fingers gently, and he glances at their hands, but Jace cannot tear his eyes away from Simon.

Jace hums. “I guess it’s only appropriate I realised I love you while you played it,” he almost blurts it out, but he does not regret saying it, it is almost effortless to admit it now.

Simon’s smile widens, the lights from the neon signs around them illuminate his face, and Jace thinks he is the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

They are painstakingly close, and it feels as if the air is buzzing. Jace is convinced his heart might burst out of delirious happiness at any given moment.

Jace pulls Simon closer by the collar of his jacket and kisses him again eagerly, and Simon ends up pushing him against the brick wall.

Their second kiss is different from their first one. It is more enthusiastic, but it is still gentle and full of affection. Jace strokes Simon’s back with his hand, and Simon has both of his hands in Jace’s hair. It is dazzling and Jace makes a small but happy sound in the back of his throat, and Simon pulls away and grins.

“I think this alley might be my favourite of all the places we have visited together,” Jace jokes as he tries to catch his breath.

“I’ll try to find some more smelly alleys that are filled with garbage and waste for us to visit,” Simon chuckles and presses kisses to his jawline.

“I think it might have more to do with you than the recycling bins,” Jace admits with a smirk, and his gaze lingers in Simon’s eyes.

“Whoever said romance is dead was a liar,” Simon deadpans, but he is spectacularly failing with trying not to smile. He gently pushes a strand of Jace’s hair away from his face.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Jace tells while laughing blissfully, and Simon kisses him.

In retrospect, Jace thinks agreeing to be Simon’s fake date was the best thing he has ever done.

#jimon #jimon fic #jace herondale #simon lewis #fake dating #mutual pining #I had so much fun writing this fic #all the mistakes are mine #Nea writes stuff

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justafewsmallsteps · 7 years ago

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Makeup Marichat May, Day 11. Age-up Marinette!

Title: Change Word Count: 1,934

It’d been a while since he really saw her last. After they’d gone off to university, he’d had a hectic schedule that didn’t allow him much time to socialize with his friends from middle school or high school. Plus, with Nino away in Spain, and Alya’s web journalism internship they hardly had a chance to all get together.

Seeing her now, sitting on her balcony quietly consumed in sketching, Chat Noir was hit with an overwhelming wave of nostalgia.

“Good evening,” he greeted, gathering himself to balance on the railing as he used to do.

He was comforted that she reacted in such a Marinette-esque fashion: her sketchbook flailed along with her arms. Her sketch pencil flew in the air and landed with a quiet clatter on the balcony floor.

“Chat Noir!”

Quickly, her shock dissipated leaving behind a pointed glare as she watched him chuckle and climb down towards her, picking up her pencil in a quick swoop to the ground.

“What are you doing here? I… haven’t seen you around in a while.” Her mouth was an unsure frown.

He twiddled the pencil thoughtfully. He’d been keeping a low profile for the past year, mostly because of work. What with his new schedule having him fly from country to country, especially now that he had the body to model for actual runway shows, he’d been extra careful to keep Chat Noir’s appearances not seem so coincidental with Adrien Agreste’s comings and goings.

“It has been some time, Princess,” he knelt down to kiss her hand, avoiding her question and placing her pencil back into her palm.

“Haven’t heard that name in a while,” she sighed, pulling away from him before crossing her arms. Her hip cocked to the side as she watched him stand up tall, her questioning gaze never faltering.

It made him grin. “Your hair has gotten so long.”

She glanced down to examine it. It fell way past her shoulders in silky moonlit strands; a stark contrast to her light camisole and exposed shoulders. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but hair grows.”

“Is that so?” He noticed more than just her hair having grown, but promptly shook those thoughts away. “What have you been up to?” he decided to ask.

She frowned deeper. “School, mostly.”

“Ah yes, and how is the institution treating you?”

Her expression morphed a tad and he watched her set her sketchbook down, tucking her pencil between the pages to keep her place. “It’s difficult this time around. It’s not as simple as circle skirts and pleating. So much talent around me, it’s hard to constantly compete. That’s the fashion world for you though.”

“If anyone can handle a challenge, it’s you.”

At that she smiled, and it was like the sudden stilling of agitated waters. “How about you, kitty?”

The nickname sent a bizarrely enjoyable shock down his spine to his toes.

“Though I suppose you’re a full-blown tomcat now…” she teased gently with a flick of his bell.

He didn’t know if that nickname was worse or better, but his insides felt molten despite his body going stiff.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he tried, doing his best to gather himself into someone more suave.

A roll of her beautiful blue eyes was his prize.

He had to admit, Marinette had gotten really pretty in the last year. Not to say she wasn’t before, but whereas he’d always found her charming and adorable… she was all that and more now.

“I’ve been busy,” he finally answered.

“Is that a good thing?”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary. I missed stretching my legs and running around the rooftops though.” He took in the sight of her again as she assessed his answer. She was short, but maybe he only thought that because he’d gotten a lot taller than their middle school days. The nostalgia for those days fought its way up his throat. “I also missed you.”

“You say that like we would see each other often,” she said narrowly.

“A few stolen chats under the starlight with a pretty girl, pastries, and hot chocolate while staring at the Eiffel, who wouldn’t miss that?”

He watched as Marinette made her way to her railing to wistfully look at the tower lit up. One of her favorite pastimes, he knew. The superhero followed, but stood next to her instead of sitting perched up as he did when they were younger.

“It was nice,” she sighed. “Talking about everything and nothing. Those are very precious moments to me.” She turned her face slightly to peer up at him. “How have you been? Seen Ladybug around? She’s a rare sight too nowadays.”

“I see My Lady few and far between patrols. It’s been a while since the last time, but we’ve run into each other on a handful of occasions.”

“Saving people?”

He nodded and began listing on his black, claw tipped hands. “A mugging, a robbery, and a mild fire. Very mild. Not even news worthy. Everyone got out fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Are there things I should worry about?”

“Well…”

She raised her eyebrow at him, the light from the city giving her questioning stare a warm, pearly glow. Somewhere in that look he swore he saw an undercurrent of concern that knotted his stomach.

“Nothing you need to fret about.”

She pouted. “If I don’t hear or see you in a while, of course I’m going to wonder if you’ve been skinned. You aren’t the luckiest cat out there.”

Chat Noir smiled down at her to tease. “Worried about me, are we?”

“Yes.” She turned her head away in an annoyed huff, resting a cheek in one of her palms. “Believe it or not.”

He felt a strong desire to wrap his hand around her waist to comfort her. Or just bring her closer. His reasoning teetered between heroic and selfish. There was a big part of him that was extremely curious to feel how her hips would fit into his arm now that she’d filled out and he’d gotten taller. He imagined the curve of her waist resting at his side, and felt annoyed that he couldn’t just see for himself if he was estimating her height well enough. It was hard to tell with her bent over slightly.

For all her same features, she didn’t seem much like the sweet, clumsy, pigtailed girl he used to hang out with. The tips of her hair brushed along the top of the railing. Had it really been that long that he couldn’t stop staring?

“You’ve grown up a lot,” Chat Noir admitted.

She peered at him curiously, her face lifting from her hand. “What do you mean?”

His tailed flicked and he fought down the blush forming quickly on his face. He’d accidentally let that slip, and that was embarrassing in itself, but the expression on Marinette’s face was something else entirely. Pink lips in a tilted pout, bright eyes waiting on him with the vastness of the sky, and slim fingers resting gently under her chin.

“C-can’t really explain it. It just feels different.” He hoped that answer was good enough.

She straightened out her back and hummed, forcing him (really, he had no other choice) to focus again on her mouth. “Different, huh? I wonder how…”

Different in that she was making his heart race whereas she’d always had such a calming effect on him before. Different in the sense that he could feel his toes curling and his spine stretching straight. Different in that when her hand came up to his arm, he felt like magic filling his body with sparklers, similar to the fire that lit up within him when he’d catch wind of His Lady. But it was different, of course, because this was Marinette.

Her gaze locked onto his; her hand moving him to face her fully. “I’m just a little older, but I guess some things change.”

Change, wrapped in a petite girl with blue eyes and a knack for doodling, had never seemed so alluring before.

He gulped. “They do…”

“Hey, are you going to be around more often?” she asked suddenly, slotting both her hands in the crooks of his arms. They bent forward to lightly take hold of her at her elbows. It was a steadying motion to ground himself, because somehow it felt as if he was floating in her presence. That, or the rest of the world was sinking. Either way, holding on to Marinette Dupain-Cheng was his only hope.

His mouth wasn’t working, and she was looking at him quizzically, waiting for him to respond.

It was just that she was so close now; it’d be easy to pull her in. It wouldn’t take much. Her arms were already so well fitted in his own. He really just should—

“Chat Noir?”

An answer. He should really answer her. That’d be good.

He untwisted his heavy tongue. “I’d like to be…”

She raised a pretty eyebrow in question.

“Around more, that is.” He couldn’t help but hope she wanted that from him. Needy, he asked with an air of conceitedness that he could only muster behind his mask, “Would you like me to visit more, Princess?” He hoped his tone was convincing enough, because he simply could not muster up the actual confidence to throw a smirk her way. Not when he was anticipating her answer so anxiously. He couldn’t help it. Please say ‘yes’. Please say ‘yes!’

What followed were a few beats of unnerving silence.

She wouldn’t look up at him, and it made his chest constrict. That’d been too arrogant, hadn’t it? He wanted to backtrack. Nervous, he tried weakly, “Marinette?”

She suddenly looked up, blue eyes bright with surprise. Her hold on him tightened, bringing her back to reality. “Sorry! I was wondering which cookies to bring for next time you visit. You liked the lemon raspberry macarons best, right?”

He blinked down at her. Was that all? She’d just been thinking? About cookies? About next time?

“They were seasonal, but I think I can convince Papa to make them again since it’ll be summer soon. When do you think you’ll stop by again?”

Relief and affection hit him with the full force of a tidal wave. It knocked him down and into her. He was too swept up to do anything about it, so he gathered the girl up completely, pinning her arms against her sides. “Chat Noir?”

“You’re really something else.” He’d nearly forgotten just how thoughtful Marinette had always been. “I’m so glad to see you, Princess.” It’d been too long.

She wiggled her shoulders to make him loosen his grip, and soon he found her hugging him back. His shoulders sagged into her. It felt as fitting as he thought it would, the sensation both new and familiar. It was odd, because how many times had he actually hugged her as Adrien? Definitely not many as Chat Noir, but somehow there was a distinct feeling of returning. He was particularly fond of her head resting on his chest. That’s where the newness came in, he supposed. That, and the blooming feeling expanding from his lungs.

“It’s nice to see you, too.” Marinette said with an assuring squeeze. “I really did miss you, silly cat.”

“Would it be okay for me to start seeing you more?” He pulled away to look her in the eye.

Her smile greeted him sweetly. “I think that’d be a nice change.”

“I could use some change in my life.” He grinned sincerely.

#marichat #marichat may #Marinette dupain-cheng #Chat Noir #miraculous ladybug #jelly art #jelly fic #justafewsmallsteps

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the-real-tc · 8 years ago

Text

Fic Update! Wide River to Cross: Chapter 17

Author’s Note: A big thanks to @katybeth23 and @mlcsped for being my “sounding board” and offering encouragement and timely suggestions. We return to Lisa’s POV this time, and of course she’s still not in a happy place (duh, because she’s not with Jack, that's why). Hope you enjoy, despite the not-happy Lisa moments.

Chapter 17:

The Great Divorce Horse

The day’s forecast for Toulon called for sun with some cloudy patches towards afternoon. Lisa was glad for it. Bleak, rainy weather from earlier in the year seemed to have moved on, giving way to more favourable conditions for the grapes the Laportes were expecting to harvest in and around September from Lisa’s property. Dry weather also meant better riding conditions. As Lisa was wont to do in the mornings, she saddled up Indigo for a quick ride. The blue roan was eager for something more than a sedate walk through the open field nearby, so Lisa indulged him in a healthy gallop, urging him on with a hard nudge to his side. She delighted in the rush of the wind against her exposed face as they raced along, her ears filled with the sound of Indigo’s pounding hooves as they beat the turf. Her own pulse quickened with the thrill of the run.

Lisa was at once grateful for those first humans who developed the art of domesticating the wild horse. All that skill and knowledge had trickled down through the ages to this one point in time when she could enjoy this activity. Horse and rider together made an amazing and complementary team whether for work, sport, or recreation. The fact Lisa had dedicated her entire adult life to the pursuit of maintaining strong bloodlines and rearing the best thoroughbreds meant she was part of that continuum, etching her own place in horse-breeding history.

After about a half-hour, Lisa turned back for home.

Home. Is that what this is now? Lisa thought as she came over a slight rise and spotted her property in the distance. I guess it is, if I’m going to be selling Fairfield.

Selling Fairfield was an inevitability. Rachel had put up no resistance to Lisa’s giving it up, and once the sale was complete, her investment in the Avignon venture could proceed. Even though another investor had backed out—which was the reason for the most recent delay—Dan was confident they would be able to find someone else. In their latest conversation, Dan had mentioned he was actively looking for that third potential investor. “…And once we pool our resources, we’ll be looking at having one of the most state-of-the-art horse-breeding facilities in Europe,” he’d boasted.

The memory of that conversation now struck Lisa like a bolt of lightning. Dan’s talk of “pooling resources” had been one of the reasons Jack started suspecting Dan and Lisa were on the road to reconciling whatever differences had parted them.

It still stung on some level that Jack could have even entertained that notion. Was he still so insecure about Dan that he would think she was getting back together with him? Even now, long after that unfortunate event, Lisa wished Jack had asked her, straight up, what was going on. It was true she rarely talked about her work with him because Jack had almost zero interest in high-end, racehorse-breeding. It was a rich man’s world, and Jack preferred to steer clear. That, and any mention of Dan was sure to be a mood-spoiler, regardless of whether it was only in the context of business.

Once Lisa was back inside after caring for Indigo’s post-ride needs, she settled in for a day of catching up on correspondence. Half-a-dozen other horses following Porthos had been tested for specific genetic markers, and Lisa was eager to see if the results had come in from the lab. Already, they had nearly thirty clients with mares interested in the middle-distance champion; Lisa expected that number to double before the breeding season was over.

There were several messages in Lisa’s Inbox vying for attention, but the newest one caught her eye in an instant:

Mackenzie Hutton-Parsons Re: Diva Girl

Lisa clicked on the message link as memories came to mind from the day she gifted Mackenzie and Ian Parsons with the supposedly cursed Andalusian horse.

“Dear Lisa,

I hope you’re doing well. Remember when you so generously gave Diva Girl to me when I married my darling Ian? You made me promise that if we ever bred her, you wanted her first-born. Well, I have some great news. Diva Girl foaled last night on Ian’s parents’ farm in Montana! It’s a boy! We haven’t thought of a name yet; we thought we’d leave that privilege to you.”

A smile spread across Lisa’s face at the news. Mackenzie’s message went on for several more paragraphs, updating Lisa on how things were going at her small Art Gallery and Ian’s growing graphic design company. It started to read almost like a confessional when Mackenzie mentioned her parents, Ray and June:

“Mom and Dad are also keeping well. They’re thinking of selling their place in the Hamptons and offered it to us first, but I don’t think we’re going to take them up on it. As much as it would be nice to keep it “in the family”, I just don’t see me and Ian hanging around with that crowd. It’s so weird to say it, but that world just seems alien to me now. Once the gossip about my eloping with Ian died down and my parents accepted that I wasn’t marrying some other trust-fund brat, I realized just how much pressure I had been putting on myself to live up to their crazy expectations. Now, I can’t imagine working in that cutthroat, brutal world I left behind when I quit my job with Strickland & Cook.”

Lisa recalled meeting Ray and June Hutton on a few occasions in the company of her own good friends, Elspeth and Riley Penfield. The Penfields were practically an institution in horseracing circles and had owned a few champion racehorses in their day. The last time Lisa saw them was at the Breeders’ Cup two years previous at Santa Anita Park. Mackenzie’s email concluded:

“Anyway, hope to hear from you soon! Ian and I would love to come out and see you all again sometime in the near future, and of course you’ll have to let me know what name you’d like to give Diva Girl’s foal.

Sincerely,

Mackenzie Hutton-Parsons”

Lisa wrote back a quick reply, saying she was of course only kidding when she’d staked a claim on Diva Girl’s first-born, but she was happy to supply Mackenzie with some name suggestions if she was lacking. She hit ‘Send’, planning to continue with reading her emails. Scanning the “subject line” area in the list to prioritize the messages in order of importance, Lisa still hoped to see something from the genetics lab. However, the ‘all caps’ text of one email from her ex-husband was impossible to ignore:

Dan Hartfield

Re: IMPORTANT!! MUST READ AND RESPOND ASAP!!

“Lisa, Where are we with the sale of Fairfield? You need to get on that, or we’re going to miss our window of opportunity to get things off the ground per the timetable we set. Any more delays, and it’s going to start affecting our bottom line. How am I supposed to find another investor if you can’t even commit? Things are tenuous right now, and I need your support. I needn’t remind you of all the times I supported you, so get this done. Get back to me as soon as you receive this.

-Dan”

As much as Lisa felt the Avignon venture was a positive step towards maintaining their place in the competitive world of breeding the best racehorses, she was greatly annoyed at Dan’s pushiness. He’d previously claimed he was positive he could find another investor; now he was changing his tune, pinning his inability to bring in someone else on her apparent lack of commitment to the cause. Pulling out of Hudson as one of the main hubs for their breeding operation would elevate their status even higher on the international scene, so this plan—though risky—made a lot of sense. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, thought Lisa. Nevertheless, the hostility she currently felt towards her ex-husband was reaching a critical level. How dare he blame her for his failings?

“Dan,

As you’re aware, the real estate market is in the toilet right now. If we try to sell Fairfield at present, we’re not going to get its full worth. That’s going to mean another hit to your precious “bottom line”. I think it’s prudent to wait a few more months. The market is bound to swing back in our favour. I don’t want to give the farm away for nothing, so let’s be patient about this. Our timetable will still be on track, so use that time to woo those other investors you were so confident of finding.

-Lisa”

With a smug smile, she hit the “Send” button. She didn’t know if suggesting her reluctance to sell Fairfield due to unfavourable market prices would make him back off, but appealing to his “bottom line” was sure to make him think twice. Dan could be ruthless when it came to the money side of things, and the thought of not coming out on top in a business transaction tended to upset him.

When they had first met, Lisa had known right away Dan was success-driven. They were similar in that sense, and their love of horses had initially made for a very comfortable and compatible partnership. Dan could be very charming when he was in the process of orchestrating a deal; he had certainly been very charming when they had been getting to know each other romantically. The charm wore off soon enough, as though Dan grew bored of keeping it going once he’d landed her as his wife. Things they should have discussed before tying the knot became problematic. He’d wanted to move to the ‘States; she’d balked at leaving Fairfield, which she considered a perfectly logical base of operations if they were going to make a serious go of breeding thoroughbreds. Dan had thought Hudson to be too “small potatoes” a town for what he envisioned. She’d acquiesced, however reluctantly, concluding such a compromise would be good in the long run for both their fledgling business and their marriage.

I was right about one of those, at least, Lisa now reflected. The business had thrived, and they’d made invaluable contacts and friends by dint of their more cosmopolitan setting in the ‘States, something that wouldn’t have been as easily accomplished in Hudson.

But where they found success in breeding fine racehorses, they couldn’t make a success of their marriage. The business became Dan��s sole focus, and he expected Lisa to keep up. She’d assumed children would come right along with the marriage; when it didn’t happen, Dan wasn’t nearly as supportive as she had hoped he would be. The heartbreak of several miscarriages didn’t evoke in him the kind of compassion she’d expected and wanted, leaving her to feel as if she were alone in her grief.

And then Dad became ill and Mom left, Lisa thought with a sad shake of her head. Taking care of Matthew Stillman had come with its own set of difficulties, but it afforded Lisa a much-needed “time out” from her marriage to Dan. She concluded during those eighteen months of tending to her father that she didn’t miss her husband. His cruel words to her about the possibility of passing Huntington’s on to their children had rung in her ears for a long, painful while.

Dan must have used the lengthy time they were inadvertently separated to re-think his attitude, for when Lisa returned to the USA shortly after Matthew’s passing, he had a special request.

Lisa recalled he’d been particularly solicitous of her. “I have a horse I want you to come see,” Dan had said the morning after she came back. “A yearling. I think you’re going to love her, Lisa.”

From the moment Lisa laid eyes on Diva Girl, she was indeed taken by the gorgeous Andalusian. The ink was barely dry on the ownership papers when the young horse began to present unpredictable behaviors. Despite that, Diva Girl managed to bring home some prizes when she was shown, but nevertheless continued to misbehave for no apparent reason. None of their trainers seemed able to deal with Diva Girl’s temperamental streak. One trainer even threatened to sue Dan and Lisa for damages after being bitten very badly—a complication that worsened an already frustrating situation. Buying the horse was supposed to have been Dan’s way of patching things up; instead, it was having the exact opposite effect on their floundering marriage.

Eventually, Diva Girl was sold to new owners who believed her problems were exaggerated; the proceeds of that sale divided between Dan and Lisa as part of their divorce settlement. Months later, Lisa was picking up the pieces of her life, trying to get Fairfield back into shape, when she received a call from one of the owners.

“We can’t cope with an ill-tempered horse and a divorce at the same time,” the wife had complained to Lisa. “We can’t even agree on a sale price for her, so we’ve decided to just return her and get our money back. That, at least, my soon-to-be ex-husband and I can agree on!”

The last thing Lisa wanted to do at that time was take back the horse; too many bitter memories attached to Diva Girl and the mess of a marriage she wanted to leave behind. Buying her hadn’t made any practical sense from the very beginning, and now that impulse purchase was coming back to haunt them.

Arranging the return meant involving Dan. Lisa was loath to involve her ex-husband, but circumstances dictated otherwise. Dan could probably find another buyer more quickly than she could, and she was sorely in need of the capital to keep Fairfield running.

“Just talk to Dan, darling,” Evelyn had counseled Lisa at the time. “It can’t do any harm, can it? Heaven knows I’m the last one who should be talking about letting pride get in the way… But now is the time to swallow yours. Take back that horse, sell her to someone else, make back the money, and everything will be all right.”

Swallowing her pride meant also shoving back the worst memories of words spoken in anger and malice in the heat of so many terrible moments.

“You think you can do better somewhere else, Lisa? Is that it? Is there someone else in Hudson?!” Dan had accused in what was perhaps their darkest period.

“Of course not!” Lisa had shot back, shocked to the core he could think she would be unfaithful, even if things were strained between them.

“Oh, I don’t know, Lisa. You did spend more than a year there,” Dan had sneered. “I know how men look at you; don’t pretend you don’t notice, either. You think some other man is going to be okay with the fact you’ve got a 50/50 chance of inheriting the same thing that killed your father? That if you have kids, they could inherit it, too? Give it up, Lisa. It’s time you realise you ought to be satisfied you’re with me. You need to quit being obsessed with this motherhood deal, count your lucky stars it didn’t work out, and move on to more important things: like our marriage, and our business!”

Aunt Evelyn had always liked Dan, so she had been disappointed when Lisa announced the divorce. Nevertheless, Evelyn offered a compassionate ear through it all, though she was never able to fully comprehend the reasons, believing her niece was making a terrible mistake.

Lisa hadn’t felt ready to share those particularly awful conversations and deeply cruel words and accusations from Dan’s mouth. Part of that was because Lisa hadn’t been able to talk about her pregnancy losses with anyone else besides Rachel, and partly because she knew Dan liked Evelyn, too. Their marriage might be over, but that didn’t have to poison the rest of the family relationships.

There was no way to avoid the Diva Girl issue, really, so Lisa eventually heeded her aunt’s advice. She had put aside her pride, mustered all her courage, and picked up the phone to call Dan.

“I spoke with Clarissa McNeil. She and Chip are getting a divorce and, uh… want to return Diva Girl. They say they can’t deal with her moods, and neither of them wants to keep her once they’ve gone their separate ways. I don’t have the funds right now to cover the full repayment. I—I need your help, Dan. After all, we bought her together, before the divorce. She belongs to you, too…”

Lisa wasn’t sure how he would react, fearing the worst; thinking he might maliciously choose that moment to blame her for Diva Girl’s issues and declare the horse to be solely her problem. To her surprise, though, Dan seemed to have a reversion to his old charming self.

“I’d be happy to help you, Lisa. We may have our differences, but I know this is important. Don’t worry; we’ll take Diva back. We’ll find another buyer soon, okay? That way, we won’t be out-of-pocket for too long.”

“Thanks. Thank-you, Dan,” Lisa had responded, flushed with genuine gratitude. She was further surprised by Dan’s next words:

“You’re welcome… And Lisa, I know you’ve been getting a little financial help from Evelyn, and that’s great, but don’t be so stubborn that you let Fairfield sink into oblivion. I don’t want you to lose your family business because you didn’t want to ask me for help. We may be divorced now, but there’s no rule that says we can’t be business partners. We were always good at that side of things, weren’t we?”

Truly, they did very well as business partners, and Lisa found herself agreeing to allow Dan to come on as an investor in Fairfield’s operations. Lisa hadn’t initially interpreted his offer as anything other than a gesture of kindness coupled with a calculated risk that had a good chance of paying off. He never entered a business deal without a “What’s-in-it-for-me” clause; Lisa never once considered he might have suggested a partnership with an aim to win her back.

Dan eventually moved his own breeding operations back to Hudson under the name of Brookland Stables, ostensibly to benefit both his “bottom line” and that of Fairfield’s. Years of hard work began to pay off, and Fairfield Stables’ thoroughbreds began to place in national and international races. In all those years, Lisa’s single-minded pursuit of building up Fairfield had precluded any notion of pursuing a serious relationship with someone else; she was determined not to get involved after such a dismal failure with Dan.

All that had changed when she met Jack Bartlett at the Heartland Open House. By all appearances, they were totally incompatible. She was young enough to be his daughter, enjoying a jet-set lifestyle as she courted wealthy horse owners with more money than Jack could ever hope to see. Nevertheless, the spark that flashed between them burst into a flame that burned slowly but surely, warming them both with the realisation this was more than a passing fancy.

To Lisa’s consternation, Dan became weirdly territorial once he realised Lisa was starting something with the rodeo legend. It had all been going along so well; the thriving business kept them both happy; kept things uncomplicated. If Dan thought he was wooing her again, the appearance of Jack threw all those plans into the manure pile.

But that’s all gone now, Lisa now thought with deep regret. Between Dan’s irrational jealousy and Val Stanton’s desperate plays for Jack, Lisa found herself wondering how they’d managed to last for as long as they did.

Maybe it’s the old Diva Girl the ‘Divorce Horse’ curse at work again; it’s following me around, but it ruined me and Jack even before we could say “I do”, Lisa pondered, then scoffed at the notion. While she’d floated the possibility of being cursed in her relationships before, Lisa was too rational and pragmatic an individual to truly buy into it. After all, Mackenzie and Ian Parsons were still happily married; Diva Girl’s behaviors solved by Amy’s astute diagnosis that she just wanted to “be a horse”.

At least it wasn’t a problem horse that got between us, Jack, Lisa mused. We have only ourselves to blame for our breakup. Maybe Dan is right; maybe I am dragging my feet with putting Fairfield on the market… What am I holding on to anymore?

Oh, I sure would love to see your handsome face at my door, Jack. If you still love me, I wish you would take the first step, because I don’t know how to feel anymore about how you rejected me that night at Heartland when I rented that ridiculous hospital bed… I don’t know anymore if you even want to see me, or talk to me, or tell me you’re sorry and you want me to come back… because if you did, Jack, I’d be back in a heartbeat, and I’d keep Fairfield for good.

Chapter 18: Always Something There to Remind Me

#Heartland #heartland fanfiction #wide river to cross #Chapter 17 #The Great Divorce Horse #Lisa Stillman #Jack Bartlett #Dan Hartfield #Aunt Evelyn #my fanfiction #Jisa #jisa fanfiction

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