#I dunno if I should tag em all that’s eight whole people

[aritheartfreak]

having a very until dawn doodley time

they’re at Denny’s btw. inspired by the joke at 1:30:28 of this video

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

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

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

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

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

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

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

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

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter 40, “Penultimate”

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read on Wattpad

Warnings: None

Word Count: 13.9k words (just shy of 14k!!!!! hmm i wonder why... *wink*)

Song: Say You’ll Be There by Spice Girls (click to listen)

                                           SNEAKYYYYY PEEK

“Ya, Becks?” Harry responds, and I look back up to find his patient eyes on me. A smile bends his lips and I feel it fill me with courage, egging me on.

God, I’ve missed him. Those sparkly green eyes. His smile that can pull one from my own lips. His quirky jokes. God, his hugs, even if they’re not often enough. His dimpled cheeks covered with stubble that do something to me. And so does his ruffled curls that I missed seeing. I just- I missed him.

And that’s what makes the words fall from my lips.

"I tell myself I am searching for something. But more and more, it feels like I am wandering, waiting for something to happen to me, something that will change everything, something that my whole life has been leading up to."

                                - Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

                                                       *

If his suits weren’t going to kill me, surely the way he looked at me, and how he doted on me soon would.

He was somehow so patient with me, and God, when he would lean over me to show me something on the online database when we did research, I almost couldn’t resist him. It surely didn’t help my case when standing behind me, his hand would come over mine on the mouse to show me where to go to find newspaper articles I was looking for. At times, I thought it lingered a little longer than necessary, or that I felt a mysterious squeeze of his hand. What I was positive of, was that he could feel the clamminess of my hands and the thrashing of my heart as his warm hand showed mine the way. 

Although with conflict, I was humbled when during my first two days, he acted differently outside of his office. He had a different air to him and carried himself in a separate way, but he was still the same person when we were around other people. I think I understood it though, and I came to adopt it too - treating him as my boss and peer when others were around. It saddened me to drop the friend act, but I knew it was for the best, and that this is what I signed up for to work with him. Like he so easily can, he smoothed over the wounds with how devoted he’s been to teaching me everything and in the right way. Somehow, he always seems to know the right thing to say, and deep down, I was hoping he could teach me how to do that, too. 

Sitting at my desk, that Wednesday morning, it all still seemed surreal. It would probably feel like the last two days weren’t a dream when Harry finished his early meeting this morning with Myles, and we’d start our day. For now, research it is for me, and a big mug of coffee to wake me up. I may or may not have stayed up late gushing to Skye all about my day again, and I don’t regret it one bit. It’s safe to say that after all of these years, Skye has always been the person I always want to tell first about everything, whether it’s good or bad. Well, the other person I want to tell everything to, I can’t really do when it’s about him. 

My impatience was starting to show after an hour of being there and still not seeing him, even though he had told me yesterday he had a meeting. I wanted to tell him about this new song I heard on the drive to work that I think he’d like, and the new chocolate banana bread recipe I was hoping to try on him.

It all came rushing to the surface when I was coming back from a bathroom break and saw his door open, and his figure peeking out at me. After how many years of knowing him, and on day three of work, the mere sight of him can still send my stomach into knots. 

“Morning, Harry. How was your meeting? Eight am is pretty early for one, you look pooped,” I greet him, strolling into his office and stopping in front of the two chairs sat before his desk.

“It was fine,” he answers quietly, messy curls bent over a stapled document he pages through. I wasn’t kidding with the comment, his hair looks like he’s run a hand through it a hundred times. I wonder why. For one of the first times, his coal suit is wrinkled and so is the mauve button up beneath it. 

“I heard a George Ezra song this morning you might like, it’s called-,” I begin, wandering to the sofa where his coat is draped over the left side.

“Don’t get comfy,” he interrupts, followed by a clearing of his throat. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, something he’s always done when he’s nervous. This can’t be good. “You uh, can work in yer office t’day.”

“Oh,” I respond shortly, forgetting to hide the surprise leaking through in my voice. “For the whole day?”

Words are absent from his imprisoned lips, but they’re spoken when he nods his head firmly. It doesn’t make it any better when his eyes never leave the stupid document he’s looking at, fingers again lost in his shiny brunette locks.

“Did I do something wrong, Harry?” I ask tentatively and then with a nervous laugh, willing him to finally look at me, but I can’t get him to. That realization and this nightmare of sorts in front of me sends my stomach into spirals, pulling my heart along for the ride. “I’m sorry I was five minutes late today, it won’t happen again.”

“‘s fine, love, it happens. Ya didn’t do anythin’, I jus’ have some stuff t’ do and anotha meetin’ later,” Harry answers coolly, and I’m unsure of how long I can take this avoidant eye contact game.

“Can’t I help you with it?” the words don’t even finish leaving my lips and his head is shaking adamantly. “If it’s not my fault, then why are you banishing me to my office like it is? God, Harry, could you look at me when I talk to you? You said yesterday eye contact is everything in consults, speaking with colleagues, and in the courtroom, so why can’t you give it to me?”

“Jus’ work on tha witnesses and speakin’ t’ ‘em. See what they hafta say and if tha list we made has anybody useful on it,” he instructs blindly, veering to the left and away from anything I said. “‘ll text ya what ya can do afta that.”

“Fine, but you should know that mentors are supposed to communicate, Harry, and you’re not doing a very good job at it,” I almost retort, stomping out of his office and wishing I could slam the door. The tornado inside of my mind justifies it, and so does the sad realization I have that not once did he call me ‘Becks’ back there. That never happens, and it makes me grow queasy with worry about why not.

After returning to my office, and sat again at my desk, I pour over the last two days in my mind. I try to find something I did wrong, but the last two days had been wonderful. They were something out of a dream, just like this whole entire thing. Well, up until now, that is. We had already played two games of Scrabble, one win going to each of us, and I whooped his butt on the first day in cribbage. He blew me off my feet from the beginning, and seemed to accomplish it two days in a row. 

“These are fer you. They’re yer welcome presents, I guess. ‘m sorry I forgot t’ bring ‘em yest’day, ‘m terrible,” Harry says after we bid the other a good morning, turning around with a lilac colored gift bag filled to the brim with white tissue paper. 

“Harry, please. You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I wanted t’, and I did,” he smiles sweetly, nodding at me to open it. The specific word he said, ‘these’, interests me, as if the whole thing didn't enough. 

“You better not make me cry again, you tend to do that with your presents,” I warn with a laugh, stepping forward and touching the feathery tissue paper. 

“Bloody hell, such a cryer, ya are,” he giggles, but when I meet his eyes they’re warm and soft. He winks at me, and I swear I melt right then and there. I already had this morning when I stepped into his office and found him in a cream blazer wearing a black floral button up he had bought when I first worked for him, from the time he called me asking what shirt to wear to some charity event. “‘s okay, I like how often ya show yer emotions. I wish I was betta at doin’ that sumtimes, but ‘m glad ya like me presents, bug.” 

“Yeah, you’re a great gift giver, and I mean it,” I remark, feeling my words tumble into nothingness when my fingers wrap around something. I know within seconds what it is, and it only gets better when I pull it out, and read my name across the front. 

“I rememba ya said once ya like reds, and I couldn’t not buy it. I dunno if ya care fer a Cabernet, tho’,” Harry titters proudly from across me, cheeks lighting with a pink fire when I meet his eyes with sparks shooting between us. 

“Thank you so much, I actually love Cabernet red wines. It’s perfect, Harry, and wow it’s named after me.”

“Good, ‘m really glad t’ hear that. Keep goin’, there’s more,” he comments, and when I raise my eyebrows at him, another happy laugh slips past his lips. “Rebecca Ann, open tha bleedin’ presents.” 

I melt again at the mention of my full name, and the humor that always tags along when he says it, as well as the intimacy of sorts that joins the ride. I’ve never liked him calling me anything other than ‘Becks’, but somehow I’m really liking him calling me by my full name lately. A little too much sometimes. 

I relent with a nod, and after setting down the bottle decorated with dark floral drawings, I dive back in. Confusion paints me in waves when my fingers wrap around a sleek box that ties my eyebrows into a knot. It relaxes when I bring it out to look at, and a giggle soon consumes my features. 

“Figured ya needed one o’ yer own fer yer office, ‘s only right,” Harry explains, dimples collapsing into his happy cheeks as he waves a hand at the brand new Scrabble game I hold in my hands. My laugh joins his to sing a duet between us, and I soon doubt all of the other times I thought I loved him, because this one trumps all the others in some funny way. “We’ll hafta sneak inn’a game t’day. Go ‘head and look at tha next one, can’t wait t’ see what ya think.” 

“Thank you,” I almost whisper, earning me a thankful nod from him as he eggs me on. 

The bag below my hands still contains more objects and has yet to sag at the bottom, tissue paper tossed to the side. Oh, Harry, you sweetheart, you. Another box greets my hand, but this one is matte and the object on top of it is as well. Finally, tears arrive in my eyes when I bring it to meet them, because I know right away what this one is too. 

“Harry,” I sigh happily, finding his grinning face across from me. 

“Open it,” he tells me, nodding at the small rectangle weighing heavy in my hands. 

I obey and with a difficult swallow, pull black the clasp of the metal rectangle that fits in my palm. For years, words I never thought I’d see, grace my eyes that refuse to work with the multitude of tears filling them. 

“I hope ya like tha purple case fer yer cards, and tha purple on ‘em. Tha box inside is more o’em, but if ya don’t care fer ‘em there’s only fifty in there. I can help ya order whateva ya want once they run out, bug,” he explains, but I’m already shaking my head as I take one out to admire it. It feels smooth and crisp beneath my fingers, and I love how velvety it is. They’re everything I love about the card I once stole of a certain somebody’s I have hidden somewhere. “I rememba ya said once how ya loved mine, and this ‘s tha same besides y’know, tha color.” 

“I love it so much, Harry, thank you. I can’t say it enough,” I barely get out between tears, brushing my thumb across the words. 

It fills my heart with such immense happiness to see my name stamped into the card, sitting beside the name of his firm. This all really is a dream come true, and so is the mere fact of him standing in front of me smiling at me like now I’m the sun that shines on him. He’ll always feel like the sun shining on me, and I never want it to end. “Can I have a hug?”

“‘Course ya can, bug,” he coos, opening his arms to welcome me home. I try to avoid his almost white blazer with my mascara streaked face. The tears only come harder when I feel his lips press a greeting to my head. “‘m so glad yer back here with me, Becks . . . There’s one mo’ present tho’, I think you’ll love that one, too.”

My surprised giggle brushes against his chest, and his thumb catches a few tears when I pull away. He goes to hand me the present hidden in his palm, and when his hand opens, a laminated badge dangles from between two fingers. 

“I can get ya a lanyard if ya want, but othawise it clips t’ sumthin’. Y’know I usually do me trouser pocket so ‘s outta sight, only really need it at tha courts and t’ get into rooms here, and there. I think yer photo turned out lovely tho’, ya look beautiful,” Harry croons as my fingers surround it, ceasing it’s dancing between his slender fingers. My name comes into view again now in formal black font, and the photo Harry took of me yesterday sits above it against the white background. “Yer lucky ya photograph well, ‘m countin’ down tha days ‘til I get a new one, and can redo my hack job.” 

“Harry,” I chuckle, the tears appearing at the surface of my words and spilling over again when my eyes glide over to him. 

Once again, his bottom lip is caught between his teeth anxiously. My heart feels very similar, caught between the both of us at the sound of his words, and that particular one he said that started with a ‘B.’ He really does know what he’s doing. 

My laugh deepens when memories accompany the present, recalling him showing me his badge yesterday when we were talking about employee badges, and one time all those years ago. He claims to hate his, thinking he took a bad picture, but I think he looks handsome as ever from two years ago, although sad. 

“You know me too well with all of this. It’s so sweet of you,” I confess, swiping a finger across my cheeks as his hand rests on my back, drawing shapes into my blazer. 

“I hope those are all happy tears, bug.” 

“They always are,” I admit quickly, trying to ignore the little lie held within my words, hoping he couldn’t know. I just wonder that if he had said it, if the same lie would be hidden between the words. The lie that doesn’t share that the slightest bit of melancholy and years of longing sit in those tears, wanting oh so much more. 

I don’t know what went wrong, and no matter how hard I try, I feel like I’m to blame. More than anything, I don’t know what I did wrong, and I’m so confused. I feel like that emotion consumes me more than the others, but certainly not the sadness. When I think about the last two days, I can’t find anything I did wrong. Everything went well and he was his usual cheery self, and so patient when teaching me the way with so many things here. 

Last night with him was one of my favorite times from the last few years with him. I said yes the second he called asking if I wanted to come over to his place to meet his niece and nephew, and to help babysit. I think it was part of the reason why I was so antsy to see him this morning, because I felt myself fall about five steps harder when he opened the door last night holding the baby. I fell about twenty more by the end of the night when we were slumped on the couch smiling at the other as we each held a sleeping kid, sparking too many wishful thoughts within my eager mind. He got it racing when words were exchanged between us about having families of our own one day, dreams piecing together in the air. 

Especially after last night, I don’t know what went wrong. Somewhere deep down, I want it to be something I did, so I can fix it. I can’t find it, though, and because of that, I know it’ll be harder to fix since I don’t know what it is. I just want to find it already, because I can’t do this all over again, not when we’re so close. Now, it feels even further away.

+

The sound of the phone settling into the cradle resounds in my ears as the pen crisply draws a check mark on the paper. With a happy sigh, I stand to my feet and admire the finished checklist decorated with Harry’s handwriting, the most I’ve seen of him in the last several hours. Now that it’s all finished, I can finally go and see him. That only took three hours, I note inwardly with annoyance while opening my office door. The first thing I do is peer down the hall to his door, and once again, I find it closed. That doesn’t stop me, and soon I hear my heels clicking down the hall. The rapid beating of my heart climbs to match it as excitement soars through my body at the chance to see him again. As if spending hours calling potential witnesses wasn’t dreary enough, it was harder without him there across the room making faces at me, carrying fun conversations on the side together, or just looking unnecessarily hot while talking on the phone. 

All that almost goes out the window when I stop in front of his door, and bite the bullet. After so many times of Harry telling me to stop knocking and just come right in, I barely tap my knuckle against the door before opening it. Like so many other things that are wrong with today, apparently this is, as well. It feels like an opposite day from a Dr. Seuss book when I see the look of horror on Harry’s face. 

“Dontcha know how t’ bloody knock?! ‘m busy here!” he retorts with a curtness to his voice. A rushed ‘sorry’ dives from my lips when my eyes jump to the professional-looking stranger sitting in front of him. “Hmmm, what d’ya want then? Can’t it wait, or no, apparently ya didn’t think it could, did ya?!” 

“It’s nothing,” I mumble to myself and only her, spinning around and stomping away from him. 

Embarrassment floods my entire body in heavy sheets as the moment glues itself to the inside of my brain. It’s not so much what he said, but how he said it that causes my eyes to fill with tears. A slew of awful things stuck to his voice, and the worst I can’t even think about. Disappointment, disgust, anger, annoyance, and so many others that you don’t have on show for your friend. They come splashing onto my cheeks when the image of his angry face flashes in front of my eyes, and all of the other times I’ve seen it, but that was years ago. He promised this time would be different, and only three days in and he’s already broken that promise by bringing the old Harry back. 

That must be a new record.

+

Appropriately enough, miserable raindrops race down the dark windows reaching above my head. I can’t remember the last time I saw it rain in January, but here it is, and it couldn’t feel more like it’s for me than it already does. It all feels like too much, and it grows to be far too much when I hear his voice. 

“I reckon I shoulda looked here first, this has always been yer spot, here at tha balcony.” 

Words escape my lips and any neural pathways between them and my mouth as his own tickle at my back. The tears replace them when the nickname he has for me flows from his lips for the first time today. He really does always know what to say, and when to say it. At this moment, I really hate that.

It’s not fair. 

It all feels wrong when all I want is for it to feel right, and it rings true when his hand touches my shoulder. I try to ignore his surprised intake of air when I shrink away from his touch. 

“Becks, please.”

“No, Harry. I love your nickname for me more than anything, but you don’t get to use it like that. You don’t get to drag it through the mud and forget it, and then use it to suck up to me. You can’t do that to me,” I growl with gritted teeth, keeping my back to him. Like so many times before, I wish this was all different, and with that thought, the tears make another return. “You didn’t even tell me you were meeting with anybody today, so how was I supposed to know you were busy?” 

“I know, Becks, ‘m so sorry. ‘m not suckin’-.”

“Yes, you are . . . I want this second chance with you to be so much more, Harry, and you promised it’d be different,” I protest in a croaky voice, wishing he couldn’t hear the tears. I wish he didn’t know about them, but I already know he can hear them. He was right, we’re open books for each other to read, and I never found out how to close myself to him. 

“Becks, I want it t’ be different too, please believe me.” 

“But you already broke that promise three days in, Harry!” I exclaim, whipping around to find his devastated face. I didn’t think he could look more upset than he already does, but at the appearance of my tears, sadness paints his face in heavy stripes suddenly. 

“It’ll be different, bug, I promise you that,” Harry pleads, emotion weighing on his eyebrows.

I really want to believe him and my gut tells me to, even the devil and angel do, but I’m afraid. I’m scared of how much it hurts me to see the tears welling in his eyes and the upsetting emotions knit into his features, all that I want to wipe away. I want to make it better for him, and I know it’ll never change. I’m so afraid of this all being for nothing in the end, and the risk I’m taking by being here. 

“Then show me that,” I huff with defeat drowning under my sob, wiping a hand across my cheek as I pick up my feet and leave him standing there. 

I do the thing that I hate most in the world, leaving him, and it doesn’t hurt any less this time. Perhaps surprisingly, I think that it hurts more this time to walk away from him, because I really wish I could do what it’s available, and stay.

+

It hurt again the next morning when I passed him in the halls, wishing something could be said. The ball isn’t in my court though, and even if it was, I don’t know if I’d take a hit. I’m really at a loss right now, and with only one day left until he leaves and that day also being his birthday, I hate this all the more. I didn’t think my hatred for it could grow any worse, but it does when he trickles into my office later that morning, and it wasn’t for the reason I wanted him to be there. 

“I heard from a li’l birdy yer havin’ a hard time with tha Silver Net database,” Harry says slowly, bottom lip returning to between his teeth after his dreary words meet the air. Although sad, I can hear the sincerity behind his words that he tries and fails to project, showing the true Harry behind them. I only nod and return to typing on my laptop. “Lemme help.” 

My body freezes and the denial swimming through my veins can’t find a way out as indecisiveness weighs heavily within me. It cripples me when he comes to stand behind me and to the side, and I’m unsure of how I feel about him being there. It’s either too far away, or too close. I can’t decide. I open up the database website from my bookmarks, feeling the awkwardness ensue as it loads. 

“What’re ya strugglin’ with?” he asks slowly, and I know he feels it too. The tension that sits between us and every word he speaks. 

“Searching by date,” I barely make out, suddenly aching for the times he wouldn’t hesitate to lean over me and place his hand over mine on the mouse. That time seems long gone, as do many others. 

“Alright, login first,” he instructs, and I follow, annoyed when my shaky hands mess up my typing. “Search fer sumthin’, but don’t hit enter yet . . ‘Kay, now click on that drop down arrow there. It’ll list tha otha options fer search criteria.”

I try that and with his directions, I look for the filter to search for dates, but it’s not there. 

“Well, what tha hell, did they change it in tha last week or sumthin’?” he grumbles from behind me, words finished with a sigh. “Wait, maybe ya went too far down tha page . . No, not that way- here, lemme help.”

He still doesn’t find it, and he won’t give up the mouse when I try to take it back, bumping hands ever so awkwardly. 

“Becks, ‘m not done, ‘m tryna help.”

“I’m fine, just let me do it. I can use the other database instead if I need to,” I insist firmly, avoiding his eyes over my shoulder. 

“No, ya gotta learn t’ use ‘em all ‘cuz they offa different stuff, so lemme help you.” 

“Harry, I don’t want your help!” I exclaim loudly, finally whipping around to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, it’s not so fun being snapped at, is it?” I continue with another attack sent his way, and as soon as it meets the air, I regret it. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” I sigh adamantly, but it doesn’t work. None of this does, apparently. 

“Fo’get it,” he exhales with a wave of his hand, already walking away and out the door. A groan fills my office as he almost slams my door, and that only fuels the fire raging within me, one of anger and sadness and frustration. Because of everything that’s missing, and soon he will be too.

+

My phone lands somewhere on the sofa, but it’s the last thing I care about right now as my lungs struggle for air. Carding a hand through my hair, a shaky exhale tickles at my curls. My eyes land upon the framed diploma behind my desk as I try and fail to swallow past the lump in my throat. How ironic that it’s the first thing I see after what just happened.

“Hey, looks like we’re both gonna be late fer our meetin’ t’day,” a voice pipes up from my doorway. I make the mistake of automatically looking to who’s speaking, and even with blurry eyes, I know it’s him. “Becks, what’s tha matter? Alright?”

Shaking my head, an onslaught of tears flood my eyes as Harry stands across from me with worry tying his face into knots. With trembling lips, I clear my throat, “No,” I admit, my voice breaking before I even spoke.

Him leaving soon, and now the events of the last two days have left my heart in shambles, one that was just leaving its armor to greet him again. It breaks a little more when he crosses the room in a few large steps, but keeps a few in between us. Too many. 

“I hate it when we fight. I don’t want to fight with you,” I confess randomly, but it couldn’t speak more to the truth. 

“Hey, we’re not fightin’, bug,” he coos, finally stepping forward and crouching down to look at me at eye level. When I try to argue, he shushes me in a soft tone, thumbing away a tear that falls down my cheek. 

“Can I have a hug, Harry?” I sob, and his nod is instantaneous. With few doubts, I know that this is what I’ve needed all along. What we’ve needed, because his hugs always fix everything. 

“‘Course, Becks, ya don’t hafta ask, babe. Come on ova, me favourite lawyer,” he smiles, mirroring my movements when I get to my feet and fall into his arms. A giggle sputters from my lips at his comment, but the tears drown the sound of it as I bury my head into his chest clad in all black. “Let it all out, bug.” 

A feeling I’ve missed for longer than it’s really been falls over me. Safety, and with that comes comfort and relief. God, I really hate fighting with him, or anything that takes him away from me, I muse amongst my racing thoughts. A smile tries at my lips when he smooths back my hair and presses a kiss to my hairline, holding my head to his chest. My chest hiccups against his as I grab handfuls of his matte blazer. Relief grows buds across my body as his fingers track a course through my hair, and the other five massage circles into my back. 

“D’ya wanna talk ‘bout whateva it was that happened?”

Nodding my head into his chest, I try not to feel bad about my makeup smearing all over his black suit, but I could live here forever. I can’t handle the thought right now of pulling away when he’s holding me so close. 

“It was just my psycho parent calling for their usual guilt trip.” 

“Oh, ‘m sorry you had t’ deal with that recently as well,” he comments much to my surprise, warm words dancing over my head. 

“Your dad called you to do the same thing?” I question with raw shock coating my words, pulling away to look into his eyes, the tears starting to abate. 

“Ya, yestaday mornin’ befo’ me meetin’. That’s why I was an asshole all day, and t’ you.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry,” I confess, sniffling and his head shakes from side to side quickly with sullen eyes. 

“No, ‘m sorry, Becks. It sounds bloody stupid ‘cuz it was, but I didn’t wanna work togetha yest’day ‘cuz I didn’t wanna take my problems out on you. I still fookin’ did when I snapped at ya, and jus’ by pushin’ ya away. ‘m so sorry, bug, I didn’t mean t’ hurt you. ‘ve done that so many goddamn times ova tha years, and I can’t live with meself doin’ it anymo’. Tha shit with Amber, tha seven month phone tag, tha way I snapped at you yestaday-.”

“Harry, stop. It’s okay,” I say, barging into his sentence. Words come to life on his lips again, but I shake my head vehemently, pressing a finger to them. “It’s all in the past, I want to forget it.”

“But ‘s not ‘kay, Becks. I dunno how ‘ll make it up t’ ya, and show ya that I promise things will be different this time,” he sighs sadly, tears drowning the darkness of his green eyes. Mine had started their departure, but now, they return slowly at the sight of his. 

“You already have, right now,” I tell him, catching the first tear that falls from his left eye. “I’m sorry about what happened with your dad. Would it help to talk about it?” 

“Ya . . . he rang fer his usual guilt trip that started with makin’ me feel bad fer not talkin’ t’ him or visitin’. Worst o’ all, he finally found out that I went with anotha company than his fer tha remodel. ‘m surprised he didn’t blow a gasket, ‘cuz it sounded as if he had,” Harry retells, blowing a breath past his rose colored lips.

“It looks like we both lucked out in the psycho parent department . . I’m really sorry about that, Harry, you didn’t deserve that.” 

“I dunno, sumtimes he makes me feel like I do,” he shrugs, licking his lips. “What did yer mum have t’ guilt you ‘bout, bug?” he next asks, eyebrows sewn together with a question. 

“You didn’t deserve it, Harry, don’t listen to him . . Oh, my mum yeah, well for never telling her I was going back to uni, which was a low blow since that was years old. Then, she had to hear from my gran - bless her soul, but she talks too much - that I graduated and didn’t invite my mum, or tell her that I got my first lawyer job here, and for not talking to her too,” I share, finding that the breaths are coming to me easier, one by one. 

“‘m sorry, Becks, ‘s not right o’ her t’ treat ya that way. Ya don’t owe her bloody anythin’ and from tha sounds o’ what you’ve told me, she has herself t’ blame fer not gettin’ t’ be there.”

“Thank you, and the same goes for you too, Harry. You didn’t have to use his construction company for your remodel, and it’s completely okay that you didn’t,” I comment, waving my hand across his back as a content smile teases on his face. “I don’t know why they think they’re entitled to a relationship with us just because they’re our parent, and shitty ones at that.”

“Tell me ‘bout it, they’re fookin’ mad. Think ‘s okay t’ treat their children like shit and like it’ll help their case, bloody swear there’s sumthin’ wrong in their heads,” he tuts, shaking his own as his eyes roll into the back of his head at his sentence. His eyes return to mine soon and they hold me there as he erases the last few tears lingering on my cheeks. “Enough o’ that, are ya alright, Becks?” I answer his question with a simple nod and the beginnings of happiness tickling my lips. 

“Are we alright?” I risk slowly, realizing for the hundredth time that I could stare into his green eyes for the rest of eternity. 

“Yes, bug, we’re good now. D’ya agree? ‘m really sorry fer snappin’ at ya yest’day, and fer ignorin’ ya,” Harry says, and I quickly confirm with a soft ‘yes’. I’m rewarded with a dazzling sunshine smile that begins to warm me from the feet up. “So, what d’ya say t’ hidin’ out inn’a conference room and watchin’ FRIENDS with some chicken gnocchi soup afta we block our parents’ numbas? Reckon we need t’ start tha bloody show already t’getha.” 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you too, revenge never solves the problem. I know you were only trying to help me with the database,” I reply, receiving my answer when he squeezes my bicep affectionately. “Wait, but our team meeting, Harry. It’s to go over next week with you being gone,” I protest and his breathy laugh tickles my face. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. ‘s already started. ‘ll text My’ right now lettin’ him know sumthin’ came up, which ‘s true. We can meet up with him later t’ go ova what we missed,” he explains swiftly. I hold back a sigh when his arms leave me entirely to fish his phone from his pocket, eyes flitting to me. “Alright?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“Ya, ‘m good now. I got me Becks back,” he grins at me, winking before returning his wet eyes to his phone. They’re only gone for a few moments and then they’re on me again. “C’mon, Boops, let’s go get tha show set up. I think there’s a firestick in one o’ tha conference rooms on tha tv, can’t bloody rememba why tho’.”

+

I thought the next day would be easier, getting off the lift onto Seventeen, now that Harry and I had made up. Now, that we had connected even more it seemed over our shared parent trauma, and everything he said in his actions yesterday had changed things.

Regardless, it was only harder to step off the lift and to walk into my office, noticing his ajar door down the hall that all of next week will be closed. He had said yesterday while we set up FRIENDS that he’ll leave me a spare key to his office in case I need anything, like a book or something, but it still hurts. I don’t think I could convince myself to use it and go into his office, even if I did happen to need something.

My heart still aches at the sight of his door, and knowing that although it’s only nine days, I know from the last time that nine days of missing him felt like far more. I don’t even want to imagine what it will feel like this time, because I already know it will be hell. 

After dropping off my stuff in my office and clocking in, I roamed around trying to find Harry. First, he wasn’t in his office surprisingly, nor the break room, or any of the conference rooms. I almost gave up entirely until I heard his voice trailing from the copier room where Mick left from, waving a hand to somebody in there. Was it him?

I struck gold when I opened the door and found him standing in front of the copier, an ebony button up cloaking his figure dotted with bright sunflowers. Flowing mustard slacks matching the color of the flowers cascade down his legs, and my oh my, does his hair look incredible, just like the rest of him. It hangs over his forehead in satiny curls, parted in the middle, and somewhere deep down I’m begging to touch it. 

So, this is what 30 on Harry looks like, huh? It’s something else entirely, and holy shit, am I fan of 30 on him. He hasn’t heard my arrival yet, and instead, clucks his tongue as he does something on the copier. Feeling brave and sick of this whole game, I tip toe over to him and wind my arms around his waist. 

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” I announce softly, bending my body to the side to look at his surprised face as he jumps. 

“Bloody hell, Becks, ya gave me a fright, bug,” he exhales, a chuckle soon following his words. Releasing him much to my dismay, I step over to stand at his side, folding my hands in front of me. 

“It’s not a birthday without a surprise.”

“I reckon so now,” he comments, waving the handful of papers at me with that dazzling smile framed by dark stubble. “Sorry, tha copier ‘s actin’ up ‘gain, ‘spose makin’ a few copies ‘s too much t’ ask fer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How’s the first day of your thirtieth year going otherwise?” I pose to him, discreetly pulling at the stomach of my plum long-sleeved dress that falls to my knees. 

“Becks, don’t say it that way, yer makin’ me feel old,” he whines, sarcasm sticking to his words, but I also sense some truth there as well. 

“Stop it, you’re not old, Harry!” I laugh, and he points his narrowed eyes at me with pouting lips. I swat at his arm playfully, and finally the pout dissolves into his delicious giggle. 

“I know, Becks, ‘s jus’ hard turnin’ thirty.”

“How come?” I ask curiously, flashing back to the break room with Myles and what he said about Harry turning the big three-o. 

“Coz I thought ‘d be married with kids by now, ‘s kinda sad t’ think’.”

“You have plenty of time to still do all of that,” I insist, squeezing his arm and he shows a brief smile, punching in options on the copier’s touch screen. 

“I know, but ‘m ratha impatient, if ya didn’t notice.”

“So much for you saying that lawyers need to have patience,” I joke and he answers it with a nod, a melancholy smile sitting on his lips. 

“I thought I’d have all of that too by twenty-six, but it’ll happen one day, I know. You can’t rush life.”

“Ya, I really hope so. There’s nuthin’ mo’ that I want than t’ be a dad one day,” he muses aloud, the words tugging at my heart strings, and nudging one of the last pieces of the shell away from my heart. 

“I bet you’ll be a great dad, your kids will be lucky.”

“Ya think so?” Harry wonders aloud, returning his eyes to me once again. I find myself melting in front of him, it having happened too many times now to count. “I jus’ don’t wanna fook up like my dad did.”

“You won’t, Harry. I know it’s hard to not worry, because I feel the same way. I don’t want to be the kind of mum mine was, and sometimes it makes me not want to become a mother at all, in fear of that.”

“Hey, don’t talk that way. Tha man who gets t’ marry you one day and have a family with you ‘s tha luckiest in tha whole world, and yer kids as well. Yer too kind fer yer own good, and ya always take such good care o’ those ya love, Becks. I have a feelin’ you’ll be a wondaful motha one day,” Harry hums, the words finding their way straight to my heart, and stealing all of mine away. 

“Thank you so much,” I reply adamantly, feeling a warmth spread over my body as his sunshine dawns on me. Stepping forward, I stand a little higher to press a kiss to his prickly cheek. “You’ll find the right one and have a lovely family soon too, I’m sure. They’ll all be so lucky, Harry.” 

I almost think I see tears filling his eyes, but I’m not sure, and then within seconds I’m proven right. With his actions, he almost brings them to my eyes when his hand pulls mine into his, and his forehead meets mine for an affectionate little bump. 

“Thanks, babe. Dunno what ‘d do without ya and yer motivational speeches sumtimes,” he smiles, stealing a kiss from my forehead as he squeezes my fingers between his own gently. 

“Welcome,” I answer, missing the feeling of his head against mine, and all of the words it said. As well as how close we were to each other, and in so many ways. “Do you have any fun plans for your big day?”

“Nah, jus’ indoor rock climbin’ with Rory this aftanoon. ‘m already gettin’ ratha borin’ in me old age. I gotta save me energy fer me flight t’night.”

“You should do more to celebrate, Harry. It’s your day. You get to do whatever you want, and be whoever you want today. You call the shots,” I contend, hoping the words stick and that they don’t sound cheesy. 

“Wow, I didn’t know it was Halloween, Becks,” he jokes, eliciting a sigh from me. 

“Not what I meant,” I exhale, teasing lining my words as my hand slips from his, and my feet leave him. 

“‘m kiddin’, bug. Don’t leave,” he begs, footsteps following mine and my hand returning to his. “Yer right, tho.’”

“Wait, I’m what? I don’t think I heard you,” I hum happily, eyes lighting with a playful fire that dance over to his. 

“Rebecca Ann,” he protests, trying to hold back a smile, but it makes its way through the clouds to shine on me. 

“Harry . . . “

“Edward,” he answers softly, finishing my sentence for me. I keep finding myself being dealt with surprises, and being proven wrong, because here I am falling again. 

“Harry Edward,” I speak gently, focusing on the way each word feels coasting off of my tongue. “I like it.”

The smile bending his lips drops the dimples into his cheeks that round out as it climbs his face. It remains there for the rest of the day, gracing my eyes often, and I only wish that mine didn’t have to leave. I just wish that he could stay here with me always, wrapped up in this blissful moment; words, hands, and eye contact all intertwined with the other.

+

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey, Harry. Let’s go to your surprise party.’ I’m the worst at lying and he knows it, so why are you making me do it?” I whine, hearing a ‘shhh’ that I shake my head at. “He can read me like a book, Myles, he’ll figure it out.” 

“You’ll be fine, Becky. Why don’t you just tell him that myself and Pete are in the west conference room wanting his opinion on something? That’s believable enough, and try to say it with as straight of a face as possible.” 

“Fine,” I relent, stomping away and down the wall. A deep breath struggles to settle inside my body when I stop a few steps away from Harry’s door. Instantaneously, my heart calms at the sound flowing from his office, not one but rather two. 

Pushing the door open, I find him sitting back in his office chair, scrolling through a page on his iMac. Loud nineties music pours from the black JBL bluetooth speaker on a shelf, a song I somehow missed that we both love. Now, I won’t let the chance fly right past me. 

“Stop right now, thank you very much! I need somebody with a human touuuuuuuch. Hey you, alllllllways on the run, gotta slow it down baby, gotta have some funnnnnn!” I loudly sing along with him, watching his eyes lift to me, and the happiness that fills them. 

“Gotta keep it down honey, lay yer back on tha line. ‘Cause I don’t care about tha money, don’t be wastin’ my time!” he belts out in return with hands and eyes raised to the ceiling passionately. He uses his own loud and poor singing voice as well that melts into a loud laugh. “Didn’t peg ya fer a Spice Girls fan, Becks,” he comments after turning down the song that now hums in the background. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve always loved them. I had all of their CDs, I watched their movie so many times I ruined the tape, and their posters covered my walls. It was worrying at times how much I loved them,” I joke, admiring the crinkling of his eyes as happiness spreads across his face. 

“Ya sound like me sista, she was proper obsessed with ‘em. Growin’ up inna house with only girls, I got dragged into tha stuff they liked at times, but ‘m glad I did with tha Spice Girls. They have some o’ tha best songs t’ jam out t’.” With an agreeing nod, my hands settle on the crest of the left chair facing his desk. 

“Which one is your favourite?”

“Um, I dunno, I think Baby Spice. She has a wicked voice, was always funny, and so bloody cute. I mean, they all had killer voices, tho’. How ‘bout you, bug?” he answers, twirling a pen around in his fingers as we speak. 

“No way?! Mine is Baby Spice too, so it looks like I don’t have to break up with you over that, either!” I tease, watching sunshine paint his face and warm me from the center. He nods wholeheartedly and wags a finger at me with that breathy giggle tickling my ears. “I don’t really know why, I feel like a favorite thing like that always chooses you. I connected with her somehow, like I feel like I connected with my favourite Pokemon,” I laugh and a raspy confirmation falls from his lips. “Anyways, I came to tell you that Myles and Pete were asking for you. I ran into one of them out there, and they wanted your advice on something. They’re in the west conference room, I don’t know what they’re working on.”

“Ah, okay. Shall we go see what they’re up t’?” Harry says, and my nodding head answers his question. I follow him out of his office, feeling relief when I exhale, thinking I may have gotten away with it. 

At his side on our way to the conference room where all of the lawyers, Asher and a few others from I.T. wait to yell ‘surprise!’ at Harry, I fall back into a memory. I hadn’t thought about it for awhile, but suddenly, I recall the surprise party I was thrown here. It was for my going away party, and with that remembrance, my heart takes a little dive. I find it ironic that Harry organized my surprise party then, and now, I’m walking him to his surprise party I organized. The circle of life, I guess. I sure am glad this party will be a much happier occasion, or so I hope, considering Harry told Myles he didn’t want anything. A part of me worries he’ll be upset and annoyed, and will hide it in fear of disappointing Myles and I. 

Luckily, the conference rooms here aren’t made of glass walls and so none of my secrets come pouring out before they have to. When Harry opens the door casually, a loud ‘SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!’ sounds from the long room. With clenched fists in my pockets, I wait for his reaction, and am pleasantly surprised when the sunshine makes another appearance on his face. It collapses into laughter marked by reddening cheeks as he steps forward to give hugs, and I wander over to Asher. 

“Again, why are you over here talking to me?” he asks me about ten minutes later, handing me a beer after uncapping it. 

“What?” I reply, my eyes panning over to him with confusion dawning in them. 

“You should be talking to Harry, considering it was your idea to throw him a birthday party, which he looks pretty happy about.”

“It wasn’t all my idea, Ash, it was Myles’ too,” I respond, turning the bottle in my hands to look at the label when I find I actually like it. That’s a first for me enjoying beer, but maybe that’s because my dad and Robbie only ever enjoyed the shitty cheap kind that tasted like watered down piss. 

“Sure it was, I bet it wouldn’t have even happened if it weren’t for you. Wait, does he even know who he has to thank for all of this?”

“It’s not that deep, Ash, it’s just a simple birthday party,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders as I pick up my slice of pizza to take a bite from it. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I’m also his employee and his colleague, Ash, it’s different at work- well, outside of closed doors,” I sigh, glancing over to Harry who laughs loudly at something Mick said, a blonde girl at his side, eyeing him up. Ugh. 

“Sorry, I forgot that part, you can’t really get past that.”

“No, you can’t,” I comment softly, my brow falling in concentration as my eyes follow the girl’s tall figure, and Harry’s eyes over to her. “I hate it, it’s so hard sometimes.”

“No duh- wait, what is it exactly? I thought you lawyers were supposed to be good with your words, or something,” he teases, and I meet his eyes that all playfulness leaks out of when he sees mine. 

“That, Ash. A girl flirting with him and I can’t do anything about it. It’s so hard having to act like ‘we just work together’ outside of closed doors when he’s become my best friend all over again. A best friend who holds my hand and kisses my cheek behind closed doors,” I exhale, setting the paper plate down on the long oval table in front of us, my appetite suddenly absent. “I know I shouldn’t get so upset, but . . “

“But it’s hard when you’ve felt so strongly about somebody for years, and things are starting to happen. Am I right?”

My head shakes with a nod as I pick at the plastic label peeling on the dark beer bottle. A sorry falls from his lips softly that I don’t acknowledge, because ‘sorrys’ are never not awkward, I feel like. 

“Ask him out already, Becky, you know that you want to.”

“I know, Ash, but I couldn’t handle starting all of that when he’s going to be gone for a week. It would drive me insane missing him, even more than I know I’m already going to. I’m waiting until he gets back,” I explain, sure I don’t make any sense, but I don’t make any sense to myself sometimes, either. 

“You’re waiting a week either way, wouldn’t you rather wait a week and be a little happier after telling him how you feel?”

“I know. You’re right, and I wish you weren’t . . You know what, I’m going to go and use the bathroom before everybody starts seeing me cry,” I admit self-deprecatingly in a long exhale, the tears already pressing at the back of my eyes. 

I hate that I’m getting sad when this is supposed to be a happy time, but it gets all the harder when I remember that Harry leaves tonight for over a week. He nods, patting my arm after taking my beer before I leave the room, emotions racing through my head.

So many desires, too, that I wish I could have fulfilled already.

+

“What, you didn’t know? How the fuck didn’t you?” 

“Didn’t know what?” I question, taking a swig from my beer as I wait for his answer. His face is screwed up in disbelief for only a second and then it relaxes, still making me feel stupid for not knowing. 

“It was Becky who did all of this. Granted, I wanted to do something for you, but you never would have let me, you prick. She came to me and insisted on throwing you a party. I just bought the pizza and the beers. I already know she’ll be a wicked lawyer with that fire in her. She made the cake as well, and stayed late last night to help set up,” Myles explains, and now my facial features do a dance of their own as I stare back at him dumfoundedly. “I can’t believe you didn’t know, you bloody idiot. Even more proof she’s mad about you.”

“Fookin’ hell, ‘course it was all her, and I haven’t even said a word t’ her this whole time,” I huff, my arm dropping to my side as conflict rages through my limbs. Tearing my eyes away from Myles, my excited eyes dance across the room looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be found. “Hold this, would ya?”

“Fuck, Hare, go bloody snog her already. Reckon it’s the only thing you can do to make up for being such a bleeding idiot not knowing it was her who did all of this.”

“Shuddup already, My’,” I retort, shoving the beer into his hands as my feet pick up, electricity coursing through me. I take another cursory look around the room and again. She’s gone, but he isn’t. 

“Where’s Becks?” I hurriedly say to Asher who busies himself with his phone in the corner, two beer bottles clutched between the fingers of his other hand. His eyes flit to me and I think I’ve caught him off guard. “I reckon that’s her beer, so where’d she go?”

“To use the loo.”

I don’t manage a reply with the impatience dominating my actions, but he doesn’t let me get very far when I hear his voice again, saying my name. 

“I don’t think she can wait anymore,” is all he says and right away, I know what he means. 

“Neither can I.”

Now, it’s his turn to nod, but I hardly see it as I’m already walking out of the room. My legs hurry down the hallway, feet pounding on the tiled floor towards the break room and nearby bathrooms. Something makes me pause when I reach her office, and there I find her with her back to me in front of the floor to ceiling window. I’m reminded of how stunning she looks in that knee length, long sleeved, plum dress that threw me for a loop this morning. I realize belatedly the smile pulling my lips towards my eyes, and the butterflies fluttering in my chest as so many thoughts fill my head. 

“Ya’ve escaped on me, bug, how come?” I decide to say, taking a step into her office that’s slowly becoming hers. I catch glances of the framed pictures lining her desk, and the fun we had the other day looking at them. Seen in them are her and her dad, her and Robbie as kids and then as adults, and a similar two parter with now and then pictures of herself and Skye. I’m still waiting for the day I see myself in one of them. “Alright?”

“Yeah, of course. I could never be sad on your birthday, the day you were born,” she answers, but I don’t need to see her speak to make out the conflicting evidence in her voice. She also doesn’t hide the surprised inhale when I wind my arms around her middle from behind, and press a soft kiss to her temple. Fuck, I haven’t had something feel this right in such a long time, and yet it never feels like enough. “What are you doing? My door is wide open, and anybody could see, Harry. You’re my boss.”

“I don’t care, ‘m their boss too. I wanted t’ give you a hug. Myles jus’ told me tha party was all yer idea, that ya came t’ him and insisted on doin’ it. I had no idea, Becks, and ‘m sorry. ‘ve neva had a good surprise party ‘til now, y’know. ‘m already lovin’ it, bug, ya had all me fav’ things there - pizza, beers, a chocolate cake with bloody Power Rangers figures on it, and cute li’l party decorations,” I hum against her head where my cheek rests, watching her eyelashes flutter below me as she laughs.

“You actually like it? I was afraid that you’d hate it, you’ve never been one for surprises. Myles said you didn’t want anything like it, so I was doubting myself all up until the last second.”

“No, I love it, babe. It was so thoughtful and sweet o’ you. I didn’t want anythin’, but ya made it all so special with me fav’ things. Y’know, ‘m dyin’ t’ try yer cake,” I tell her, watching that one dimple fill her left cheek that I don’t think she even realizes she has, but damn, the things it does to me when I see it. 

It’s been a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, and wishes ever since she walked back through the doors of the firm, and it’s like she never even left. Too often, I’m made aware of how many times the both of us left in the past, and they only make me want to never leave again. It’s the very thing I have to do tonight and I don’t know how I’m going to survive being away from her for nine days, when I had just gotten her back. 

“We should probably go back and sing you happy birthday, it’s about that time.”

Another wave of feelings hits me when she turns around in my arms, and I see the traces of spent tears in her eyes that I brush away with my thumb. My hand falls from her and finds her trembling fingers I caress with my own. It contradicts the happiness filling me, and propels me forward and towards her lips. I watch them curl into a smile that echoes in her eyes, and mirrors my own. I’m seconds away from mine touching hers when I hear a voice, and not the one I want. 

“There ya are, Hare! I know you hate having happy birthday sung to you, but let’s get it over with,” Myles jests from behind me as my eyes stare out the window, debilitating disappointment covering me in sheets. 

“Ya, be there inna sec,” I retort, a sigh finishing my words as my eyes fall to her. It’s a wonder to me how she can hide hers so well, because she just stares up at me in awe, stealing all of my frustration away in the moment. 

“Fookin’ My’,” I laugh, and her adorable one follows mine while I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger. 

“Let’s go and sing to you, birthday boy,” Becks says with a grin, but I can hear it in her voice where she thinks she can hide the sadness. I’m afraid there’s not much she can hide from me after all of this time, and I know that the same goes for me with her. “We have all the time in the world when you get back from your trip,” she comments softly with a squeeze of my hand, and I realize she’s right. Not just that, her words slowly click with me, piecing a puzzle together that’s nearly finished. A puzzle over two years in the making. A silent understanding passes between us, and finally, she reveals that she also wants to wait to start things until I’m back. Although I’m sad, I’m grateful for it too, because I wouldn’t be able to handle leaving her tonight for over a week if I had just kissed her now. I can barely handle the thought of leaving her, as it is. 

“We do, don’t we, bug?” I concur aloud and she nods as I squeeze her hand in return, my feet lifting from the ground. So does my heart, as the secret I finally found out resounds with me.

I don’t want to wait the nine days until I come back, but I know that I should. I know that we’re holding the other to it now, and it fills me with a cooling sensation of relief. After fucking over two years of waiting, I guess I can wait another nine days, even if there’s little stopping me from kissing her right now.

+

“It’s a good thing you didn’t get single candles, Becky, or else Harry here would be setting off the smoke alarms blowing those out,” Jennings comments from across me as an orange flame appears at the end of the lighter. My laugh joins those of the others in the room as the two candles, a 3 and a 0, come to life. 

Setting down the lighter, I stand back and join the crowd surrounding the table, the song beginning from our lips. ‘Happy Birthday’ fills the room as Harry stands in front of the cake with pink, dimpled cheeks and a nervous excitement coating him. A hand hides in his pockets as the other comes to cover his face until the last line. His green eyes float over to me and remain there as he leans down, large hands pressed to the table as he blows out his candles. 

“Oooo, Harry’s got a girlfriend!” several people exclaim at the sight of one lit candle remaining, those green eyes still glued to me with a sparkle inside of them. He’s really fucking testing my patience today.

I swear to God, Harry. 

A nervousness sits at the edge of my actions and words as I cut the cake and serve it, Harry soon stealing me away to the side to gush about how much he loves it. I couldn’t stop replaying the moment from my office in my head as I ate my own slice and soon disappeared to there again, worried I forgot to wrap a present or left one at home. 

“Ya keep runnin’ away from me, bug, what’s goin’ on?” Harry chirps from my doorway, sauntering into my office when I turn around, shutting the door behind him. “Ooooo, are those me presents I see? Holy shit, Becks, ya didn’t hafta get me so many o’ ‘em.”

“I wanted to. I finally get to spend your birthday with you after all these years,” I smile with a shrug of my shoulders, a nervous laugh falling from his blushing lips. 

“I knew I saved tha best fer last.”

“Sit down,” I say, picking up the Power Rangers bag I’m amazed I found at the shops.

“Bloody hell, Ms. Holte is gettin’ bossy.” I chuckle along with him as I set the bag at his feet, finding a seat on the sofa next to him. He winks at me as he pats my knee and I give in, scooting closer to leave only a few inches between us.

The smiles on the both of our faces grow with every present he unwraps, and my anxious heart relaxes. I’m not sure which he enjoyed most, the whiskey and oak candle he smelled at my house once that he loved, the multicolored guitar strap with Keith Haring art, the FRIENDS mug full of quotes in the same font, Paul McCartney’s album RAM on a pristine vinyl, the blush button up decorated with black outlines of roses, or the one I was saving for last. 

“Becks, you didn’t,” he giggles, saying that line for perhaps the third time now as I set the lidded metal pan in his hands.

“I know your first pan is already gone, so here’s another one.”

“Love, ‘m gonna get fat from all o’ these brownies,” he titters, patting the lid happily before his eyes return to mine. “Ya spoil me too much.” 

“I know,” I agree, the tears soon taking hold of my words. “But I really missed my best friend this last year, and I’m going to miss him even more when he’s gone next week,” I sigh, the tears peeking out in my voice.

“Becks,” he hums sadly, setting the pan down on the floor before pulling me into his arms. “I missed me best friend as well, too bloody much, I reckon. So much so that I don’t want t’ leave her fer tha next week,” he reveals, emotion stealing the balance from his voice. 

“Can I come with you the next time?”

“‘Course bug, ‘m sorry it didn’t work out this time. It was jus’ too short notice. I wish ya could, tho’,” he responds, his long fingers donning his many rings leaving warm circles on my back. 

My nod answers his sentence as my hands find the satiny fabric of his button up, one daring to play with a curl of his before cupping his shoulder. My tears dry up on my cheek pressed to his shoulder, but they threaten a return when he kisses the top of my head, making me wonder when the next time will be that I get another. 

“Y’know, Rore was s’posed t’ go rock climbin’ with me t’day, but he called in sick. I figure he’s prolly jus’ hungova, but ya said I get whateva I want on me birthday, so I want ya t’ come with me instead,” Harry announces, squeezing me in our hug before I look up at him. 

“I’ll have to stop home for some different clothes.”

“That’s fine, we can ride togetha in my Rover and we’ll stop by yer flat,” he explains, and I hum a happy ‘okay’ as he brushes the back of his fingers across my cheeks. “Don’t want me birthday t’ end jus’ yet, ‘m havin’ so much fun with me best friend.”

+

The blinking cursor stares back at me, and yet I can’t find the motivation to write anything. My thoughts are too immersed in the events of today. My arms around his waist, and then his around mine. My hand in his before he almost kissed me in his office, and again during the ride to and from the indoor rock climbing place. We agreed on listening to Spice Girls in the car, and during the too relatable parts in the songs ‘Say You’ll Be There’ and sometimes in ‘2 Become 1’, I felt his hand squeeze mine and I held his a little tighter at those moments, too.

I couldn’t count the number of times we laughed while tucked into those harnesses, my hands and feet slipping on the grips of the rock wall. I knew he was competitive, but holy shit, he proved me wrong this afternoon. He did it again when I thought I knew how good he looked in tight jogging sweats, but I learned about it all again from my often vantage point below him on the wall. 

I’ve been trying to avoid the purple clock in my office for what feels like hours, but I know it hasn’t been that long. The time had gone by faster than I thought it had when I finally look, my limbs suddenly feeling heavy when the clock reads 4:08 pm. I try to return to my work, typing up the last few sentences for the final document for his- our case. I can’t, knowing he’ll be leaving any minute now, and not knowing how I’m going to say goodbye to him. All of these times, we’ve said it, but never knew it would be the last one for a while. I almost miss that ignorance, almost. 

“Ya might break it, if ya stare at it any harder, bug.” Hastily looking to my doorway, there he is with his Northface on and messenger bag at his side. “C’mere,” he says softly, a sadness clinging to his voice and the hand he waves towards himself. 

I oblige and within moments, I let my head fall to his chest, my cheek brushing against his exposed skin and metal necklace.

“Nine days is a long time,” I mumble, my hands falling to rest at the middle of his back.

“Feels that way fer me too.”

“It’ll be okay, though,” I hum hopefully, savoring the feeling of being tucked away safely in his arms. 

“Ya, it will, won’t it?” he responds gently, one hand waving goodbyes against my back and the other cupping my head to his chest. I almost start crying again when he plants a kiss on the top of my head, his special spot. “Ya, it’ll be okay, Becks. You’ll learn loads from Myles, and ‘ll still be there blowin’ up yer phone like usual with texts and calls.”

A moment of happiness flows from my mouth at his words, and a few seconds of his giggle joins mine. 

“I’m going to really miss you,” I finally voice aloud for him to hear, but it doesn’t feel like enough for what I’m feeling. The dread, the anxiousness, the debilitating sadness, the frustration, and the anger I feel towards the world. He almost succeeds in ridding my body of their nervous trembles, but what will I do when I can’t go to him for a hug when I need to calm down or when I just want one?

“‘m gonna miss ya mo’, bug.”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now? Why of course it is with you,” I scoff, lifting my head to meet his eyes that brew a concoction of bittersweetness. 

“I guess so, Boops,” he smirks, tapping the point of my nose. For a while there, it felt like a blind competition of who was going to make the first move between us, but now, I trust we’re both planning to wait until he returns, and is back for good. When we both are. “Y’know, me case could get done early or take longa.”

“Don’t say that,” I sigh with bent eyebrows that he tries to smooth out with the pad of his thumb. 

“Sorry, bug, but ‘s tha brutal truth o’ bein’ a lawyer and that’s yer life now. It doesn’t always go how ya want it t’. I  reckon, ‘s tha truth o’ life actually.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t like it,” I exhale, diving back into his arms for one last time, wishing I knew when the next time it would be that I get to do this again. There’s so little stopping me from getting on my tiptoes and kissing the sadness out of him. 

“I should go, me flight ‘s soon,” Harry whispers a minute later, his nose brushing against my temple. 

“Yeah, we don’t want the birthday boy to be late for his big case starting Monday,” I say with a fake smile, squeezing him one last time and then moving away to zip his coat up the rest of the way. 

“Thanks fer the best birthday ‘ve had inna long time, Becks. It meant tha world t’ me, I hope y’know,” he coos from above me, but I avoid his eyes as I tuck his necklace back into his shirt. “‘ll call ya once I land, ‘kay? ‘ll be back soon, Becks,” he murmurs against my temple, lips falling to my cheek where they press a long last kiss there. His thumb hooks under my chin and lifts my avoidant eyes to his. “‘ll miss ya mo’ than y’know.”

“Bye, Harry. I’ll see you in nine days,” I hardly manage to make out, holding onto the semisweet smile hugging his lips. I feel one last squeeze from him where my hand stays in his, and then he walks away. He chances one last look over his shoulder, and I’m positive he couldn’t miss the first tear on my cheek, because I watch the first one fall from his eyes.

+

A huff falls from lips as I rub at my eyes, a yawn soon leaving me. Walking out of my office, my eyes linger down the hall at his dark door that still isn’t any easier to look at five days later. Even after his surprise FaceTime this morning in his most adorable purple robe to drink morning coffee together, watching FRIENDS last night on FaceTime, or all of the random texting conversations we’ve been having, I miss him even worse. 

Swinging my empty water bottle around the handle on my finger, I soon find myself alone in the break room. The fridge closes with a soft clud as I set the Brita water pitcher on the counter, screwing off the top to my water bottle. 

“Don’t spill it!” somebody says from behind me, making me jump and spill the water I’m pouring into my steel water bottle. 

“Don’t do that, Harry!” I exclaim automatically, peeking back at the person who scared me. I groan and turn back to my water, but then something clicks in my head. 

Harry. 

He’s back!

“Harry!” I almost shout, turning back to him. I find a smile as bright as the sun staring back at me. “You’re back early!”

“Ya, I finished me case early and wanted t’ come say hi. I won it, Becks, we won it,” he replies happily. 

With wide eyes, I feel my lips split into a smile. Throwing my arms around his neck, I wrap him in a hug. 

“Harry, that’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you! I know how nervous you were for this case,” I hum into his warm neck. His musky cologne surrounds me as his arms do the same around my middle. 

“Thanks so much, Becks. I sure missed havin’ ya there by me side givin’ me advice and correctin’ me notes,” he rasps with a small laugh, and I feel his warm words dance across my head. 

“Well, it looks like you didn’t need it,” I tell him, pulling away to find his dimples caved into his cheeks. His pearly whites smile back at me. I squeeze his arm and smile back at him, filling with pride and happiness. 

“Ya, coz you were still there, bug. I appreciated yer calls and texts, love, and ‘course all tha times watchin’ FRIENDS togetha. It did wondas t’ take me mind off tha case.”

I’m not sure what else to do besides smile at him, but then I feel the right words come to me. Or the closest to right. “I can’t say enough how proud I am of you, and how happy I am, too. But I’m not surprised, because you’re a pretty damn great lawyer.”

A blush rises to his cheeks and he looks down all abashed. “Thanks, that means loads comin’ from you.”

“What, why would it mean a lot coming from me? I haven’t even been practicing for a month, and meanwhile you have been for years,” I ask, searching for the answer in his eyes. But when he lets me see them again, I can’t tell what it is. 

“Jus’ does, Becks . . I wanna make ya proud.” 

“Well, you’ve already done that a few times over,” I laugh heartily. He nods and sticks his hands into the pockets of his black skinny jeans. A multicolored flannel and Beatles shirt dons his upper half. Checkered Vans claim his feet, and sunglasses are caught in his hair. It’s all the epitome of comfy airport clothes. 

“What are you going to do with the rest of your days off? You still have tomorrow and Friday before you’re due back on Monday.”

“Um, I dunno. ‘ll prolly stay home and unpack. Do a bit o’cleanin’ and catch up on sleep. That bloody jet lag ‘s no joke,” he confesses, losing a hand in his air as he giggles. 

“Yeah, you seem to have a hard time with that, I’m sorry. You should try some of that Sleepy Time tea before bed, it always helps me. Or reading. Or exercising,” I blurt out, feeling like the nonsensical words will never stop. 

“Thanks, I’ll stop by tha shops and pick some up. Wasn’t that tha one I had on accident at yer place tha one time?”

“You mean the night you zonked out on my sofa at eight pm?” I chuckle and he nods with red cheeks. 

“Ya, that one. I s’pose that stuff really works.”

“Mmmhmmm,” I reply. Again, the words are bubbling up into my throat. And then the silent promise we made to the other falls back into my thoughts, as well as the one I made what feels like so long ago now. Just ask him out when he gets back then, it’d be too annoying starting to date while he’s away, Skye had said.“I uh . . .”

“Ya, Becks?” Harry responds, and I look back up to find his patient eyes on me. A smile bends his lips and I feel it fill me with courage, egging me on. 

God, I’ve missed him. Those sparkly green eyes. His smile that can pull one from my own lips. His quirky jokes. God, his hugs, even if they’re not often enough. His dimpled cheeks covered with stubble that do something to me. And so does his ruffled curls that I missed seeing. I just- I missed him.

And that’s what makes the words fall from my lips. 

“I was wondering if you’re doing anything Friday night?”

He almost says something, but there’s a creak when the door opens. My face falls when I realize it, and a confused look paints Harry’s face. Rory prances over and pats Harry on the back, before scooping him into a hug. 

Looking to the floor with a shy smile, I step away from the reunion. I grab a towel from the drawer and clean up my mess. I screw the top onto my water bottle before tossing the rag into the bin under the sink. 

“Wow, man! I can’t believe ya did it. Ya put on a great defense from what I heard from Mick’s friend,” Rory exclaims before pouring into question after question. 

I can’t hide the disappointment coating my features inside and out. I finally got the courage to ask him, and I was interrupted. And now, I don’t think I could find that courage again. 

Grabbing my water bottle, I walk over to the fridge and steal a yogurt from a shelf. The door closes with a soft click as I go to walk around them. 

“Becks, wait,” Harry says, making me stop in my tracks. Turning to find his eyes on me, I watch confusion screw up Rory’s face. 

“Rore, there was sumthin’ I needed t’ ask Becky ‘bout. I’ll catch ya aftawards, ya?” Harry turns to him and says. 

I feel my heart almost hiccup inside of my chest. And with it, I feel it start to gallop back into nervous territory. 

“Yeah sure, man. I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Rory replies, patting him on the shoulder before the door closes behind him.

And then it’s just Harry and I, again. 

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that. I haven’t seen anybody else yet, so he was surprised t’ see me,” Harry tells me. God, Harry, stop making my heart do all of these jumpy things, please. Holy shit, he basically said I’m the first person he came to see. Uh wow, that is uh-. “Becks?” Harry repeats. I blink and watch his features materialize in front of me again. 

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, shaking my head. 

“’s okay. What were ya sayin’ ‘bout Friday?” he continues, and I swear my heart just keeps jumping, making it even more harder to speak. But I have to do it. I have to try. 

“Um, I was wondering . . . . If you wanted to try out that new restaurant, Rafael’s, on 3rd? L-Like a date?” I say, forcing the words out one after the other, or else I won’t get them out. “Because I remember you said before it opened that you’d like to try it and your friend owns it and-.”

“Yes, I’d love t’, Becks. I’d love t’ go onna date with you t’ Rafael’s,” Harry interrupts, his words coming out like molasses with a syrupy sweet smile. They fill in and soothe all of the worries fighting inside of me. And immediately squash the doubts. 

With that, my heart calms down and I feel a happiness soar through my veins. One I haven’t felt in a long time. It climbs higher and higher when I take a leap and jump into his arms, hearing his breathy laugh I missed so fucking much. 

“Goddamit, Harry, I missed you so much,” I confess into his chest, my eyes falling closed as I finally feel like I can relax, and four days early at that. A chuckle rumbles through his warm chest while his familiar scent could lull me to sleep. I missed that too, his peppery vanilla cologne, and how safe I feel in his arms that hold me against him.

I can’t believe all of this, what just happened and the fact that he’s here, and back with me. He’s with me.

“Fookin’ hell, I missed ya mo’, Becks,” he reveals, words falling into my hair seconds before he surprises me with a kiss to my cheek. 

It only intensifies when I dare to look up and find those green eyes looking at me in a way I’ve never seen. Now, I finally get a feeling of what I’ve looked like this whole time. This whole time I’ve been looking at him with the beginnings of love in my eyes. 

Finally, we’re here. 

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Sixty-Eight: Flat Tire ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Mikoto, Uzumaki Kushina, Uzumaki Naruto ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Oh, of all the rotten luck…!

She’s halfway to the school, pedaling her little heart out, when Hinata notices...there’s something wrong with her bike. It feels...sluggish? Leaning on a foot, she flips her kickstand, trying to find the problem.

It’s...rather obvious.

A flat tire.

What?!

She just put air in them the other day! She’s never had a problem until now! What on earth…? And why does it have to be today…? She’d even rather it be a school day than today…

It’s the baseball game! The one Sasuke invited her to! Well...sort of. At first she invited herself, but he was the one who made her feel welcome.

And then he...told her Naruto wasn’t really into her. Which...part of her knew. But then, it almost sounded like...like...maybe he liked her…? Ah, it’s so confusing! She doesn’t want to assume, and he wasn’t very clear...but…?

But now she’s going to miss it! It’s too far to go on foot - she’ll be so late! And then he’ll think she’s avoiding him after their strange talk yesterday!

Frustrated, she can’t help a small stamp of her foot. Now what is she supposed to do…?

“Hey!”

Startling, she looks up to see a car pulling up along the curb, a dark-haired woman leaning out her window. “Uh...y-yes?”

“Are you all right?”

Hinata’s fingers start twiddling nervously. “Oh, uh...y-yes ma’am! I just...my bike has a flat.”

“Do you need a ride, dear?”

“W-well, I...I wasn’t going home. I’m headed to...the school? There’s a game, and -”

“Oh, you mean the baseball game? I’m heading there now! My son is playing! Here, put your bike in the back - I’ll give you a ride!”

Hinata blinks. Her son…? You know, she looks an awful lot like…

“Are...are you sure?”

“Yes, yes! Here, I’ll help you -”

“Oh, t-that’s okay!” But, it’s too late - the woman hops out, helping Hinata maneuver her bike into the folded down rear seats.

“There we go! Hop on in, we’ve still got time!”

All sorts of sheepish, Hinata does as asked, the car zooming back down the road.

“So, do you have friends that play?” the woman asks, glancing back over her seat.

“Uh, y-yeah, a few.”

“Do you play any sports?”

“Yes ma’am - tennis. And um...volleyball.”

“That’s wonderful! My son Sasuke only plays baseball...his brother was on the soccer team when he was in highschool, too!”

Hinata can’t help a small jump. So, this is Sasuke’s mother - she thought they looked similar! “I...I see!”

“Well, I’m glad you go support the other sports teams, dear. We’ll cheer them on and help them win!”

Still a bit nervous, Hinata nonetheless manages a smile. “Y...yeah!”

Parking takes a few minutes, and the teams are already warming up. Hopping out of the car, Hinata lingers, not sure if she should...go by herself? Or maybe she’s found herself company. Not wanting to be rude, she assumes the latter.

“There we go! Now, let’s find some seats!”

...she really has found herself some company, it seems.

Mikoto leads the way, scoping out a place next to a woman of wild red hair. “Kushina!”

“There you are! I was wondering!”

“I picked up a hitchhiker,” the brunette explains, pointing with a small snicker to Hinata, who goes pink. Kushina...that’s Naruto’s mother!

“Oh! Well good! I’d hate for anyone to miss out!” The Uzumaki flashes a bright smile. “Come on, come sit down!”

“O...okay.” Suddenly feeling...very awkward, Hinata sits on Mikoto’s other side, Kushina filling her friend in on...whatever gossip. In truth, the highschooler isn’t listening, looking over the teams on the field. Konoha’s green-themed jerseys blend a bit with the grass, but there’s little missing Naruto’s sunshine blond hair.

Now...where is…?

“There’s my boy!” Mikoto points. “There, on the left!”

Following the digit, Hinata perks up. Oh, now she sees him!

“So, who are you here to watch?” Kushina asks, leaning forward to look around her friend.

Hinata goes pink. “O-oh, um...no one in particular, just...j-just the team as a whole!”

“That’s great! We’re so hoping they make it to state...it’d be great if they could make it as seniors, wouldn’t it?”

“Sasuke talks about it all the time...I know he was always excited when the soccer team got to go. He loved cheering Itachi on! So it’d be great to be able to support him, too.”

Hinata just nods, not...really sure what to say.

Warm ups then end...and the game begins!

At first, it starts rather slow. The teams switch places several times without a single run. With a man on first, Sasuke comes up to bat.

“Oh, there he is!” Mikoto enthuses, clutching Kushina’s arm. “Go Sasukeee!”

Glancing to the mothers, Hinata watches as Sasuke takes the plate. Not swinging at first, he gets a ball. Then a strike. But then - crack! The bat connects! Back into the outfield it goes, both runners tearing along the paths. The first makes it to third, and Sasuke to second.

“Yeees!” Mikoto cheers as Hinata claps loudly.

Next happens to be Naruto. After two miss strikes, he manages to slice the ball right between second and third. With a sprint, the first boy makes it back for a point, Sasuke making it to third as Naruto takes first.

The crowd cheers, Hinata beaming. But rather than watching Naruto...she finds herself watching Sasuke. He’s so close to scoring a point…!

The next batter, however, gets his ball caught. A sigh of disappointment settles over the crowd. But after that, another outfield shot! Sasuke streaks to home, sliding in just under the ball.

Naruto, however, gets tagged as it’s thrown back.

“Aww, c’mon!” Kushina roars, earning a glance from the people in front of them. “Good job, Naruto! You’ll get ‘em next time!”

The rest of the game seems to fly by as the action picks up. For a time it’s neck and neck, both teams slowly building up their scores. But as the last inning comes to a close, Sasuke manages to bat two runners in, and with that, they take the game!

Konoha’s stands rise into an uproar, and Hinata celebrates with the rest of them, hollering about their victory. Following both mothers, they await the team’s emergence after they finish changing.

Still scuffed with dirt, Naruto emerges with a wide grin. “Mom! We did it!”

“Hell yeah!” Kushina calls, taking her son into a mock headlock and ruffling his hair. “I’m so proud of you! You did great!”

“Good job, Naruto,” Hinata offers, begetting a look of surprise.

“Hinata?”

“Mikoto picked her up on the way here!” his mother explains. “Flat bike tire!”

“Aw man, that sucks! Glad you made it, though!”

“M-me too!”

It’s then Sasuke joins them, body language clearly exhausted.

Beaming, his mother opens her arms. “You did so great, sweetie! One more game down, eh?”

“Yeah…” Smiling tiredly, he accepts the embrace...and then notices Hinata. His eyes go wide for a moment, cheeks dusting pink.

“I found a classmate of yours on the way in - she was coming to see the game, too!”

“...oh, uh...oh yeah?”

Noticing his embarrassment, Hinata doesn’t tattle. “Mhm! Your mom gave me a ride when my bike went flat…”

“We’ll give you a ride back home, too!”

“Oh, t-thank you!”

After some chatting, the group splits up, and Hinata walks quietly beside Sasuke...who still seems rather...nervous.

“So, where do you live, Hinata?”

“Cedar street, ma’am - a big white house on the corner!”

As the car heads out, Hinata spares Sasuke a glance. “...congrats again on winning your game.”

“Thanks…” He also gives her a fleeting look. “...guess you better win your tennis match, huh?”

She gives a smile. “...yeah. I need to keep up, huh?”

“Maybe we’ll both make it to state.”

“Oh...I dunno about that.”

“I bet you could. Just keep at it.”

Her cheeks flush pink. “...I’ll try.”

Finding the proper house, Sasuke helps unload her bike. “Hope you don’t need a new tire.”

“Guess I’ll find out...um...s-see you Monday?”

“Yeah...later, Hinata.”

Waving, she watches the car pull away before looking to her bike. Maybe a flat tire wasn’t such a bad thing...

                                                         .oOo.

     Tireddd OTL      A continuation of day 149! Sorta! It got VERY late and I had to rush an entry, so...that one jumped out at me, lol - I wanna do more with that little story! Beyond this, anyway, lol     ��But yeah, it's...super late. I gotta sleep. Thanks for reading!

[luckyspike]

Adventures in America, Ch. 6 - In which Adam learns about the formation of shelf clouds (literally, this is not a metaphor)

and this chapter took so long because in order for adam to learn about the formation of shelf clouds i had to learn about the formation of shelf clouds

thank you to wikipedia, and the 5 hours of meteorology youtube videos i watched, as well as the many, many hours of storm chasers i watched

reminder that this fic is not on AO3 yet bc tbh i want to finish it first but here’s the link to the other chapters

or follow this link to my fanfiction tag

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

-

Four-thirty in the morning, and it was still dark. Generally, Adam wasn’t a fan of getting up before the sun, but generally, Adam was not hunting tornadoes. He rolled out of bed the minute the alarm went off, silenced it, and moved to turn on the light. Lucky beat him to it.

“You ready?” the other boy asked, dark eyes bright and eager. “You ready to go?”

“Absolutely.”

They threw on clothes - whatever they could find - and stuffed the few things they’d actually unpacked back into their bags. Adam paused only to send a text to his friends - ‘Day 1, here we go!’ - before he and the other student walked quickly into the parking lot, their excitement poorly-disguised. They arrived at the truck and stopped. It was dark. Rachael and Noel were absent. Lucky frowned, and looked at his phone.

“Oh. We’re early.” He dropped his bag to the ground, and sat on the asphalt next to it. “Oh well, better early than late.”

“Sure,” Adam agreed, leaning back against the truck and wondering if maybe the extra 15 minutes of sleep might have been worth it. He sighed and looked around. In Tadfield, the streets would have been empty at this hour. But in Austin, by the airport, cars came and went. At a lower volume, certainly, than they might in a few hours, but still, the road was not deserted by any stretch of the imagination. He wondered, distantly, where all those people might be going. 

“Hey, Adam.” Lucky held up his phone. “You wanna do a snap?”

“Oh, selfie? Yeah, sure.” He crouched down next to the other boy, Lucky beaming through his beard and Adam holding up a peace sign while his blonde hair spilled over his face and shoulders. It probably would have been a good picture, had it not been so dark that the only discernible thing was two dark shadows crouched in front of a slightly reddish shadow that may have, with better lighting, looked like a truck. Undeterred, Lucky nodded approvingly and captioned it ‘day 1 fuckers!’ before sending it off, presumably to a group of friends. 

“I should probably take another one for my parents and stuff, too.” This was done as a selfie only, Adam standing back up to look to the east instead, watching the sky turn purple with dawn. Although Adam didn’t like to look over anybody’s shoulder, he did note that the caption on the second photo was a tamer ‘Bright and early for storm chasing day 1!’. He smiled. 

“Your parents are cool with this, huh?”

“Eh.” Lucky shrugged. “My dad is. He’s like super stereotypical masculine dude - his only concern was that I didn’t plan on taking a gun with me.” He rolled his eyes, while Adam tried not to look too shocked. Well, that was America for you. “My mom was kind of worried, but like, we always watched those storm chaser shows when I was a kid, so I think she’s excited too. She told me to send a ton of pictures.” He looked up, over his shoulder, to Adam. “Yours?”

Adam shrugged a shoulder. “They felt like it was a good opportunity, they just felt it was maybe more dangerous than needed but … eh.” He laughed. “I was more worried about my godfathers trying to stop me, but they just let me go.” He frowned. “Which is kind of weird, actually, ‘cause they seemed really worried at first, but I did tell them it was really not that dangerous, so I guess they believed me.”

Lucky was watching him with a puzzled expression. “I don’t have any godparents. Well, I mean, not that I’ve stayed in touch with. I think my parents picked some of their friends or something. But you know yours?” He thought about it. “Was your family really religious or something?” And then he winced. “Yikes, actually, that’s really personal. Sorry, don’t feel obligated.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I mean … kind of.” He snorted. “It’s weird, but I guess we’re kind of religious in a way. They taught me a lot about religion, anyway, but like, I dunno.” He shook his head. “I was heading for trouble when I was younger, and that’s sort of when they started hanging around more, I think at first to help me? But now they’re just kind of cool weird uncles.”

Lucky nodded appreciatively. “Nice.” He picked up a stone from the parking lot and chucked it, idle and bored. “I learned most of my religion from, uh, well, we had a nanny and a gardner until I was like, eight, and it was mostly them.” He laughed. “So weird, honestly - the gardner was like, a monk, I swear to God, and my nanny was actually like, a literal Satanist, like pentagrams and the whole thing, but they ended up getting married after they retired together.” Adam frowned. That was … odd. “Nanny used to like, tell me to destroy all lesser humans and stuff, and then she’d hand me off to the gardner for a few hours and he’d be like all into love of all living things or whatever.” Oh, she. Adam relaxed. A little.

Very strange.

“Up and at ‘em, eh, boys?” Noel’s voice rang across the parking lot, loud and clear even over the steadily-increasing airport traffic. “Excited for the first day?”

Adam nodded and Lucky said, “Yeah!” Rachael, tagging behind, laden with camera bags and an oversize travel mug, offered up a weak and drowsy smile. “Lots of driving on the agenda today, guys. Hopefully will get us into position to see some stuff this afternoon. But first -” she wagged the mug in the air, “we need to find a Dunkin.”

Lucky made a face. “You’re a Dunkin devotee?”

“What’s your brand?” She was packing her things into the bed of the truck, and Adam and Lucky followed suit. “Please don’t say Starbucks.”

“... Well.”

She sighed and laid her hand on his shoulder. “So I have to teach you more than just storm chasing this trip, I guess. It will be my cross to bear.” The truck started up, and Rachael brandished her mug like a sleepy knight charging into battle. “To Dunkin.” She trod around to the front passenger seat, and Lucky laughed, shutting the bed cover and heading to his seat. 

Adam waited until they were in the truck and on the road before he asked, “What’s Dunkin?” He thought it over, trying to remember where he’d seen the name before. Online, certainly, but in relation to … what?

“Oh.” Rachael was watching him in the rearview mirror. “Oh, Adam. Oh, you sweet, summer child.” She turned around, slinging her arm across Noel’s shoulders. “Do you drink coffee? Or tea?”

“Both.” He considered it. “Coffee’s nice in the morning.”

“Dunkin Donuts has the best coffee in the world. Hands down, best.”

“Sometimes they burn it,” Noel said, already flinching away from the playful slap she aimed at his shoulder. “I said sometimes! Not every time!”

“Never. They never do.” She looked to her phone, where a GPS was chirping out directions to the nearest Dunkin. “I will convince you boys by the end of this session that Dunkin coffee is superior to any other coffee, and not to be unappreciated.” She sighed. “It is better than Starbucks, mark my words.” Lucky hummed, uncertain. “What’s your preferred brand, Adam?”

He thought about it. “Uh, well. I dunno. Costa is what we have in town, and that’s pretty good, but I don’t think there’s any of them over here. Starbucks is okay, I guess, in a pinch, but my godfather makes the best coffee.” He shrugged. “He’s super into it.”

Rachael nodded. “Oh, well, obviously home-brew rigs are going to beat out chain places every time.”

“She does make an amazing cup of coffee,” Noel agreed.

“But no, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Costa.” Rachael looked thoughtful. “I’ll have to try it some day. I’ve always wanted to visit the UK, so I’ll put it on my list of things to do for that trip!”

Adam laughed. “There are definitely better things to do in England than go to Costa. If you’re serious about going, I can give you a list of stuff if you’d like.”

Noel turned into a parking lot, and Rachael yawned. “Ah, sorry. Yes, I’m definitely going to take you up on that. But first, coffee. You alright taking the first leg driving, Noel?”

“As always!” He hopped out and waited for the rest of the party to join. “The donuts are also fairly good here, so if you guys want breakfast this will probably be our stop. They have sandwiches an’ all that, too.”

“I do like their hashbrowns,” Lucky added, half a step behind Adam, hands in his pockets. “You have to have a donut though, Adam. Just to try one. It’s like … I mean, America runs on Dunkin.” He laughed. “Or at least that’s what their commercials say.”

Ultimately, Adam selected a donut for breakfast, as well as a cup of coffee. He debated getting the hashbrowns as well, but on reflection it seemed likely that this would not be his only opportunity to eat at Dunkin, and he decided to save it for another day. Rachael paid for him - “The first hit is free,” she said solemnly - and they took their leave.

The coffee was pretty good, Adam thought, sipping at it on the way back to the truck. Maybe a little too sweet. But good. Wouldn’t be the worst thing to drink for the next six weeks, anyway. He assured Rachael he thought it was delicious, and they loaded back into the truck.

Rachael spent the first portion of the drive north looking at her computer, studying the weather maps, and drinking her coffee. She and Noel talked in low voices about where to go - maybe a bit more east? Or stay westward? - and the truck rolled on. Adam, a stranger in America, watched the desert of Texas go by, pink and gold in the dawn and then bright and brown in the harsh light of day. Lucky, in spite of drinking his coffee faster than anybody probably should, was asleep within the first hour, leaned against the window with a string of drool running from the corner of his mouth. Adam considered taking a photo of him on Lucky’s own phone - it was laid on the seat between them, idle - but decided against it, instead pulling out a book about supercell formation and other weather patterns, and starting to read.

Rachael and Noel switched drivers after a few hours, stirring Lucky from his nap. With the students more awake, and no driving duties at hand, Noel took the opportunity to talk Lucky and Adam through the weather tracking software on the laptop, and discussed what they were looking for. “You want to see a big, cool system meeting with some warm air where there’s a lot of moisture,” he explained. “So here’s the barometric pressures as they stand now, and the current radar. Either of you have an idea of where we should go for ideal storm tracking?” Adam and Lucky, each with their own notebooks, did their level best to calculate the possible and likely movements of the systems. Adam considered his work and, eventually, penciled in a careful ‘x’ over a part of the map where it appeared two states met on the north side of the Oklahoma panhandle. Lucky had already finished his own calculations, and they passed their notebooks forward. 

“Alright, let’s see here.” Noel turned around, one notebook in each hand and laptop open in front of him, comparing each of their calculations to his own model. Adam shifted nervously. He was pretty sure with the jet stream so far south, they wouldn’t need to go as north as Lucky had calculated, but then again he hadn’t been confident about the low-pressure area … “Both good maps,” Noel concluded at last. “But I think today we’re going to end up closer to Adam’s.” He turned back to them, smiling, and passed the notebooks back. “Partially because we won’t be able to get that far into Kansas without losing daylight, sorry Lucky, but I don’t know … we’ll have to see. Time will tell.”

“Part of storm chasing,” Rachael added in, “is guesswork. Doesn’t matter how good your models are, doesn’t matter how correct your math’s been, the weather always seems to end up surprising us. It’s part of what makes it fun! And scary, sometimes.”

“Oh, which reminds me: safety briefing.” Noel turned around, suddenly serious as the grave. Adam nodded attentively, shutting his notebook and folding his hands on top of it. “We’ll go through some of Rachael’s lightning equipment afterwards, because eventually you two are going to be doing a lot of work with that, but we need to talk safety.” He sighed and rubbed his neck. “It’s not all fun and photos out here. Let’s talk the anatomy of a storm. Lucky, you first, go over what you know about inflow and outflow, and why that’s important.”

The safety “briefing” actually lasted an entire 3 hours which, honestly, Adam appreciated. They discussed the anatomy of a supercell, the places where you were more likely to get caught off-guard by a rain-wrapped tornado, the places where lighting is more likely to be active, where and how hail forms, and how to best stay safe while studying storms. Noel showed and taught them about the ‘bear’s cage’, and made it very clear that for the most part they would be avoiding that portion of the storm, as neither Noel nor Rachael had a death wish. At the conclusion of his briefing, they stopped for lunch - fast food, which Adam viewed as a particular treat, not having much selection in Tadfield - and switched drivers again.

As they entered the Great Plains region, Adam was taken aback by just how flat everything was. Miles and miles stretched out on either side, level and grassy in the places where it wasn’t level and covered with farmland. Cows - so many cows - grazed and stood and slept and stared at the highway, sometimes, and although Rachael’s instruction on lightning and atmospheric electrical activity was truly interesting, Adam found his mind wandering. 

“Adam?” he was startled from his reverie and study of the plains of the Texas panhandle by Lucky. He turned to find both the other student and Rachael smiling at him. 

He blushed. “Oh, sorry.”

Rachael shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s a lot of information. We’re probably a few hours out yet, too - are you tired? We can take a break and you can have a nap. We have you both at our mercy for the next six weeks anyway, right?”

Adam laughed. “Yeah. I might nap. Uh, if that’s okay, I mean.” Rachael waved a hand, the universal gesture of ‘go ahead’. Lucky nodded too, slouching back against the seat and stuffing a bundled-up sweatshirt between his head and the window. He was asleep in minutes, eyelids fluttering as he dreamed. Adam leaned up against the window, too, wishing he’d had the foresight to pull a sweatshirt or something out of his own luggage as a makeshift pillow. Still, even without, he found a comfortable position between the headrest and the side of the cab, and drifted off to the sound of the road beneath the truck. 

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he didn’t dream, and when he woke up, it was because Lucky was nudging his shoulder. “Hey, dude. We’re getting there: look!”

“Whazz?” Adam blinked, bleary, and then remembered what he was doing. He focused his eyes, rubbed a bit of sleep from them, and looked to Rachael, or at least her shoulder. Her laptop was open on her lap, Baron running. Although he could only see her face in profile, she didn’t look happy.

“Check out the clouds,” Lucky said, pointing across the back seat and out of Adam’s window. “Look. Cumulonimbus.”

Noel glanced out of the window at the clouds. “Yep, for sure. Capped, though. How’s the radar looking, Rachael?”

“Not great,” she replied, glumly. “Honestly it looks like … I hate to say it, but it looks like it might fall apart.” She ran a hand over her hair, pulling a few dark strands loose from her already-messy ponytail. “It just isn’t hanging together like we want it to be.” Turning in her seat, she set the laptop on the center console, the better to show the students in the back seat what she was looking at. “You see this line of storms here? Ideally, I would have liked to see them consolidate more, but they’re spreading out into a squall line.” She pointed to one of the still-consolidated blobs on the radar. “That’s going to be a low-precipitation system, but it might be a good one to see for your first day.” She scowled as she zoomed out. “Look at that - the storms to the east look much better.”

Noel shook his head. “That’s the business, unfortunately. And things might change - you get hooks in squall lines, sometimes.”

“Well, I didn’t want to start these guys out on a bust day.” She studied the radar again after pulling the laptop back onto her knees. “I guess this looks somewhat favorable here, up by Sturgis. No hook, though.” She sighed. “Still might get some lightning and hail, though. You guys want to practice a little with the lightning equipment?”

Adam nodded eagerly. He was disappointed, a little, that the storm was falling apart, but still, a big storm and some lightning would be exciting. Maybe hail. The biggest hail he’d ever seen wasn’t even pea-sized, but he’d seen videos and photos of much larger and he figured it might be cool to see that in person. Providing the windscreen didn’t shatter. He’d seen videos of that, too. He also, he considered, might not want to be out in the hail, setting up monitoring equipment, especially if it was very large.

“Alright. Onwards to Sturgis, then.”

They arrived in Sturgis in the mid-afternoon, moving from blue skies and fluffy cumulonimbus clouds into a giant wall of white and gray. “Shelf clouds,” Rachael said, tracing across the front of the cloud formation. “Adam - what’s the difference between shelf and wall clouds? They look similar, but they’re not the same thing, yes?”

“Right.” He answered slowly, deliberately, making sure he responded as accurately as possible. “Shelf clouds typically form at the front of a storm line, where wall clouds are usually at the back. The shelf cloud is usually because the uh … The downdraft -” Rachael nodded encouragingly, “- Right, the downdraft at the leading edge of the storm cuts under the warm, moist air and forces it up which makes it have the wall shape.”

“Right! Good start for description of a shelf cloud. So a wall cloud - ?”

“Is … is due to uh, en, uh …” He flapped a hand, as if grasping for the word. “En-something, um …”

“Entrainment.” Rachael nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, good start, keep going.”

“Okay so entrainment is when the warm, moist air gets drawn up and like, starts to push out the colder air. And then the warm air continues to gather moisture and condenses into a cloud. It usually happens really quick, and in supercells wall clouds usually rotate due to the mesocyclone.” He was on firmer footing there - he hadn’t done all that reading on supercells that morning for nothing. “Usually they’re under the rain-free base of the storm, not on the leading edge.”

“Right!” She turned back to the windscreen and gestured to the clouds ahead of them. “So these are shelf clouds. They’re still in the distance a little, but what should we expect as we get closer, Lucky?”

“Gusty winds,” the other student answered quickly. “As the cold downdraft shoots forward over the warm air.”

“Right. And what will the clouds look like?”

That was tougher. “If it’s very strong winds,” he said slowly, after a break for thought, “then uh, like the clouds will be kind of messy at the leading edge, and there might be scud along the ground, right?”

“Yep. In really strong storms you can get straight-line winds, vortices along the ground, and gustnados. Which are not tornadoes, right?” She grinned as the boys in the back seat each fixed her with looks of varying puzzlement. “Yes? Either of you know the difference between a gustnado and a tornado?” Neither did, and Rachael was more than happy to explain. Adam diligently took a few notes - outflow, not inflow, and straight line winds versus cyclonic activity - and let Lucky read them over his shoulder. 

“I’m not sure I really understand straight-line winds,” Adam said, when she’d finished her explanation. “I’ve read about them, but can you explain more what -”

“Yeah, for sure!” She continued on, going through the details of a straight-line wind, and how that might be more likely in a squall line than a supercell. Noel would chip in on occasion as well, although for the most part he drove deliberately, watching the clouds, taking measures of the surrounding roads and towns, and following the highways to some nebulous destination. Rachael would add a direction to him mid-lecture sometimes, after consulting Baron, and then would return to the rapt students with more information.

“This is a lot of information,” she added at the end of her lecture. “I’m glad you’re taking notes, but I don’t think many people could remember all of this after one day. We’ll go through it a few times over the weeks, alright?”

“Perfect,” Lucky said, a little glassy-eyed. “Adam, do you mind if I copy your notes? I left my notebook in my bag.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Noel pulled over on the main highway, as if arriving in some predetermined destination that only he knew, and put the truck into park. “Seems as good a place as any to wait for it to roll in, huh?”

“Not a soul around.” Rachael kicked her door open and jumped to the dusty ground outside. “Great place to practice with the lightning instruments. And we can hang out in the car and watch the storm, as long as it’s safe, yeah?”

Adam and Lucky were already hopping out of the car and headed toward the back gate. Under Rachael and Noel’s tutelage, they set up two of Rachael’s field instruments - a high-speed camera station and a small portable weather monitoring station - and fixed them into the ground with spikes. “Not any good if you can’t find your data-gathering instruments,” Rachael laughed. “Learned that one the hard way early on.”

“Before she met me,” Noel added, and she rolled her eyes. “First chase with me and I asked her ‘so you just let the tornadoes take your high-speed cameras every time?’ and she stared at me like I had three eyeballs all of a sudden.”

“I only ever lost one to a direct hit,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and then, suddenly, wrapping them around herself more tightly. A cold breeze, no, a cold gust blew toward them, kicking up the dust and tossing it into their eyes. “Yep, there’s the gust. In the car, guys, unless you want to experience hail first-hand.”

Two minutes later, and Adam found himself wincing in solidarity with the truck as marble-sized hail hammered the roof and the windscreen. “We use special glass,” Noel shouted to them, over the noise. “It still breaks sometimes, but I have a guy that puts it in for us when we need it.” Lightning forked across the sky, and a blink later a crack of thunder split the air. Lucky jumped, right hand clenched on the door handle and left wrapped tight around his phone, forgotten. “You get that?”

“I don’t think it was a clear shot.” Rachael had her window rolled down as far as she could without letting in undue amounts of hailstones, her camera pointed out toward what had thus far been the most active part of the storm. “Working on it.”

“She can sell these shots,” Noel shouted. “Honestly, taking students and stuff is a good steady source of income, but sometimes the lightning shots are what makes a season for us.”

“No pressure or anything.” Rachael leaned back as the hail pinged off the side of the truck and into her neck. “I dunno, I think there’s too much hail and rain here.”

“You wanna move? We could run east and see if we could get ahead of it.”

She shook her head in response. “Nah, not today. Let’s wait for the worst to pass and then we’ll grab the instruments. The remote might’ve got something.” She didn’t look away from the storm, but she called, “How you two doing? You’re awfully quiet.”

“This is wicked,” Adam said loudly, over the hail, wide-eyed and watching the storm surge around the truck. It almost looked like snow on the road, the hail was falling so heavy and fast. Lucky, still glancing at the lightning shooting through the sky above, had recovered from the shock of the thunder enough to bring his phone up and start taking video. Adam, prompted by that, pulled his own phone out and started recording. “Marble-sized hail,” he explained to the video. “Just outside of Sturgis, Oklahoma.” He’d have to send it to the group when he got back on wi-fi, he resolved, before he stopped the recording and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Definitely the whole extended family of The Them - the core four and the rest of the Nahpocalypse crew - and his sister. He would decide whether or not his parents should see it later. 

-

When the message dinged onto Crowley’s phone late that night, he and Aziraphale studiously watched Adam’s video of the hail and the storm. “Well, he doesn’t sound afraid,” Aziraphale said. “That’s good.”

“What’s he got to be afraid of?” Crowley reclined his seat and took his phone with him, swapping from the video to some game or another. “Hail wasn’t even that big. We’ve been through bigger storms than that.”

“Not while avoiding miracles,” Aziraphale replied, testily. He had not enjoyed the storm. Crowley hadn’t either, but only because the demon had spent the majority of the time threatening the 4-Runner that if it dared allow the windshield to crack, there would be absolutely horrific repercussions. Aziraphale had had to cut him off when he’d started getting into really descriptive methods of car torture. 

Crowley made a noise of vague disagreement. “There were loads of humans out in it. Weren’t even scared.”

“Because they don’t know better.”

“Or because there wasn’t anything to be worried about.”

Aziraphale relented, slightly. He sat back in his seat, watching the motel across the street with disinterest. The red truck in the parking lot shone in the light. “And you didn’t sense anything evil about it?”

“Not in the slightest.” The music from the game paused. “Why? You get anything?”

Aziraphale frowned, and shook his head. “Not … exactly. But I’m uneasy about this whole thing, Crowley. Not just the weather, bad as that is, but … something feels wrong.” He crossed his legs. “I can’t put a name to it, exactly, but there’s just a strange feeling about all of this.”

“Yeah, two kids you like a lot are in a truck chasing tornadoes. Gives me a weird feeling too, angel.” He propped a foot on the steering wheel and crossed his other ankle over it. “S’called anxiety, not sure you’re familiar with it.”

“I’ve known you for 6000 years, of course I’m familiar with anxiety.”

“That was unfair.” Crowley sniffed, only theatrically offended, and the game resumed. “I have a condition.”

“Which I am familiar with, my dear demon. You’ve made my point.” He waved a hand. “Either way, that’s not the feeling I’m talking about. It’s … Well, it’s almost like we’re being watched. But I don’t sense any goodwill, and you said you’re not sensing any hatred or anger, so?” He made a vague gesture, and then settled his elbow on the windowsill, chin in his hand. “It’s a bit hard to describe.”

Crowley looked to him over the rims of his glasses. “You know, now that you brought it up, I’ve noticed it too. Just thought it was being out of England, though. Or a demon thing.” He shifted in his seat. “We’ll have to pay attention tomorrow.”

“Yes. Yes, quite.” He glanced sidelong at Crowley. “You don’t notice it now, though?”

“There’s a cow about 600 yards that way staring at the road,” Crowley said, pointing to the west. “Only thing watching us around.” Aziraphale hummed a noise of agreement, and settled back. “Do you ever get bored of your games?” he asked, at length, gingerly sliding the seat back and propping his feet on the dashboard. The 4-Runner’s engine purred and the fuel gauge needle, which had been on ‘E’ since early that morning, fluttered. Crowley glared at the radio. “Don’t you start that. Bad enough the Bentley loves him.”

“Jealous?”

“Possibly slightly.” Crowley tapped the phone screen a few times, and then groaned. “‘Course I get bored of this stuff. But, you know.” He let his head fall back. “Can’t read, didn’t pick an audiobook yet, and I’m not interested in the thing you’re reading right now, sorry.” He unpaused the game. “I’ve got a few podcasts but, eh, you probably wouldn’t like them. Suppose I could get out some headphones,” he considered, after a moment. 

“What’s a podcast?” Aziraphale asked, hands folded on his stomach.

Crowley looked at him, eyebrows raised, although he wasn’t sure why he was surprised. Aziraphale had yet to even get a mobile, and his technological comfort zone didn’t go much past 1945. “Like a … ah, like a radio show? Can be about anything. Educational, entertaining, unsolved mysteries, ah … interviews …”

The angel looked intrigued. “Like a radio play, you said?”

“Some of ‘em, yeah.”

“Let’s try it.”

The game paused again. “Really, Aziraphale? Go on, I know you’d rather read your … what’s it called? Mainlander? The one with the time travel lady, right?”

“Outlander, yes.”

“Right. You can read your book, I’ll put headphones on if I feel like listening -”

Aziraphale pouted. “But I’d like to listen to one.”

The demon looked dubious of this assertion. “Really? You’re serious?”

“You like them, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then pick one you’d think I’ll like and we’ll listen together.” Crowley looked shocked. Aziraphale sighed, and reached across the center console, hand outstretched. Comfortably, Crowley slid his into it. “You listened to me read an entire Outlander book, even though you hated it -”

“I didn’t hate -”

“Let’s try a podcast, Crowley.” He squeezed the demon’s hand. “You like the funny ones, I’m sure.”

Crowley watched him for a minute, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then cautiously, closed his game and flipped to a different app. “If you’re sure.” He chewed his lip. “And, uh, yeah. I prefer the funny ones.” He considered the options, squinting at the enlarged print on the screen over the tops of his glasses. “Right. What’re you in the mood for? Murder, dungeons and dragons, advice, ah … no, that’s technology, you wouldn’t like that one, ah, oh, and history.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows had gone up when Crowley had started listing the options. “I thought you said you preferred the funny ones.”

“I did do, yeah.”

“Murder?”

“It’s a comedy murder podcast.” Crowley caught a glimpse of his expression, and snorted. “It works but we can skip that.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Hm. What kind of history?”

“American, mostly.”

“Do that one.”

“Right.” He tapped something on the screen, and then handed the phone to Aziraphale. “Pick a title that looks interesting. Just tap on it when you want it, and then tap the little triangle in the bottom left.” There were a few quiet minutes while the angel browsed, and then he grinned. “Do you have any idea what ‘whalesplosion’ might be about?”

“At a guess,” Crowley sighed, “an exploding whale?”

“I suppose we’ll find out. I wonder how it relates to American history.”

“Never paid as much attention to America,” Crowley agreed, adjusting himself in the seat to hold Aziraphale’s hand more comfortably, while the other laboriously hit ‘play’ on the podcast. The 4-Runner, which had never linked its bluetooth capabilities with Crowley’s phone, and indeed hadn’t really wanted to, nevertheless did so, projecting ‘You’re listening to the Dollop on -’ over the top-of-the-line speakers* with beautiful crystal clarity.

[*Which it hadn’t had, until Crowley had sat in it.]

Twenty minutes later, and Aziraphale and Crowley both were laughing, exchanging incredulous looks, and wordlessly agreeing that they really should be paying more attention to America. And that they would certainly be choosing a second episode at the conclusion of the first one.

-

Now with Chapter 7!

[former-proffessor-and-policeman]

So Nikie, what did you do?

Hi another content warning here, all of voids backstories are really fucked up and nikei's will be no exception, very dark stuff will be mentioned, please be safe when reading! Everything will be tagged and while stuff is vague some of it is straight out stated, i'm being serious please be cautious when reading.

~Meanwhile outside the hospital, on a bench~

"Its okay Nik, this is a safe space. don't be afraid to talk about it with your big sis."

"Setsuka...The reason why...Do I really have to say?"

"You don't have to say your whole story nik..Just the stuff relating to your parents death alright?"

"...It's fine....I need to tell someone eventually..."

"...They weren't the greatest parents from the start, they always looked at me weird when I was really young...And would make me have a specific diet and always coddled me in the strangest ways."

"It went on till I was...I dunno eight in a half? My mom invited some friends over and one of them went in my room while I was working and the next thing I knew....They'd come more often then before after that."

"Nikei....Oh god i'm so sorry...."

"Its fine...you don't need to apologize for shit you didn't do setsuka."

"Getting more to the point, I was too young to understand and my parents got more strict on what I did aside from school so I ended up dealing with it up until I turned nine...I heard my dad on the phone with someone...."

"...And it was to sell me."

"What...!?"

"They never wanted me....They just kept me around so they could have someone to boss around...So my my mom and dad had something cute to show off...."

"All that time all they saw me as was a fucking doll they could dress up and give away...whenever they wanted.....!.....And now they were going to sell me off...they're own fucking son...! Even that young I knew something about that was wrong...!"

"But I wasn't going to let that happen...I wasn't going to.....So I faked being asleep and while they slept I snuck in and STABBED THEM UNTIL THEY WERE GONE!"

"I did it over...and over...until I couldn't even recognize them....And just for good measure I shot em both with dad's gun....And even then I went back to stabbing them....Until I was trying to wash the blood off me in the sink....And even then I tried to wash the knife too like a good little doll...! And then....And then I..."

"All of it....Everything flooded back....Everything those bastards did to me.....I couldn't think straight....I just had to leave....!"

"....I encountered master utsuro after that...And suddenly I was really good with a pen, and those people who did that stuff to me too...They never came back. With master utsuro's luck blessed onto me I was able to live on my own after that somehow...."

"S-So that's it...Sorry I got emotional there...And I went too in detail i'm sorry if it made you unco-!"

Setsuka hugged nikei...tighter then she ever had.

"Don't apologize....I'm glad you told me, Nikei you shouldn't have had to keep that to yourself for so long, its no wonder you got so many issues!"

"You had to keep all of that to yourself for so long...Without getting any professional help, and then having to depend solely on yourself for survival...You went through something no human being ever should."

"And for you to end up doing something like that...So young...? What they did to you is completely unforgivable! And as your big sis i'm never letting someone take advantage of you like that again!"

"I promise...I'm going to make sure you get to live a perfect happy life, I promise this on my life."

"Setsuka...."

"....Thanks."

"Erm...Though...Could you let go now....? Your crushing me a bit."

"Ah sorry!"

Setsuka gently released nikei from the hug.

"Thanks...So...Can we go back inside now?"

"Of course."

"And...You'll keep this between us...Right?"

"I promise, This stays between you and big sis. Now lets head back inside."

The two after adjusting back to their casual selves went back into the hospital.

[tisfan]

I would love to read something from you with 11. Nutcracker, B - Clint/Coulson. (P.S. I love your blog)

“That,”Clint said, looking up at the gaudy light display on the top shelf. “I wantthat.”

“In front of our home?” Phil wasless enthusiastic, but they’d already been to four stores before Clint hadfound what he wanted, and Phil was more of a throw-up-a-string-of-lights andcall-it-good kinda guy. Clint, on the other hand, had grown up in the circus,and he had actual legit feelings about Christmas and decorating.

“Yep,” Clint said. “Have to haveit.”

Well, it wasn’t like Phil minded.Mostly. They’d finally moved out of SHIELD supplied housing – which hadn’tkept them from sharing a bed, but there really wasn’t much privacy, or space –and into their own house. And it was their first Christmas together. Clint haddeclared that decorating was a must, and so he’d been hauling Phil all over theplace, looking for the perfect tree, the perfect ornaments, the perfect lights,and the perfect…

… giant life size polyresinnutcracker with an automatically opening and closing mouth and that randomlyraised its life size polyresin sword when someone approached it.

The price tag was a littleoff-putting. And the display itself slightly more creepy Christmas thanbringing Holiday cheer, but Phil considered himself a reasonable guy. He didn’thave any particular objections to the thing, although it certainly wasn’tsomething he’d have selected on his own. Who knew, though? It could be one ofthose things that became a thing. A relationship thing. Phil was lookingforward to having those.

“You have eight hundred dollarsburning a hole in your pocket, Barton?” Phil asked, peering up at it.

Clint shrugged. “I can afford it,”he said.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” anoverly cheerful voice said. “Help you with something?”

“Yep,” Clint said. “I want one ofthose.”

(more below the cut, or read the whole thing on A03)

The employee stared up at thefestive monstrosity. “Right, well, that’s an A-17, so they should be right thisway.”

He led them up through the aisle,dodging other shoppers, employees, and one display of solar lawn lights thathad fallen over. Phil paused to pick some of them up and put them back in thestack, where a half-dozen more promptly rolled off the pallet on the otherside. Fuck it, he decided, catching up with his boyfriend.

“Aw, nutcracker, no,” Clint waswhining. The slot on the shelf where the boxes were supposed to be was empty.

“Hang on, hang on,” the employeesaid. He whipped out a phone wrapped in a ridiculously orange case, did a scanof the SPU code. “It says we have six, hang on, just a moment. Stay here.” Hepointed to a spot on the floor like he was afraid that Clint and Phil wouldwander off.

Clint stood right where the guypointed, admiring some of the other decorations from his vantage point, whilePhil perused the shelves to see if one had gotten misplaced.

How, he wondered, did anyonemisplace six giant nutcrackers?

“This is Gerry,” their salespersonsaid, coming back up, “and she’s in charge of the garden center. So she’s goingto help you out, okay?”

Gerry was a tiny, tiny woman,probably in her mid-seventies, with a smudge of dirt on her nose and apractical tilt to her mouth. “You want that? You’re sure? Come on, this way, Ithink we got some more of these big’uns in the outdoor area.”

For a short, elderly woman, Gerrywalked very quickly. Hell, Clint and Phil were both trained government agents,and keeping up with her as she dodged around displays and talked a mile aminute over her shoulder, was taxing. In the few minutes it took to cross thestore, she’d told them all about two botched deliveries, the fact thatpointsettas were on sale, but she wouldn’t advise buying them because they werewithin three days of wilting, that they could apply for a store credit card andget twenty-percent off their first purchase, and if they wanted to, please feelfree to ask her, or any other store rep, and…

It was cold in the garden center;the whole area was open on the sides and the wind blew straight through,smelling of snow and exhaust and sausages from a street vendor outside thebuilding. Phil pulled his jacket tighter and shivered. It’d been hot in thestore proper.

“Well, they were here, I couldasworn…” She stopped in front of a large pallet of decorative boxes, none ofwhich was labeled as an A-17. “David! David!”

A third employee appeared – David,apparently – from behind a display. “Hey, did you find out about the 1063-RRcluster? I’ve been online with–”

“Not jus’ yet. Do you know whathappened to them nutcrackers we were s’posed to have? All the overstock shouldbe here?”

“Dunno,” David said. “We got a newdelivery in th’ back, though, truck just left outta here like twenty minutesago. I really need to know about them 1063s, though, so if you could–” he wastalking to air, Gerry having walked off, gesticulating wildly. “Huh. Okay,well, you all stay here, I bet she’s going to check the back.”

“She couldn’t have left us inside?”Phil complained. “It’s cold out here.”

Clint leaned against Phil’s back,arms around his chest, keeping him warm. “Better, babe?”

“You do give off a lot of bodyheat,” Phil replied. He leaned back into that warmth, snuggling contentedly.

“It’s my superpower,” Clint saidsmugly.

“I thought your superpower wasalways being in the way,” Phil said.

“Well, that, too,” Clint said. “Ican have more than one superpower. It’s allowed.”

Gerry was gone longer than expected– how hard was it to find a six foot tall nutcracker? Hard, apparently. Shecame back, shaking her head.

“The inventory says we have six,but see, there’s a little star by it,” Gerry said, holding out her phone. “Thatmeans it wasn’t actually verified on delivery. That happens a lot this time ofyear, really–”

“Excuse me, miss,” another customersaid, “this’ll only take a minute, but I was wondering if you knew where Imight find suction cups to hang on windows to hold lights up with?”

“Oh! I saw those!” Clint said,excited. “Like, just a few minutes ago, because I wondered what they were for,but yeah, this way, they’re over here.”

Phil found himself abandoned by hisboyfriend, and blinking politely at Gerry. “So, you don’t know where thenutcracker is?”

She shook her head. “It might noteven be here,” she said. “This time of year, we’re so busy that people don’talways check in the stock, we just take it on faith that we got what weordered.”

“So, my boyfriend really wants thatthing, do you think you could sell us your floor model?”

“Oh, no, no, we never do that, evenafter the holiday is over, people expect a discount on it, and it’s not listedin the inventory at all, so we can’t account for ‘em.”

“Since you’re missing six already,I’d say you’re not accounting for them now,” Phil pointed out.

“Look, what I can do is call ourstore out in Passaic, maybe they have one,” Gerry suggested. “Inventory saysthey have five.”

“You want me to drive all the wayout to New Jersey. On the weekend. During the Christmas season, onthe hopes that their inventory is better than yours?”

“I don’t want you to do anything,young man,” Gerry responded, tartly. “You’re the one who wants a nutcrackerporch deco. I’m telling you where there might be one.”

Phil heaved a sigh. “Give me theaddress.”

“Aw, decoration, no,” Clint whined.

Phil took a deep breath. “Can youcall the other store and see if they have any? Like, do an actual floor check?We already drove out from the city, and Westville’s not that much further downthe road, but I’d rather be sure than chase after another wild goose.”

“Inventory shows they got fourteenof ‘em,” the Passaic employee insisted.

“And yours says you’ve got five,and the store back in Manhattan said they had six, so that’s eleven six-footnutcrackers you’ve managed to misplace between two stores,” Phil said. “You cansee why I might be a little leery of your computer’s inventory report?”

The Passaic employee sighed likemaking a phone call was the hardest thing anyone had ever asked of him, ever,but punched in the number.

“We don’t gotta get it,” Clintsaid, softly. “We can just go home an–”

“You want it,” Phil said.

“Well, yeah, but–”

“Then we’re going to see if we canfind you one, dear,” Phil said, patting Clint’s hand. “It’s all right. Wedidn’t really have anything else to do today.”

“Driving around New Jersey isn’tsomethin’ any sane person does for fun,” Clint said.

Phil chuckled at that. “It’s notthat bad, really. I’ve been worse places.”

“Like?”

“Tahiti.”

Clint made a face. “That joke’sold, Phil. Like, seriously. Old. And it wasn’t funny t’ start with.”

“Okay,” the Passaic employee said. “Theydid a floor check, an’ they got at least four of them, so, what’s your name?”

“Coulson,” Phil said.

The guy turned back to his phone,then, “Yeah, okay, so when you get there, go up to the service counter, andthey’ll have one all ready to go, okay?”

“Thank you for your help,” Philsaid.

The employee didn’t quite roll hiseyes, but Phil got the distinct feeling that he wantedto.

“Can I shoot him?” Clint asked,when they got out of earshot.

“If we’re going to be exactingabout it, then yes, you’re perfectly capable of shooting him, with whateveryour weapon of choice is, from your bow all the way to the staple gun on aisletwelve, but I would greatly prefer it if you did not, because I really don’twant to deal with any more paperwork about your disruptions of normal holidaycommerce,” Phil said.

“You are no fun,” Clint said.

“That’s not what you said lastnight,” Phil pointed out.

“And it’s not what I’ll saytonight, either,” Clint said, sneaking in a stealth grope. “But you’re no fun right now.”

“You wanna swap tonight for rightnow, go ahead and shoot the guy.”

“Hmmm, no.”

“You did what?”

“Well, he was here first,” thewoman behind the customer-service desk said. “And he bought out the entirestock–”

“We were on our way,” Clint protested. “What did he need with twelve nutcrackers?”

“He was here,” she repeated. “Andwe don’t hold orders for people, that’s just not good business practice.”

Phil’s eyebrows went way up. “Howlong ago did he leave?”

The woman shrugged. “Do I look likea stalker to you?”

“No, you look like a bitch, but youknow, close enough,” Clint snapped. He smacked the palm of his hand against thedesk and stomped out.

“Thanks for shopping with us, comeagain.” the desk lady said, overly chipper.

Phil considered himself a reasonablehuman being, but Clint’s plan of shooting store employees suddenly seemed alittle less ridiculous and a lot more satisfying.

“Sorry we wasted th’ whole day,”Clint said, slumping up the sidewalk toward their house.

“It wasn’t a waste,” Phil said,grabbing Clint’s hand and giving his fingers a squeeze. “I like spending timewith you. Just because you don’t always get what you want doesn’t mean it was awaste of–” Phil stumbled to a halt.

“What the utter and complete fuck?”

“What he said,” Phil repeated.“Only with less swearing and more shock.”

The entire walkway was lined withnutcrackers. Six to each side, raising their swords in unison, mouths openingand closing.

“Hey, guys! Agent Agent, Legolas!Merry Christmas,” Tony Stark said, stepping out from behind one of thedisplays. “You like ‘em? I saw on social media that you were looking for themand–”

“You’re the one who bought out theentire stock?”

“Well, not me, personally, no,because really, no, I have shoppers for that sort of thing, but–” Tony’sbrilliant smile faltered. “You don’t like it?”

Clint and Phil exchanged a glanceand said everything they needed to say right then. They could explain to Tonyhow they’d driven all over the state trying to find the nutcracker and comehome disappointed and hungry and cranky…

Or they could just say, “We loveit. Thank you, Tony.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark,” Philsaid.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, AgentCoulson,” Tony said, offering a hand.

Phil took Tony’s hand, yanked himinto a hug, and pounded him on the back. “Thank you, really,” he said.

Clint hugged them both, squeezinghard. “Yeah, you’re the best, man, just… wow.”

“So, like, are these in the song?”Tony asked.

“What song?”

“The Twelve Days of Christmas?”

“Like, what? Twelve nutcrackersnutting?”

“Thanks for that, Clint,” Philsaid, covering his eyes. “Now I’m going to think about Christmas displaysjerking off for the entire rest of the season.”

“Annnnd on that note, I’m sure Ihave something more important to do,” Tony said. He jogged up the walk towardhis very expensive car. He turned halfway up the walk and waved. “MerryChristmas to all, and to all a good wank.”

[hold-my-hair-back]

9P for Aiden?

As always, I have a million requests unfilled, but I was hoping this drabble would get my muse flowing. I would love to have a full-length fic posted tonight. 

Also, I told @wemermaid4this I would tag them in my Aiden stories. I hope you enjoy this one as well, hun. 

The prompt was puking at a New Year’s party. Enjoy. And thanks for the request, Q!

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One…

“Happy New Year!” The entire room was cheering and Aiden looked over at Emmett with a big smile before the two embraced, connecting their lips for a long, loving kiss. Aiden loved how he and Emmett could kiss a million times, and each one would still be just as special as the first.“I love you,” Emmett yelled over the loud cheering, and Aiden felt his heart flutter happily. “I’m gonna go get us some sparkling cider. It’s kinda hot in here.” Aiden nodded in agreement, and he wished he felt more comfortable in fewer layers of clothing. His great aunt’s house was huge, but with three dozen people, it was starting to get a bit crowded and overwhelming. Not to mention, anything below 80 degrees was too cold for her, so everyone at the party was beginning to break a sweat. To get away from the crowd, Aiden moved over to the wall to wait for Emmett. Aiden was feeling beyond grateful that his boyfriend had attended the party with him, as he knew he would probably have had a panic attack by now if it weren’t for Emmett staying by his side the whole time. Moments later, Emmett came back, holding two glasses of sparkling cider. Aiden gladly took one and took a sip, instantly grimacing at the taste. “This tastes like it’s as old as my great aunt.”Emmett chuckled and he slid down the wall, gesturing for Aiden to do the same. Once they were on the floor, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, Emmett began to inspect his own glass. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been in her fridge for a few decades, based on what I saw in her fridge earlier when we were helping her set up. There’s ranch that expired eight years ago.” Aiden shuddered but took another drink of the cider anyway because it was at least cold. Aiden regretted it almost instantly, as he suddenly felt strange. It was indescribable, really, and he wasn’t sure what was happening. He looked over to Emmett who was taking his first sip of his drink and frowned when his boyfriend’s expression changed. “Shit,” Emmett said softly, looking over at him. Aiden could see the look of panic on Emmett’s face, and he wasn’t sure what was going on. “What?” he asked slowly, setting his drink down on the ground next to him. “Emmett, what is it?”

Emmett seemed lost in thought and he sniffed at the cider before running his hand through his hair. “Aiden, I’m so sorry. The labels must’ve gotten mixed up. How much did you drink?”Aiden wasn’t sure why Emmett seemed so freaked out. He also wasn’t sure why his brain felt a little fuzzy. “Uh…” he began slowly, looking at the glass. “Two drinks. They were big, though. I was thirsty..”“I should have smelled them first or something.” Emmett’s tone was apologetic, and Aiden wanted to ask why, but then his boyfriend’s hand was on his cheek and his head was being turned to look him in the eyes. “Aiden, it wasn’t cider, it was champagne. I’m sorry. The table had a note that said it was cider, but some dumb kid probably switched it. How are you feeling?” Aiden swallowed thickly as panic began to rise. He had never had alcohol before, and he never had planned on it. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but then he saw how guilty Emmett looked and he shrugged, hoping to pass it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not your fault,” he said softly, closing his eyes as the room began to spin a bit. “I feel all fuzzy.” “I could have smelled them,” Emmett protested. “And fuzzy like what?” Aiden contemplated Emmett’s question for a moment. “I dunno. Weird. I don’t like this feeling, Em. I just had two drinks…” “Champagne hits you pretty quick since it’s carbonated. That’s the whole point. It’s supposed to make you feel ‘bubbly’.”

“You don’t seem bubbly,” Aiden protested as he leaned against Emmett’s side affectionately.

“Because I drink,” Emmett pointed out as he wrapped his arm around Aiden, pulling the boy closer. “And you’ve never touched alcohol before, so my tolerance is different than yours. I felt it when I first took a drink and I could taste it too. Really, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

Aiden waved away Emmett’s apology, knowing there was nothing that could be done about it now. “I don’t think I’m drunk or anything. Just…fuzzy.”

Emmett nodded slowly, but Aiden could feel the grip on his shoulder tighten for just a moment. “Yeah, it’ll wear off soon.”

Aiden nodded and closed his eyes again, feeling himself relax against Emmett’s body. The light-headedness was wearing off, but it was starting to be replaced with a rolling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Without any warning, a belch escaped him, and he instantly put a hand to his mouth, pulling away from Emmett. “E-excuse me. Sorry, Em. My tummy is feeling kinda bubbly now.”

Emmett’s green eyes were full of concern again as Aiden slowly removed his hand from his mouth. “Are you feeling nauseous? Or is it just because of the carbonation?”

Aiden opened his mouth to answer but had to quickly bring his hand up to it as he felt another gas bubble work its way up his throat. When it came up, it was wet and Aiden could taste the alcohol again, making him grimace. “I dunno. I feel a little sick,” he admitted as he rested his hand on his stomach.

Emmett nodded in understanding as he brushed back some of Aiden’s blonde hair. “Yeah, I kinda figured. You’ve got the most sensitive stomach I’ve ever seen; I would’ve been surprised if the alcohol settled okay. Should we go to the bathroom?”

Aiden could feel the contents of his stomach shift and he knew everything wanted to come up. “I think I need to – urrp – throw up,” he answered, putting his hand back over his mouth as yet another sick-sounding burp came out.

Emmett stood and helped Aiden up, doing so slowly and carefully in hopes to not further upset Aiden’s stomach. “Can you make it upstairs? No one else is up there and you can have some privacy.”

Aiden didn’t feel dangerously nauseous, and privacy sounded nice, so he nodded, allowing Emmett to lead him to the upstairs bathroom. Thankfully, he wasn’t feeling so out of it anymore, but the sick feeling in his stomach was getting worse with each step, making walking a bit more difficult. It took a while, but they eventually reached the bathroom where Emmett immediately helped Aiden kneel in front of the toilet, just in time for a long, ominous belch to echo through the bowl.

“Excuse me,” Aiden whispered, still feeling as though he needed to be polite about letting his gas up. As he scooted closer to the toilet, Emmett was kneeling beside him, rubbing his back which helped him feel less alone and safer.

“You’re excused,” Emmett replied. “Your stomach is sick. It’s gonna happen, sweetheart.”

Aiden opened his mouth to allow the excess saliva to drip into the bowl. An involuntary whimper escaped as he shuddered, and Aiden knew he was close to throwing up. He gagged seconds later, the movement catching him off guard and jerking his whole body forward. He wasn’t given time to recover before the second one hit him, this time bringing up a mouthful of the alcohol he had just consumed. “Ew,” he whispered, spitting into the toilet. “It burns coming up.”

Emmett reached over Aiden and flushed the toilet while still rubbing his back. “It’ll be over soon,” he promised. “It’s going to be okay.”

Aiden’s body lurched with another harsh gag and tears rolled down his cheeks as more of his stomach contents made way up his throat, hitting the toilet with a horrendous splash. Another heave shook Aiden’s body before he even had the chance to take a breath, though nothing came up. He wrapped his arm around his churning middle and sniffed pitifully as tears began to fall into the toilet. “Don’t feel good,” he whispered.

Emmett’s hand froze for a moment before continuing to rub soothing circles on his back. “I’m sorry,” Emmett responded sadly, his tone full of guilt. “This is on me.”

Aiden didn’t believe that for a second, but he didn’t have time to argue before he heaved again, bringing up a trickle of bile. The taste of stomach acid made him gag again, but he was relieved that he felt empty and significantly better. Emmett flushed the toilet again and Aiden took that opportunity to lean back against his boyfriend, practically crawling into his lap. “I’m sleepy,” Aiden mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Not only was it later than he usually stayed up, but his body was exhausted from being sick. Aiden reluctantly pulled away from Emmett and slowly got to his feet to stretch. “Can we go home?” he asked, turning toward the sink so he could rinse his mouth out with water and hopefully get rid of the acidic taste on his tongue.

Emmett didn’t answer and Aiden faced his boyfriend again, only to see him sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong. Aiden knelt in front of Emmett and pulled his hands away from his face, hoping to get him to make eye contact. “Please don’t be sad, Em. I’m okay. You’re probably right about someone switching the signs on the table. I’m not mad.”

Aiden knew at this point, it didn’t matter that he wasn’t mad. Emmett was angry enough with himself to make up for it. Emmett had a tendency to blame himself for everything and could feel guilty about something for the rest of his life. That’s why instead of talking again, Aiden wrapped his arms around his boyfriend – a silent gesture to hopefully bring a bit of reassurance.

Aiden’s body had gotten rid of what made him sick, and he was fine now. However, he knew the recovery time for Emmett would be a lot longer.

Oops. Apparently, I don’t know how to write a drabble.