#I suppose if you called with your real voice the conversation would go from covert to overt real fast

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Ass to vaginal is safe if you clean it off before switching holes.

[scabopolis]

Congrats on 600 followers!!!! How about Logan/Veronica and "Are you doubting my acting skills?" and/or any one of your 76 Danielle/Henry modern AUs?

Oh, Sarah, I’d do anything for you! I will eventually write a Danielle/Henry modern AU and it shall be dedicated to you, but for now, here is some Logan/Veronica friends to lovers inspired fake dating setup shenanigans.

--- Title: look at me like you like me Fandom: Veronica Mars Pairing: Logan/Veronica (side Wallace/Parker) Other Characters: Wallace, Parker, a frequent switching of tenses b/c this is barely edited.  Additional Tags: Should be a multichapter probably, friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, Wallace sees all and knows all Word Count: ~1,800 ---

Sitting at brunch, her plate piled high with pancakes, Veronica Mars wonders just how long her best-friend thought he could get away with this. Logan Echolls (said best-friend) is currently walking slowly back and forth in front of the restaurant as he talks on his phone. He isn’t speaking, which means his mother is in the middle of a persuasive monologue. And everyone at their table knows what that means. 

“Charity gala?” Wallace asks. 

“My money’s on a distant relative’s wedding,” Parker says. 

“His parent’s anniversary is coming up,” Veronica says. “Could be their own party.” 

“What will they celebrate?” Wallace asks. “Ten years of sleeping in separate rooms and ignoring one another’s affairs?” 

“Regardless, I’m ready,” Parker says. 

Okay. Apparently Veronica’s isn’t the only one thinking about Logan’s go-to family event strategy. “You think he’ll ask you?” 

Parker frowns as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Why wouldn’t he?” 

Veronica draws a line in the air, connecting Wallace and Parker. “Well, for one, you’re married now.” 

“The people at these parties don’t know that,” Parker answers. 

The woman has a point. Veronica turns to Wallace. “And you’re okay with this?” 

“We’re living on two teacher’s salaries. If some wealthy man wants to be my wife’s platonic sugar daddy, who am I to stop him?” 

“I wanted to buy a new dress for your brother’s graduation anyway,” Parker says. 

“See! Perfect plan.” Wallace and Parker seal their agreement with a kiss and Veronica focuses on her pancakes. She cuts off a large bite with more force than strictly required and shovels the pancakes into her mouth. 

She isn’t sure why this whole conversation needles her. Something about Parker’s certainty, Veronica supposes. That it is going to be Parker who Logan calls on. To be fair, Parker and Logan’s arrangement pre-dates Veronica’s friendship with either of them. 

By the time Veronica met Parker their first year of grad school, Parker and Logan had been friends for four years. The pattern wherein Parker pretended to be Logan’s girlfriend at any and all society events his mother required him to attend was already well-established. Even after Veronica and Logan met, and it was quickly evident the two of them were destined to be platonic soulmates for the rest of their lives, it was still Parker that Logan turned to for help in these situations. Which, fair. Parker possesses levels of grace which Veronica can never hope to achieve. 

Veronica is much more apt to give a Hollywood director in his fifties judgey facial expressions when he introduces her to his barely legal wife. (A real thing that happened at an Echolls family BBQ. At least it still makes Logan laugh all these years later.)

It just didn’t occur to Veronica that it would always be Parker. Especially now that Parker is married. What is going to happen when she and Wallace decide to have a baby? How will they prevent word of Logan Echolls’ pregnant girlfriend from making the tabloid rounds? 

No. This is ridiculous. 

“She’s definitely not listening,” Wallace says, disapprovingly. 

“Some sort of fugue state?” Parker suggests. 

“Could be.” 

Veronica sighs. “What are you two talking about?”

“I wanted to know if it was all pancakes in general you seek to destroy, or if this one in particular had done something to upset you?” 

Her first instinct is to glare at Wallace. And then at Parker when she sniggers. Introducing the two of them to one another is the worst decision she’s ever made. But then she looks down at her plate. Sure enough, at some point she traded in eating her pancakes for cutting them into smaller pieces and then smushing them into the maple syrup. They no longer resemble an edible object.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sure,” Wallace says, taking a well-timed sip of his coffee. His expression is all smug and knowing. 

Veronica is saved from additional Wallace stares and Parker sniggers by the return of Logan. He slides his phone into his blazer pocket and sits down beside Veronica, resting his arm on the back of Veronica’s chair. This is nothing new. Being best-friends with Logan means being comfortable with his rather tactile nature. But the look Logan’s action invites from Wallace is new. Veronica wants to spit at him. (Wallace. Not Logan.) 

(Portrait of grace, indeed.)

“What happened here?” Logan asks, gesturing to Veronica’s pancakes. 

“Nothing,” Veronica says. “What happened out there?” 

Logan’s fingers still from where he is lightly tracing the contours of her shoulder. “My mom and dad are renewing their vows.” 

For a moment all movement at their table ceases as they each take in this information. This despite Veronica's keen awareness of the fact that her guess was eerily close to being right. 

“I’m sorry. What?” she asks.

“That was about my reaction,” Logan says. “Want my bacon?” 

“Yes, please. They can’t be serious.” 

Logan slides his slices of bacon onto Veronica’s plate. “Serious about drumming up some positive PR, absolutely. Aaron was spotted looking a little too friendly with a married co-star. So, he and mom are going on a romantic getaway to Italy. When they get back they’ll do a backyard vow renewal.” 

“Logan—” 

The man in question holds up a hand, stopping Parker’s softly spoken entreaty. 

“No. I can’t do the talking about it thing right now. I can’t feel anything about it right now. What I need is a wedding date.” 

“Of course,” Parker rushes to answer. “Just tell me when.” 

“The weekend of June 11th.” 

“Absolutely. Deal,” Parker says, nodding enthusiastically. “Consider it—,” she trails off, her gaze somewhere over Veronica’s shoulder. 

“Consider it, what?” Logan asks.

“—Not something I can do.”  

“Why not?”

“That’s graduation weekend,” Parker explains. “I’m the faculty speaker.” 

“I’ll buy you shoes, too.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Logan says. “This way I can get very drunk and not feel bad about it.” 

Logan’s arm returns to the back of Veronica’s chair. This time his hand sort of hangs over her shoulder and curls around towards her clavicle. It makes it impossible to ignore details about Logan’s hands — the surprising delicacy of his fingers, the length of them, the weird knot on one of his knuckles. 

“I’ll do it,” Veronica says. 

“Do what?” Logan asks. 

“Be your fake girlfriend for the sham vow renewal. I can do it.” 

She refuses to look at anyone at the table. Not Parker. Sure as hell not Wallace.

(Seriously. Does he know something? Was it that night they all played King’s Cup and the two of them stayed up talking until 3:00 AM? Did she say something she wasn’t supposed to?)

And absolutely not Logan. She scrapes the edges of the smushed pancake with the tines of her fork. 

“Veronica.” Logan’s voice is soft, but she detects a hint of incredulity. Which, maybe she’s wrong and he isn’t her best-friend and he doesn’t know her very well, because it raises her hackles. 

She drops her fork. “What? Why not?” 

“Look, I love you. You know I love you.” Veronica ignores the little skitter of her pulse at Logan’s words, furrows her brow, and concentrates on being offended. “And you know me better than anyone.”

“But?” She prompts. 

“But,” he says, “you don’t really—” 

Before Logan can finish, she comes up with a dozen ways to complete the sentence. There is plenty she doesn’t have —the class, the patience, the height, the sweetness, the glamor, the—

“—look at me like you like me,” Logan finishes. 

“Wait. What?” Veronica’s eyes dart from Logan to Wallace to Parker. Neither one of them appear surprised by Logan’s words. In fact, Parker is faintly nodding in agreement. “Of course I like you. You’re my favorite person.” She thinks about this. “When you’re not being a total asshole.” 

“I know that. But, your face makes it look like you want to slap me most of the time.” 

“Because I do.” 

“It’s just not the most conducive to convincing my mother to not set me up with the daughter of whichever producer she is trying to impress.” 

“I’ll change my face.” 

“Change it?” 

“I can look like I like you.” 

“Really?” 

“I’ve been in love before, you know.” Veronica’s hackles are now standing at full attention. “Are you doubting my acting skills?”

“I would never,” Logan says. 

“Good. Because I could be the sweetest goddamned fake girlfriend you’ve ever had.” Veronica turns to Parker. “No offense.” 

“None taken.” 

“I’ll even use pet names. Schmoopsie. Snuggle muffin. Sweet cheeks. What’s your preference?” 

“My preference is none of them.” 

Still, despite his words, Logan seems to consider it. Veronica takes the time to nibble on one of the slices of bacon from Logan’s plate. If she isn’t mistaken, Parker and Wallace kept shooting each other, what they probably believe to be, covert glances. What are those glances supposed to mean? Does Parker know something too? Damned married couples with their telling each other things. 

“My mom does love you,” Logan eventually says. 

“See, I already have a leg up,” Veronica says. “And I can absolutely rock a floor length gown.” 

“Can you?” 

“I was on homecoming court senior year.” 

“You were?” She’s not certain which of the voices speaking in unison sound more shocked, Logan’s or Parker’s, but regardless she is deeply offended. She’ll look classy and hot as hell and that will show them. 

“Yeah,” Wallace says, “Keith still has the picture hanging up in his house. It’s hilarious.” Veronica glares at him. “Hilarious, because of how great you look. Obviously.” 

“I don’t want to make you do this,” Logan says.

Veronica doesn’t have time to question why he would make Parker do this but for some reason wants to spare her.  

“Hey.” She reaches up for the hand still draped over her shoulder and laces their fingers together. Logan looks down at her. His eyes are all soft and heavy lidded; like they sometimes get when he’s sleepy. 

(She’s also noticed they can kind of look like that when she’s ranting about a coworker. Or, that one time she helped her dad install a fence and came over to Logan’s place after. Her hands were full of splinters and Logan was so careful and gentle, removing each one with a very expensive pair of tweezers.)

“This is going to suck. Isn’t it?” she asks. 

He nods. “Yeah. I think it will.” 

“Then let me be there for you.” He doesn’t say anything. “I’ll work on my face. Promise.” 

That gets him to crack a smile. “If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Then great.”

“Great.”

“Did I just get replaced?” Parker asks. 

Veronica shrugs. “I like nice shoes too, you know.” 

Logan gives her hand a squeeze. 

Oh. Look at that. She didn’t even notice they were still holding hands.

[mickeymouse-moshpit]

cowboy like me

A/N: I’m terrible at summaries! What would happen if you were a Mandalorian who knew Din Djarin once upon a time? This is canon-divergent (Grogu is there and not at Jedi school), and quite the piece of fluff! 

This is the first half of my gift for my Secret Santa! I got very carried away and after I had the second half finished, I realized that this also needed to be written down and shared as well.

Word count: 3.2K

No warnings! 

You let your head tilt back, smacking against the headrest of the pilot’s seat. There were two more standard hours in hyperspace before you would reach your destination, and you considered closing your eyes. These last three days had not gone the way you expected them, with a rowdy bounty leading you on a wild bantha chase that consisted of moon hopping and them inevitably ending up in carbonite anyway. You were tired, but you were headed to a new planet to finally get your Guild credentials. Worth it. 

***

You shifted in your seat as you woke to the alert from the autopilot, back and neck stiff from sitting in one position for so long. Time was up, time to land on Nevarro. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it some so you could braid it back. You picked up your helmet from the copilot’s seat, settling the beskar over your head. The display flickered to life, offering enhanced views of your path to the surface. You took control of your ship, entering the atmosphere and deciding to settle on the outskirts of the town you had been told about. It didn’t look like much, with its overcast skies and unassuming arch at the entrance to the town with blaster marks scarring it.

You opened your footlocker, pulled out your rifle. You checked to make sure your vibroblade and blaster were secure. You went to close it again but stopped. The small square of beskar you had swiped from an Imp glimmered through the visor of your helmet. On autopilot, it ended up in the sleeve pocket on your left arm and the footlocker was closed.

You lowered the ramp and walked down, engaging your ground security before you went in search of the cantina you were to meet your contact in. You would have to come back to let them get the bounties, but you didn’t trust the contact yet. The volcanic soil crunched under your boots. You could see the residents milling about, some with small children at their side. That made you smile. How bad a place could it be if there were kids? You kept walking, keeping a brisk pace. You stopped at a set of unassuming doors with the right numbers inscribed above them. They opened on their own.

Various species were scattered around the cantina, drinking or eating or talking or just watching. No band. Odd. But they still noticed you and the talk came to a halt.

“Mando!” came the voice of a stranger. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“I’m sure,” you replied, an edge of suspicion coloring your words that you never could quite get rid of. The onlookers went back to their drinks and conversations.

“Come, sit, we have business to attend you.”

He led you to a booth on the right side of the bar, and you sat with your back to the wall.

“You Mandos are all the same, you know.”

You tilted your helmet at him.

“You won’t sit anywhere except against the wall, and no matter how I rave about the spotchka you won’t drink with me.”

“Seems like you’ve had a lot of experience with Mandalorians then.”

“You could say that, but then you could say I don’t. I don’t share my dealings with other Guild members.”

“To business then? I don’t have all day.”

“Of course. What do you have for me?”

“Enough to get into the Guild.”

You slid the two tracking fobs across the table.

“Are you sure you want in?”

“I need work, Guild has work.”

“Very well. Let’s get the offload going.” *** You adjusted the rifle strap across your chest and wandered back into the town. You had heard rumors of a covert here and wanted to see for yourself if they were true. You hadn’t seen another Mandalorian since you left your home seven years prior. The Empire had taken control of your planet and flushed the small tribe you belonged to from its covert. You had survived on your found talent as a bounty hunter. You had always had a knack for tracking, payment was a side benefit you had figured out when the handsy pirate you had laid out turned out to have a price on his capture.

A flicker of motion in the periphery caught your eye. A heavy curtain was settling back into place, tucked away in the corner of the marketplace behind a food stand. You walked past the monkey-lizards in their cage and paused beside the unassuming entryway. You listened. As you considered entering, a girl no older than 10 crept through the curtain and into the square, paying you no mind. She moved quickly, but the mythosaur around her neck let you know this was the place.

You stepped behind the curtain yourself, walking down the steps as quietly as you could. There were maybe five kids running around the hall, laughing at something. You were maybe ten steps away from the stairs when you were met with a mountain of a Mandalorian.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“It was crafted for me in pieces.” You knew he was referring to the beskar you wore and hoped your answer would be enough.

“Why should I believe you?”

You pulled down the material of the glove on your left hand, revealing your own mythosaur your clan had given you.

“Very well, you are welcome to rest here. There aren’t many of us left here so there is space.”

“Where is your Armorer?”

“Keep walking, take the first left, you’ll know where she is.”

“Thank you.”

You set off, felt the stares of other Mandalorians that were scattered through the halls. You didn’t dare meet their glances. You felt much the intruder, with your phoenix rebellion symbol painted onto your back and frynock signet welded onto your pauldron. You kept walking until you reached the forge, halting to make sure the Armorer wasn’t busy. Satisfied with silence, you entered and knelt at her table. She came from behind the flames, kneeling across from you. You slipped the beskar square out of its pocket and set it in front of her.

“I know it isn’t much, but it belongs back with Mandalorians.”

“It would be enough to produce a small blade if that is your preferred medium.”

“Yes. It always has been since I was a child.”

“Very well.” *** You left the forge with your small blade now in a leather sheath on your left arm. You were adjusting the straps when you heard your name. Your real name. The only people who knew that name had been scattered across the galaxy.

“How do you know that name?” you called as you spun on your heel to face the stranger.

“I would know you anywhere.” He was close to you now, on the edge of your personal space. “You’re not saying you forgot me?”

You took in the stance, the way his helmet tilted, the voice behind the vocoder.

“Din Djarin.”

“So, you do remember.”

He reached for your arm, but you took a step back out of instinct; the last guy who did that had ended up dead. If he was hurt, you couldn’t tell.

“Of course, I remember. I remember we were kids, young, dumb, responsibilities to fulfill.” Your voice was softer now. You took a half step back toward him. “I remember before we swore the Creed, before you went off to the Fighting Corps, before I went to train other foundlings. Before I joined the rebellion. That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was. Did they tell you where your quarters are?”

“Of course not, but it is what it is.”

“Come on, I’ll take you.”

You fell into step beside him, almost like no time has passed. He led you through the halls of his covert. As you went further, you could hear the sounds of fighting from what you assumed to be the training room, snippets of the history of Mandalore before it was destroyed by the Empire. You recalled growing up, meeting the man beside you before you had covered your faces. You wondered what he looked like now.

“Here we are.” He punched in the code for the quarters and gestured for you to go in. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Um, actually I got some sleep before I landed. Would you stay for a minute?” You touched his wrist, hoping it might get him to come inside.

“Uh, sure, why not.”

You stepped over the threshold, Din right behind you. The room was sparse, like any Mandalorian’s existence since The Great Purge. There was a bed, a kitchen area, a refresher, but not much more. This room was clearly meant for one person, there wasn’t even a chair. Your fingers itched to pull the helmet from your head now that you were in private, but you knew this wasn’t the time. You pulled your rifle off and left it by the door, then walked over to the kitchen and hopped up on the counter. You didn’t want to chance sitting on the bed and making him uncomfortable.

“It’s been a while,” you tried.

“You could say that.” He was still beside the entrance, standing like he wasn’t quite sure how to relax with you in the room. “But when I saw you it seemed like no time had passed at all.”

You gestured to the counter opposite you. He didn’t move.

“You, sentimental? I never would have described you that way.” You slid off the counter and paused. “From what I remember, we were ‘supposed’ to forget each other existed. We were supposed to do our duties and what was needed of us.” You took a few steps toward him.

“I know. But clearly that didn’t work.” His shoulders slumped as much as they could in his armor. “Now we’re here.”

“That’s true. We are here.” You stepped closer, removed your gloves. “I tried you know. I tried to forget about you. I threw myself into those foundlings, into whatever was needed of me. Then came the Empire to my new home. Then everyone was scattered. Then I hunted. Then I joined the Guild. Now I’m here.” You tossed the gloves on the counter behind you.

“I tried, and it worked for a while. I went across the galaxy for my son. But we ended up back here. And all I wanted was to tell you about it.” He closed more of the space between the two of you with two steps and took your left hand in his right. “Now I’m here.”

You didn’t respond, just lifted your joined hands, bringing your other to slip under the glove that covered his hand still. You tilted your helmet up to see him nod once. You turned your attention back to your task, shuffling the leather over his hand and knuckles. You tossed the offending article on the counter beside your own as he threaded his fingers through yours. His other hand reached up slowly, finding your chin under your helmet and tilting your head up to look at him. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “I didn’t know that I would ever see you again. Now that you’re here, I never want you to leave me again.”

“I—I joined the Guild, I’ll have to.” You thought he was going to break your hand when his fingers tightened around yours.

“You just had to go and be a cowboy like me, didn’t you?” He laughed softly. You tilted your head and he let his hand drop away from it.

“Hey now, I had to do something to pay the bills.” You didn’t want him to know that desperation that had led you to this moment. “You could come with me, keep the ship clean and food cooked.” You wished he could see the way your nose scrunched when you teased him. ‘

“Karga didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re not the only Mando he knows.” His laugh crackled through the vocoder. “I’m not saying we should team up but let’s also agree to not fight over bounties.”

“Yeah. Not teaming up.” You stared at your interwoven hands. “Do you remember that last afternoon?”

You hoped the same images ran through his mind that were running through yours. You had both been given the half day off to prepare for your coming assignments. You were nervous, he had asked you to come with him to discuss something important. He had led you to the stream where the two of you had always escaped to even before you had sworn the Creed years prior. He had asked if you would be his, his to love, his to raise warriors with. The two of you had been halfway through your vows when plans had changed. The timelines had shifted, and you were both to leave that night. You had promised each other you would find your way back. But that didn’t happen. The Empire had seen to that. You had been separated and you had both assumed the other was dead. It was easier. No one would grant the two of you to ability to seek out the other. There was no time for the past, only going forward.

“It has run through my head every night as I fall asleep since.” He pulled your hands to his chest, gently trapping yours between the cold steel and his warm touch. “All I wanted for so long was to find you, to finish those words, to see your face again. But there were other plans for us. Now we’re here.”

“We could—we’re here now.” You couldn’t keep the hope from your voice. You step even closer, your helmet resting just above your hands where his collarbone would be.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.” You almost miss his quiet words, so lost in thought and the feeling of being in his arms again. “We’ve always been one, c’yarika. Even with a galaxy between us, we just couldn’t know it.”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.” You pick your head up again, doing your best attempt at eye contact. You felt a prick at the corner of your eyes but kept your composure. This was what you had always wanted, no need for tears.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.” You considered that one for a moment. “Even our bounties?”

“Mhi ba’juri verde.” He ignored your question. This was not the time for jokes, and you knew it.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

His forehead met yours again. When he pulled away briefly, you stepped back a bit, pulling him with you. You untied the sheath from your arm, from your leg and placed them with your gloves. You turned away from him, paused for a moment, placing your hands on either side of the helmet. This was it, what you had wanted for so many years. Why were you hesitating? You turned back to him, and his hands rested over yours. Together you lifted part of the barrier between the two of you. You set it to the side and stared up at him while his hands went to his own helmet. Your hands followed his. Slowly, his face was revealed to you.

“Mesh’la,” you whispered, taking in a sight you hadn’t known you were missing. His eyes were like you remembered them, deep brown. The crease between them was new, as was the small scar across the bridge of his nose. You stood on tiptoe, pressed a kiss over that crease. He was silent, just staring at you like you hung the moon. You reached behind you, pulled your braid over your shoulder. You pulled the tie out, but his fingers were there before you could start tugging at your hair. He smoothed the end and pushed it back over your shoulder.

“Not yet. There’s something I need to do first.” He ran the fingers of his right hand over your cheekbone; you settled into his palm on instinct. You would have closed your eyes, but you couldn’t get enough of looking at him. He seemed hesitant at first, head almost bobbing as he waffled between leaning in to kiss you and giving you space for a minute. You reached out for him, threaded your fingers through the curls at the base of his head. He closed the distance between the two of you, letting his lips brush against yours. You stayed there for a moment, just breathing each other in, taking in the feel of two halves being reunited.

You opened your eyes, let your hand drift from his hair to his cheek. He turned his head just enough for him to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. He took your hands, brought them to his chest. You stayed there while he reached over your shoulder for your braid. He slowly undid it, gently unweaving the strands until they were free, messy, but he didn’t seem to care. He let his fingers skim over your scalp, smoothing it back. You couldn’t help but let your eyes drift closed, the soft ministrations lulling you, soothing you.

“Mesh’la,” he whispered, pulling you closer to him still. You never wanted to leave this moment.

You were the first to move, but only to remove the beskar so you could feel him against you. Your hands moved to your forearms first, removing the pieces that were also weapons. You went for the pauldrons next, paused as you set down the one that bore your signet. How were the two of you going to work with that? No matter. Seeing what you were doing, he followed suit. There was silence but for the occasional hiss and thud until the two of you were left in the sweaters, cowls, trousers that kept you warm in the cold expanse of space. Maybe it wouldn’t be so cold anymore.

Din took you into his arms again, holding you against him so tightly you could hear his heart thumping in his chest. You felt his hands running over your back, your shoulders, seemingly memorizing the contours of you.

“I can’t tell you how many ways I’ve imagined this, you,” he whispered into your hair.

You leaned back, looking at him again, a small smile making its way onto your face. You pulled him over to the radiator and sat down, bringing him with you. You were facing each other, just enjoying seeing each other’s faces when the door to the room whooshed open. You were sure you were the picture of panic, and whipped yourself around to face the radiator fully, hoping to hide your identity. But Din remained there, staring at you, then looking over to the door. He held his hand out, reaching for what or who you couldn’t tell yet. Din took your hand in his free one, tugging on you to try and get you to turn toward him. Your curiosity got the better of you.

You were met with a tiny green creature with brown eyes only rivaled by Din’s.

“This is Grogu, my son.”

[the-breath-in-air]

Nicolò Patrol (Chapter 1: The Plan) [text of a Twine fanfic]

[If you’d rather read the story with sound and video cues, you can do so by clicking here]

Joe didn’t usually listen to music alone. Music was something experienced with other people. It should be communal; it should be participatory. Ideally both at the same time. But right now, as he sat in the back of the car, Joe needed something to separate himself from everyone else. So he had his headphones on and he looked out the window at the passing landscape. Joe, Nile, Andy and Booker were driving through rural Ohio on their way to someplace called Doom Manor. Copley had assured them that the residents there would be able to help them locate Nicky. Over the past few months he’d grown to trust Copley. Or, at least, Joe trusted Andy to manage Copley as necessary. Booker was another matter entirely. His betrayal hurt. Deeply. Deeply enough that Joe still couldn’t bring himself to forgive Booker. He still couldn’t believe that Andy had asked Booker to help find Nicky. Joe turned his attention to the back of Booker’s head, staring daggers, and took in a deep breath. He’d already had it out with Booker at Copley’s house. At this point overt hostility would be counterproductive. Still, Booker was supposed to have been exiled for a century. It hadn’t even been a year. Joe was not at all convinced that Booker hadn’t been part of the plot to capture Nicky. Maybe that’s why Andy wanted him nearby. Keep your enemies close. Joe let out a sigh. Enough sulking.

Joe took off his headphones as Booker pulled the car up to a large building with faux-Greek pillars and a long brick pathway out front. Joe got out of the car and tried to ignore the conversation Booker and Nile were having. “Sacré Dieu!” Booker exclaimed. “Copley wasn’t kidding when he called this a ‘manor.’” “How many people did he say lived here?” Nile asked. “I don’t think he did.” Just then, a man wrapped in bandages and wearing a long coat approached the car. Joe recognized him from Copley’s briefing yesterday - Larry, something. “It’s either 7 or 74, depending on how you count.” “I’m sorry?” Joe asked. “Well, it’s complicated,” Larry replied. “Clearly.” “Anyway, I’m Larry. I’m supposed to show you all inside.” Andy came around to the front of the car and extended her hand to shake Larry’s. “I’m Andy. This is Nile, Joe, Copley and Booker,” she said indicating each as she introduced them. Larry politely shook everyone’s hand and led everyone inside. Larry, Copley and the immortals made their way to the great room where Vic, Rita, Jane, Cliff and Niles Caulder were waiting. Introductions went quickly and Copley got down to business. “Mr. Caulder, you said you could help us track these people down.” Larry jumped in, “The Bureau of Normalcy. Yes. We’ve…dealt with them before.” “Just tell us where they are and we’ll…” Joe began. Larry shook his head. “It’s not that simple. They’re a secret government organization. You don’t just go barging through their door.” “You haven’t seen us barge through doors.” “We need a plan,” Vic said. “And before you ask, no we can’t get my dad’s help.” Joe let that go without comment. He was here to rescue Nicky, not delve into the personal lives of this whole other group of people. “Anyone got any ideas?” Nile asked. Jane glanced in Larry’s direction. "Not any good ones.“

"I might have a way to infiltrate the Bureau,” Larry explained. “My son was recently…” “Your…son? Your child?” Joe interrupted. He wasn’t willing to get a child involved in this. It went against everything he and Nicky believed. It wouldn’t be right. “He’s actually 74 years old. It’s complicated.” Booker let out a coarse laugh, “Oh, we understand that. Or at least, I do.” Joe shot Booker a look and Andy intervened, “Not helpful, Book.” “Right, boss.” “Anyway,” Larry continued after a minute. “My son was recently contacted by the Bureau about me. He’s agreed to help us by calling his handler and turn me in. Basically, I’ll be bait and lead you to wherever the Bureau is keeping people.” “Because us pretending to get captured went so well last time,” Jane piped in. “This time we have the help of real life heroes,” Rita said. “This time only one of us is being used as bait.” “Plus, we fucked them up last time,” Cliff said. “Remember the butts? I remember the butts.” Andy swept her hand in front of her, as if to clear the room of their distractions. “If this is a covert government agency, I doubt it will be as simple as tailing them as they take Larry away.” “True, but we may know someone who can help with that,” Niles Caulder said. Joe wasn’t entirely sure about adding yet more strangers into this rescue mission. He’d rather go in with just the usual team. Quick and quiet, like always. But, then, he supposed that if it were 'like always,’ Nicky would be with him. Joe took a deep breath and shook his head. Guess this situation requires something unusual. So these strangers would help them find Nicky. Then there would be a reckoning for the people who took him. The sound of Andy’s voice brought Joe out of his brooding. “Who?”

Before anyone could answer, Joe heard familiar music coming from outside. “Is that..?” Niles Caulder grinned. “Right on time. We’ll need to go outside for introductions.” Joe made his way over to Andy as the rest of the group walked into to the foyer. “This all better get Nicky back, boss.” “Agreed,” she said as she looked over at Copley. These were his contacts; they had better pan out. As Joe made his way to the front door, one of the others opened it and the music stopped. “Greetings, Danny!” Rita said. “You’re looking lovely.” A colorful 1970 VW van had pulled up into the driveway. Joe looked at Nile, who shrugged. Neither of them had any idea what to make of this. After a moment, the passenger side door opened and a tall, muscular man wearing leopard-print hotpants got out. Joe stared at him for a moment. Nicky was the love of his life and after a thousand years he’d really seen it all before, but even still Joe could appreciate a strong physique. “Hello, Danny.” Joe said while extending his hand to the man standing in front of him. The man stuck out his hand and shook Joe’s. “Oh, you’re mistaken, friend. I’m Flex Mentallo, Man of Muscle Mystery.” Flex pointed to the van, “That’s Danny.” Joe looked at the van and was surprised to see words appear on the side of the sliding door.

Joe had seen a lot in the millenium he and Nicky had been on this earth. Nothing quite prepared him for his experiences today. Meeting a robot man and a cyborg had been shocking enough. But now, a sentient car was almost too much. Joe was well and thoroughly astonished. Yet, he seemed to have ventured far enough into the absurd to break through some of his melancholy. He was temporarily distracted from his anger about the past and his concern about the future. He cracked a smile. “This is wild,” Nile said. “I thought being immortal was strange enough. But this car can talk, man!” “They’re, like, sentient, man,” Jane replied. Joe made the decision to greet Danny directly. He might as well roll with it. “Bona to vada your dolly old eek.” He tipped his hat to Danny and winked at Flex.

Joe was unsure how Danny already knew about Nicky. Perhaps Niles Caulder had briefed them? Regardless, their optimism was infectious. “Inshallah,” he replied. “We’ll rescue him.” And after Nicky was freed, he and Joe would have to come back and spend more time with Danny and Flex. Joe smiled. Nicky will love these people. Andy turned to Copley and Niles Caulder, again cutting through all the distraction. “But how exactly are they going to help?” Niles Caulder broadly explained the rest of the plan. “Flex, here, can communicate with the Negative Spirit that lives in Larry. Danny isn’t only sentient, they can teleport. Between the two of them, I’m sure we’ll be able to track Larry to wherever they take him.” At this point, Joe was willing to go along with whatever new weirdness came his way. He was already taking a lot on faith. Joe smiled again. Of course the plan to rescue Nicky would require a leap of faith. Joe looked at Niles Caulder. “So when’s the earliest you’ll all be ready?” “Tomorrow morning.”

[Chapter 1 of “Nicolò Patrol”; Part 3 of “If Found” series]

[blazingopus]

Easy Lover - Golden Wind

This took me longer than I had originally anticipated. But I am very proud of my work. I drew some inspiration from Cowboy Bebop with this one. I hope you enjoy this strange romance I crafted for Giorno. Please enjoy.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6SuSQ2hXZzLbulO8T0FF20?si=02Auyy_fRjqA_uGb3COERg

After being undercover as the target’s ‘girlfriend’ for several months, your character is ordered to finish the job.

We stepped into the hotel’s ballroom, golden light coming down from the glittering chandelier above. The voices echoing off the walls filled my ears. Some of the most powerful and dangerous people in Italy were gathered here tonight. To the more romantically inclined, this would seem like a magical night of dancing and merriment. In reality, it was a chance to meet, network, exchange information, and plan with new and old allies. All this while glaring and scoffing at enemies and rivals from across the room. 

Giorno lifted his arm, an invitation for me to take it. I gingerly wrapped my arm around his. His touch was warm and reassuring in a way. He was wearing his signature black suit with gold trim, something he did to distinguish himself from others. I matched him in opposite, wearing a gold dress with black detailing. We had planned this out very carefully, wanting to signal to others that we operated as one unit. Some were convinced that we were a true power couple, the two of us both dangerous and beautiful. Others hated how close The Don of Passione seemed to rely on a ‘girlfriend.’ What people didn’t know is that this was a clever trick on our part.

You see, we make it appear like we are in a romantic relationship together. We made an arrangement many months back, after I had spent some time in his inner circle. Giorno made it clear that he did not want to pursue any sort of romantic or sexual relationship. His offer was simple. Any event he went to, I would act as his date. I would pretend that I was his comare, interacting with the people and mingling in the crowd. This would serve two functions: The first is a bit of intel gathering on my part. Two sets of eyes and ears is better than one, and the two of us can get a more cohesive picture of what is going on within the different ranks of Passione and other rival mafias. The second is more covert. I am a trained assassin, deadly in my craft with a long resume of confirmed kills. While Giorno has a very powerful stand, he doesn’t like to use it very often. He prefers to keep it mysterious and secretive. I am his first line of defense should things get dangerous, which has been a few too many times already.

We walked into the sea of people. I took a quick look around scanning the faces as they passed. Lucky for us, we weren’t alone this time. A few of Giorno’s men were watching from within the crowd, keeping an eye on everything. I spotted Mista across the room. His lax and chill demeanor hiding his wandering gaze. Bruno was politely chatting with some ladies not far from us. I didn’t see anyone else, but that I didn’t need to see them to know that they were working diligently. Many of the others gathered here had their own bodyguards and spies placed carefully throughout the room. It was expected at this event, and neglecting to do so always ended in disaster.

People moved aside as we moved through the room. Eyes followed us, so many different expressions on their faces. Some were of awe, others of hatred and anger, more were smug or curious. Giorno continued on, his head held high and confidence oozing from his form. I matched his energy, carrying myself tall and straight. I had to play the queen to his king, elegant and powerful. That is what we arranged, after all.

I had spent two years in Giorno’s inner circle. He took me in after he heard of the work I had been doing in the lower ranks of Passione. He needed someone like me close to him. So I was promoted and instantly got to work. After all this time, I came to know his team, and I regarded a few of them as friends. I would give my life for them if the time should come. Just as I would for Giorno.

 It was my job, of course, but that wasn’t the only reason. Giorno trusted me, more than most other people had before. I found it strange, considering he had only met me a little while before. Living by his side over the months let me see into his world and learn much about him. He would sometimes give me small stories of his life, though nothing before he exposed himself as the boss. He didn’t talk about family or relatives. It was almost like the mafia was his family, his team the only people he cared for. He was so passionate about them in his strange introverted way. Over time, I began to respect him. Maybe even care for him. 

That didn’t matter now. I had a job to do, and he had made it very clear he was not wanting any sort of close relationship with me. He was respectful and friendly, but that was the end of it. Nothing more. It didn’t matter what I wanted. I had made my decisions, and I had to deal with the consequences. All I could do was pretend I was content in being next to him, protecting him, masquerading as his lover.

“Scusa,” a voice calls out. Giorno stopped us and looked around. One of his capos elbowed his way through the crowd to meet us. I instantly recognized his face.“Pardon me, but I must speak with you. It is an urgent matter.” He glanced over at me. “And quite private.” His voice was laced with hatred and disdain. He was making it painfully clear he didn’t want me to be here. This wasn’t the first time he had done this to me, but it didn’t make it any more annoying.

Giorno didn’t falter. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” he said sternly. “My business is (Y/N)’s business. Anything you have to say you must be willing to say in front of her.”

The look in his eyes changed ever so slightly. He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Are you sure that is wise, Don Giovanna? You never know who you can trust. Many members of Passione have died by the hands of their lovers. Anyone could be bought into betraying the people they love.”

“Do not question my judgement,” Giorno’s voice was stern, his eyes full of warning. “If you want to keep your position as capo, I suggest you not make such accusations. I will not tolerate you insulting me or my team. Besides, if I cannot trust the people I choose to serve by my side, how am I supposed to trust you?” The capo’s eyes slanted in anger.

I squeezed his arm. It was too early for him to be getting so aggressive. He was acting a little strange, to be honest. “It’s all right, Giorno. Let me get us some drinks,” I glared up at the capo. “Some alcohol will make the night easier, I think.”

“Don’t be too long,” Giorno looked over at me. Despite the lack of emotion on his face, I could feel a smile in his eyes 

I smiled and nodded, letting go of his arm. “I’ll do my best, love,” The word burned in my mouth and in my heart. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t want to clean up any messes when I get back.” I turned and walked away, looking this way and that for a place to get something to drink. Hopefully they had something strong enough to kill the feelings that had suddenly swept over me.

Slowly and carefully, I weaved in and out of people. There had to be a table or something around here somewhere. I saw too many people with drinks in their hands. I moved to where I thought I saw some sort of bartender. As I did, my shoulder bumped into someone. I looked over to apologize, and looking up I recognized the face.

“Fugo!”

He looked at me with a slightly puzzled expression. “Sorry, (Y/N). Do you need something?”

I looked between him and Giorno. I made a slight motion with my head, leaning in close. “See that man talking to Giorno?”

“Him again?” He sneered a bit when he saw who it was.

“Yeah. He’s being his usual asshole self.” I looked back to Fugo. “I am running to grab some drinks. Would mind watching him while I’m busy?”

He gave a small nod. “Leave it to me. If he tries anything, he won’t live very long.” With that, he ended the conversion. He slinked off into the moving mass of people, off to do his duty. Sometimes I forgot how dangerous he could be. His stand was terrifying and hard to control, reflecting his temper. He had gained some mastery of it, and when he focused it properly, he was a sight to behold.

I continued my trek to find the bar. After asking a few people and bumping into a few more, I made my way over to a large bar manned by three different bartenders. Each was busy pouring and shaking drinks for the eager guests. I pushed my way toward the front. One of the men noticed me and gave me a trained smile. 

“What will it be, ma’am?”

“Champagne for two.” I held up two fingers. Quick and direct, the best way to talk to people when they are busy. He gave a quick nod, reaching under the bar for what he needed.

“A fine choice,” a  familiar voice spoke from beside me. “I would expect nothing less from the Lady of the Don of Passione.”

I whipped my head over to see who it was. Henri, my main link to the organization and my supervisor in the field. Of course, Henri wasn’t his real name. I didn’t need to know his real name. His brown hair was slicked back and his suit was neat and pressed. No different from the last time I saw him. He gave me a small bow, his eyes looking into my soul. I didn’t expect to find him so soon. Well, that’s not entirely right. He found me.

It took me a few moments to collect myself. “I wouldn’t get anything else for Don Giovanna. I want him to have the best experience possible here.”

“What a nice sentiment,” his face a mystery to me.“But the night is still young. Much can happen in the span of a few hours.”

The bartender handed me two flutes of champagne. I gave him a nod of thanks. “You speak as if you know something. Something I don’t.” I said this without looking at him.

Henri took a drink from another bartender. A strange darkness swirled behind his eyes.. “I know many things, some of which people kill to learn. But I hate talking over people. Why don’t we head to a place a little more secluded?” Without waiting for my reply, he walked away, moving with ease though the mass of bodies milling about. I followed close behind, knowing I didn’t have much of a choice.

I was led to a set of armchairs that had been left abandoned in a lone corner. No one had wandered over quite yet; people weren't quite drunk enough to need them. Henri sat in one and gestured that I sit in the other. 

“I can’t say your message came as much of a surprise,” He said as we sat down. “Most operatives ask to leave at least once in their career with us.”

I placed Giorno’s flute on the table between us. I adjusted my dress to cover my legs. “Then there must be policies in place for times like this. What did the higher-ups say?” Henri took a sip of his drink. “While you are right about the policies, things will have to be handled a little differently with you. You have proven to be a unique case.”

I felt my brows furrow. “What do you mean? Most of my assignments have been pretty standard operations. Nothing I needed special security clearance for.”

“This last mission has complicated things.” He placed his glass down, becoming very serious. “We don’t retire operatives while they are on mission. Such things draw more attention than they’re worth.” His blue eyes bore into mine. 

“Then end the mission. I must have collected enough information to satisfy the client.” I could feel my pulse quicken under his gaze. Damn, I couldn’t let him get to me. “They have to by this point. I’ve been doing intel for two years.”

He sighed, a little too dramatic to be authentic. “That’s the problem, (Y/N). If you had sent us the information like we asked, this wouldn't be an issue.”

I swallowed. My mouth was so dry. “I don’t understand. I sent you everything I could get my hands on.”

His eyes struck me like ice. “Don’t play dumb, (Y/N). We know what you did. We have our suspicions why you did it. The fact of the matter is that you're lying. You’ve been lying for months.”

I felt my blood run cold. It couldn’t be. There was no way they would have figured it out. There were no spies at my level of access in Passione. No would be able to disprove the information I sent back. Right? I dropped my gaze, fiddling with the glass in my hand. Don’t let him get to you. Don’t let him get to you...

As much as I tried to hide it, Henri must have read my body language. His voice cut like a knife. “At first, you did as you were ordered, feeding us sensitive information about Passione and the upper levels of organization. The client was very happy with what you were sending us. But at some point, you started giving us misinformation. Most of it was original and accurate, of course. Little dates and time changed here and there, inconsistencies that would happen in any sort of job. But you got brave, and that bravery made you sloppy.``

Knots started twisting themselves in my stomach. Panic flooded my veins, but I knew I had to stay calm. I had killed many people, gotten myself out of worse situations than this. I could think my way out of this. I couldn't let my emotions get the better of me.

He continued. “Your attempts at misinformation became more and more blatant as time went on. We were able to catch on to what you were doing when your information started contradicting what other lower-level operatives were sending in. Things that anyone would be aware of and have access to.” He leaned in, earning my gaze again. His eyes felt like glass cutting into my soul. “The long and the short of it is this: You royally fucked up, (Y/N). You caught feelings for your targets, and those feelings caused you to betray us. You were found out, and now you will pay the price.``

I swallowed, gazing into his ice blue eyes. Nothing he had said I could deny. He had cornered me. I had to say something. “What do I have to do?” I commanded myself to sound more confident that I felt.

Henri smirked. “Luckily, we won’t terminate you. We will allow you to leave the organization quietly like you asked, but you must carry out one last mission.”

“That’s offly generous,” I said in a low voice. “What’s the catch?” If I held one piece of advice above all else, it was ‘There’s always a catch.’ I slowly spun the flute in my hand.

He bore his teeth to me, a nasty snarl masquerading as a smile. “It’s very simple, really. It’s nothing that should be a problem for you. Assassinate Giorno Giovanna. I don’t care how you do it, but our client will be very angry and disappointed if you don’t.”

No. Not that. I do anything to get out. Anything but that. I had eliminated people I had worked beside for months, people I had considered friends.  I couldn’t kill Giorno. Not someone I cared so much about. 

The wheels and gears turned in my head. Things I had been wondering about for years suddenly began to make sense. “This is why you made me take this assignment in the first place, isn’t it? You knew that I would be ordered to kill him in the end. That’s why you pulled me out of assassination to do intel.”

Henri took a sip of his drink. “It’s a shame you figured it all out too late.You could have saved us all a lot of trouble.” He stood up, smoothing out his suit and tugging on his jacket. “Be aware that we will be closely monitoring you from this moment on. If you fail in this last mission, both you and will be terminated. If you try to run away, you will be terminated. If you attack us, we will hunt you down and terminate you. Another operative will take over the mission and see it to completion if you do." He gave me a small bow. "Don't let your champagne get warm. Its flavor comes through better when chilled. But of course, you already knew that." Without another word, he stood straight and disappeared into the crowd. If I hadn't known firsthand what he could do, I would have sworn he was some kind of phantom.

I sat in my chair, letting his harsh words sink in. I started cursing Henri, cursing the organization, cursing this mysterious client. But most of all, I was cursing myself. I shouldn't have let things get this out of hand. I shouldn't have taken this mission in the first place. We both knew I was out of my depth doing intel. If I had known this was how it would turn out, I would have never taken this assignment. How could I have done this to them? How could I have done this to the people I call friends? Most of all, how could I have done this to Giorno? If I had grown to care so much for him… No, be honest with yourself. If I loved him as much as I did, I would never have let this happen.

No, stop it. How many times had I been injured in the field, how many times had I seen teammates die? If I had known the troubles ahead, it wouldn't matter. I had a mission to complete. And when things did get bad, it was my skills and ingenuity that pulled me out alive. There was no point in worrying and wallowing in my misery. I had to act. 

But what could I do? 

Henri most likely had operatives scattered throughout the ball room. Eyes and ears everywhere, all ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Not only that, but so did many other people here. Some who would take any chance to end Giorno. The best thing to do was to leave the area to regroup and strategize, and that was a task unto itself. With so many people watching, there would be no way to get out quietly. 

That only left one viable option. We would have to go out with a bang.

I stood up, grabbed the other flute of champagne, and entered back into the commotion of the party. Gazes followed me, wondering why I had been by myself, why I was talking to a strange man, what he had told me. Rumors would probably start about me, vicious ones. But that was the least of my worries. It took me some effort, but I managed to find Giorno still talking to that horrid capo. Fugo was hanging around close by, watching the conversations while trying to not bring much attention to himself. 

“I still do not understand why you are investing so much of Passione’s money into restoration projects. Why should we be concerned about old paintings and gaudi architecture? The museums can handle that, can’t they?”

Giorno was doing his best to stay polite and calm. “You forget that museums need funding in order to stay open and maintain the exhibits. Exhibits that display some of the most valuable pieces of Italian art. If we let those go by the wayside, we will lose part of what makes us Italian.”

“I see I missed out on an interesting philosophy lecture,” I said to get their attention. Giorno’s face relaxed some as he saw me. I handed him his champagne flute. “I’m sorry I took so long, the bar was busier than I expected.”

“It’s not a problem. I appreciate you going through the trouble of getting this for me." He smiled at me, his understated charisma coming through. Focus, (Y/N). You can't let your emotions interfere. You have to pull Giorno out of this alive.

As gracefully as I could, I wrapped around his free arm. "I have something to discuss with you. Something that just can’t wait.” I gave a knowing look up at the capo. “And is quite private.” At my words, his brows furrowed in annoyance and anger. How easily the tables turn.

“Of course,” Giorno gave a polite nod to his capo. “If you would excuse me.” Without waiting on his reply, he led me away, leaving the man to jabber furiously to himself. 

“Finally,” Giorno sighed. “If he wasn’t so good at running his territory, I would have demoted him a long time ago.”

“He's going to be the least of our problems tonight,” I said in a low voice. I didn’t want others around us to hear.

“What do you mean?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing I had learned something.

“Someone’s out to clip you tonight.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but we didn’t have time for that. My eyes met his, both of us knowing the danger in those words. He stopped walking.

“Who, and how many?” He asked simply.

“A hired organization, outside of our jurisdiction. I don’t have exact numbers, but if my suspicions are correct, more than enough to do the job.”

His eyes roamed over my face, carefully thinking over things. “You seem to know more about this organization. Do you have a plan to get out of this?”

I took a deep breath. “More like a loose collection of actions we need to take. We need to find the others. By then, I should have something more to work with.” I looked into his eyes, doing everything to make my next words have impact. “I can’t stress this enough, Giorno. They are very dangerous, and will do everything they can to make sure you don’t leave this room alive.”

A strange look crept into his eyes, like hearing such words strengthened his resolve.“I knew the risks involved when I became Don. Something like this was bound to happen eventually.” He looked around at the faces chattering around us. “I saw Fugo near me when I was talking to that capo. We should find him and get to work.”

Giorno tugged on my arm and led me across the ballroom. The entire time, I was running different scenarios through my head. We would have to get out while avoiding the main exits. We would need to be quick about it too. Time was not on our side. The different stands at our disposal would be necessary if we were going to get out of this. Bruno’s would be essential, and the other’s would be beneficial as well. 

My stand Maneater only manifested as a small pocket dimension that could open within a meter radius of me. It was good for transporting objects like weapons, ammunition, and the occasional dead body. Living things didn’t survive long in there. Getting him out that way would only result in a dead Don.

“There he is,” Giorno whispered to me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I was puzzling out the main parts of my plan as he brought me over to Fugo. He instantly knew something was up when he saw the looks on out faces. 

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?" He was doing his best to mask the concern in his voice.

“We’ve got trouble,” Giorno said calmly. “Someone’s got a hit out on us, and we need to get out of here.”

“What?” Fugo’s eyes grew wide, his mouth falling agape. It took him a few moments to collect himself. “How? Who’s trying to kill us?”

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed .I instinctively looked this way and that for signs of danger. “They have eyes and ears everywhere. I think I have a plan, but I am going to need you to relay some information for me. Get in touch with the other members of the team. If this is going to work, we have to be coordinated on this.”

Fugo absorbed my words, thinking over everything as I said it. “Alright, tell me this plan of yours.” I leaned in and quickly explained the plan I had cobbled together.

Patience is not my forte. I had to learn early on when I trained as an assassin. Waiting for your target to walk into range of your sniper scope was aggravating, but necessary. I was always better in close quarter combat because of that. Your results were obvious and right in front of you, and the whole affair was over quicker. Now, watching the clock’s hands slowly move around its detailed face was agony. Everything could end in a second. 

Death was a bitch like that. It came suddenly, without a warning, and fucked everything up. I should know. I was trained as its instrument, its dedicated disciple. How ironic that it would be this hand of oblivion would be Giorno’s saving grace. If everything worked out, that is.

The hands of the clock crept ever on and on around its face. All I could feel was anxiety. All around me, eyes watching, ears listening. Weapons not yet drawn. Blows not yet struck. I knew they were waiting for me to make a move. They must have anticipated that I would defect. If I was lucky, it would all come down to the stroke of twelve.

I clung to Giorno’s arm. I couldn’t let him out of my sight. It was my fault we were in this mess in the first place. If he was concerned or panicking, I definitely couldn’t tell. As we slowly moved into position, he continued to politely converse with other partygoers around us. I did my best to match him. No matter how hard I tried not to, I kept glancing around us, watching the people, looking back at the clock. Every second was agony.

From what I understand, there are some powerful stands that could manipulate time in some capacity. If there was one in that ballroom, it must have been messing around with me. And I hated it. If this was Henri’s doing, I would have no way of knowing. He was the kind of man to keep most of himself a secret.

Slowly, finally, the hands met as they do twice a day, lining up at the intricately cursive number twelve. It was then when all hell broke loose. Just as I planned.

It started with an explosion on the other side of the room. It wasn’t anything big, but it was enough to get people’s attention. Screams erupted among the ladies, heads turned towards the smoking pile of whatever was on fire. A few meters above, Aerosmith circled as it geared up for its next movements. 

I tightened my grip on Giorno’s arm. Both of us tensed up, getting ready to act. Fugo appeared out of the crowd, watching people for signs of danger. It wouldn’t be long now. I reached under the slit of my dress and pulled out the pistol I had strapped to my leg. The black metal reflecting the golden light coming from above.

Aerosmith took a sharp turn, firing into the crowds. People ran this way and that, doing everything they could to avoid the rain of miniature bullets coming from above. Miraculously, all the bullets seemed to miss their targets, hitting the floor, walls, and various furniture around them. Panic took hold in the room, and chaos erupted around us.

“Come on,” I pulled Giorno toward the other side of the room, Fugo close behind. People swarmed around us, going in every direction to escape. My eyes scanned around, knowing full well that we were not the only ones who would take advantage of this. 

We made it to the wall, watching as Aerosmith continued to rain hell onto the unsuspecting partygoers. I watched the people swarming around us, bodies rushing past each other. I watched the faces as they went by. Every so often, I would see the face of Henri in the crowd for an instant, The mischievous darkness in his eyes, a crooked smile on his face. Then it was gone. All that was there was an empty space where he could have stood. 

The glint of a weapon caught my eye, the calculated movement of an assassin aiming his silenced pistol at me. I whipped my head around on instinct to face him. The focused intent of murder was in his eyes. His practiced motions were so familiar to me, because they were exactly like mine.

I raised my gun, knowing how high it would need to be to land a killing blow. Just as he did, I fired a few shots at him, not concerned about the innocents rushing around us. For an instant, the world stopped as the bullets flew by each other. 

My bullets hit their target, nailing him in the head. Blood and brains spayed behind him, and his lifeless body ragdolling to the floor. A pool of blood formed around him. 

Two more appeared out of the crowd, aiming their guns at me. I quickly turned to meet them. I saw Fugo next to me, a menacing purple cloud forming around him. Not waiting to see what he would do, I pulled the trigger on my pistol. Sounds of gunfire bounced off the walls around us and echoed into the large empty space of the ballroom. For a moment, I didn't know what happened.

“(Y/N)!” Giorno’s voice cut through the night. Then I felt it.

Hot searing pain erupted in my arm, forcing me so far back I nearly lost my balance. I clutched the two oozing holes in my flesh, blood dripping down my arm. It took everything I had to not drop my gun. Something important must have been damaged, because I had lost some control in my hand. I felt familiar hands catch my shoulders, keeping me from falling over.

I looked over at the men who attacked us. Blood blossomed in the starched white shirt of the first one, just above his heart. Another lower, deep into his abdomen. He clutched his wounds and fell to his knees. The other was a pile of goo, an empty capsule on Purple Haze’s fist. 

“What the hell happened?” Mista appeared beside us, his own pistol drawn. He pointed at the assassins on the floor. “Who are these guys?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Fugo dismissed his stand before he could cause any more trouble. “Let’s just get Narancia and get out of here.” 

I felt a hand over my bullet wound. A different kind of pain set in, a burning itching pain. I looked down as I sucked a breath in through my teeth.. Giorno had summoned Gold Experience’s powers, using the bullets to reform the broken tissues. I always forgot how much it hurt to heal that way.

“We can’t do anything until Bruno gets here,” he said as he healed me. “ We will just have to stay put for now.”

“So we’re just sitting ducks?” Mista fiddled with his gun, the Sex Pistols becoming restless and poking thier heads out.

“Don’t you have any faith in me?” A voice said from behind us. I turned my head over to the wall. There he was, a hand pulling back the long zip in the wall that let his head peak in. A small smirk making the whole situation feel just a little better. 

“You were almost late there.” I smirked back. “Let’s move. We don’t have a lot of time.” I nodded at Mista. “Do it.”

He nodded back, the Pistols sliding back into their places. Mista raised his gun, pulling back the hammer. A few seconds ticked by. Then he let three shots fly, Pistols riding by as they traveled up and up to reach their target.

One. Two. Three. The bullets hit their mark. The chain broke and shattered. Sparks scattered into the air. The chandelier fell, lights flickering out until they shattered on the hardwood floor. Glass shards fractured and slid as the metal bent and warped. The last distraction to make the night complete.

“Move!” Bruno shouted. He pulled the wall back, letting Fugo discreetly slip out, followed closely behind by. Mista jumped out behind them, looking over his shoulder to get one last look at his work. I crept over and slid out with a little help from Bruno. Before me, the black limo we had arrived in, its engine alive and roaring, Abbacchio sitting in the driver’s seat. The others began to pile in the back. So far, so good.

Bruno reached out and took my arm. “Where’s Narancia? He should be here by now.” His voice stern to hide the concern in his voice.

“He’s coming,” I tried to reassure him. I looked back in. The sprinkler system had gone off, soaking the remaining guests in cold water. Not a sight of the orange wonder could be seen. 

Something shot past my head, the movement of air and the whizzing sound to accompany it. Crack. Something had lodged itself deep into the wall next to me. I jumped back, and the sound echoed in my ears. It was a sound I was all too familiar with. That was a sniper round. Bruno’s eyes went wide, knowing full well that I could have just died a second before.

Abbacchio rolled down the window and yelled at us. “We need to go, or you are two going to get your asses shot!” He shouted angrily. “Get in the car, I’m driving off without you!”

“We’re not leaving Narancia!” Bruno yelled back. I watched as Abbacchio’s face morphed to show his annoyance. He didn’t argue, though. Just glared.

“Wait for me!” A familiar voice called out. Narancia almost slid through the hole in the wall. He hit the ground, stumbling on his feet for a few steps. He was drenched, covered in water and blood. Whether it was his blood or someone else's, I couldn’t tell. He was battered in some places like he had been in some sort of scuffle. 

He turned around and beamed at us, hands triumphantly on his hips. “I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”

Mista poked his head out above the open limo door. “Just get in the fucking car!”

Without any hesitation, Bruno let the zipper disappear. The three of us dashed into the car, Bruno sliding in the passenger seat beside Abbacchio, Narancia and I in the back with the others. Everyone seemed on edge and irritated, except Giorno. He was taking this very seriously, but he sat under the back window with a calm demeanor, strapped in for the drive. I sat down next to him, Mista on his other side. The glass window between us and the front seats had been left rolled down.

“What took you so long?” Fugo demanded, sliding the seatbelt over his shoulder. The car changed gear and quickly drove forward.

Water was pooling in the leather seat Narancia was sitting in. “I was distracting everyone, just like you told me to. That was the plan, right?” 

“Watch out!” Bruno yelled from the front. The limo barely missed some of the partygoers running to their vehicles, and narrowly passed other cars trying to pull out of the parking lot.

“I know what I’m doing!” Abbacchio yelled as he jerked the steering wheel around. Everyone swayed as the limo moved this way and that. “Don’t tell me how to drive. Just tell me where I need to go. I can’t drive and navigate at the same time.”

“Damn it,” Mista muttered to no one. He hadn’t put his seatbelt on, and was using his hands to keep him still.

We finally hit the road, bobbing this way and that between other cars. I used Maneater to open my pocket dimension. Reaching in, I pulled out more ammunition and some clips I had already filled. I wished I had brought something more powerful than my pistol, but I didn’t think I would be needing anything else tonight. I should have come more prepared. 

Mista took my lead, reloading his revolver. Both of us knew that this wasn’t going to be over until we made it back to the villa. I made sure I was still carrying his ammunition in my pocket. He tended to run out when it was most inconvenient.

We turned off the main road, speeding away towards the darker and less traveled part of the city. Bruno must be wanting to lose anyone that might be tailing us. Every so often, he would point out a street or tell Abbacchio to turn this way or that. The entire time, Fugo was watching out the back window.

“How long is this going to take us to get back home?” Narancia asked as we turned down another street. He picked up his arms to show the dripping sleeves of  his jackets. “I want to change out of these wet clothes.”

“As long as it takes. We can’t rush these things,” Giorno said softly. One leg was crossed over the other, his hands clasped in his lap. “All things considered, you should be happy that you got out in one piece.”

Narancia put his arm down with some dejection. “I guess. I just wish the smoke from that bomb hadn’t set the sprinklers off.”

With that, we fell into intense silence. No one said a word, the only music was the ambient sounds of the car. There was a heavy tension in the air. No one was willing to break it. I continued my work, taking inventory of everything I had sitting in my pocket.

“Guys,” Fugo said hesitantly, trying to get our attention. “I think someone’s following us.”

I whipped my head around to get a good look out the window. There was a black SUV trailing behind us, its headlights turned off. It was nearly invisible in the urban darkness, the passing streetlights the only reason I could even see it. A feeling of dread was starting to settle in.

“What the hell?” Mista asked. He was turned in the seat watching the car with me. “How long have they been following us?”

“I don’t know, I just noticed them.” Fugo came over, leaning over my shoulder.

 Narancia walked over and draped himself over Mista. “What are they doing?”

“Dude, get off!” Mista pushed him away. “You’re getting my clothes all wet!”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

As they continued to argue back and forth, I watched the car behind us. The dark tinted windows rolled down, and a figure emerged leaning out. In his hand, the familiar glint of a weapon. 

“Get down!” I grabbed the back of Fugo's and Girono’s heads, protecting them as I slid down the smooth seat. Mista and Narancia threw themselves to the floor.  A moment later, glass rained down on us, the sounds of bullets whizzing over our heads. The seats in front of us nearly exploded, leather and fluff floating in the air. 

“What the fuck?!” Abbacchio yelled at us. A few bullets had made their way to the front and lodged themselves in the windshield. Cracks radiated outward. A beautiful display of death. The car swerved back and forth to avoid getting hit, but it was obvious it was not helping much.

“What’s going on?” Bruno looked into the rear view mirror to get a good look at us.

“We’re being attacked!” Narancia yelled from under the seat. Or, as far under the seat he could get. All there really was the small lip of plush material.

The shooting stopped. I let go of Fugo and Girono. They cautiously sat up straight, brushing dust off themselves. Mista peeled himself off the floor, glass falling off his body, and collapsed in his seat again just under the window sill. His revolver was poised for action.“We’re taking care of it, Bruno! Just keep driving!”

I shook the glass out of my hair and pulled my pistol out again. “How many do we have, Mista?”

He took a small look over the edge. “I can see three of them. Can’t tell what kind of weapons they have.”

Giorno took a quick peek at the car. “Are there any stand users?”

“Get down!” I grabbed his shoulder. “They’re after you, remember?” I took a deep breath. That was only half true, but he didn't need to know that right now. "If they are stand users, we'll deal with it as it comes up."

"An excellent idea," Fugo said sarcastically as he sat on the floor and shook out his clothing. Some glass had fallen into the holes of his suit. "That has always worked out for us in the past."

I gave him a mean glare. "Shut up, Fugo. It's not like we have much of a choice right now."

It looked like he was going to say something, but he was cut off by a hail of bullets coming overhead. On instinct, we all ducked and covered our heads, waiting anxiously for the shooting to stop again. The room filled with sparks and fluff as bullets destroyed upholstery and circuit boards alike. 

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. They’d shoot the limo apart if they kept this up. That is if they didn’t kill us first. I took a small look over the edge of the window. From where I was, I could only see one of the shadows we called enemies. I brought up my pistol and took careful aim, focusing intently on what I needed to do. I took a deep breath, pulled the trigger. One. Two. Three.

The shadow collapsed and crumpled onto the asphalt below. There were the sickening sounds of bones breaking and flesh shredding. If the hot lead didn’t kill him, the fall probably would. I felt the adrenaline fill my veins. It was the familiar thrill of the kill.

“Nice shot,” Mista nodded at me. He had to look over Giorno, who was still stoically sitting between us.

“Thanks,” I slid back down the seat. “But taking pot shots like this won’t do us much good. We have to get rid of them somehow.”

“Hold on to something!” Bruno yelled from the front seat. Without another second to spare, we were in one of the hardest turns I had felt in my life. 

I felt myself slide down the seats. I tried to stop myself, but there was no way I wasn’t going to collide with something. I hit the wall with a thunk, my arm getting jammed under me. Before I could move, I felt Giorno ram into my shoulder, pinning me down against the hard interior. That wasn’t bad enough apparently, because Mista slammed into Giorno’s shoulder, the G Forces keeping all of us from moving. While all this was happening, Fugo and Narancia were thrown to the door, the glass and the fluff flying around them. 

The limo pulled out of the turn and continued on. I no longer had the full weight of two grown men on my frame. The two of them sat up without a word.  I eased myself off the wall. Both my arms and my chest hurt. But it was just something I would have to deal with for now.

“How about this,” Mista continued my thought, “You take out the guys shooting at us. I will need you to cover me while I take out the tires. If I do that, they will lose control and crash.”

I gave him a nod. “Good idea. Let’s do it.”

We didn’t have time to lose. Without another thought, I threw myself into the open and began to unload bullets onto out pursuers. From the corner of my eye, I knew that Mista was lining up his shot and the Pistols were communicating to each other. I emptied my clip. I watched another figure fall and die against the black road under us.

Maneater opened the pocket, and I quickly switched out the clips. I loaded a bullet into the chamber. I felt the recoil as I pulled the trigger. Another victim caught half out of the window. It was all so familiar, I had done this a thousand times. Years of training had prepared me for this very moment.

Another figure appeared in the window, brandishing a rifle in his hand. Before I could get a good handle on his position, he had lit up the darkness with flashes of gunfire. Bullets bounced off the road and the limo. I fired off some shots, doing whatever I could to take him out before he hit me. But I was a little too late. 

It felt like I had been punched and stabbed at the same time. I fell back out of the line of fire, clutching bullet wounds in my side. I could feel my blood start to seep into the dress. A moment later, another hand joined mine. The familiar burning itching pain started again. I looked over to see Giorno again. His face was focused in concentration. Mista beside him was wearing a similar expression.

Mista let off two shots into the night. A moment later, the car was swaying this way and that. One of the front tires was instantly deflated and was barely holding on. It ground to a halt, flipping over and sliding across the course asphalt. Sparks lit up the night and the metal screeching filled the air.

“Nice work,” I gave him a tired smile. I was already getting tired of getting shot.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Giorno said. He pointed out the window. “They didn’t come alone.”

Mista and I turned. Elegantly sliding forward was another SUV, just as imposing and dangerous as the first. They must have been waiting behind in case something like this happened. 

“Shit,” Mista hissed between his teeth. “They don’t stop, do they?”

“No,” I said quietly. I dropped the clip in my gun, readying to replace it. “Let’s keep going. The same plan should work for this car well.” The next clip slid into place with a satisfying click.

“Wait.” Giorno’s eyes intently watched me. He leaned over, placing a hand over my hand holding my pistol. I felt his chest against my back.  His face was situated right next to mine, eyes trained on the black metal beast following close behind. I could feel the signature warm feeling of Gold Experience under my hand, along with a slight flush in my face. 

“You’re using that trick again?” Mista smirked. 

Again? What did he mean? I didn’t get a chance to ask before I felt Giorno lean in a little closer.

“Shoot at the car,” He whispered in my ear. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. He knew I understood. I brought the gun level to my target, and took a deep breath. I settled into the moment. Muscle memory took hold. Pulled the trigger. 

Bullets flew into the night, seemingly moving on their own accord. They struck the grill of the SUV, shattered the headlights, burying themselves into the metal shell. For a moment, nothing happened. We waited in strange silence. Then, faster than what would seem natural, what looked like tree roots sprung out of the car. They grew and wound themselves into the working parts. Tendrils worked like fingers reaching under the hood into the engine and wrapping themselves around the axel and wheels below.

Loud grinding and screeching tore at my ears. I watched as the wheels locked up, sliding across the asphalt and tearing apart the tires. The car ground to a halt, now a strange mangle of metal and tree. It flipped, rolled, windows shattering and doors being forced off. The frame caved in on itself, and parts broke off and were lost in the darkness. If anyone was still alive, they were in terrible pain. 

I exhaled. Giorno let go of my hand, but he didn’t leave my side. He watched the carnage as it unfolded in front of us. 

“Damn,” Mista muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning out the window. “I’m glad I’m on your side, Giorno. Sometimes I forget how terrifying you can be.”

I made my way down the hall, my bare feet pressing into the soft carpet below. I still had some bruising from the night before, but I had come out in worse shape on past assignments. I was happy to be alive, and that I had managed to keep everyone else alive. A few bruises were well worth the price of living another day. 

The large wooden door stopped me in my path. It was the door to Giorno’s office. He had asked me to come by. I raised my hand and gave it a knock. 

“Come in,” his voice carried through elegantly carved wood. I took hold of the handle and opened the door.

He was sitting behind his desk, one hand holding a document, the other pressed against his mouth in thought. He hadn’t changed his clothes from the night before. His suit jacket was draped over the chair he sat in, his dress shirt half unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. The braid down his back had been undone. Blond locks snaked and curled around his shoulders and down his back. The mid morning sun did nothing to hide the tiredness written on his face.

My eyes met his as I closed the door behind me. He laid the document on top of one of the many stacks on his desk. “(Y/N), thank you for coming to see me.”

I crossed the room and sat down in the chair set up across from him. “It’s not a problem.” I took another moment to look over his form. I gave him a concerned look. “Giorno, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. You look terrible. Have you slept at all since we got back?”

Giorno quietly sighed, closing his eyes. “No, I haven’t. Bruno and I have been working all night trying to get information on the people that attacked us last night. It has been… Difficult. This organization is very good at covering their tracks.”

“From what it sounds like, you must need my help,” I said calmly and quietly. 

He opened his tired blue eyes. “You seem to know a lot about them. Your information would be invaluable to us. While we were able to survive their attack last night, I doubt they will give up so easily. We need to get ahead of them before they can make another move.”

I took a deep breath. “You are right about that.” I carefully considered what I was about to do. “Giorno, before this goes any further, I need to tell you something. It’s important to what happened last night.”

His eyebrows raised slightly.

I fiddled with my fingers. I didn’t want to do this. It would ruin everything that I had worked for the past two years. Probably end the relationship between me and Giorno. But I had no other choice. If I truly loved him like I thought I did, I would tell him the truth about myself, about everything I had done.

So I told him. Slowly and carefully, I told him about my time in the organization, my assignment to gather intel on him, the inevitable change of heart. I told him that I met Henri at the party in order to get out and end the assignment, and how I was ordered to kill my target, Giorno. The entire time, he never changed his expression, only listened.

"So, to make a long story short, I am the reason you were attacked last night," I solemnly dropped my head. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to go this far. I never meant to put you in danger."

Giorno closed his eyes again, thinking over what I had said. "Well, that answers some questions we’ve had for a while." 

I furrowed my brows. "What do you mean?"

He gave a tired smile. "We've known what you were up to for a while. I have to admit, you were good at avoiding the security system. But no matter how hard they try, no one can escape the power of  Moody Blues."

I sat there stunned. "What?”

He opened his eyes. "You are excellent as a bodyguard and assassin. Almost too excellent. It would be a mistake to let someone with your talents go to waste. So we used you to send disinformation to whoever you worked for. I started switching out some of the documents with fakes and telling you lies about what we were doing. That way, you would stay working for us longer without compromising our safety. But like you said, you started doing that on your own after a while. We didn't need to worry about you as much after that."

His words weren’t sinking in properly. “So, Abbacchio was spying on me the entire time?” I asked quietly

“He’s not the most trusting person.”

I buried my head in my hands. This was terrible. All that time, I had been lying for nothing. It just made me feel even more guilty and stupid about what I had done. All of this could have been avoided if I had told them sooner. 

 “I could have killed you at any time,” I said without looking up at him. “Why did you trust me? Why did you let me go on like this for so long?”

For a few agonizing minutes, Giorno said nothing. I heard him take a slow breath in. “Because you have a good heart. I could see it from the very beginning.”

I looked up at him, feeling tears behind my eyes.. “I have killed many people over the years, Giorno. I’ve lied to you and everyone else here. I betrayed the organization I dedicated years of my life to. Do you call that the actions of a good person?”

His blues eyes gazed deep into my soul, the intensity making me want to look away. “Like you said, you could have killed me at any time. But you didn’t. You did quite the opposite in fact, saving my life on many occasions. And in the end, you betrayed that organization to protect your new teammates, whom you grew to care for over the years you worked with them. That sounds like the actions of a good person trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

A few tears ran down my cheeks. I brushed them off with the palm of my hand, trying to avoid his gaze. It was becoming clear why I had fallen so helplessly for him. For all the people here. They had touched my heart in a way that no one else had. What a fool I was. 

“While we are on the subject of confessions,” Giorno continued, “I have one of my own.”

I gave a half-hearted chuckle, a hand still clutching my face.. “What kind of secret would you have to confess to me, Don Giovanna? You don’t keep them lightly.”

He looked away for a moment, eyes trailing to the floor. It was almost like he was trying to decide what he wanted to say next. His blue eyes slowly wandered back to my face, a strange confidence giving them light.

“I have to admit, stuff like this is not what I am good at. I have never had to do something like this.  Being vulnerable goes contrary to everything I have done to get to this point in my life.” 

I felt my face scrunch up in confusion. “Giorno, you’re not making any sense. What’s going on?”

He gave a tired sigh. “I have grown to care very deeply for you, (Y/N). More deeply than I should have allowed to happen. I… kept this from you because pursuing any sort of relationship would violate our agreement. I never intended for things to escalate to this point…”

Without another thought, I bolted from my chair and circled around the desk. His face tilted up to watch me as I approached him. Confusion and concern was written all over his body language. There was pain behind his eyes. It hurt for me to witness him in such a state.

I threw my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck. I stood there awkwardly, the bottom half of my body still in the standing position.. I felt him freeze for a moment. I must have startled him. Very slowly, he reached up around me and pulled me down. He let me settle into his lap, settling into his chest. He held onto me like the world was ending.

I moved my head over and kissed his cheek. “Fuck the agreement,” I whispered. “I love you, Giorno.”

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 6 here!

Chapter 7: Ring Heist Renewed

“Care to explain, lass?” Murtagh asked the question before I could bolt after Jamie and the others, thus avoiding the ensuing conversation that I now knew to be inevitable. But he sounded matter of fact, not accusatory. He even seemed a bit curious. I turned to face him, hand nervously clenching the wanted poster in my pocket. I still had no idea what the charges were. Hopefully it only mentioned my most recent encounter with the redcoats.

“Does Jamie ken?” He tried for an easier question. 

“I … he … not all of it.” I glanced helplessly at the door to the inn Jamie and others had just gone through and took several steps backward.

“And I suppose those two wee fools ken nothing of it.” He said, referring to Rupert and Angus.

My hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically around the poster. The sound of crumpling paper drifted from my pocket before I replied. “What was your first guess?” 

He chuckled. “Well for one, I have never seen such a petrified look on yer face before.” 

“Well that’s because there is not much out there to petrify me.” 

“But this does.” 

I let out a long sigh. “Myself and the British government have been . . . at odds for some time.” 

“As cryptic as ever, Claire.” Murtagh stated. He didn’t need me to beg for secrecy with such a shameful, pleading look on my face. “Is that why ye’re so desperate to leave then?” 

I imagined Jamie telling his uncle of all the unsuccessful scheming I had done to recover my ring and be on my way. “Ye can leave and keep running, I ken how badly ye want to.”

“It isn’t safe for me here.” I told him the lie I kept telling myself, and he saw right through it. 

“Not safe? We brought ye to one of the most fortified castles in the Highlands. Ye’re surrounded by kindhearted and protective Scottish warriors, many of whom have grown quite fond of ye.” 

“I still feel like a captive rather than a guest.” I answered quietly. 

Murtaugh grunted. “Well I’ve said my piece, ’tis yer choice what ye do with it.” He started toward the door. 

“Wait!” I called after him. It felt silly to use my usual method and threaten a kick in the balls to ensure his silence. He demanded much more respect with his quiet demeanor and wisdom, and he was very important to Jamie. 

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “I wilna tell anyone lass.” 

Jamie was giving me a concerned look when we reached the door. I smiled briefly to assure everything was okay, and he relaxed. There was a man standing inside the doorway holding a lantern. He scrutinized us until he saw Rupert and Angus, and he grinned broadly. 

“Back again are ye? Who d’ye have here?” He asked, clapping Rupert on the shoulder. 

“Aye, we’ve brought some kinsmen. Dinna worry they wilna blow yer cover.” Rupert responded. 

“Pardon me if this seems like a foolish question,” I began as we descended a narrow staircase single file. “But is there some sort of illegal activity taking place here?” I had half-expected to walk in on some sort of orgy at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Will you two dolts just tell us where we’re going?” Murtagh piped up from behind me. 

“Ye canna just wait two more seconds?” Angus called back. 

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs with a warm light peeking out the bottom. From beyond I heard cheerful music and many voices. Rupert pushed the door open and we entered what looked like a basement turned taproom. There was a bar and tables with patrons. I blinked in confusion. 

“You … you made us walk all the way over here to sit in a nearly identical taproom?” I folded my arms and regarded Rupert and Angus. Behind me, Murtagh suppressed a laugh.

“It isna just a taproom!” Angus said. 

“Oh my apologies, ‘secret taproom’.” I stretched and started for the bar. “Well as long as we’re here, I’m going to have a drink, or three.” I said, hoping this would aid me in forgetting about the incriminating paper in my pocket and stop me from wondering if I’d ever be able to show my face in public again.

“Sassenach.” Jamie tapped my shoulder. “I think that’s why they brought ye here.” He inclined his head toward the far end of the room, where the most people were gathered. There was a sea of bodies in my way, and I still saw nothing while Jamie easily towered over almost everyone. Determined to make something of this night, I shouldered my way through the crowd ignoring the comments and side glances. I reached an opening in the crowd and my jaw promptly hit the floor. 

“Look at her face!” Rupert said gleefully. “I kent she’d love this!” He looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. 

A large ring had been constructed out of wood in the middle of the floor. The walls rose about four feet high, and they were stained with blood. Some spots were old and faded, others clearly fresh. Suddenly a man was thrown headfirst into said bloodstained wall, adding to the collection. There was a gash in his forehead. He wore no shirt and he was glistening in sweat and breathing hard. His opponent loomed over him. There was blood running down the other man’s neck from some unidentifiable wound, deep in his long brown hair. He was missing a tooth. He reared up and drove his knee into the fallen man’s nose, the force sending him colliding with the wall once again. Thunderous cheering accompanied this clear victory, and I couldn’t help but join in. 

Jumping up and down, I grabbed Jamie’s sleeve. “Do you know what this is?!” 

“Aye, it looks like a fighting ring.” And then he smiled down at me, my excitement infectious. “Somebody owes Rupert and Angus a thank you.” 

I shrugged. “There is a degree of difficulty in dealing with me, but I’m easy to please.” 

Our attention was brought back to the middle of the ring when another man stepped out dressed in clean cut breeches and a vest. He reached the winner, grasped his wrist, and thrust his arm up into the air. 

“Your winner!” He boomed. The declaration was met by more applause and cheers.  He then pulled out a pouched stuffed with coin and handed it to the victor. 

Somebody emitted a drawn out groan next to me. “That’s the last time I put my money on Campbell.”

Preparations began to be made for the next fight. The loser was hauled off to see if something couldn’t be done about his broken nose and forehead laceration, and blood was being scrubbed off the walls and floor. I led Jamie over to a table where the others were seated. Both Rupert and Angus had large smiles plastered on their faces. I crossed my arms. 

“Before you say anything, I will give credit where credit is due.” 

An ale that I didn’t even know I wanted was pressed into my hand by Jamie as I climbed onto the stool. 

Angus was nodding smugly. “Weel our Claire is always attracted to violence is she no’? 

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, violence and danger.” 

Murtagh gave a Scottish grunt of agreement from the corner and met my eyes briefly. I swallowed, remembering the paper I harbored. Yes, violence and danger were quite exhilarating until finding your face on a poster dampens the mood. Before I knew it the ale was finished. 

The conversation was in danger of departing from harmless observations about my personality and entering dangerous territory. 

“So . . . a dark, unassuming inn under which is hiding a covert brawling competition.” The fighting of course supplied the danger and violence I always preferred to be immersed in, but the clandestine nature of the whole thing was the real reason that anyone with sense shouldn’t want anything to do with it. 

“And allow me to venture a guess,” I continued. “The English have had some objection, forcing it underground.” 

A common theme here seemed to be that the Scots enjoy their tests of strength and courage, especially against each other. I thought of the sword play back in the smaller village. It was yet another unique aspect of their way of life. 

Angus shifted uneasily. “Aye, Gavin told us the whole story.” He inclined his head toward the neatly dressed man in the center of the ring directing the clean up. “He’s the one who runs it.” 

Rupert picked up the story. “A couple of weeks ago Her Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons came through the town, and the captain had somethin’ to say about all this.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm. 

At the mention of the redcoats occupying the town I went rigid, my hand reflexively clutched the paper inside my pocket, now realizing why it had been hanging up in the first place. Jamie had stiffened simultaneously next to me and he swore in Gaelic. 

“The Eighth Dragoons. That’s under Randall’s command.” He said the name with difficulty, almost forcing it out. “How good to know he’s still terrorizing these people.” 

Murtagh tugged at his beard. “Ye havena seen Randall since …” 

“No.” Jamie answered softly. 

Murtagh did not need to finish that sentence for anybody present. Jamie had not seen the English captain since he had flayed open his back and made known his physical desire for the nineteen year old boy. 

“I expect that nothing illegal was going on and Randall did this because he can.” Jamie’s fist was clenching and unclenching at his side. I saw it. From his words, Black Jack Randall took an even more definite shape in my mind: a haughty man who takes advantage of his rank, but harbors fiendish and perverted tendencies apparent in the fact that he enjoys watching people suffer. Although at that point, I had no idea how sadistic he truly was. 

“Exactly, because Randall’s a bastard.” Angus said. “He called this barbaric. Gavin used to run the entire inn upstairs and when he refused to close the ring, Randall and company shut the inn down.”

“Sounds about right.” Said Murtagh. 

“Anyway,” Rupert continued, “the whole business has gotten Gavin a bit nervous, so he’s only opened the ring a few nights a week.” 

“Perhaps Randall and the English felt threatened by all the revenue this seems to generate for the people of this town.” I put in helpfully.

“Oh aye,” Angus answered, “But only if ye bet on the right fighter. I lost a hell of a lot o’ coin last night.” 

“You did?” Rupert punched him in the shoulder. “Ye borrowed half of it from me!” 

While Rupert and Angus entered a full blown argument, I glanced over to Jamie. He had his chin in his hands and he was staring very intently at the floor. He had shut down for the night. I imagined he was not happy to hear that Randall was still at large. How could a man like that come to justice? 

__________________________________________________________________

By the next evening, I was still silently thanking Rupert and Angus for bringing me to Gavin’s ring. After sharing a glass of whisky with Jamie and Murtagh, I made a show of yawning repeatedly and excused myself for bed. I stood in front of the washstand and pulled the pockets of my breeches inside out. A couple granules of lint floated to the floor. These pockets will be empty no longer. But as per my plan, most of it would be going to Dougal and his preposterous Jacobite army fund. I stuffed the pockets back in, honestly struggling to remember the last time I had held any type of currency. I had consistent meals and now a bed to sleep in, but it did not change the fact I was still destitute. Dependent. Still a prisoner. 

I paced the room, my steps bouncing slightly with nervous energy. My life seemed to be directed by impulsive, often stupid decisions. Tonight would be no different. As I waited for the voices to die down indicating that the others had gone to bed, I couldn’t help but to somehow arrive at the conclusion that Jamie rarely slept well, if much at all. 

After another twenty or so minutes and a strong pull of the whisky I had snuck upstairs, heavy booted footsteps were making their way up the stairs and past my door. Swinging the cloak over my shoulders, my nails caught on the rough fabric. I had chewed them all the way down, and now the ends were jagged. Shifting my weight carefully, I moved slowly and tried not to make the old floors creak. After what felt like forever, I reached the stairs and grasped the railing. Gingerly, I tip-toed down the stairs one by one, my face screwing up at every infinitesimal sound I made. 

It felt ridiculous and childish. I suppose I was sneaking out for any one of the various, irrational reasons I had created. Perhaps I was not up to the task of dealing with Dougal if he caught me. I shuddered. Any one of them could catch me and assume I was on some espionage mission for the British. Conclusions would be jumped to, and Dougal would smugly fold his arms and say that he knew all along that I was helping the enemy. I reached the bottom and let out the long breath I was holding. 

Glancing back up, a soft flickering light shone around the edges of a closed door. I dimly wondered whose room it was and admitted that another reason for the tip-toeing was to spare Jamie of the knowledge that I was actively trying to leave. Then and there, I resolved to escape without anybody’s knowledge once I had my ring back. Yes, I would make my triumphant escape by cover of night guilt free with no awkward goodbyes, and in the morning after some initial confusion I will be nothing but a strange memory to them. 

I was still fixated on the door that could have been Rupert’s for all I knew and hadn’t realized that while gazing stupidly and open-mouthed up the stairs I was slowly walking backward. The arm of the chair at the nearest table had gotten caught inside the enormous sleeve of my borrowed cloak. The chair was already halfway to the floor before the high pitched whispers of profanity made it out of my mouth. I covered my face with both of my hands during the inevitable crash as if that would do any good. Peeking through my fingers, I saw the light under the door move. Someone had picked up a candle. After clumsily setting the chair upright I dashed out the door clutching the hood so that I remained concealed. 

The night air was chilly and I gave a hollow laugh to myself upon realizing that I was about to go somewhere all alone, no Scotsmen included. The night was still. It had to be after midnight. Since the previous evening I had been on the lookout for more posters with my face on them. I thankfully found no more, surmising that the first place I saw it must have been the town’s main bulletin. 

Faint laugher floated across the side alley of the inn as I approached. There was the unmistakable sound of a glass splintering on the floor and the laughter escalated. The same man was at the door, holding the lantern. I tried nonchalantly to remove my hood, but it had gotten caught on my hair. The man watched me struggle for several seconds before I had tied the hair back into a knot and causally leaned against the wall. 

“Busy tonight?” I asked him. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Aye. Ye were here last night?” There was suspicion in his voice upon hearing my accent. As of late I wished I was able to speak differently. I once attempted a Scottish accent and it had sent Jamie into a uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

“I was. Rupert and Angus are friends of mine.” 

His expression softened and he let me enter. The voices got louder as I descended. The large room was once again bustling with activity. I scanned the crowd in search of Gavin when a familiar face materialized in front of me. It was the freckled young man from the tavern earlier in the week who seemed to have the utmost faith in Dougal Mackenzie. He was holding a small notebook. 

“We meet again, Miss …” He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name. 

“Claire. Remind me again of yours.” 

“Peter.” He smoothed his hair with one hand; it had a greasy sheen to it.

“Oh yes, the man who gave his coin to support some Bonnie Prince who is off God knows where. And now you’re here, gambling it away.” It sounded quite strange as I said it. I supposed he was around my age, but the freckles made him look like a boy.

He laughed. “Gambling’s no’ such a bad thing, provided you win.” 

“I intend to.” I told him, starting to walk away to let him figure out what I meant. He didn’t get the hint, reappearing at my left shoulder like a fly. 

“May I buy you a drink?” 

“No thank you.” I kept walking. He plainly intended to keep this conversation going. 

“Tell me,” Peter continued, paying no heed to the fact that he was about to address his next question to my back. “Have you been here before?” 

“Just once.” 

“I see. The atmosphere is quite invigorating, but I can’t help but feel only a handful of people know about it.” 

“Well, yes.” I turned to face him. “It has been like this since the last time the soldiers came through. The English shut down this entire inn because they did not like the presence of the fighting ring for whatever reason. Perhaps because the Scots found a way to make money through a means that they couldn’t put another one of their bloody taxes on. Or perhaps because it gave them some way to enjoy life since the English barged into the Highlands. Your guess is as good as mine.” It appeared as though I had gone on a small rant. 

He smirked. “You sound like your Mackenzie friend.” If that was meant to provoke me, it worked, damn him. 

“I - no. No.” I gave a flustered laugh and held up a finger. “Listen. Do you see me trying to raise an army?” His mouth opened to answer but I kept going. “That man is holding me against my will on the basis of a ridiculous assumption that he cannot prove. Furthermore, if you approach any single person in this room right now, they will share a similar sentiment concerning the English.” 

He blinked, evidently becoming more fascinated by the second. A clear indication that I have shared way too much information with a total stranger. “You’re his prisoner?” 

I groaned. “Goodnight Peter. Good luck to whomever you bet on.” 

He bowed. “Goodnight then, Mistress Claire. Perhaps I’ll see you again down here.” 

I had finally located Gavin standing in a doorway towards the back of the room, next to the bar. I cast a look back at Peter. He was seated alone at a table scribbling furiously in the notebook. 

Gavin was directing people who wanted to place their bets; he didn’t turn his head as I approached. 

“Good evening to ye, sir.” He said, tying off a small coin pouch. 

“Good evening, and I’m not a sir.” I was about to enjoy his subsequent reaction. 

He turned, and didn’t seem too surprised. “Well of course not lass, forgive me. Yer clothing had me mistaken out ‘o the corner of my eye.” 

I tilted my head to the side and got the feeling that he was almost expecting me. 

“So where are those two dolts tonight eh?” He continued; I presumed he was talking about Rupert and Angus. 

“I - They’re … asleep.” I said lamely, after much too long of a pause. There was no need to explain to him why I was here in secret when I could barely explain it to myself. 

He extended his hand then. “Ye must be Claire.” 

“So you must have heard all about me.” Wonderful. 

“Aye, and I kent ye’d be back so I could meet ye! Never met a lass here for the fight.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “All the ladies who come here dinna care a lick for it. They come with their husbands and gossip all night long.” 

I followed his eyes a small group of women seated in one of the booths along the wall. Clearly whispering about something (me), there was absolutely nothing subtle whatsoever in the way that they all simultaneously averted their eyes to the tabletop. Giggling soon ensued. 

“Who will ye be bettin’ on tonight then Claire?” Gavin asked. “Fletcher’s been doing bonny this month.” 

Betting? Boy was Gavin about to see how much the fighting really interested me. I smiled sweetly. “I fear there has been a misunderstanding. I will not be placing a bet tonight.” 

Disappointment followed by confusion crossed his features. “Oh? Why not?” 

 I folded my arms. “Well for one, I haven’t got any money. Not one little penny to my name. It seems finding work as a soldier is quite unattainable for someone like me.”

He reddened slightly. “I’m sorry lass, I didna mean to assume the state of yer funds … I …” 

I held up a hand. “It’s quite all right.” A pause to prepare him. 

“I’m here to fight.”

[leiascully]

Fic: Baseball Metaphors (9/?)

Part One  |  Part Two  |  Part Three |  Part Four |  Part Five |  Part 6 |  Part 7 |  Part 8

As @lyndsaybones put it, this is the seventh inning stretch.  PG.

When he comes in on Monday, he expects her to say something.  They've progressed much farther than he ever imagined when he first pretended to be her boyfriend.  He can't fathom that it isn't on her mind, especially given the fears she confessed.  But she just looks up at him with that sweet smile that has nothing behind it and he smiles back and goes to his desk.  He forgets, sometimes, how good she is at compartmentalizing.  Her "I'm fine" is always a lie, and he knows all her tells, but she's lost her father, her sister, her bodily autonomy, her professional aspirations, most of her friends, and perhaps her own future children: he's astounded she can even get out of bed, much less function the way she does.  No wonder she can get through the workday without undressing him with her eyes.  That doesn't mean there isn't a part of him who wishes her self-control weren't quite so ironclad.  

They talk about the case they've been called in on.  There are no allusions to situations or inspections.  Scully doesn't mention baseball in any capacity.  They put together a profile for the agents upstairs.  Mulder sifts through the news for anything that sounds like an X-File.

At lunch, she picks up a copy of the newspaper and brings it back to the office.  She sits down in her corner, shaking the paper open.  "Doing the crossword?" he asks.

She frowns.  "Jenny got my number somehow.  She keeps calling to tell me about the real estate ads she's read.  I have to have something to say."

He whistles.  "She's nesting for two, huh?"

"Two, four, five, whatever," she says, flipping to the ads and staring down at the tiny print.  "If I'd known it was going to be this involved to have friends again, I would have just pretended to have amnesia when Ethan walked into that bar."

"Are they our friends?" he asks.

She sighs.  "No, but imagine telling them that.  I can't make a pregnant woman cry."  She glances up at him.  "Besides, it's almost nice to have something to do with someone who's not you."

"I don't think I need to remind you that I'm there too," he points out.

"I didn't really call anyone," she says abruptly.  "After I came back.  Just Ellen, and it turned out that she'd moved to Texas for a job.  We still talk on the phone, but I haven't seen her since before.  Everyone else - it was almost a relief to feel like I was starting over.  But since then, I've only had you.  And Byers and Frohike and Langly, after a fashion, but they're your friends."

"I'm not enough?" he asks.  "I've always considered myself a handful."

"That isn't it at all," she says, shaking her head.  "It isn't about you not being enough.  You know how much I value our friendship."

"Do I?" he asks.

"I hope you do," she says earnestly.  "I wouldn't have made it back without you, Mulder.  You and Melissa, you were my anchors when I was ready to let the tide take me.  But the fact remains that I haven't had friends for a long time and it's strange to have someone want to be a part of my life like this.  Especially since she's under the impression that you and I are madly in love and careening toward the same life she has with the house and the kids and the happily ever after."

"Hmm," he says.  "A common misapprehension."

"And I can't correct it now," she says, gesturing with the paper, "because then we'll look delusional, or possibly sociopathic."  She snaps the paper back so that the creases fold smoothly.  "I'm afraid she's going to want to go look at houses with us."

"We'll tell her that it's a personal decision," Mulder suggests.  "Or, no, we don't want to impose.  It'll make her ankles swell to stand up for so long.  We're waiting on my investments to mature."

"Do you have investments?" she asks, gazing at him over the edge of her newspaper.

He shrugs.  "Probably."  Her sigh rattles the paper.  He frowns.  "Wait, did we already move in together in this fantasy?  Or were we going to find a new place first?  I seem to recall something about us needing a space we chose together rather than just consolidating into one of our existing places."

"Maybe we're waiting for your lease to run out," she suggests.  "You thought it was month-to-month, but your building management changed its policy.  And the real estate market moves so fast that there's no point in looking until then."

"I definitely have to pack," he says, thinking of his bedroom full of boxes.  "And so do you."

"There's no point in wasting imaginary money," she says.  She sets down the paper, looking relieved.  "I might still have to go to a few open houses, but we can't look seriously for another six months."

"Six months?" he asks.

She shrugs.  "You'd already signed a year's lease before we got together.  It's been a slow burn kind of romance."

"So they say."  He picks up the paper and turns to the crossword.  "Did we have an origin story?"

"What, like our eyes met over a corpse and we knew it was meant to be?" she asks.  "I don't think so."

"I'd say a stakeout got a little boring or surveillance got a little titillating," he suggests idly, "but I doubt you'd be into a tryst that began during working hours."

"You're right," she says.  "Maybe you had tickets to a baseball game."

"I like where you're going with this," he says approvingly, "but it's only May now and we're supposed to have been dating for a while.  Longer than a couple of months."

"Last season," she corrects.  "And then over the fall and winter, it just sort of blossomed."

"Date nights at the Smithsonian," he embroiders.  "Strolling through a farmer's market on a Saturday morning.  Dinners after work, strictly off-duty, of course.  Holding hands in a variety of art galleries.  A kiss on New Year's that made you see fireworks."

"Running dates on the Mall," she adds with a smile.  "Cherry blossom viewings.  Picnics by the Potomac."

"That one's true, if you count sunflower seeds and coffee as a picnic," he offers.  

"I don't," she says, but she's still smiling.  "But nicer than liverwurst and root beer in a stakeout car that always smells like feet."

"That sandwich saved my life," he says.

"You're welcome," she tells him.  "So our story is that we have six months until your lease is up and we hope by then they're too busy with the baby to ever talk to us again?"

"That's about the long and short of it," he says.   "People with newborns never have friends, right?"

"Right," she says decisively.  "They're too busy trying to sleep when the baby sleeps and making sure they have enough diapers."

"Scully," he says, and hesitates.  "I'm not going to tell you they're my favorite people, but what's your objection to being friends with Jenny, if she's coming at this from a place that's genuine?"

She sighs.  "She thinks our lives are the same.  They're not.  I can't imagine at this point in my life having the priorities she has.  You and I, Mulder, we live on some grander scale than most people, engaged intermittently in this kind of holy war against the forces of evil that want to reshape American society and the world.  I can't just go to Pottery Barn and pretend that none of it's happening.  I can't explain our cloak and dagger life to someone like her."

"Fair enough," he says.  

"There was a time in my life when I could have been Jenny," she says in a low voice tinged with irony.  

"Before the constant surveillance and the secret messages from covert informants and the conspiracy penetrating to the deepest levels of our government and way of life?" he asks.

"It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you," she quips, and he grins at her.

"It is strange," he says.  "To have people who expect to hear from us.  I'm sure we'll go out to dinner again this week."

"I'm sure," Scully says.  "Unless we get some kind of case that takes us out of town."  She looks wistful.

"You'd rather be chasing monsters in some backwater than having a nice dinner in a cosmopolitan city?" Mulder asks.

"I'd rather be with you than with them," she says, rolling her eyes.  "And maybe this time we'd be chasing monsters in Chicago or LA.  But at least it's my turn to pick a place.  I'll just make sure they have a good bar."

He frowns.  She has been drinking more at these dinners than she usually does.  He'd thought she was just stressed, but that isn't her normal coping mechanism.  Maybe it's to take the edge off.  Maybe it's more than that.  Maybe it's because pretending to date him is too much for her.  "You okay, Scully?"

"I drink so that nobody will ask if I'm pregnant," she says.  "Not because I have a problem."

"Not because the idea of being in a fake relationship with me is too much to bear?" he teases.

"I don't need my inhibitions lowered to kiss you," she says.  "Does that satisfy you?"

"It helps," he says.

She edges closer to him.  "I didn't have anything to drink at the movie, if you recall, and I don't think I seemed particularly inhibited afterwards."

"Uh, no," he says, trying to think about baseball, which really doesn't work anymore as a way to avoid an inconvenient hardon, after all their conversations.  "I can't say you did."

"Any activity I engage in is voluntary and uninfluenced by intoxicants," she says.  "Even if it is under the auspices of a sham relationship."

"I've been meaning to ask you about the utility of the kind of physical activity no one else sees," he says.  "Not that I want it to stop."

"I thought you were a method actor," she says.

"Definitely," he assures her.  

"It seemed to me that you were enjoying the process," she says.

"I am," he says quickly.  "I'm sure it adds dimension to our performance in the moment."

"We don't have to continue," she says, gazing steadily at him.  "I just felt like we could both use a reward for all our efforts."

"Better than a prize from the claw machine," he jokes.

"Expressing one's sexuality is an essential part of most adults' mental and physical health," she points out.  "And neither of us has had the time to pursue that in any extracurricular capacity, so to speak.  It's an expedient solution to a somewhat stressful situation."

"You make it sound so romantic," he murmurs.  

She tilts her head, looking at him with eyes that are both compassionate and amused.  "Should we light a candle next time?  Play some Marvin Gaye?"

"Ha ha," he says sarcastically.  He's kind of astonished she's still okay with candles, after Donnie Pfaster, but it isn't like he wants to bring that up.

She puts her hand over his.  "Mulder.  Nobody matters to me more than you do.  If kissing is complicating things, we can stop."

"No," he says.  "You're right.  It does help me unwind.  Who knew that a nice dinner out with a nice couple could be so exhausting?"

"I think it adds dimension to your acting," she teases.  "You really do look like you can't wait for dinner to be over."

"What can I say?" he asks.  "I've got a sweet tooth.  Dessert is my favorite part of the meal."  He looks her over deliberately, as if his meaning wasn't already clear.

"Hmm," she says in a playful tone.  "And here I thought I was the main course."

"You're a whole meal, Scully," he assures her.  "Seven courses at least."

"Good to know," she says, looking a little smug.  "Thai on Friday, or do you think that's too spicy for them?"

"You dated Ethan," Mulder reminds her.  "You don't remember what he liked?"

Scully rolls her eyes.  "Relationships change people," she says.  "And no, I don't remember what he liked.  A lot of things have happened since then."

"Thai's fine with me," he says.  "I'm sure there are some non-spicy options.  Or you could ask Jenny when she calls you tonight to tell you about houses."

She makes a non-committal noise.  "Then I'll have to hear about all the things that give her heartburn and various other types of indigestion."

"Sounds better than an autopsy report," he offers.

She levels a stern glance at him.  "Mulder, stop playing matchmaker.  I don't need to be friends with my ex's fiancée."

"Just trying to help," he says innocently.  "If it's inevitable, why fight it?"

"Do you even listen to yourself?" she demands.  "When have you ever decided not to fight something just because it was inevitable?"

"It's nice," he says.  "To see you having some kind of a life, the way you used to.  You used to have friends.  You used to go on dates.  I feel like I took all of that from you, Scully."

"I made a choice," she says fiercely.  "I made a lot of choices, Mulder.  They were my choices.  Don't ever imagine that you could take my agency from me."

"The things that have happened to you since you were assigned to this job," he begins, but she cuts him off.

"None of that is your fault," she says firmly.  "I decided to make your cause mine as well.  I knew it was dangerous.  It was my choice."

"I don't want you living a life that's less than full on my account," he says quietly.

She takes his hand again.  "My life isn't less than full," she tells him.  "Even if it's not the life I imagined when I was younger.  I wanted a pony when I was six.  The fact that I don't have one now doesn't mean I haven't realized my dreams.  I'm living the life I want."

"It doesn't always seem that way," he says.

"We all have moments of frustrating and wanting something else," she says.  "That doesn't mean I'm not happy most of the time, or that I'm unfulfilled.  If I'd wanted to leave, Mulder, I would have left.  Don't push me away just because you have some other aspirations for me.  That isn't fair.  You don't get to decide what's safe or right for me without my say."

He nods.  "All right."

"What I want right now," she says in a deliberate voice, "is to go out for Thai food with you and Ethan and Jenny on Friday.  I want to hear all about how the baby's started kicking and how the painters are finally finished and oh, we should come and see the place once they get all the furniture put together, and how nice, here's our invitation to their baby shower slash housewarming, and gosh, they're coming up on their limit of guests for the wedding but they'd just love if we were able to make it, and isn't it a nice surprise that we all get along so well even though I used to fuck her soon-to-be husband."

"I can see why you'd need some stress relief after that," he says, smiling.

She smiles back.  "Remind me what third base is?"

"Uh, everything but," he says, fumbling his words.  "If I remember correctly."

"You seem to have retained your expertise despite what seems to be a dry spell," she teases.

"Just happy to be involved," he jokes back, trying very hard not to think about his midnight encounter with an aspiring vampire.  He had his own stress to relieve while Scully was missing.  Maybe he should have gone to grief counseling instead, but it would have been difficult to explain that he was, in fact, heartbreakingly and completely in love with his partner, who had been assigned to undermine him and then disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

"It's nice that we can have these different facets of our friendship," she says thoughtfully.  

"Definitely," he says.  "I wouldn't want to go through this gauntlet with anybody but you, Scully."

She smiles and licks her lips, looking like she might kiss him if they weren't in the office.  "Bring your appetite on Friday."

"I will," he assures her, and she lets go of his hand, and they're back to work, as professional as they can be.

[klove0511]

An Appropriate Response

Title: An Appropriate Response Artist: amberdreams Author: @klove0511 Rating: Teen Warnings: Sibling incest, self-harm, established relationship, mental health issues, PTSD, panic attacks, references to torture, references to rape/non-con, Season 8 AU Summary: While Dean was in Purgatory, Sam disappeared. When Dean finally finds his brother, will there be anything left to save?

Link to art on AO3 and LJ

Story on AO3 here

A/N: I had so much fun working on this. Hurt!Sam is one of my favorite things to read. It’s my first time writing something like this, though, so I hope I tagged everything I needed to. If you find something I missed, please let me know.

It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane. -- Philip K. Dick, VALIS

“I found him,” Dean said, voice shaky as he spoke to Jody. He paused, listening to her ask after his brother. “He’s ok. Alive, anyway.” Another pause, a covert glance at Sam cowering in the corner of the motel room. “Actually, yeah. We’re looking to lay low for a bit; I don’t suppose you know what the status is on Bobby’s place? Legally, I mean. If it’s an option, I thought I might fix it up for us.” Jody spoke, and he grinned. “Great. Let me know what you find out.”

Dean hung up and swiped a hand down his face. That was one problem sorted for the moment. Depending on what Jody found they would have a direction to go and something to do once they got there. Getting Sam there was going to be an issue, but that was a problem for another day. For today, his next task was getting Sam to actually eat something. He moved to the kitchenette to make a sandwich and winced when the overly loud sound of silverware clanking together made Sam flinch further into his corner and whine. It was better than yesterday when he’d started sobbing, but Dean hated seeing his brother like this.

Sandwich made, he slowly approached Sam. “Hey, made you something. Your favorite. Think you can eat for me?” And like yesterday, Sam refused to even make eye contact with him, staring at the floor with an intensely blank face that unnerved Dean. “Christ, what did they do to you, Sammy?”

Sam didn’t answer, but Dean hadn’t been expecting him to. He hadn’t acknowledged Dean’s presence at all since he’d been rescued, which was concerning enough on its own. Taking into account the way he also refused to eat, to shower, to even move from his corner, well, Dean was starting to worry that he wasn’t cut out for taking care of Sam in this state. It wasn’t going to stop him. He’d learn. He knew his brother, knew how to reach him. He’d figure this out.

Reluctantly, he left the plate on the floor, hoping that if he gave Sam some space today he’d try the sandwich. He’d obviously eaten something in captivity—Dean had been looking for him for months. He was emaciated to a point that had Dean worried (on top of all the other things worrying him about Sam), but he wasn’t dead.

Retreating to the beds on the other side of the small motel room, Dean tried to watch Sam without obviously watching him. After a good ten minutes, Sam slowly reached for the food. He hunched in on himself, glancing around like a scared animal, but he ate. Dean’s chest swelled with—something. Pride felt wrong—it was eating a goddamn sandwich. But it was also progress. He could, at the least, keep Sam alive now. Next step, using the freaking bathroom.

That was going to be harder. Sam did not want to be touched. The first time Dean had done it on accident Sam had yelped, and it had been one of the single most horrible noises Dean had ever heard. The second time had been on purpose—trying to get Sam into the car to come to the motel—and Sam had just shut down completely. It had taken a bit for Dean to realize, but Sam had been in the middle of a near silent panic attack for the duration of the drive. The only things that gave him away were his eyes and the way Dean could see his pulse fluttering in his throat, fast as a hummingbird. Since getting Sam inside, he’d been careful to avoid further contact.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and looked out the window. The Rocky Mountains in the distance made for a picturesque view. He wondered how long they’d be able to hole up here. He didn’t love the idea of leaving Sam alone right now, but there was a limited amount of food in the refrigerator. Eventually—really, in the next day or two—he was going to have to go on a supply run. He supposed he could order food and have it delivered, but he wasn’t sure how Sam would react to a stranger knocking on their door. Probably badly. He sighed. They’d made progress today, and there was still time. Maybe he’d feel better about leaving Sam in a couple days.

Glancing behind him, he saw that Sam had finished his sandwich. He wanted to offer him more, fatten him up, but he feared making Sam sick. Regular, small meals. It would do the work in time. He had never been an especially patient person, but for Sam he’d make the effort. For Sam he’d always make the effort.

He padded over to Sam and crouched, trying to make himself look less threatening. Sam still cringed away, but it was maybe less than before. Or maybe Dean was just telling himself that. “Hey. Look, I know you don’t want me to touch you. So I’m not going to, ok? But, uh.” He ducked his head, not sure how to say this. “I’m not judging, all right, but I think you’d feel better if you got a shower. And, you know, other stuff.” He didn’t mention Sam’s hair. Whoever had kept him captive had kept it short, shaved down almost to the scalp, but they’d also done a shit job of it, leaving it rough and uneven, longer clumps existing in patches all over. Dean wanted to take the clippers to it, at least even it out for Sam, but that possibility was days, maybe weeks away. It would probably have grown out by the time Sam could tolerate a sharp implement that close to his face.

Sam made no movement, nothing to acknowledge that Dean had said anything. Dean tried not to sigh too loudly as he picked up the plate and took it to the small sink in the kitchenette. This was going to be such a long road. He gripped the sink tightly, trying to steady himself. He would be strong for Sam. He would. There were muffled noises behind him, and he turned his head just enough to see Sam out of the corner of his eye. Gone from his corner. Panic flooded Dean before he registered that the bathroom door had just clicked shut. Ok. Major progress today, then. He closed his eyes and took one more steadying breath then quietly moved to their bags, pulling out clean clothes for Sam.

A week later, they were still in the motel. Jody had called back with an update—Bobby’s place was theirs, free and clear. Apparently, he’d left it to them in a will. Dean was honestly surprised he’d planned that far ahead and that he thought the Winchesters would outlive him, especially considering the number of times they hadn’t. Dean had learned that Sam would do most anything he’d suggested but only after Dean stopped watching him. Dean couldn’t figure out why, other than a lot of really terrible shit had obviously happened to his brother, but he used it to his advantage. Sam was slowly starting to put on weight, obvious even after just one week thanks to his now regular food intake. He was also clean and reasonably well-rested, as far as Dean could tell. He was at least laying in the bed at night. Sleeping was debatable, but he hadn’t woken Dean up with nightmares even once, so there was that.

He also hadn’t spoken, which was starting to drive Dean a little crazy. He made noises, when he thought Dean wasn’t paying attention, so it wasn’t his vocal chords that were the problem. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sam staring at him. It was just about the only time Sam’s face showed emotion now, and the blatant hope and despair that fought for control when he was watching Dean threatened to crack Dean’s heart in two. Yesterday Dean had tried to provoke a reaction by being his most obnoxious self, and for a breathtaking moment he thought Sam was actually going to respond to him. He got full eye contact for the first time since the rescue, and Sam took a breath, retort obviously on his lips. Then, he seemed to catch himself and his mouth snapped shut. The bitch face he’d shot at the wall was epic though. Dean still chalked that one up as a win.

With Sam not talking, Dean talked for both of them, occasionally even carrying Sam’s half of the conversation. He told Sam about his ideas for fixing up Bobby’s, about how apparently they were homeowners now. He wondered out loud if they were going to have to get real jobs and worry about things like property taxes. He was still trying to figure out how to get Sam to Sioux Falls though.

 Sam tried to sleep, but it was difficult when he was having full sensory hallucinations of his brother. At least, he was pretty sure that’s what was going on. It was difficult to tell when they never physically touched Sam. Maybe Dean was a ghost. Of course, there was always the possibility that he was actually in Hell and this was just an elaborate prank Lucifer had conjured up to torture him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Either way, not engaging with Dean was the only safe course. If it was Hell, then Lucifer would bide his time until Sam broke down, gave in, and believed he was out. For a spoiled brat of an archangel, Lucifer was horrifically patient. By Sam’s count, the longest scenario had lasted almost ten years.

That one had been especially nice. He and Dean had retired to a house in the suburbs and trained hunters in their off-time. They’d even had a dog. In his weaker moments, Sam missed that illusion. They’d been safe, happy. In love.

He wanted this to be Hell. It would mean Dean was alive, topside. If it wasn’t, then Sam’s last coherent memory was of watching Dean explode with Dick Roman, and that meant Dean was dead. That was an option not worth considering. Except that Lucifer had never gotten Dean right. Not like this.

Hell. It had to be Hell. Just one more trick. Dean was alive, on Earth. It was Sam who was dead.

But hadn’t he gotten out? He thought—he’d been sure. As sure as he could be. There was the scar and stone number one. Then Dean had died and there were the cages (how had he escaped those? He couldn’t remember). That pain had felt real. Scar on his hand real. So much more real than what he remembered of Hell.

He wanted to ask Dean, but there was an inherent problem with asking your hallucinations if they were real or not. Besides, if it was a Lucifer trick then he might get pissed off. Skepticism and doubt usually meant the scenario would continue. Complacency resulted in a cruel twist. Outright disbelief? Well, he’d only made that mistake once.

A tiny voice in Sam’s head kept reminding him that it could be real. Maybe someone else had brought Dean back from the dead again. It’s not like Sam ever could. No, Dean could bring Sam back, but it never seemed to work in reverse. But who? God was MIA, Hell hated them. Cas was dead too. There was no one.

But. No. Sam squeezed his eyes shut to stop the spinning thoughts. He pressed himself deeper into his corner and dug his nails deep into his palms. The hard surfaces and pain helped ground him. No one could sneak up on him here. He was safe.

Dimly, he heard Dean’s voice calling to him, felt hands on his face. Tears streaked his face, and he couldn’t remember if he’d started crying before or after the hands. It felt so good to be touched again. Except touch was bad. It hurt and brought torture and all kinds of pain. He should try to get away from the hands, even though they weren’t hurting him yet. It was always a matter of time. He told himself to pretend it was Dean. It made it easier, for a while, when they touched him.

The tears flowed faster, and the hands retreated. Good, except for how Sam missed them as soon as they were gone. Blindly, he reached out to follow them and ended up falling against a warm body. Dean, his mind supplied. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend better. He slumped against the person’s chest and sobbed and hated his weakness, but they hadn’t hurt him yet, and it felt so good. Maybe, maybe he would be able to enjoy this one.

Tentatively, he groped, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. If he made the first move, that made it his choice. He’d paid for doing that a few times, but it was worth the risk. He found the face that belonged to the hands and the body, and, God, it even felt like Dean’s face. Sam leaned up, brushing his lips against Dean’s. Warm, soft. For the barest moment the lips pressed back. A whine escaped him, and the lips vanished. His eyes flew open, and he recoiled when he saw the look on Dean’s face. (Not Dean. Definitely not Dean.) Bad. This was bad. This was one of the times he was going to pay, and judging by the look, it was going to be worse than usual. He curled into himself. It made him feel safer, even if it never actually protected him. Maybe it would this time. He braced himself for his punishment.

 Dean watched Sam fold into himself and tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. What was still happening. Sam had kissed him. Sam had kissed him after having a panic attack or something like one. Dean’s stomach roiled. It hadn’t felt at all like their previous kisses, pre-Purgatory. Those had been so much softer. Never mind how Sam had yet to acknowledge him directly, even after almost two weeks. No, this was something twisted and wrong, and he’d been right to pull back, though it didn’t feel like it at the moment. He scrubbed a hand down his face and tried to figure out what to do. Sam’s reaction after Dean had broken the kiss had been to go fetal, and he’d started keening in his corner, subtly rocking in place.

Dean wanted to offer comfort or, or something. Anything. But he didn’t dare touch Sam. It hadn’t been this bad since that day he’d pulled Sam out of that damn cage, and he didn’t want to make it worse. But he couldn’t do nothing. Couldn’t let his brother continue to suffer like he obviously was, making wounded animal noises and cowering like a dog expecting a kick. Dean wasn’t sure what had shown on his face after the kiss, but he regretted it. He never wanted to be the reason Sam was this terrified.

“Hey, Sam. It’s okay. It’s okay, man. I’m not mad,” Dean muttered, talking softly as he shuffled closer. He kept talking, kept soothing. He took a chance and rested a hand on Sam’s knee, ready to move it at a moment’s notice if need be. Sam flinched, hard, and the whine increased in pitch and volume for a moment until it abruptly cut off. Sam met Dean’s gaze, eyes wide and shining bright with unshed tears.

Neither of them moved. Dean scarcely breathed, not wanting to break the moment. Sam was the one who ultimately broke the stalemate, glancing down at the hand on his knee. Hope, bright and fierce, bloomed over his face.

“It’s just me, Sam. I’m not mad, I swear. Not gonna hurt you.” Dean tried a smile. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

Sam’s tears had slowed to a stop as he stared at Dean, so long that it was started to unnerve Dean as much as the lack of eye contact had. His mouth worked, like he was trying to remember how to form words. Finally, he whispered in a voice hoarse from disuse, “Dean?”

 They didn’t talk about the kiss. Dean wasn’t sure how, and he wasn’t sure Sam had even known what he was doing. That said, Sam talked after that. Not much, not often, and usually so softly Dean had to strain to hear it, but Sam was talking. It made life simpler.

In fact, it encouraged Dean so much that he decided they were done waiting around in this motel—despite being paid up for another week—and were heading for Sioux Falls as soon as Sam finished his shower. Meanwhile, he packed up their things.

He’d finished when Sam came out of the bathroom, dressed but still damp. He was gorgeous, and Dean’s attention became hyper-focused on the two stray water droplets lingering on Sam’s neck. Dean had been trying not to think about Sam like that. It wasn’t right—not now. Sam had obviously been through some shit, and Dean wasn’t going to be that asshole. The kiss had been fundamentally weird, and Dean got the willies anytime he thought too hard about it. So he absolutely did not think about all the filthy things that kiss had promised. No. And he definitely wasn’t thinking about his brother’s lips around his cock or how Sam’s neck would taste if Dean licked away those two innocent drops of water.

Dean cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. He silently prayed he hadn’t been staring. It probably didn’t matter. Sam had frozen when he came out of the bathroom and seen the duffels on the bed. “Sam?” Dean said after he’d composed his face back into its usual state of big brother concern.

Sam’s eyes flicked up and locked on Dean’s, asking, begging for answers to questions he apparently could not give voice to.

“We’re going to Bobby’s,” Dean said, as gently as he could manage. “I told you that. I’ll—we’ll—fix up the house, maybe run phones like he used to until you feel up to hunting again.”

Sam’s eyes flicked away at that, and his expression became unreadable.

Dean could read the stiffness in his body language, though, but he couldn’t figure out what had put it there. “It’ll be good. I promise. Now come on, I want to hit the state line before dinner.”

Yeah. Act like everything was normal, and it’d be normal. Sam wouldn’t be a shell of himself, and Dean wouldn’t be so hard up he was spending the better part of the day with a semi while he tried to respect Sam’s boundaries. Totally normal.

 Sam told himself this was real. This was Dean driving the Impala. Driving them to Bobby’s (but wasn’t Bobby dead?). Dean didn’t want to have sex with Sam. Or maybe he still did, but he thought Sam was too broken (true). This was not an hallucination. Sam was definitely not driving anywhere (or was he? It had happened before.)

The tires ate up the road and in truth, so long as Sam could hear Dean talking then it was relaxing. Sometimes, though, it reminded Sam of the vans. When his eyes grew heavy in the mid-afternoon sun and Dean stopped talking, Sam dreamed he was back there. Cuffs cutting into his wrists and ankles. Prepped and naked and delivered right to the door of whichever sick fuck was paying for him for the evening. So, after the first afternoon where he’d woken up screaming, he pulled out every trick in the book to keep himself awake. To keep himself present. He’d always known he wasn’t strong enough to maintain his disbelief forever. Ever since the incident two days ago, he’d felt that façade slipping. His desire to have Dean back was just too strong. It felt weird, thinking of keeping himself present in an illusion, but he didn’t try to analyze it. Let it be Dean. Let this be his reality.

That said, the rumble of the Impala and Dean’s voice were a lullaby he’d known since infancy. By the time they hit the first rest stop of the day Sam was a nervous wreck. He’d already fallen asleep twice and woken so disoriented he’d nearly driven them off the road.

He watched Dean disappear into the convenience store and pulled out his smallest blade—a pocket knife John had given to him when he was five. Too small to use regularly but still well maintained, it was sharp enough to do the job. He pricked the pad of his right index finger—painful and an easy spot to hide from Dean right now—before tucking the blade away. Sam sighed in relief as he pinched his finger pad, and for one blinding, beautiful moment he was 100% sure he was alive. Then Dean came out of the store, and Sam felt the doubt return and wreath his mind like a shroud. How could this possibly be real?

 Dean settled into the driver’s seat and tossed a bag of snacks at Sam before gently handing over a large coffee. As much as he’d hoped Sam would get some rest, the nightmares were going to kill them both. Better to try to keep the kid awake until they stopped for the night.

Back on the road, Dean waited for Sam to start the chick flick moment he’d been brewing since the rest stop. He was frowning into his coffee, perfecting his brooding stare. Every so often he’d glance over at Dean, then away again.

“Spit it out, Sam,” he ordered.

He felt Sam’s eyes boring into him before Sam broke his silence. “How are you here?”

Dean had wondered when they’d get to that. He told Sam the basics—Purgatory, portal, Cas staying behind.

He saw Sam wince, then his expression cleared and he seemed more present than he had all morning. “I thought you were dead.” Sam’s voice was small, but his face held so much emotion Dean thought he was about two seconds from a breakdown.

Dean swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in his throat and said, “Yeah. The feeling was mutual for a while.” Dean wanted to apologize for not finding Sam sooner, but he didn’t want to have that conversation. He never wanted to know exactly how long Sam had been held captive. The answer would always be “too long.” All he knew was that the trail had gone cold by the time he got topside and that it took another four months for him to track Sam down.

Sam narrowed his eyes, searching Dean’s expression. Dean wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever he found made Sam’s expression harden. “What did you do?”

Dean kept driving, barely looking over at Sam. “Nothing.”

“Dean.” That was Sam’s I-would-punch-you-if-you-weren’t-driving voice. It had been too damn long since Dean had heard it, and it made him grin.

“Nothing, Sam. I always knew I’d find you.”

“You just said—”

“Yeah. I did. Was always going to come for you. Wherever you were.” He tried not to react under Sam’s penetrating gaze. He hoped this would be the end of it. The conversation was already skirting uncomfortable territory, and he didn’t want it to get worse.

“How’d you find me, Dean?”

Dean shrugged. “Old fashioned legwork, mostly. Also got my hands on a tracking spell from a friend of Jody’s.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised incredulously. “You did spellwork?”

Dean scoffed. “Bobby did spells all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s Bobby. You hate witches.”

“Dude, one tracking spell doesn’t make me a fricking witch.” Dean glared at Sam, completely ignoring the road as Sam attempted to stifle a grin. He failed and promptly broke into bright laughter.

It was a beautiful sound, one Dean had secretly feared he’d never hear again. It did funny things to him, like made his heart melt into a gooey puddle. In that moment, Dean was sure he’d do anything he could to keep Sam laughing like that.

 Sam watched Dean work on Bobby’s house. The sounds from the nail gun made him flinch enough that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be comfortable using a real gun again. They hadn’t talked about it more than in passing, but Sam knew Dean wanted to keep hunting. Eventually. At least there was a house to rebuild first.

Something had changed between them in recent weeks. Sam kept catching Dean staring at him, then looking away, embarrassed. Like a schoolgirl with a crush. Most of the time, Sam was sure he was imagining it, but he was pretty sure he was imagining everything, most days. When he was at least sure of reality, he was sure he was far too broken for Dean to want to pick things up with him where they’d left off. Still, the attention, real or imagined, felt nice. He pressed his fingers into his newest cut and sighed in relief. He was still with Dean in South Dakota. Dean was still cutting two by fours in the yard with his shirt off.

A shirtless Dean was very distracting. And decidedly unfair. Sam was still in layers despite the unusually high heat so near October. He had scars, both visible and not, that he didn’t like showing off. Even if Dean had been there for most of them. Still, Sam was going to melt in his flannel if he left it on, and removing it might give him some more insight into whether or not he’d been imagining Dean’s heated looks.

His t-shirt was old and too tight. He only kept it because it was easily the softest of any of his shirts, and lately—No. He was an adult. A hunter that had taken down the Devil himself. He did not need a security blanket. Especially one in the form of an ancient shirt that may or may not have once belonged to Dean. He left it on anyway, simply shrugging off the plaid overshirt. He immediately felt cooler and settled in to enjoy watching Dean work.

Every few minutes he pressed on his cut, this one on his outer thigh so as to be less obvious. Shockingly, every time, every single time, the pain spiked, and the world stayed solid around him. He didn’t know how this was real—doubted he’d ever be able to fully trust it—but it was, by every test he could think to put it through.

Sleep tugged at him, as it often did these days, and he rested his head against the Impala’s windshield. Dean was there. He would keep Sam safe.

 Dean stopped working long enough to watch his little brother napping on the car. He was infinitely grateful he’d stopped the saw first; Sam in just a t-shirt—one of Dean’s old t-shirts—was distracting, and Dean didn’t especially want to have to get any fingers sewn back on.

Worry still niggled the back of his brain, but he shoved it down. Once Sam had started talking again things had been better, easier. Dean knew the trauma hadn’t gone away. He’s been through enough himself to know that wasn’t how it worked. But at the end of the day, he missed Sam. Missed going to bed with him, in every sense of the phrase. Missed what they’d had—so briefly—before Dean wound up in Purgatory.

His gaze softened. Sam looked almost happy. He was still too thin, and his hair was too short, but it was getting better. Deciding to call it a day—only an hour early, he could make it up tomorrow—he nudged Sam to wakefulness. As his brother shifted and stretched, Dean caught sight of several scabbed over wounds on Sam’s arms. Straight, made with a blade. Recent. Those definitely hadn’t been there when he’d found Sam. They hadn’t been hunting, hadn’t even gotten into a bar fight because Dean was being so damn careful with Sam. It left exactly one possibility. Sam had cut his arms up himself.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean growled, suddenly furious.

Sam froze. His pupils dilated in fear and the rest of him seemed to shrink as he subconsciously tried to make himself smaller, less threatening. Less noticeable. The reaction made Dean feel sick but did little to dampen his anger. Sam should have said something. Still, he could read the terror and confusion on Sam’s face and tried to reign himself in. Sam had no idea why Dean was mad. That almost made it worse.

Dean held up Sam’s arm so the marks could be seen. “This, Sam. Why?”

Sam didn’t fight him. It was surreal, watching his gigantic, strong baby brother shut down so completely. His expression closed off, and his arm hung limply from Dean’s hand. His breathing was so shallow that it was only the faint trembling Dean could feel that told him Sam was even alive.

With a horrifying start, Dean realized he recognized the look on Sam’s face. He’d seen it in Hell, thousands of times. It had been his signal that the soul in front of him was ready to move on to Alistair’s rack. That they were sufficiently broken. He dropped Sam’s arm with a strangled yelp and jumped back like he’d been burned. No no no, he didn’t do that to Sam. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t that guy anymore. He was topside; they both were.

Dean wasn’t sure how long it took for him to come completely back to himself. When he did, Sam was sitting on the ground next to him with his eyes squeezed shut. They were both leaning against the side of the car. Sam’s head was down, and he kept rubbing his hands together. After a minute, Dean realized Sam was subtly pushing on his scarred left hand with every pass. He watched it happen a few more times, then saw him drop a hand to his thigh, digging in. Sam winced, then his whole body seemed to relax slightly.

That was—Shit. Dean understood now, or thought he did. Finally, he cleared his throat and quietly asked, “What are you seeing?”

Sam wouldn’t look up. “Just you.”

Dean considered this, then asked, “Just now, or all the time?”

Sam was quiet when he spoke. “All the time.”

Dean nodded. He was exhausted and didn’t want to have this conversation, ever, but it seemed necessary. “I’m real, Sam.”

Sam scoffed. “Hallucinations always say that.”

Dean leaned back, watched the sun dipping behind the trees. “Yeah, guess they would. That why you’ve been hacking up your arms?”

Sam flinched, but nodded. “The scar doesn’t help anymore, but a—wound—a fresh one—”

Dean held up a hand. “Stop. I get it.” He sighed. “We gotta find you a better way to cope.”

Sam furrowed his brow and twisted his hands together. “This works. I barely even draw blood, just—”

“No.” Dean’s voice was harsher than he’d intended, and they both flinched a little. “No, Sam,” he said, gentler. “One day you’ll get desperate or scared. You’ll cut too deep, and I’ll—” Dean shook his head ignoring the burning behind his eyes. “Don’t do that to me. Please.”

Sam nodded, slowly. “Yeah, ok. We’ll find something else.”

Dean nodded too and let his head fall back against the car. It would be dark soon; he should clean up the tools. It was hard to get himself to move though, especially when Sam leaned against him.

“This ok?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. I thought—I didn’t—” Dean couldn’t find the words to express how nice it felt to have Sam willingly touching him again.

“Shut up,” Sam said, tucking himself under Dean’s arm. “It helps. You always helped.”

“Bitch,” he said fondly.

“Love you too, jerk.”

[bookdragonlibrary]

Fourth Tuesday YJ appreciation

1-3 ; 4-6 ; 7-9 ; 10-13 ; 14-16 ; 17 ; 18 ; 19 ; 20 ; 21 ; 22 ; 23 ; 24-26

—————————— Elder Wisdom

- Bwundasa, another fictionnal country? Why the Team always fights in a fictionnal country except for Russia?

- 31 December? So no Christmas episode...

- Garth, the evil UN secretary, Gordon and... a general? His name his Simon M’Barra (and I’m always right with the general status, aren’t I? xD ) It’s a leader in perpetuity? Pretty word for dictator... So Bwundasa is located in Africa.

- You know you’re a bad guy when even Luthor cares about the climate change...

- Troia! In the room 1616 xD

- What? How an arrow couldn’t pierce Garth’s arm but his neck? He has Atlantean skin! Oh no, he’s down!

- They are after Troia now! A psychic? She’s female, it’s not Psimon, who?

- Why Diana calls his sister Troia instead of Donna when Donna calls her sister Diana? 

- Here are Halo and Terra! :D 

- They are against the dictator, are they necessary bad guys?

- Of course, the reptile was Gar :)

- Did he just speak swahili? Or another African language? I guess it’s swahili as it is spoken in various African countries, like esperanto could have been in Europe. He should have learnt it while he was living in Qurac :) 

- “BIF? Bif?” I love this scene xD 

- ED! I love his superhero costume! :D El Dorado makes ED, that’s kind of funny xD But his hero costume is more red than gold, maybe to match with someone... :)

- Where are Jaime, Virgil and Brion? I can understand for Brion as a prince, but for the other two?

-  The cleaning lady was Miss Martian! 

- Terra and Halo fight! The white aura! :D Terra isn’t good at aiming yet :/ 

- And Halo is wounded again! è.é Doesn’t she care anymore? She could have made a shield or something :( And Terra taking care of her

- Psychic fight! But we don’t see it like in season 1 :( She was controlled! :o

- The bad lady is a good fighter to go head to head with an Amazonian :o

- Gar has turned into Wolf! :D

- Bart has exploded! :o 

- Of course, Ed overreacts to his wounded crush :3 But he doesn’t buy Bart’s “I’d be fine” ^^ You’re not as a good liar you used to be, Bart. Or Ed is really good at saying through it because he really cares :)

- Bart just took an explosion in his face and he just has his goggles broken. It was way more visual with Vic’s explosion :/ And how can people be sincerely worried if Bart has just broken goggles? They should say he’s lucky to not have severe wounds instead...

- Garth is super cool! Telepathic waterbend! :D What are his tatoos?

- Flash! Who still have blue eyes... 

- One has escaped!

- Of course Barry’s worried too for Bart :(

- And Ed is so unconfortable to look at him in the eyes. What does that suppose to mean?

- Of course Lex set that up. That makes the dictator looks good and the resistant look bad è.é

- “I’d be fine!” with a outraged voice in the background xD

- The Flash is ready to smile to the camera but can see right into Lex’s game!

- “Not for long!” Gar is as pissed with Lex he is with Granny. 

- It’s Lia or Lea? Leah? 

- Ed is close to Bart in the bioship and Tara to Violet :) But Bart seems to still have a headache or something. Would he truely be fine? :(

- Ed has the same golden symbol on the back of his jacket than on his T-shirt in season 2. 

- So it’s was a drug forbidden him to use his powers? Could it be possible? I mean, it’s based on magic and mystic, not physical por genetical powers. How could it be?

- Why it doesn’t surprise me it was a set up? (I should have guess)

- The woman who attacked Terra and Halo was Lady Shiva! No question she was able to fight with Troia! And the one who have escaped must be Cassandra. Wait... So the BIF was not even real, they were the League of Shadows. They had to do this to make the dictator looks like a victim instead of a bad guy. 

- The murder of Garth and Donna wasn’t goal 1 but an option. He wanted to shame the Outsiders in the first place. How his logic works? It would have be more useful to get rid of the Ambassadors than the Team’s reputation, no?

- “They captured Briggs!” She’s conscious they freed her right? That she was controlled? Why is she that upset? They probably saw just like a tool anyway... Not friends or something. (Please don’t tell me she was close to her in other ways...)

- Ah! It was because they will know it was a set-up. They probably would guess it with Lex involved...

- “Knowing and proving are two very different things.” True... 

- Ed, Bart and Gar are talking together while Tara gives her report to M’gann.

- Violet still can’t respond to Brion :(

- “You can talk to Helga.” That’s why keeping it secret wasn’t a good idea, Jace...

- “Until I know what’s going on with you, you’re benched from the Team.” That’s blackmail, right? And M’gann, that strategy doesn’t work... Dick already tried it with Roy and the Runaways almost go back to Lex because of it...And we still don’t know what happen to Roy before that. Was he living in the street? Alone? With the Runaways? Halo would feel rejected and definitely won’t come to you to talk. Great, M’gann! Are you a real councelor??

- “That’s the problem. I understood intellectually. But see it live was very different.” Ed, I’m sure you can understand, you were worried too in First Impression.

- “I’d be fine!” *Eduardo senior slowly looking at him* xD

- “He has a metametabolism. He heals fast.” Ed, you were the most worried one of them all :)

-  “You can’t walk away so easily.” “Watch me.” burn Ed is back again. 

- “You didn’t have to be there.” He means Ed? He didn’t understand why he wanted to be part of the Outsiders? Ah no, he meant the Outsiders, no just Ed. “The most powerful man in the world has made you his target?” Ed, that wasn’t a clever move, now he’s even more worried and this sounds more dangerous that it was. And he’s just the UN secretary, if it was a powerful place, things would change faster in our world too... And there’s still the UN Council who can make their veto. “Behind my back? Ugh. I can’t even talk to you now.” At least, Ed prefers to leave before saying something too painful.

“Halo, get us out of here.” The Runaways also left the War World with a boomtube, parallels. 

- The Outsiders look at M’gann because she benched Violet, and not at Eduardo senior, right?

- We also miss the New Year where everyone kiss :( 

- Aw Gar&Tara VS Jaime&Virgil :) And of course, Ed and Bart stand near each other.

- Violet is isolating herself, as I fear with M’gann benching her. And Vic is still doing so...

- Why noone asks for Traci? :( She wasn’t in the covert Team either :( 

- Even Gar barely sees Vic? It’s even worse than I thought...

- It’s been... what? Two weeks already she knows she’s dying? Maybe she should tell the Team now. 

“Maybe I’m not a really good girlfriend.” Sweetie, not of these was your fault :( 

- “Violet has her issues.” So now Brion knows Jace knows something. Tell it to M’gann and Artemis! 

- “First love is very sweet but the truth is: is really last.” are you trying to make them break up? You suppose to be on their side! But she keeps refering them as her childs, so maybe she sees them as siblings? O.o

- We finally see Cassie’s mom and she’s barely better drawn than in the video game... And they live in Washington DC.

- Eldel Initiative? What is that?

- LA Wayne Tech? Is Batman aware of this? Part of it?

- Gar just found a distraction: Ivo? Isn’t he supposed to be in Belle Reve? (maybe working on new invention for the US government)

- LittleMatchGirl16, does it mean a female superboy? Supergirl?

- Cassie is so proud/excited about it!

- “Check her profile.” Bart isn’t stupid :) But Jay isn’t impressed :( 

- We’re going to Ireland! :D 

- “You’re not going anywhere, not until...” Jay, this little girl might be in grave danger... Conversation could wait, not victims.

- Gar is still that polite and... he’s emancipated minor (I think it’s pleonasm But well)? From Mento? Or he was before already?

- “Jaime and Virgil are both 18.” Great to finally know Virgil’s age but I thought majority was 21 in USA? 18 is logical for enter the League as the majority of countries use this age for majority. But there are all US citizens for parenthood? (maybe except Gar)

- It makes more sense that the legal guardians forbid their own child to go and not the others, minor or not.

- Match Electronics Store. Oh, so it was just her last name, no supergirl...

- That is a terrible Irish accent...

- “Other ways to get attention.” That was really mean...

- “By encouraging this children to put themselves in danger?” Actually he has a good point. Tye and Asami would have been great models too, to show the kids there are different paths for them and not all lead to the hero game.

- “Please, don’t say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’.” yes please, that a common trope. 

- Violet at least gives one of her secrets. the smallest one. “but I didn’t stop her.” because you were caught off guard and with alcohol in your system, not your fault! 

- I love Brion is concerned she has feelings for someone else rather than she kissed someone from the same gender :) Pan Brion confirmed? And he understood and forgave her! Brion is such a good boyfriend! But was the point of the kiss seriously? Violet already had secrets to Brion and it didn’t even make her question her sexuality (pan for example).

- “Damm it!” The first curse word of the serie! 

- “Most of the memorials are kids like you.” Well, the show is called Young Justice, so I think that’s why.

- “Marry and have children of their own.” I’m pretty sure that is not the first thing they have in mind when they think about their future self. Especially not Bart who isn’t even born yet!

- Why are you talking about Wally? :’(

- “There’s something I need you and your brother to hear.” Oh no, she’s gonna tell them this secret! And she seems so cold while saying this. 

- “They’re Lex Luthor’s spiderbots.” Why are they in Ivo’s wharehouse?

- Why don’t we see the fight? :o 

- “Gabrielle and who she really was.” The mistakes she made are not the only things about her, Violet :( 

- We still don’t know why Gabrielle took the bribe. But yes, she was killed because she knew too much :( 

- “How long have you know?” “Long enough.” Violet, sweetie, why are you so cold while telling the story? Is that a defensive mechanism? Is she trying to make Brion hate her thinking he would be less sad when she die?

- Tara is the most choked about it her vision begins to blur :o 

- Of course Helga straightly go to Brion...

- Can someone take care of Tara please??

- Oh no,she send a text to Slade because of her panick attack :(

- Bart is such a good liar he can see right behind the other’s mask.

- “But I’m not going anywhere.” You all better be! 

- Whoa! Did the little girl knew he was a machine? Did Blue told her? (because he’s smiling at her) Or just didn’t know she has enough strenght to destroy a machine? 

- Eduardo seems so proud while looking at his son :3

- “Whom.” I never understand that grammar rule...

- “Radley Overshoe Factory” is about to blow. That a change in events... xD

- “the lastest explosive exploy.” Imagine if the public had seen the other explosion xD

- “An explosion. Massive property damaged. Sad.” Lex I knew you with a bigger vocabulary...

- You know it’s a bad sign when Gordon is smiling like this...

- “I happen to know parents and guardians of the teenage Outsiders are not on board with their attics.” The Team would find it suspicious he knows about that, right?

- So now Lex wants to give restrictions to the Outsiders like for the JL? Dude, 50′s aren’t a good example...

- So the Team doesn’t care about secrets ID anymore? They just outed their parents and make them targets! I’m sure Eduardo senior is already famous with his scientific work so now everyone can make a connexion between his son and El Dorado... Same thing with Cassie and her mom who is an archeologist. Just hope this tweet won’t have consequences for the parents or the hero secret ID in the future... 

- “Three generations of heroes.” Technically is four since there is a generation between Barry and Bart :) (But the public better not knows that)

- Jay created an account (or Bart made him for him) just to kick Lex’s ass on the Internet xD 

- Look at them! The girl in Brooklyn, LittleMatchGirl and her dad, Helga, Lia, Donna, Wendy, a Black boy (does VIrgil has a little brother?) and a men. 

- For once Gordon is defending the heroes xD And against Lex! xD

- I knew Gordon secretly works for the Light but it’s great to see it directly. 

- “Personal vendetta?” Ivo’s factory was his? That explains the “massive property damaged” came from...

- “Embrace and coorp.” He wants his own team like in season 2, doesn’t he?

- So the girl, Moira, was M’gann and the father Batman? That explains the bad Irish accent! xD 

- Lex knows it was a set-up (taking his own medicine) but “knowing and proving are two different things.” Did Batman understood Lex’s logic and does he know he said that? Could Lex be on the Anti-Light’s side? That could explain why he did a miserable interview (for him I mean, he’s smarter than that) to give more credits to the Outsiders?

- Diana has a point: it’s not just secrets and lies, now it’s manipulation, the truth, the facts, others, included the public and their allies   

- This picture is so good!

- Violet is writing a note. Please, tell me it’s a runaway note, and not a suicide one :( 

- The Hub with the bioship sleeping in her egg form :3 

So these 3 episodes should have been watched in one go and that would have made more sense...

[thethistlegirl]

Past+Future

@nevcolleil requested an AU in which Jack isn’t just Mac’s father figure, he’s actually Mac’s father but didn’t know...

This is the last of the advent calendar fics! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the Christmas special for my AU Wunderkind, and then I’ll be getting down to work on some longer pieces I have in my file of things to do...

Jack never really knew how Mac’s mother died. He doesn’t pry, it’s not his place to. He knows it’s a sore point for Mac. There aren’t even any pictures of her in the house. Jack knows the kid doesn’t like to be reminded of his past.

And then James comes back, and brings with him all the pain the kid’s been trying to push away. Jack doesn’t like the way the man acts like he’s supposed to be allowed back into Mac’s life without so much as an apology for what he put the kid through for the past eighteen years. Jack doesn’t like to push too far into Mac’s life; but he doesn’t like what the man is putting the kid through.

He’s the most miserable excuse for a father I’ve ever seen. Jack might not be a parent to anyone, not by blood, but he has learned from the mistakes he saw Elwood make, and on the other hand he had his Pops to show him how it ought to be done.

So when he shows up to the kid’s house, in the evening, hoping for a cold beer and one of their random conversations, and the kid is freaking crying, Jack has had enough.

“Mac?” he asks, sitting down next to the kid and putting a hand on his shoulder. Mac’s got a picture on his lap and he’s staring into the fire.

“I just wish I remembered her.” Mac sniffs. “He remembers her. He gets to, and I don’t, and that’s not fair.”

“Your mom?” Jack asks quietly. He doesn’t want to push.

“Yeah.” Mac holds up the picture. “I thought I remembered what she looked like. But really, I just remember this picture.”

Jack takes the photo. A woman with long blond hair pulled up in a ponytail, leaning on a car door, laughing.

He stops.

The air feels like it’s been punched out of his lungs. Ellen Jackson.

Ellen Jackson was an agent for some dark ops division. She and Jack met on a whirlwind op in Kosovo. It got messy, and crazy, and they both thought they were going to die. Hooking up in a hotel room that night had been a sort of celebration of surviving one day and an acknowledgement that they weren't likely to make it through the next one. And then when they did...Jack had tried to make it work. He really had. But being from two separate agencies, never knowing when you were going to stand someone up on a date because of an op…

He broke it off with her in October of ‘89. He never saw her again.

“Jack?” He suddenly realizes Mac is staring at him. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

“I…”Jack’s mind is suddenly spinning. I was with her in ‘89. Mac was born in March of 1990. He can’t...that’s impossible...they hadn’t seen each other that much that year, running ops. Maybe it was someone else, somewhere else…

He chokes on the words. “When did they marry?”

Mac stares at him. “February of ‘90. Right before I was born. Dad said they had to alter the wedding dress the week before the ceremony.” He glances at Jack. “I guess I wasn’t really expected.” Jack’s heart twists even more.

It had to be a whirlwind thing. Unless she’d known him for years. Unless he really was Mac’s father...He doesn’t know what to think. He has to ask. He has to know. Until he does, he won’t tell the kid anything. “Well, at least you were a good surprise.”

It takes all his willpower to stay and act as normal as possible and cheer the kid up. All he wants to do is drive to wherever James is living now and ask him point blank the truth about him and Ellen and Mac.

He thought Mac’s mom was probably some normal suburban housewife. But suddenly it all makes sense. James picked someone he thought could keep up with him. Someone who he didn’t have to lie to. She probably was killed on a mission and whatever Mac thinks about her death was a cover-up.

He steals James’s number from Mac’s phone when the kid falls asleep. He’s not technically allowed to have that number, but that’s okay. He needs the truth. Even if it gets him fired.

He calls James at five thirty in the morning. The man sounds both groggy and angry, asking Jack repeatedly how he got the number. Jack just tells him to meet him at a corner diner, and hangs up.

He figures the man will come, if only to tell Jack to his face that he’s fired. He’s on his second cup of coffee when James walks in the door and joins him.

“What’s this about, Dalton?” The man’s voice is clipped.

“It’s about your son. If he even is.” Jack sees the man’s mask slip a little. “He showed me a picture last night. Of Ellen. She and I dated. The year before he was born.”

James’s shoulders slump, there’s a sudden exhaustion in his face. Some kind of relief. “I wondered if you would find out.”

“That he’s my son?” Jack came here thinking it might be true. Now that it is he can’t believe it.

“She married me because we had been friends for years; I was in love with her, and she wanted her child to have a father. Her family approved; I seemed like the safer option. My cover was a respected scientist. I think they preferred that to tile salesman.”

“She knew Mac was my son?”

“Yes.” James sighs. “She decided not to tell you; thought it would make everything harder. You had re-upped with the Army by that point. She didn’t want you to regret leaving her.”

Suddenly everything about James’s treatment of Mac makes sense. Mac wasn’t really his son. He didn’t really care at all. All James saw was someone else’s child he’d been saddled with. He pushed Mac and pushed him so he would become as much like James as possible. So he didn’t have to see a child who was someone else’s son. Jack feels a horrible weight of guilt resting on him. James treated Mac the way he did because of ME. That was all my fault. I abandoned him and Ellen, and they paid for it.

“How did she die?” Jack asks, chokingly.

“Car bomb in Shanghai. Angus thinks it was a car accident.” James sighs.

Jack leans on the table, hands clenched around a coffee cup. “And you didn’t tell me. About any of it.”

“I was in shock. Ellen left a letter, said to contact you, but I just couldn’t.” James says quietly. “I lost track of you, after a while.”

“Lost track of me?” Jack asks. “You run a freaking covert agency. You could have found me if you wanted to.”

“I suppose I could have. I just...Angus didn’t need any more upheaval in his life right then.”

“You know what he needed? He needed a father who actually cared.” Jack growls. I would have come home. I would have quit the army, gone back to the ranch, raised him down there with the family. They love him now, they would have loved him then. His heart aches at the thought of a seven or eight year old Mac sitting next to him in the farm truck, the kid grinning proudly after roping his first calf, Mac walking across the auditorium in the little high school in town.

“I felt guilty, after I left. When he joined EOD I pulled strings, got him placed with you as his Overwatch. By then the lies had gone on so long they felt easier than the truth.” James glances at Jack. “Are you going to tell him?”

Jack honestly doesn’t know. Does the kid need to know that he missed out on having Jack in his life for all those years? That Jack’s no better than James, for skipping out on Ellen the way he did? Jack wants to cry thinking about it. Does he dare inflict that pain on Mac?

But Mac is living a lie, making nice and making up with a man who doesn’t deserve to have that boy in his life. Not that Jack deserves him either, but Jack will try.

The drive to Mac’s house is a blur. So is the conversation. By the end of it, the only real things in the world are the picture frame lying on the bench beside them and the crying kid clutched in Jack’s arms.

They have a long way to go before any of this begins to heal. Jack isn’t going to do what James did. He won’t force Mac to even talk to him before he’s ready. Mac can be angry or brokenhearted or clingy, or whatever he wants to be, because maybe Jack hasn’t been the father he should have been all those years ago, but he sure as hell will be now.

They can’t go back, they can’t fix the past. But they can start again.

[swanandapirate]

A Muted Hue of Grey (3/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (later mentions of violence, alcohol abuse, and sex)

Wordcount: 2549

Links: ao3 // ff.net // chapter 1 // chapter 2

A/N: No Killian in this chapter, my apologies, but there are answers to your questions and there's an OC whom I love a lot and I hope you do too

The Big P ( @ofshipsandswans ) and Notorious Nonnie ( @acourtoftruelove ) are epic as always and weren't afraid to go "uhhh Manon??" whenever I did or wrote stupid stuff.

@shady-swan-jones is also epic and never complained when I stalked her about the art she was making, you can find said art here and here!

——————————

A dense downpour covered the streets, distorting the view, a thin sheet of water blurring her sight. Emma walked, all of her senses heightened—her ears searching for any sound that didn’t belong. She did not trust the dark that enclosed her, nor was she pleased with the curtain of rain. She was at a disadvantage and she knew it, knew that this was exactly why he had waited before informing her where their meeting would take place. Why he chose for it to be this late. He wanted the upper hand and Emma couldn’t do anything but to hand it to him. She was but an employee, a hired informant that could be laid off at any moment.

The rain was just a welcome bonus, she supposed as she trudged on, avoiding puddles that had gathered; he was powerful but controlling the weather required some magic that he, a mere mortal, did not possess.

The cobblestones of the alley shone with a layer of rain, the water enhancing the sound of her high boots echoing against the stone. Emma was already regretting her choice of footwear. It was drawing attention to her, attention that might not be wanted.

She checked her phone for the umpteenth time since she had left to be certain and it gave her the confirmation she sought. This was it, it told her, the brightness of her screen causing her to squint against the artificial light. She had reached her destination.

And she was all alone.

That didn’t seem right.

Her eyes slid across her surroundings, searching for a sign of life, a clue that someone else was present, but found none.

“So, Ms. Swan.”

Emma was startled by the voice surfacing out of the shadows. And the man accompanying it.

“What have you found out?” Mr. Gold asked.

He appeared from whatever hole he was hiding, dressed to the nines in a suit that seemed badly tailored, tatty even, loose at some parts and way too tight at others. A golden cane in his hand, only emphasizing his stature and oddity. Who owned a cane? A golden one at that? His brown hair, streaked with grey, was long and stuck to his cheeks thanks to the rain.

“Okay, first of all, Gold,” Emma responded, not wanting to immediately hand him her information, her only assets. “Why are we meeting in some shady alley? It reeks here.”

And it did. Of pee and other questionable substances. A place Emma would much rather not spend time in.

“We need to be covert,” sounded his answer, but it failed to resonate with Emma.

She tilted her head and frowned as a movement in the background caught her eye.

“And we couldn’t be covert in an office or a place where there aren’t actual rats running around?” she questioned, pointing at the spot the rat had just run across.

Gold seemed less worried about the vermin running around; he could fit right in. Birds of a feather flock together and all that.

“Now is not the time to complain about hygienics, Ms. Swan. What have you found?” he repeated, uttering every word as if it was a sentence with a full stop.

Emma recognized that her efforts of convincing him to pick another meeting point would lead to absolutely nothing and so she simply accepted that she was going to look like she was offering Gold drugs in a dark alley. Though, if she was being entirely honest, it was most likely going to look like she was offering him something else.

Just the thought of that made bile rise in the back of her throat and made her want to end this briefing as soon as possible. She cleared her throat as she refocused on the matter at hand.

“After another week, observing Jones from afar has not proven to be very useful or helpful with me getting new information. I’ve therefore decided to switch tactics and, instead, I’m going to try and gain his trust.” Gold didn’t need to know the real reason why she’d had a sudden change of heart, it would only shrink his already microscopic amount of trust in her even more. “It’s now just a matter of him trusting me to get the information you need,” she told him, making sure he believed the ease with which she could handle the situation, even though she didn’t particularly believe in it herself.

His dark eyes slid over her face, assessing and attempting to read her features and even if what was going on in his brain mostly remained a mystery to her, Emma could see the wheels turning in his eyes, could almost hear his thoughts conferring with one another.

At last, he spoke.

“I hope you don’t get carried away, Ms. Swan. We do have a deal and I do not take my deals lightly.”

“Neither do I, Gold,” Emma guaranteed. “I’ll get the job done, don’t worry.”

“You better.”

She should’ve let the meeting end there, let the both of them part ways and not talk to each other until Gold required another briefing. But the hunch that something was off—the thought that she couldn’t in a million years fathom what intel Gold needed on Jones, especially since she spent some time talking to him and getting to know him—couldn’t stop thrumming in her head.

“What is it exactly that you want?” she then asked him outright. “I have already given all of the information I have found so far and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I’m not hiring you to ask questions, Ms. Swan. Leave that part to me. Keep your eyes and ears open, report back when you find more, that is all I require from you.” His accent had become thicker, more guttural, acting as yet another warning.

“Okay.” Emma threw her hands up in the air in concession.

She was not going to debate it or ask any more risky questions. The money Gold was paying made sure that she did not have to struggle to make ends meet; she was able to afford everything she needed with one, single job; she wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

“Until next time, I guess.” She shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

“I hope you have something more interesting to tell me then, or I’ll have to reconsider this whole arrangement.”

Gold left the way he had come and vanished into the darkness again. She didn’t wait until he was completely gone to properly roll her eyes in response to his irritating flare for the dramatics that was omnipresent.

Turning on the heel of her boot, Emma left as well, in the opposite direction Gold had gone. As she walked, she gathered her wet tresses, quickly combing them through with her fingers to avoid any knots. The heavy rainfall had luckily stopped, only a stray drop here and there falling out of the sky, and so when she was met with the choice of either taking the bus home or just walking to her apartment, the quiet atmosphere and the clean, crisp air outside made her choose the latter. They were a proven successful approach to clear her head.

One thought just wouldn’t allow itself to be deleted, however.

Or one person.

Jones.

She hadn’t thought a lot about the day they’d spent together, not yet. Maybe because she didn’t want her head clouded before the meeting with Gold but now that that was all over and done, it had free rein to infiltrate her mind again, to revisit the events anew.

As they had left the store the day before yesterday, she had been hit by an immense sense of fear. Not fear of being caught or a fear of sharing too much with him.

No, not that. It was the fear of having to spend a considerable amount of time with someone she just met. She wasn’t a good socializer, her lack of friends could attest to that. One could even say she was absolutely terrible at small talk. So why on earth had she agreed to spend the afternoon with him?

The funny thing, however, was that she’d spent those first moments so struck with anxiety, her thoughts so consumed by it, that she hadn’t even realized how fast time had gone by. How she’d been talking and laughing and listening without any awkwardness trailing the conversation, without any uncomfortable silences creeping in. And that was a new experience altogether.

Perhaps that was the reason she’d been so adamant to avoid the topic, because she wasn’t exactly sure what to think of it.

Or of the fact that she’d given him her cell phone number when he had asked.

She did tell Gold she was planning on gaining his trust, but whether that was the actual reason she’d so easily added her number to his contacts, Emma hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And again that same question from before resurfaced. Killian seemed like an ordinary guy. Nothing about him particularly stood out. No weird vibes, no strange behavior. Just a polite, somewhat reserved—but then again, flirty—dude. Someone who’d managed to make her feel at ease. What would Gold want with information about him, and, more importantly, what was he going to use it for?

Emma sighed as the question remained unanswered, her breath hot against the chilled air. Her feet continued to tap against the concrete, carrying her closer and closer to home. What had first been a pleasant brisk breeze, was now a freezing wind, chilling her to the core. The remaining raindrops falling from her hair certainly did not help.

She spotted her apartment from across the street and excitement ran through her body as she took those final steps. She needed a scalding shower to warm up again. And a lot of hot chocolate to warm up her insides again.

Just as her hand went to open her door, she suddenly realized she’d not bought new hot chocolate when she drank the last packet. She didn't have any chocolate to make it from scratch, either. Shit. Her hand fell from the handle, as she looked around at her surroundings and considered her options. It was already after ten, so the closest Tesco was already closed, and she didn’t particularly feel like taking the bus to the further one that was open until midnight, especially not in her drenched clothes.

Only one option remained. Well, two actually. The first one being going upstairs without and accepting there would be no hot chocolate, even though Emma didn’t feel like getting over her need for chocolate. It seemed like a pretty vital necessity. Option number two it was: the night shop two blocks away.

But she was still getting out of these freezing clothes first.

Emma reemerged from her building with a new set of warm and comfy clothes and made her way to the shop.

The door opened as she pushed against it, a little bell ringing as she did. The shop wasn’t that big and clearly targeted two types of people: the ones that wanted to get drunk and the ones that had gotten drunk and now craved some sort of greasy or sugary—unhealthy to sum it up—food. Emma was neither and so she knew that she’d have to go to the little corner of the shop meant for everyone, where she would find everything.

“Good evening,” she said and smiled to the shop owner behind the counter.

“Evening, miss.”

After her meeting with Gold, she’d had quite enough of people calling her miss. Plus, she frequented this place enough to switch to a first name basis.

“You can just call me Emma,” she told him over her shoulder as she made her way to the rack she knew contained what she desired. After some scanning, she came across the hot chocolate and removed it from the other items. It only took her a couple of steps to reach the counter again.

The young man—he had to be younger than she was or else she’d have to learn his secret—accepted the box she handed him.

“Evening, Emma,” he repeated. “I’m Samir.” He outstretched his hand and Emma grabbed it and gave it a quick shake. “Nice to meet you. This means I can finally stop calling you Rocky Road in my mind.”

“You gave me a nickname?” She cocked her head in surprise, the smile on her face widening into a grin.

Samir shrugged while scanning the box of hot chocolate.

“I do that with everyone who comes in here often. Especially with those who have a tendency to buy the same thing time and time again.” He lifted a dark eyebrow.

Well, if that didn’t say a lot about her late night snacking habits, Emma didn’t know what did.

The cash register ringed and Samir read the price off of it.

“That’s three quid, please.”

Emma’s hand disappeared into her pocket, in search of some change that hid inside. First, she fished out fifty pence and that was followed by a two-pound coin. One last effort of checking another pocket led to one last pound being recovered. “Keep it,” she said as Samir pushed the fifty pence back to her side of the counter.

“Thanks.” He threw the coin with the rest of them and closed the register.

“Can I ask you something?” Emma stored her box in the small shopping bag she’d brought along.

“Sure,” Samir replied, his brown eyes shining, reflecting the openness she felt radiating from him.

“You seem pretty young to own your own business. Or am I just really misjudging your age?”

It might be weird to just ask him that, but the longer she spent looking at his face, the younger he began to look.

“I’m twenty-three.”

That was more or less what Emma was estimating.

“This isn’t my store, it’s my dad’s,” he explained. “I’m filling in for a while. I just graduated uni, so I don’t have anything better to do for now.”

“Oh, congrats!” Emma said, her congratulations genuine as graduating from university deserved that. She’d never managed to do so. “What did you study?”

“Law.” Samir slightly ducked his head as if he was bashful about his choice or his accomplishments while there was absolutely no reason to be.

“You’re a lawyer? Impressive.”

“Well—” He tilted his head. “not so much a lawyer as waiting for someone to hire me to become one.”

She could then see how he’d rather be doing that than selling things to people in the middle of the night and Emma couldn’t blame him. If he’d studied to become a lawyer, was ready to be one, it must be frustrating to not have anyone give you a shot to do what your heart desired.

“I’m certain it will happen, Samir.” She nodded encouragingly. “If I ever need a lawyer, you’ll be the first I call, alright?” Emma winked.

“Fine by me. If you ever feel like visiting me again and having a chat, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. I hope you have a good night, Samir.”

“You too, Emma.”

And it seemed like Emma Swan had yet again participated in small talk and had actually gotten a friend out of it.

A friend and hot chocolate.

Monumental.

——————————

Now I'm in the mood for hot chocolate too... Anyways, I hope you liked it and do not despair, our favorite Brit is making his comeback next Thursday and it’s a good one 😏, see you then!

[peakyblinders1919]

A New Organization

Chapter 2- Lily

The good ol’ streets of Birmingham were loud and noisy even early in the morning. Would they even be Birmingham streets if they weren’t? The car engines roared and clattered as they jerked down the road, there were spontaneous bells and whistles ringing from the factories, or if not the factories from the train. And the buzz of conversation hung low in the air. The city was big, but you could never quite escape it’s pull, or it’s people.

But thankfully today, she was able to tune it all out. The rain fell in sheets, and it’s steady patter on the rooftops added to the city’s melody. At least it was rain. She had her black hood pulled up around her, posing as a sort of disguise, though she knew it wouldn’t last long.

She tried to slip through the busy streets without drawing too much attention to herself. She was on a sort of covert mission after all. She maneuvered through the crowd and rush of people with an ease that didn’t come easily.

She came up on the police station quickly, slipping in undetected and standing in the back of the room as it was filled with people. She knew she’d blend in if she kept her hood up, so she anxiously looked around the room, cops running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It was almost louder in here than outside.

“Excuse me,” she said in a voice that barely came out as a whisper. She tried to push and shove her way past big men blocking her path to the front desk. Apparently everyone was trying to break someone out of jail, and she’d be like the rest of them, angrily waiting as the police dragged it on like they normally do. And if she couldn’t fucking push her way up front...

“Excuse me,” she said louder this time, trying to elbow her way through. But apparently her elbow had hit something rather soft, and she looked up to meet the eyes of a man twice her age and easily twice her size.

“What’d you say little girl?” He snarled.

She just rolled her eyes when she tried to use her small stature as an advantage to slip through the cracks. “Hey,” the man called, obviously not thinking this little exchange was over. He caught her by the arm and she whipped around, staring him down. “What’re you doing?”

She didn’t even have time to say anything as the quick movement made her hood fall off, revealing her fiery red hair. And if he didn’t know any better by then, she stared him down with those icy eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry Miss.” He said, putting his hands up in surrender and backing up. Everyone around him slowly turned and saw her, immediately making way for her.

She huffed. She didn’t have time for this. She hated using her reputation to get what she wanted, but it seemed like now was a good as time as any.

She made her way through a crowd like Moses parted the seas. And around these parts, she had a name that people worshiped like a God.

She slammed her hands down on the counter, getting the police's’ attention. Taking one look at her, he cowered slightly back in fear, tripping over his words.

“M-m-m-Miss. Shelby, what’re you doing here?”

“I’m here for my cousin, Alexan-”

“We know who your cousin is.” A voice called from the behind the desk, slowly making his way to the front. Lily tried not to audibly announce her disgust but it was useless.

“So why am I still waiting?” She asked as Mr. Harris stood there smirking at her. When you have to carry around a name as heavy as Shelby, it comes with a few perks. People are terrified of you, or worse, hate you. And no matter how long she had to deal with it, it’d never be enough time to get used to grown, muscular men cowering like mice because of a little girl. But sometimes it came in handy.

“This is Alexander’s third time getting caught for assault, he’s not getting out of this one easily.”

“Look, Mr. Harris, just turn him over to me and we’ll leave. Peacefully.”

“Are you threatening an officer?” She sighed, rolling her eyes again and trying to remain calm. Mr. Harris was one of those people who hated her family just because. They hadn’t done anything to him, he was just a man who followed the rules a little to closely, and whether it was out of jealousy or some other uncharacterized feeling, he would do anything to go against the Shelby’s.

“I’m only making your life easier Harris. Just show me where he is.”

“Not happening Missy.” He said, turning to leave.

“I guess his Dad’s just going to have to come down here then. Maybe I’ll call my Dad too, it’ll be a sort of nice little family gathering, yeah?”

Mr. Harris turned slowly to meet her sly smirk, and he knew he was cornered. For as much as he wanted to fight the Shelby’s, no man of his status would stand a chance. And Lily knew it.

“Wait there.” He said through gritted teeth.

She smiled victoriously, though a big weight was taken off her shoulders after Mr. Harris left and she didn’t have to stand up straight anymore. Still, she was fully conscious that all eyes were still on her as she stood there, growing more impatient and uncomfortable as time dragged on.

Just as it was all becoming too much, a tall, lanky boy with disheveled dark hair and a swollen lip rounded the corner in Mr. Harris’s wake, handcuffs and all. He gave her an apologetic smile as Mr. Harris started taking off the cuffs.

“Next time I see you in here Shelby, you're not getting out.”

“Oh, I look forward to it Mr. Harris.” Alex taunted while Lily headed for the door.

It took him until they were outside and considerably down the street from the police department for him to catch up to her. They walked in silence for a while, Alex being smart enough to keep his mouth shut until Lily spoke.

“Nice black eye.” She said without looking looking at him.

“Hmh, you like this, you should see the other guy,” he laughed proudly before covering it with a cough after Lily shot him a disapproving look.

“You should get some ice on that.”

“Yeah, I-” he started, still in tow.

“Come on, quickly, before Dad finds out.” She said, jiggling with the lock and sneaking into the old Shelby betting shop. Alex hesitantly entered closing the door shut behind him.

“Woah…” he said, cautiously watching where he stepped.

“Just sit.” Lily pointed to the couch in the corner, making her way through to the kitchen, hoping there’d be some ice in the icebox.

The shop was practically abandoned. No longer used to collect bets, that was all done legally now in much finer facilities all across England, her dad still saw it as an investment. She wasn’t supposed to know about any of it actually, hence her shaking hands when she made a makeshift ice pack and walked quietly back into the next room.

The betting shop had officially closed down for almost 20 years now; it had only been an active shop during the early years of her life. And as much as her dad tried to keep his past from her, he had a habit of leaving things exactly the way they were. When she had first snuck into the shop when she was 16, having figured out it’s location thanks to a drunken Uncle John, she felt like she was stepping back in time.

The place was a standing relic, perfectly capturing a piece of history.  It was a real-life museum, everything fossilized, set in stone and artifacts kept on display. Torn papers from books littered the floor, which was dusty and creaked anytime she walked across it. The big blackboard at the front still had the odds drawn in for the horses of the 1929 Cheltenham Races (she had done her research). All the old phones were still on the desks, the names of her Uncles scratched into the doors.

It was a lot to take in as she joined Alex back in the “living room”. His eyes were wide with excitement despite the swelling.

“Here,” she said, breaking the prolonged silence as she handed him the ice.

“Thanks.” He sighed, sitting back in relief with the ice on his eyes. “Also thanks for bailing me out. Again.”

“Yeah, don’t make a habit out of it.” She sighed. “Here, let me,” Lily groaned, sitting up from her comfortable spot on the couch and helping hold the ice to her cousins eye, maybe a little too aggressively.

“Ow.”  He complained, the pain growing worse.

“You deserve it.” She muttered, ignoring his cries. It was quite for a bit while the ice felt soothing against his eye. “I’ll always come, I just wish I didn’t have to.”

“It wasn’t my fault this time Lily, I swear.”

“Doesn’t matter who’s fault it was, right, as long as it happened.” She said, pressing the cool clothe to his eye and temple.

“You sound like Uncle Tom.” He smirked, knowing he’d get a rise from Lily then. But instead of giving him a degrading slap to the arm, she smiled as Alex hung his head back with closed eyes.

“And you fight like Uncle Arthur.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment,” she joked.

“Honestly, Lil, thanks for bailing me out. Coppers woulda loved to keep a Shelby behind bars for the night.”

“I know, I know, I’m the best,” she joked, frowning when she didn’t get a response from him. She shook her head, “That’s what family’s for. Besides, the look on those coppers faces when Thomas Shelby’s girl walked up demanding they let you go was priceless.” She laughed, remembering their faces for a second before reapplying more pressure.

Alex sighed after some silence. “What am I going to do when I go home. Dad’ll know by then.”

“Probably but just avoid home for a while.”

“I can’t Lil, besides, I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

“Why not?” She asked a little too aggressively.

He shrugged, looking around the place. “It kinda gives me the creeps.”

“How! This is where our father’s practically grew up! This place was my life for 5 years.” She said nostalgically, thinking back to her vague memories of sitting with her dad in his office and taking her early steps around the shop.

“But no one’s been here in years.” Alex said, dragging his hand along the mantle, revealing inches of thick dust.

“Yeah, I guess…” Lily said, although it wasn’t entirely true. Since she had discovered the place, she found herself retreating to it often, until it became a sort of safe haven. When she felt the need to escape, and the world was against her and all she wanted was silence, she knew she couldn’t get it anywhere else but here. Silence came so easy to a place like this, as it settled around the two of them now.

It was eerily quiet for a while, Alex exploring the place while Lily sat in contemplation. A sudden shrill metallic ringing occupied the room, the pure noise of it deafening in comparison to the silence. It made both of them jump and look at each other.

“It still works?”

“Apparently.” Lily said, although it had never rung before. They moved towards the phone, thinking just when it had stopped ringing it’d ring again.

“Well, answer it.” Alex nudged her.

Her hands grazed the cold reciever, picking it up and waiting for the person on the other end to speak first. She could barely hear the person on the other end over the beating of her own heart.

“It’s Maddie” she mouthed to Alex as she listened to her sister’s distorted voice. Apparently more people knew about the betting shop than she thought. She hung up with a sigh, turning to walk straight out the shop, Alex running to be by her side again.

“Lillian, what’re you doing?”

“Calling a family meeting. Now.”

[takadasaiko]

Breathe Again Beneath the Flames: Chapter Twelve

FFN II AO3

Summary: Solomon finds some trouble while Tom and Ressler go looking for Liz.

Chapter Twelve

Donald Ressler stood frozen in place, glock aimed at the man that had broken into his home. Tom Keen's grin was looking a little more strained with each passing moment that Ressler wasn't lowering his weapon and finally he cleared his throat. "Listen, man, I'm really trying to limit the number of holes people are putting in me lately, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't shoot me."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" the ginger agent managed to croak out, shock drying his throat. He finally lowered his weapon, but only so he wouldn't shoot his partner's husband. He felt the simmering anger double into rage at the thought of Liz and her broken, grief-filled expression before she had left. That hadn't been faked. That couldn't have been faked, no matter how good she was. That had been a woman mourning the loss of the man she loved, but there that same man stood in Ressler's apartment, ordering pizza and drinking his beer like they were buddies. He was quickly bypassing rage and he needed answers right then or he was going to really kill the arrogant bastard. "You better give a damn good explanation as to why Liz thinks you're dead, pal."

He watched the dark haired man's amusement fade entirely, replaced by something that might have been guilt. "You might want to grab the stuff from the hall," he said, motioning beyond him to where the takeout and travel bag were halfway visible. "It's not a short story."

Ressler nodded, finally holstering his weapon and moving to grab his things and close the door. He watched Tom circled back around to the couch and he took a heavy seat on it, popping the cap off the beer and reaching for a slice of pizza. It looked like it was from Ressler's usual place and he wondered if he should check his bill. He took a seat across from Tom. "Okay. Let's hear it."

The other man took a long drink from the beer he had thieved from Ressler's fridge and when he set it down he started in. Ressler thought he had heard just about everything in his line of work, but as he listened to Tom talk about a body double that was good enough to fool Harold Cooper, an experimental drug - developed by the same Halcyon scientist that had cracked quantum computing - that had brought him back and kept him alive after they had all watched him flatline after the brutal stabbing, and the months and months in recovery that - if Ressler trusted his own instincts, which he did - didn't look like they were quite done yet. He saw the dark circles under Tom's eyes, the exhausted expression, and the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he reached for the drink again. He looked great for a dead man, but there was no doubt the last year and handful of months had left a lasting mark.

"I didn't know Liz was awake until a couple of months ago," he said, meeting Ressler's gaze. "Nez came to DC to make sure she knew I'm alive, but-"

"She was already gone," Ressler murmured. "Yeah, she just ghosted. No real warning, no goodbyes. We found found out through Reddington and got the impression the only reason she told him was to make sure he didn't follow. We all assumed she had Agnes with her…"

Tom shook his head. "Scottie got custody. In hindsight, probably to keep me distracted."

Ressler winced a little. "You two have some really screwed up parents."

"You're telling me."

"But," Ressler said slowly, drawing his attention, "can't knock the results. I mean… we all went to your funeral. We gave you a wake once Liz was awake…."

Tom smirked. "You say nice things about me, Ressler?"

The other man glared in response, refusing to be swayed from the serious conversation, even if it might have been easier to poke fun rather talk about what had happened to Liz. "She took it hard, so I guess we were really surprised when she left." He paused for a moment. "If you're here to find out where she went, I don't know."

"I do. She's in Alaska. Middle of nowhere."

Ressler reached for a slice of pizza. "Then what are you here for?"

Tom's gaze shifted away from Ressler's and he ran his hand along the top of his dark hair, causing it to stand on end and looking a little uncomfortable. "Help," he said at last, his dark blue eyes flickering to meet a lighter shade. "I need your help."

"Okay, but why me?" Ressler pressed. "You've got Halcyon-"

"Scottie and Howard lied to me about Liz being awake, by omission if nothing else."

"What about your team? Nez and Dumont?"

"I need eyes and ears there to make sure Agnes is safe."

That made sense. He wasn't sure how comfortable he was with Tom leaving his and Liz's kid with a criminal like Nez Rowan, but that wasn't his call to make. It wasn't like she hadn't been with Reddington while Liz was unconscious. "What about Reddington then? I mean, you know he's gotta be itching to find Liz."

"No," Tom all but growled, immediately halting that line of questioning. "That's not an option."

"Okay, then even someone else out of the Task Force. Cooper or Samar or-"

"Listen, man, if you don't want to help just say so."

Ressler pushed a long breath out of his nose. "I just need a reason, Tom. You can't just showed up in my home after being dead for nearly a year and a half and expect me not to need answers."

Tom flashed him a grin. "Don't trust me?"

"No, not particularly."

The grin didn't fade. "Smart man." He tilted his head thoughtfully and the disingenuous expression eased a little. "I know who attacked Liz and me. Whose men put her in a coma and who just about murdered me."

Ressler leaned forward, elbows against his bent knees and Tom had his full attention. "You know who Damascus is?"

The covert operative blinked. "Damascus?"

"That's what Liz called him. It's the… the knife that he used on you. It was a Damascus knife."

He watched Tom's expression darken and he thought he saw a subtle grimace at that. "Right."

"Who is he?"

That pulled the other man's attention back around and his gaze was intense. "A cop."

Ressler straightened at that. "A cop tried to kill you? Why?"

"Because he was after something that Reddington had. That's all I know."

The ginger nodded, leaning back in the chair again, but not not quite relaxing. "So you want my help with a dirty cop?"

"I want your help getting to Liz so that we can all go after a dirty cop. I figured if anyone would be willing it'd be you… with your dad and all."

Ressler shook his head, a mirthless laugh escaping him. "Hell, man."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

His lips thinned out, not quite quirking up. This was something Liz needed to know. Not just that Tom was alive, but a direction that they could go to find healing from everything that happened. Finally he loosed a long breath, meeting Tom's gaze. "Well, I've got a couple of days off. Let's go find Liz."

They said that patience was a virtue, and while Solomon had never claimed to be overly virtuous, it did appear that it had paid off for him this time. He'd played his part of the Nash Syndicate and their supply lines that had been tossed into the air were coming back around. He'd spoken once with the supplier out of Iraq, but it had taken nearly three months to get to Garvey. It wasn't his only in, but it had been his best bet, and the one that he was most pleased had worked out.

He stood with Li Zhao on the docks, the ever present art of waiting something he was coming to master. The sun was high overhead and everyone but her people had been cleared out, and even they were a skeleton crew. It wasn't surprising that Garvey didn't want curious eyes on him.

"He does not like to meet in person," Zhao said in her native language.

"So you've said."

She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully before motioning to the car that was making its way towards them. The driver pulled up, but made no move to get out.

Solomon glanced at her once before starting forward and he heard the locks come undone as he approached the passenger door. He reached out for the handle, but the back door opened and a man unfolded from it, waving at him to step back.

He did so, standing remarkably still as the other man's hands roamed up and down to check for weapons and pulled his gun from its holster. Solomon offered him a wink that made him take a step back before he reached back out to the door.

The man that had frisked him didn't follow, but as Solomon slipped in he did, thankfully, find Ian Garvey in the driver's seat. "It's good to finally meet you. I'm-"

"I know who Zhao says that you are," Garvey cut him off. "The man that corrected our supply lines. I also know who you've been, Mr Solomon."

Solomon let his gaze sweep over the heavyset man for a moment. His hands hadn't left the steering wheel and he could see that the vehicle was still in gear. He'd walked right into a set up.

"Let's go for a drive, shall we?"

"Why not," the newly captured man managed, keeping his voice smooth and even even as the locks shifted back into place.

She was furious, that much he knew. It would have been a difficult thing to miss with the way she was shouting at him, all of her cool demeanour put away for the red hot rage that he'd rarely seen her put on display quite so openly. Howard Hargrave stood where he was, amused, and that only seemed to fuel the flames. "You think this is funny?" his wife asked dangerously. "You knew, didn't you? You knew he was going and you let him. What? To get back at me for bringing Agnes, because you thought it was a power play? This is his life, Howard, and-"

"Breathe." Scottie looked ready to hit him and Howard had to shake off the uncomfortable realization that he had never quite gotten over her magnetic draw, even now. He held his hands up, palms outward, and waited until he was relatively sure she wouldn't try to break his nose if he stepped closer. "No, I didn't know he was going, but it shouldn't be a surprise to either of us. My guess is that Agnes tipped him off." He shot her a knowing look and watched her expression seal off. "We can play the blame game all day long, but that won't protect him. He knows Liz is awake and there wouldn't have been any stopping him anyway. All we can do now is provide him the back up that he'll need."

He watched Scottie stop her pacing, but this time her expression fell and he knew that she saw it too. They were both damn good at setting the game the way they wanted to play it, but sometimes they were dealt a bad hand. That didn't immediately mean a loss, just a set back, and they had to think quick, and as much as he hated it, it meant that they had to make sure they were moving with a united front. He didn't trust her and she didn't trust him, but they had to find a way forward for their son's sake.

Scottie sank into a chair, massaging the bridge of her nose. "Nez and Dumont would have been his only contacts able to help him and they're still at the base."

"Likely to keep an eye on his daughter."

Dark eyes flickered to look at him. "Do you think he thinks we'd hurt her?"

"I don't know what he thinks, Scottie. He probably doesn't know what he thinks. All he knows for sure is that we've been lying to him."

She set her jaw. "They want to help him in any way that they can. To get them to help us we need to enable them to do that."

There she was with that clever, quick mind that he knew so well. "I agree."

"Opening up full Halcyon resources requires us to at least take it to the Grey Matters level and that will open it up to any security leaks that we may have."

"I had Dumont do a full security overhaul right before you came back in."

"I've noticed. A second wouldn't be out of the question."

"Hmm," he agreed, nodding with the sound.

"Howard." Her voice drew his full attention. "We have to approach this together."

He saw the look he was giving him and he held it for a long moment, letting her words batter around in his mind for a moment and running through possible responses. He didn't have a chance to voice any of them, though, as he saw Scottie's gaze flicker behind him and he turned to find Nez standing there.

"I'm aware that you probably have a few things to say about the thing with Tom-"

"We were just discussing that," Scottie cut in. "We understand that-"

"I'm sorry, but this can't wait."

Howard straightened. "What's happened?"

"Solomon set off his distress signal."

Tom filled Ressler in on Garvey as the other man unpacked and re-packed his bag for the flight that had already been scheduled. They would fly from D.C. to Seattle, Seattle to Juneau, and from there, as long as they hadn't been followed, they'd make arrangements to get down to the little town in the middle of nowhere that Liz had hidden herself away in. It was a simple enough plan, and Tom was happily surprised that their resident Boy Scout didn't fight him on it once he laid everything out. He did, however, side-eye him on the falsified documents that Tom handed over to the TSA agent along with a charming smile and a compliment about her hair. She didn't look awake enough for the five AM flight to react as she scanned his ticket and sent him through.

"Not sure what you expected," Tom said as he slipped his feet back into his boots and threaded his belt through the loops on his jeans, finally clear of the security. "I mean, I'm guessing that a death certificate might raise a few red flags in an airport."

"You've got a few of those going now, don't you?" Ressler asked as he stuffed his wallet back into his pocket.

Tom tilted his head a little. "One under my birth name, pretty sure that someone probably added one to the name I was raised under…. they thought I was dead a few years ago after Liz shot me, but there was never any official documents for that."

"Could be because it was a fake name," Ressler said pointedly.

Dark blue eyes flickered down either direction of the terminal. "It's the one I like best."

He heard the other man snort, but if he had planned to push the subject the thought was cut short as his cell phone began to buzz. Tom watched the ginger agent fish it out of his pocket, glare at the caller ID like he might hit the reject button, but then thought better of it. "Sorry," he mumbled, and pulled the phone up to his ear. "Now's not a good time."

Ressler put a few steps between them as they walked towards their gate, but there wasn't anywhere to take a private call in the airport that they were sharing with business men and women trying to catch flights early enough to make it to meetings all over the country. Tom kept his gaze fixed ahead, but his focus was on what he could hear.

"That's not possible. I'm leaving DC this morning." There was a pause and Tom could hear the agitation in the other man's voice as he all but growled out his response to whatever had been said. "I'm not your gopher."

That was interesting. It certainly wasn't Cooper on the other end of the line. Ressler had a nauseating respect for the chain of command. Reddington, maybe? Tom hoped not. The Concierge of Crime may have been in his rebuilding phase when Garvey had attacked, but he would have spent the last year and some months strengthening that. Even being out and about risked one of Reddington's little spies spotting him. The best thing he had going for him right then was that there was no reason to look for a dead man.

"I'm well aware of the arrangement," Ressler bit out. "You've made it abundantly clear. I'll be in touch when I get back." He ended the call and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "Was that Reddington still giving you hell?"

There was a beat of confusion before Ressler nodded. "Yeah."

Interesting. Not Reddington, then. not that a whole lot of other scenarios made sense. "Everything okay?" he ventured carefully.

"Listen, Keen, let's keep our focus where it needs to be," he snapped.

Tom raised a hand, signalling his concession and Ressler's expression eased a little, his shoulders dropping a little. "He can just be a real bastard sometimes."

Their flight was called over the overhead and Tom readjusted his bag on his shoulder. He wasn't sure what Ressler had gotten himself into, but the man was right. They needed to focus. First they needed to find Liz and everything else was secondary. It would come though. It had to.

It had been over an hour since Garvey had said a word. The further they went out of the city, the lower his chances of surviving this were dropping, and Solomon wasn't ready to die yet. He'd set his beacon off at the first opportunity, begrudgingly thankful that Scottie and Nez had double-teamed him to push the option on him. This should have gone off without a hitch. He did well to fly under the radar at all times, and precious few people really could recognize him on sight. There was something else going on. Something he hadn't pieced together yet.

Dark eyes glanced at the driver. "Tell me, exactly what is it that you think you know about me?"

Garvey loosed a low, throaty chuckle. "Your reputation precedes you, Mr Solomon."

"It really doesn't. Not where I don't want it to."

"You were a CIA asset for some years running in Africa until they disavowed you. From there you were a free agent, shifted allegiances to the so-called Cabal, and then eventually to Scottie Hargrave when she ran her husband out of Halcyon Aegis."

The landscape sped by. "And now I'm working for Li Zhao. I fail to see the problem."

"The problem is that Scottie Hargrave has been publicly reinstated as the co-head of Halcyon and I have to wonder what an intelligence firm is doing sending in an operative into the Nash Syndicate to find me."

"I don't do this work for the kicks, I do it for the cash. Working for Scottie Hargrave isn't nearly as lucrative as it once was now that Howard holds half of the purse strings."

"I don't believe you."

The car they were in pulled around, stopping off the beaten path. There was nothing around them save the car that had driven with them. It pulled up behind them and Solomon saw a burly redhead step out, ready for a fight. The others that flanked him were visibly armed. "Get out," Garvey instructed.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I have to get the car detailed to remove what's left of you," he said, waving his gun at the younger man.

Solomon snorted, a lazy smile tilting his lips as he did what he was told. He'd been watching terrain on the drive in. They had wound their way up a hill, the drop now on the opposites side of the car. Garvey was getting out, his gun in his hand, and the red headed giant and his thugs came around. "And who might you be?"

He recognized him now that he saw him face on. He'd been in the files linked to Keen's supposed death. Bobby Navarro. He was tightly bound to the Syndicate, and while the cops had interviewed him after the attack, nothing had stuck. Shocking, considering he had a US Marshall on his side.

The man on Navarro's left rushed Solomon first, coming around and telegraphing his movements. Solomon only had to make minor adjustment to his stance to avoid the swing, ducking down and around, using his bob and momentum to swing up and he slammed the heel of his hand into the man's jaw, ripping his head to the side and sending him reeling.

The second was on him in an instant, but Solomon squatted down, half avoiding a blow and half going for the knife hidden away under his pants leg. He swung out, the blade skidding across the surprised man's throat and leaving a line of red in its wake as he kicked out, slamming him hard into the car.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, ready to take on whoever it was that was fool enough to come at him next, but the shot rang out. Solomon felt the telltale sign of a bullet burning through flesh. It didn't hurt, not at first, but then slowly the pain started to catch up with the shock. He staggered, the knife slipping from his fingers and he reached out to catch himself on the side of the sedan, his other hand going to the source of the slowly realized pain.

Garvey leveled his gun. "I think it's time we had a talk, Matias."

Notes: Well I had a less that pleasant reaction to the finale. I had such mixed emotions about seeing Tom again. If they were going to make us relive his death all over again, I feel like the least they could have done was given us a goodbye kiss between them. I really think it boils down to just never being okay with them killing him, and wow... I had to do some scrambling on this story. It was both a blessing and curse to be writing as far ahead as I've been writing because I had to really readjust for Liz's reaction to finding out Red's secret. I had just finished writing the big Keen2 reunion chapter when the finale aired and had to do some serious thinking about how I was going to adjust the story and how the Keens were approaching this. I think I've got it all evened out now, though, so that's the good news.

Even better news: Tessler. XD I've had so much fun working with these two nerds again and being able to make AU gif sets for them over on Tumblr. I hope you guys are enjoying to the ride as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Much more to come!

Next Time: Tom and Ressler make it to Alaska and search for Liz and an injured Solomon uncovers a terrifying truth about Ian Garvey's loyalties.

[justsomewritingsandshit]

Look Who Came Knocking

Eggsy Unwin x Male!Reader, mentions of previous Eggsy Unwin x Princess Tilde

Length: 1333 words

Warnings: male reader obv, could be edited better tbh, Eggsy does not pull a ‘Ross Geller’, angsty middle but happy ending

Requested

Eggsy Unwin would never be considered a ‘normal’ guy. He’s a young man, who was full of controversies, and full of opposing characteristics.

When you met he was a very secretive person, but still managed to be unbelievably honest too. He would answer questions bluntly, never one to beat around the bush. And it always seemed like Eggsy either dressed akin to a member of high-society, or as a ‘chav from the ends’. He was a cheeky man, yet still entirely a gentleman. A joker who was capable of solemnity. Mr Eggsy Unwin was a true man of mystery… it turned out that he was in fact a spy.

You didn’t find out that he wasn’t a tailor until at least three months into your relationship. And, it was only because the Princess of Sweden came knocking on the door, too.

You’d spent the day before with Eggsy, in his lovely townhouse – a perk of his job as a Kingsman ‘tailor’. You had spent the night, the two of you eating and just enjoying each other’s presence. You had softly caressed each other’s skin in front of the roaring fire until late, and you had laughed loudly at each bad joke or pun – you just spent time loving each other. He had run out early that morning, off on his usual morning jog (which was realistically more of a two-mile run). While he was running, you’d been boiling eggs for a lovely breakfast. The doorbell rang just as you’d plated the eggs.

Opening the door, you were free to see the Princess of Sweden, Tilde, on the doorstep. You’d frozen for a moment, wondering if you were dreaming. Remembering back now, she had been surrounded by her security. Tilde had been shocked to find a man, who was not Eggsy Unwin, answer the door to her – her eyes had widened dramatically, telling you she had no idea you would be there.

Your mother would have rather seen you dead, than forget your manners, so you had invited her and her guards, as well as the other members of staff that she’d brought with her, inside. When she expressed a desire to speak to Eggsy, despite your obvious confusion as to her arrival, you went about making several cups of tea (which had to be tasted by one of the guards first, before Tilde even sipped hers). It had taken your boyfriend of three months twenty minutes to arrive back home, and he walked in on you tearing up at the words spilling from Tilde’s mouth – the truth about her, Eggsy, and their relationship completely shifting everything you thought you had known.

It felt like your world was turned upside down. The young man you’d fallen for was a spy. Someone who had saved the world, and had dated a princess… In that moment, you hadn’t been quite sure what was what, which was up or down. An argument with Eggsy occurred two minutes after Tilde had left the home, understanding she had unknowingly exposed Eggsy’s secret to you, who at that time had not known.

You remember screaming at him, with tears pouring down your face, demanding to know how much you knew of him was real. He had apparently dated girls (Tilde), yet he had once told you that he hadn’t before – Eggsy desperately informed you that their relationship had been confidential, so he hadn’t been able to tell you. Also, his trips to other countries, where he’d be gone for extended periods of time weren’t for his work as a tailor, but rather his work as a covert agent. In your mindscape for that event, nothing had made sense – you were questioning the very foundation your very relationship. The two of you had run into each other outside that tailor-shop, only now none of it was real.

You walked out, quickly telling Eggsy that you needed some time to come to terms with what had just been revealed to you. You begged him to give you time, and he’d whispered his consent. No sleep came to you that night, nor the next.

It was a Tuesday morning, when you’d made your way back to Eggsy’s house. You’d somewhat come to terms with everything, and had been planning on further conversing with your boyfriend, but had spotted something that had frozen you in mid-step, on the pavement opposite his home. Eggsy was kissing the cheek of Tilde and smiling at her, before she gracefully stepped into her town-car, followed by her guards. They drove away, and left Eggsy waving at the disappearing car.

Now, as a man who’d just had the rug swept out from under you days before, you couldn’t help but jump to the conclusion that Eggsy had slept with her. Had he pulled a ‘Ross Geller’? You couldn’t bear asking, and turned to walk away. Before you could get very far, Eggsy was hoarsely calling your name and jogging after you. He was at your side faster than you could react. Eggsy reached for your hand, pulling you towards him, and cradling your body against his toned one. You let him, having missed him desperately the days you’d been apart despite everything.

“Where you going, love?” His voice had been heaven-sent for you, in that instance. Despite your slight suspicions of infidelity, you nuzzled your face into his neck, seeking the familiar scent of his skin. “I missed you. Please just, uh, just sit down an’ I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His eyes were locked onto yours, as earnest as a child’s. His openness had left you speechless, unable to understand fully what was going on. “C’mon, babe.” You let him pull you into the house, and softly push you into a chair. He ran off for a moment, and brought you back a tea. “Please say something.”

You accepted the tea, and decided to begin with, “Who is Tilde to you?” It was the easiest one to start with, and secretly the one you cared most about that morning.

“An old fling. Just someone I fucked before I realised birds weren’t really my thing.” He sat next to you, his whole body screaming honesty. His gorgeous eyes were locked onto yours, craving to know your every thought to what he replies with. “She came around today, and told me she’s engaged. She wanted to personally invite me (and you) to the wedding.” Eggsy had grabbed your free hand, pulling it into the warmth of his own. “I saved her life, and she wants to say thank you. That’s it.” It was a relief to know she didn’t want to continue her fling with Eggsy, but still…

“When were you going to tell me?” About who he was, what he did, and why? “Never?”

He’d sighed, looking away for a split-second before he turned back, “I don’t know. I wanted to, yeah, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone, Y/N. My mum don’t even know ‘bout it all – and she was married to an agent too!” Secretly, it had relieved you to know you weren’t the only one who had been unaware, “We’re not supposed to tell anyone, ‘cause it can get people hurt. I love you, I don’t want you hurt.”

That day (three months, six days into your relationship), was the first time Eggsy had told you he loved you. The two of you had eventually worked through the issues you had, especially the ones with him being a spy. Sure, it had been plenty of work, but it was work that you truly believed had been worth it. You two went to the wedding in Sweden, and you’d sat in the back of the cathedral as to not draw attention to yourselves…

Three years later, the Princess of Sweden, her husband (the Duke), and their young child (the Prince) all sat at the back of yours and Eggsy’s wedding. They were surrounded by your family, Eggsy’s family, your friends’, and several well-dressed ‘tailors’.

TAGGED:

@snowbubby1, @iamwarrenspeace, @stilesloverdaily, @itsnotnormalteen, @emojit

[zjallove]

March 2nd 2018

This is for whoever needs it:

As much as it’s a mans responsibility to represent and respect his woman and instill trust and security in this situation, it is a woman’s responsibility to NEVER betray her sisters.

‘SISTERS’ meaning: Other Women, Best friends, Tribe, Trusted circle, Family, Girls etc.

Regardless of how a man acts. WE have the CHOICE to stand together, we have the ability to be resolute in protecting one another. I take woman’s empowerment VERY seriously so I’m not here to beat anyone down, I’m speaking from a place of love and healing. I will probably repeat myself 100 times, but it’s for a reason.

Maybe I have old skool values but Im in shock at what I’m seeing these days… and it is everywhere right now! In Music, Film, Entertainment like its a “normal thing”….But it’s NOT. Flirting with the man you know your friend has feelings for is a total dick move in my eyes. True “SISTERS” do not move in on their sisters men EVER.

Things that may seem insignificant are actually not… Even if there is no ‘intimate relations’ involved and it all seems innocent, just merely messaging/maintaining contact with someone else’s love interest is a fucking no no and can be another form of cheating and betrayal. And to a person of integrity, It is a CLEAR sign to have enough respect to proudly BACK THE FUCK OFF.

Not everyone has that consideration in this popular society. Unfortunately the concept of faithfulness is rare these days. And boundaries are totally skewed. It’s like we have been programmed and pinned against each other. But If we as women can learn to love ourselves and stand together hopefully we can arise and claim our rightful divine feminine connection.

Is it just me??? But I will never maintain private conversations with the men my girls/sisters hearts are invested in without it involving my sisters FIRST. (Read that twice). I have enough male friends so I don’t need to talk to my friends men unless my friends are present or involved in some way. I have a SUPER HUMAN amount of loyalty because I would expect that in return… I also move in a way to REPRESENT my future king, I know he would appreciate and reciprocate that same respect… but I’ve always been like that! Am I the ONLY one who gets that? Speak to me……

This is REGARDLESS of the situation or level of commitment and REGARDLESS of the circumstances. I have and will always roll with that respect. Please tell me I’m not alone in this!.

Here’s a scenario for you… Have you ever been a witness to the covert and conniving ways some women will behave to get what they want? Like its some kind of game🙄?… it’s that high school juvenile type shit… but sadly it’s carried on into adulthood. Even if they are already in relationships they get a kick out of attention seeking. The masks are evident and it is caused by deep ingrained pain and insecurity. Sadly most of the time we blame our men… but the man is often the innocent victim in all of this, caught in between you and someone he thought you respected… thinking that ‘this girl is your friend, she’s cool’ so he maintains his politeness in his unawares due to his pure heart. Yet when you confront your ‘sister’ on the red flags in her behavior she will project it onto you like your being paranoid or insecure, then your the one who looks childish and gets accused of being jealous and immature…… yeh?… I think we’ve all been through that pretty common situation…

But KNOW THIS MY BEAUTIFUL QUEENS: YOU ARE NOT being paranoid, insecure or jealous. THEY are in the wrong. This female friend of yours is betraying you and using your man as a pawn in her scheme in a covertly manipulative way. They are breaking your trust and being disrespectful! A real woman steps back and carries herself in regal light. We do not put on the award winning performance or an ‘innocent act’ or ‘play the victim’ when confronted. REAL sisters and REAL women do not play on each other’s vulnerabilities as a tool to get what we want. We don’t use each other or step on each other’s toes either! We take responsibility for our behavior…. So girls, if you are experiencing this at school, in the work place or where ever… know it is TOXIC behavior and it’s time to clear your energy and to take your power back.

So again, -Women with integrity, inner peace and self respect do not betray others. -Women who have genuine self love and honesty in their hearts don’t hurt each other like that. -Women who are secure in themselves don’t move like that.

As women we need to realize we are introduced to each other’s men/potential partners/love interests because our sister values us, trusts us and respects us enough to want us to be part of her life and share her journey and excitement in opening her heart and discovering the beauty of love… This is an honor and a privilege! How could anyone betray that gift?

So I say this with love: If your friends or so called soul sisters don’t move with genuine love for you or you feel suspicious in anyway, if your instinct is screaming RED FLAGS then they need to go ASAP. Get the scissors and cut ties pronto!

Healthy minded women DO NOT and WILL NOT EVER COMPETE for love. Because we live in our truth and we know that what is ours will always be ours. Our worth puts us into a place of knowing what we deserve. Our self respect will force us to walk away from any toxic situations. Betrayal is something that can be eliminated if we all learned to love ourselves enough first.

It all comes down to Self worth, Self love and Self respect. We are supposed to pave the way for each other, we clear a path for each other to be safe to stand in our own magnificence side by side. We move as one! Jealousy and competition are traits of those living in fear. Any strong woman knows there is no need for competition, we help each other recognize our crowns, we walk together as one, instilling power in each other’s hearts, we lead by example nurturing one another and sharing truth and guidance. We are the mothers, we are the creators.

So always remember: Anyone can be sexually confident, anyone can be free spirited but limits are limits. When we know clearly where and in whom each other’s hearts are invested, and when we proclaim to be spiritual or have soul sisters, we DONT move in certain ways that contradict it. I have seen masks fall clear off!

I learned the hard way and now I see through the fog… I hope this helps you choose to surround yourself with those who were raised with common sense and integrity. To value another persons feelings, and behave in a way you hope will be reciprocated. There are still some of us left!

After discovering my self worth through healing from toxic people, I try to always speak the language of security. Jealousy does not have a place in my heart. the core of my soul is free…although the tests come and go, I have been instilled with the blood of extremely strong women, so I stand proudly in my own skin. Im not making a statement out of fear or need for validation and I don’t need to shame anyone, karma always comes around. The guilty people in life already know they are guilty and they have to live with that. I am merely demonstrating how reclaiming your power and using your voice to create awareness can empower others.

So for anyone who needs to hear this, I say this on behalf of all my queens who want to speak up but cannot for any reason. I know what it’s like to feel silenced by a situation. I know what it feels like to be held prisoner by circumstances and I know what it’s like to be a victim of betrayal. No matter how the situation plays out, betrayal is betrayal and I use my voice as a tool of protection. If in my power I can protect any woman from emotional manipulation, or deception…. I WILL. Once we band together and HAVE each other’s backs instead of going behind each other’s backs, it will also result in our men leveling up, seeing through the facade and never allowing an unhealthy situation to even have a chance to unfold in the first place. He will shut that shit down quick time.

Masks fall off no matter what facade is being portrayed to the world… remain in your light beautiful women. And allow the universe to let the truth be revealed. Nothing but LOVE always. I stand with you.

Let’s stop being each other’s triggers and start being each other’s safe havens. Raise the vibration!

Nothing but love! Peace out! ✌🏽

[mveloc]

Half Life

Author’s Note: I recently had an anon ask me to re-post some of my older fics. I started writing for the fandom before I had tumblr, so some of my stuff isn’t on here (though it can all be found on AO3). Anyway, this is the very first fic I ever wrote for OB. I wrote it during the hiatus between seasons one and two. You can check it out on AO3 here if you’re interested.

"I'm sick, Delphine."

She hadn't meant to say it.

She'd been so careful to conceal it from Felix earlier and the thought of telling her sisters hadn't even crossed her mind. Alison was finally starting to piece her family back together and Sarah... well, she was fighting to hold on to hers. The last thing either of them needed to hear was that whatever disease that seemed to be afflicting them had finally grabbed hold of her.

There would be panic.

Worse than that, there would be pity.

She couldn't stand the thought of either.

She would obviously have to tell them both eventually, seeing as how her symptoms would be impossible to hide as the illness progressed, not to mention the fact that they both had a right to know about their own biology; they were also at risk. But for now, this would be her burden and hers alone.

"I'm sick, Delphine."

She hadn't meant to say it and yet somehow, the words flowed from her mouth like the blood that lined her lungs. She was uncertain if she confided in the blonde because she trusted her, or because she just needed to verbalize it, to accept it, so that she could face the oncoming horror that awaited her.

Now this was real.

No more hiding behind "nothing" or "I'm fine."

As if on cue, Delphine pulled her into a tight embrace and she allowed herself to sink into her confidant's body, temporarily losing herself in the warmth as she cried into the French woman's shoulder. They both sat there in silence, aside from muted sniffles, wrapped in each other. Cosima's eyes were sealed shut, tears searing a trail down her cheeks. The blonde's were wide with horror, attempting to quietly process the bomb that her lover had dropped. After a few moments of welcomed reprieve, Cosima broke away from the hug, wiping her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Sorry," she mumbled, staring down at her fidgeting hands. "Didn't mean to snot into your shoulder."

"Cosima."

The brunette looked up in acknowledgement, waiting expectantly for Delphine to speak. The taller woman opened her mouth, but instead of words came more silence. At a loss, she closed her mouth again and reached out, bringing a hand to the side of Cosima's face, gently stroking her cheek. Cosima closed her eyes and sighed, leaning into Delphine's hand and revelling in the contact for a few moments before they were interrupted by the front door opening loudly and suddenly. Their attention shot to Felix, who came strutting through it.

"Oh. She's still here," he remarked, giving Delphine a once over.

Delphine squirmed on the couch, Felix's hostility making her uncomfortable and small. Noticing this, Cosima quickly tried to diffuse the situation. The last thing she needed right now was two of her supposed allies at each other's throats.

"Have you heard from Sarah?" she asked, standing up and leaving Delphine sitting awkwardly on the couch.

She approached Felix, who was positioned safely behind the counter, scrounging to find a clean wine glass and pour himself a drink. When he heard her raspy voice, he stopped what he was doing and looked over at her, squinting his eyes as if to take her in.

"Are you okay?"

He wasn't an idiot.

Even though he was fortunate enough not to have to deal with the woes of a girlfriend or womanhood in general, he had grown up with Sarah. He'd gotten good at detecting even the slightest trace of disturbance in his foster sister; he'd always known when she had been crying, or when she had been upset about something. Sarah's pokerface was solid, but he always found the crack in it, ever since they were children. As he stared at the dreadlocked girl before him, all of those years came back to him and Sarah's broken face gazed back, only it didn't belong to Sarah this time.

"Yeah. I-I'm fine," she lied. "It's just... I managed to decode my genome. You know, the one that Leekie gave me? Turns out the bastards patented us."

Of course, this was only a small part of her current state of distress, but she withheld the rest from him. Delphine said nothing to betray her covertness, simply staring at the shorter woman from across the room, a look of concern written plainly on her face.

"What? Can they even do that?" Felix asked incredulously.

Cosima wasn't entirely sure herself, but before she could even begin to explain, he cut her off, fearing a possible tangent on the horizon.

"Forget it. How did our sister take the news?"

"Well, she was pissed. Then she hung up. She was on her way to make a deal with that Rachel chick, but I don't know what went down. Maybe you should call her? She's probably tired of hearing my voice," Cosima suggested.

"Right. Better make sure your freaky friends didn't snatch her up," he spat, his voice thick with venom and directed at Delphine, who released a defeated sigh.

"Look, Delphine's trying to make things right. She helped me decode my genome. She's on our side," Cosima came to her rescue.

"Oh, God. Please don't tell me that you two are still shagging each other. Did you shag in my bed?" he asked.

"God, no--"

"She's a narc, Cos. You can't trust a narc. Before you know it, she'll have to tied down to a table like a--"

"I would never hurt Cosima!" Delphine finally burst, shooting up into a standing position.

This caught the other two off guard. She approached them, stopping next to Cosima and staring defiantly into Felix's eyes. If he wanted to be angry at her, that was fine, but she wouldn't stand there and have him accuse her of hurting the very person she'd sworn to watch over.

"Yeah. You would never hurt Cosima," he retorted. "But you'd shag her like some cheap whore and break her heart, all for a few names. I hustle for a living and even I wouldn't do that."

His remark seemed to cut deeply and Delphine lowered her head, staring at her feet. There was nothing she could say because he was right. She had used Cosima. She had betrayed her trust and used their relationship to placate Leekie. She felt just as guilty about it now as she did when she lay in Cosima's bed, lying about the guilty tears she was too weak to conceal.

"Felix, just stop!" Cosima snapped, on the verge of tears herself.

She hadn't meant to get emotional, but the revelation that she was someone's property along with the fact that she was most likely dying had worn her down. All barriers were gone now and Felix was quick to pick up on this. He knew his words were justified, but seeing Cosima in such a state forced him to withhold further accusations.

"Sorry," he muttered in Delphine's direction.

She nodded silently, accepting the truce.

"Look, we're going to go," Cosima said.

She looked to Delphine in a questioning manner and was met with an understanding half-smile. The blonde quickly gathered up their belongings, handing Cosima her coat and bag and waiting for her in the doorway. Cosima slipped her arms into the scarlet coat and Felix briefly flicked his hand in a gesture of goodbye.

"Just... call Sarah for me, will you? Make sure she's okay."

____________________

The cab ride back to the hotel was silent.

Delphine had offered to take another cab back to her own hotel, but the brunette simply shook her head, quietly insisting that they ride together. She didn't see much point, since they were heading in the same direction anyway. That was the logical reason. Of course, her main motivation being simply that she was scared to be alone, so they rode together in a quiet understanding, the blonde snaking her hand across the leather gap between them, resting it atop Cosima's as the unsuspecting cabby weaved in and out of downtown traffic. She peered down at Delphine's hand on top of her own and a very brief, weak smile flashed across her face before she went back to peering out the window.

They rode together in the elevator, getting off at the eighth floor. Cosima led them down the hallway with her measured steps before they finally reached her room. She grabbed the card key out of her coat pocket and slid it through the slot. The light on the handle flashed green and she pushed it open.

"Are you sure?" Delphine asked. "I don't want to impose."

"It's fine, Delphine."

"If you wanted me to leave, I'd understand."

"I said it's fine. I'm fine."

She stopped, catching herself in her own lie and laughing at the irony of her statement.

"Okay, I guess I'm not really fine, but-"

"Cosima."

"Would you just come inside? You're already here."

Delphine nodded and followed her inside, closing the door behind her. She threw her coat on top of Cosima's, which she had draped over the singular chair that occupied the room, then removed her boots and placed them next to Cosima's, as well. She was finally about to speak when Cosima quickly darted into the bathroom, halting any conversation that may have taken place.

Delphine furrowed her brow in confusion, questioning Cosima's urgency. She quickly concluded what was going on when she could hear the shorter girl trapped in a coughing fit and her face softened, a look of woe replacing confusion. She clamped her eyes shut hard and released a silent sigh, composing herself before she hesitantly followed suit. She entered the bathroom and found Cosima hunched over the sink, coughing up splatters of blood onto pristine white porcelain.

"Mon dieu."

She immediately regretted her words as they fell from her lips. She hadn't meant to say them out loud, but somehow her internal voice externalized itself. She just couldn't contain her shock and horror.

"Not God," Cosima corrected, finally catching her breath while still hunched over the sink. "Biology."

She wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand and stood up straight, staring at herself in the mirror. Her gaze was dark and intense and she stared into her own eyes, searching. She wasn't sure what she was looking for.

Anything, really.

Where was the flaw? The weakness? Would it manifest itself if she stared long and hard enough? Would she recognize it? Could she fix it? After a moment of quiet contemplation, she broke her own gaze, her eyes wandering slightly to spy Delphine in the mirror, standing just behind her with the same concerned and sorrowful expression on her face since she had heard the news of Cosima's fate.

"I'm sorry," Delphine said, her eyes glossy and voice barely above a whisper.

Cosima arched a brow, still staring at the blonde through the mirror.

"What for? It's not your fault I'm sick, Delphine."

"Cosima."

There it was again.

The only thing she seemed to be able to say.

Cosima.

324B21.

That was how she had originally come to know the spectacled girl, on a sheet of paper.

324B21.

There were many times when she would repeat that sequence, usually right before she went to bed. She thought it might make her task easier somehow. She didn't initially find the idea of being a monitor so morally compromising, but as soon as that charming, eccentric girl came wandering down that hallway to hand her her "forgotten" transcript, that immediately changed. And when they were running hand-in-hand through the quad with bottles of stolen wine, the change became painful. And when 324B21 had first pressed her lips against hers, the change became unbearable.

Now she was just Cosima.

"Cosima."

It was as if she was making up for lost time, familiarizing herself with the name that now occupied her every thought. The brunette finally turned around, but her eyes remained fixated on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to stare into Delphine's eyes. The thought of what she might find there terrified her. It was suffocating, even more so than her hacking fits.

"Cosima, look at me."

She looked up, her eyes settling on the French woman's lips.

"We'll figure this out. Je promets."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Delphine," she retorted, her eyes returning to the floor, yet again.

As if to reinforce her previous point, Delphine reached out, catching the dreadlocked woman's chin and forcing it up so that their eyes finally met. There was a brief respite, both women searching each other. Cosima couldn't remember another point in her life when she had felt this vulnerable; maybe when she had broken down in tears right after the blonde had left her apartment once her betrayal had been revealed. But right now, all of that seemed so far away and unimportant, considering everything that had unfolded in the last twenty-four hours.

Cosima carefully observed a sudden transformation in Delphine's eyes, once sorrowful and apologetic, now blazing with intensity. Before she had time to react, the blonde's lips came crashing down on her own and she felt her lips parting to greet them out of habit.

After a second of initial surprise, Cosima's hands slowly drifted down and found their place on Delphine's waist. The blonde cupped Cosima's face with both hands, holding her firmly in place and deepening their kiss. She'd spent the better part of the night trying to figure out just what to say to her cloned paramour, thinking of what words she could conjure up to try and make things better. When the two of them finally locked eyes and drank each other in, all the hurt and fear and exhaustion apparent, she found that words were not what she was looking for at all. All she could think to do was quell these emotions, to replace them with something else.

Their lips continued to tangle as Delphine slowly backed Cosima into the sink, the brunette's mouth opening even further to release a gasp as her back made contact with porcelain. Delphine took advantage of this, sliding her tongue further into the smaller girl's mouth, the action quickly reciprocated. There was the faint taste of blood, but this didn't deter either of them. She reached for the hem of Cosima's sweater, who lifted her arms up in compliance. In one, swift movement, the sweater lay discarded on the tile floor.

The pale woman's eyes drifted slightly south to absorb newly exposed flesh, taking in as much detail as she could, committing the clone's body to memory; her toned stomach that went taut as gentle fingers brushed against it, the curvature of her breasts concealed behind black lace, heaving as fingers continue their ascent up the ribcage, stopping to cup the perfect mounds through unwanted fabric. After pausing momentarily, her hands continued their journey, sliding up the column of Cosima's neck, tracing her jaw line with a slender finger, then gliding round to the back of the brunette's skull, pulling her head closer until their foreheads pressed together. Both their eyes clamped shut as they panted heavily, Cosima more so than usual. They took a moment to simply breathe each other in before Delphine opened her eyes once again.

"Cosima."

The brunette licked her lips, forcing her own eyes open.

"Yeah?" she mumbled in a trance.

She hadn't been expecting Delphine's sudden onslaught and while she knew that this was probably a bad idea, that they were probably moving way too fast and still had a lot to talk about, she decided, for once in her life, to stop thinking. The only thought in her head was concerning the heat she could feel building in the pit of her stomach, the heat that only grew each time Delphine whispered her name. There was something about the way the French woman said it; a word that seemed foreign to her lips and yet, a word she managed to make her own.

"Venir au lit."

"Huh?" Cosima asked, blinking rapidly.

While she could pick up on common phrases, her French wasn't exactly the greatest. Delphine just smiled lazily, grabbing her hand and leading her back out to the bedroom. They stopped at the foot of the bed, Delphine peeling her shirt off and tossing it to the side somewhere. Cosima found herself unable to control her wandering eyes, standing there in silent appreciation of the slender woman's body.

"I said..." Delphine began, gently nudging the brunette so that she fell backwards onto the bed.

As soon as Cosima hit the mattress, she crawled back toward the headboard, making room for Delphine to advance. The French woman crawled closer, like a lioness stalking her prey, positioning herself on top of Cosima. She pinned Cosima's head between her arms, hovering over top of her, then brought her head down over the tattooed girl's so that their mouths were just barely touching, her hot breath tickling and enticing Cosima's lips which parted in anticipation.

"Come to bed."

"Oh."

Their lips met once again and Cosima sighed, her body relaxing and sinking further into the bed. Delphine was pressed firmly against her now, her knee nestled between Cosima's legs, only contributing to the wetness that was quickly beginning to pool. They spent a long while lying there like that, exploring each other's mouths like teenagers in heat. Cosima had never been kissed like this before. She wasn't sure if it was because the other woman was French, or maybe she just had a lot of practice, but the movements of her lips and tongue were slow and sensual and deliberate. She kissed with such expertise, Cosima found herself lightheaded and she wasn't sure if it was a symptom of her condition or her lover's perfect mouth; she slowly traced the dreadlocked girl's bottom lip with her tongue before dipping it inside her mouth, Cosima's lips parting wider in compliance. Tongues grazed against each other in gentle, languid strokes and just as Cosima grew used to the motion, the blonde would reclaim her tongue once again, breaking away but never completely, always leaving her lips lightly skimming over Cosima's, as if to tease her and leave her wanting more.

"Delphine," Cosima whispered breathlessly against her lips.

"Oui, ma cherie?"

"Nobody likes a tease."

"You seem to," she quickly retorted, biting her lower lip in an attempt to conceal a playful smile.

Cosima sat up abruptly, forcing Delphine to follow suit. The blonde was now straddled in her lap and Cosima buried her face in her neck, planting kisses along her jugular. Delphine sighed in pleasure, her hands on the back of Cosima's head, holding her close to her body. Cosima's hands found their way to the clasp of Delphine's bra, opening the contraption with a quick flick of her fingers. The French woman couldn't help but be impressed at the American's deft fingers. Sensing her awe, Cosima smirked, then captured the blonde's lips in a quick kiss.

"I've had lots of practice," she explained.

"Je parie."

Mimicking the girl beneath her, Delphine reached around to unhook Cosima's bra, only her fingers weren't nearly as skilled as her lover's. After fiddling with the clasp for a moment, Cosima reached behind to help her.

"I guess I'll have to practice more, too."

"Well, let's hope I'm around long enough for you to get the chance."

"Hush, mon amour."

She brought her index finger to Cosima's lips in an attempt to silence her. Cosima planted a chaste kiss on it before taking the finger in her mouth, sucking lightly and eliciting a moan. Delphine withdrew her finger, forcing the girl onto her back once again.

"We won't speak of such things," she whispered, planting a line of open-mouthed kisses down the column of Cosima's neck.

Cosima moaned and writhed beneath her as she continued her trail, traveling down through the valley of her breasts. When she caught Cosima's left nipple in her mouth, sucking and tugging gently, the American jerked suddenly, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through her body. Delphine's hand went to the other breast, massaging it gently, rolling the nipple between her fingers as her tongue continued to trace circles around its counterpart.

Their first time had been frenzied; clothes were quickly discarded and hands were everywhere, desperate for any skin they could claim. It was all a fury of tongue and fingers, hands and teeth, culminating in a somewhat awkward combustion. There was hardly any time to really explore each other and Delphine's nervousness prevented her from fully engaging the petite brunette in the way she would have liked, relying on Cosima to set the pace and guide the way. They hadn't even removed their panties, as every time Cosima's fingers wandered to the hem of Delphine's underwear, the blonde tensed up and the brunette relented. She had to settle for pushing the fabric to the side and slipping her fingers in when all she had really wanted to do was taste Delphine.

This time was different.

It wasn't hurried or clumsy. Each movement was deliberate and while Cosima could still sense a slight hesitation within Delphine, it wasn't as crippling as it had been before. The blonde had been almost afraid to touch her, uncertain in her actions. Every time her hands grew a mind of their own, she feared they were too sophomoric and quickly reclaimed them, suppressing her natural curiosity. Cosima had to grab her hand and place it between her own legs, just so Delphine could understand that she wasn't being invasive and that her touch was more than welcome, despite how inexperienced it was. The faint hesitation this time didn't come from performance anxiety, but from Cosima's now delicate state. She worried that if she was too rough, if things became too intense, she might hurt Cosima or send her into another bloody coughing fit.

"I'm okay. Really," Cosima said, reading the blonde's mind.

She wasn't sure if her words were true, but she couldn't stand to be seen as some sort of sickly patient, especially by Delphine. She figured there would be plenty of time to worry later. Right now, all she wanted was to be enveloped in Delphine's warmth.

Delphine's hands drifted down to the hem of Cosima's skirt. She looked up and the two made eye contact briefly, a mutual understanding passing between them as the French woman peeled the article of clothing off, removing the leggings underneath, as well. She lay there in nothing but her underwear and the blonde began to plant soft kisses right below her navel, treading over the top of her panties. She made quick work of removing them, then running her hands up Cosima's smooth legs.

"Tres belle."

Cosima smiled, reaching down to thread her fingers through messy blonde tresses. Before Delphine could proceed any further, she guided her head back up, pulling her into a deep kiss and wrapping her arms tightly around her pale lover.

She felt utterly exposed and yet, she was somehow okay with it. She never thought she'd allow herself to be so vulnerable around Delphine ever again, but her monitor was right, after all; whatever existed between them was not a lie. It simply wasn't possible.

Delphine pressed her thigh against Cosima's warmth, feeling the wetness that had accumulated even through her jeans. The quirky girl groaned, squeezing her thighs together and trapping Delphine's leg in position. She bucked against it, then dug her nails into the pasty flesh of the blonde's back, dragging them down to the small of her back. Delphine hissed and arched her head back, unprepared for the sudden pain but welcoming it nonetheless. Cosima took advantage of Delphine's exposed neck, pressing a kiss to her throat and nipping it gently.

"What was that for?"

Cosima flashed one of her characteristic, toothy grins.

"You're wearing too much clothing," she justified, reaching down to pop open the button on Delphine's jeans, then drag the zipper down. "It's not fair."

"Oh," Delphine uttered, returning Cosima's smile and stealing a quick kiss as she maneuvered herself out of her jeans. "So sorry."

Without missing a beat, Cosima quickly flipped them over so that Delphine was now on her back, the brunette straddling her waist. The look of surprise on the French woman's face quickly subsided, replaced by desire.

"Prove it," Cosima challenged.

The blonde shot up in an instant, her hands extended behind her, propping her up and supporting her weight. Their lips collided once again, all reservations lost. Their tongues dueled, both of them seeking dominance, neither willing to concede in the moment. Once again, it was a complete reversal from their last encounter, where Cosima had assumed the more dominant role and the uncertain blonde was more than willing to allow it. She reached for Cosima's glasses, breaking their kiss only for a second so that she could remove them, tossing them carefully onto the nightstand before her lips continued their dance. In an attempt to gain the upper hand, Cosima's fingers slowly trailed down Delphine's stomach, halting at her center. Despite being guarded by fabric, the wetness was undeniable and the flimsy piece of cloth was soaked through. Delphine's breath hitched as Cosima slowly ran her middle finger up and down, tracing her womanhood and smiling against her lover's lips.

"Mmmm. Don't seem very sorry to me."

Delphine caught the brazen girl's lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard, causing Cosima to jerk and inhale sharply. Satisfied with the response, she gently sucked on the brunette's lower lip, as if to soothe her previous nip, garnering a groan from the shorter woman.

"You cheeky little brat."

"Maybe a little," Cosima admitted with a smirk.

"Maybe a lot," Delphine corrected.

She guided the tall, slender woman back down until she lay flat on her back, dragging her lips down her chest and stomach, stopping right above the panty line. She hooked the fabric through her fingers and paused, waiting to see if Delphine would stop her like she had the first time. While the blonde did seem somewhat uncertain, she licked her lips in anticipation, an act which Cosima understood as permission. She slowly peeled them off and tossed them heedlessly behind her. This was the first time she had seen Delphine completely naked and she had to stop herself to take it all in, gazing up to admire pale and polished skin, running her hands over thighs and stomach and breasts. The blonde reached down, tenderly brushing her knuckles against Cosima's cheek with a small smile. Cosima tilted her head slightly to the side, planting a soft kiss on them before spreading Delphine's legs wider apart, giving her more space to work. The smell of arousal was overwhelming to the senses and she slid her arms underneath Delphine's legs, hooking her knees and drawing the French woman closer so that she could plant a kiss on her exposed center.

There was a loud, high-pitched gasp and Delphine squirmed, clamping her eyes shut. Cosima's smirk resurfaced; she had barely even touched her with her mouth and Delphine was already so flustered. She wondered how long the taller woman would last against her tongue and sought to satisfy her curiosity, first peppering Delphine's inner thighs with light, teasing kisses. Her tongue traced the crease between the thigh and groin, garnering yet another shudder from the blonde.

"Cosima..."

"Hm?"

"Je veux te sentir."

While she didn't understand the words, she peered up from between the French girl's legs to meet her gaze and the look in her eyes was unmistakable. They were dark and glossy and consuming.

A translation was unnecessary.

She dragged her tongue through the inviting slit in one long, languid motion and the slender blonde's eyes rolled back in her head, her back arching as she moaned deeply at the sensation of Cosima's skilled tongue against her core. The brunette continued with her ministrations, each stroke painfully slow and deliberate. She was testing her lover, all the while getting used to her taste which was sweet on her tongue. Delphine reached down, grabbing the back of Cosima's head, forcing it even closer until the American's face was buried in her sex.

"Someone's eager," Cosima teased.

Her words were far too muffled, making them indistinguishable to the blonde who merely bucked her hips into Cosima's face, reveling in the tiny vibrations the brunette's husky voice sent shooting through her. Cosima's tongue was more relentless now, trading in its lazy strokes for quicker, more precise flicks as it encircled the tiny bundle of nerves.

"Merde..." she whimpered, digging her nails into Cosima's scalp.

The student took this as encouragement, capturing the nub with her lips and sucking gently, applying just the right amount of pressure to send the blonde reeling. Her legs began to quiver and she bit her lower lip in an attempt to stifle the obscenities and strange noises that threatened to escape her throat. Sensing her lover's restraint, Cosima slipped a finger inside of her and Delphine's lower half came entirely off the bed, her hands flailing to her sides to grab fistfuls of sheets.

"Don't hold back," Cosima whispered softly.

She continued to tease the blonde's now swollen clit with her tongue while adding a second finger, curling them inside as they steadily thrusted, rendering Delphine a writhing, moaning mess. Her pale skin was now flushed, her arousal radiating through her entire body as Cosima pushed her closer and closer, leaving her teetering on the edge.

"Please," she begged.

Her breathing was so labored now, she gulped mouthfuls of oxygen between the whimpers and moans that involuntarily fell from her lips. Each breath was stolen and finite, her lungs screaming for relief, and she felt like a nomad lost in the desert for days on end, craving sustenance.

It was Cosima's life force she was fiending for.

She wanted to feel it flowing freely through her, to sink through her lover's skin to her cells and remove whatever abnormality that plagued her. She wanted to unravel their molecules and reassemble them, to bind themselves together in a more complete whole. All of these things were thought impossible, but as Cosima's fingers quickened their pace and depth, her tongue lapping greedily, she could feel them come into fruition.

"Come for me," the brunette encouraged sweetly.

"Ma doux amour..."

Her vision was kaleidoscopic as she felt the dam finally break, a wave of pleasure rolling through her body and finally sending her over the edge. Her body quaked, convulsing violently as one hand slammed against the headboard behind her and the other grabbed the back of Cosima's head, holding her in position as she rode her face. After what seemed like a short eternity, when the spasms subsided, her body relaxed completely and she let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Wow," Cosima exclaimed, a proud smile plastered on her face.

Delphine simply nodded, bringing her hands to her face. She was unable to respond or even open her eyes. She merely lay there, trying to catch her breath. Cosima lifted herself from between Delphine's legs.

"Just so you know, you're sleeping in the wet spot."

The blonde smiled weakly and shook her head at the smaller girl's brattiness, grabbing her head and pulling her back up so they were level.

"Venir ici, méchante fille."

Their lips met once again, the blonde tasting herself on her lover's lips and basking in it. While she had never been with a woman before Cosima, she had had plenty of lovers in the past, some good and some bad. None of them, however, even compared to what she had just experienced. She didn't think sex with a woman would be so different, but apparently it was.

"How do you know how to...," she began, not knowing how to even ask the question.

"Oh. Girls are way better at eating pussy. I mean, who knows a girl's anatomy better than a girl?" she reasoned.

Delphine had never thought of it before, but she couldn't argue with her cheeky partner.

"There's that, and the fact that I've had a lot of practice. But I like to think that I'm just naturally gifted."

"I'm inclined to agree," Delphine smiled, pressing a kiss to the brunette's forehead.

The blonde pulled Cosima close to her chest, holding her tightly. They lay there in silence, Delphine staring at the ceiling, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of Cosima's head. Cosima's fingers danced along the French woman's arm, tracing light patterns and spelling out silent love confessions on skin. The brunette was eventually lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of Delphine's chest, soothed by the constant beating of her heart. It took Delphine a little longer to drift away, as she focused intently on Cosima's own breathing. It appeared to be steady, but every now and then, the tattooed girl's breath would hitch and icy panic would shoot through the blonde before the breath returned and she could relax again.

"Est-ce douloureux?" she whispered.

She knew Cosima was fast asleep and beyond the point of even hearing her question, but she had to ask it anyway.

____________________

When Cosima awakened, she was nestled snuggly against the contours of Delphine's body, her monitor's little spoon. It took her a moment to remember where she was and what had happened over the course of the last twenty-four hours, but reality quickly came rushing back. She wanted to tell herself that it was a dream, but she was much too logical for that. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to fall back asleep, only when she repositioned her head on the pillow to get comfortable, she felt wetness. Confused, she opened her eyes again and slowly sat up, careful not to wake the sleeping Delphine. Gazing down at her pillow, she felt her skin go cold and her mind go blank.

Blood.

Lots of blood.

She couldn't possibly have coughed that all up without waking herself and Delphine. When she touched the side of her face, she discovered it was caked with blood, as well. Cosima stealthily maneuvered her way out of bed, looking behind her shoulder to make sure Delphine was still sleeping. She ventured into the bathroom and flicked the light on, leaving the door slightly ajar. When she stared at herself in the mirror for the second time that night, she realized what had happened.

Nose bleed.

Well, that was new.

The left side of her face was entirely stained in blood. She turned the faucet on, letting the warm water run with the intention of cleaning it off. A minute passed and she still hadn't made any attempt to clean herself. She just continued staring at herself in the mirror, mesmerized.

"Stupid," she spat, her voice laced with contempt.

She took a deep breath in, trying to compose herself, but when she released it, the sobs came. When she had been making love to Delphine, her breath didn't hitch once. The fear never settled in once. There wasn't so much as a tickle in her throat and she convinced herself it was because she was safe, that somehow, when she was with her monitor, the disease did not exist or if it did, it couldn't touch her.

"Stupid," she muttered again.

She knew better. She was a scientist, after all.

Love never cured cancer.

Trust was no treatment for AIDS.

No matter how she and Delphine felt about each other, at the end of the day, she was still sick and nothing could change that except for science... if science felt forgiving. She wanted to believe that it was. She was a child of science, a student of science, a minister at its church. Surely it would protect her?

"Ma cherie?"

Her head whipped around to the doorway where Delphine stood, her expression matching Cosima's.

"How long have you been there?" Cosima asked, wiping her tears away.

Delphine didn't answer. She stepped closer, taking the smaller girl's face in her hands and examining it. She had heard the running water and noticed that Cosima was not tucked up against her. Upon further inspection, she discovered blood where Cosima had been sleeping and her heart sank in her chest.

"Cosima," she whispered, brushing a few vagrant tears away with the pads of her thumbs.

She said nothing else, just continued to stare into pools of untold depth. When they finally broke contact, she reached for the faucet, turning it off. Cosima was confused at first, but Delphine wandered to the shower, turning the faucet on and drawing the curtain.

"Come," she said softly, reaching out.

The brunette accepted her hand and Delphine led her into the shower, the heat a welcomed relief on her skin. Steam began to gather as the taller woman backed Cosima under the spray, water streaming down her body. The blood on her face became streaky and with the help of Delphine's gentle hand, washed right off, disappearing down the drain. Cosima watched as it spiraled around the hole and then vanished, as if it had never been there in the first place. When Delphine realized what Cosima was doing, she stepped even closer until their bodies were pressed tightly against each other. Cosima rose her head and met Delphine's descending lips halfway and there were no more thoughts of sickness or DYAD or clone club.

Delphine reached for Cosima's waist, slowly turning the girl around so that her back was to the French woman. Pushing a few of her dreads aside, Delphine planted a hot kiss on the back of Cosima's neck which made the girl shiver. Her lips then moved to her ear, her tongue tracing the shell before gently sucking on the lobe.

"Mon couer," she whispered.

Her hands moved from Cosima's waist, journeying upwards. Cosima's body was wet and slick from the shower spray, making their quest even easier. Delphine cupped her breasts, eliciting a guttural moan as Cosima rolled her head back, resting it on the blonde's shoulder. Delphine ran her thumbs over Cosima's nipples and the brunette bit her bottom lip, trying not to lose control.

"Mon âme."

Her breath was hot against Cosima's ear and her fingers continued to toy with her nipples. The smaller girl reached behind her, wrapping her arm around Delphine's neck as she continued to whisper French terms of endearment in her ear.

"Ma lumière."

Her left hand remained occupied with Cosima's left breast while the right drifted downward, burning skin as it found its home between the smaller girl's legs. Even though they were both soaked now, Cosima's own wetness was distinct.

"Delphine," she moaned.

The blonde's index finger circled her clit, sending tremors through the clone's body.

"Mon grand amour."

Her left hand abandoned Cosima's breast and traveled upward, wrapping around her neck. She placed sensual kisses along the side of Cosima's face, the side previously covered in blood, while her more southern fingers teased at the girl's entrance.

"Let me show you."

She dipped a finger in slowly and swallowed Cosima's moan, tilting her head to the side to capture her lips in a heated kiss. She slid her tongue in, probing gently, memorizing every crevice of her lover's mouth as her finger explored the clone's inner walls, her thumb teasing her clit.

The pressure was slowly beginning to build.

Cosima tore her lips away, pressing her forehead to Delphine's and forcing her eyes open so she could peer into the blonde's glossy orbs. They both became locked in a smoldering gaze, all repressed desires and emotions strewn out before them, the air thick with steam and tension. Delphine's wicked fingers continued their thrusts, assuming a more hurried pace. When she felt the blonde's fingers hit her sweet spot, Cosima's eyes clamped shut again and she thrust herself into Delphine's hand.

"Open your eyes, Cosima."

She heard her lover's words, but found her request impossible to fulfill.

"Look at me."

Delphine's voice was more commanding this time, deep with desire and a hint of danger. The spectacled girl had never heard her speak with such force, such purpose. Delphine's words always floated like a feather in a light summer breeze, but now they hung heavy in the air, set in their conviction.

Cosima had no choice but to obey and she met her lover's gaze once again.

"Tell me."

What do you need?

"More," Cosima confessed with a shaky breath. "More of you."

Delphine removed her fingers completely, but before she could be met with protest, she grabbed the petite girl by the waist and spun her around roughly, forcing her back against the tiled wall. Her finger was back inside just as quickly, accompanied by another, and the blonde grabbed Cosima's leg with her free hand, pinning her knee against the wall to grant her fingers a better angle.

Her roughness contradicted the softness she had shown just minutes before, but Cosima found it was exactly what she needed, even though she was caught off guard by Delphine's aggressiveness. Her nails dug into her monitor's shoulder blades and Delphine pressed her thigh between Cosima's legs in response, pushing against her already punishing hands and creating a delicious friction, a welcomed pressure.

"Comme ça?"

Cosima arched her back, her head smacking against the wall with a thud.

"Yeah," she panted.

This was to be an exorcism, an expulsion of all the insanity from her life and the sickness from her cells.

This was her reclaiming her body, with the help of her lover's.

This was her half life.

They both understood this.

"God, yes," she whimpered. "Like that."

She could feel a tightness in the pit of her stomach, a tightness which expanded throughout the rest of her body. She lurched forward, burying her face in the crook of Delphine's neck, sinking her teeth in to stifle her moans. The blonde gasped, crushing her body into Cosima's so that any space that might have once existed between them was a distant memory. The clone could swear their skin had melded together, alabaster on olive. The tightness in her muscles matched by the tightness of Delphine's body pressing her against the wall of the shower made it impossible to breathe or think of anything else but her impending release.

"Not God," Delphine reiterated, curling her fingers inside of Cosima.

No.

There was no God here.

This was something completely different.

"Just us."

Cosima's knees finally buckled and her body lurched violently as she let out a final cry of passion, throwing her head back; if it hadn't been for the French woman pinning her to the wall, she would have fallen to a heap on the floor. Heat shot through her, white hot and instant, and Delphine's lips went to her throat while her nails dug crescent moons into the blonde's back.

Her world went black and quiet.

The brunette's body eventually slackened. They remained in place, their bodies completely still apart from labored breathing, molded together as Delphine supported the entirety of the smaller girl's weight with the help of the wall. They held onto each other for life, afraid to let go.

"You're safe here," Delphine whispered, pressing a kiss to Cosima's temple.

She could feel the heaviness in her chest return.

"It's okay."

With Delphine's permission, the sobs came. She wasn't exactly sure where they came from, but there was such force behind them, she sought to bury them in her lover's comfort, nestling her face the crook of Delphine's neck. Tears formed in the blonde's eyes, as well, who slowly lowered the both of them until they were sitting on the shower floor.

She cradled Cosima on the floor like that for a long while, stroking her head while quietly hushing her and whispering terms of endearment in her native tongue. It was hard for her to see the usually upbeat and witty girl in such a broken pile, but she knew it was necessary. It meant that she was coping, that she could accept their situation and attempt to change it, rather than hide behind an illusion.

Things were already getting better.

"Sorry," she heard Cosima mumble, finally breaking her long silence.

"Stop apologizing, mon amour," she replied with a smile, brushing tears away and kissing her softly.

Cosima smiled into her lips, then seized one of Delphine's hands, bringing it to her lips and kissing her palm.

"You're pretty good with you hands, too, you know."

Both women giggled.

"And I guess you're not the only one who cries after sex, either."

____________________

"What are we going to do, Delphine?"

She rested her head on the French woman's stomach, tracing circles around her navel as Delphine toyed with her locks, petting her head softly while staring at the ceiling, completely lost in thought.

"We'll find a cure. I know we can."

Cosima smiled, propping herself up on her elbow and turning to face her lover. Delphine returned the smile, reaching out and linking their hands, inspecting how well they seemed to fit together.

"Okay," Cosima replied.

She decided to believe Delphine.

She had no choice.

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, their fingers continuing to dance with each other, Cosima pressing tiny kisses on each of Delphine's digits. When Cosima drew her eyes back to Delphine's face, she could see that her half-smile was gone, replaced by a troubled look, shifting the mood to a more serious one.

Cosima knew exactly what the blonde was thinking.

"You want me to come with you, to the DYAD Institute, don't you?"

The thought had crossed her mind, as well. If the devil himself decided to rise up and offer his assistance, she would have been more inclined to accept it than to walk right into Leekie's hands. However, there had been no such offer and her options were few; she could try to figure this out on her own, with what few resources she had at her disposal, and most likely die before she could even make a dent in what was causing her illness. Or she could suck it up, put her emotions aside and align herself with the DYAD Institute. She would have to keep her cards close to her chest, but it seemed the most appropriate angle to play.

"It's your choice, ma cherie. But I think it's our best option."

She nodded in understanding.

Delphine flashed her a smile, but it wasn't returned. A frown stretched across the brunette's face, her brow furrowed. Delphine attempted to decipher the source of her lover's displeasure, but Cosima quickly explained her apprehension.

"I don't trust Leekie, and from what Sarah said about Rachel, I can't trust her, either."

She already knew that Leekie was a liar, so any promises he made to her, whatever help he offered, could just be an elaborate ruse. This could just be another part of his twisted experiment. Maybe he was banking on her death, there was no way to really know, and Rachel was just as dangerous, perhaps even more so; she was a wild card and a threat to not only Cosima, but her sisters, as well. Both Leekie and Rachel clearly had ulterior motives. She needed to unveil them, not just for her sake, but for Sarah's and Alison's and whatever other sisters she had out there.

"Don't trust them," Delphine agreed. "Trust me. Trust yourself."

Cosima smiled once again..

"With all the resources of the Institute behind us, we'll have the best chance of finding out what's happening to you and how to fix it."

"Yeah," Cosima nodded. "Yeah, you're right, as much as I hate to admit it."

It was settled then.

She'd infiltrate the DYAD Institute and find a cure for her condition. Maybe she could learn more about her origins, as well, and find out what exactly Leekie and Rachel were working towards. As she pondered these questions, she was dragged back to reality by the sound of her ringing phone. The two women looked at each other. Cosima got up, walking over to retrieve her phone from her coat pocket while Delphine lay back comfortably in bed, appreciating the smaller girl's curves as she pressed the talk button and held the phone to her ear.

"They took Kira!"

"Sarah?"

Delphine sat up a little straighter and Cosima sauntered back over to the bed, sitting on the edge.

"They took Kira and Mrs. S!"

"Wait, hold on. Who took them?" a confused Cosima asked.

"That Proclone bitch, Rachel! Cosima, she has my family!"

Cosima's heart sank in her chest. This really made her decision to align herself with the DYAD Institute that much harder, not to mention dangerous. If Rachel was willing to abduct Sarah's family, what else was she willing to do to achieve her endgame?

"Okay, okay. You need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! That's my daughter and my foster mom!" Sarah snapped.

Delphine shot Cosima a concerned yet questioning glance, wondering what was going on on the other end of the line. Cosima wasn't entirely sure herself, as her sister was clearly distraught. She needed Sarah to be level-headed if they were going to make any sort of progress whatsoever, which was like asking God for a miracle.

"I know. Look, we'll figure this out. Delphine and I are already working on a plan," she explained, trying to reassure Sarah.

"Delphine? Come on, Cosima! She's a part of all this, too! When are you going to learn?"

Cosima expelled an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah, but she wants to help us, and we could use all the allies we can get."

Sarah couldn't exactly argue with that logic.

"If Rachel did take Kira, maybe Delphine can figure out where they're keeping her. I'm sure Leekie would know. Delphine's his assistant," Cosima clarified.

The blonde shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms across her chest. This reeked of disaster, they both knew, and it was not going to end well.

"I don't trust anyone, Cos. I can't. It's us versus them."

She sighed once again.

Dealing with Sarah was becoming far too taxing. If there was a poster child for a guarded, slightly emotionally stunted adult with trust and abandonment issues, it would definitely be Sarah. Cosima couldn't help but think that if their situation were different, if they weren't clones and had met under different circumstances, they probably wouldn't have gotten along very well, Sarah being much too stubborn and abrasive for her taste. But they were sisters. More than that, they were two sides of the same entity. For some unspoken reason, the two women clung to each other anyway.

"Look. Just meet me at Felix's in an hour, okay?" she proposed, sliding off the bed and heading over to her luggage.

"What if they're waiting for us there?"

She began rummaging through her suitcase for clean clothes to change into, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. While she'd love to spend all day in bed with Delphine, there was too much at stake and Sarah needed her.

"Fine. Not Felix's, then."

"Meet me in Queen's Park," Sarah suggested.

"Alright. See you soon."

She hung the phone up, tossing it onto the bed as she picked out a skirt and top for herself. Delphine finally left the bed, peering out the window as she did so. The curtains were drawn, but dawn was breaking, a tiny beam of sunlight shining through.

"Sarah's freaking out. Rachel took Kira and her foster mom," the brunette summarized.

"Merde."

"Yeah."

The blonde began to search the hotel room for her own clothes which were scattered throughout. Cosima couldn't help but smirk as she watched her monitor desperately search for the garments she had eagerly torn off only hours before. Delphine's quest was halted, however, by the sound of her own phone ringing. Cosima stood up straight, watching as Delphine grabbed her phone. She had a good feeling she knew who was calling and why.

"Allo?” Delphine answered.

"There's been a situation. I need to see you right away."

She mouthed Leekie's name to Cosima, running a hand through her wild hair, still damp but almost dry from their earlier shower escapade. Cosima nodded in acknowledgement, carefully observing her lover's reaction.

"Yes, yes. I'll be right there," she responded.

"Delphine?"

"Oui?"

"Is Cosima with you?"

She paused, then stared over at the brunette. Cosima's spine straightened even more and she suddenly knew what Leekie had asked. She stared back at Delphine, gauging her reaction. Both her and Leekie were testing the blonde and she wondered whose test she'd pass and whose she'd fail.

"Non. I'm alone."

Cosima smiled.

"Well, you might want to double your efforts to bring her into the mix. We may need her in the near future."

Delphine frowned, not liking the words he spoke or the tone he spoke them in.

"Aldous?"

"If things go south, if we can't contain Sarah Manning, we may be able to use her... as a last resort, of course. Worst case scenario," he added, sensing Delphine's hesitation through the phone. "I'll explain everything when you get here.

Delphine hung up.

"Looks like I need to go, too."

Cosima nodded.

"I'll call you later on tonight when I know more," Delphine said.

Cosima slipped on a clean pair of panties, but before she continued dressing herself, she decided to assist Delphine in the search for her own panties, which the blonde seemed to be having a great deal of trouble finding. Cosima eventually found them, hidden in the leaves of the house plant where they must had landed when she tossed them aside. She held them up, dangling them on her middle and index fingers with a smirk plastered on her face. When Delphine finally noticed she had found them, she smiled mischievously, stalking toward the shorter girl.

"Looking for something?" Cosima teased.

The blonde grabbed Cosima's waist, then proceeded to slide her hands up the clone's body, over her breasts, stopping once they cupped her face. Cosima swallowed the lump in her throat, locking eyes with the femme fatale before she was pulled into an eager kiss. As soon as she began to really lose herself to Delphine's skilled lips, the blonde dropped to her knees, catching the clone off guard.

"If we had more time..."

She placed a kiss just above Cosima's navel, her tongue tracing a line down, over cloth, stopping at her center. Cosima's breath caught in her throat and she licked her lips, unable to peel her eyes away from the blonde who was staring right back at her, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Delphine broke the stare first, pressing a kiss against her sex and extracting a groan from her lover.

"Je voudrais vous faire mienne d'encore."

Her words were hot, sending a shiver up Cosima's spine.

"Huh?" Cosima asked halfheartedly.

Delphine rose once again, nuzzling the smaller woman's face for a moment before her lips went to the brunette's ear.

"I would make you mine again."

"Shit. Jesus."

The blonde seized the opportunity, snatching the now forgotten panties from Cosima's hand and chuckling lightly, sauntering back over to the bed where the rest of her clothes were piled. As soon as Cosima realized what had just happened, she couldn't help but chuckle herself.

"Fucking tease," she muttered.

She shook her head and resumed her own dressing ritual.