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livesincerely · 4 years ago

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it’s beginning to look a lot like... ch. 4 (END)

Also on Ao3. Chapter three here.

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The Twelfth Christmas

“You’re shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes you are, you dirty cheater!”

“You’re just mad ‘cause I’m winning⁠—”

“You wouldn’t be winning if you weren’t shaking the table⁠—”

“Hey, chill the fuck out,” Jack interjects, wandering over to investigate before things can get out of hand. “We’re gonna get another noise complaint.”

“Charlie’s cheating!” Tony insists. “He’s shaking the table!”

“No, I’m not!” Charlie denies. “Tony’s just a sore loser.”

“I’m not a sore loser!”

“Well, you’re definitely not a sore winner!”

“I said, chill out,” Jack says firmly. “Or I’m gonna be the one sweeping the pot.”

“Aw, Jack!” they whine in unison.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jack says. “Choo-Choo, stop shaking the table,” —Charlie ducks his head, pouting⁠— “and Racer, stop stealing from Charlie’s pile when he ain’t lookin’,” —Tony’s eyes go wide⁠— “yeah, Tones, I saw that.”

There’s a few grumbles, but no real arguments.

Satisfied that he’s halted World War Dreidel, at least for now, Jack goes back to the living room and crawls into the Pillow Fort.

“Everything okay?” Davey asks, lifting his arm so that Jack can snuggle back into his side.

“Just another throw down,” Jack says, resting his head against Davey’s chest. “You know how they get.”

“There’s no mercy in dreidel,” Davey says, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Only annihilation and bragging rights.”

Jack laughs softly. “Yeah, I think they’ve really taken that rule to heart, querido. They’re planning total domination and they ain’t afraid to go through each other to get it.”

He takes another moment to get good and comfortable—arms tucked around Davey’s waist, one hand slipping up under Davey’s shirt to sit against the curve of his stomach. Davey throws his legs over Jack’s, his arm a warm weight across Jack’s shoulders, and he tugs a blanket up to cover them.

Davey asks, “Good?”

“Go for it,” Jack murmurs.

Davey unearths the remote from their nest of pillows and hits play; the dvd picks up right where they left it before Jack got up, with Hiccup finding Toothless in the quarry.

They’re watching the movie and not watching the movie. They’ve probably seen it about a hundred times, it’s not like they don’t know what’s gonna happen, so it’s sort of just on for background noise and because it wouldn’t be Christmas without it. Mostly they’re just sitting together, enjoying each others’ company as the last few hours of the day wind down.

It’s been an impossibly hectic holiday season: Davey’s semester didn’t end until the 20th, leaving only a couple of days for frantic Hanukkah shopping and barely more than that for last-minute Christmas shopping. There’s still a handful of nights of Hanukkah left⁠—they’re spending the rest of the week at the Jacobs’ to finish out the holiday, then ringing in the New Year the night after, leaving tonight as the only lull in the madness.

Well, considering the muffled arguing he can still hear coming from the kitchen table, there’s never really a lull in the madness. But lying here, settled in with Davey’s fingers combing through his hair and his heartbeat beneath his ear, the boys happy and whole just a few feet away… Jack can’t imagine anything better.

He shifts slightly, tipping his head up just enough to see⁠: Davey’s looking towards the TV, his expression soft with relaxation and a hint of sleepiness, the fairly lights casting a gentle glow across his features and leaving specks of color dancing in his eyes.

Jack’s heart does a little loop-de-loop around his chest. He never gets tired of looking at Davey. He’s pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life looking at Davey.

“What’re you thinking about so hard, Jackie, love?” Davey asks after a while.

Jack curls around him that much more, his hands sliding up to splay wide over Davey’s ribcage.

“Nothin’,” he says, quietly content. “Still jus’ thinkin’ about tomorrow.”

Davey hums in acknowledgement, his nails scratching lightly at the nape of Jack’s neck. “Mama’s been hinting that she wants us down there as soon as physically possible⁠. She sounded pretty frazzled⁠—I think Les must be driving them all a bit crazy, waiting.”

“What, and she thinks adding us into the mix is gonna grant her some peace?” Jack asks with a snort. “Charlie, Tony, and Les might distract each other for a while, maybe, but there’s no way whatever Les is puttin’ her through now is worse than whatever the three of ‘em together will cook up and unleash. But either way, I’m not goin’ anywhere until we get at least two loads of laundry done because that sucked ass last year, coming home to a shit-ton of dirty sheets and blankets.”

“Yeah, I figured we wouldn’t be getting there until early afternoon-ish,” Davey says. “I told her maybe 2pm or 3? And, at this point I think she’d take the chaos if it meant she could get a few hours in the kitchen, uninterrupted, without Les trying to talk her into a round of dreidel. Apparently he’s taking the tournament very seriously this year.”

“There’s somethin more serious than whatever the fuck went down last year? I didn’t think that was possible,” Jack says. He pauses for a moment, considering. ”Oh, hell, what am I sayin’? This is Les, Charlie, and Tony we’re talkin’ about.”

“Yeah, Mama said the same thing,” Davey agrees. “She specifically mentioned that they’re setting aside a separate table just for dreidel⁠—somewhere safely away from any food or drinks or breakable glassware, presumably.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Jack says. “Though, I’m tellin’ ya now, if anyone ends up with sufganiyot in their hair again, I’m groundin’ both of ‘em ‘til Easter.”

“God, can you even imagine?” Davey says, laughing. “I thought Sarah was gonna murder all three of them.”

“I thought Racer was gonna shatter a window, with how loud he screamed when she started chasin’ him,'' Jack adds. “Then, remember? We found him hidin’ under your old bed?”

“Oh my god,” Davey says, his laughter bubbling up into a full on giggle. “I totally forgot about that!”

Maybe it’s the holiday getting to him. Maybe it’s the bit of eggnog he had earlier or the smell of pine and the hint of candle smoke in the air or maybe it’s just the way that Davey’s looking at him, expression bright and his eyes crinkled up at the corners, but suddenly Jack’s heart feels too big in his chest⁠—like his entire self might burst open.

“What?” Davey asks, still smiling, when he notices Jack staring at him. “What is it?”

“Do you remember when we were at your parents house?” Jack asks. “Not last Hanukkah, but the one before that? When you first started your grad program?”

“What about it?”

“It was, like, a week before Christmas, a coupl’a days into Hanukkah'' Jack starts, thinking back. “I picked you up from campus right after your last test, already had the car packed and the boys bickering in the backseat, and between the snow and the holiday traffic, it took us, like, four hours just to get to your parents house, and I loved every fucking minute of it. ‘Cause you’d moved out, an’ you had classes an’ finals an’ a whole fucking graduate dorm an’ it felt like I hadn’t seen you in weeks, weeks, after four years of livin’ in each other’s back pockets an’ I missed you so fucking much. You weren’t even twenty minutes away but it felt like you were gone⁠, all’a the time—”

Jack’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling, and he’s not sure if he’s even making any sense. But Davey makes no move to interrupt him, listening with that quiet intensity of his, eyes wide and warm.

“⁠—and I’d spent all of fall looking forward to the end of your semester because then I’d have you for a whole month. A whole month, where things could be like they were, like they were s’pposed to be. I’d get to make ya coffee in the morning and hear ya singin’ in the shower and see ya reading on the couch when I got home from work. I was so excited, but I hadn’t realized yet, you know? I didn’t know.”

He pauses for a breath, heart fluttering a little in his chest, then continues.

“But then, that evening at your parents… you never sleep the night before you have a big test, always stay up too late studying and worrying, and sure enough, you were passed out before Jeopardy even came on, absolutely exhausted. I hadta carry ya upstairs later⁠; your Ma had made up your old room for us so I just tucked you in, then slipped into bed beside you. I didn’t think anythin’ of it ‘cause we always share and you didn’t even wake up, just kept on sleepin’. But then, the next morning…”

Jack raises a hand and drags his thumb gently over the ridge of Davey’s forehead.

“You always get a little wrinkle right here, when you ain’t been sleepin’ enough,” he murmurs, rubbing away an imaginary crease between Davey’s brows. “Tension, I guess. It’s how I can always tell that you ain’t been taking care of yourself. But that next morning, I woke up and you’d sort of curled around me in your sleep, half on top of me. My whole fucking arm was numb ‘cause of how you were lying on it but I didn’t dare move ‘cause you looked so comfortable. No wrinkle, no crease, no frown… and I just kept lookin’ atcha an’ lookin’ atcha…”

His hand slides down, cupping around the side of Davey’s face. Jack looks him right in the eyes and says, “And suddenly I thought to myself, ‘Holy shit, I am apocalyptically in love with this man.’”

There’s the tiniest sound of an inhaled breath, Davey’s throat working beneath his palm.

“‘Cause I hadn’t known, ya know? But once I did—once I realized⁠—then I knew. I figured out right then and there that all I wanted was you, that all I’d ever wanted was you, and the boys, and all of us together for as long as I could keep ya. That I’d wanted you since ya brought me that hat and scarf ‘cause you wanted me to be warm, an’ the phone card ‘cause you wanted us to be able to talk, an’ the sketchbook ‘cause you wanted me to have something just for having, and it hurt so bad because it was too late, you’d already moved out, you were pullin’ away, an’ I had a whole month of fucking torture because I had you right where I wanted you but I didn’t actually have you⁠—”

Davey leans that barest bit closer and kisses him, long and slow.

“You’ve always had me,” he promises. “Jackie, you’ve always⁠—”

“But I didn’t know,” Jack says. “And you didn’t know that you had me. But really, the whole time we could’ve been⁠—”

“We were idiots,” Davey agrees, pressing his forehead to Jack’s. “But what else is new?”

“I love you,” Jack says, reaching out to lace their fingers together. “I love you so much, Davey. You don’t even realize how much I love you.”

“Sure I do,” Davey says, his voice a little wet, giving Jack’s hand a squeeze. “It’s about as much as I love you. Now stop it before you make me cry.”

“Love of my life,” Jack says. “‘M so lucky to have you.”

“Jack.”

Jack smiles, lifting their clasped hands up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to Davey’s knuckles.

“Happy Hanukkah, Dave.”

“Merry Christmas, Jackie.”

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Tags: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside, @corbinthecowboy

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #*final cut #the domestic au #listen: i decided that more romance could only be a good thing #so here you go #its so sweet it could rot your teeth out #but im not sorry #happy holidays yall #<3<3<3

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bubbyleh · 4 years ago

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Do I Know You? - Chapter 7

read this chapter on ao3! check out the rest of this series on tumblr!

Chapter 7: Redacted Version An idea of the truth.

- ○ -

Getting to know your long-lost sibling around thirty-nine years after they disappeared is certainly something. It’s difficult sometimes for Kleiner to reconcile the adult sitting across from him with the baby he knew so long ago, but he’s trying! And though Bubby isn’t really one to offer up much in the way of personal anecdotes, even hearing the odd story from five years ago from Coomer is nice.

At first, Kleiner told himself he wouldn’t press. He had no starry-eyed, idealized notion of Black Mesa in his head. The facility was fucked up beyond measure, and the thought of Bubby growing up surrounded by that? It was one he wanted to shove into a trash can in his mind.

But Bubby didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and Kleiner wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

Slowly, though, that changed. The incidents were small initially, but Bubby began to open up slightly. Like how during one of their regular coffee meetings, Kleiner asked a bit about the conversation he’d overheard in Chemical Engineering.

“Oh, that,” Bubby grimaces. “That was Dr. Daniels. He’s been in charge of my project for as long as I can remember. He died not long after that night .”

“Good,” Kleiner says in response to that last fact, a statement that throws Bubby for a loop. They look unsure, avoiding Kleiner’s gaze for the briefest of moments and slouching forward. Suddenly, though, their eyes widen, and they sit right back up.

“Yeah, you’re right,” they finally say. “It is good.”

Bubby places their mug on the table, brow furrowing as they stare at the coffee, gently swishing. And something about it threatens to tear Kleiner’s heart apart. The wrongness of it all. Bubby shouldn’t have memories like that—of Dr. Daniels. They were supposed to grow up together, in a small house at the end of the street. Instead, they were in Kleiner’s admittedly cramped kitchen, trying to catch up on a lifetime of memories.

It’s unfair.

Kleiner takes a sip of his coffee.

“Bubby,” he manages to ask. “Have you ever thought about leaving Black Mesa?”

And Bubby frowns. “That’s… complicated.” They fiddle with the edge of their mug.

“How so?”

“Well,” Bubby sighs. “It’s not that I want to stay at Black Mesa, it’s more that… I don’t technically have a doctorate, you know. And I’m not qualified to do anything else. If I want a job, it’s gotta be here.”

Oh. Right. Actually, Kleiner hadn’t really thought about that, but it did make sense that Black Mesa wouldn’t be able to just hand Bubby a degree. Hell, it might actually be a bit of a warning sign if they could.

“But, also…” In the most simple of motions, Bubby smiles. “Harold’s here. You’re here, Isaac.” He brings his mug up to his mouth, but pauses to clarify, “You two are doing great work. I wouldn’t ask you to leave it, and I won’t leave either of you.”

Bubby’s clearly trying to keep their tone casual, but their words feel significant to Kleiner. They hold a weight to them; a promise.

- ○ -

The Hanukkah photo was the first step. It took a while, but the longer Bubby saw it and got used to it, the more he realized he was curious. The baby in that photo looks so happy to be with their brother, and it’s hard to imagine that that’s

him

. A little person whose family adored them. And maybe, if they see the rest of Kleiner’s photos, he’ll at least understand a bit about who that person could have been.

Isaac, of course, was thrilled by the prospect of sharing Bubby’s baby pictures. He’d promised to dig up as many as he could and bring them over, since Black Mesa’s singles dorms aren’t really great for receiving guests in. Once Harold had found out about the plan, though, he’d been eager to invite himself to the viewing. Actually, he’d been practically giddy about it.

Maybe they should be worried about that…

…

Oh this was a mistake.

Before they can really consider cancelling, though, there’s a knock at the door. And when Bubby opens the door to the sight of Kleiner holding a small cardboard box, it’s only then that he realizes that tonight is going to be extremely embarrassing.

- ○ -

“Oh, look at this one! He has to be less than an hour old, here!”

“My goodness, he’s adorable!”

Bubby has to resist every urge not to hide his red face behind his hands, because some poor part of his brain still really wants to see what he looked like as a baby. Unfortunately, Coomer does as well, and if they have to hear one more time about how they were the cutest thing to ever grace the planet, then they’re going to explode.

What’s even worse, though, is that Coomer brought out his own collection.

“You should see this one.” He slides a picture over to Kleiner. “They thought they were so cool!”

Bubby just barely catches a glance of a photo of himself when he was, what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? Couldn’t have been too long after he started dating Coomer, actually.

“Wait a fucking second.” Bubby snatches the photo before Kleiner can get that good of a look. They do look younger, with a scowl on their face pointed somewhere offscreen. “I don’t remember you taking this.”

“Ah, well.” Finally, Coomer has the audacity to look at least a bit sheepish. “I made sure you weren’t looking.”

Bubby squints back down at the picture. “Why?”

“I thought you looked nice,” Coomer admits matter-of-factly.

And after a brief reprieve, Bubby’s flushed face returns in full force. This time, though, he draws his knees to his chest and buries his face in them.

“You two are killing me,” Bubby mumbles, holding the picture out for Isaac.

Kleiner plucks it from their hands. “You’re fine,” he insists.

“I will die, and it will be your fault.”

There’s a sound of papers shifting, followed by Kleiner muttering, “Hang on a moment…”

Bubby peeks out.

“I think that was it, actually,” Kleiner sighs. Almost instinctively, he reaches over and pats Bubby’s head, earning himself a glare. “You disappeared when you were around thirteen months. That’s not a lot of time…”

Kleiner’s eyes seem fixed on the photo of the newborn in his hand, though. He brushes it with his pointer finger, and in the back of Bubby’s mind, something clicks into place. They stand abruptly, much to their brother’s surprise.

“Fine,” Bubby states. “Give me a second.”

They loop around the couch, and after blindly fumbling under it for a moment, their hand finally finds purchase on what they were looking for. With a flourish, Bubby holds up their file, shaking off the dust that’s accumulated.

“Is that where you’ve been hiding that?” Coomer asks.

“Don’t worry, it’s getting a new hiding spot after tonight,” Bubby reveals. He settles back on the couch, clutching the file tightly. “Now, let me set the ground rules: This is a selective process, which means I reserve the right to withhold any picture I see fit.” He glares at the two of them. “No sneaking.”

Kleiner nods, and Coomer chimes in with “Understood!”

Bubby takes a deep breath before they open their file again. It’s been a while—a long while—since they last did, but everything is just as they left it. In fact, he thinks he might know where the first good picture is as he flips forwards slightly.

“Alright.” They undo the paperclip, slipping the photo to Kleiner. “This is me and Dr. Cynthia, one of the good ones. The notes say I was around fourteen months here.”

Dr. Cynthia had taken an immediate liking to Bubby, and judging by the picture, the feeling was mutual. She held him up to the camera with such a happy look on her face. Bubby’s struck with the thought that it was the first time in over a month that someone had loved him.

And Isaac has tears welling up in his eyes.

“No, shit,” Bubby struggles. “Don’t cry, fuck.” They pull Kleiner into a hug without really thinking.

Kleiner wipes away the few tears that escaped. “I’m fine, Bubby, seriously,” he says, but his voice sounds shaky. “It’s just… I didn’t get to see you grow up.”

Oh.

Crap.

“Okay, we don’t have to look at them anymore-” Bubby tries to put the file down.

“No wait!” Kleiner’s almost frantic as he grabs onto Bubby’s wrist. He takes a breath. “I want to see them.”

“You’re sure?”

Kleiner nods.

“Alright.” Bubby shakes his hand off them. “But we’re taking a break if you need it.”

- ○ -

Seeing the rest of Bubby’s childhood was certainly a mixed bag of emotions. They were such a cute little kid. There was a picture of them after they got their first pair of glasses, with a smile bright enough to light up a room. And then in their teenage years, their facial expressions gradually melted into “teen angst”. It was especially funny when Kleiner held up a picture of Bubby pouting when he was a baby, and they realized he was making the same face in both photographs.

Kleiner loved it, truly, but there was an underlying melancholy to it all. He should have seen this all himself. Bubby was taken away from their family, and for what?

That question sticks in their head. For what? Bubby’s clearly been skipping over large parts of their childhood, ignoring the bad parts and sharing the good. And that makes sense, of course, but…

Well, Kleiner read that first paper. Bubby was taken for augmentation and enhancement.

They did something to him.

“I’ll see you sometime next week,” Bubby promises as they see Kleiner out of their dorm. “Maybe we’ll do another dinner?”

“That would be nice,” Kleiner agrees. He’d stayed later than he meant to, but the trams would run for another hour or so. He has time for goodbyes.

“I’ll talk to you about it at work!” Harold calls from the seating area, where he’s still sorting the picture mess.

Bubby rolls their eyes, but they lean in, pulling Kleiner into another hug. “Thank you.”

Kleiner’s always happy about some genuine emotion from their sibling, but it’s a bit sudden. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know, really,” Bubby chuckles to himself. “Being my brother, I guess? Accepting me?”

“Like I wouldn’t welcome you back.” Kleiner returns the hug for a brief moment, before pulling back. “I’ll look at my schedule next week.”

Bubby waves his brother off. “Bye, Isaac.”

“Bye Bubby.”

And Isaac Kleiner decides. He is going to get his hands on that file.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #hlvrai boomer #boomer #boomer content back :)#dr bubby #bubby #dr coomer #isaac kleiner #my writing #do i know you

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confused-android · 4 years ago

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Day 13, Todd - Family

----------------

Amanda: hey, what time are you showing up at mom and dad's on tuesday? (7:02PM)

Todd: For what? Why would I go to their house? (7:05PM)

Amanda: …for hannukah? they sent out the invite three weeks ago, asshole. check your fucking email (7:10PM)

Todd switches apps on his phone and opens his Gmail account. The only things in his inbox are bills and spam. He looks in his spam folder, and even checks his agency account, just in case they had, for some reason, found that email address and sent him an email there.

Nothing.

He searches both accounts for his mom's email address, and finds only the last email she'd sent him, before all of this shit went down. Before he'd told Amanda the truth, and she'd told their parents. Before he was on the FBI's Most Wanted list for almost three months. Before they opened the agency.

From: Debora Brotzman <[email protected]> Date: 4/8/16 2:14 PM To: Todd Brotzman <[email protected]> Subject: Visiting Mandy?

Hey sweetie, it's MOM. Mandy said she's feeling better this week – are you going to visit her? Call me when you get there, if you can! :-) Dad found a place to give him an interview, even with his knee, so send him some love and prayers! :-) I miss you, you're doing great.

Love, MOM <3 (Mandy says this is a heart, but in case you can't tell, imagine I put a heart there!)

He hadn't called her on that visit – all of his attention was taken up by Dirk, and it felt weirdly vulnerable to call his mother in front of some weird stranger. After that visit to Amanda, he'd been a little too busy to call her during the Patrick Spring case, and then he was afraid calling her would be trackable, and would bring the FBI down on his and Farah's heads. And since getting back to Seattle… Well, he's tried calling his parents a few times, and sent them an email over the high holidays, but they haven't responded.

He knows why, but it's just been easier to pretend that they were busy, to let Amanda send him occasional messages when she visited home, to imagine that they just… hadn't gotten around to responding to his lengthy apology email.

That strategy doesn't seem to be possible, here.

Todd: No email. (7:43PM)

Amanda: you sure? (7:44PM)

Todd: Yeah. (7:46PM)

Amanda doesn't respond and Todd slumps back into the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. This was… this was utterly predictable. He knew this was coming as far back as Amanda's first Pararibulitis attack, and this is what he knew would happen if they ever found out, and he can't pretend that they're just busy any more. He hasn't been invited home for the family Hanukkah celebration. He's not family any more.

This is the natural consequences of his actions, and he isn't even sure if he deserves to feel miserable.

Fuck.

Why does this suck so much? It's not like he was close with them, anyway. Not for a lack of effort on his parents' behalf, of course. That last email from his mom is typical. Just that it's hard to want to spend time with people you hurt, you're hurting, even if they don't know it. He kept hanging with Amanda because she needed him, and he needed to keep trying to make up for how shitty he was, but there was no way that he could ever save up enough to pay his parents back for years of – of stealing from and lying to them. So spending time with them, talking to them beyond occasional five minute phone call and a yearly awkward hanukkah gathering, never really happened.

Does this even matter? Should it matter?

Of course it matters. It's a punishment from his parents, for being awful to them. He's supposed to feel like shit.

Well, that's successful, then.

Dirk and Farah are out at some kind of trivia night thing, and Todd is honestly kind of relieved. He's not sure if he can handle them right now. Not in a bad way. Just that, Farah wants to be comforting but isn't ever really sure how, and Dirk is sure that he knows how to be comforting but rarely succeeds, and Todd always has to pretend that he feels very comforted by whichever of them has drawn the short straw to hang out with him when he's miserable, and he doesn't really feel like pretending right now.

His phone dings.

Amanda: i texted mom. (8:12PM)

Todd: …? (8:14PM)

Amanda: she said it wasn't an accident (8:20PM)

Todd: I figured *shrug emoji* (8:22PM)

Amanda: i feel kind of weird about this, tbh? (8:24PM)

Amanda: like, i'm still pissed at you, but you know that, and we're working on it (8:24PM)

Amanda: and i told mom that and she said that you emailed her for yk and apologized and that she didn't respond (8:24PM)

Amanda: and that sounds shitty of her? (8:25PM)

Amanda: but also you were shitty (8:26PM)

Amanda: like, really shitty (8:26PM)

Todd: I know that. I was shitty. And she doesn't have to respond to me. (8:27PM)

Amanda: it just feels weird bc she's our mom (8:31PM)

Todd: Yeah. (8:32PM)

Todd: I'm… having some feelings about it. (8:32PM)

Amanda: well i guess i'm proud of you for having feelings? idk (8:33PM)

Amanda: do you want me to not go? (8:37PM)

Todd: No! (8:37PM)

Todd: No, no. Go spend Hanukkah with mom and dad. I'm bummed, but I'll be fine. (8:37PM)

Todd: I'll try emailing them again next Yom Kippur, I guess. That always seemed to mean something to dad. (8:39PM)

Amanda: that could work (8:40PM)

Amanda: idk (8:40PM)

Todd: I don't know either, if it helps. This sucks, but I knew it was coming, I guess. (8:42PM)

Amanda: :/ (8:45PM)

Todd: :/ (8:46PM)

Todd drops his phone on the coffee table and stands up, shoves his hands through his hair, and sits right back down. Then he stands up again, because while he has no idea what to do with himself, he at least wants to not know what to do somewhere other than the couch. He looks in the fridge without taking anything out of it, contemplates and rejects the idea of a shower, and then grabs the pipe and lighter from his dresser and climbs out the kitchen window and on to the fire escape. He leans up against the side of the building and shivers as a gust of December air hits his neck and seeps in through the fabric of his hoodie.

"Fuck," he says, voice lost in the night, and cups the bowl in one hand and lights it with the other. He takes a long inhale. The smoke floods his lungs and he tops it off with clean, cold air, then holds the breath for a beat before exhaling. He lets the smoke drift away and sits with the scent lingering in his nose before taking a second hit, and then a third. He taps the ash out through the grate next to him, shoves the pipe and lighter back into his hoodie pocket, and thumps his head back against the brick.

It's hard to not feel like a complete piece of shit when your parents have disowned you. Like, the people who are supposed to love and care for you no matter what just don't want to see you for the holidays? That's pretty bad.

He knows that it's not like he doesn't deserve it – he did a horrible thing. Like, a really horrible thing. The kind of thing that gets you disowned by your parents. But it… it really sucks. This whole situation sucks. And it's a situation he made, which means that he sucks.

It's cold outside. Not quite freezing, but not that far above it, either, and his hoodie isn't quite cutting it. He doesn't go inside, though. If he goes inside, he'll check his phone and reread the conversation with Amanda, and have to start thinking about it all over again. So he just stays on the fire escape, buries his chin in the collar of his hoodie, and tries to think about anything other than his parents choosing to ignore him, and not see him for the holidays.

"Fuck," he says again. And that seems to sum it up.

Todd loses track of how long he spends on the fire escape, but it's long enough that he's not really cold any more, just trembling slightly, when the door to the apartment bangs closed.

"Shit," Dirk swears, his voice drifting through the window. "It's bloody freezing in here."

"The window's open," Farah adds, baffled, and then says, "Todd?"

"Todd!" Dirk echoes, his voice a little louder than hers.

"I'm out –" Todd coughs, then tries again. "I'm out here! Sorry!"

He can hear some bustling and movement from inside, and then a long leg sticks through the open window and taps around, looking for the floor, and is then quickly followed by a body. Dirk steps out of the way for Farah, who is altogether more graceful when exiting the building, and they both look down at him, separate expression of confusion on their faces.

"Why are you out here?" Dirk asks bluntly.

Farah shakes her head and puts on hand on Dirk's shoulder, asks, "how long have you been out here?"

Todd shrugs. "Maybe since nine? I'm not sure. What time is it?"

"It's almost ten," Farah says, and crouches down in front of him. "What the hell, Todd?"

"I'm sorry," he says, too tired to really get riled up, or even defensive. "I didn't know what time it was. I left my phone inside."

"Will you, um. Come inside now?" Farah tries, and looks up at Dirk for back-up. Dirk has a funny expression on his face, though, and steps around both of them. He sinks to the floor next to Todd and wiggles up close, until they're pressed together at the shoulder and hip. "Dirk!" Farah exclaims.

"Come on," Dirk says, and gestures to the floor on the other side of Todd. She opens her mouth like she's going to object again, but then something on Todd's face, or on Dirk's face, seems to speak to her, and she scoots back a bit and tips off her heels and down to sitting. Farah holds still for a long moment, steeling herself with a deep breath, then presses against Todd's other side. The brick at his back and the metal grate under his ass are still cold, but his two best friends are warm on either side of him. For a moment, at least, he feels like he has family.

------------------

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion day five, Farah - AU day six, Farah - Family (to be written) day seven, Farah - Pride (to be written) day eight, Todd - Youth (to be written) day nine, Todd - Dance (to be written) day ten, Todd - Gore day eleven, Todd - GNC Fashion day twelve, Todd - AU

prompt list

#dghda #dirk gently #DGHDAtober #todd brotzman #family #marijuana use #sad Todd #h/c? i guess?#sorry todd #but you definitely did this to yourself #fanfiction #my fic

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mare-bare · 5 years ago

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Some Tom/Greg prompts I’ve been thinking about but don’t have the skill or time to actually write. Enjoy!

Based on my assumption that Tom totally planned his and Shiv's entire wedding himself:

Tom drags Greg to England for a week to finalize with the wedding planner and, under the guise of privacy (not writing "Roy" on any of the contracts for fear of press intervention), the vendors all assume they're the two getting married. After seeing how Greg is too awkward to correct anyone, Tom plays it up and realizes he wishes it was real.

I'm just in love with the idea that Greg was raised Jewish:

During their first holiday season as a married couple, Tom really wants to visit his family back in Minnesota for Christmas. Shiv refuses to go with him, saying it might do Tom some good to get away from her family (also, they're still not doing well on the whole 'open marriage' front). On the last day in the office before break, Tom brings up his plans to Greg in the breakroom. Greg wishes him well and Tom asks where he's planning to go and Greg just shrugs. He was planning on maybe having a meetup with any other friends staying in the city, but other than that, not much of anything. His mom was on a cruise with her friends, and his dad would be celebrating Hanukkah with his partner in California. Greg grew up Jewish and this time of year was never a big deal in his household. Tom, a true midwestern American, is aghast and demands Greg come with him to Minnesota. His parents have been consistently mentioning him when Tom makes his weekly call back home. "How's Greg from the wedding? He was such a polite boy!" He knows they won't mind if he brings him along. And hey, maybe they have to share a bed??

I mostly love imagining a domestic scene in which Greg and Tom have breakfast together early in the morning, Greg's hair super ruffled, sticking up everywhere and his super long legs exposed, wearing only boxers and a long sleeved sweater, grumbling into his cereal. Tom across from him drinking coffee and reading the news. Anyways.......

A slow, domestic AU in which Tom stays with Greg after the events on the yacht to avoid Shiv. They easily get into a routine and one day Tom accidentally calls Greg "honey" and kisses the top of his head when he's heading out for his morning run. He didn't realize he had done anything out of the ordinary until he gets back and Greg's still in the same place he left him, on the couch, just staring at the door. Tom asks what's up, and Greg surges up, grabs Tom's face, and pulls him up into a kiss.

#tomgreg #tom wamsgans #greg hirsch #succession #succession hbo #tom/greg

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benditlikepress · 5 years ago

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believe in love (even if set in fear)

hey its jess coming back at ya with another 6k+ ““““mini fic””””

do I spend all my free time writing about tony and ziva touching hands and having important conversations? perhaps. except this time it's also christmas

@coffeedepablo tagging you in everything i ever write from now on even when it’s a hot mess

merry christmas everyone!!

also available on ao3 i love kudos and comments <3

“.. And because I speak English sometimes they said I’m extra good.”

Tali had been proudly explaining to Tony and Ziva how impressed her teachers were with her parts in the winter concert ever since they picked her up after the dress rehearsal that morning. They were on their way back to school for the afternoon performance, and (according to her) she been given a lot to do considering she wasn’t a native speaker. Her nerves were evidently jangling between her bursts of conversation.

Tali’s winter concert was apparently a Very Big Deal, and there were songs to sing and a dance to learn and a xylophone to play and even a few lines of a speech that Tali had sworn Tony to secrecy over, refusing to let Ziva be spoiled for before the day itself.

Tali was in her final year of the French equivalent of kindergarten, and the nursery was attached to the school she would be attending from next September. The winter concert was a joint affair, with students from both areas of the school taking part. It wasn’t a Christmas celebration so much as it was a new years’ one, a way to mark the end of the year and celebrate the holidays before the children went home to their families.

While the concert itself wasn't Christmas-themed (it was Ziva's understanding that French schools didn't celebrate religious holidays), but it was difficult not to feel the spirit as Tali trotted down the pavement in front of them wrapped in a winter coat and ear muffs.

Ziva had obviously never celebrated Christmas on a personal level, but she had gotten used to the shared traditions after her years spent living in the US. She was looking forward to spending it with Tony and Tali this year, knowing how excited her daughter was for both her grandfather and Santa to visit.

Even more special was the fact that Christmas and Hanukkah were overlapping. Tony had been a little embarrassed when he'd explained he'd tried his best to teach Tali about Judaism and was worried he'd fumbled over himself a few times, but now she was back Ziva was more than happy to teach both him and Tali about the holiday celebrations she'd revelled in growing up. There would be countless Hanukkah’s to celebrate in the future - and Christmases, and Passovers, and birthdays, and every other holiday imaginable. Ziva didn't plan on missing a single one ever again.

“Who will watch?”

Ziva was still getting used to this habit of Tali’s - her quick changes in trail of thought, questions hitting like whiplash. Tony was always unfazed.

“Everyone’s parents will be there like we’re going to be.”

“A lot?”

Tony hummed before answering. “I think so, yeah.”

His honesty didn’t seem to reassure Tali, and while she was still a little giddy it was clear her nerves about performing in front of a big crowd were building further.

“Try not to think about that, just think about Aba and I watching. What’s important is that you enjoy yourself. You know we will cheer you the whole time.”

“But it’s important! What if I mess up?”

"Last year she was only in 1 song and dance, this is a big deal." Tony confirmed his daughter's assertions, and though Ziva had always seen a similarity in nature between them when Tali was young she was struck by how much the two of them took after each other now after years in each other's pockets. “But you still don’t need to be nervous, I know you’re going to crush it.”

Ziva had already seen that she and Tony had different styles of parenting – she tried to be more rational to reassure, whereas he was more emotive, empathising with what was happening. Ziva wondered if that was solely his nature or if it came from the two of them being alone together for so long. He was good at being what people needed him to be. Ziva knew; he'd done the same for her enough times, even if she'd thrown it back in his face regrettably on a few occasions.

There was something intensely attractive about Tony like this – maybe it was biological, an innate response to seeing him be so affectionate and connected to Ziva’s child. To their child, this part of them that they held above anything else. They were both acutely aware of this new connection, both seeking out each other’s eyes almost as much as they did Tali’s when the three of them were together. Disbelieving, almost – wanting to check the other was still there, that this was really their new normal after years of to-and-fro and then years of nothing at all.

She increasingly found herself fighting the urge to kiss him, though that wasn’t exactly a new development. The fact that sometimes she did kiss him? Well, that was still new; a novel action that made her feel a tiny pinch of uncharacteristic nerves whenever she leaned in.

“They’re closing the gates!” Tali suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the end of the road where a teacher could be seen removing the bolt that kept the gate open from the ground. She had evidently seen them coming and wasn’t intending on closing it until they got inside, but that didn’t stop Tony challenging Tali to a race and the two of them breaking out into a run up the hill, Tali squealing loudly as Tony tried to grab her to pick her up.

Tali brought out the playful side of Tony - the loud, energetic side that Ziva had spent so long pretending she hated. As she watched the two of them laughing as they approached the playground, it hit Ziva again how normal this felt. She and Tony hadn’t seen each other in six years, and yet so quickly they’d fallen into this dynamic that was both so familiar and yet so new, the feeling both natural and exciting in equal measure.

Ziva ducked past the teacher on the gate with a smile as the woman looked amusedly at where Tony and Tali had just run to inside the building. It took Tony a while to catch his breath back, both age and a few years away from being a field agent having taken a natural toll on his fitness. Ziva watched him as he put his hands on his thighs briefly, her raised eyebrows meaning a verbal mocking wasn’t needed.

“Why don’t you try chasing her, see how you can keep up?”

“I probably would not be close to a heart attack.”

Tali proudly pointed out her place in the cloakroom to Ziva, and she helped her daughter remove her outer clothing and hang it up.

They dropped her off at the door to her classroom and she ran inside, clutching the bag containing her costume. Ziva watched through the window in the door as a teacher came up to Tali and spoke to her with a wide smile, taking the bag from her and encouraging her to sit with the others on the carpet.

Ziva started to walk back down the corridor but Tony flicked his head back at the classroom door a couple of times.

“Are you nervous?” Ziva asked with a little amusement in her voice, watching Tony twitch.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous.” He dismissed her with a familiar cockiness, which soon faded. “OK, maybe a little. I think she inherited your public speaking genes. I hope she doesn’t barf.”

“She will be fine. She told me you practiced with her every morning on the way to school. You are your daughter's father, yes?"

"I don't.. think that's how that goes, but I get what you mean. This way."

Tony led Ziva a different route through the school towards the upper school reception. As they approached Ziva saw 30 or 40 parents already milling around, some with babies in pushchairs, and when she looked out through the main doors many more were making their way towards the school.

A woman called out Tony's name and he looked towards the front of the group where a small circle of adults had gathered. Ziva thought a few of them looked familiar as parents from Tali's class and the way they greeted Tony confirmed as much.

Ziva’s eyes settled on Tony, the way he milled around with the other parents like he belonged. He did, of course – this was a new Tony, one Ziva hadn’t got to know yet. One who never missed a school function and stayed in every night helping his daughter practice her parts. His French was near-perfect now, which shouldn't have been surprising but perhaps was because Ziva could remember his occasional clumsiness surrounding foreign affairs in the past.

“Are you going to introduce us?” A middle-aged man with glasses and a pin-stripe scarf suddenly acknowledged Ziva’s presence beside Tony. Tony turned to Ziva with a smile, stepping back a little to encourage the others to greet her.

“This is Tali’s mom, Ziva.”

“You’re Tali’s mother? It’s nice to meet you at last, Tony said you’ve been away working for a long time. I’m Charles, this is my wife Marie. We’re Amelie’s parents.”

“Yes, I have. The project I was working on was a particularly long and difficult one, but it has finally been put to bed. I am here to stay now.” Ziva parroted the practiced line with a polite smile as she shook hands proffered to her and let the names of the other parents wash over her. She’d get the hang of it eventually.

As the reception area continued to fill with parents, the conversation devolved into a discussion about the weather and in-jokes and references that flew over Ziva’s head. She remained quiet – this type of socialising had never exactly been her wheelhouse. Tony was less silent but still quiet, his hand occasionally reaching out to touch the small of Ziva’s back. Once or twice the movement made her look up at his face instinctively, and they shared a private smile as the conversation continued around them.

Ziva was thankful when the doors to the hall were eventually opened and they were able to make their way inside, filing in to take their seats on cold plastic chairs that were too close together. Ziva could see Tali sat to the right of the stage, dressed now in the star costume the rest of her class was also wearing, her gaze flickering through the crowd looking for her parents. Tony raised his hand in the air and Tali eventually caught sight of them, beaming and waving back.

A few minutes passed as parents continued to file in, and Ziva instinctively kept one eye on the entrances watching who was coming in. Old habits died hard, she supposed. The lights dimmed and she refocused back on the stage and on the man sat next to her who had been stealing glances in her direction since they sat down. A woman with a baby in her arms quietly made her way to sit on Ziva’s other side and she smiled politely at the woman’s apologetic expression at her almost-lateness, secretly praying the baby would stay asleep as the music began to play.

After the first song, sung by all of the children, a man in his 60s stepped onto the stage. He introduced himself as the headteacher and began to talk about taking stock of the past year and looking forward to the future, with this being an opportunity to celebrate the children’s achievements in the last 12 months. He spoke with a strong accent and the speed at which he spoke was not particularly welcoming for non-native speakers. She was wondering how easy young children found him to understand when he abruptly finished talking and exited the stage again, sitting down in his seat at the front of the crowd.

“Tell me it isn’t just me that didn’t catch a word.”

Tony’s voice was low and his breath hot in her ear. Ziva smirked but put a hand on his thigh to implore him to pay attention as Tali’s class was being led onto stage.

Tali was stood on the front of two rows as the pianist began to play the next song and the teachers led them in a series of actions to go along with the song.

Ziva couldn't help but be reminded of her daughter’s namesake as she watched her beaming under the lights, tapping her feet and waving her hands when cued to. She was a little more bashful and clumsier on her feet than the older Tali had been, but the light emanating from her was unmistakable.

Seeing Tali be a part of something like this – how comfortable she was, how much she fitted in, how happy she was, offered Ziva the clarity she had needed for the past 3 years. Sending your child away to keep them safe was one of the most difficult decisions a person could ever have to make, but it all seemed worth it now she could see the smile on Tali’s face as she sung and danced with her friends.

Ziva lifted her hand from Tony’s leg to wipe away the tears she could feel welling in her eyes. The movement distracted Tony who turned towards her. She couldn’t imagine he could see she was crying in the light though the gesture surely gave her away and he took her hand from her face with his own. Ziva allowed him to intertwine their fingers and he placed their joined hands on his lap, grasping hers tightly.

There was a few more songs before children from different classes began to speak about winter. A class that looked younger than Tali all said things they liked about winter (“snow”, “chocolate”, “no school”), a much older class talked about their new year’s resolutions, and eventually Tali’s class was on stage again and one of them introduced that religious holidays are big around this time of year.

Ziva was slightly taken aback when Tali was the third child to stand up.

“Some people celebrate Hanukkah in winter. Hanukkah is the festival of lights and lasts 8 days. It’s a Jewish holiday and you eat special food and light candles.”

Tali's French was practiced, and the sound was still unexpected to Ziva's ears. She was still speaking fragmented English the last time Ziva had seen her before she sent her to DC. She spoke too quickly and held the microphone a little too close to her mouth, but the way she looked at Ziva proudly as she spoke eclipsed everything.

The boy next to Tali stood up and started talking about Diwali as Tony looked at Ziva expectantly. He ducked his head in close to her ear.

“Ever since you got back she’s been waiting for you to hear that. Making me practice every day. I think she was more concerned about impressing you more than about all the people watching.”

Ziva turned towards Tony, and as he backed his head away to allow her to talk into his ear she captured his face with her hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“What was that for?”

“I do not know what to say.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Did you tell her about Hanukkah food?”

“She’s a DiNozzo, she has priorities.”

The ownership sent another little jolt through Ziva’s system. She shuffled herself closer to Tony as Tali’s class continued to talk, and by the time the next song started her head was ghosting against the top of his arm.

Tali’s xylophone performance was next, and her part seemed to go without a hitch even if the same could not be said for the boy sat 2 people away from her who hit his notes seemingly whenever he was in the mood to. Her class was moved back to the side of the room then, and as the other classes took centre-stage Ziva couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to her daughter, watching her as she looked distractedly around the room and found ways to entertain herself.

The concert was longer than Ziva expected, though she wasn’t sure how much of that was reality and how much was down to the baby she was sat next to deciding to have an almighty crying fit that she could hear even as the mother apologetically took it outside and down the corridor. She sympathised with the young woman, knowing how difficult it could be when you’re in public alone and your baby is upset.

Tali herself had had a knack for waking up at the most inopportune moments, and Ziva had told Tony last week that it was her first inkling of something she had inherited from her father: an avid need for Ziva’s attention. Tony had laughed then, loud and incredulous, and had roped Tali into a playful defence rather than trying to deny it.

When the show was over, everyone split up again. The parents from Tali’s class had ended up stood in the area between the cloakroom and the classroom, the confined space making Ziva uncomfortable. Tali emerged fairly quickly, still dressed in her star costume and struggling to hold her uniform that she for some reason had decided not to put into her costume bag. Ziva held her arms out to her and she ran over, accepting the hug giddily. When Ziva pulled back Tali immediately turned to Tony to get the same greeting from him, her hands still clutching her clothes reaching around his back where he had lowered down a little to meet her.

“You were great, sweetheart! Wasn’t she?” Tony asked Ziva with a smile, ruffling their daughter’s hair.

“It was very special Tali, we’re proud of you.”

“Did you see me talk about Hanukkah?”

“I did! Is that what you were keeping a secret from me?”

“Uh-huh. Aba said you would like it.”

“I loved it. Thank you.”

Ziva bent down to give Tali a kiss and the girl smiled brightly, showing her teeth. Tony took the clothes and bag out of her hand with an affectionate shake of his head and Tali willingly dropped them as the three of them pushed their way through the droves in the corridor and towards the cloakroom.

Tali struggled for a moment to find her coat amongst the others, eventually locating it having dropped on the floor. She began to pull it onto her arms slowly but before she had finished a group of 3 girls, including Amelie whose parents Ziva had met earlier, ran up to her. Amelie whispered in Tali’s ear with her hands covering her mouth.

“Can I go to Amelie’s house?” Tali asked, looking up at Tony and Ziva in turn. Ziva’s first instinct was to say no, to take her home and sit on the couch cuddling her for the rest of the day, but she could see the excitement in her eyes as Amelie and the other girls chattered away behind her.

Perhaps Tony could sense Ziva’s reluctance, because he told Tali she could go for an hour or two but then they would be picking her up so they could go back home and have a pizza night to celebrate.

Tony and Ziva spoke briefly to Charles and Marie, who confirmed they were taking the 4 girls back home with them, and after saying their goodbyes they were soon back out in the biting cold on the street.

“Home?”

“Not much point if we’re coming back out. C’mon, kid-free, the world is our oyster. We could go for a.. what kind of food gets eaten at 4pm?" Tony asked, more to himself. A lot may have changed, but some things never do.

"We could go for a hot drink and you can get a cake. My treat."

"Well, someone's in the holiday spirit. I know a place nearby."

The two of them began to walk down the hill, and Ziva tucked her coat tighter around her. The sky was clear which only added to the chill, already getting dark at such an early hour.

"So, what was the verdict?"

"You do realise you were not involved in the performance?"

"Maybe not in a literal sense, but I played a role."

"It was beautiful, Tony. Really. I think that is the first time I've attended something like that. I was not sure what to expect."

"Haven't I ever forced you to watch Love Actually?"

“Not that I can recall. Still, I am sure that watching Tali’s in the future will give me all of the insight I need.”

“Yeah, they can be a little full-on. I’m glad I had company.”

“Oh, you seemed to be getting on fine on your own. You know, I did not expect this from you." Ziva looked at Tony’s profile as she spoke with an amused smile. The tips of his ears were turning pink from the cold. He turned to her with a confused expression.

"What?"

"Are you on the PTA?"

Tony guffawed at Ziva, and for a split second looked self-conscious. "It doesn't hurt to be polite, you know."

"I am polite. You are a member of their clique."

"No, c'mon. I kinda got adopted on the first day. Tali cried a lot. The moms took pity on me; single dad who clearly had no idea what he was doing."

"Hm, I am sure they did."

"Ha, no, believe me. They just see me as the perfect opportunity to interfere.”

“You could just tell them you are fine without their input.”

“You’re here now, I’m sure you’ll keep them in line. No violence.”

Even now, it was easy to make jokes like that. In spite of everything that had changed between them, and all the water under the bridge, Tony could never resist an opportunity to make a comment about Ziva’s fighting ability. She’d long-since decided to take it as a compliment.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The coffee shop was only a five-minute walk from Tali's school. It was fairly quiet, and Ziva implored Tony to sit down on two armchairs by the window while she fulfilled her promise.

The woman behind the till turned around to get a plate for Tony's cake and as she did Ziva turned back towards the window to look at the man in question. He had already been looking her way and turned his head towards the window guiltily, an uncharacteristically bashful move that made her smile. They were still getting used to all of this, redefining the parameters of a relationship that had never stayed in one state for too long.

Ziva placed Tony's cake on the table and his face lit up. She looked outside as he began to eat; the clouds looked darker from in here, and there was a patch of condensation running along the bottom of the window-frame. A woman in a bobble hat ran past, pushing a child in a pram.

"It's nice to get some time alone."

Ziva turned back to Tony, who was looking at his cake rather than her. “Why is that?”

“Just..” Tony sucked on the fork contemplatively for a moment before smiling. “I don’t know, did you ever think we’d be here? Living in Paris, going to our daughter’s recitals.”

Ziva returned his smile. “I guess it is a little out of character for us.”

“I don’t think it’s out of character. It’s just-” Tony paused briefly while the waitress placed their drinks on the table in front of them. He offered her a quick smile and didn’t seem to notice her blush. “It’s just different now. Maybe we’re just different now.”

“Did you ever imagine this for yourself? A family?”

Ziva’s tone was conversational, and perhaps it didn’t have as much weight behind it as it used to when they would try to discuss it back in the day, because Tony barely hesitated before he started talking.

“I don’t know. For a long time, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Then I started to think I’d left it too late. Funny how things work out.”

Ziva felt like kissing him then, but the table in-between them prevented any action and so she looked at him instead – openly, transparently. It took only a second or two before Tony smiled at her gaze.

“When I had to send Tali to live with you,” the smile dropped slowly from his face as the tone of the conversation changed, “I did not worry about you for even a second. For as much as I worried about every other aspect of it, I knew you would do everything to take care of her and keep her safe. It is in your nature. And now I have got to see the way the two of you are with each other. Like you are made for each other.”

A moment’s silence passed between them. They had spent so much of the early days of their relationship avoiding conversations like this one, and even now the vulnerability felt a little like a novelty.

There was no need for a charade anymore. And even if it was sometimes a battle to push through the instinct for resistance, they were both doing well to remember that.

Neither of them looked away.

“Something on your mind today?”

“Not especially.”

“You sure?”

“I suppose I am just thinking about the holidays. I’m happy to be back here for them. Happy to be back here in general.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you back. Me and Tali.”

“She is lucky to have a father like you.”

“I know neither of exactly had a wholesome blockbuster- style relationship with our fathers growing up. I don’t want that for my kid.”

“She is lucky.” Ziva confirmed, holding Tony’s eyeline for a long moment, the things Ziva wasn’t saying passing between them. She broke it by taking a sip from her drink, and Tony returned to eat more of his cake.

“Is there anyone you want to visit for the holidays?”

“Do not think so, I would rather spend time settling in. I will call Schmiel, maybe I will visit him in the new year. I would feel guilty asking him to travel here at his age.”

“You gonna call Boss?”

“He is not your boss, Tony. But yes, I will. You should too.”

“Y’know, there’s these fancy new things now called speaker-phone. Maybe we can call McGee and ask him to teach us.” Ziva rolled her eyes quickly at Tony but the affection died slowly from his face, being replaced with a thoughtful sincerity. He used his fork to cut a piece of cake and played with it absently for a moment. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"What did I say earlier?"

"At school. You told Charles you're here for good."

The question surprised Ziva a little. "Yes, I meant it."

"OK."

"I can understand why you are apprehensive."

Tony exhaled in what might have been a laugh. "I kinda feel like an asshole."

"You shouldn't. It is only natural."

"It's not just about the Sahar thing. It's.. everything. I need to know that you aren't going to run away again."

"I could not leave again, Tony." She could say more than that, try to stress just how much she meant it, but trying to add more would dilute the feeling. It was as simple as that. Walking away was categorically impossible at this point.

"Because of Tali?"

"Not just because of Tali."

"OK. Good. I don't think I have another round-the-world treasure hunt in me."

Ziva smiled at the humour masking the very real admission. Tony's hand had abandoned the fork and was resting on the table and she ran her fingers over his knuckles affectionately. "There is still so much I need to say to you. I have not even scratched the surface.” She looked up from his hands to his eyes, and he seemed to be waiting for her to continue. “I know that when I first got back we spoke a lot about why I hadn't told you about Tali, and what's been going on since I sent her to be with you. And I know we also spoke about-"

"How we feel about each other?” Tony filled in, looking up from where his head was slightly bowed. Ziva gave a relenting but brief smile.

"Yes, we did. And I think we are finally on the same page with that. But I really want you to understand this." Ziva took his hand between hers. "I realise I have done things in the past because I was scared. Because I did not think I deserved to be happy, that I deserved the care you showed for me. And I cannot sit here and say I am never going to think that ever again. But I am not going anywhere. There is nowhere else I would ever want to be except here with you, and with Tali. Do not think for a second that you are a secondary side-effect and I might change my mind again one day. I am done running away."

Tony held her gaze for a long moment. She stroked the back of his fingers and he looked down at them, smiling a little. “I trust you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I believe you. But in the interests of honesty..” Tony squeezed at her hand as though to get her attention, as if he didn’t have it ever since they sat down, “From now on, you’ve got to tell me if you ever feel that way. If you get scared, or freaked out, whatever. Please tell me so we can talk about it.”

“I will.” She meant it, truly. She knew it would be much harder in practice (and Tony was no fool), but she was more serious about this than she had ever been before. If the past couple of years had taught her anything, it was that this was where she belonged.

“Kay. Good talk.” Tony withdrew his hand from Ziva’s with a smile that made his eyes glisten, picking up his cup and taking a long sip. Ziva had always found that particular smile difficult to resist, and she was sure Tony knew the effect it had on her.

As much as he found herself looking at the lines by his eyes and the flecks at his temples, she realised he hadn’t actually really changed at all.

"Maybe when Senior gets here next week you and me can finally go on that date I’ve been meaning to ask you on for about 15 years." He spoke looking down at his drink, trying to seem more casual than evidently he was feeling inside.

"Is that your way of asking?"

"Kinda out of practice. I can promise to show you a good time, though. We can go for dinner and a movie and make small talk about each other’s families and jobs.”

"I feel sorry for any poor girl who went on a first date with you to see a film."

"Dinner. I'll pay. Who could say no to that?”

"You do not really expect me to say no?"

"You haven't exactly said yes."

“Yes, Tony. I will go on a date with you.”

“Ok, good. I’ll text you in the next few days to arrange something, and I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

Ziva looked up at Tony’s serious tone with an amused frown on her face, and he smiled a challenge at her. She bit back a chuckle.

“I will look forward to it. Although you may have to wait in the car – the man I live with has a little bit of a jealous streak.”

“Oh, I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“You would be surprised.”

They stayed in the coffee shop for another hour, easy conversation and stolen glances accompanied by periods of comfortable silence and people-watching. It was easy and peaceful; perhaps the first quiet afternoon they had had alone together since being reunited. The longer they stayed, though, the more Ziva checked her watch.

“Y’know, Tali’s been there before. She’s fine.”

“I know she is.”

“Just don’t want to let her go, huh?”

Ziva smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, you kinda ignored my question.”

“Sorry,” Ziva shook her head, trying to shake herself out of the frame of mind. “It is not personal. I have only just got her back.”

“It’s ok to be nervous.” Tony shrugged as though it was nothing, but the words meant more to Ziva than he could likely comprehend right now. Before she could speak he picked up his second cup of coffee and tipped the cup upwards, finishing it in one gulp. “Come on, let’s go get her.”

“Really?”

“I’m getting hungry, and we promised a pizza.”

Tony got up from his seat and shrugged his coat on. Ziva rolled her eyes as she went into her purse to retrieve a tip.

“I bought you a slice of cake barely an hour ago.”

“Nobody said I didn’t appreciate that.”

Tony held out his hand to help Ziva stand up, and when she put it in his he raised it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles with a charming grin.

It was still getting colder outside and Ziva didn’t leave the doorway until her coat was fully buttoned up while Tony stood on the pavement exclaiming about the wind.

Ziva went to do up her scarf but the wind had got the material caught in her hair. Before she could get frustrated Tony lifted her hair carefully, tucking it behind her ears. He grabbed the scarf by either end and used it to pull her into him, Ziva's eyes closing instinctively as their lips met. The kiss was surprisingly tentative and reassuring, and when Tony pulled back it took all of Ziva’s willpower not to immediately chase his lips down to reconnect with her own.

"I missed you." He said quietly, his face still hovering over hers.

“I missed you too.”

They’d repeated it to each other countless times since being reunited but the words still felt meaningful on her tongue, her heart jumping ever so slightly. Tony unexpectedly pulled her into a hug, his head tucking over hers. Ziva put her arms underneath his jacket and his body was warm, the feeling safe and familiar. He quickly pulled away.

“How are your hands so cold already?”

“No gloves.”

They started walking down the street, arms and sides brushing against each other.

"I could get you some. I still have to get your present."

"You do not have to, I'm Jewish."

"It's nice to have something to open. Have you got mine?"

"You seem confident you are getting one."

"I don't know, I think I've got everything I want already."

Tony grabbed Ziva’s hand and stopped her, and she turned towards him as he moved in sharply for another kiss, his tongue slowly making its way into her mouth as his hands raised to hold her face. Ziva’s expression when he pulled back made him smile as he turned back to continue walking down the street.

"Good save."

“Thanks. I’m an expert at removing my foot from my mouth.”

“That must be a new skill you have learnt, because it’s the first I have heard of it.”

“You don’t have to make fun of me like a smitten kid on the playground anymore, we’re already dating.”

“You think that’s what I have been doing?”

Tony pulled a faux-disbelieving face. “Isn’t it?”

“If that is what helps you sleep at night.”

“I sleep just fine. You would know.”

“It is not too late for me to turn you down.”

#ncis #tiva #ziva david #tony dinozzo #tiva fanfiction #tldr tony is a goofy dad and ziva is so fond #it is probably clear i know nothing about french schools in spite of my few minutes of googling #so please forgive any cultural inaccuracies!#my obsessions with hands and emotional vulnerability are twofold:#i'm gay #and also i am recovering from 20+ years of extreme emotional immaturity #and i'm dragging tony and ziva with me #fanfiction #mine #my fanfiction #so many tags so little time #tali #now they're messed up bc i forgot to tag her sorry bb

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olicitysecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Dear Sammy @captainsammyangel ,

When I got my assignment, I was super thrilled because I ADORE the tale of the nutcracker. I struggled to figure out how to do it with the limited time I had because you're right, the plot isn't easy to work out, and I'm a slow writer so the fic couldn't be too long or it wouldn't have been ready in time. This might not be what you fully expect but, hopefully, it will fulfill all your requests.

If not, I propose combining our efforts and do together a Nutcracker AU for Christmas 2020. That way we could have plenty of time to figure things out and write it without a rush.

For this fic, you should know that Oliver and Felicity are a little older than in the show, they've been married for many years, and William is the biological son of both.

I hope that you had a great holiday and that 2020 brings you love, health, and prosperity.

Mare @green-arrows-of-karamel

PS: this wasn't beta'ed so all mistakes are mine and mine alone 😝

THE UNTOLD TRUTH OF THE NUTCRACKER

On the morning of December 25, the weak winter sun is barely visible on the horizon. Despite the early hour, in the Smoak household, there is already joyful activity going on. It cannot be another way since this day has a remarkable meaning for the family, more than for any other. It's Christmas Day but also the fourth night of Hanukkah, and there's one more reason, too.

The happy giggles of 4-year-old Mia reach her parents' bedroom. Felicity smiles, lying on the bed and using her husband's chest as a pillow. Oliver chuckles when the voice of their 14-year-old son, William, begs his sister to be quiet, to wait for mom and dad.

"I think Mia just found that Santa came last night," Oliver murmurs.

"Probably," Felicity chuckles.

"We should get up before she opens the presents. I don't think William can dissuade her not to for long."

Felicity smirks at Oliver's true words. William is great and has never-ending patience with her little sister. He couldn't be a better older brother. Nonetheless, William also spoils her rotten and Mia has excellent argumentative skills to which he can't —or won't— fight against. When William is in charge, what Mia wants, Mia gets. Only Felicity and Oliver are able to reign their daughter's whims.

"That would be on you, my love," Felicity teases, tilting her head up to look at her husband's face. "Our daughter inherited your stubbornness," she grins when Oliver narrows his eyes slightly, affronted. Diverting his comeback, Felicity moves to do something that will distract him for sure.

"And before we get up…"

Felicity leans up on an elbow and hovers her face close to Oliver's, their mouths almost touching. She has been married to Oliver over a decade and a half and, still, her heart beats faster when they are this close. The intense gaze of his eyes, full of love and desire, let her know that he feels the same. The closeness is almost unbearable.

"I forgot to tell you… Happy anniversary," she whispers before nibbling Oliver's lower lip.

It works like a charm. Whatever he was going to say to her is instantly forgotten. Oliver moans and puts a hand on the back of her nape as he deepens the kiss. He brushes his tongue against her lips, coaxing them to grant him access. When Felicity parts them, Oliver explores her mouth with ardor. The erotic dance of their tongues reminds Felicity of the way Oliver so often makes love to her, just the way he did a handful of minutes ago. A choreography that goes from languid, enthralling moves to an upbeat dancing, one that transports them both to the highest peak of ecstasy.

This morning, however, their journey to ultimate bliss for a second time comes to an abrupt end. A shrilly complaint coming from downstairs jolts them apart with a unison groan.

"Later?" Oliver asks in a low, husky voice. More than a question, it's a promise.

A promise that melts Felicity on the inside and heats up the blood in her veins. "Later," she vows.

After their morning ablutions, Oliver and Felicity go downstairs and find Mia with a tragic, but absolutely cute, expression on her face. Obviously, she's put out at her brother's refusal to let her open the presents. For his part, William sags on the couch relieved, as he watches mom and dad coming down the stairs.

"Good morning, mom! Merry Christmas, dad!" he says.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Mia yells and sprints toward them, her blonde curls bouncing at the upbeat pace of her small feet. Without missing a beat, she launches herself to Oliver's waiting arms. After wrapping her arm around his neck and her legs around his waist, holding herself tight to him, Mia twists in her father's embrace. She leans toward Felicity to hug her just as tight.

"Mommy, can I open the presents now, please, please, please, pleeeease?!"

"Of course, baby. Let's see what Santa brought you."

The girl squirms out of Oliver's arms and lets out an excited screech as she runs toward the tree. The shrill sound undeniably tells that Mia is her grandmother's grandkid. Only Donna and Mia can produce such a sound.

Half an hour later, the living room is littered with toys, new clothes, and other gifts in a sea of ripped wrapping papers. Apparently, everyone was on Santa's good list this year.

"There's one more," William announces mysteriously, straightening up from his crouch by the tree. He has a 3-for-4-inch box on his hand. "This is from me to Mia."

She gasps, her eyes bright with emotion. "Thanks, Will!"

Mia wastes the minimum time to hug her big brother before ripping the package open with an almost-indecent voracity.

"Aww, I love it!"

William smiles, pleased that he chose the gift well, looking at Mia. He misses the surprised glance shared by his parents. Neither Felicity nor Oliver dare to say what they're thinking. Felicity can see in her husband's eyes the same dumbstruck disbelief that she feels watching the plushy nutcracker that William gifted her sister.

It has to be a coincidence, Felicity thinks. Oliver shrugs almost imperceptibly as if he'd picked up her thoughts.

There's something the kids ignore about their dad, something about his previous life. He had hoped to tell them when they are older.

Both Felicity and Oliver have to shake their semi-panicked state away when Mia plops herself between them on the couch. "Daddy, can we eat choco-pancakes for breakfast?"

"Of course, kiddo. Why don't you and William go to the pantry and fetch what we need? I'll be right behind you."

"C'mon, Mia," William says, "I'll race you."

Mia sprints after his brother with her new nutcracker in hand and Felicity warns, "Not running in the house!"

"Sorry, mom!" the kids chant in unison. Their steps slow down for a couple of seconds before they run off again, giggling.

Felicity sighs and lets their misbehavior pass, having more pressing matters to worry about. She turns to look at Oliver, biting her lower lip. "Do you think—"

She pauses when her cell phone rings and, for a moment, hesitates to pick it up.

"It's your mom, answer it," Oliver prompts. "Talk to her while I'll go and make breakfast before the kids become the kitchen into a war zone. We'll talk later," he promises, his tone conveying the need for that conversation.

Nodding, Felicity agrees, "Okay."

Their talk comes much later than what Felicity expects, though. Neither it happens in the way she imagined. After talking with her mother on the phone and eating breakfast, the kids insisted on having a snowball fight outside. Later, Oliver was busy making dinner for today's triple celebration: Christmas, Hanukkah, and their anniversary.

Knowing that family and friends would be there soon, Felicity helped Mia to get ready. When the guests arrived, the afternoon went by in a blur, filled with joy and laughter. She loves her family and friends, to celebrate with them, but today she wished them to go home early. Her wish was not granted.

Finally, after lighting the Menorah and having dinner, the guests go home with their bellies full of delicious food that Oliver made. They trooped out the house, everyone getting in their respective cars and driving away. Felicity is glad that the party is over. Once they clean the mess left behind, she and Oliver can talk alone.

First, Oliver goes to tuck sleepy Mia in her bed while Felicity clears the table with William's help. Now that she's alone with her son, it seems a good moment to find out if there's a particular reason why William bought a nutcracker of all things for his baby sister. Yet, Felicity hesitates. She wants to avoid making him suspicious about the gift or her curiosity. William, having inherited her brain, is too clever for his own good sometimes… or Felicity should say, for her sake.

The universe throws a small favor her way. William brings the topic on his own.

"Mia really liked my gift," he says, the grin on his lips telling how proud he is for such a feat.

That's an understatement. Mia loved the doll. She didn't put it down all day long, not for even a second.

"She did. Good call in choosing that for her."

Felicity hopes that William doesn't pick up the half-lie. She can't deny that her heart swells with a warm feeling when her children strengthen their fraternal love with moments like that. But neither can she overlook how William's sweet gesture skirts too close on a family secret. Maybe it's time for her and Oliver to be honest with their eldest.

"Where did you buy it?" she asks with a nonchalance she doesn't feel.

"In a little store on Seventh Street. It sells hand-made toys. Mr. Drosselmeyer, the owner is a nice guy."

Frak! Felicity's stomach drops to the floor and her cheeks lose color. With Drosselmeyer involved, this is definitely not a coincidence. The dishes that Felicity is holding in her hands rattle as she trembles, just thinking about what this could mean for her and Oliver, for Mia and William.

"Mom, you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetie." Felicity puts her load in the dishwasher and turns to face her son with what she hopes is a convincing smile.

It's not.

William approaches her, with an inquisitive glance so like his father's. One that means he won't be distracted from what he wants to know. "What's up with you, mom? You've been odd all day."

"Have I?"

Oh, crap! And Felicity had thought she had fooled him like she did everybody else.

"Yes!" William emphasizes. "You and dad. Both have been weird today. Are you guys fighting?"

"What? No! Of course not."

"Then, what is it?"

Oliver chooses that moment to reappear in the kitchen. He's prattling about something cute Mia said but he trails off when looks at Felicity and William. His brow creases. "Something wrong?"

At the same time that Felicity utters a negative, William says, "Yes. I wanna know what's going on between you and mom."

"Between Felicity and I?" Oliver looks at her seeking an explanation but all that Felicity can do is trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her husband shifts his gaze back to their son. "What do you mean?"

"Both of you have been acting strange today and I want to know why."

Oliver opens his mouth, then he closes it, lost for words. Felicity knows the conflict he's having because it's the same she feels squeezing her chest.

"I think it's time to tell him, Oliver," she croaks. "He's old enough."

William turns sharply to face Felicity, then Oliver. "Tell me what?" his voice is spiked with dread.

Oliver exchanges a glance with Felicity. His eyes are heavy with a mix of worry and wariness.

She can tell that he has doubts about telling the truth, but when she nods wordlessly, he heaves a resigned sigh.

"Tell me what?" William repeats, this time with less dread and more impatience.

"Let's have a seat, okay?"

William gives them a testy look but moves over the kitchen table and sinks into his usual seat. Oliver reaches out for Felicity's hand and both walk toward the table.

"You know that your dad and I first met this day many years ago, right?" Felicity starts as she sits down next to her husband.

"I know that. That's why you got married on this date too."

"Right," Oliver confirms.

"But we've always implied, to you and everyone else, that we met a year before we became husband and wife."

"You didn't." It's phrased as a statement but there's a hint of uncertainty in Williams's voice.

"The truth is, son, that we met many, many years before."

"Since I was about eight," Felicity clarifies.

William's brow furrows. "You've known each other for a longer time, so what? Why keep that as a secret?"

"Because no one would believe us if we told the truth about how we met."

"I don't understand."

"I think you need to hear the story from the beginning," Felicity says before launching herself to relate what happened so many winters ago.

She tells her son that by the end of the year when she was eight years old, just a few months after her father abandoned her and her mother, Felicity passed by a toy store nearby the shabby small apartment she shared with her mother. She was feeling down because she hadn't gotten a present for Hanukkah. By the Jewish tradition, only sometimes small children get gifts and, now she knew, also her mother had struggled with money to keep a roof over their heads.

Felicity had stared at the store's window, marveled by the toys in it. A particular item drew her attention above the rest. It was a wooden soldier nutcracker.

"An irony, really," she says, "since I'm allergic to nuts. I didn't know why but I couldn't stop watching the soldier."

"So what happened?"

"I met the toymaker and owner of the shop. He saw me outside and came to talk to me. Mr. Drosselmeyer was nice to me and told me I could take the wooden toy home."

The recognition of the name hit William hard, his eyes widen like saucers. "Mr. Drosselmeyer? Could be he the same that I—"

"Drosselmeyer?" Oliver interrupts William, nonplussed. "What does he got to do with you?"

"He sold the toy to William," Felicity explains.

"But why? He told us that the spell was broken." Oliver's face contorts with fury but, behind that, there's a deep concern. "Don't you think—" Oliver shifts his gaze from Felicity to William, his eyes darkening when his concern turns into bone-freezing dread. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know," Felicity answers quietly, squeezing her husband's hand. "We'll figure it out but, first, let's tell William everything."

"Yes, please, because I'm understanding nothing of what you're saying. Dad, you said spell… as in magic? Magic doesn't exist!"

"Yes, it does," Oliver affirms in a tone that rings with absolute truth.

Felicity reaches for her son's hand. "It really does, sweetie. I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't seen with my own eyes how after I took the toy home it became of flesh and bones. I was sleeping when a bright light woke me up.

"There was a soldier— well, more like a prince," Felicity corrects herself, feeling as a secret smile finds its way to her lips. "There he was, standing where I had put the nutcracker. He was dressed exactly as the toy had been. I couldn't believe what I was seeing."

William watches her and Oliver as if they're crazy. An understandable reaction but it makes Felicity doubt if she and Oliver did the right thing in telling William the truth.

"I know it's hard to believe, William, but it is true. It did happen. All of the sudden, my bedroom became a battlefield when a platoon of mouse invaded it and Oliver fought them with the help of my other toys."

"I was almost defeated," Oliver grumbles.

"But you weren't. Although I must confess that my shoe hitting the Mouse King in the head was a lucky shot."

Oliver smiles as he lifts Felicity's hand to his lips. "Lucky or not, you save me." Then, he leans forward to kiss her.

"Could you not- ugh!"

Felicity and Oliver break the kiss and turn to look at their son, identical amused smirks forming on their lips. William becomes a little uncomfortable when they show a little too much of what he calls "unnecessary public display of affection".

"Anyway," Felicity continues, composing herself, "the Mouse King and his troops retreated but Oliver needed to follow them because now his home realm was in danger. I want to help so I went with him.

"To make the long story short, we traveled through different fantastic realms until we battled and defeated the Mouse King."

"Then when the adventure ended, I brought your mother back home."

"I was sad that he was leaving so he promised me that he would be back,"

"And I always keep my promises."

"But did you have to make your visits so far in between?" Felicity teases with no real criticism in her voice.

Oliver smirks. "You know I was only able to become human once every year for one day."

Felicity twists her lips. "True." Then she explains to William, "He came back every Christmas Day for over a decade. Each time, I went to his realm to have more adventures. Every year it was harder to say goodbye. I know we spent barely a day together every year but our short time in each other's company was enough for our friendship to grow.

"I don't know when was the year, the moment when my feelings for him changed. As I grew I loved him as a friend but I wanted more."

"I spent years, aching to see Felicity again and again, even if it was for a day at the time. All I did was think about her. Until seventeen years ago, when I plucked up the courage and kissed her… just before the clock struck midnight."

"I was sure that when I opened my eyes he would no longer be there. My heart broke. But when the clock chimes came and went and I could still feel him hugging me, hope flooded in me."

"I remember the screech you made when you opened your eyes and saw that I was there."

Felicity glares fiercely at Oliver. "I do not screech… ever."

Oliver's lips twitch slightly as if he's fighting a smile. "No, hon. You don't."

Felicity harrumphs, knowing that Oliver says that just to pacify her.

"You're actually telling the truth," a sliver of hope to be mistaken lingers in William's voice.

"It's crazy, impossible, yet true. Your father used to be a nutcracker."

"And what's that of Mr. Drosselmeyer telling you about the- them-magic?" William stutters, barely managing to get the words out.

"After that Christmas when your mother and I kissed, one day we ran into him on the street. As we spoke, he hinted at that he knew what would happen if I found love here. He told me that only a true love kiss could break the spell that had me trapped in the other realm. That now I could live happily ever after."

"So if everything turned out okay, why do I get the feeling that you are worried about me?" William asks, trying to show he's at ease, but Felicity knows him. She can tell that he's worried.

He's not the only one.

Oliver holds his gaze into William's and takes a deep breath before answering him, "The spell I broke had been tied to my family forever. My father and his father and grandfather before him also had their chance to become men of flesh and bone but I guess they never found true love here.

"The fact that Drosselmeyer has popped back into our lives makes me nervous. He told me that my children wouldn't be under the spell, but I don't know. I want you to have a happy, normal life, Will."

Father and son look at each other for a moment before Oliver prompts in a voice heavy with emotion, "Come here."

William is out of the chair in a second and in the security of his father's embrace the next.

When they pull apart, William says, "Now, I understand what Mr. Drosselmeyer told me. He said that the gift for Mia would mean a lot to her, that in the years to come it'll become the symbol of what love truly means and its great capacity to change destiny."

"Sounds like him," Oliver mutters.

"Maybe," Felicity approaches and speaks with hope flooding into her voice, "he just wanted to give us a sort of memento, something for our kids to know our true love story."

Oliver seems wary about it but says, "Maybe."

"We'll go tomorrow at his store and ask him, though."

"Good thinking."

"But now, let's pick up this mess and go to bed."

Standing outside of the house, a figure shrouded in a dark gray cloak looks at the family through the window. Hidden beneath his hood, the man smiles, reconciling the image of the woman inside with the girl with black piglets standing outside his store so many years ago. In his life as a toymaker, he had met many children but, when he met Felicity, he just knew she was the one who could save the nutcracker prince.

When their son had entered his store a few weeks ago, he couldn't resist the urge to suggest a soft nutcracker as the perfect gift for his sister. It was nothing but a reminder of the great things they had.

A love like theirs came only once in a hundred lifetimes.

Content after watching the love that they continue having as a family, Drosselmeyer walks away, slowly and with the weight of his years dragging him down. After a moment, his figure gets lost in the shadows.

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye Olicity

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brokenclockwork · 4 years ago

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Anonymous said: 💘 + james and leo??? (referencing my Leo @watchbound cuz why not)

where they first met and how: Ozpin probably introduced them either during a festival or a school break. In Mistral. Because you better believe Leo isn’t going to Atlas if he can get out of it.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved: Lets be honest feelings got involved before any flirting happened.

who fell for who first: I want to say Leo?

where their first date was and what it was like: Tour of kingdom turns to dinner and deserts because Leo knows a place he thinks James will love. and he is so sorry he rambled about that historical site they passed for fifteen minutes.

who asks who out and how: did they ever go on a date on purpose? or just end up in date like situations while being emotionally stupid?

who proposes first: no one. they live on different continents and can’t really move.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away: Secret. Just. All things considered, it’s probably for the best.

where the proposal happens and how: n/a

if they adopt any pets together: I mean Leo has a big fat cat? and I imagine James has a dog.

who’s more dominant: James. Pfft. is that even a question.

where their first kiss was and what it was like: Awkward and I feel like under the stars somewhere.

if they have any matching couples stuff: Maybe mugs? Or keychains? Something small if they do, since they have such drastically different aesthetics.

how into pda they are: They are both pretty private people so PDA is probably kept really low.

who holds the umbrella when it rains: James. He’s a gentleman. And also taller.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is: I want to say their apartments, but smaller hole in the wall places are also fun. There’s an unfortunate number of places Leo just can’t go in either of their kingdoms.

who’s more protective: James. He’s got a whole song about how protective he is of people, what do you expect? Though it’s to a point that worries Leo. He wishes, perhaps, that James would be a little less protective.

how long it is before they sleep together: Quite awhile.

if they argue about anything: Leo’s fears and James’ bullheadedness. Honestly they probably bicker pretty frequently since they’re such different people.

who leaves more marks: Leo leaves unintended scratches a lot.

who steals whose clothes and how often: They probably don’t. Again just. Very different styles and tastes and builds. Also Leo has a tail.

how they cuddle: Probably facing each other. The tail makes spooning a little bothersome. As does a whole metal side.

what their favourite nonsexual activity is: Quietly existing together.

how long they stay mad at each other: they probably don’t bring up their aggravations until it blows up, so the temper can burn for awhile.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are: Black coffee and Chamomile tea.

if they ever have any children together: Nope. Though Leo has handed James many of his foster children without hesitation lol.

if they have any special pet names for each other: Probably not?

if they ever split up and / or get back together: Ye. More than once.

what their shared living space is like: Thankfully they don’t have to work that out lol.

what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like: Probably pretty low key. But with VERY nice gifts. Leo may have worked up the courage to go to Atlas for the first time.

what their names are in each other’s phones: James and Leo.

if they have any ‘couple traditions’: None I can think of.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first: Leo falls asleep first, and James wakes up first. Freaking military schedule.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon: James favors big spoon but Leo likes when he lets him be the big spoon for him.

who hogs the bathroom: Listen Leo’s got A LOT OF HAIR

who kills the spiders / takes them outside: Either

#ooc #I CAN NOT BELIEVE

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icanthelpbut-love-you · 5 years ago

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a snowfall kind of love

Malec discord secret santa fic featuring the prompts “snowed in, hot drinks, and tipsy cuddling” for @hanukkahmagnus. Happy Hanukkah!!!

read on ao3

Alec stifles a giggle as he frantically tries to fit the key into the lock, feeling Magnus shiver and huddle as close as possible against the snowstorm raging around them.

Growling through chattering teeth, he fumbles when the ice on the door causes the key to slip.

“Lillith, Alec it’s cold out here! Can we hurry up and get inside – preferably before rather than after we both get frostbite?”

Any other time Alec would point out that as a warlock and a shadowhunter it would be difficult for either of them to actually get frostbite given the whole accerlerated healing situation (even without considering runes or magic). But it’s almost impossible to even see the lock a few inches in front of his face through the swirling snow and Alec needs all his concentration to try and wrestle the key into submission so they can get inside rather than take that chance.

So he settles for a distracted “I’m trying,” chuckling when Magnus presses closer and mutters under his breath about the cold and incompetent shadowhunters.

He does, however, startle as Magnus slides his freezing hands around Alec’s waist to emphasise just how cold he is, but manages to recover and finally fit the key into the lock. A teasing admonishment dies on Alec’s lips as they tumble inside. It takes both of their strength to close the door against the wind outside, but it finally concedes with a flurry of snow. The howling wind outside cuts off to a muted roar. They collapse against the door and Alec can feel Magnus shaking with laughter, even as they both shiver.

He has to admit, this isn’t how he expected their evening to go. It’s the last day of their mission – if you can even call it that when it essentially amounted to Magnus helping out an old warlock friend with a spell that’s slightly above their power level, with Alec tagging along because the spell is tangentially clave business (the official reason) and because Magnus wanted his company (the more accurate unofficial reason) – so the last few hours were supposed to just be some finishing touches and socialising. But the spell had, as ancient, translated-through-several-language spells are liable to do, become unexpectedly complicated when they tried to complete those finishing touches. Which meant they fell behind schedule just long enough for he and Magnus to get caught up in a sudden snowstorm on the way back to their lodgings.

Laughter abating, he turns to Magnus and is sent into a fresh fit of giggles. The warlock is covered from head to toe in snow, and Alec is sure he’s in no better condition himself, but even more amusingly his normally-perfect mowhawk is in complete disarray from the wind. And – Alec reaches out and runs his hand through Magnus’ hair to confirm, ignoring the disgruntled huff he gets in response – is frozen stiff, crackling against his fingers.

“Why didn’t we just portal?” Alec asks, still gasping for breath slightly. Even for a trained shadowhunter, their cabin is a fair distance from the quarters where Magnus’ warlock friend lives. Especially when he’d been expecting a leisurely stroll through the gorgeous snowy mountains.

“And ruin the fun?” Magnus quips back, “We couldn’t possibly.”

Alec fixes him with a disbelieving look and stares pointedly at the floor where the snow coating their clothes is starting to melt into a puddle around them.

Magnus remains unabashed, but his tone does become a little more serious as he continues.

“Old warlock formalities. I can’t portal on another warlock’s land without permission, even if they are an old friend – the wards wouldn’t allow it,” he explains.

“C’mon Magnus don’t act like I don’t know exactly how powerful you are. You could circumvent the wards in seconds.”

“You flatter me, Alexander,” Magnus chuckles and Alec rolls his eyes.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

And it is. He’s seen Magnus perform feats of magic he can barely comprehend and he’s well aware of the incredible power running through the warlock’s veins (a little too aware at times but that’s definitely not the point).

Yet when he says as much Magnus gets slightly shifty-eyed – as he always seems to when Alec compliments him on things that really should be obvious.

“Maybe so,” Magnus concedes with a shrug, after a brief pause, “But it would be an unforgivable breach of etiquette and deeply insulting to our host. I can only imagine the fallout if I made a show of the fact I could dismantle their wards for anything other than incredibly extenuating circumstances – I’d never be invited anywhere again!”

Alec has to admit he can’t argue with that; the importance of respect (or at least the illusion of it) between different factions and an understanding of the careful etiquette required to maintain it is one of the few things that translates directly between shadowhunter and warlock culture. The melodramatic way Magnus explains it still has him stifling a fond eye-roll though.

Looking out window as it rattles in the wind, Alec considers the snow still swirling outside before turning to his husband. He feels a grin creep onto his face as Magnus eyes him quizzically.

“Looks like we won’t be able to make it home this evening like we planned,” he says slyly.

Magnus mock pouts, and Alec can only smile wider at the glint of mischief in the warlock’s brown eyes.

“Such a shame,” Magnus says, taking a purposeful step closer until they’re pressed flush against each other, “The two of us, stuck in this quaint cabin in the middle of the mountains,” he inclines he head in invitation, breath puffing against Alec’s cheek in the scant space left between them and voice dropping to a low whisper, “Alone until the storm passes.”

Alec gladly obliges, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. He breaks away just as it starts to turn heated, dodging Magnus’ attempt to dive back in as soon as they part and grinning at the disappointed noise Magnus makes.

“I really like the way you think,” he murmurs, “But I should probably call Izzy and let her know that we’re stuck. Rather than just disappearing for the evening.”

The unimpressed look on Magnus’ face says he doesn’t see why, but he obligingly fishes the phone from Alec’s back pocket where his hand has wandered and passes it over.

(If asked, Magnus would firmly maintain that he showed commendable self-control in only copping a brief feel. Alec refuses to acknowledge either that or that frankly unbecoming squeak that escaped him.)

Izzy picks up after the first ring, clearly worried considering he’s calling her on what should be a routine mission. Concern quickly turns to scepticism, though, when Alec explains the situation. He gets as far as relaying Magnus’ spiel about the politics of portalling through a fellow warlock’s wards before she interrupts.

“I’m pretty sure being caught in a freak snowstorm counts as extenuating circumstances hermano,” she says dryly.

There’s a moment resounding silence where Alec is left floundering for a plausible reason why they can’t just send a fire message explaining the situation and get permission for a portal. Then Magnus cuts in.

“That would be a good point if I wasn’t utterly drained from this evening. All those complications in the spellwork – completely exhausting,” he explains smoothly, “I doubt I’ve got enough magic to create a portal if I tried.”

Izzy’s responding eyeroll is almost audible but she doesn’t call either of them on their bullshit. Alec is hit with wave of gratitude – he and Magnus have barely had any alone time since the wedding (perks of being high ranking leaders of their respective people) and several hours uninterrupted in the middle of nowhere sounds like heaven.

Unfortunately, Izzy knows this too if her suggestive parting encouragement to “have fun” is any indication. Alec doesn’t even need to look to know that Magnus is composing something even more suggestive to say back.

“Goodbye Izzy,” he groans and hangs up before Magnus can respond, all previous gratitude towards his sister dispelled at the prospect of having to listen to her trade innuendos with his husband.

He’s barely turned his phone off before Magnus snaps his fingers to summon a blanket and light the fire, alighting on the couch before flicking the blankets back to make space. He shoots an expectant and distinctly cat-got-the cream look at Alec who promptly bursts out laughing

“Magic depletion?” he asks increduosly.

“Oh yes,” Magnus confirms as Alec slides in next to him obligingly and snuggles up under the blanket, sighing at the warmth of his husband pressed up against him. Magnus promptly sends up another shower of sparks as he summons a steaming mug – heaped with cream and complete with actual sticks of cinnamon – for each of them, “And I think cuddling in front of the fire with the man I love is exactly what I need to recover.”

Alec presses closer with a shake of his head, still chuckling as he raises the mug to his lips.

“Well, far be it from me to deny you something so vital to your recovery,” he teases, taking a sip.

And almost doing a spectacular spit-take.

“By the Angel Magnus, how much alcohol did you put in this?”

“Just enough,” is the smug reply he gets, “Does wonders to warm you up.”

Alec raises an eyebrow in response, but the effect is definitely ruined as he takes another long sip. He tangles their legs together, rucking up Magnus’ shirt to trace patterns on his torso. Magnus shivers, though Alec’s not sure whether from the sensation or just because his hands are cold

“You know what else is good for warming you up?” he asks.

Magnus grins.

“Why don’t you enlighten me.”

“Body heat,” Alec murmurs, skimming his hands down Magnus’ ribs to emphasise his point.

He’s barely finished talking before Magnus is putting his mug to the side and shucking off his shirt, encouraging Alec to to the same with a murmured, “Can’t argue with that.”

When they’re settled again, hands gently roaming over bare skin – not with any intention but rather to just touch – Alec reaches for his cup again, relishing the warmth. His hands still feel like they’re made of ice but the hot drink and Magnus’ heated skin is definitely helping. Draining the rest, he tries not to wince at the way the alcohol has settled at the bottom of the mug making it somehow even stronger.

He catches the fond smile on Magnus’ face but before he has a chance to ask, Magnus is swiping a finger across Alec’s upper lip. He draws back and Alec has just enough time to process that some of the (frankly ridiculous amount) of cream from the cocoa must have got caught there.

Then Magnus sucks his finger into his mouth, licking it clean a way that crosses the border into indecent, and Alec’s brain short circuits.

A thought strikes him (once he’s regained the ability to think, albiet a little less clear than before) as he watches Magnus finish off his own mug with a smug wink before refilling them both. Tilting his head up from where it’s settled on Magnus’ shoulder, Alec steals a thorough kiss.

Magnus’ free hand immediately comes up to cradle Alec’s face and Alec parts his lips to deepen the kiss. Hauling Magnus closer until Magnus is practically sitting on his lap, Alec groans at the heady combination of chocolate and whiskey he can taste on Magnus’ tongue.

Eventually he manages to pull himself away and is gratified – always is, no matter how many times they do this – when he’s greeted by brilliant gold as he meets Magnus’ gaze.

“Just as I suspected,” Alec says, managing to keep a very serious demeanour until Magnus looks at him – still somewhat dazed – with such pure confusion that Alec can’t help but give in, “Tastes much better that way.”

Magnus narrows his eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I mix you a drink,” he says wryly and Alec snickers. It’s hard to tell, he thinks, whether the giddy boldness he’s feeling is because of the spiked cocoa when this is how Magnus has always made him feel anyway.

However, it quickly becomes clear that at least some of it is definitely from the cocoa, which is starting to settle over him in a pleasant fog. It’s the most content he’s felt in quite a while; curled up against his husband who’s shifting to pull the blanket more comfortably over them, with no responsibilities until at least tomorrow morning, and so, so warm despite how frozen he felt when they first sat down. Though he’d never hear the end of it if he said anything, Magnus definitely has a point about the cocoa’s warming properties.

Manuavering so his head is in Alec’s lap, Magnus makes a soft noise of approval as Alec automatically moves to run his hands through his husband’s hair. Within seconds Magnus is dozing.

Evidently there was also some truth to Magnus’ claim of magical exhaustion, as much as he was using it as an excuse, Alec muses as he toys with his sleeping husband’s hair. It wouldn’t be surprising given Magnus’ well-documented tendency to use jokes and flippancy to mask any and all vulnerability. Thinking about it now, Magnus hasn’t done anything more complicated than a summoning spell since they got back to the cabin, even though Alec can call to mind several other times where Magnus would normally resort to magic out of pure impatience.

The realisation drives home to Alec, not for the first time, how much they’ve both changed in the time they’ve known each other. When they first met, there’s no doubt that Magnus would have insisted he was fine and stayed awake well into the night to prove it. Raziel knows Alec spent their first few months visibly terrified, but in hindsight Magnus was just as bad. The only difference was he knew how to hide it. Now the Alec knows what to look for, there were so many things that screamed out how worried Magnus was that Alec would think less of him for any show of vulnerability.

It’s humbling that Alec is the one Magnus lets down his guard around now. Because it’s one thing to know someone will watch your back, but another thing – a completely different level of trust – to properly relax around them.

And Magnus is completely relaxed. Alec can feel the familiar presence of Magnus’ magic flowing just below his skin, reaching out as it always does when they touch. But it’s mellow. Sleeping, for lack of a better word. For someone like Magnus, who’s always on high alert and whose magic rests even less than he does, that’s almost a miracle.

Stirring slightly, Magnus (or at least his magic) seems to register that Alec is still awake, and with a gentle glow from Magnus’ fingertips the lights dim and the fire dies down to a pile of smouldering embers. Only then does it hit Alec how exhausted he is too. The combination of whiskey and the fading adrenaline from the day’s excitement is as potent as any sleeping draught Magnus could have brewed in his apothecary.

Lulled by the rhythmic up and down of Magnus’ breathing and the repetition of his hand still carding through Magnus’ hair, Alec catches himself dozing. The last thought he registers before he drifts off, wrapped up in the blanket and Magnus’ arms, is that they should definitely work out how to arrange another snowstorm next time they want some time to themselves.

#malec #malec fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #isabelle lightwood #shtv #malec fanfic #my fic

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hcneysoaked · 4 years ago

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💘 with bev so we can pretend everything is fine <3

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how aha mental breakdowns outside of bev’s job </3 definitely called for some immediate bonding, definitely influences the sort of dynamic they end up having throughout too

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved no flirting just terrible pining <3 well like some flirting maybe on eli’s part, but he definitely cuts back after the Initial Fuck Up ™ and it’s all replaced anyway with good old quiet pining

who fell for who first ( if applicable ) based on how things have been going definitely bev :((( it takes eli a while i think to figure out how he feels but he’ll get the re

where their first date was and what it was like ooo okay eli would definitely want to make it all up to bev and maybe actually have something planned out for once, but it’d be something lowkey…. dinner + something else that i cant come up with rn bgfkj but it’d go over better than either of them would expect i think, a good start

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? ) after it all starts to get worked out… things would likely still be a little tentative for a while, but with less tension… i think it might come as a little suggestion from eli that maybe they could try and give it another shot but not without a lot of reassurnace that’s he’s not just fucking around again

who proposes first wil d i’m not sure gbdfjkg i dont know if they would?? unless he sees its something bev seems to want, then i don’t think eli would totally considering making that move, but if she does then he’d absolutely make the effort and he wouldn’t say no to her either gbfjkdf

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away mmm no one to really keep it a secret from i think?? well eli likes to keep things lowkey at first from like friends/family mostly bc he has a terrible relationship track record and doesn't want them getting on his case BUT…. it wouldn’t be bc of bev or anything

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? ) not to talk abt stargazing again but…… can u Picture it

if they adopt any pets together unless he is physically restrained then every universe has eli bringing a cat home at Some Point

who’s more dominant I feel like its safe to say eli gfdkfg though he’s not normally, he’s just stubborn and pushy

where their first kiss was and what it was like :((( probably during the first date? but like not til the very end and they’re like parting ways, and it’s really tentative and careful and maybe they kinda just go for it bc they wanna make sure they at least do this in case it doesn’t end up working out again

if they have any matching couples stuff ( mugs? sweaters? pillowcases? ) omg wa it the little star necklace :(( maybe not that exactly, but like something small like that, or like a little ring or something :(

how into pda they are eli is very much into pda, he’s a clingy baby, but I can see him toning it down a bit, especially towards the beginning again. they’re hand hold-y for sure, like smaller scale pda

who holds the umbrella when it rains eli bc Height but also bc he’s stubborn and likes doing little stuff like that for them

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable ) stargazing spot!!!! it's always the lil late night picnic

who’s more protective eli is definitely crazy protective of bev, very quick to defend and quicker to try and fight anything that upsets them

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ ) eli has no qualms over sharing his bed with friends so that could've happened already, but he’d be even clingier after they start dating. anything more might take a little bit to happen, but mostly bc i imagine they’d kinda try to take things slow

if they argue about anything neither of them are too keen on addressing conflict i think which probably isnt great in the long run gbdkfgdg but i dont think they’d linger too much on small things so any arguments are rare

who leaves more marks ( lipstick, hickeys, scratchmarks etc. ) probably eli jgnfdngd Possesive

who steals whose clothes and how often mmm i can see them both doing it, eli has no issues helping himself to bev’s closet unless they say something against it and i can see bev probably wearing little things around eli’s place

how they cuddle ( spooning? facing each other? ) I think eli likes to hold on to bev, doesn’t matter how they’re positioned bgjdg

what their favourite nonsexual activity is I will Refrain from repeating the same thing yet again bu t i feel like they might be the type to go around for little late night drives you know? like going nowhere in particular, just talking and listening

how long they stay mad at each other mmm i dont think they’d stay mad for very long, especially given that i don’t think’d butt heads too much to begin with?

what their usual coffee / tea orders are mmm maybe sweeter leaning drinks, go for those holidays ones bgkdf

if they ever have any children together maybe….. maybe not…. but their kids would have a nice balance with both of them bgdfkj

if they have any special pet names for each other eli would absolutely shower bev in little pet names and terms of endearment he loves that kind of shit and would absolutely die if they use any of them in return

if they ever split up and / or get back together they had that sort of together point at the beginning and then that break after before they Actually date but on from that, I don’t think they’d be on/off again just bc that bit cause enough angst as it was for them

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? ) like a lived in kinda messy, vaguely organized and not too much of a disaster with little knick knacks they get together to decorate

what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like mmm i dont think eli would wanna leave bev on their own so he would at least offer to bring them to his family’s bc they’d throw a fit if he tried to skip gbfdkg and hopefully that goes over better than he’d expect

what their names are in each other’s phones a rotation of lil pet names probably followed by a string of little emojis

if they have any ‘couple traditions’ ( buying a new mug for their collection every year? baking every friday evening? ) the stargazing!!! always!!! at least every other week, good clearing your mind activity!!

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first I wanna say bev falls asleep first just bc eli tends to stay up really late and they might wake up first too, but probably depends on what theyre doing??

who’s the big spoon / little spoon eli might default to big spoon bc Big and again he just likes clinging to bev <33

who hogs the bathroom mm depends, but eli can spend forever in there making sure he at least Looks put together gfkd

who kills the spiders / takes them outside they both seem like the take spider outside kinda person kgdjf

#answered.#i um love them and i want everything to work out for them so ba d #&& beverly.#tiltedsun

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Underneath The Mistletoe, Part 1 (Bianca/???) - Albatross

AN: Bianca wakes up with a hangover and limited memories after kissing someone at Alyssa’s holiday party. Although she doesn’t know who it was, it seems someone else (or rather, multiple someone elses), does…and they’re enjoying the free entertainment as she struggles to put the pieces together and find her mystery partner.

Just pretend I released this before the holidays end. Thank you @VeronicaSanders for beta-ing and brainstorming with me.

What. The. Hell. Happened?

Those were Bianca’s immediate thoughts as she came to one very bright, very noisy morning.

The second she opened her eyes, the sun damn near blinded her as the noise outside the house, dogs barking, cars rushing by and the like, assaulted her ears. Pretty much the first thing she noticed was that she was not in her home. No, it looked like she was in…fucking Laganja’s bedroom.

‘Why?’ was her immediate thought as she looked around, completed baffled and dazed. Her mind struggle for a moment but then she finally remembered, ‘Oh, yeah. Last night was their holiday party.’

Alyssa and Laganja always hosted the party two weeks before Christmas and it was always themed. Last year had been tacky, ABC costumes and this year…ugh.

Alyssa had sent out the invitations weeks ago asking everyone to wear something in traditional Christmas colors…and tacked on a suspicious warning at the end; “And none of y’all better be wearing lipstick when you get here. You can just march yourself right to the bathroom and wipe that shit off if you try sneaking in with any!”

The instant Bianca had read that block of text, a red flag had immediately gone up. Hell, a fucking parade of red flags against a backdrop of fireworks went off in her mind.

But still, it was a chance to see her friends before the holidays swallowed up all of her time…and the offer of free booze didn’t hurt Alyssa’s case either. Besides, Bianca figured, how crazy could Alyssa really get with that request?

Well, as it turned out, she had quite the festive and innovative motive for requesting nude lips.

******

Bianca and Adore made plans to arrive at the party together and maybe even carpool on their way home. One might stay at the other’s house depending on how much they drank but that was a concern for much later, Bianca reasoned.

Even before they had stepped inside the tacky, overly decorated house, the party behind its doors sounded to be in full swing. Laughter and mindless chatter echoed onto the front lawn long before they were halfway up the driveway. They barely made it two feet past the door frame before Alyssa flagged them down and held out two tubes of suspiciously unlabeled lipstick before them.

“Take your pick!” she laughed out in excitement.

Far from amused, Bianca asked sarcastically, “What colors are they? Silver and gold?”

“Red and green, smartass! For Christmas!”

“Right. What about Hanukkah?”

“Cute, Miss Thing,” Alyssa remarked with a roll of her eyes. “Now pick one.”

Glancing between the similar tubes, Bianca had to admit there were absolutely no clues about the color each one held. So rather than leaving it chance, Bianca stated flatly, “Red. Which is red?”

Immediately shaking her head, with a Cheshire grin to boot, Alyssa replied, “Uh-uh. Not how it works, baby girl. You gotta pick one.”

“Oh, really?” Bianca sneered as she crossed her arms and stared down her friend. Those ruby red lips of hers had not gone unnoticed, especially given the hard time she was giving Bianca right now. “And you just happened to pick your favorite shade by random chance?”

A flash of guilt swept across Alyssa’s face for just a moment but by the time Adore had started snickering in the background, it was gone and replaced an annoyed pout.

Feeling rather justified, Bianca made a further jab of, “Yeah, that’s what I thought, bitch. Which one is red?”

Alyssa’s response was only to huff but it was easy to see her beginning to try and think of some counter argument or sarcastic remark. Before things could escalate that far, Adore reached over and plucked one of the tubes from Alyssa’s hands.

Quite calmly, she uncapped it and upon seeing the glaring red, promptly handed it over to Bianca.

A smirk was present on both of the women’s faces, particularly when Alyssa grumbled, “Killjoy,” as she handed Adore the remaining tube.

The contents were a bright green, almost too bright for the holidays, and instantly Bianca had a guess as to where it came from.

“Steal that from ‘Ganja?”

Full of indignation at the accusation, Alyssa let out a squawk of, “Borrowed.”

“Like you ‘borrowed’ my green halter last year?” Bianca countered with a scoff at the denial.

“I’m gonna return it!” Alyssa argued even as her voice rose in pitch. Her cheeks were beginning to burn with a light as she mumbled, “Just need to find it again.”

A quick roll of the eyes gave away Bianca’s thoughts on the matter but just in case it wasn’t clear enough already, she added in, “Don’t worry about it. I already snatched it from your laundry basket last month.”

Alyssa was the very picture of beauty and composure as she stared with wide eyes darting back and forth between a smirking Adore and vaguely irritated Bianca. Her mouth was gaping open like a fish as she tried to search the recesses of her mind for some kind of excuse for herself. All she could come up with, however, was a very flimsy and rather grating, “It was an accident!”

“Of course it was.”

Whether it was luck or simply overhearing the chatter of her roommate and not wanting to be left out, Laganja found her way to Alyssa’s side to greet their latest arrivals. She took one look at Bianca and the fresh lipstick on her face and pouted, “Mmph. Wanted to see Bianca with green lips for once.”

“Ha,” Bianca snapped back in a deadpanned tone, “Like I’d be caught dead with that shit on my lips.”

******

Ugh, fucking Laganja .

No doubt she had a hand in choosing this year’s theme. Probably had enough of everyone (mostly Bianca) teasing her for wearing that hideous green lipstick year round.

She was usually a pain to deal with under normal circumstances but last night she was something else entirely, certainly she’d been helped along by the ever flowing alcohol at the party. Even when she greeted Bianca and Adore at the entryway she’d been well on her way to buzzed and probably already high as fuck.

It was a wonder sometimes though; for all that stereotyping about pot smokers being lazy and complacent, little of that seemed to apply to Laganja. The girl was energetic and active as anything, even after smoking whatever productive she could at every given chance. Adore was about the opposite when she smoked; becoming contemplative and almost thoughtful (as much as she could be while high off her ass). But most importantly, she was chill … relaxed.

A little rambly, sure, but nothing so loud or annoying as Laganja was. No whiny, high-pitched voice to grate on her nerves. No overly-emotional outbursts or flaring tempers.

But wasn’t important right now. What Bianca was most concerned about was what happened last night after arriving. She knew she must have drank quite a bit, the fact that she chose to sleep in Laganja’s bed rather than in her own bed was evidence of that. She could only hazard a guess as to what state her hair and makeup must be in…Actually…perhaps it’s best not to think about that right now. Maybe just avoid all reflective surfaces anyway. No, what she needed more than anything, except perhaps coffee, was a nice, hot shower to clean off the paint she slept in last night.

Hopefully, after that and giving herself a chance to wake up a little more, her fucking hangover to end all hangovers would disappear and she’d be able to think clearly once again.

So, with a great effort from her still fatigued body, she pushed herself from the bed and stumbled into the main hallway. It was quiet inside the house and a little unsettling given how late in the morning it was, she expected at least Alyssa to be up and wandering around trying to clean up the mess. But it was damn near silent…apart from a soft snoring coming from the living room.

As stealthily as she could manage, Bianca crept towards the living room to take a quick peek at its state after last night. A quick look around the room confirmed that she was not the only one that had slept over. Adore was nestled on the couch, probably face down and drooling onto the cushions as various examples of Laganja’s hideous throw pillows covered her head and protected her from the sun shining in through the bay window. As for Laganja she was curled up on the other end of the couch, using one arm as a pillow as the other hung off the edge of the couch.

But Adore and Laganja weren’t the only ones sleeping off last night’s drunken escapades in here. After a further glance, Bianca found Willam sprawled out over the loveseat with an arm thrown over her eyes and her messy curls falling across the rest of her face. Even the straps of her dress barely seemed to be holding their place on her shoulders and her heels were missing from her feet. Actually, it seems there was a collection of shoes near the loveseat, Willam’s own likely among them. Adore’s platform boots stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the shiny stilettos and wedges of the remaining guests.

Deep in one of the corners, it seems Raja and Manila had managed to find comfort curled into one another in the constricted space of the recliner. From what Bianca could see, both women’s makeup had been somewhat smeared, particularly their lips. She could only imagine what Willam’s usual glittery mess must look like, especially after her arm had undoubtedly smeared any eyeshadow that was left.

After a quick double-checking to ensure everyone was still fast asleep, Bianca crept out of the house to do her walk of shame in as much privacy as could be managed in broad daylight and a Lyft. To her relief she met no one else aside from her driver as she traveled back to her apartment and proceeded to get ready for a much needed shower. While the water heated up, she finally dared to look in a mirror to begin removing last night’s makeup and it was then that she made a disturbing discovery.

Aside from her own smudged ruby-red lipstick, there was also a very distinct layer of green smeared over top. Not just a small hint of green. No, it was everywhere . It was even fucking extended up her cheek!

Just what the hell happened last night?

Sure, Bianca’s pecked friends on the cheek or lips while drunk before but she’s never made out with anyone!

And who had it been, anyway?

‘Had anyone seen? Taken pictures?’ She wondered.

Oh, god! This is not what she needed to worry about so early in the day. Especially not with a hangover to boot.

‘Okay, just…take a moment,’ she reasoned. ‘Just let everything come back on its own. Don’t force it.’

And of course, what better way to encourage those buried memories to come back than to just let her mind wander in the shower. The warm spray was so relaxing, so calming…It was just what she needed after passing out on a couch.

And sure enough, some of last night’s events did begin to seep into the forefront of her mind.

She remembered…bickering with Laganja a bit more over that hideous green lipstick…mingling with some of her friends for a few minutes and then…

Oh, right! She made her way to the kitchen to grab a drink!

She finished off the first glass of wine alone and then…she poured another before joining the rest of the party again. There was laughing, joking. She was having a great time catching up…But what else?

A number of guests had been wandering around taking photos and videos for Instagram, Facebook and god knows what else. She’d even posed for a few of those and posted one or two herself…and then…

Suddenly a thought flashed through her mind; Raja!

She and Raja had gone around looking for another bottle of wine and stumbled upon Alyssa’s secret stash. The good bottles. The expensive bottles. So of course, they eagerly dipped in and shared what they had found. It was then the party really got interesting and Bianca’s memory began to spread thin.

She remembered laughing, so much harder than before. There were little glimpses but she and the others were having a wonderful time. Someone had their feet up in her lap for a minute before she pushed them off. Probably Adore. But what about after that?

It was foggy…she drank so much but it was fun…

Then there was a vague, thin little memory…Her back was pressed against a doorframe, eyes closed, some kind of… smell …and she was kissing someone…but why?

She tried focusing on what she remembered before the drinking, what she noticed soon after arriving and commented on…what was it?

Mistletoe!

Now she remembered! Alyssa and Laganja had hung that shit all over their house. Bianca had dodged nearly every one of them she found, especially if someone were standing near it. Almost certainly there’d been one above her and whoever she kissed…but why did she let them? Was she really drunk enough to be that messy with one of her friends?

And who the fuck was it?

That was what annoyed her the most. She just couldn’t remember!

But maybe she didn’t have to.

An idea struck her and like a flash, she finished her shower and went to grab her phone. By now most of the photos and video from the party should be posted…maybe someone had caught a snapshot of her without realizing it…But as she looked through all of the updates, she realized this was a tougher challenge than she originally anticipated. Aside from just the pictures, there must have been hours worth of video to watch, thanks to a few of the attendees livestreaming, along with whatever else might posted in their stories.

Ugh…what a pain.

But she had to know.

So for nearly an hour, she sat on her bed in just her towel and scrolled through every picture and video that had been posted by her friends. It was when she came to the sixth profile (Tatianna’s) that she finally struck gold. In the background of one of her stories Bianca caught a glimpse of herself with someone’s hand tucked under her chin. They weren’t kissing just yet but she’d have bet anything that would have come next.

But thanks to whatever stupid filter Tatianna had been using, the background was largely blurry and Bianca could barely make out her own figure, much less someone else’s. Not to mention that annoying habit of Tatianna’s that prevented her from standing still. Her fucking hair blocked out nearly everything that might have made the other woman recognizable. All except that one visible hand. But perhaps the most irritating thing of all was if the story had been just a little longer, Tatianna would have moved just enough to see the other woman’s hair color, something that would be a lot more definitive than just their fucking hand! But no, the universe would have been too kind to allow that.

So frustrating!

Even after playing the story on a loop for five minutes, all Bianca could learn was that the person she kissed had light skin, at least lighter than her own…

‘So Bob’s out,’ she figured.

But…there was something else…She didn’t really remember the person tucking their hand beneath her chin but when she kissed them, she could have sworn they were about her height…she didn’t have to crane her neck too far, she recalled…but also…if her memory could even be trusted, the kiss just felt nice…inviting even. Clearly it was messy judging by the smeared lipstick but there was something just…well, she couldn’t explain it…at least not right now.

But that’s a thought for another time.

‘And when was this posted anyway?’

About 7 hours ago, so…2 AM-ish. Not many people likely to be left at the party by then. She could probably name a few with a little extra effort- Oh!

Alyssa would probably remember. She’d have to text her in a minute. Bianca was certain there was another clue to discover still and sure enough in the next story posted, discounting the one displaying all of the empty glasses and bottles scattered on the kitchen counter, was of Tatianna and Willam . It was still time stamped as 7 hours ago but what caught Bianca’s eye was the heavily smudged green lipstick on Willam’s face…and where certain traces of red could be seen.

‘Oh, god, if it’s her. Fucking Christ, I’ll need to head over to the free clinic.’

But it still wasn’t anything definite. However, it was the best lead Bianca had at the moment until she finds out everyone else who was still at the party. So, as she waited for a response from Alyssa, undoubtedly sleeping in after such a long night, Bianca was going to question Willam on what exactly she remembered of last night’s escapades.

******

Sharon: Biiiitch!

Sharon: You are not gonna believe what I saw last night!

This was the first message Willam saw popping up on her screen after last night’s drunken fiasco; a group text initiated by Sharon including damn near everyone of their mutual friends.

Before anyone could even ask what it was (or why she was texting so early in the goddamn morning), a picture loaded on the screen that undoubtedly had several jaws dropping.

Michelle: Is that BIANCA?!?!

Vanessa: Who’s gonna tell that bitch she got syphilis now?

Jackie: WHORE!

Mariah: When’d she turn into Drinkx?

Jinkx: Fuck you!

Countless messages filled the new chat group, so much that it was almost impossible to read all of them as they came through. Immediately at the sight of the picture, Willam was left doubled over and cackling.

Saving the picture to her phone, she returned her attention back to the chat and found the other members debating on when to tell the involved parties. Some wanted to tell her right away and begin the mandatory teasing, others wanted to wait and keep it as an in-joke for the time being.

The one thing they could all agree on was that this information was, under no circumstances, to be shared with certain people. Alyssa and Katya, first and foremost; two of some of the biggest loudmouths in the group.

And not that ‘rat-snitch Phi Phi’ came another declaration. Otherwise, Bianca would know within the hour.

Further debate went on for nearly an hour until Willam found a new text message alert appearing at the top of her screen. Her eyes lit up with a devilish glint as she returned to the group chat to inform them that Bianca was inviting herself over and of course argued with them on what she ought to do.

Whatever they decide, Willam was intent on having her fun with this.

******

Despite Bianca’s sense of immediacy with her text, Willam did not seem to feel any rush to respond back right away. During the two hours it took for her to reply, Bianca was left stewing in her apartment sending ever urgent messages in the hopes of getting an actual fucking response. So, once the first indication of a reply flashed across her phone, Bianca was off like a shot and racing towards Willam’s home.

In record time, thanks to quite a bit of speeding, she arrived at Willam’s apartment building and began knocking on her door. Nearly the second it opened and she was face-to-face with her exhausted friend, Bianca blurted out, “What do you remember from last night?”

Smirking, Willam shot back, “What? No ‘hello’? No 'Good morning!’ or ‘How about we get some coffee?’”

“Don’t try me, bitch,” she warned as she stalked inside the apartment and made her way to the living room, “I’m not in the mood. What. Do. You. Remember?”

A sense of coy, teasing overlaid itself in Willam’s voice as she asked, “Depends…What do you want to know?”

“Cut the shit, Willam. Do you remember anything from Alyssa’s party?”

“Well…” Willam mocked as she sat down next to her friend, “I remember there was music and food, dancing and drinking. You and Raja raiding Alyssa’s liquor cabinet. Kameron and Asia ducking out early to-”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

Still with a smirk on her lips, Willam taunted her, “Do I?”

The glare shot her way might have intimidated just about anyone else but Willam found it more amusing than anything. It was unusual for Bianca to get so worked up and certainly this wasn’t an opportunity Willam was going to miss, not when it was so enticingly presented before her. But part of her did feel a strange bit of pity for Bianca. Clearly, she must have remembered something about the kiss. Perhaps she was just trying to damage control…for what little good it might do her.

Quickly coming to the end of her patience, Bianca gave a heavy, reluctant sigh before admitted, “I kissed someone last night. I don’t remember who.”

The response, as Bianca expected, was an immediate, loud seal-like laugh that echoed throughout the room. She didn’t think it was meant to be malicious, but it certainly did nothing to relieve the sting of embarrassment she felt following her confession. Nevertheless, a scowl grew across her face as her fingers drummed irritably along the couch’s cushion.

Once she had some control over herself again, minus the snickering that snuck through, Willam asked, “So…you don’t have any idea who was? Seriously?”

Glaring back at her smirking friend, seemingly just for good measure at this point, Bianca replied begrudgingly, “All I know is that they were wearing that stupid green lipstick. It was all over my lips when I woke up this morning…”

With that admission, Willam shrieked with laughter and collapsed onto her side as she threw herself into the couch cushions. A very familiar burn of irritation ran through Bianca’s core and despite herself, she could feel a light blush beginning to rise.

“Fuck off,” she snapped back, “It might’ve been you, cunt!”

At that the laughter doubled and soon Willam was clutching her arms around her sides to keep herself together. “You-” she gasped out between her broken cackling, “You really think-it might’ve been… me?”

Bianca gave an irritable shrug of shoulders and avoided looking directly at Willam for the time. “Might’ve been…There was a picture of you on Tati’s Instagram with your lipstick smudged with someone else’s. Someone that was wearing red.”

Pushing herself up from the cushions, her body still shaking with hidden fits of giggling and that ever present smirk on her face, Willam turned a bit thoughtful as she replied consideringly, “Well…anything’s possible.” It truly was. Her sobriety last night was probably not much better than Bianca’s but at least she remembered some of the events of the party. She knew she probably kissed someone at the party but based on that picture flying around the group chat, Willam knew it wasn’t with Bianca. Still though, this opportunity was just too good to miss. She just had to keep playing along.

“I was drunk and high off my ass most of the night,” she conceded, “I probably could’ve kissed Raven and not remembered it.”

Not exactly the answer Bianca had been hoping for. Ideally, she’d have liked someone to know for sure or at least have evidence. But with Willam and her own shaky memory it seems this might just be left as a mystery.

The disappoint on Bianca’s face was clear to see and before she could really think twice, Willam found herself offering, “Well, we can try it. If you want, I mean.”

The shrug of her shoulders with the suggestion was nonchalant but just maybe, if Willam were honest with herself, the idea did excite her a little. For as long as she could remember, ever since they first met, Bianca’s never really kissed any of their close friends, or at least none too frequently like Willam herself did. It would be an odd night indeed if Willam was drunk around her girlfriends and didn’t makeout with at least one of them. But Bianca was different. She always seemed to turn her nose up at it, or roll her eyes and walk away. Maybe even adding in a snarky comment here and there. All of this behavior left Willam, and probably a few others in the group chat, slightly curious as to what it would be like to kiss her. But certainly they all loved seeing her getting just as messy as them for once.

And with her suggestion, Bianca actually looked to be considering it, to her surprise…though it was taking a bit more time than Willam would have liked. But after a minute of internal debate, Bianca was nodding her head in confirmation.

Seeing the approval on Bianca’s face, Willam leant in closer until their lips were very nearly touching. She stopped just short in case Bianca was going to change her mind at the last second. Both of the women held their breath for just a moment before Bianca closed the gap and let their lips brush together.

It was soft and hesitant at first as Willam let Bianca take the lead. Something in the back of Bianca’s mind worried about crossing a line but deep down she knew that wouldn’t be the case. Not with Willam at least. The situation was strange, Bianca never thought she’d be kissing one her friends while stone-cold sober, but this was actually nice. It wasn’t breath-taking or life altering but it was enjoyable. Willam was really a good kisser but not as forward or domineering as Bianca would have guessed. Perhaps because this wasn’t an effort to take her to bed…just a little experiment to find some answers…and Bianca had to admit, she did find one of them through this kiss.

Pulling away, she noted almost regretfully, “Not you. The kiss last night was just…different from this.”

And it was. She felt comfortable during this kiss alright but not in the same way as what she remembered from the party. Something about that kiss just let her feel totally relaxed, while kissing Willam today, though admittedly fun, still left her feeling tense.

Willam gave her friend a consoling smile and chirped away brightly, “Well, at least you can cross one name off your list.”

“Yeah…”

“Who is on your list by the way?”

Bianca gave a half-defeated sigh of frustration as she pulled out her phone (no new messages of course) and opened her notepad app. Glancing down the list, she grumbled, “I still need Alyssa to get back to me but I know at least there was you…then Manila and Morgan…Trixie…Adore and Alaska…Dela…and Phi Phi. That’s everyone that I know was still at the party after 2 and had that green lipstick.”

“Don’t forget about Laganja,” Willam was quick to add. Bianca shot her very expressive, WTF glare but she reasoned quite soundly, “Well, she does live there and green lipstick is her trademark.”

Wholly unconvinced and even a bit annoyed at the suggestion, Bianca was firm in rebuking the thought, “It wasn’t Laganja. I’d remember that.”

“Not that you remember much.”

“Neither do you, bitch!” she snapped back, growing even more irritable.

Rolling her eyes and letting that particular subject drop for now, Willam moved on to inquire, “So why them? And what’s so special about 2AM?”

“Tati has a story up,” Bianca began with long-suffering sigh as she pulled out her phone and opened up Instagram. Handing the evidence over to her friend, she added, “I can see me just fine but…”

“Just their hand,” Willam murmured, now seeing her problem and murmuring in agreement, “Not much to go on.”

Deciding to throw in her last possible clue, just for the hell of it, Bianca took her phone back and muttered indecisively, “And I think they might’ve been around my height.”

“Then cross off Alaska,” Willam stated brusquely.

Bianca arched a brow at her but Willam was quick to cover for herself with “…She’s too tall.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Bianca deleted the name from the list and immediately another caught her eye that ought to go for the same reason, “Adore’s off, too.”

“And definitely not Morgan,” Willam added in with a shake of her head, “You’d have woken up with a black eye, not green lips if you kissed her.”

And probably true. Raven likely would have decked her if she ever made a move on her girlfriend.

“So that still leaves…Manila, Trixie, Dela, and Phi Phi.”

“And Laganja,” Willam reiterated with a sing-songy tone to her voice and teasing smirk on her lips.

“Not Laganja.”

Another short fit of laughter erupted from Willam at her stubborn insistence. Rolling her eyes, Bianca held her tongue on the matter. She might’ve said something if not for a notification that Alyssa was finally getting back to her. Took her long enough, but then again, it was a late night and she and Laganja were probably cleaning up the mess their guests had left.

But even if Alyssa isn’t able to give her any new information, that still leaves four potential suspects for Bianca to investigate. On a normal day, that might not be so bad, but around the holidays?

Ugh. Who knows when they’ll all get back to her. It’s not like they’re all the greatest at replying promptly anyways. And what if it doesn’t turn out to be any of them? Or if there’s no way to really confirm it? What would she do then?

But like an angel, or maybe devil, coming to her aid, Willam piped up with a cheerful grin and offered, “Hey, let me ask a couple more people and get back to you, okay? I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Thanks,” Bianca said, feeling a bit more hopeful. Maybe with Willam’s help, she really could figure this out…or maybe it’ll all blow up in her face thanks to Willam’s big mouth.

Well, for now, she’s finally got ahold of Alyssa so she’s off to find out what she knows.

******

The instant Bianca was out of sight, Willam had her phone in hand and was rapidly typing away in the chat.

Willam: Ladies!

Willam: None of you are going to believe what just happened

Within seconds the chat came alive again and Willam basked in the attention as she recalled every little detail of Bianca’s visit for their entertainment and amusement.

22 notes · View notes

tootiredmotel · 5 years ago

Text

Been one of those days (can I lean on you?)

Read on ao3

“Toledo. Out of all the places this could’ve led us to, we ended up in goddamn Toledo. In mid-fucking-December.” The windshield wipers struggle to keep the snowfall clear of Sam’s vision, dim street lights not being of much help either. “ ‘We need you back asap Cap, and don’t worry, there’s no snow scheduled in Ohio till next week’ bullshit, Fury.” He mutters under his breath in his best impersonation of the man, squinting towards the upcoming sign reading ‘Welcome to the city of Strongsville’.

“Spot on, Sammy.” Bucky slurs out next to him, before drifting back asleep. Sam smiles.

The last two weeks have been a neverending story. Following lead after lead, they’ve been to four states and seven cities all across the northeast. A simple, straightforward mission, Fury said. One weekend tops, to take down these arms dealers.

“Bullshit,” Sam mumbles again.

It all led them to some forgotten warehouse, of course, and it was absolutely jam-packed with these guys. It took the pair about an hour to take care of them all, and then another two to clean it up with the help of local police. They’d been awake for a good 16 hours before that (Bucky a bit longer since he’d done most of the driving), and Sam almost popped a vein when he got the call from Fury that they were needed back in D.C. the next morning. So he simply said ‘yes, sir’ and let Bucky continue patching him up. He and Nick have been at odds the past couple of months.

He stops at the first red light he’s seen in the last hour and rubs his face. Sam doesn’t know why he stopped; it’s well past midnight and there’s clearly no one else on the road. All he knows is that he can’t help his gaze from wandering to the man next to him. Bucky’s leg had suffered some damage that will probably fully heal in the next two to three days, while the cuts and bruises on his face are already looking better. Sam wonders if there are any more cuts and bruises Bucky didn’t mention that are also starting to heal, but stops himself from wondering too much about where those bruises might be. He remembers having seen someone round-kick him in the lower back, and someone else elbow him in the chest pretty hard… He’s sure that some bullets Bucky only nearly missed.

He turns his gaze up to Bucky’s face again. The strands of hair that had fallen out of his bun lay across his face, his head laying on his right arm against the car door. He looks peaceful. Nothing like when he was in cryo, Sam thinks. Like this, he actually looks like he’s resting. He looks content and young and hands-.

He stops his brain from finishing the word. It’s not that Bucky isn’t handsome, of course, he definitely is. Sam has even told him this once or twice like he compliments all his friends (or it could’ve been to throw him off, he can’t recall). But this is different. This he can’t do. This isn’t to tease Bucky or to banter; this is Sam in his own head during a moment of dark and quiet. This is pure and unfiltered and not to Bucky, but to himself. Sam can’t let his mind go there. Maybe it’s the two weeks of non-stop companionship, the proximity inside the car, the darkness of the strange town, or the snow that now seems to be floating instead of falling around them…

It’s then that Sam notices the light is already green. He doesn’t know how long it has been or how many times it has changed, but he knows his mind is somewhere else and he is in no condition to be on the road for five more hours. He makes up his mind to deal with Fury in the morning and turns at the next motel sign.

“Bucky… heyyy, wake up…” Sam’s sore and hushed voice lures Bucky back to consciousness, along with the tickling feeling of hair being removed from atop his forehead and nose. He hums in response. He slowly wills his eyes open and is met with a fuzzy image of Sam’s tired smile, a surprisingly small amount of inches away from his face. It takes Bucky aback for a hot second, but gosh that smile. Sam flashes that grin, lazy but tender and still reaching his eyes, and, as with so many others of his, Bucky can never stop himself from smiling back. That’s Sam’s effect on him. He makes him smile more often than anyone else can. Not to mention that, though Sam is never one to hold off on showing affection, proximity like this isn’t common, and it feels pretty nice.

The clock on the car system reads 2:46 am. There’s no way they’ve made it back to D.C. already, Bucky thinks, it’s only been two hours since they left Toledo. To his right stands a (weirdly triangular) white establishment, and peeking inside he can only see a counter and a couple of armchairs. Turning back a little, he spots the sign in front of it, reading “King’s Inn”. Yet it looks to be made for anyone but a king.

“Where are we?” Bucky mutters, rubbing his face and straightening up on his seat.

“Strongsville, still Ohio. I’m sorry, man, I couldn’t keep going.”

Why Sam is sorry is something Bucky’s too tired to figure out. “‘S alright. We’ll deal with Fury in the morning.”

“Great minds,” is all Sam says, before they both quickly step out of the car and into the building.

The counter inside is nothing more than a rectangular hole in the wall, adorned with two potted plants and one of those tiny American flags. On the other side, in a folding chair, sits an old woman who definitely shouldn’t be awake so late, happily reading a newspaper from a few days ago and listening to old rock music on a small stereo. She pays no mind to the two men standing across from her, too enraptured with what she’s reading.

It’s only when Bucky softly knocks on the countertop that she finally looks up, flashing a warm smile that’s missing a few teeth.

“Hello, dears. Are you lost?” Her voice is high and shaky. Something about her tells Bucky that she has lived quite a life.

“Roadtrip. Sorry to bother you so late ma’am but we need a room.” Despite trying his best to hide it, Bucky can hear the tiredness peaking through Sam’s tone, as well as feel Sam instinctively leaning on him. More than usual, he notices, and marks it down to exhaustion.

The woman’s look turns empathetic. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, we’re all booked! There’s so many tired people trying to get home for the holidays, you know? And there’s only so many of them we can fit.”

Right. Hanukkah’s about to start, Christmas is a few days later, then Kwanzaa… Chasing around these dealers really made Bucky lose track of time, and he can only imagine how Sam feels. He probably wants to be home with his mother and sisters and the rest of the Wilson crew, drinking hot chocolate, playing with his nieces, insisting he’s seeing someone so they won’t berate him too much about not settling down (yes, that’s what they give Captain America crap for); but no. Instead, he’s stuck with his partner in a rundown motel in the middle of Shitwhere, Ohio at 3 am. Bucky’s suspicions are confirmed when Sam lets his head drop on top of the counter. He puts a hand on Sam’s back and gives him a small rub. He’s tense.

“Are you sure there’s absolutely nothing ma’am?” Bucky insists. “We’ll take anything you have.” He gives the woman a soft smile and a head tilt that, back in the day, all the girls that he wasn’t interested in would swoon over.

“I’ll check one more time for you, dear.” The woman begins shuffling around all the clutter on the table that acts as a desk until she comes across a clipboard. “Well… we have one room, but it’s not in the best condition.” At this, Sam lifts his head in what Bucky can only assume to be hope. He moves his hand to Sam’s shoulder and squeezes.

“As long as it’s got a couple of warm beds,“ Bucky gives her another smile, "I’m sure we’ll be alright.”

“Well… the bed is warm.” The woman says sweetly, and Bucky feels she’s insinuating something, but decides not to pay it much mind.

He turns to Sam, and only then notices how close together they’re standing, although that’s really nothing new for them. Sam’s eyes were already searching his expression with a questioning brow, to which Bucky only shrugs as he fumbles for his wallet.

Sam has to give the woman some credit. ‘Not in the best condition’ is a pretty accurate descriptor of the room, and he knew this the moment he flipped the light switch and had to wait for a solid seven seconds for the lamps to flicker on. It does the job though.

As he and Bucky stand side by side, borderline squeezed into the doorframe to try and escape the cold, another thing the woman said comes to mind; ‘the bed is warm’. As in, one bed; the one queen-sized bed that stands against the far right wall, with an oddly-shaped mirror hanging above it.

His brain didn’t process that when she said it.

They have to share, Sam concludes once inside. There’s no couch, only a table and two chairs with stuffing coming out of them. He checks the closet; no extra sheets.

He turns back to say something, he’s not sure what, something to lighten the vibe and hopefully makes Bucky laugh; only to find Bucky standing by the bed where he’s set his bag down, struggling to take off his jacket and running his hands through his now lose hair. Sam decides to forego the comment and turns his attention to the hardwood floors, walking past Bucky and to the bathroom. He doesn’t notice until he shuts the door behind him that he’s biting his lip and needs to take a breath.

The air he inhales is significantly colder in the bathroom. The small window above the mirror seems to let in a draft. There’s a steady drip coming from the sink, and the water refuses to heat up, so Sam skips the hot shower he felt he so desperately needs. ‘The bed is warm’ that lady said. Sam decides to trust her.

After changing into some sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, he walks out to find Bucky already collapsed on the bed. He changed into something similar, except his t-shirt has short sleeves, and that old man once again forgot his arm is detachable. So Sam now has to deal with that freezing thing in the bed all night.

Except he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t. Vibranium doesn’t get as cold as other metals anyway. It’s the thought of sharing a bed with his partner that has him looking for reasons to complain. This is all just too close to The Line.

The Line was coined by Natasha a few months ago. She and Sam got absolutely wasted one night after one of few perfectly executed missions, and let’s just say that the following scientific discovery was made that night: a black widow has a way higher level of alcohol tolerance than a falcon. Sam ended up spilling his guts about these growing feelings for Bucky, about all the things he wants to do and say, but that something stands between them, and he can’t pinpoint what. A sense of professionalism? Fear of rejection? Of awkwardness? Something that stops him from staring too much, from smiling too wide, from hugging too tight, from sitting too close. Whatever it is, he’s not crossing it. And so Nat suggested he just call it The Line. Not long after that, Sam passed out on the couch; he awoke the next morning to breakfast, orange juice, and painkillers sitting on the counter for him, with a note that read “Hope you and Nat had fun last night, she texted me this morning to make you this. Out for groceries :) - B.B.” That idiot always signs his notes, even though no one else lives there. This was Sam’s only thought before he dug in, paying no mind to the fuzzy memories of the previous night.

A hand on a shoulder is one thing. So is a pat (or rub) on the back. Maybe pushing Bucky’s hair away from his face earlier in the car was close to The Line, but it’s nowhere near as close as sleeping under the same ugly motel bed covers is. Although Sam has to admit that they are pretty warm…

Quickly and steadily, like the ocean retreating from the shore before a big wave, every fear of awkwardness and unease slips away. The warmth and comfort engulf him in an embrace he hasn’t felt in much too long (or at least it feels like it after a too-long day). He nestles into his pillow, laying on his right side, back to back with his partner. Gosh, Sam envies Bucky’s ability to fall asleep so fast. You would think a man who was frozen for so long would have more trouble, but he’s able to go under in as little as five minutes when he’s tired enough.

Sam always stays awake for 20 minutes or so after going to bed, and despite the exhaustion, this night is no different. He’d usually dig into his current book, which is probably in his backpack, but neither his eyes nor his brain is in a place to do so. He’d get a headache. So he settles for watching the snowfall out the window while drifting off.

Sometime later, he’s not sure how much, with his eyes already closed but still half-conscious, Sam feels shuffling. Then an unnaturally heavy and (as he predicted) slightly cold limb settles around his waist, pulling him closer. Bucky’s chest fits snugly against his back, and his long hair and hot breath tickles the back of Sam’s neck a bit before he buries his face into it, and goes still. Sam can’t help a small smile, letting this unfamiliar (but not at all unpleasant) peacefulness have its way with him and take him into a deep slumber.

It’s just as easy for Bucky to be awoken as it is for him to fall asleep. Probably the army conditioning. The faintest thing can snap his eyes open, like Sam closing the front door of their apartment when leaving for his morning run, or their upstairs neighbor’s cat that’s basically his by now from all the time she spends meowing for attention on his fire escape; or in this case, the distant beeping of a heavy-duty snowplow at 9 am.

Still, despite this curse, he loves sleeping, and can always doze off again until the next sound happens by. But not this time. Not this morning.

This morning there’s a response to his waking jolt. It’s movement, something stirring beside him, and then a deep, quiet hum, before the something relaxes once again, moving its hand from Bucky’s abdomen to just over his heart. This is one Samuel Thomas Wilson, sleeping soundly, cuddled into Bucky’s side. His head lays just at the crook of Bucky’s neck, with Bucky’s right arm under and around him.

Bucky freezes (no pun intended), his eyes fixed on what little he can see of Sam’s face, from how close it is. A white glare shines in through the window, only partly covered by the patterned curtains, and a leafless tree sways just outside. The air is cool and slightly stuffy in his nose, the covers are heavy and warm and not all that soft. A dog barks, a car drives by, and Sam sleeps in his arms.

He’s scared to breathe now, to move, afraid he’ll wake him. Sam waking up means this moment would end, and Bucky doesn’t want it to.

Sam, who always lets him pick what historical documentary to watch on movie night, because he knows Bucky wants to catch up on all he missed; Sam, who teases him for whatever ice cream flavor or candy he discovers and becomes obsessed with, but will then buy some of it for home; Sam, whose laugh, wit, eyes, whose very existence can bring a smile to his face; Bucky’s now sharing a perfect morning in bed with him, and that’s one thought he never could’ve imagined passing through his head. He brings his left hand up to hold Sam’s over his heart.

He still can’t believe it.

All those nights in, all those long stakeouts turned dull, all those afternoons on a park bench, he longed- he yearned to hold Sam like this. It ached inside him like a dam about to crack open. But he’d convinced himself long ago that their relationship- their partnership wouldn’t go anywhere past a hug when they needed one.

And yet there he is, in bed, with Sam. It’s been a good ten minutes now, and he’s still transfixed.

There’s always something about Sam that could send Bucky into a trance; how free he looks when he flies around during a sunset, his unmoving crossed-arms stance when dealing with official Cap business, his cute gap-toothed smile during a laughing fit; more than once Bucky has been caught staring at Sam, luckily never by Sam himself, as far as he knows. Natasha approached him once, a little over a year ago, back when the pair still pretended to not get along. It was during their bi-weekly training with the other Avengers. Sam and Peter were sparring, and Nat seemed to notice how closely Bucky was studying Sam, unknowingly biting his lower lip. So she went to stand next to him against a wall and said: “Sam Wilson. Heck of a man, huh?”. Bucky’s defenses immediately sprung up and he began to list all the things he ‘can’t stand’ about the guy; his constant sass, how competitive he could get, how righteous he was, the way he fought, his cocky smile, his stupid brown eyes; and by then he was staring again. “Oh yeah. It’s definitely his eyes,” Nat mocked beside him, earning herself a glare before she smirked and walked away.

Bucky smiles at the memory. Gosh, he loves those stupid brown eyes.

“You know your hand is cold as hell, right?”

It’s then that Bucky realizes he’s staring into those eyes, which are now open. He has now been caught staring once by Sam himself. But he’s already in the most vulnerable position he’s ever found himself in with the man, so what can he do?

He snaps himself out of it. “What?”

Sam simply shakes his head in a dismissive manner with a smile and a slow blink, not moving from his spot on Bucky’s shoulder. “How long you been awake?” he asks.

“Like 20 minutes.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Staring at me like a creep?” He stretches a bit, and Bucky has no choice but to let go of his hand, so he puts his own behind his head. “You’re not a morning person though, Barnes.” He says, settling again, this time with his arm completely wrapped around Bucky’s torso.

“Usually.”

Sam cuddles deeper into Bucky and feels himself drifting off again. “So what’s different?” he croaks out.

A few seconds pass before Bucky replies. “You’re here with me.” The sheer tenderness of the statement wakes Sam right up, like part of his brain hadn’t powered up until now. He stares up at Bucky, loosens his grip around his torso, and chuckles. He chuckles again, letting his head drop on Bucky’s chest, and the chuckle turns into a full-blown cackle. He feels Bucky rubbing his arm, hears him laughing along in confusion while asking, “What? What is it?”

Sam leans away from Bucky to lay more on his back, on top of Bucky’s right arm, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh you smooth fucker…” he says, still laughing.

“What? I’m serious, Sam.” Bucky playfully pulls Sam back into him with that same arm, maybe a bit faster and harder than he intended to. Their noses bump into each other, and their laughter comes to a full stop. It feels like the whole world does too.

Sam had never seen Bucky’s eyes this close and is just now noticing the flecks of silver amongst all the blue, like an icy lake or striped clouds against a midday sky. His breath hitches in his throat.

Bucky’s gaze travels all over Sam’s face, from his eyes and the gentle expression in them, to his lips and the softness Bucky imagines he’d feel if he were to touch them. His heart boils in his chest.

As much as he tries, he can’t stop his metal hand from reaching up to Sam’s face. His thumb strokes Sam’s bottom lip, Bucky’s artificial nerves proving him right: they were very soft.

The contact sends Sam’s heart racing faster than anything. Faster than when running, faster than when being shot at; this isn’t normal, he thinks. So he needs to know he’s not the only one. His brings his hand to Bucky’s chest; it’s thumping just as heavily as his. It’s also very toned, he notes.

After a few seconds of nothing but longing gazes and deafening silence, it’s Bucky that gives in. He kisses Sam, and their world is reborn. All the back and forth, the uncertainty, the repression; weeks, months, what feels like ages of stolen glances and touches; moments of should we, can we, could we, and a million more questions and insecurities rushing through their heads; it all vanishes in this one kiss.

It’s not an eager kiss or a desperate one. It’s tender and slow, and it feels like taking a breath after coming out from underwater. Bucky flips onto his back, bringing Sam to lay half on top of him, and Sam somehow deepens the kiss. His lips feel even softer against Bucky’s. He can only press Sam against him as much as possible, while Sam’s hands explore his hair, face, and neck like he’s clinging for his life. It lasts for as long as any good kiss can last, both of them relishing the proximity they’ve been craving for so long. They’ve been needing this from each other as much as their lungs need air.

As they part, Sam struggles to catch his breath, attempting to hide a smile he can’t control. He doesn’t dare look at Bucky, who can’t stop looking at him. Instead, he wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and lays his head down on the pillow, neck to his. Bucky completely wraps his arms around Sam, grinning at the ceiling in disbelief. They lie there in an endless, soundless embrace for as long as it takes their brains to catch up with their pounding hearts.

Bucky breaks the silence with a deep breath. “I’m done, Sam,” he exhales, squeezing Sam’s torso.

Sam’s stomach churns. “Done what?”

“Pretending I don’t want.. something like this.“

Sam pushes himself up and lays back down at Bucky’s side, his head propped up on one hand, while the other one rests tentatively on Bucky’s chest.

Bucky intertwines Sam’s fingers with his metal ones. "With you.” His voice betrays him, only allowing the words to come out at a whisper. His eyes are pleading and adoring and hold a million words though: I want this, it feels right, I need more of you, I belong with you, I love you.

And Sam hears him loud and clear. He puts his forehead to Bucky’s and brushes the words “Me too, baby,” against his lips. He places a soft peck on them, before trailing his way kiss after kiss along Bucky’s jaw, until he buries his face at the crook of his neck.

After another while of trying to convince themselves this is all really happening, Bucky starts placing soft kisses on Sam’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Sam mumbles into Bucky’s neck, as cool and casual as ever.

Bucky pauses in between kisses. “Hey, yourself.” He keeps going until Sam pushes himself away and sits up. Bucky’s hands linger and reach and catch Sam’s with a squeeze, as if asking it not to go too far. Sam tugs at him to sit up too, and Bucky raises his eyebrows in question.

“Let’s go home, man.”

Bucky smiles wide and lets both his arms plop down on the bed. “Yes please, I’m sick of the road.”

Sam flips over him and out of the bed. “Too bad, ‘cause you’re driving.”

“Oh I’M- no, yeah that’s fair.”

Unlike the time spent in the car during the previous weeks, the ride back to DC is overwhelmingly delightful. Sam blasts the radio at full volume and sings along. Surprisingly well, actually. Bucky glances over with a smile whenever he can. Sam occasionally takes his hand and kisses the back of it (any time a love song comes on, though Sam thinks Bucky doesn’t notice), then promptly reminds him to put both hands on the wheel. They take advantage of every single red light they encounter to share a dopey grin and a kiss. They say whatever dumb thing they come up with just to hear the other one laugh. It’s heaven in an Audi.

About an hour into the drive, there’s a phone call from Natasha, who’s ecstatic about the news and to have a few teammates pay up. She’s actually calling on behalf of Fury though. It’s 1pm and they are both in deep shit.

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A/N: Thanks so much @lazynikky and Cora for sticking by me through this whole thing and for beta-ing, ily guys.

Title from Ben Platt’s Bad Habit.

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TAGGING: @mackiesmcu @foreverbeingthunderbuddy

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