#I didn’t count the ones where fitz mentioned his hands but didn’t describe them

[everywaythatmatters]

So if you were a 100%-straight-definitely-heterosexual man like Mr. FitzChivalry Farseer, how many times do you think you’d describe your boy best friend’s hands in a singular book? Bc in Fool’s Errand Fitz did it SIXTEEN FUCKING TIMES

[an-absolute-travesty]

Secret Santa fic!

Heya @all-eternity it was me all along! I hope you enjoy this :) very much looking foward to actually being able to follow you after this without looking sketchy lmao

Also shoutout to my lovely beta reader @keepersandqueens as if I don’t talk about Salas enough here lol

Warnings: underage drinking, drinking in general, hangover, drugs/medication mention (not abused, basic over the counter stuff dw), mentions of vomit (not described)

Pairings: Kam, background marelinh, ex titz

About: Kam coffee shop college au 

Word count: 5,205

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or removed): @cadence-talle @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlyvacksen @percabetn @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42​ @rainbowtay-11 @callas-starkflower-stew @impostertamsong @appalyneinstitute1 @stars-and-splendor @anna-without-an-e @mistythegenderqueermess @we-have-no-bananas-today @we-wont-dissapear @jadenightthewriter

Tam stumbled into his first 8 am class, anxiety making his heart feel like it was pounding out of his chest and stomach doing backflips.

If he could survive bouncing between foster homes, a short stint at juvie, and worst of all high school, he could survive college.

Well he thought he could until he saw a familiar person right next to the only available chair in the room.

God fucking damn it.

"Hey Bangs Boy!" Keefe waved him down, causing a scene. Tam had no option but to sit beside him, both because of the lack of chairs and the fact that everyone was now staring at him.

Not a great start.

"What a coincidence! I notice you still haven't taken my suggestions on your hair, I'm telling ya' you'd get all the girls and or guys and nonbinary pals with a man bun." Keefe looked smug at the fact he'd be able to taunt Tam for another semester, minimum. Tam was already making a mental note to check when he could swap out of classes.

"Keefe, if I knew you were going here I would've just gotten myself back in jail, oh wait, you were the one who got me in there in the first place." Tam shot him a look, praying that he'd suddenly develop superpowers and shoot lasers from his eyes.

"Hey, just because I came up with the idea...and helped with some of the execution, doesn't mean I'm responsible for you trashing your parents house. Besides, you were only in there for like 3 days max before you got out," Keefe said, shrugging as if 3 days in jail was no biggie.

"Most peaceful 3 days of my life," Tam sneered, turning back to the front of the room as the professor walked in.

"Good morning class!" the prof turned to the white board, writing his name. "I am Dr. Harding," he tapped it for emphasis.

The class was silent.

"And you say good mor..."

"Good morning Dr. Harding," The class said in unison, they all sounded tired and bored.

This wasn't going to be fun.

~*~

"Grande ice vanilla latte for...Hen-are-y?"

The man shot Keefe a look as he grabbed his coffee.

"Henry." He dropped a tip in the jar, fifty cents. How generous.

He had come in before, and never left good tips. Keefe made it a game to pronounce the names of anyone who wasn't a college student and left bad tips wrong, no matter how much they came in. It was a wonder he hadn't been fired yet.

As he turned preparing another drink, the bell at the top of the door rang. He ignored it at first until he heard a quiet, "Fuck," come from behind.

"Bangs boy!"

"Why are you here?"

"I work here obviously," Keefe walked up to the counter. "Now, what'll it be?"

Tam sighed. "Iced caramel macchiato with two extra shots of espresso."

"Size?"

"Venti."

Keefe whistled thinking about how much caffeine that was as he wrote down "Bangs Boy" on the cup.

"Alright, that'll be 5.75, may I ask why the insane amount of coffee? I believe I remember you saying caffeine makes you anxious in high school."

"Yes, but it also helps me focus, and I have a quiz tomorrow I haven't studied for."

"Fair enough," Keefe said, going to prepare the drink. "It'll be ready in five."

Tam nodded, walking off to the side and scrolling on his phone. Keefe made the drink, occasionally sneaking looks over at Tam. He didn't seem to notice, thank God.

Soon after, they finished the transaction.

"See you at class," Keefe said, he was trying to be genuine, but it came across more taunting.

Tam grimaced, muttered "Thanks for the coffee," and walked out the door.

~*~

The class fell silent as a disheveled Dr. Harding walked in, a pack of gatorade in one hand and bottle of tylenol in the other. He popped one as he sat down.

"Hello class it seems today I have the worst headache imaginable, just give me about 5 minutes of silence and we will go over your assignments."

Keefe leaned over to Tam's desk.

"Well, we know what he got into last night," he whispered. "Heard the bar on the corner of 5th was giving out two for ones for professors."

"Isn't that place run by the alumni?"

"Exactly. Gotta thank Alvar tomorrow, Fitz said it was his idea."

"Wait Fitz goes here too? Why did I not-"

"Boys!" Dr. Harding practically yelled. "I am tired of the racket." He put his face in his hands where his elbows rested on the desk, bald spot showing to the world.

"We were whispering!" Keefe made a 'what the hell' sort of gesture. Tam glared at him, hoping he could communicate 'I will kill you myself if you say another word' with just his eyes.

"Sencen, do I look like I care?"

Keefe winced a bit at the use of his last name. That was something Tam could understand.

"Look, boys," Dr. Harding stood up and turned to the chalkboard, writing something down. "If you all like talking so much, you'll love this next project."

He walked to the side, revealing the board, that read '10 page essay, due the 25th'

"With the person next to you, you'll be writing a 10 page essay on um...the importance of keeping your oil changed in your car. You'll then present it to the class. It's worth 25 points."

A student raised their hand.

"Luka?"

"Sir, I thought this was a psychology course?"

"It is. You are all excused."

With that, he left the room with his tylenol and gatorade in his arms. The students glared at Keefe and Tam as they all got up, muttering amongst themselves about the pure bullshittery of it all.

"So..." Keefe said, slowly standing. "Does the library tomorrow at 3 work? I have work until then, so it can't be any earlier."

"Yeah, sure." Tam promptly walked out of the classroom as fast as possible, he didn't know why but his anxiety was spiking. He tried to tell himself it was just because he was a useless gay that didn't know jackshit about cars, yeah, surely that was it.

Just a useless gay.

~*~

Tam waited at a table in the library, it was 3:05, Keefe was late.

He didn't know what else he expected from him, he always seemed to do stuff like this. At the same time, Tam didn't have the energy to be particularly mad at him. This was going to be the stupidest essay ever written in the history of man, might as well put it off.

The library door slammed open, and in came Keefe. He balanced a large stack of papers and books along with four drinks. He stumbled over to Tam and practically threw them down on the table.

"Sorry I'm late, I thought it would be nice to, like, get you a coffee, but I didn't know how much caffeine you wanted, so I got one decaf caramel macchiato, one normal, and one with an extra shot, and also hot chocolate for me."

He sat down in the chair by Tam, as if getting three different coffees for someone you were forced to do a project with was totally normal.

"Um...thanks, I-I can pay you back-"

"Don't worry about it." Keefe turned to him and smiled, bright and friendly. Tam was frozen. "Okay, now it's car time." Keefe turned back to the desk.

"Yeah."

They were silent for a while as they researched, Keefe going through his piles of papers and books and Tam on his laptop like any sane person would.

Tam finally worked up the nerve to talk.

"So um...this is out of nowhere, but I think you mentioned Fitz went here?"

"Oh, yeah." Keefe put down the absurdly large textbook that was set up in front of him. "He's my roommate, he uh thought it would be best not to tell you after everything, I guess."

"That's fine," Tam shrugged like he didn't care. "I'm over it."

He was, really. They only dated like 2 weeks, sure it ended with a...pretty big fight after Fitz claimed he wouldn't be able to date someone who had gone to jail and Tam reminded him it was his best friend that got him in there in the first place, but he was still over it. There was still something bothering him, nothing to do with Fitz himself but...something. He just couldn't put his finger on what.

"Alright, I'll take your word." Keefe shrugged, setting his giant book back up in front of him.

Tam felt the need to start talking again, but didn't. They were mostly silent for the next 40 minutes or so, just researching and the occasional word exchanged between them.

Keefe checked his phone.

"Shit," He got up. "Work emergency, I gotta go. Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah that works."

"Chill, see ya' later."

"Bye."

Keefe waved (with a wide grin Tam would've called idiotic in high school) as he went out the door.

Tam found himself with a smile on his own face, he quickly stopped, hoping no one saw.

~*~

Keefe hurried into work, pulling his apron on as he saw the absurdly long line and a panicked Marella frantically making coffees behind the counter. She sighed with relief when she saw him.

"Thank God," She said as he stepped behind the counter with her. "There was a scheduling error, Forkle's useless at that stuff."

Mr. Forkle, their well-meaning but often mistaken manager, was out of town at the moment. The fate of the Starbucks rested on two college kids, what could go wrong.

And so they went, Keefe taking orders and Marella fulfilling them until there were no more to serve.

Marella, quite literally, threw in a towel she had wiped her face with. Promptly going to the back, presumably for her break. Keefe followed her.

"Alright, I think you can probably go back to whatever you were doing before this now if you'd like," said Marella, inspecting the small braids in her hair in the nearest shiny surface.

"Nah I was just doing a project with Tam for Harding's stupid class, he's probably left by now, I might as well rack up some overtime."

Marella turned back at him, clearly caught off guard at the name.

"Tam? As in my-girlfriend's-brother Tam? As in you-had-a-massive-crush-on-in-highschool Tam? As in dated-Fitz Tam? As in you-got-him-in-jail-"

"Yes! Yes! Why does everyone remind me of that, it was one time."

"When you get someone in jail, people tend to remember," Marella went silent for a second, thinking, before looking Keefe in the eye. "Wow, that must be awkward as hell, I mean seriously, if I were you I'd straight up file a restraining order just to avoid him. Maybe move to another country. I hear Estonia is lovely this time of year."

"Eh, it's not as bad as it seems. I mean it was awful at first, mostly because I tried to resume right where we left it on the taunting front, but I think it's ok now."

"Hm. Well good luck with that," Marella turned back to go to the front, but Keefe grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Uh, actually I need your advice on something. It has to do with Tam."

"Shoot."

"Well I was thinking of maybe, I don't know, asking him out or something? Look, yeah, it's an awful idea but is it 'he never wants to talk to me again' awful or 'he attempts to strangle me' awful?"

Marella looked him up and down, eyes uncomfortably cold, as usual.

"I mean, no hetero, but despite your annoying qualities you're a decent looking guy. Plus Tam's, like, super anxious according to Linh, so maybe he'll be too awkward to say no. You can probably squeeze at least one date in there."

"Wow, thanks Mare," Keefe mumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, I try. Also don't call me Mare."

"Alright Ella!" Keefe called as the front door's bell rang, signalling a new customer. Marella went off to take care of it, unable to respond she growled back at him.

~*~

Tap tap tap tap tap.

Tam glared from across the table.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

Keefe looked up, muttered a simple "Fidgety" and went right back to it, tapping his pen against the table. Tam said nothing more.

Keefe had been quiet for this entire meeting, something highly unusual for him.

"Ok, seriously dude, what's up? I haven't seen you this quiet literally ever."

He only seemed to get more fidgety at this question, his bouncing leg shaking the library table.

"I...um..." he looked down, running a hand through his hair "I have a test I need to cram for and no one to study with and keep me accountable. Y'know, ADHD issues."

Tam didn't overthink for once in his life but the moment the sentence was out of his mouth he regretted it.

"I have a test too, maybe we could study together?"

Keefe smiled his annoyingly charming smile.

"Sounds good."

"Good."

Tam quickly looked back down at his computer, trying to look like he was still doing car research when in actuality he was processing he just actively offered to spend more time with Keefe Sencen.

If Linh found out about this he'd never live it down.

He didn't think he cared.

~*~

Dr. Harding walked through the classroom door, clearly much less hungover than his last appearance.

The students waited, would they get an apology? Any sort of remorse?

"Alright, who wants to read first?"

Apparently not.

Keefe raised his hand with too much confidence for what their essay looked like. Tam gave him a confused look. He had his scheming face on, never good.

"Mr. Sencen!" Keefe winced at the use of his last name by the doctor. "What an amazing start, it's only appropriate. One of you boys come up and present."

Tam gave Keefe a look of 'do you want me to do it?' Keefe just smiled and got up from his chair. This would either be really good or really, really bad. Tam was all too familiar with the scheme face.

"Doc, I did depart from the source material a bit here, hope you don't mind. And I use 'I' because Tam had no involvement in this, he deserves full points for his essay."

Keefe cleared his throat, the room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

"Doctor Harding deserves to get fired: an essay. (And it's only been a week!) Paragraph one, his drinking problem-"

"Sencen! Back to your seat now. I will see you after class, or I will not see you in my next class, understand?"

Keefe gave a thumbs up as he sat back on his chair with a thud.

A few minutes later, in the middle of another student's essay, he passed Tam a note with his loopy handwriting.

"The amount of comebacks I had for 'see me after class' is absurd but if I get kicked out there's no way Elwin is helping me pay tuition a second time."

Tam tried not to smile, certainly failing, as he wrote his response.

"Yeah I think the time you talked back to Miss Cadence she wanted to expel you. Lucky Principal Alina had a thing for pseudo-dad Alden."

"Oh God I haven't talked to him in a whiiiiiile."

"?"

"You haven't heard? Yeah, he sorta found out like ALL his kids were ell gee bee tees and freaked out. Della found herself a new gf though!"

"Sounds like a lovely extra punch in the gut for a queerphobe."

"Yep. Honestly I recommend looking through his Facebook sometime. Just a million rants about how the gays destroy everything, great entertainment."

"Duly noted."

At that point it seemed like the doctor started to take notice of their note passing, and they stopped quickly. Tam wouldn't be surprised if he did the whole high school read in front of the class thing with the way he had been acting so far.

Tam was 100% sure tenure was the only thing keeping this guy's job intact. Apparently being a drunk asshole wasn't near enough to get a person out of their position. He tried to ignore the professor's annoyingly smug face for the rest of the class.

~*~

Keefe sat in his usual spot at the library, Tam sitting across from him, his brown eyes dancing across the textbook page and lips mumbling along the words. He didn't have much to do, often finding himself just staring at Tam, quickly looking away if he seemed to notice.

Eventually he sighed, sitting back.

"Ugh, this test is in a week and I have so much other crap to do, I'll never get this all memorized by Friday."

Keefe silently thanked his brain for managing to get around the having to study thing. Yay, photographic memory!

"Oh, uh, well I'm free to study more tomorrow if that would help? We could do, like, flashcards or something."

Tam seemed to repress a smile. He did that a lot. Keefe always noticed.

"That's okay, I'm sure you have better things to do. The Starbucks is always pretty packed."

"Eh, sometimes you have to get away from Marella. She's mean to me."

"Not just you, once she told me if I ever made fun of Linh's cat's name again she'd make me cut off my own bangs."

Keefe nodded sagely. "The shorter you are the closer to hell. That's why you're worse than her."

"Hey!"

Tam flicked a stray rubber band at Keefe.

"I'm at least 2 inches taller than Marella...we measured."

Keefe thought up about 12 inappropriate jokes he couldn't make before flicking the rubber band back.

"Two inches only counts in roller coasters, none of which you can ride."

Tam stuck his tongue out before returning to his studies. Unlike Tam, Keefe didn't hide his smile.

~*~

Tam strolled into the Starbucks that Friday morning, no longer surprised to see Keefe working the counter. He could barely hold still in line as he thought about the amount of cramming he'd have to do in the next few hours.

When he reached the counter, Keefe said nothing, just busily worked making a drink.

He stuck it right out at Tam.

"One venti iced caramel macchiato with 2 extra shots of espresso because you have a test today in political science and still haven't studied everything and also a muffin because you probably haven't eaten today. On the house. Good luck with the studying."

Tam froze.

"I- um- th-thaks. Y-you too...sport."

Oh, you fucking idiot.

He quickly scurried out of the Starbucks with drink and muffin in hand. Wow, he had screwed that up.

But...

Keefe...

He...

He remembered his order and that he had a test and that he forgot to eat when he was stressed holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit-

Okay, deep breaths Tam, you got this. You can totally handle a frustratingly cute guy showing care for you this is fine...

Not fine, not fine, gotta tell Linh.

He called Linh with no forewarning. Despite the fact that she was currently across the country at a different university, and it was about 3 am for her, she picked up. He barely let her get out a groggy "Hello?" before explaining everything. She only seemed to think a moment before responding.

"Hm. Well it's good to know that college is going good for you. Do you need advice or comfort?"

"Yes."

"Well, first of all, everything's gonna be okay. And I know that doesn't help much but just try to remember we're eighteen, and it's not the end of the world. Second of all, try to ask him out or something. It doesn't have to be framed as a date, like Marella and I got together on a walk in the park, seriously it can be anything."

"Thanks Linh."

"No problem, also can you hug Marella for me?"

"If she doesn't try to kill me first, yes."

"Nice. Okay go do what you gotta do, also don't wake me up at 3 am again or else I'll sic Purryfins on you, I had just gone to bed."

With that she hung up and Tam continued on his way, still trying to not completely freak out.

~*~

Keefe stared blankly as Tam walked right out of the door. Marella appeared by his arm.

"So, how'd it go?"

"Well, he called me 'sport'."

Marella inhaled through her teeth.

"Yikes. Comfort, advice, or distraction?"

"Distraction, please." Keefe replied, absent-mindedly preparing a cup for the next customer.

"Uh, well I meant to ask you what ended up happening with that ass of a teacher, but I got a bit distracted at your attempt to woo Tam-"

"Hey I said distraction not reminder. But basically I just got a slap on the wrist because, and I quote, 'Your father is Cassius Sencen! He wrote half the books we use in this class, I'm sure he can straighten you out!'"

"There's absolutely nothing papa Sencen could do to make you straight, I'm pretty sure he tried that, and it obviously didn't work."

"He actually tried a few times and it most definitely did not. Lucky he doesn't have my number anymore or else I assure you he'd keep trying."

Marella laughed.

"Well, moving on from grade A assholes, I'm supposed to tell you there's a party tonight. I'll have to send you the address later, I have it on my phone though, I am told there's gonna be booze, so I'm going."

"Eh, I'll probably go. Just to get my mind off everything."

"Thata boy." She lifted her phone. "And my shifts over in three, two, one, and I am out of here! See ya' tonight Hunkyhair."

"That's Lord Hunkyhair to you."

She just rolled her eyes and clocked out, leaving Keefe to deal with both the customers and his own thoughts.

~*~

Tam sat in his dorm room alone, constantly refreshing his grades for the possibility that his 70-year-old professor would post the test results at 1:30 am.

His roommate was gone for the weekend, actually he was gone most of the time. Tam didn't think they'd even had a full conversation before.

He jumped as his phone began to ring, a call from Keefe of all people. He hesitantly picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Tam! Tam Tam Tam Tam Tam" Keefe's slurred speech was too loud for a phone call, Tam held his phone a bit away from his ear. "...fuck wait why did I call you..."

There was a long pause, neither said anything.

"Oh yeah! I needed to tell you something...but uh I uhm I forgot what it was."

"Keefe, where are you?"

"At a paaaaaarty, well, actually just outside a party because it was hot in there, but now it's cold out here so uh yeah."

Tam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, send me the address, I'm coming to pick you up. Wait right there and don't move."

"Okie dokie."

Tam heard a thud sort of sound and the rustling of grass from the other line before Keefe hung up and soon after got a message of his location.

After 20 minutes of walking in the cold, Tam came up to what seemed to be a frat house with Keefe sitting on the lawn in criss-cross, patiently waiting in short sleeves and basketball shorts, way too little clothing for the weather. His ruddy face smiled as he saw Tam approach.

"Tam! I remembered what I was going to tell you." He stood up, face falling right after. "Oh no wait I forgot again. Ooh! You need a drink."

Keefe grabbed Tam's hand, pulling him towards the house. Tam stayed in place.

"Hey, let's get you home dude."

Keefe pouted.

"I don't wannaaaa."

He slouched down, pulling on Tam's arm like a child having a tantrum.

Tam pulled him back up to his feet.

"C'mon, if you go to your dorm without fuss I'll buy you ice cream tomorrow."

Keefe seemed much more ok with going along with Tam with the ice cream deal. He pulled off his own coat and placed it around the very drunk boy, he didn't complain.

Keefe began humming some annoying song from the early 2000s that was playing from the house earlier as they walked back in the direction of the dorms.

Suddenly, Tam remembered something.

Fitz was Keefe's roommate.

Shit.

"Hey uh do you think Fitz is at your dorm?"

Keefe nodded confidently.

"Yep! Said he was gon' study. Wouldn't come to the party because of his 'reputation' or whatever."

Around reputation he did exaggerated finger quotes, nearly knocking Tam's jacket off his shoulders.

"Hm...in that case let's go to my dorm, ok?"

Keefe shrugged, apparently willing to go along with most things in his current state. Thank goodness Linh had made Tam bring extra pillows and blankets to college, he could sleep on the floor and just hope Keefe didn't get sick on him in the night.

It was ridiculously hard to lead Keefe back to his dorm. He tried to pull down his pants halfway there and Tam almost had to carry him up the stairs but soon enough they got there. He sighed with relief as he led his inebriated friend into the room.

"Okay, you can stay here for the night. I'll sleep on the floor."

Keefe plopped himself down on Tam's bed laying flat for only a moment before sitting up with a snap and a look of realization in his eyes.

"OOH! I remember what I was gonna tell you again!"

"Oh?" Tam said playing along, expecting him to forget again.

He patted the spot next to him on the bed, Tam continued to play along, sitting next to him.

"So Marella said that I should just tell you this, and it worked for her, so I'm gonna. And uh and you have to promise to listen 'cause I'm not sayin' it again."

At this point Keefe grabbed his face with both hands, staring right in Tam's eyes and squishing his cheeks.

"You're listening right?"

Tam nodded, mostly to shake Keefe's hands off his face.

"Okay."

Keefe took in an over dramatic breath as if he was preparing to preform in the Olympics before getting another grin on his face.

"I really like you."

"You really like me?"

He nodded mumbling "mhm".

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I like you. Like, like like you."

"Like...as a friend?"

"I said I wasn't gonna repeat myself. As a booooyfriend." At this point Keefe fell back on the bed, looking at the ceiling. Tam's cheeks were burning.

"How long have you liked me like that?"

"Mmmm..." Keefe seemed to ponder for a moment, "Prolly high school."

"Oh um...good to know. You should get some rest. I'll be down here if you need me."

"Alrighty."

Tam shut off the lights and Keefe started snoring quick. Tam could only stare up in the darkness, unable to sleep.

~*~

Keefe woke up that morning in a room he didn't recognize to a killer headache and dead phone.

He turned to the side, seeing a pile of blankets and pillows with a large gatorade, bottle of tylenol, and a note next to it. Suddenly last nights memories came flooding back.

Oh, shit.

He scrambled out of bed, headache and nausea hitting him harder as he stood up.

Despite the fact his head was spinning, he picked up the note from the ground and read it.

Hey, meet me at the reservoir around 6, we need to talk -Tam

F. U. C. K.

Had he really said all that stuff last night? Surely it was a dream, right?

Oh God.

He gathered his few belongings, plus the things to help the hangover, and left the dorms as fast as possible. Only having to stop once along the way to throw up in one of the campus trash cans, hopefully no one would notice.

Keefe didn't have anything to do and he really didn't want to face Fitz so he went about his day in last nights clothing. Then again, it was a college campus. Someone walking around with rumpled clothes carrying a gatorade probably wasn't that big of a deal for most people. By 5:30 he sat impatiently in the empty park where the reservoir was located, it was colder closer to the water.

Just as promised, at 6 o'clock he saw Tam approaching on the horizon.

~*~

Tam was damn near a panic attack as he walked around the park attempting to find Keefe. Eventually he found him, sitting on a bench still in his clothes from last night, face once again ruddy from the cold. He sat next to him wordlessly.

"So," Keefe started.

"So," Tam replied, looking down at his lap.

"Tam I-" Keefe turned to face him. "I'm sorry about everything last night, I probably just made everything super awkward. Not to mention it's a giant violation of the friend code to even have a crush on your best friend's ex-"

"Yeah, about that."

"What?"

"You're gonna maybe kill me for this but uh," Tam pulled on his bangs. "I sorta talked to Fitz about it, I figured you wouldn't and apparently I was right. He said he was okay with it as long as we were ok with it."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Tam sighed, "Perhaps."

Keefe once again wore that shit-eating grin of his.

"Can I hear you say it?"

"Why don't you have to say it?"

"Already said it last night! Your turn now. Why did you take care of me while I was drunk?"

Keefe stared at Tam excitedly waiting for the answer. Tam sighed.

"Because I love you, little shit."

"Ooh you said it-"

Tam smashed his lips against Keefe's, both quickly melting into it. After only a moment they pulled away.

"Agh, you taste like gatorade and vomit."

"Well you taste like salt so really what's worse."

"Definitely the vomit."

Despite this, Tam leaned back in. This kiss was a moment longer than the last, and when Tam pulled away Keefe chased it.

"Ok, look I'm sorry but you look like shit Keefe you have to go change." Tam removed his jacket, throwing it around Keefe once again and helping him up from the bench. Keefe laughed.

"Yeah, you're right. Ooh now that we're a thing you need a new nickname!"

"I do?"

"You do, how about 'Bangs Boyf' ooh or maybe you can be my 'provoked partner' or my 'snappy spouse' my 'agitated accomplice' perhaps."

"Do you just have these ready and prepared for any situation?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets."

"You aren't Houdini, you're an 18-year-old boy that currently reeks of frat party."

"Eh that's basically the same thing. I've seen some 18-year-olds at frat parties preform tricks Houdini could never dream of."

Tam sighed dramatically. "It's a good thing you're pretty, you know."

"Hey!" Keefe jokingly shoved him.

For the first time Tam's smile wasn't repressed.

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Kiss It Better

A/n: It’s like two or three days late (under the prompt of cuddles), but it has a decent word count so I’m not too upset with myself! It kinda accidentally turned into a hurt/comfort thing but that helped with ✨plot✨ So it’s okay! Also @titzweek here ya go-

Word count: 3000

Trigger warnings: mention of mild aggression (throwing plates), blood mention (nothing too graphic)

Warnings: it’s not the greatest and also i edited it at like 1 or 2am in the dark so like, maybe errors? Idk

Writing taglist: @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @bookwyrminspiration  @percabetn @an-absolute-travesty  @linhamon-roll  @a-lonely-tatertot @loverofallthingssmart @vibing-in-the-void @clearlykeefitz @callas-starkflower-stew @enbies-and-felonies

The morning mist held strong, reinforcing gravity and making it even more difficult for Tam to drag himself out of his makeshift bed by the lake. Leaning over the fogged up waters, he wrung out his bangs, combing them back into place with his hands. The water here could hardly be trusted.

“Well,” he grunted as he stood up, patting an old dying tree with a gloved hand. “It was nice seeing you, Wildwood. You take it easy, alright?”

The trees groaned in response, both from age and from the weight of all that it had undergone and seen from the hazy backgrounds of the world. Maybe that was why he cared for Wildwood. It was like him. From the shadows. Ignored until needed. Cast aside when they differ from the norm. To him, he and Wildwood were one and the same. Or at least, they used to be. In the past months, Tam had found what Wildwood could only hope to receive: love.

And as the colors of the sunrise faded into blue, Tam was comforted by that one constant he had in his life. His perfect golden boy there to bring light into his world.

————

As soon as Tam walked into the Vackers’ territory, he was yanked to the side, knocking the breath from his chest. He prepared for a fight, but upon seeing a stylized sparkling fabric blinking in and out of sight, he relaxed just a bit.

“What the hell, B? I thought you were trying to attack me.”

“Quiet,” Biana scolded, finally coming into view. Her annoyed expression quickly changed to fear and dread as a shattering sound echoes across the stone walls of the extensive landscape. Biana shut her eyes and winced noticeably. “He’s been at that ever since Dad stormed off.”

“Rough day?”

“I guess you could say that.” Biana bit her lip. “Mom went after Dad after he yelled at us.”

“But the two of you are okay, right?”

“I’m alright. It’s Fitz I’m worried about,” she admitted. “I’ve been too scared to go up to him because of… well, you know.” Biana’s thumb traced over her scars absentmindedly.

Tam squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Hey, you did what you could. It’s not your job to stop him from doing something irrational, and you’re not expected to do something that’ll trigger you. I’ll go after him.”

“Tam, it’s fine, I’ll do it-”

“I’ll go after him, you get some rest.”

“Only if you promise to be careful,” she warned. “Use your cloak as a shield, so that you don’t get caught in the crossfire of his throws. And put your gloves back on!”

Tam slipped off his gloves and tossed them behind his back without a second thought. He dropped his cloak in a similar fashion, only going back to fold it neatly and add it to the pile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Tam, you know how he gets when he’s upset. The rage, it blinds him, it blurs anything and everything around him to the point where the only he knows is that fire of hate. He’s not going to register that it’s you approaching him.”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Tam pointed out in an exasperated manner. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Isn’t that a shame.”

Biana huffed, rubbing the crease between her brows. “You’re just as stubborn as he is.”

“Don’t they say that birds of a feather flock together?” Tam asked, walking backwards and opening his arms in a gesture that said That’s just how it is.

“Yeah, until the cat comes,” she shot back.

“Then let’s hope that cat doesn’t arrive.”

“You two idiots deserve each other!” she cried in one last attempt to get him to turn back.

“Thank you!” he called back, already headed towards the horizon.

Biana sank to the floor, scowling as she dragged Tam’s belongings closer to her for protection. “Dense fool,” she muttered. But Tam was already out of sight.

--------

Tam approached the area in a calm stroll, but as he drew nearer, the cold dread that Biana had described filled him and dragged him back, just like the familiar, addictive pull of the shadows. They gathered at his feet, shadowflux begging to be called on, but Tam was far too busy trying to calculate a way to coax his boyfriend into putting the crystal dishes down.

He was like a rampant bull, hurling plate after plate at the wall. His hands had small cuts, but overall he seemed to be unscathed despite the several hours this had clearly been going on. Tam avoided clumps of shattered pieces so as not to startle him. While his movements proved to make him a berserker, it was also an art. One slight decibel off might send him on the attacking side.

“Fitz!” Tam shouted. He didn’t even glance his way. “FITZ!” Still no response. He just kept on launching silverware as far as he could. Tam sighed. He didn’t want it to come down to this, but if Biana had waited hours just for him to show up and put an end to this, he was not going to let her down. He seized the tendrils of shadows that had been itching to be used and directed all of his focus towards the cup about to be thrown with the hope that if he used his ability instead of telekinesis, he would recognize his beloved.

Shiiiing!

Fitz immediately put his hands over his mouth in shock and guilt, rushing over to check the damage.

Tam cupped his hand, blood gushing from the wound like a river. “Guess you ran out of throwing stars, huh?” he joked halfheartedly, wincing as he applied pressure to the cut.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so dumb.” Fitz ripped off a sleeve from his shirt to wrap around the slice in his partner’s hand. He cupped Tam’s cheek, the boy gladly moving towards the physical affection. “I’m so sorry, Tammy.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean to do it,” he replied nonchalantly. Upon seeing the great panic spreading through Fitz’s person, he took a more gentle approach. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve had a bad day and you just made a mistake, and I forgive you.”

“I hurt you.” Fitz’s voice cracked, and it became evident that Tam’s words had gone over his head. Fitz scooped Tam up in his arms and raced into the house.

“Relax, golden boy.” Tam rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the attentiveness he was being given. “It’s just a little cut, it’ll heal.”

Fitz scrambled through the drawers until he found the bandages, a Bottle of Youth, and the antibiotic ointment. From there, his panic switched to precision, first rinsing the wound, then applying the ointment, then wrapping the gauze bandage. It was a completely different side of him, one that would sacrifice the world for the ones that he loved. And despite Tam’s rough exterior, he couldn’t help but lean his head on his other hand in admiration.

Once he had finished, Fitz sat on the bar stool next to Tam’s and combed through his rosy pink locks in distress. Tam nudged his shoulder with his nose several times, earning him a side hug and a kiss to the cheek, but no words other than the repeated apologies and self-deprecating phrases.

“Babe,” Tam said helplessly. “Let’s go upstairs at least, so we can talk about this privately.”

Fitz nodded, letting him lead the way. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t notice when Tam had tucked him into bed and wrapped an arm around him, burying his face in his neck.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Fitz mumbled again. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Tam used his abled hand to wipe them.

“I told you it’s forgiven,” Tam gently reminded him. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not the Vackers,” he countered, sniffling. “We always have to keep up our reputation, keep on smiling and charming everyone just to go to the store. I can’t go anywhere without people expecting me to be the perfect golden boy.”

“No one is perfect. We’re all flawed and traumatized and hurt, and we make stupid decisions because of them. You’re a kid, Fitz, it’s not your job to hold your family together.”

“I guess. But Biana…” he sighed, pulling Tam closer as he facepalmed in guilt. “I shouldn’t have done that with her here. And how am I supposed to clean up the yard before Mom gets back?”

“Don’t worry about that, the gnomes are already on it,” he coaxed. “And Biana understands. You can talk to her later. For now, the golden boy needs to rest.”

“I can’t,” Fitz protested, trying to get up. Tam flipped himself over him, ending up besides Fitzroy once more. “Tam, I have to take care of you, and help the gnomes, and apologize to Biana, and-”

“And all of that can wait until tomorrow,” Tam finished for him. “Except me, of course.”

Fitz laughed, a real, rich laugh, and he could tell that it was the first time he had done that in a while. “I’m guessing you want me to stay here all day, all night?”

“Well, I do need medical and physical attention you know.”

He kissed Tam’s nose, making him blush furiously. “Well then, I guess I’ve got to cancel my plans. But seriously, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“You could kiss it better,” Tam suggested cheekily.

Fitz said no more, gingerly taking his wrapped hand and peppering kisses around where he knew the injury to be. He trailed them up his arms and neck until he finally met his lips.

“I am really sorry, babe. That got all out of control. My father, he… he’s done some messed up things to this family, and as the proclaimed ‘Gifted Child,’ I felt responsible for stepping in. And like everything else, I ruined it.”

“You don’t realize that the good you do purposely outweighs the slip-ups you make along the way.”

“This was more than a slip-up, Tam. I became a monster, something I’ve never seen before. I was a violent beast that lost control, all because my Dad yelled at me for being a ‘disgrace to the Vackers’ for being gay. And because of that stupidity, I hurt you, and scared Biana outside of that.”

Tam’s eyes widened with shock. “Wait, you got angry because you were protecting me?”

“Well, yeah, of course. My father can drag me down all he wants, but he’s not touching the people that I love.”

“Love?”

“I-I’m sorry, I should’ve known you weren’t ready-”

“I love you too.”

“I- Wait, really?”

“Duh,” Tam chuckled, before his expression grew shadowed and weary. “Besides… we all have a dark side. I know I’d do anything for the people I care about.”

“What does yours look like?” Fitz asked. “Your dark side, I mean.”

He smiled bitterly, shadows of his past trauma flashes before his eyes in a relentless, rough grip. “You don’t want to know that part of me.”

“Babe, I want to know every side of you.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Of course,” Fitz grinned eagerly. “I want to know everything you’re willing to share.”

“Then cuddle with me. Get to know another part of me.”

Fitzroy rested his chin on Tam’s chest and brushed his bangs away from his eyes, just as his own were dancing with glee. “Gladly.”

—————

Tam woke up to a loud series of sharp knocks on the bedroom door.

“Your breakfast is gonna get cold,” a feminine voice told him.

He inhaled sharply and ruffled his hair, using his tunic to rub his eyes, all in an attempt to focus on the figure leaning against the doorframe.

“C’mon, it’s past noon.”

Tam bolted upright, rushing to the bedside to pull his boots on. It could’ve been Fitz calling to him, but his mind was cloudy, warping any and all audio that reached his ears.

“I knew that would get you up,” the voice snickered. “Fitz told me to get you up in time for breakfast in bed.”

Tam chanced a glance up to see if his vision had finally cleared. Yup, definitely not Fitz. “Oh hey, B. I take it you and your brother talked?”

She nodded, arms still crossed tightly around her lilac fleece-like pullover for warmth. “Came running to me and went on his whole apology speech once you passed out. It was dorky, but it was also very… him. If that makes any sense.”

“It does.” He took a moment to inspect the tray and found a neatly folded piece of paper. A note from him. He read through it as Biana kept talking.

Good morning dearest, I just wanted to leave you this note to remind you that I love you and to apologize once again.

“When I saw him rush outside a few minutes after Mom left with an armful of tupperware, I was confused, but when he started throwing them in the yard, I was terrified for him. He’s lost control, but never like that. I felt powerless.”

“You did what you could, no one can ask you for more,” he mumbled.

“I stood to the side and waited for his boyfriend to come and stop him, and he wound up getting hurt. Real brave on my end.”

“It’s not being brave you should be aiming for, it’s doing what you need to do in order to protect the people you live for.”

I’m sorry. I know you’ll probably tell me not to apologize, but I really needed to get that out there in ink. Thank you for being there for Biana, I don’t know how I would live with myself if I had traumatized her or made her feel unsafe around me, but we talked for a bit and she helped me find better coping mechanisms, so all is forgiven. Well, as long as I give her my desserts for this month.

“I don’t think I did that yesterday. I chose the coward’s path.”

“You took the wise path, and you protected number one,” Tam corrected. “You know your brother better than anyone, and you knew the right choice was to let him blow off some steam until someone who wasn’t present when everything went down could talk him out of it. That was brave, and I think it’s quite admirable, too.”

“I guess you’re right.” She sighed, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail to give her hands something to do. “Still, I’m sorry about your hand.”

Tam waved it off. “I’ve gotten enough Vacker apologies over that. There’s no need.”

“If you say so.”

You were completely understanding last night, even while I was breaking down. You guided me through everything, and you were there for me, even when I couldn’t be there for myself. Thank you for being there. For letting me shadow you until I could be whole and healed again.

“You’re good for him,” Biana blurted out abruptly.

Tam furrowed his brows, sure he heard that wrong. “I’m what?”

“I said that you’re good for him. Fitz. I meant what I said when I told you that you two idiots deserve each other.”

“Thank you,” he breathed in shock.

“Remember the idiot part and don’t let it get to your head.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You are my healing darkness. No, not light. Darkness. Because I never understood why darkness was so demonized. Shadows are what keep you cool on a hot summer’s evening, what provides cover from the rain, and what puts you to sleep at night. The color black is as natural as the air flowing into our lungs, the blood circulating through our bodies, and the dirt under our feet. So when I think of darkness, I don’t think of fear; I think of hope. I think of you.

“You better not hurt him.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious, Tam. I know it sounds hypocritical considering what happened to you yesterday, but I’m just as protective of Fitz as you are of Linh. Understood?”

“Yes, Ms. Vacker.”

Biana relaxed a bit at the confirmation. “You promise to look after him?”

“I promise,” he agreed.

Y’know, when you called me golden boy, it got me thinking. Gold is the weakest metal, and for a while I thought the nickname fit me perfectly. A boy who was seen as the perfect, charming, valuable golden boy who could break in the blink of an eye. But the more I was with you, the more I thought about it. If shadows were misunderstood, maybe gold was too. And here’s the thing: gold doesn’t rust. You can break it and bend it and try all you want to ruin its life, but no matter what, you can’t make it rust. And second to you, that is the strongest thing I can imagine. So for you, I’ll stay strong. I won’t give up. I won’t rust.

“One last thing before I leave you alone.”

“Go right ahead.” Tam let himself free fall onto the mountain of pillows behind him, note still in hand.

“Don’t take advantage of him. He may be a pain in my neck, but he’s valuable,” Biana mentioned, clearly having so much more to say. “You’re… incredibly lucky to have him.”

So let’s work jointly on this. On healing. I’ll be your gold, strong when you’re weak. And you’ll be my darkness, always there for me. But we have to do this together. I’m willing to take a leap of faith if you are. All of my trust lies in you, and I hope you’ll pay me the same honor. So what do you say? Circle yes or no and meet me by Moonglade with your response. Last I remember, I still have to kiss it better.

With love,

Fitzroy

Tam picked up the pen tied to the tray and circled yes without hesitation. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

[theclaravoyant]

I love you.

I know.

AN ~ for @unlessimwrongwhichyouknowimnot, who prompted FitzHunter + “I'm not going to hurt you” and “it’s okay to cry.” I have been wanting to write a FitzHunter 5x05 UA since it aired and these prompts gave me an excuse to knit my pieces together and turn it into something. Thank you!

Est. romantic FitzHunter. Angst/Hurt Comfort. Rated T. Set during 5x05-ish. CW: non-graphic mentions of Framework trauma, and of a nightmare that resembles 5x14 by pure coincidence. Also, brief self head-hitting at one point. If you want to know more about the contents before reading, feel free to ask.

Read on AO3 (~2000wd)

Patron Saint of Lost Things

Fitz woke with a start, his whole body screaming DANGER. RESIST!

He flailed for a weapon, for an arm to twist, for something to shove away from himself and give him a few more milliseconds to get his bearings. He found a body close to his, an arm outstretched, unflinching at his frenzy. Not taking advantage of his confusion to attack.

“Woah, hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” Hunter promised. Fitz stilled, eyeing him, uncomfortably aware of his own fear as his heart pounded so strongly in his chest it shook his body.

“Are you real?”

“Cross my heart,” Hunter swore. As if to prove it, he slowly moved his outstretched hand to Fitz’s grounding shoulder, and squeezed.

The release of tension was palpable, weight slipping off Fitz’s shoulder with a sigh. But with the calming of his fears came a clarity of thought; of memory. It was still a dream, fragmented and all the more haunting for it, but he remembered one thing. Just one thing.

“You okay, mate?” Hunter checked. “Do you remember where we are?”

“Daisy,” Fitz muttered, trying to pinch the vision out from behind his eyelids. “In my dream, I was- or he was, I don’t really know…”

“Who was?”

“The other me. The him.” Fitz waved his hand, frustrated. “The me from the Framework. The Doctor. I had a dream that, that- I was him, or he was me, or something, and I couldn’t stop him. He wanted to hurt Daisy. I couldn’t…”

Danger. Resist. That’s where it had come from. But whose emotions had he been channeling? His own, or Daisy’s? It had been his hands, after all, that had held the scalpel. He himself who had been the danger.

Fitz swallowed a bitter taste as Hunter shuffled their sleeping bags around to sit beside him, and bumped his shoulder encouragingly.

“It’s okay,” he promised. “That wasn’t real.”

“I know, but…”

Fitz bobbed his head noncommittally: not quite a nod, not quite a shake. Hunter felt his blood chill a little. They had come close a few times before but they’d always diverted into something else, something specific. Aida. Jemma. Radcliffe. Now here they were right at the edge of Talking About It, and it was the middle of the night and there was nothing else to do but step over the line.

“Was it a memory, do you think?” Hunter asked, more solemnly this time. “Did you- the other version of you- actually hurt her in that Framework place?”

“No. Daisy told me I didn’t. I just hurt people like her. Like Lincoln.”

Hunter’s eyes widened a little, and Fitz nodded and confirmed:

“Oh, yeah. Killed him, apparently. I don’t remember. He didn’t care enough to remember.”

He tapped his temple, as if it concealed a pocket of his brain called The Doctor that, try though he might, he could not pull out and throw away. He tapped over and over, until he was almost outright hitting, gritting his teeth as tears welled in frustration at his inability to escape. But Hunter caught his hand and eased it down, squeezing and playing with his fingers until Fitz could catch his breath, and then some.

“I think your poor head’s been through enough, mate,” Hunter cajoled. “No need for that, alright? And why are you so obsessed with nutting out this dream?”

“Because of what it means!” Fitz insisted. “I think it means I could hurt her, I would hurt her, if the circumstances were different. It means…”

It means I’m a bad person. The words died on his tongue; he’d been told off enough already for saying them, for thinking them, but still the feeling wouldn’t go away.

Hunter though, rather than scolding him or slathering him with pity, simply laughed. It was only a little laugh, a gentle laugh, but it was refreshing.

“Mate, you and I could be sipping piña coladas on a beach in the Bahamas if the circumstances were different,” he remarked. “You could have retired after that brain injury and moved to that orangutan sanctuary in Sumatra if the circumstances were different. Hell, you could’ve ended up with Jemma ‘stead of me if the bloody circumstances were different enough! That’s the beauty of circumstances. Best we can do is make do with what we’ve got.”

Even though tears of frustration and shame stung them, Fitz snorted and rolled his eyes. If anything was the definition of making do it was them right now, huddled in the middle of a bunch of shelves of weapons and food and god knows what else, with two sleeping bags, a blanket, and a lantern that they had borrowed from the survivalist supplies on those very shelves. They’d escaped a prison, stolen a plane, and were trying to rescue their team with the help of a tiny psychic and… well, not much else. Unless you counted what was basically a drawing of a rock.

At this, despair began to sink into his bones like the cold air.

“’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m just… not sure who I am anymore. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Hunter pressed his lips together, and wrapped his arms around Fitz shoulders. The time for lighthearted comfort had passed, and now there was nothing else for it but to infuse Fitz with so much love and understanding and comfort that he cold not possibly deny it. He took a deep breath.

“Fitz. Hey. First of all, you have just come out of six months in solitary, which by itself is capable of driving plenty of good soldiers mad. Give yourself some credit. Second, you came to solitary confinement straight out of living a double life of epically messed up proportions. Your whole life was rewritten. Your dad was an ass. Your mom was dead. Aida was… whatever the hell she was… What I’m saying is, it’s a lot. Anyone in your situation would be doubting themselves. You just can’t let it stop you. We’re going to find Daisy, we’re going to find all of them, and everything’s going to be okay.”

“What if it’s not?”

“It will be,” Hunter promised. “It always is, in the end. If it’s not, it isn’t the end yet. Besides, we found each other again, didn’t we? That’s not nothing.”

Fitz nodded, but nodding was not enough. Tears choked any words that might have found their way to his throat, to speak to the overwhelming relief, the cosmic gratitude, the love he felt for having someone’s arms around him after all this time alone. For those arms to be Hunter’s – it was nothing short of a miracle, and he was wasting it fretting and beating himself up, when all he wanted to do was tell Hunter he loved him. The best approximation of this he could manage for the moment was to press his head into Hunter’s chest with such sudden overwhelming force it knocked the breath from him for a second. Then, gently, Hunter cradled his head and began to stroke his hair.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay to cry. I’ve got you. Whatever you need.”

For a long while, they sat in near-silence, each other’s only sanctuary in the darkness and the cold. Fitz sniffled, sobbed and wept in alternate rounds, as all the fear and doubt and shame and pain crashed down around him, finally safe in Hunter’s arms. Hunter stroked his hair and his back, murmuring condolences, acknowledgement and reassurances when they were called upon, but otherwise silent. Waiting for Fitz to traverse the emotional depths of something he could probably never understand, even if he knew a lot more than he did right now. Waiting, and turning over in his head, an idea.

He’d first had the idea a long time ago; back when he’d met this shaky, disoriented boy, struggling to find his way to becoming the man he still wanted to be, amidst this violent and confusing new world. When they’d been separated, he’d given it up, thinking he’d never see Fitz again and then the magazines came, and with them humour, and with them hope.

He’d had the idea again when they’d first escaped, adrenalin thrumming through his veins as they whipped a stolen car down the road as fast as it would go. But with Fitz holding onto the door for dear life and looking desperately close to losing the sludge that place likely called a lunch, the moment had fleeted and passed.

Now it had reared its head a third time, and that more than anything told Hunter he was serious. That, and a feeling in his bones that he could not quite describe: a feeling of certainty and uncertainty both at once, as if their time was like sand in an hourglass, quietly slipping away, and there was no way of knowing how much there was left. It was a strange, entrancing and powerful feeling, and Hunter was not sure how much he should trust it, but by the time Fitz had fallen silent again he had made up his mind.

“Hey,” he interrupted quietly, easing Fitz back to being an arm’s length away. “Hey, look here, I want to give you something.”

Fitz wiped his eyes and watched Hunter’s hands, as he lifted a long, thin, leather cord from around his neck. On the end was a silver pendant about the size of a dime, engraved with the figure of a man holding in his arms a young child, a book, and a lily. When Hunter held it out Fitz took it, and ran his finger over the symbols. They meant something familiar, but he could not recall what, and he frowned.

“Hartley gave this to me, ‘long time ago,” Hunter explained. “D’you remember Hartley?”

Fitz nodded, though he didn’t remember much of her. He had only ever really known her as one of Hunter’s friends, who had died.

“It’s St Anthony,” Hunter continued.

“Patron Saint of lost things,” Fitz recalled. “I remember. My mum loves this guy.”

A smile touched his lips, and he ran his finger over the pendant again. With his free hand, he wiped away a fresh round of tears. The thought of his mother, safe at home in the real world, made his heart feel warm and he leaned into Hunter again to share the feeling; his back to Hunter’s chest this time, so that they could both appreciate the pendant as Hunter continued to tell his story.

“I want you to have it,” he said.

“Oh, no,” Fitz protested. “I couldn’t take-“

Hunter folded Fitz’s hand closed around it.

“Please?” he said. “It’ll help. I hope. To find the team, to find yourself… To keep you safe. Okay? I want you to have it.”

“Okay,” Fitz agreed. Hunter looped the strap over his neck, but he held the pendant in a loose fist, close to his chest, anyway.

After a moment’s silence, Hunter kissed his cheek, and shuffled their sleeping bags around again. They eased back down to lying, but they didn’t bother to separate this time. Hunter kept his arms around Fitz; one with their fingers entwined, the other simply embracing him, while Fitz’s free hand still held the pendant. Hunter had his nose to the back of Fitz’s neck, so close he was all but kissing his shoulder, and their legs knotted round each other so they were just about as close as they could be. Hourglass or no hourglass, they were determined to cherish every second they had left.

[solign0501]

Shall We Begin

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: As a SHIELD agent your work alongside the Avengers means you and Bucky start to get to know each other but then one day you are ordered to go under cover away from him. When the mission goes wrong, the Avengers are called in for a rescue.

Warnings: Reference to torture

A/N: This is my first time doing this so please go easy on me. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what y'all think! I’ll be throwing in another fan favourite character soon to mix things up a bit - so stay tuned!

Time was dragging in your tiny hospital room. It felt like the days just melted into one long string of days filled with check ups and fluorescent lights and nights of dark dreams that always made you wake with a start, covered in sweat and often roused by the sound of your own screaming. 

The one joy you had was when the others came to visit you. You had thanked Steve and Natasha profusely for playing their part in rescuing you and they had humbly waved it off and both said how happy they were just to have you back. Steve joked that the coffee had been awful since you had gone and you laughed, even though it hurt. Fitz had quizzed you about the chair until Simmons had hit him and told him not to be so insensitive. You had smiled, though, and said it was okay. Even the Maximoffs had come to see you and both Coulson and Daisy had promised they would when they got back from whatever it was they were doing. 

In fact, the only people who hadn’t been to see you were Fury, Hill and Bucky. The first two you got, they were busy. But Bucky... He had left that first day without a word and hadn’t come back yet. You had dragged out of Steve that it was Bucky who found you when he realised where you had been taken. After that you realised that he was probably keeping his distance because of the memories the whole thing brought up for him. It still hurt you, though. 

You sighed as you flicked through the latest puzzle book that Christine had brought you, suggesting that you try to use writing in it as an exercise to get the dexterity back in your left hand. Your right was far more badly damaged - Hydra had assumed you were right handed, you had joked dryly. For that, Christine had given you a small rubber ball that you were to squeeze periodically to build the strength back up. They had only broken your little fingers and dislocated the rest, luckily. You totted up the rest of your injuries mentally as you squeeze the ball softly. Two broken ribs, a further one cracked, two broken fingers, six dislocated, dislocated thumbs, two broken toes, several flesh wounds - some deeper than others, a burn to your upper left thigh and more bruised than clear skin right now. Not to mention your ankles. You hadn’t forgotten the concern that briefly shot across Christine’s face as she had examined them. The pain was almost unbearable, but you refused stronger medication just in case it knocked you out again. You needed to stay awake. 

You were so busy doing your mental inventory that you didn’t notice the door open or hear the footsteps moving across the room towards you. You jumped as a throat was cleared a few feet away from you.

“Ow!” you cried as the sudden movement caused pretty much everything to hurt. “Jesus, what the hell are playing at...” you began, but trailed off as your eyes met Bucky’s. “Oh, so you do remember the way here then?” you asked dryly. Bucky flinched a little and hung his head. 

“Okay, I deserved that,” he said softly. “I just thought you would be a bit busy with everyone else...” 

“It’s fine, really,” you said, recovering yourself enough to be glad of his presence. “I figured you might not want to be around me for a while, with the memories it could bring back.” 

“That’s no reason to stay away from you, though,” Bucky mumbled, 

“No,” you admitted, “but you’re here now, that’s what counts. Have a seat,” you slowly moved your legs over and made space for him to sit down, grimacing in pain. Bucky perched himself on the edge of the bed gently so as not to jostle you any more than necessary. You sat in companionable silence for a moment until you plucked up the courage to speak. Trouble was, so did Bucky.

“Steve said...”

“How are y...” You both laughed as you paused and like that, the awkwardness was gone. 

“You first,” you said, using your elbows to push yourself up a little further in the bed. 

“I was going to ask how you’re feeling?” Bucky asked, standing up for a second to help you move. You tried not to dwell on the warmth of his skin, or the pleasant mix of cologne and metal that seemed to drift from him. 

“I’ve been better,” you said honestly. You had been telling everybody you were fine, getting better every day, but you couldn’t now. Not with Bucky, he had been through this before, after all. True, he had had the serum to help him heal through it, but the scars were no less there. You sighed and decided to tell him everything. 

“I see the way Doctor Palmer looks at me when she examines me, like some sort of wounded dog she feels sorry for. She’s got a great bedside manner and her poker face is pretty decent, but she isn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D Agent. I know something is up, I’m not healing like I should.”

You saw Bucky’s eyes dart to the more visible wounds on your body as he swallowed hard. 

“What you’ve gone through, what they did...” he shook his head as if trying to fight the anger and nausea that threatened him at the memory of you sitting in that chair, screaming. “It’s a miracle you’re not dead,” he whispered, almost choking on the words. 

You reached out, almost without realising you were doing it, and took his hand in your bandaged one. He ran his thumb gently over an exposed patch of skin, sending a strangely thrilling mix of pain and pleasure shooting through your skin. 

“I have you to thank for that,” you breathed. “I know it was you who found me, you who carried me back here.” You took a deep breath as you remembered what Steve had told you. “I also know it was you who stayed with me constantly whilst I was out, talking to me, trying to wake me up.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky said, not unkindly as he shook his head. 

“I pretty much begged him to tell me,” you confessed. “I could hear you, you see. I didn’t know it was you, but I could hear you. Talking, singing, reading.”

“Oh god,” he chuckled, running his spare hand over his face. “Don’t ever tell anyone I was singing, especially not Nat.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” you promised, chuckling along with him. Your face became serious for a moment, however, as you remembered the dream. You weren’t sure why, but you wanted to tell Bucky about them, so you did. His face was a mask as you did, right until the end when you described waking up and he nodded. 

“I had something similar at first. I didn’t have the other voice though, not really. Not until...”

“Not until Steve?” you finished for him and he nodded. “I’m glad you had someone to pull you back. I dread to think what would have happened if you weren’t around.”

“You won’t ever need to,” Bucky promised and as he flashed you that dazzling smile you started to believe you actually could get better after all.

Bucky came to visit you more frequently after that, spending pretty much all day with you talking about many different things and sneaking you in coffee and muffins from the break room, always quick to hide them when Christine stopped by to check up on you. 

One day during her visit, though, you noticed her face fall as she looked you over. You and Bucky had been chatting away about Tony and Fitz’s latest “experiment”.

“And Tony flipped the switch and there was this huge bang,” Bucky said, gesticulating wildly in re-enactment of the moment, “and poor Banner went flying back, knocking a hole in the wall.”

“They’ve only just repaired that wall from last time!” you exclaimed, trying not to laugh as Bucky nodded enthusiastically. 

“Right! But honestly I never saw a room clear so quickly, just in case the Big Guy decided to pop up.”

“And did he?” Bucky shook his head.

“Smoke cleared and all you saw was Banner with a cool new hairdo.” You both burst out laughing, but you stopped after a moment. Christine, who usually chuckled along with Bucky’s stories, wasn’t joining in this time. Instead, she was looking at you with an intense frown. Bucky must have sensed the sudden shift in mood too as he sat forward on his chair. 

“What’s the matter, Christine?” you asked, fighting valiantly to keep your voice level. She looked up, seeming to notice you both for the first time and gave a strained smile. 

“Nothing,” she said, moving the blanket back over your left ankle and busying herself with the chart she kept at the foot of your bed. 

“Doctor Palmer,” you said more sternly and she flinched. “You’re not that good of a liar.” She sighed and lifted her head, looking from you to Bucky and back again. 

“I’m concerned, Y/N,” she said honestly. You could feel your chest tightening and you almost sensed Bucky tense from across the room. Christine must have sensed it too as she moved to the opposite side of the bed, away from him. 

Reaching down, she placed a warm hand on your arm and looked you in the eye. 

“I’m concerned because you’re not healing, hardly at all. I mean, the wounds are starting to knit but it’s all happening far too slowly. I think the trauma inflicted on your body has effectively left it unable to heal itself.” You heard the words, but they sounded full of static to your ears. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice sounding strange as though coming from someone else. 

“I mean, it’s been nearly a month now and there should be some noticeable improvement but there isn’t. To all appearances, these wounds could have been inflicted last week.”

Bucky slumped back in the chair and cursed, running his hands through his hair. Steeling her courage, Christine turned to address him.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as Bucky locked eyes with her. “I know you went through something similar, albeit much worse,” she hastened to add in fear of belittling his own experience. “Did you face anything like this?” Bucky sighed heavily and nodded. 

“I did, at first. When they removed what was left of my arm,” he raised his metal arm slightly as if to indicate the obvious. “I was losing a lot of blood, I was in and out of consciousness so much I don’t really remember and I think I blocked out the rest, but I do remember that I wasn’t healing. That was when...” his voice died as he looked at you, his face going pale as he realised what you needed. 

“When what?” you asked, wondering what could get that reaction from him. 

“That was when they gave me the serum,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper but you and Christine caught every word and turned to look at each other, a mixture of hope and concern showing in your mirrored expressions.

“No!” Bucky said, standing up as he caught your trains of thought. “Totally, absolutely no.”

“Bucky,” Christine said, using his name for the first time, causing him to stop short. “It might be the only way she’ll ever be able to walk again.”

@hillywooddestiel @imaginecrushes @fandomlover03 @rosep16

[cynicinafishbowl]

For the dvd meme— any bit in the second or third chapter of Politics and Profanity where Lizzy and Evie are flirting. I’m #predictable

I expected no less from you, madame. I have decided to go with Chapter 2 (under the cut)

By about ten the next morning, Elizabeth realised that Darcy had not taken the intended message away from their meeting. This realisation came by way of the five emails he had sent her by then, amending his schedule in some insignificant manner. [Darcy is a petty little shit when he puts his mind to it] By the end of the day, and another seventeen emails, she was sure that he was having his revenge by inundating her with as much minutiae as he could throw at her. Knowing, thanks to his incessant emailing, that he would not be in his office, she walked towards it, hoping to see Mr Fitzwilliam. He was indeed there, and seemed surprised to see her.

“Miss Bennett. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Fitzwilliam asked as she entered the room. A moment later, having seen her expression, he continued, “Wait. Fitz hasn’t been flooding you with emails keeping you updated as to every tiny amendment to his schedule, in an attempt to mete out some kind of schoolyard vengeance, has he?” [They’ve known each other for literally forever, which mean he knows exactly the sort of shit Darcy is likely to try to pull]

“That and sending me the occasional synopsis of a particularly interesting something which happens to be in one of his red boxes.”

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. “Would I be correct in surmising that you could probably use a drink?” he asked, opening the door to Darcy’s office and waving her in. “I can offer you scotch, sherry, [Yes Minister - I couldn’t not] or bourbon.”

“Bourbon?”

“He acquired a taste for it whilst on an internship in America.”

“Scotch, thank you.”

“Have a seat, Elizabeth. May I call you Elizabeth?”

“Only if I may call you Evelyn.”

There’s a definite current of flirting between the two of them in Pride and Prejudice before Fitzwilliam backs off, which in my opinion is because Darcy takes him aside and invokes bros before hos. Obviously in my fic, Fitzwilliam backs off for a different reason, but that is neither here nor there. 

My initial plan was to actually have Lizzie and Fitzwilliam date for a while, before they realise that they’re better off as friends or some such, but that didn’t end up happening. I can’t recall why I decided against it. Probably the fact that I couldn’t really think of a plausible reason for them to break up, so it was safer never to go there.

“By all means, Elizabeth, otherwise our following conversation about Fitz is going to be far too confusing.” Elizabeth sank into one of the armchairs in the office and accepted the drink Fitzwilliam handed her, murmuring thanks and taking a sip. “So how many emails did he send you?” Fitzwilliam asked, before cutting her off. “No, no, don’t tell me. Twenty?”

“Twenty-two. Twenty-three if you count the one he sent last night.”

“Christ. And I assume that diligence meant that you actually read them all.”

“Indeed it did,” Elizabeth confirmed, “although every so often there was some interesting bit of statistical analysis from a research paper. Or in one case, a picture of a cat as an attachment labelled ‘virus virus Trojan horse plz open plz’.” [I believe that all email attachments should be named in the manner of lolcats]

“And you opened it?” Fitzwilliam chuckled.

“Of course I opened it. If the computer defences aren’t up to any viruses I’m sent, it’s better that we know about it as soon as possible.”

“So I take it from your visits that you think Fitz has potential in the long run?” [he’s not an idiot]

“What on earth do you mean?” Elizabeth prevaricated.

“If you thought him nothing but a passing nuisance, you wouldn’t be bothering yourself with talking to his assistant after he spent the day annoying you after you reamed him for what was, admittedly, not his fault, but, as I pointed out, something which he probably should have explained from the outset, instead of saying inappropriate things to people with arguably more political clout than him. If you thought he didn’t have staying power, you would just let him run his course, and breathe a sigh of relief when he was replaced and went to work for some top tier law firm.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” [Up until now, Elizabeth had thought he was just along for the ride until something better came up]

“It’s my job to think these things through. If I didn’t think Fitz could go all the way, I would be spending my leisure hours looking for more permanent jobs. Instead, I spend my leisure hours conversing with lovely ladies such as yourself,” he pointed out with a slight inclination of his head. [Shameless. Absolutely shameless.]

“Darcy’s problem isn’t that he’s stupid or even bad at politics from what I’ve seen. His problem is that he’s too… I don’t know… idealistic. [She realises that Darcy isn’t a terrible person, he’s just going about the politics wrong] If he weren’t, he would realise that things are less about actually running the country and more about climbing the greasy totem pole. I mean for heaven’s sake. It’s youth and unemployment.”

“Surely you don’t mean to say that some portfolios are more important than others. Miss Elizabeth, I am shocked,” exclaimed Fitzwilliam in a tone which implied that he was anything but.

“You might very well think that,” Elizabeth paused in her response to take a drink, “but I couldn’t possibly comment.” [Two of my favourite things - that quote from House of Cards, and the Victory Sip, where you punctuate your statement with an exceedingly smug sip of something]

Fitzwilliam chuckled. In response to Elizabeth’s curious look, he said “You know, if you were a bit taller, and significantly more Tory, you’d be exactly his type [He’s essentially describing Caroline Bingley, who is, but for the fact that she’s utterly uninterested in men, exactly his type]. And before you start getting all sardonic, I am in no way implying that that is at all your intent.” [He fails to mention that she is also very close to his type: compact and filled with rage]

Elizabeth, entirely ready to reply with something sardonic, after all, she had hardly come to Westminster to secure some rich, conservative husband [lol surprise bitch, that’s what you’re getting], instead burst into laughter [He’s hot and he’s funny. Such struggle]. “And what, pray tell, was the sample size from which you drew this conclusion?”

“I will admit that my scientific method was somewhat less than rigorous.”

Elizabeth glanced at her watch, and saw that she had another forty minutes until Darcy was due to return to pick up his red boxes for the evening. As such, she was more than slightly surprised to look up from her watch to see him walk into his office [I do enjoy having characters ambush other characters]. He looked, quite rightly, somewhat confused. “You’re not meant to be back for another forty minutes, Minister. You’ve been quite diligent in that respect haven’t you?” she pointed out.

“I emailed you from the car.” [This bitch, am I right?]

Elizabeth pulled out her phone and saw that that was indeed the case. [She has to commend his diligence and commitment to pettiness] Standing, she excused herself. “Indeed you did. Evelyn, it has been a pleasure. Minister, that cat picture was most droll.” [tfw your workplace nemesis is hot as shit, and his homie is super cute and funny. #relatable]

As she left, she heard Darcy ask “What was that about?” [I love having the start of the next conversation happen while its subject is still within earshot.]

Fitzwilliam’s response of “You being a prat,” made her smile as she walked back to her department, where promptly was she greeted by Mr Gardiner. “Where the fuck were you?” [Ah, my Malcolm Tucker homage]

“Drinking scotch with the assistant to the person whom I’m pretty sure just became my nemesis.” [So that’s what the kids are calling it these days]

“I’m sorry fucking I asked,” he muttered as he stalked off. 

I love the ‘question, overshare answer, look of disgust’ structure. I use it a lot.

Waiting for her, when she arrived at her computer, were three emails. The one Darcy had sent from the car, updating his schedule, along with a second, newer, email; and one from Mr Fitzwilliam [when did I drop the ‘Mr’ and just have him as ‘Fitzwilliam’? Clearly some time after chapter 2]. She clicked on it.

Elizabeth,

You must come for another chat some time soon. Fitz keeps you pretty well informed of his comings and goings, and I’m invariably always around.

I feel that our chat this afternoon was cut short. [Yeah you do. He thinks she’s attractive, she’s fiercly intelligent, he’s starting to like her]

Yours &c,

Evelyn

Attached to the email was a virtual business card with his details. A smile playing across her features [she is also in the beginning of liking him], she opened the newest email from Darcy.

Ms Bennet,

I hope that my correspondence today has been of a satisfactory level of detail. I have attached my agenda for tomorrow.

Regards,

Fitzwilliam Darcy, MP

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. If he wanted to continue on this line of childish behaviour, that was entirely his prerogative [later on, she comes to enjoy this vague spite-flirting. She has not yet reached that point]. With her work done for the day, she packed her things into her bag and made her way home. It was only when she arrived, to find Jane absent (in her being flooded with unnecessary details of Darcy’s schedule, she had forgotten the altogether more relevant fact of Jane having a date). Elizabeth made herself some eggs, opened her laptop, and poured herself some wine. [All good life choices, like google stalking someone, tend to be motivated by wine]

Having an evening to herself, without the risk of Jane seeing what she was googling and reproaching her for it, Elizabeth opened Chrome and typed ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy’ into the search bar. The first couple of results were official governmental sites, a number of news entries, including the one for which she had been sent to disabuse him, something from a law firm website, and a number of other results which offered no insight into the gentleman. It was on the third page of results [aka Dark Google - if it’s not on the first page, tweak your search term. Things get weird once you’re past that first page of results] that she found something interesting. An obscure Cambridge publication showed a photograph of a young Darcy along with two young men and a young woman, and the caption ---- [Why bother deciding where he went if I can just go the ---- route of Austen?] College University Challenge Team.

Elizabeth very nearly spat out the wine she had just imbibed [spit-takes are never not hilarious]. Here was Darcy, unmistakeably, but over a decade ago. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, and he was still in the throes of boyhood [the awkward teenage years we would rather forget], his body seeming too tall for his frame [stringbean Darcy], as if he had just completed a growth spurt, which, she supposed, he probably had. Armed with a new search phrase [Good decision, Lizzie. Don’t just keep going deeper], she returned to Google. 

She had barely opened the first video when she opened her email to see if Fitzwilliam had seen fit to include his mobile phone number in his set of details. Elizabeth was delighted to see that he had [totally for professional reasons]. She typed the number into her phone and dialled.

“This is Evelyn.”

“Evelyn. Hullo. This is Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Elizabeth! To what do I owe this delight? I hope Fitz hasn’t been pestering you [that’s a lie. He hopes Fitz has been pestering her, because then she’ll keep chatting to him].”

Elizabeth laughed. “No more than the usual. Although it is about him that I called.”

“Oh really?” Fitzwilliam said, with some real intrigue in his voice. “Do go on.”

“I was doing some googling,”

“Of course.”

“I can sense judgement, and I will not have it.” [I swear, the flirting wrote itself]

“Not at all. Please continue.”

“I found a video of Darcy as some lanky teenager on Univeristy Challenge.”

Fitzwilliam let out a hoot of laughter [he remembers stringbean teenager Darcy]. “I’d no idea that was on the internet. Hang on.” Elizabeth heard some shuffling and then frenzied typing, followed by another hoot of laughter. “I am so glad you called. I was making do with occasionally recalling it and chuckling. I never even thought to see if someone had uploaded it. That has absolutely made my evening. I’m going to spend hours making GIFs of this just so that I can send them to him at inopportune moments.” [He totally would]

“Surely you have better things to do with your time,” Elizabeth protested.

“Indeed I do not, for you see, unlike you, I am wildly unqualified for this position and very much did get the job entirely through nepotism [This statement is more or less entirely true]. I take phone calls when he’s out of the office, but let’s be entirely honest, Fitz doesn’t need me around [Not quite true, but definitely not untrue]. A partially trained chimpanzee could do my job [very true]. He hired me because I was an unemployed cousin with a PhD [in retrospect, the timelines make more sense if it’s a Bachelor’s. This was written back when I hadn’t planned for him to have spent quite as long in the military. That changed] in maths so pure that numbers weren’t even involved any more, which of course meant that my job prospects were infinite, and he happened to need a glorified receptionist, and since we always got along well as lads, he gave me the job.” [definitely one interpretation of events]

“Don’t sell yourself short. You could engage in the vicious cycle of academia and teach bright-eyed young things skills which are wholly unusable in the real world so that they too can’t get jobs and so go into academia.” [I wonder what my opinions of professional academia are]

“If I could tolerate youths, then maybe, but ugh, can you imagine?” 

“I hate to break it to you, Evelyn, but if they’re at university reading pure maths, I can guarantee that they are about as far from being ‘youths’ as is humanly possible.”

“Excuse you, Miss Elizabeth, I will have you know that there was many a debauched escapade as we dealt with n-dimensional hypercubes.” [debauchery is relative]

“I’m sure.”

“Tell you what, once the GIFs are done, I’ll send you a couple for your own amusement.” [that’s totally not just an excuse for them to keep corresponding at all]

“You are a prince among men,” Elizabeth informed him.

“I know. Feel free to drop by any time Fitz is out of the office, or indeed whenever he isn’t. I’m finding that I enjoy our chats, and nothing worries Fitz more than me chatting about him with terrifying women.” [especially when Fitz worries that he’s going to fall madly in love with them]

“It’s been a pleasure, as always.” [yeah it has]

Elizabeth marvelled at how someone could be so resolutely upper-class, and then read anything other than Classics at university. [really though. I just wanted something that would make him super unemployable, and it was Maths or Classics. Since I decided that Tristan read Classics, Maths it was]