#I know this album will destroy every fiber of my being and change the course of my life forever

[this-love-is-delicate]

Fake fan alert: I haven't listened Speak Now TV because brother I am so scared to

[hansensgirl]

salvatore | v.

series summary. — Bucky Barnes doesn’t believe in love anymore. Especially after the tragic, unknown death of his wife, Natasha. He thinks it’s stupid and a waste of time and- oh my. Hello there, you. There you were, with your notebooks and your novels, writing your heart away. He’s hellbent on saving you from this nasty world, his elusive neighbor that has him under the stupid spell of love. You soon find yourself trapped in a tragic love story with Bluebeard, not Prince Charming.

warnings. — NONCON/DUBCON, dark themes, stalking, obsessive behaviours, anxiety, broken glass, a panic attack, talk of bucky’s past and his mental health, angst, fluff, kissing, dark!Bucky Barnes, voyeurism, cameras, mentions of cheating, violence, perving, manipulation, feelings, 18+!!!

pairings. — Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader.

authors note. — finally another chapter! this one is kinda sad but the next chapter will be fluffier heh. i changed my mind and i will not be doing a sequel after i finish this series, i’m so sorry! please reblog, leave some feedback and enjoy yourself!

Bucky couldn’t believe his cerulean eyes. Tears filled them and one ran down his cheek, soaking into his beard that he just trimmed that morning. He so desperately wanted to return to your home and beg you, ask you, plead to you, why? He made sure the polaroid didn’t have even the slightest crease to it, and not even a speck of dust either. The room started to spin, and his chest began to tighten. Each breath he took in didn’t seem to be enough for him.

The polaroid slipped out of his hands and his grip on reality went with it as well. Bucky doubled over, his mouth falling open as he began to dry heave. The tears didn’t relent either. His head spun, vision blurry with crystal tears that fell easily. “Ekkk...” He choked out, the urge to throw up washing over him. He stumbled across the kitchen and reached the other side, a dull sunshine making its way into his home.

Leaning over the granite countertop, he peered out the window for intrusive passersby. Oh how he wished to see you on the other side of the bulletproof glass. His fumbling fingers found the handle of the drawer, sweat covering it slickly. As he yanked it open, his bionic, vibranium hand formed a tight fist and collided itself to the window. He pulled his arm back and continued to do so, punching and hitting at the glass that held the world back from him.

Under his breath, he cursed himself for getting strong windows that didn’t have any mechanisms to open it with. But Bucky had his reasons that nobody knew about. The glass soon began to crack beneath his sheer force, distorting his beautiful view of the outdoors. The window broke completely with a loud crash and fresh, cool air filled his nostrils.

He felt the tightness in his chest slowly beginning to go away, but he was still erratic. Reaching into the drawer that was for emergency purposes only, he pulled out a thick photo album. He flipped it open and smiled when he saw the photos of you, happy and relaxed. The sight of you at his hands calmed him down. He flipped through the pages and sighed at each photo, ones that he took of you himself.

Pictures of you sleeping, of you going to buy groceries, of you showering and of you at your most vulnerable moments. In his eyes, the pictures were a form of art — derived from his love and devotion for you. Clumsily, he pulled his favorite picture out from the flimsy plastic sleeve. Freshly printed, edges sharp and almost untouched — pristine and rare.

A candid of you smiling gently, reading the book he gave you as you listened to some forties songs that he had posted on his Instagram about. You clutched the book softly and hugged a teddy bear that was from your childhood. Oh how he would kill to be wrapped in your arms, to have you bring him back from the war his mind constantly went through, to whisper sweet nothings in his ears. Bucky soon regained his grasp on reality and he looked back at the polaroid that laid on the ground.

His jaw clenched with anger and a certain emptiness filled his eyes… Almost as if the Soldat had made a reappearance in him. Raged coursed through his veins and he growled like an animal. Slipping the photo back into the album, he strided to where the polaroid laid and picked it up. He glared at it for the last time and then crumpled it in his hand, the sound of it being destroyed was like music to his ear.

He squeezes, and squeezes, and squeezes until he can’t, until the rage inside him subsides. He loosened his grip and stared at the now destroyed photo. His faint reflection stared back at him and he couldn’t bring himself to feel a bit of remorse.

You’re his, and he’s yours. He’s your saviour, your salvatore.

Your sundress still hugged your body even though dusk had settled in the sky. It had ridden up to your thighs as you laid back on the couch. The fountain pen your ex-boyfriend had gifted you twiddled between your fingers. The poor posh cap of the pen fell in between one of the cushions, lost in a cluster of dust bunnies and one dollar bills.

You stared at the blank page of the overly exorbitant Ciak Notebook your fellow classmates and colleagues would rave on and on about. You sighed before finally writing a word. Curvy, looped letters flowed as smooth as water and you felt your jittering nerves slowly calming down. Sighing, you stared at the three letters as they stared back at you, almost taunting you that it wasn’t enough. Gnawing at your dry lips, you slowly began to feel proud of yourself.

The

It wasn’t much, but it was something. The guilt of not knowing what to write next ate at you. Would you have to throw the page away if your mind chose to restart? Or would you have to force yourself to continue the sentence? You looked away as you thought about what to do, laying your eyes on a nasty print. Dirt formed in the shape of a footstep tainted the floors of the kitchen and you sighed, realizing it was from Bucky. Oh, James…

The thought of him licked at your mind, like a searing flame of temptation. You reminisced about him, and those piercing eyes, as well as his captivating chuckle and elusive aura. Your heart hurted as you thought about how his eyes held a certain sadness to them. You saw the broken soldier beneath his veneers and he was tired, tired of a certain longing that never seemed to go away. You chuckled, shaking your head as you called yourself crazy for thinking about his eyes. Oh… maybe, maybe that's it!

The strange man’s sapphire eyes are piercing. The gaze they come with almost hurts, and she’s the first thing he lays his eyes on. Soft cheery ones that are the brightest things in the world are met with sad, worn down ones. He’s longing for something new, something that would finally fill the empty void that many people eroded away at, the hole in his heart growing deeper and deeper.

You smiled to yourself as soon as you added the period, finishing the last sentence. You wondered whether or not you should continue or stop right where you had left off. You just couldn’t let that sudden, amazing burst of muse and inspiration go, right? You grabbed your glass of white wine and downed it like a single mom after a long day of worries, ready to write your little heart away.

The pen glided across numerous pages, not daring to stop at all. Your eyebrows were furrowed with concentration, the only sounds that you could hear was people talking outside and your breathing. The shrill of your obnoxious doorbell pierced through the calmness that you revelled in for the past thirty minutes. You ignored it, picking up from where you had left off but the rapid knocking on your door made you bite your tongue with shame.

Hurryingly, you rushed to the door and swung it open, looking down to see one of Mrs. Carter’s grandchildren. You couldn’t recall her name, but she was adorable. “The man w- with the long hair, he broke his window!” She exclaimed, before running off to play with her equally small friends. You furrowed your eyebrows at the absurdity, but then what she said had finally dawned on you. You never ran faster in your life, not even in your physical education classes in high school that you envied with every fiber in your body.

Thick, jagged shards of glass littered the concrete, and you were careful to avoid them. “Bucky?” You called out, peering through the window that he had destroyed. Nowhere to be found. You moved to his door and rang the doorbell more time than you could count on your fingers. A certain dread settled in the pit of your stomach, and you thought about the worst. You spun around as you tried to find some place that he would keep a spare key.

Your best bet? Underneath the ‘welcome’ rug that you stood on.

You pulled a rusted key out from under it and you unlocked the door with no hassle. “Doll?” Bucky called out, voice weak and quiet. He was hunched over, tears streaking down his face as he struggled to come down from his severe panic attacks. One came after the other, insecurities and memories tumbling down onto him and he was trapped in a ruthless circle of repetition.

You grabbed his flesh hand, wincing at how it was slightly damn from his tear. Gently, you placed his hand on his heart and soothingly reached up to caress his cheek. “Buck, you gotta breathe with me, okay? Do the same as me.” You instructed, his eyes flashing to you as you knelt down on the floor with him. You slowled your breathing down for him to match, and he followed eventually.

“That’s it… There you go…” You praised, moving your hand from his face to his soft hair, threading your fingers through his locks gently. You reached up and lightly kissed his sheen-covered forehead, soft lips almost smoothing out his splintered edges. You didn’t pull away, keeping Bucky in your arms like he was going to be stolen away from you. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, swallowing your smaller frame into his.

His tears relented but his sobs stayed, deciding that maybe they were going to spend a night or two. You refused to shush him, knowing that letting him cry everything out could make it better. His tears soaked into your skin, leaving it damp. Your eyes scanned the house, a gasp falling from your lips as you looked at the aftermath of a storm.

The walls were dented in and scratched up — the once pristine paint was ruined completely. A few photo frames were broken and a poor vase was shattered into pieces that could easily pierce through anyone’s skin; even a super soldier’s. You just knew another war had taken place in his home — one between him and his emotions. You threaded your fingers through his hair, occasionally stopping to gently untangle some slightly stubborn knots.

He sighed under your touch and smiled as his breathing returned to normal. His heart still beat harshly but it wasn’t as bad as before. You took notice too, realizing that you didn’t feel his heart beating against your chest. You were proud of him, proud that he managed to fight the demons that probably had visited him before.

You guided him to his couch that was covered in pillow fluff and some shards of glass. You tried to find him a cleared out spot to sit on but you failed. You frowned and Bucky had to resist himself from the greatest temptation of kissing you. “Shit.” You cursed, gnawing on your bottom lip. Bucky was practically vibrating as he fought for self control, and he didn’t know whether to thank the Gods or not when you stopped.

You laced your fingers with his and you smiled at the size difference. “Oh! Your bed!” You exclaimed adorably before spotting his stairs. You darted up them and hauled Bucky behind — even though he’s 260 lbs and a hundred times stronger than you. You tried to recall where his room was, but the hazy memories from that night just weren’t helping you out.

Your hand slipped from his but you hung onto his pinky finger. You gnawed at your bottom lip and tried to recall whether it was the room on your left or your right. “Left, doll.” He husked quietly, his voice no more than a whisper. It was still hoarse from the crying, but it was nothing less. “Do you often have these…?” You asked him, struggling to find the word.

“Panic attacks? Sometimes, but they’re slowly getting better.” He spoke, sitting on the bed. Unlike any normal human, he wasn’t tired from his panic attack. No amount of exhaustion hauled over him. “You’re not tired?” You asked in curiosity, taking in how messy his room was. You couldn’t blame him, though. It wasn’t like your room was any better.

“No… Serum, makes everything, y’know…” He explained, struggling with his words. “Oh, right.” You smiled at him, noticing a few small cuts on his flesh hand. “You’re hurt!” You exclaimed, a gasp leaving your mouth. Bucky didn’t even notice his injuries until you pointed them out. Why would he when you’re right in front of him? “Oh… It’s nothing, doll, don’t worry.” He reassured, before ignoring the injuries.

“I don’t think so…” You countered, wanting to help him so badly. “Uh, if you want, you can help dress them for me? Only if you want to, of course! Not going to force you or anything…” He rambled, cursing himself for sounding like a complete nerve-wrecked buffoon. “Yes please, I hate seeing you — or anyone, for a matter of fact — hurt.” You smiled at him before spinning in a circle, trying to find a first aid kit.

“You see that door there? It’s in there, bottom cabinet.” He explained again, and you let out an “oh.” You walked into the bathroom and Bucky let out an exhale of air that he didn’t even know he was holding. “Found it!” You cheered. But then you grimaced. Dried blood and dirt was smeared across the white plastic of the first aid box. “Uh, that’s from past missions, before I retired.” He clarified quickly. “Oh you retired?” You asked in shock, walking back to him.

“Yeah… It’s for the best anyways.” He sheepishly replied. “May I ask why?” You questioned, popping open the box. Bucky nodded and pointed at the bandages and wipes. You picked them up and he cleared his throat. “Well, I think it’s best for everyone. Sam… I love him, but I don’t want him to be burdened by my, you know…” He clicked his tongue and pointed at his head.

“And plus, he’s Captain America, he’s capable of doing everything on his own. As for the other Avengers? Well, they’re far stronger than me, so I think they’re fine. I still keep in touch with them, but I’m not close to them.” He sighed deeply. You didn’t even start cleaning his wounds because you were too caught up in listening to Bucky speak. Your features softened at his sad tone and words.

Sympathy took over you and you hated how that was what Bucky thought of himself. “Even though Shuri took out all the stuff, I’m still not ready to go back into daily wars. I also think I deserve a break, ‘m tired of all that violence.” He sighed deeply, before grabbing the pack of wipes that you struggled to open. “But if they ever need me, I’m just a phone call away.” He added quickly, making you give him a sad smile. He tore the aluminum open for you and you thanked him.

“Before you ask, yes, I’ve tried therapy. Sam referenced me, but it just didn’t work. I guess… I guess I’m just rotten work…” He mumbled at the end, even though you heard him loud and clear. “What!? No! You, Sir, are the farthest thing from rotten work. You- you’re a survivor! You’re strong, you’re a sweetheart, you fight for this world and you deserve nothing less than happiness and everything good in the world!” You exclaimed, taking both yourself and Bucky by surprise.

“Why do you tell yourself these things, Mr. Barnes?” You asked him, cleaning up his cuts. He didn’t wince at all, but you pay no mind to that. “I… Ever since I was captured by HYDRA, that’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve thought of myself as a monster, a vile human being, a machine, the list goes on and on.” He admitted and your heart broke even more.

“They used to refer to me as ‘it,’ not a human, not a victim, not even by ‘Soldat’ and that just stuck with me.” He gulped through tears and you knew it was a sensitive subject. “Maybe you could try therapy once you’re ready? I know it may seem scary facing everything, but it’ll be worth it. You can take my advice with a grain of salt or not, but you need to know that you’re the complete opposite of any negative thing your mind comes up with. Also, fuck HYDRA.” You said with a smile on your face.

Bucky chuckled and then handed you the roll of gauze that was in his hand. “Thank you.” You whispered under your breath, before scrunching your face up in concentration. Even though you had no damn idea as to what you were doing, you were determined to bandage his wounds. Bucky’s eyes raked up and down your face and he didn’t even care if you were wrapping his wounds incorrectly.

“Uh… I know this may sound forward- but do you want to go on a second date?” Bucky asked after a few beats of silence. You choked on your spit and cursed under your breath. After a few moments, you finally calmed down. “D- date?” You questioned incredulously. “I believe that’s what I said, doll.” Bucky chuckled lightheartedly. A little “oh,” escaped your lips and you began to gnaw on your lip. Yes… yes you do have feelings for Bucky — but this is so wrong. You only left he-who-shall-not-be-named a few months ago…

But isn’t it good that you’re moving on? Your inner monologue conflicted with your entire being and Bucky can’t help but to be concerned. “Everything okay?” He asked, playing with the loose ends of the gauze. “I… Can I be honest with you, Mr. Barnes?” You asked him, wringing your hands together nervously. “Of course, doll, and it’s Bucky.” He smiled.

“Well… A few months ago I got out of a toxic relationship, and I’m still healing from it. He really destroyed me, and so did the break up. I’m ready, but I’m also not ready, if that makes sense. Uhm… Is it fine if we just take it slow? Or if you can give me some time?” You shyly toks. Bucky’s heart clenched and he slowly began to nod his head. “Of course, doll. Whatever you need you can ask me.” He reassured you, feeling the urge to caress your face.

“Thank you so much, Bucky!” You gleamed delightfully. Bucky looked at you as though you hung the stars. “No need to thank me, doll. I’m just gonna be there for you every step of the way.” He shook his head in a sort of reassuring manner. Your eyes fell to your hands and Bucky worked on fixing your bandages.

“Do… Do you think we’re moving too fast?” You asked him after a few silent pauses. “I’m not sure… I think we’re moving at the right pace.” He affirmed, flopping back into his bed. You stood up and towered over him for the first and only time ever. “I mean- I barely even know anything about you! Aside from the stuff we learned in history class and any information about you before 2016 — please don’t ask. I literally kissed you, and we only met a few days before I think? I’ve only ever been in one actually serious relationship so I wouldn’t know but-” You rambled like a mad man before Bucky cut you off by grabbing onto your hand.

“Doll, you’re rambling.” He bluntly told you. “Sorry… It’s just a habit of mine.” You apologized sheepishly, growing shy and embarrassed under his almost painful stare. “I guess you may think you’re moving fast because of your last relationship. Didn’t you take it slow, doll?” He asked you, making you purse your lips. “Yes…” You answered after some momentary hesitation. “And didn’t you say it was toxic?” He questioned you, making you slowly nod your head.

“Did you want to move slowly?” He inquired after giving you a sad smile. “Well, not really. I mean- we dated for around four years and every time I’d try to move forward in the relationship he’d always tell me that we have all the time in the world.” You explained, skipping over some details because you were sure that Bucky didn’t need to know about how your boyfriend was in his best friend’s guts.

“Do you want to move at a decent pace at least?” He asked you, and suddenly you let out a hearty sigh. “I do, I really do, Bucky. But I just don’t know what a ‘decent pace’ is! Or- or how to even be in an actually decent relationship!” You cried out in hysterics. “That’s okay! I’ll teach you, don’t worry.” He reassured you, and then you realized how worked up you were.

“Really?” You asked in shock, dealing as though you were in some sort of cheesy romcom. “Mhm! Trust me, I’ve been alive for a while, so I know quite a lot.” He said with a smile. Your face mirrored his and you felt relaxed in the presence of Bucky. For now. “Uh- Thank you so much, Bucky! You’re the best-” You thanked him cheerfully, before cutting yourself off as you noticed the time.

Bucky frowned when you let out a disappointing sigh. “Is everything okay? ‘Cause I was really enjoying all that praise.” He joked around, making you giggle. “Uh yeah- I just realized that I have a job interview in an hour and should probably go get ready.” You groaned loudly, earning a snort from Bucky. “Talk to you soon?” You asked him. “Of course, doll.” He nodded his head in a sort of Jay Gatsby way and you felt tingles across your spine.

“Bye!” You said as you pressed a chaste kiss on Bucky’s cheek. You turned and left his room, leaving Bucky a blushing fool. His hand came up to touch where you kissed him and he sighed sweetly. Bucky kept his hand there and flopped back onto his bed like a teenage girl who held a five second conversation with her crush. “Oh, doll.”

You bit your lip to hold in a childish squeal. You wanted to kiss Bucky’s cheek ever since you met him, and you finally did. But unfortunately, through the euphoric feeling that was running through your body you still felt bad. There was no job application — god, you couldn’t even find it in you to print a new resumé. You lied to James Buchanan Barnes and got away with it like you were some sort of spy. But you couldn’t just tell him what you were going to do.

No way. You skipped all the ten steps to your home and couldn’t stop smiling. Is this what it’s like to be in a romcom? If it was, then you were ready to be in one for the rest of your life. You shut the door behind you and made your way up to your bedroom. Your steps echoed behind you and you bit your lip to control your smile.

You unlocked the door to your room and sat at your dresser with a sort of heaviness weighing you down. You had procrastinated it for so long, but it was time. You opened up the bottom drawer and took out the old cigar box Steve had given you to store your stories in. Your smile faltered at the memory that used to bring you so much joy. You unlatched the box and sighed deeply at the sight of Steve’s belongings.

A few polaroids of the two of you, a watch of his, a compass with your picture, a locket with his grin plastered on it, a promise ring- so many memories. Finally, it was time to let go of him. But were you ready? Were you really ready to say goodbye to the man that taught you about love? How does one say goodbye to a man like Steve Rogers? But he told you, there’s no saying goodbye to him.

Not yet, at least.

[ichayalovesyou]

Other Tribute: Amok Time (Pon Farr)

Peddlers of Flesh

~Act One: Man Was Meant To Fly~

Bremen~by Pigpen Theatre Co. from Bremen (Album)

“I would at least like to know what’s going on!”

It wasn’t out of the ordinary, Jim running off into the unknown, Spock so quick to follow, himself, reluctantly trundling behind as always, but this time felt… different. They’d been hijacked by deific wannabes before, but not like this, was it just the transporter, the promise of being trapped underground (or worse, stuck in a wall)? Bones couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was… unnerving the way this, Sargon, had captured Jim’s interest.

Worse than that, he had captured Jim!

“I came across some robbers three, at first I took everything away from them, then they took everything away from me.”

Poor Atlas~by Dessa from A Badly Broken Code (Album)

“Our bodies Sargon, for what purpose?” “To build”

The timer on Jim’s body before this fever stopped the his heart kept ticking in Bones’s head. Were these creatures’ designs really beyond man’s comprehension? Could they really be their “children” as Sargon claimed? Was it their burden, then, to give these things bodies, even for a short, dangerous, time? For every Kolos there were a dozen things like Redjac, Landru, or who knows what else.

Bones didn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m building a body from blueprints in braille, I’m building a body where our design has failed.”

Grand Canyon~by Puscifer from Money Shot (Album)

“I was floating… in time and space…”

Fever scare aside, it had been a long time since he’s ever seen Jim this euphoric, this excited about anything. Of course it could be a high on whatever just happened to him. Yet, even as Dr. Mulhall said it aloud, he had his doubts. Those eyes… they were sober, if unusually bright with curiosity. Leonard found himself wondering, what it would be like to experience what Jim had described, it made him think of the Mind Meld… of Spock.

The way he spoke so fondly, so, familiarly of it to Spock.

It stirred uncomfortable feelings in himself.

“One among infinity, witnessing the majesty, calm in this humility, hope as far as one can see, standing on the edge of forever”

Time For Us~by Elsiane from Mechanics of Emotion (Album)

“Not a list of possible miracles, just a plain, simple why, that overrides all danger!”

Fear overrode curiosity in Leonard’s mind, he found it all too convenient that, for whatever reason, Sargon needed both the Captain and the Commander. He could maybe swallow the worry of risking one of them, but not both, not if he could avoid it. It was bad enough they nearly died on every other away mission. Besides, this all sounded too good to be true, why did these god-creatures always have to speak with condescension and vague riddles?! Of all the people in this galaxy they could’ve called upon… why did it have to be them?

No, a promised Renaissance was not enough.

“We need results from this now, we need resolving, cannot waste more time, get resolving now! This is a time for us only, only, only.”

Onward To The Edge~by Symphony of Science from Onward To The Edge (Single)

“They used to say if man was meant to fly he’d have wings, but he did fly, he discovered he had to.”

Oh no, here goes Jim into one of his speeches, there was no escaping now. Even Mulhall seemed interested… Jim was right of course, but the barbs in Leonard’s gut refused to abandon him. He could stop all of this by saying “no”, so, what was stopping him? Bones already knew the answer.

He may be able to say no to a mission.

But he couldn’t say no to that face, not when it was the happiest he’d seen Jim in months.

Here’s to counting on his gut being wrong.

“These are no longer abstractions, these are worlds, maybe there’s life there! They’ve changed how we think about Earth.”

~Act Two: A Sense of Foreboding~

I Hope Your World Is Kind~by Auri from Auri (Album)

“Vulcans value peace above all else Henoch.” “Of course! As do we Doctor, as do we.”

Henoch’s comment about conquering others set Bones even more on edge, why would something benevolent so casually bring that up? He knew how deeply Spock loathed being controlled, worse, being made to hurt others because he was not in control. He thought back to the Blood Fever, he couldn’t let that happen to him again, not if he could help it.

Something about this Henoch was rubbing him the wrong way… Perhaps he’d better keep an eye on him.

“The rooftops all sleeping, underneath them brittle little man-things, unveiled clowns, false kings, every moment the world in writing.”

Close to the Sun~by Porcelain Pill from Close to The Sun (Original Game Score)

“I can find no reason for concern and yet, I am filled with foreboding.”

They’d almost killed Jim, again. Everything was going to plan, but… was he right? Bones couldn’t stop staring at those receptacles, delicate spheres holding three souls. What was it like in there? The promised infinity that Jim described, the oneness, he couldn’t even imagine. It was unsettling, it felt like they were all in the room with him, he felt, compelled, to touch one. It may as well be the closest, Jim’s, he really was there! It was like he was putting a hand on his shoulder like he’d always done.

They really were delicate…

Sargon’s people better hop to it on those android bodies, he didn’t know how long he could let this go on.

“I fear we’re sinking deeper with more speed the more we strive, is that what we get for playing too close to the sun?”

Beekeeper~by Dessa from Parts of Speech (Album)

“He’s dead…”

It was like all the light had left the world, cold and grey. He should’ve been faster, trusted less, fought harder, said “No!” For God’s sake! Leonard felt a strange kinship, almost a mourning for Sargon in that moment, they had both made the mistake of trusting Henoch, and now Jim has paid dearly for it.

He thought of the receptacle that still held Jim’s soul.

Could he find a way?

Was this one death… or two?

“The surgeon and farmer meet, and each greets the other with a bow, they’re kindred instruments you know, the scalpel and the plow.”

~Act Three: The Savage Doctor~

Burned Out~by dodie from Human (Album)

“Doctor… would you like to save your Captain Kirk?”

Leonard’s gut twisted in protest, these people, these things that had stolen the bodies of others, that killed Jim, was there a chance they could be bargained with? What was so horrible that Sargon had forbidden it?

Oh God… That was it.

So, they intended on taking Spock from him too? It figured, but- maybe, if he could get Jim back, could they take both Henoch and Thalayssa on to save Spock? Was it worth risking Dr. Mulhall? His eyes were drawn to the Captain, or what was left of him, lying there, worse than dead…

Then, Thalayssa threatened him, and Bones snapped back to his senses. He knew what she was.

And he knew who he had to be.

“Make me a fairy whatever it takes, and just like her tale, my dream was a scam, you waited smiling for this.”

Girl Into Devil (I Belong To Me)~by S.J. Tucker from Stolen Season (Album)

“Neither Jim nor I can trade a body we don’t own.”

His utter disgust with this woman, this monster, outweighed everything else on Leonard’s mind, even the roiling cauldron of self-loathing that’d emerged from even having been tempted by her offer! How little this creature wearing Dr. Mulhall’s face regarded life that wasn’t her own! How could she think for a second that he, that Jim, would ever abide by something so, unbelievably callous. It would break every oath they had ever made.

Some oaths are worth keeping.

“Stolen fairy tale girls make the difference between life and death, it all comes down to choices now you’ve only the hard ones left.”

Hunger Strike~by Temple of The Dog from Temple of The Dog (Album)

“I will not peddle flesh! I’m a physician.”

Ever fiber in McCoy’s being roared at her meager attempt to convince him again. He was a Doctor damnit! He would not play god! Selfish creatures playing with other people’s lives is what had gotten them into this damn mess in the first place, he would have no part in it! He would not bargain in blood and guts like the dark age doctors that came before him, Jim would never forgive him, and he’d never forgive himself.

She could do what she wanted to him, take by force what she’d tried to bargain for, but he would never break his oath, never.

“I can’t feed on the powerless when my cup’s already overfilled. I’m going hungry.”

The Rains of Castamere~by Malukah from The Rains of Castamere (Single)

“Spock’s consciousness is gone, we must kill his body, the thing in it.”

Even after all of that, the temptation, the bargaining, the suffering, even after getting Jim back… he had still lost. He failed. Here Bones was, thinking that maybe Sargon and his people knew the value of a Human life, a Vulcan life, they proved him wrong. What in God’s- no, to hell with gods, what had Sargon said to Jim to convince him to kill Spock? There had to be a reason, all the torture in the world would never have made Jim give up that green blooded… was he, being controlled?

One look at Jim’s face told him otherwise.

There was nothing left to do, but make sure Henoch didn’t ruin anyone else’s life.

So much for his oath.

“And who are you? The proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat who saw the truth unknown.”

~Act Four: Sacrifice~

The Coldest Goodbye~by Mary Kate Wiles from Spies Are Forever (Original Cast Recording)

“Spock… my friend Spock… if only there’d been another way.”

It was bitter. Cold. Bones stood there frozen to the spot as though still paralyzed by Henoch, there was no comfort in him being destroyed. Part of Leonard wanted to go to Jim, but, what would be the point? Spock is dead. He made the poison that killed him, or at least, what was left of him. Why did death always make an easy solution? It was the past all over again. He was glad, in that case, that he wasn’t beside the Captain, he could tell without having to see, all the light had left the world. It was just like he felt when Sargon- Henoch, killed Jim’s body. And now…

“The warmest hello, to the coldest goodbye, remember, remember, spies never die… spies are forever”

Long Nights~by Eddie Vedder from Into The Wild (Movie Score)

“I could not allow the sacrifice of one so close to you.”

If the Lord giveth and then taketh away, then what did that make Sargon? Oh hell, what was he doing to Christine?! Hadn’t he made it clear to these people, these things, that there would be no trading of life?! It wasn’t as though he could stop it, it was only Thalayssa’s conscience that kept her from obliterating him on the spot. Bones hated being at the mercy of every other god-like being that turned up this side of the galaxy, nothing good ever came of it.

Then… he understood.

“I’ve got this light, I’ll be around to grow, who I was before I cannot recall.”

Bring On The Wonder~by Susan Enan from Plainsong (Album)

“Sargon.”

So many thoughts, words, feelings, carried by that name, Bones found himself unable to say anything else to this being, this god, that brought Spock back to hi- back to them, that would never have let Spock die in the first place. Maybe… maybe he was wrong. For the first time in a long time, Bones hoped he had just bad luck, perhaps there were more Sargons out there in the universe than Henochs, and they had only encountered more malevolent forces because the good had done what Sargon had to… he hoped that-

No.

He prayed that was true.

“Bring on the wonder, we got it all wrong, we pushed you down deep in our souls for too long.”

Dark Days~by Punch Brothers from Songs From District 12 & Beyond (Album)

“Oblivion together does not frighten me beloved.”

Something about that… phrase, hit somewhere deep in Leonard’s soul, resonating with him, he barely heard Chapel though he certainly agreed. He thought about how close he had come to losing the two men closest to him in all the galaxy, just how hard he fought to beat off the specter of death from them, again. And worse! This time he could’ve prevented it all if he had just trusted his instincts! He couldn’t even put into thoughts how much he cared, all he had was this… genuine, warm, decent feeling in his gut.

Maybe together, shouldn’t frighten him.

There… there was something Jim, and Spock, deserved to know.

Fear be damned.

“We don’t have to reap the fear they sow, friends, as long as we hide our love away in the good they’ll never know.”

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch4

Focus

Welcome back, everyone!!! I am so, so sorry this took so dang long. I wanted this chapter to cover so much and yet it feels like nothing happens at all, a tough one to nail down. Anyway! Hope you enjoy!

Word count - 4,415

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

__________________

---Reader---

The rest of your weekend passed uneventfully. Once V was stable, he didn’t have any further issues and you were able to catch up on tedious housework. You kept rehashing his words in your mind, dissecting every possible meaning until you could barely see straight.

After so many years of boredom, it was a delight to have the murderous artist in your care. Staying engaged had always been a struggle for you, even as a child. Most situations and people simply didn’t hold your interest. It wasn’t always easy to hide, but you managed most of the time.

You knew from experience what it cost if you failed.

Don’t think about that. There’s no point.

You sighed and set down your bag, reaching over to power up the CPU on your desk. Time to get to work. It was Monday, so your first patient would be Kelly Williams.

A classic case of bipolar disorder, the poor woman had been stuck in a major depressive episode for three months. She was so predictable you probably could have written up your notes for the session before she even arrived, but you followed protocol and checked your email as you waited for Kevin to deliver her anyway.

You minimized the browser as she shuffled in, eyes downcast and limp hair hiding her frown. You pursed your lips as she settled on the couch with a morose sigh. Kevin gave you a nod and left, clicking the door closed behind him.

“Hello, Kelly. How are you feeling today?” you began.

I’d bet my next paycheck I know her answer.

Her sad grey eyes lifted to meet yours. “Hanging in there.”

Yep. This is going to be a long hour.

You covered all the same topics, reviewing her trauma and possible causes for her illness. Diligent notes filled your notepad, but the words didn’t stick in your mind. It might be worth shifting Kelly to another doctor, considering how little you cared about her treatment. Dr. Malphas wouldn’t be happy, but he’d understand. You only wanted to make sure she was receiving the care she needed, right?

A soft knock interrupted your musings as Kevin returned. You said your goodbyes and promised your patient some menial reward, nothing important but something that would be meaningful to her.

The moment the door closed, you released a deep sigh. Honestly, there were only two or three patients here that interested you. A man with detailed visions of the future that occasionally came true, a woman who spoke a language of her own creation, and your favorite murderous artist. The rest you could deal with in your sleep.

On that note, who’s next?

Jacob Miller. The infamous serial killer who targeted women that resembled his mother. How utterly mundane.

It didn’t surprise you to realize how little the well-known madman interested you. His spree of kills thrilled and horrified the state of Utah for months until he was caught, all from a scrap of fiber he’d missed when disposing of one of his victims.

But his profile was quite basic. A broken home, absentee father and disciplinarian mother. Run of the mill patterns of animal abuse and rejection from potential sexual partners, the same fuel that brought about the likes of numerous big names. There was nothing new or unique about him.

As Kevin brought Jacob in, you tried not to let your eyes glaze over in disinterest.

“Good morning, Jacob.”

“Hello, Dr. Waras. How was your weekend?” the twisted man replied.

You pursed your lips. His manners belied a twisted core. “Nothing special, but we’re here to talk about you.”

His lips twisted into a dark grin. The man was an arrogant prick, always happy to talk about himself. Sometimes you wondered how he managed to avoid death row, but it wasn’t your problem.

“What do you want to know, Doctor?”

About you? Nothing.

“Let’s talk about your childhood a bit more,” you said instead.

---V---

The ceiling truly was a monstrosity. He’d been staring at it for hours, trying to pinpoint exactly what about its beige visage disturbed him so much, and he thought he finally had it figured out.

It was the bumps.

Little dapplings of the plaster, random and unintentional. As if whomever built the room had no idea patients would spend almost all their waking hours staring at their work. A few sections resembled faces or vague outlines of familiar objects, but the majority was an expanse of rough mediocrity.

He wanted to splash blood across it in sweeping arcs of color, break the horrible monotony with crimson streaks of life.

At this point, he’d settle for sidewalk chalk.

Someone’s coming.

The artist tuned to the hallway and sure enough, the familiar scuffle of Kevin’s feet approached. It must be time for his meeting with you and he smirked. What perfect timing.

Remember the plan.

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware,” he replied to the insistent tone rattling in his skull.

He arranged his features in a neutral expression, feigning indifference as the heavy door creaked open. Kevin’s signature shuffle came closer and the strap at his left arm loosened.

“Time for therapy,” the orderly informed him.

He resisted the urge to strangle the bumbling idiot as his arm regained its freedom. “Wonderful.”

Moments later, the artist stood beside Kevin rubbing his wrists and cracking his neck. Someday he would tear the man apart for stealing his autonomy, but not today. Today, he needed to gain an ally.

“So… Kevin. How did you end up here?”

Watery brown eyes blinked at him in confusion. The artist’s fingers twitched.

Don’t do it…

He clenched his hands. Kevin’s day would come and what a delight it would be…

“I… uh… I transferred from the hospital a few years back.”

V hummed and held his hands forward for the damned cuffs. They clicked into place as he replied, “Fascinating. Do you enjoy the work?”

Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s all right, I guess. Gets weird now and then.”

He followed Kevin into the hallway, white soles squeaking on the linoleum. Nine doors identical to his own dotted the walls, useful information for later. Clever emerald eyes paid special attention to where the guard’s hand went to buzz them through to the offices.

“You’ll have to tell me some of your more interesting stories sometime,” he replied with a convincing twist of his lips. Child’s play.

Kevin grunted and gestured forward, inviting V to lead the way. “We’ll see.”

The thick door to your office already stood open, welcoming him in like an honored guest. He smirked as you nodded at Kevin and dutifully cooperated as the man latched him to the wall. You looked lovely, as you always did. Pen tucked behind your ear, a hint of excitement in your eyes.

“Thanks, Kevin. See you in an hour,” you said, dismissing the man.

And then there were two…

Stay focused. You’ll need your wits for what’s to come.

You offered him a smile as the door clicked shut. He mirrored it with ease.

“So, V. How are you feeling after last week? I haven’t seen you since your episode.”

He hummed and leaned back, settling his weight onto the couch. It was impossible not to indulge his aching body in the soft cushions after the maddening position he’d been stuck in all day.

“Truthfully, I’m bored. One can only stare at the same patch of ceiling for so long before it grows tedious.”

You tapped your pen against pursed lips. How lovely you’d look in red…

Focus.

“I can definitely understand that. I may be able to help, if you’re interested,” you replied.

There was no hiding the curiosity in his eyes, nor did he bother trying. You were too smart for that. “Do tell.”

“I can give you an assessment, and if it goes well you might be cleared to be left unrestrained. All you have to do is answer a few questions and be honest.”

He smirked. How adorable. “I’m ready when you are.”

You picked up a clipboard and read the first question aloud. “You find a lost young boy one day, and he appears to have stolen property. Would you A, hug and reassure him; B, take the property by force and leave him there as punishment; C, pick his pocket and leave him to his fate; or D, lead him home and call the authorities?”

He almost laughed. The entire basis of the question was absurd; what action he took depended on what the stolen property was. Why bother taking the item if it wasn’t something that appealed to him? Not to mention the lack of a ‘keep walking’ option.

“A,” he said. You made a note and continued.

None of the following questions were any better, all based on faulty logic or lacking the detail needed to truly make a decision. He chose his answers based on what he imagined his mother would do, using her kindness and empathy as a model for normal behavior. With each response, you marked your sheet and nodded approvingly.

“Okay, last question. Your house is on fire. What do you save on your way out? A, your little brother; B, your prized collection of baseball cards; C, whatever clothing you can carry; or D, the family photo album? Assume that anything not chosen is destroyed.”

For heaven’s sakes, only an imbecile would fail this.

“A, of course.”

You made a final mark and your brows furrowed as you tallied his answers. He occupied himself with images of you with a blade to Kevin’s flabby throat, grinning as you slashed it open. Blood would stain every inch of your clothing; never would you look so beautiful.

“Interesting… According to this, you shouldn’t even be here, let alone in high secure,” you began. Suspicion bloomed in your gaze as you met his eyes. “You weren’t being truthful, were you?”

No shit, Sherlock!

He gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at Griffon, searching for the right words. How had he missed this, how could he be so foolish as to expect you to believe a good result?

Take it again. As many times as it takes.

He had to take it another three times before you surrendered with a deep sigh. Not once did his answers change.

“I’ll have to clear it with Dr. Malphas, but I can’t justify stopping you.”

He smirked. Victory was sweet, indeed. Even this tiny increase to his freedom would do wonders for his plans, not to mention he’d no longer need to bother Kevin for a bathroom trip to indulge himself. It didn’t matter that there was a camera in his room, watching his every move. He knew where it was, it would be easy enough to hide his activities from its view.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said. A tiny smile graced your lips at his gratitude. Progress.

“Just doing my job. Now, let’s get back on track. Do you remember anything from last week?”

He brought his legs onto the couch, drawing his knees to his chin as was his preference. “Fragments.”

Ink marked his answer on your notepad and he almost growled in jealousy. His fingers itched to create, to design and defile. It took all his will power to remain seated and keep his hands from reaching for the pen. The sketches last week had left him needy and craving more time to hone his craft, the pull growing stronger with every reminder.

“Would you care to elaborate?” you asked.

He didn’t bother to consider the ramifications as he opened his mouth. The need was too strong. “I’ll tell you about it if you give me a pen and paper.”

You idiot! Now you appear weak, willing to succumb to her will if she only throws you a treat. What are you, a dog?!

He flinched. Vergil had a point; he should have been more careful. Somehow, he needed to shift the scales back in his favor, or at least back to equality. To let this stand would be unacceptable. But how?

The rumble of an opening drawer stole his attention as you withdrew the same hunk of charcoal he used before. A clipboard with several sheets of fresh paper occupied your other hand and his eyes glittered in excitement as you handed them over. He licked his lips and quivered in anticipation, considering his options and refining several ideas.

“May I make a request?”

His gaze shot to yours. A request? So, you wanted to see more of his work. It fed his ego and he nearly purred at the image of you begging him to draw you, dripping in viscous blood after your first kill.

“I cannot stop you,” he said. It wouldn’t do to betray his thoughts, not yet. Caution was a worthy ally.

“Can you draw Griffon, or Vergil? I’m curious what they look like,” you replied.

Don’t you dare!

Speak for yourself, asshat! You do your thing, Van Gogh.

Lips twisting in amusement, he nodded and drew the first line. Griffon was always interesting to draw, though he still hadn’t managed to get his eyes right. Something about the triple-iris was irritatingly difficult to capture. Not to mention how much he hated feathers.

Still. An enjoyable challenge.

“So, tell me about last week.”

Now’s your chance. Do not waste it.

The artist hummed in acknowledgement, eyes locked on his work. He kept his hand elevated so as not to smudge the charcoal unintentionally, his fingers swiping across the pristine page to leave shadowy streaks behind. But how to utilize this opportunity? How best to regain his control of the situation?

Perhaps a quid pro quo?

He smirked and lifted his eyes. You were staring at him. “I seem to be having trouble remembering. Maybe you can jog my memory?”

You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes. He didn’t bother trying to hide his Cheshire-like glee. He had you, how could you possibly refuse him?

“What, exactly, are you suggesting?”

He leaned back, casually adding another series of marks to his artwork as if your suspicion meant nothing to him, as if he didn’t care if you went along with his ideas. “I’m suggesting, Doctor, that you provide me with incentive to share.”

“Such as…?”

“For now? Blue.”

You stared at him as if he were an alien. “You want… blue?”

“I cannot do Griffon justice without the proper color,” he replied with a teasing smirk.

An easy trade, a small token to get you used to the idea. What harm could there be in allowing him more colors to use in your own office? It was a simple request, one not worth refusing and as you reached for your drawer, he congratulated himself for his cleverness.

“I don’t think I have any blue pens or anything, let’s see…”

“I’ll make do with whatever you have available,” he replied as you rummaged.

The drawer looked moderately chaotic, as if you put some effort into keeping it organized but you didn’t care enough to maintain it. Post its and paperclips were strewn about, pens and highlighters shoved in the corner. A thumb drive resided amongst a collection of pins.

A single flash of sapphire drew his gaze. Your delicious fingertips hesitated at the item, but you pulled it out a moment later as nothing else offered itself up. He almost laughed as you held it out to him.

This will be interesting to work with.

A makeup compact, full of blue powder. The color was dark and rich, serendipitously close to the exact shade of the demonic bird.

“This is all I’ve got,” you murmured.

The artist schooled his features into a look of disappointment, playing down his excitement as he accepted the small container. “It will suffice.”

He tested the substance on a fresh sheet of paper, swiping it across with the tip of his thumb. Discerning emerald eyes judged the depth of the hue, analyzing how much he’d need to achieve the proper coloration. If he layered it with the charcoal, it might just work.

You cleared your throat as he began, pen held at the ready for him to speak. That’s right, he was expected to describe last week in exchange. He’d nearly forgotten. Visions ricocheted in his mind, echoes of the night that became his ruin. He didn’t remember everything, but there was enough to recognize the memory. Enough to relive the delightful experience.

But it wouldn’t do to share every detail with you. He chose his words with care, selecting a few key details and adding meaningless drivel for good measure. The day may come when he recounted every moment, but you were nowhere near ready.

“I remember red, a great deal of it. Someone was screaming, but I don’t recall why. Yellow walls and a rhododendron.”

He paused to let you note his every word, swirling blue across the black outline of feathers. The sparkles were a bit much, but he couldn’t do anything to fix that. By the time the scratching of your pen ceased, he was almost finished.

“That sounds intense. Did it feel like a dream or more like a memory?”

He paused, wondering how far he could press you today. It was worth a try; even if you refused it would help him regain a position of strength.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any purple, would you?”

Your eyes sparkled. A slight twist of your pink lips was all the confirmation he needed that you knew what he was up to and you didn’t even glance at your desk before you responded.

“I’m afraid not.”

Despite the setback, he couldn’t help but smirk. There was something odd about you, and every time he interacted with you it became clearer. You got the same amusement from the mental battle as he did, the same thrill every time you scored a point. The same rush of fascination and curiosity.

You were more than just another sheep.

All he needed to do was draw out the wolf.

“That’s a shame, Y/N,” he purred. Your chair squeaked as you shifted.

A soft knock on the door signaled the end of your hour with him. He sighed and handed you the clipboard, his drawing of Griffon’s proud flight on full display. Your eyes widened, a slight inhale escaping your lips that would fuel his fantasies for days to come.

“So that’s Griffon?”

He nodded as the door opened and Kevin approached, handing you the makeup and charcoal. It pained him to surrender the supplies, but this way you didn’t have to ask. A subtle difference, but one that reinforced his autonomy instead of your control over his life.

But there was one last gesture he wanted to make.

The moment Kevin freed his hands, he extended one to you with a soft smirk. The orderly’s meaty fist wrapped around his wrist and he didn’t fight back, content to wait for your response.

Suspicion tinted your eyes, mixing with interest as he parted his lips.

“I wanted to thank you, Doctor. I look forward to sleeping unrestrained tonight.”

You shared a glance with the orderly and he let go. The urge to strangle the man for his interference was powerful, but he ignored it. In due time, the man would pay. For now, let him imagine he had won. Far more interesting was your reaction.

You looked startled, but not fearful. More intrigued than anything else.

Perfect.

The same hand he licked the first time he met you clasped his own, shaking it in a gesture of mutual respect. You didn’t need to know his true goal; to feel your skin and memorize its texture. The knowledge would add depth to his fantasies and he focused on the smooth warmth, hungry for every detail he could glean from such brief contact.

The hands of one who works indoors…

He brushed his index finger across your wrist as you pulled back, a more intimate touch not immediately apparent to the accursed third party watching his every move. The barest twitch of your fingers revealed your awareness of his boldness, but you didn’t say a word. Another victory, then.

“Until tomorrow,” he murmured.

---Reader---

The heavy door clicked shut and you released a deep breath. Your heart was pounding, mind consumed with the artist’s simple caress. Those same hands that were capable of such artistry had taken at least three lives; you couldn’t afford to forget how dangerous he was. The mind games, the trickery and bargaining, none of it mattered if you lost your focus.

What is my focus?

You leaned back and pursed your lips. In broad terms, your goal with other patients was to help them reach a point where their ability to function in normal society was no longer impaired. If they weren’t capable of that much, you were meant to guide them to stability so they could at least have appropriate quality of life.

To envision V in normal society was close to impossible. You couldn’t picture him in a suit, sitting at a cubicle like ordinary folks. Imagining him on a commute was anathema; with a family, unthinkable. The man was an outlier and no amount of treatment would change that.

So how can I help him?

You growled in frustration and rubbed your eyes. The flesh he touched still tingled, the nerves jangling with odd enthusiasm. It made no sense; the man was a murderer and here you sat like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Absurdity. You were smarter than this, better than this.

This isn’t a comic book or some crappy romance novel. Life doesn’t work that way. He was trying to manipulate me and I cannot let him win.

You glanced at the drawing of Griffon, marveling at the unearthly beauty of the creature’s forked beak and massive legs. A demonic bird, the hallucination of a crazed murderer, and you found it beautiful. What an incredible mind he had, to come up with such a thing.

How sad to imagine all the things he could have done with that mind, instead of slaughter. He could have written the next Lord of the Rings, painted the next Sistine Chapel. Manifested something profound instead of destroying the lives of a young family.

Maybe he still can. If I can help him, who knows what he’ll create?

A subdued knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. Was it already noon? Time flew right by you, more proof of the ridiculousness surrounding you. With a final sigh you grabbed your purse and locked your computer, heading to join Kotomi for lunch.

“Hey Y/N! How was your weekend?” she asked as you entered the hallway.

Charlie buzzed you through the security door; Ben must have called out sick. “Pretty boring, to be honest. How about you?”

Her eyes sparkled as she described a trip to the museum with her mother, skimming over any interesting parts like she always did. The elder Ishida was legendary in her hatred of psychiatry, and every time she and Kotomi got together she had a new story of her mother’s lectures. You grinned as you reached for the button to call the elevator, all too aware of her heels.

“So, did she disown you for working here yet?”

“Y/N! Not so loud! Wait, what’s that on your wrist?”

You hadn’t noticed before, but a streak of charcoal marked where the artist touched you. It was just dark enough to draw attention and you rubbed it against your pants, grateful you wore black today.  A pale grey outline remained no matter how hard you tried and you huffed in annoyance.

“It’s charcoal,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “The artist?”

You nodded and stepped forward as the elevator arrived. Her heels clicked to join you as she crossed her arms and gave you an intense stare.

“You let him touch you? Have you lost your mind?!”

Did he do it on purpose? Was this why he wanted to shake my hand?

Lithe fingers grasped your shoulders as almond shaped eyes met yours. Her concern was sweet and you wished you had the right words to reassure her.

“Y/N, I’m worried about you. I know how you get with these people; you need to be extra careful with him. I’ve heard rumors, he sounds really dangerous,” she insisted.

You managed a small smile as a ding announced the elevator passing the second floor. There was no change in its motion and you licked your lips, searching for the right words. Of course he was dangerous; you weren’t an idiot, you knew that. And yes, maybe you shouldn’t have let him touch you, but Kevin was right there and you couldn’t let him have control by refusing.

“Look. I know, okay? I know what he’s capable of. I read the police report. But I have to take a few risks to help him, he’s too smart for the standard approach. It’s my job to work with the dangerous ones. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes softened and she dropped her arms, though she still looked troubled. The second ding marked your arrival at ground level and you stepped off in silence, wondering what else you could say to ease her concern.

“Do you want me to sit in on your sessions? Maybe I can help somehow,” Kotomi offered.

How did she do that? How did she make herself seem so genuine? Was she actually that genuine or was it all an act? It was impossible to say for sure, but you had no reason to doubt her sincerity. Her offer meant all the more considering her aversion to violent offenders, her fear of being around the most twisted minds.

You smiled at Lenny as he buzzed the two of you into the administrative wing. The echoes of Kotomi’s steps rattled through the air as you neared the staff lounge.

“That’s really nice of you to offer, but I’ll be alright. I promise to be careful,” you said.

The remaining charcoal on your wrist drew your eyes as you opened the door. You couldn’t deny the rush his touch gave you, despite the alarm bells that rang in your head. Maybe Kotomi had a point, maybe you were being reckless. No other patient had ever touched you so intimately, with or without permission. Was this response normal?

Did it matter?

~~~Next Chapter~~~