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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 11 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 11 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Chapter 3a: Kurti

Captain Barad Maks brooded on his sybaritically appointed bunk. At last, I’m finally going to get completely even, maybe ahead of the Longin. It’s not so much that they’ve avoided my nets or even that they’ve tangled me in every net that I’ve cast their way — — — Skill I can admire. It was almost getting me fed to the Strong Skins at my first Gathering as Captain. Mord had nothing to gain by exposing my game. He near got me killed and for what? Nothing! He was already a captain and there were no other good candidates. I chose my time carefully in that regard.

He rolled out of bed and began to dress. His new cabin-girl, Kurti, quickly came out of the bed and helped him with his sleeves and the tying of his sash and neck-cloth. She offered no word, out of fear. I wonder what really happened to Chena? Nobody seems to know. One evening she was here and the next day the Captain chose me to replace her. They say it was food poisoning but she was the only one. Whatever happened to her, I don’t want it to happen to me! She looked at the Captain critically and took a chance on speech, saying, “I think perhaps this hat, with the Wide Wing plume. It will make a dashing appearance.”

Smiling tolerantly at the girl’s obvious fear, he replied, “By the Dragons, Ch … Kurti, isn’t it? I’m only going about the ship for an inspection. I need to see Master Selked on a small matter. That’s all.”

Kurti smiled tentatively in return and said, “True, Sir. Ch … your previous cabin-girl did not dress you well. I think that you will gain even more respect if you always dress well.” She paused and considered for a moment before adding, “Unless the part that you are acting needs something else.”

Barad actually found it in him to beam, genuinely pleased, his vanity stroked. He patted her cheek gently and said, “Very well, Kurti, I will let you decide my dress for most occasions, even the most trivial. If it goes well for morale you will have my appreciation, which is no small thing.

“If it does nothing, it will be remembered to your credit as an honest try to help. In spite of what you may have heard, I do remember those on my side.”

Kurti was afraid to ask what had happened to Chena. The answer would have surprised her. Captain Barad would have told her with complete candor what happened. He was no fool to blab secrets where they could escape and he knew that she could not get away. What few people, even those closest to him, understood was that he was not ashamed of or bothered by anything that he had ever done. Nor did they understand how swiftly he could change course completely if he believed himself to be wrong.

As he walked the familiar grimy corridors of the Grandalor, going to the boat-shop, he felt a buoyant spring to his step. He felt as good as he looked. He had not paid much attention to casual dress before, and found that it did have an immediate effect on his own morale. His own mood of self confidence communicated itself to those who saw him. Crew-folk who saw him coming sprang alertly out of his path instead of clearing the way sullenly.

The Captain knocked at the entrance of the shop and waited for Selked’s call of “Enter!” before he did.

Captain Barad looked approvingly about the meticulously tidy shop. There were many kits of tools for every purpose on the sea, each bearing the marks of the Grandalor and Selked, piled neatly on every surface. From the overhead beams around the roof-skylight-hatch hung net bags filled with scrapers, bow-drills, and many other tools to be sold singly.

Selked, Master Boat-wright and tool maker, sat before his bench working on sets of sail stitching tools. Each set was in a fitted box of glued Strong Skin lined with the Gula’s finest velvet. Captain Barad admired Selked’s work and had never interfered with it. Selked’s tools of all types were famous throughout the fleet for their uncompromisingly high quality.

The awl shafts that Selked was presently mounting to handles were all of the hardest, densest Wing Ray bone. The light yellow striations alternating with a delicate brown running the length of each shaft told its origin and value better than any amount of sales talk could. Noticing that there were three shafts more than there were handles, Captain Barad reached out to pick one up to examine more closely.

Selked’s laconic, “Shouldn’t touch that’un, if I were you,” brought him to a quick stop, fingers only inches away from the pointed shaft.

“I wanted to see it more closely. There seems to be a defect in the bone pattern,” said the Captain mildly.

“There is. That’s why I’m mounting this one instead,” said Selked. He pushed home the spike of the awl he was assembling, using a pair of special pliers to handle it, as he seated it into soft glue in the handle’s hole. He carefully wiped the excess glue with a shaped tool to get a smooth fairing between handle and shaft.

He took his marking tool of Hag beak, wiped on the mordant bone marking ink and placed his mark onto it, slightly off kilter, and just a touch blurred.

Setting the tool into the last place in a kit box, he closed it and handed it to the Captain.

“This is the kit you want for your little scheme. Sorry that it took as long as it did to make but, as you noticed, I had some trouble getting the Ord spines to take the dye properly.”

Casually, he added, “All the rest of the kit but the awl spike is Merk’s last bungled piece of work. He tried to take one shortcut too many the other night. Didn’t use the handling pliers on the very spine that you were reaching for when he poked it into Chena’s snack. I found him when I opened the shop next morning. Passed it off as blood poisoning from an infected cut.”

“Thanks for the timely warning. This kit should be just what is needed and ready in plenty of time.” Barad considered for a second and added admiringly, “Those spines must have been difficult to work with.”

“They were, Captain. — — May I ask what the occasion is?”

“This?” Barad gestured at his clothing and smiled, “It’s my new cabin-girl’s idea. Kurti thinks that if I dress the part of Captain better, I will have more respect from the crew. Speaking of which, choose who you will for your next apprentice. I’ll see that you get your choice.”

Selked replied seriously, “My thanks, Captain. You know, Kurti could be right about that. You project more of an air of authority along with your power. If she lives up to her other duties as well, she could be well worth keeping. Pretty too. You do have an eye for them, Sir.”

Lightly Barad returned, “I pride myself on it. By the way, I am planning a game of Three Dragons in my cabin tonight. Would you care to join?”

“My pleasure, Captain. Tonight then!”

Captain Barad continued his tour of the ship. It appeared that Kurti was right. Obedience to his orders and suggestions was prompter and less sullen. The lack of respect, even as the crew followed orders, that had plagued his captaincy appeared to be dissolving. And for such a small thing!

He found First Officer Timms on the quarter deck seeing to the butchering a freshly caught four-ton Strong Skin. All of the men were wearing full foul weather waterproofs and gloves. A crew, similarly dressed waited by with mops and buckets to clean up. Mister Timms was applying spots of red weed paste to the fish and its skin. Far too much of the paste was turning the sickly dangerous green that signaled Ord contamination.

“Mister Timms! How goes the effort to find a use for the Ord in fishing?”

He looked up from his work and answered, “This one is the best so far. Out of ten fish, we have gotten less than fifteen tons of meat and lost over half of the hides to contamination.

“The toxin spreads so fast! I have tried infusions in bait, Ord spine in the harpoon points and this… We harpooned it in the usual way and pricked it with a spine on a pole to kill it. You can see for yourself. We got the most hide, this time.” He cast a glance at the lean form of the dead predator. “Just over three-fourths.”

Barad actually looked pleased. The wind played in the plume of his hat. “Give over the effort, Mister Timms. You have tried all that could be reasonably be done. I will want all of your notes to append to the log entry.”

“Very good, Sir. Working around this stuff was making me nervous, to tell you the truth.” He cleaned his gloves and sleeves meticulously in a bucket before he took them off. He added a few notes to a small sheaf and handed them to the Captain.

Barad nodded his head solemnly. “It was too good an idea not to try. It’s a pity that it didn’t work better.” He walked to a companionway and went down into the ship.

The Purser’s scriptorium was his last stop. The newly pirated Ephemerides were coming along nicely and some copies were already bound.

“Excellent work, Morgu. If we can get twenty copies of each volume, I know just who will buy them and how to promote them.”

Morgu looked up from his high desk in the corner of the room and gave a rare, thin mouthed smile at the praise. “We should have them done by the Gathering, though it will be a near thing.”

“Excellent! I need a small favor. On these notes here, can you add a brief remark about the loss of one spine, apparently dropped overboard? You should have seen it happen to give credibility to the loss. The note should be in Mister Timms’ hand.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 11 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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sf-in-hindsight-blog · 6 years

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“Samurai Flamenco, In Hindsight” 5th Anniversary Recap Project - Introduction

October 10-11, 2018 will mark the fifth anniversary of Samurai Flamenco, an oddball original series produced by studio Manglobe for the back half of the Fall 2013 noitaminA block on Fuji TV. The show’s 22 episodes aired alongside a lot of other series that I still look back on fondly, but nothing else from that period hit me as hard, or has stuck with me as long. Samurai Flamenco pushed me to do things I hadn’t done in years, like leaving the fandom sidelines to discuss the show with total strangers instead of lurking on the edges of others’ conversations, and exploring the show’s characters, story, and themes through art and writing. Eventually, I even started watching some of the tokusatsu shows the series is so interested in so that I’d have a little more context (and could get more of the in-jokes). The show has gotten me through some hard times, as have the friends I’ve made through the small but devoted SamFlam fandom.

I love Samurai Flamenco, and I love what engaging with Samurai Flamenco has brought to my life. And so, to celebrate the show’s fifth anniversary, I’m planning to spend at least the next year doing extensive write-ups on all 22 episodes. These won't be reviews, but more like essays, each focusing on whatever struck me most about the episode in question. For instance, I'll be looking at the use of repetition in the premiere episode, "Samurai Flamenco, Debut!", while episode 2's write-up will talk about how "My Umbrella is Missing" develops (and complicates) Masayoshi as a character. Episode 3, I'm thinking I might talk about how “Flamenco Versus Fake Flamenco” sets up the series' overall look at violence as it relates to heroism and hero media…but I haven’t re-watched the episode for this project yet, and I want to be open to whatever this particular viewing suggests would be most interesting to talk about.

More details below the cut!

That might sound like a haphazard approach, but attention to each episode as its own distinct thing is one of my guiding principles for this project. An episode of a television show is always part of a larger whole, but it also remains singular, and looking at an episode on its own can be just as worthwhile as taking the opposite tack. I think that's true even for super-formulaic whatever-of-the-week series — but that it's especially true for a show like Samurai Flamenco that plays with so many genres and sub-genres, isn't afraid of big tonal swings, and will very explicitly race through an entire season’s worth of monster-of-the-week fights in a single episode to make points about toku TV and hero media more generally. I will never be able to talk about everything I find interesting about this show, but this approach should at least give me plenty of opportunities to discuss plenty of different topics. (That said, of course I’ll be drawing connections between episodes and across the series as a whole, because why else do a retrospective project? I picked that subtitle very deliberately!)

More on What to Expect

Every write-up will begin with a short episode summary, and wrap up with some stray observations. You can probably also assume that each of these will include some amount of close formal analysis — that is, taking apart what we actually see onscreen, what we hear, and how it all unfolds in time — as a way of understanding how the show works. Episode one’s write-up is largely that; episode two is significantly less so, but you can still expect a fair amount of “long shot” this, “low angle” that, “shot/reverse-shot” SIT DOWN, and so on. I’m taking that approach in part because while I recognize the very real limitations of formal analysis, I think it can be a good starting point for understanding why something works on you as a viewer — or why it leaves you cold, uncertain, etc. (I also just enjoy doing formal analysis; it’s fun for me, and this project is meant to be a little self-indulgent.)

But I’ll also lean toward formal analysis because I think Samurai Flamenco generally doesn’t get enough credit for how well put-together it is. I know, I know — the art is often off model; the animation isn’t particularly impressive; have you ever noticed how unfinished the backgrounds were in the broadcast version of episode 14, holy hell. And the MUSIC, don’t get me started on

...well, to be honest, I’ve got a soft spot for the soundtrack, and think it fits the show’s overall tone and aesthetic fairly well. So no real complaints there from me there — but I do get it.

Still, having watched Samurai Flamenco start to finish more times than I can count, single-framed my way through both the broadcast and Blu-ray versions of the show, and futzed around on a defense of the much-maligned Flamengers arc longer than I care to admit, I’ve spent a fair chunk of time looking at this show up close. There is a lot of rough stuff, yes, but also a lot of really solid visual storytelling, great attention to detail, and some very daring choices, particularly in terms of what’s left up to the viewer to figure out on their own. The show has good bones, I think, sometimes hidden by wobbly execution. Beyond that, I think Samurai Flamenco’s story structure is ridiculously good — that as much as we talk about the WILD RIDE and MULTI-TRACK DRIFTING*, in hindsight, the show is carefully set up to go all the places it does in a fairly well-paced way, enabling the character development to unfold realistically over time, and very little feels rushed that doesn’t feel like it was meant to feel rushed.

All this is a long way of saying that I think there’s a lot of good in Samurai Flamenco’s construction that I want to highlight, and sometimes that will require going shot-by-shot to explain what I mean. I’ll try to keep the jargon to a minimum, though — and for long segments, I’ll provide time codes if you want to see if your read checks with mine.

A final content note: be forewarned that all of the write-ups will assume you’ve already completed Samurai Flamenco, meaning they will be FULL OF SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE SERIES.

Posting Schedule

(or, You Never Know What Could Happen to You in the Final Episode, But I Do Know It’ll Take a While to Get There...)

My original plan was to post each episode’s write-up on the anniversary of its original airing, working out to one a week for approximately 22 weeks. Then I started work on episode 1, and…well, maybe I’ll pick up speed as I go, but one a week was way too optimistic given the time I actually have to work on these, and how slowly I write. So these write-ups will come out as I have them ready. If that’s one a month or every six weeks, so be it — but I am committed to finishing this project.

A final programming note: I’m starting this project here on tumblr because, frankly, I need to start, and this is what’s easy and available at the moment. At some point, I may migrate to a blog. If I do, I’ll continue to announce new write-ups here and then link to the complete post, so if you’d like to keep tabs on this project, follow this tumblr for updates.

Closing

I hope that you’ll enjoy reading these write-ups at least as much as I enjoy writing them. If you do, please share them with your friends, and support Samurai Flamenco in whatever way possible. Stream from legal sources (ex. Crunchyroll), buy the home video releases if they are available where you are (I can personally vouch for All the Anime’s excellent Region B Blu-rays), and support people who engage with the show, whether through critical essays and appreciations, fan art and fan fiction, remixes, or whatever.

Until next time, FLAMWENCO!

Ko (ratherboogie)

* When a show that should be a “train wreck” avoids careening off the rails and instead becomes even more entertaining, not by fixing what’s “wrong” with it by conventional standards, but by continuing to do its own thing with confidence, commitment, and a sense of purpose. It’s not an entirely positive label, carrying a whiff of “I know this is trash, but...” Still, you don’t say a show is MULTI-TRACK DRIFTING if you don’t love it -- and if you continue to enjoy Samurai Flamenco after episode 7, you know immediately why it gets this label.

(For full context, look up the Initial D parody “Densha de D.”)

#samurai flamenco #samumenco #wish me luck #(this will be fun but HARD)

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lethesomething · 7 years

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BnHA Profile: Aizawa Shouta

Aizawa is one of the cleverest, most underrated characters in BnHA, and I'm not just saying that because he's voiced by Suwabe and therefore immediately on Lethey's Love List. This is a guy that sort of drags himself through life, doing good deeds without seemingly getting a lot of satisfaction from it. He's almost an anti-hero even though he's more pure than several of the other characters in the series. So let's break him down.

Out of the Limelight

Aizawa is an 'underground' hero. He avoids the media, he stays out of all the flashy stuff and really, the only reason people like Izuku know his name is because, well, Izuku is a massive nerd. As a hero, but also personality-wise, Aizawa is a clear foil for All Might. One is always smiling, embracing fame to become a symbol of peace that stops villains everywhere from even wanting to start shit. He's super flashy, cares deeply about appearance and also he's just… huge and muscular. Eraserhead, meanwhile, has a resting bitch face, looks like he hasn't showered in days, wears basic black pyjamas wherever he goes and he shrinks back from attention like a vampire seeing the first rays of the sun. This contrast extends to their fighting style. All Might is all about power and speed. He's an all-rounder that overwhelms his opponents with a super-quirk. Meanwhile, Aizawa is an incredibly specialised hero that needs a clear strategy and an extensive knowledge of martial arts to even stand a chance. In many ways All Might is to Aizawa what Izuku is to Shinsou, someone blessed with overwhelming power and therefore hard to deal with. It's not really that difficult to see why they don't get along very well.

(spoilers from the manga under the cut) (also this stuff is just really long ok) (I have many feels)(and many opinions)

Fundamentally, though, Aizawa looks the way he does because he gives absolutely zero fucks about how he comes across. You see this when he decides to (or was forced to) make an effort after the forest camp. He's totally capable of looking less villainous. Put him in a suit and he may not look like a full blown superhero, but he's at least passable as a Japanese salaryman.

When given free reign, however, he cares not. He's basically introduced to us as the apathetic, possibly even cruel teacher who cares little for his students. Superhero Snape. He's grumpy, he makes them go through gruelling tests and he threatens to expel them at a moment's notice. This turns out, of course, to be a logical ruse (he also has a really awful sense of humor).

The workaholic

What's interesting about him as a character, is that as you start reading BnHA, it becomes clear that this initial idea is almost completely wrong. For one: he carries a sleeping bag around and catches a nap at any opportunity given to him. Not because he's lazy. But because he's extremely sleep deprived. Because this idiot never stops working. Aizawa appears to have very little life outside his work. We know that his room is bare, he teaches during the day and he does most of his hero-ing at night. He doesn't appear to have much of an off switch.

That scene is a rather nice one from the later chapters. Everyone's being called up and it's the middle of the friggin night. Nedjire is half asleep, at the same time we see the others in their jammies. What is Aizawa doing at this ungodly hour? Working. Multitasking, even. On two devices. Probably planning shit. This is the reason that man teaches from a sleeping bag. He's trying to fit too many hours of work into a single day, and tries to somehow fit the necessary sleep in by multitasking. How very Japanese of him. But also. Can we please talk about this?

Why the hell is a fully bandaged up, injured man, at work? Dude got nearly killed on school premises. By any insurance policy in the modernized world, he should be on sick leave, watching the whole thing on tv, with a nice cup of tea and maybe some grapes or something by his side. You can't tell me UA has that bad of a health policy, the damn school probably has the most expensive insurance in the world. But nope, he sitting in a booth commentating. Because Yamada asked him. Please note that several of the teachers are just up in the crowd, watching the games. They could have gotten Blood Baron or Nedzu to do it. But no, get the workaholic who can't even lie in bed for a day when all his bones are broken.

The teacher

When I first started reading BnHA, I heartily wondered why the hell they'd put someone like that in front of a class. But again, once you get to know him, it turns out this man is a really good teacher. I certainly never had anyone pay that much attention to me and my well-being when I was in school. He understands a bunch of his kids better than they do. See exhibit A: Bakugou.

Aizawa's teaching style is very much a 'hands off' kind of thing. He doles out advice, he makes them run themselves ragged, but in a very specific sense, he also Trusts them. Even the explodey one. He has implicit faith in them, because he's observed them.

He can almost predict them. See exhibit B: Izuku.

He knows Izuku enough to know, for instance, that he *cannot* stop himself from being a hero. He can't. He waded into the sludge monster to save Kacchan. He chose saving Uraraka over getting a shot at the entry exam. The forest, the kidnapping, all of it. He will choose the saving option every time. That's why this is such a lovely scene. It really shows how well Aizawa knows his pupils. He knows he can’t stop Izuku so he’s just kinda... going along with it. He knows there's no point in telling Izuku not to go. So he decides to let him, if only so he can keep an eye on him.

I mean.. Especially when it comes to these two, Aizawa is a bit of a softy? I'm sure he'd prefer the term 'realist' but come one. Softie.

The Reluctant Dad

Speaking of softies. BnHA has a surprisingly large amount of father figures. Maybe it's because Izuku's dad is absent, but the theme sort of runs through the whole thing. The dads in this series range from the loving, supportive examples like All Might, or Bakugou's and Jirou's perfectly normal dads, to more tough loving guys like Gran Torino. They go all the way into the utter shit and abusive section, with Todoroki Sr. The Big Bad is, in a rather premeditated way, a father figure to Shigaraki. Even All Might and Shigaraki himself have a rather messed up bond that mirrors some father-son elements. But out of all of these, the most grumpy dad is doubtlessly Aizawa. This is a guy who's been given twenty highly rambunctious kids and who Cares Deeply about them, despite his vocal assurances that he would rather be sleeping. He then goes and adopts another one in the form of Shinsou (sort of, that might just be my wishful thinking).

It's interesting to note that Aizawa is very much a dad of the 'papa wolf' variety. He will protect the shit out of these kids. This is a guy who, as mentioned, has a very specialised fighting style that works best against small groups, for small periods of time. So obviously he jumps in the middle of a veritable army of villains to give his students a chance to escape , papa wolf style. That bit up there where he saves Tsuyu? Despite being very nearly dead? Yeah. He will also protect their Honour, like when he calls out the crowd on their (wrongful) estimation of Bakugou in the Uraraka fight. He will even, in a way, protect them from themselves.

I'm personally really in love with the fact that he's aware of his role, as a teacher, an adult, a substitute father figure, but that he doesn't particularly want it? Like he knows he's a teacher, and teachers/adults behave in a certain way. You see it a little here, when he brings Kouta back to relative safety. A big part of Aizawa, you see, admires the hell out of Izuku. This is the kid that surprised him. The kid that wants to be a hero so badly that he's willing to break himself over and over again, to save people. He gets that. But at the same time he knows that he has to try and keep Izuku in line.

And keeping Izuku in line is one hell of a job. Definitely the part of the job that he doesn’t particularly enjoy. Even when he's legitimately angry. Even when he has to play the strict one to All Might's entirely too soft heart.

The repentant

Diving straight into headcanons now. Be warned.

I've already talked about how Aizawa understands Shinsou in a way that Yamada, or All Might, or people like Todoroki or Bakugou could never understand. He knows what it's like to, in a way, be weak. To be specialised. In order for him to be a hero, he has to not only be strong, he has to be smart. I think part of the reason he appreciates Bakugou like that, is because he's Both.

But back to the headcanons. We know nothing of Aizawa's past (as of now, chapter 143, when I write this) but doesn't it sort of seem like there's some big dark secret in there? He certainly acts like he has some kind of regret.

He had to go through a particularly gruelling time to become the hero he is today. And he doesn't even get to be the good kind of hero. He does not get shampoo commercials and adoring crowds. He gets long nights of sneaking around and being beat up, and a day job as a teacher.

What the hell for?

Thing is, he did expel a whole class. And while we're first assuming he did it because he's a jerk, in a way he does it to save them from what he believes is cruelty. It turns out he cares, you see, he cares an awful lot about his students.

Doesn't that suggest some kind of deep seated issue?

We know little of Aizawa's past, other than that he went to UA with Yamada, but his actions and his words suggest that he definitely has seen some pain. Maybe one of his hero friends died. Maybe he saw classmates fail to fulfil their dreams. Maybe one of his ex-students got hurt and he saw it as a personal fault of his. Personally, I think his motivations might lie closer to Tenya's, with some sibling he looked up to, who failed and became his main motivation to succeed. But that's just a theory. Either way, he's seen failure. Maybe he's lived it. He's seen what it can do to a person, especially in a high stakes environment like the hero business and he appears to have made it his personal mission to stop this from happening by being the most nurturing, supportive person a grump like him could be.

I’m starting to rack up a lot of BNHA theories lately.

#aizawa shouta #character theory #character profiles #bnha #boku no hero academia #meta #manga spoilers #ok i may have a thing for aizawa #just about willing to admit it

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justauthoring · 7 years

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Feigning The Connection (16/?)

Prompt: You seem so invincible. But just touch you and you’ll wince. You have secrets and trust no one. You’re the perfect example of betrayal. Because anyone you’ve ever trusted broke you. Thrust into a new world, will you be able to stay alone, or will Bellamy work his way in

SEASON ONE + SEASON TWO

A/N: So I was so excited to get started on season three but I am still finding it completely unbelievable that i’m on season three. I feel like i’ve only just started this series and am back in the beginning. But nonetheless i am so excited to continue this series for another season and I can’t thank you all enough for the crazy amount of support i’ve received. it’s weird to think i have like my only little (very little but still largely appreciated) fandom. And also, I know this is a day earlier than normal so I hope you don’t mind. i do this in the hope I can get it up Sunday, rather than next Wednesday and give myself more time, but no promises.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently.

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Pairing: Bellamy x Reader

Based off of: The 100 03x01 and 03x02

Warnings: spoilers?

Tags List: @super-river-walker - @dontstopxx Want to be featured on my tag’s list? Message me letting me know!

A fresh start. That’s what you all needed. And it seemed that maybe everyone had been able to reach it. With everything your people, the grounders, everyone, had been through, you felt you all deserved it. Things had gotten better and things had gotten worse. The good news was Raven was doing better, Lincoln was now considered one of your own and you trained with him often. You’d grown quite close to the Trikru member, now that you found yourself at a lost with what to do with yourself. And it felt as if everything was finally coming together, peace had been restored and there hadn’t been an attack in so long, you believed it.

Your father and yourself had grown closer than ever. And though there was still many ties that needed to be mended you felt like you could actually view him as your father rather than just stating he was. You found trust in him and he in you, and you couldn’t have been more happier. You knew that Marcus would never quite forgive himself for the ignorance he’d given you since a small child but you yourself had already forgiven him. Though the thought on it’s own made you laugh.

Back on the Ark, in solitary and when on the ground, you’d been dead set on the idea you’d never forgive your father for everything he’d done for you. You thought you’d never forgive yourself for all that happened. But you had come to terms with what you’d done and you’d forgiven your father the minute he finally told you he loved you.

But, there was always bad news. Clarke was gone, and you hadn’t heard from her in forever. Jasper hadn’t quite forgotten the events in Mount Weather and held such rage and anger within him, it looked as if it’d never leave him. And then of course one being you hadn’t really spoke to Bellamy ever since blowing him off that day. You hadn’t really seen much of him either except for missions together or passing by each other walking through the Ark. You both were polite with each other, but the bond you’d shared before had seemingly disappeared.

Regretfully though, it didn’t seem Bellamy was all that upset. He had even managed to find himself a new girl that he cared for. It was selfish for you to feel jealousy as it had been you who had turned him down. But you didn’t share your distaste with anyone, and rather you kept it to yourself respectfully. Thinking back to that day you’d walked away from him, walked away from your friendship with him, and wondering if that had been the right choice. And thinking back to last few months, Bellamy hadn��t even looked upset. He seemed to carry on with his life, and you didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were greatly upset by it, or the fact that Bellamy didn’t seem to care.

“We’re going into sector seven.”

Walking through the doors to your father’s quarters, you paused when you saw Bellamy. Unsure if you should stay in the room or leave, but catching your father’s eye, you relented, stepping into the room and leaning against the wall. You kept your presence unknown or at least you thought unknown from Bellamy, and silently listened in on the conversation. “I think we should arm the entire unit.” Bellamy offered.

“Permission granted,” Marcus nodded, “but the rules of engagement still apply-- nonlethal response.” Bellamy nodded, repeating copy that and turning towards the door which of course meant turning towards you. You straightened up when his gaze fell on you, looking up into his eyes as he stared down at you in shock. You were about to say something before your father interrupted; “Bellamy,” he called, turning Bellamy’s attention back on himself. “There hasn’t been an attack since Mount Weather. That’s three months.”

You paused, shocked to hear it had been that long. You hadn’t really been keeping up that much with how much time passed but you knew it had been a few months. Three months to be exact. Three months since you’d talked to Bellamy.

“Our people believe that this is real peace. Try not to screw that up.”

“Yes, sir.” Bellamy nodded and you could see the hint of a grin on the side of his face. Turning to your father, you watched with the side of your eyes as Bellamy left, staring expectantly at Marcus. He smiled, nodding; “you can go.” He agreed and you smiled, thanking him before running out the door. Catching sight of Bellamy’s back. Without thinking, you called out for his name.

“Bellamy!”

He paused, stopping his steps and turning slowly around to you. You couldn’t lie that there was definite tension between the two of you and you weren’t sure how to react to it. You two hadn’t had this kind of tension since when you’d both been sent down to the ground at first. It was awkward and felt unnatural. But still, you pushed it aside, catching up to him easily enough and smiling up at him. “I’m coming with.”

You though maybe he’d fight you but instead he grinned, and you tried not to melt at the sight. You hadn’t seen him smile at you in so long. Chuckling, he stared down at you, shaking his head; “you haven’t changed have you?”

Walking through the doors behind Bellamy, you caught sight of Monty, confused as to why he didn’t seem ready. It seemed Bellamy thought the same as his deep voice asked; “Monty, why aren’t you ready?” Monty unclasped his hands, turning around to the both of you.

“I am. He isn’t.” Monty grunted out, his eyes falling to beside you. Following the direction of his gaze you found Jasper, passed out on the ground with a cup laying on his stomach. You winced, knowing this couldn’t be good. Jasper hadn’t really been sober in three months, ever since losing Maya, it had done stuff to him that you didn’t know how to help with.

You walked with Monty and Bellamy, falling beside Monty as you stared pitifully down at Jasper’s body. “What should we do?” You asked, turning to them both. “We should leave him this time.” Bellamy suggested, biting his lip. You opened your mouth in shock, completely not agreeing with Bellamy’s suggestion. Jasper need help and though you knew that everyone had been trying and he’d only been pushing it away, being abandoned wouldn’t help either.

“He’s not getting better.” Monty scoffed and it wasn’t hard to see the worry in his eyes. “Maya’s death broke him. He needs this.” Bellamy exhaled, looking back in the direction you all needed to go and his gaze fell on you, shrugging, you nodded, agreeing with Monty. He sighed again, looking back at Jasper. “Take an arm.” He ordered Monty, stepping forward and grabbing ahold of Jasper. Jasper grunted loudly as they supported his weight up. You waited for them to pass, allowing them to walk before you and following behind them.

It didn’t take long to reach the jeep and soon enough you were standing beside it, helping Jasper stand steady.

“Zeke, I said produce first.” Your heart fell when you heard her voice, reluctantly turning to see Bellamy walking off towards Gina. “Art doesn’t go bad.” Gina continued, looking up with a bright smile when she caught sight of Bellamy. You watched with heavy eyes as they shared a conversation you couldn’t hear, remembering when you and Bellamy had been that close.

“Hey,” Monty called, ripping your attention from the two. He offered you a sympathetic look; “you okay?”

“Yeah.” You whispered, allowing your gaze to fall on Bellamy one last time before looking away. Nodding over at Monty, you smiled; “yeah.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s a long ride.”

You listened to the music as it started to play, softly bumping your head to the music as you smiled at Miller in front of you. He shook his head, laughing at your weird antics. Grinning up at him, you watched as he started beating his hands to the beat, smiling as you joined him. Soon enough the lyrics started and Jasper started to sing along.

Then before you knew it Raven was singing. You smiled brightly, not remembering the last time you’d been able to have fun like this. Forgetting yourself in the moment, you lightly bumped Bellamy, smiling up at him when he looked down at you. You raised an eyebrow, already knowing he knew what you wanted. And soon enough he was smirking, lightly moving to the song. Monty began singing as well and you giggled, waving your hands in the air dramatically.

Jasper crawled around to the back, singing along with the lyrics. Leaning back slightly, you allowed him room so he could climb to the top, screaming out. You laughed along with the rest before all of a sudden the music was shut off. Eyebrows furrowing, you turned to the front in confusion as Raven seemed concerned. “Tracking beacon from the Ark.” Monty mumbled, moving so he was in the front.

The rover stopped, Jasper coming down from the top as he looked at you all. “Hey that was the best part.”

“Who is it?” Bellamy asked, Monty grabbing ahold of the tracking device and taking it off the front of the car. You watched hesitantly, grabbing ahold of your gun and scooting further forward. “Farm station.” Monty stated, and you narrowed your eyes. That doesn’t make any sense.

“But... four months ago- how?” Miller asked.

“We’ll find out, where are they?”

The back door screeched open, revealing sun. Turning you gazed at Octavia as she slouched; “don’t tell me I missed the party.” She teased sarcastically.

“Sector eight.” Monty finally answered, turning back to the rest of you. Staring at those around you, you shook your head; “that’s ice nation.”

“What about it?” Octavia asked, confused.

“Protocol says we head home. Let the chancellor decide what we do next.” Raven informed, and you turned to Bellamy, knowing he’d have the final say in the matter. But part of you already knew what he was going to say and though you should’ve been the one to disagree with his next words, no part of you wanted to.

“Screw protocol.”

“Jasper!” You called, reaching out to him. He easily shoved your hand off, continuing to walk towards the threat.

“Jasper- hey what are you?-”

“Jasper!” Octavia whispered, grabbing ahold of Jasper’s shoulder much like yourself. Though he only shrugged her off as well, walking forwards as he stumbled slightly, still clearly drunk. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.” He insisted, walking towards the enemy. Bellamy turned to Octavia in panic; “tell them we observe the commanders truce. Do it now!”

Octavia stepped forward just as Jasper reached the Azgeda men. You listened to her shout in grounder language, trying to pull the men’s attention away from Jasper and on the words she was speaking. Though the men holding arrows slowly lowered them, the man Jasper had walked up to kept his eyes on the threat before him. Jasper raised his hand and grabbed ahold of the signal, ripping it from the man’s clothes. You gasped, shocked that he would do such a stupid thing. “This belongs to us.”

You knew Jasper was struggling right now but this was about the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen him done. Yeah, sometimes he did dumb stuff to look brave or for the greater good but this was as if he wanted to kill himself.

Before Jasper could walk one step, the Azgeda man grabbed ahold of Jasper, pulling him back into his chest and wrapping his arm around Jasper’s chest. You raised your gun in defence when you saw the sun reflect off the knife pressed dangerously close to Jasper neck. You barely heard the man speak something in his language as all you could focus on was the impending death that faced Jasper.

Your eyes widened even further when you saw Jasper’s lips upturn slightly, a smile ghosting on his lips. Lowering your gun in shock, you watched as he lightly chuckled. Octavia argued in their language against killing you all, but before you knew it the man holding Jasper had pressed on the knife against his throat, slicing it. Bellamy raised his gun, shooting the man in the head but he just managed to miss it. Though he let go of Jasper and he started falling forward. Raven and Miller shot the other to men but you halted, remembering your fathers words. “Hold your fire!” You bellowed out, seizing all gunshots.

“Jasper, get down!” Octavia yelled, ripping her sword from her back and flinging it. With precise aim it hit the man who had dodged Bellamy’s bullet in the chest, making him fall down to the ground. Staring in silence at the man, you paused before you heard your father’s voice over the radio.

“What now?” Bellamy mumbled to himself, running towards the radio. You yourself turned towards Jasper, helping Octavia haul him up as he grabbed his neck in pain.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You asked in anger, still frustrated that he’d put himself in that kind of situation. He stared up at you, a soft cocky smile on his lips and you groaned; “we got the beacon didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but where did they get it?” Monty asked, holding his hands out in confusion.

“He needs to get to medical.” Octavia mumbled, placing Jasper against the side of the rover. You stepped back, allowing her to do her job as you knew absolutely nothing about helping the wounded. Furrowing your brows, you thought over what you’d just witnessed, shaking your head. “It’s like he wanted to die.” You mumbled to yourself.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You heard Bellamy grunt out and stepping forward, you listened in on what your father had to say.

“When you get here. Over and out.”

“Sector four? What is Kane doing so far away from the wall?” Raven asked, and you turned to Bellamy. He shrugged, frustration clearly on his face as he stomped towards Octavia and Jasper. “Take him home!” He grunted out, pushing you aside. You turned to him in shock, stepping further back as you glared at him from behind.

“I’m fine. Thank’s for asking.” Jasper mumbled out.

“Miller...”

“Yeah?”

“Get one of their horses. Raven since you can’t ride, you’re on the back. Y/N you ride with Miller. Monty you’re with m-”

“Hold up!” You interrupted Bellamy’s rants of orders, stepping towards him and placing your hand on his chest so he would listen to you. “I’m not going back.”

“Yes, you are.” Bellamy argued, shaking his head at you. He turned to dismiss you as everyone slowly fell to began what they’d been told. You glared, stunned that Bellamy would ignore you like this. Grabbing his wrist, you yanked him back towards yourself, frustration evident in your gaze as you stared up at him. He relented, pausing finally to look at you; “it’s too dangerous.” He continued, already knowing that you were going to argue with his decision.

“And it’s my father out there.” You reminded, “so i’m going with you.”

“Why the hell do you always have to be so stubborn?” He spat at you, clearly caught up in the moment. There was clearly anger behind his words, pent up anger, and you could only think it had something to do with that day you turned him down. When he finished yelling at you, you paused, unsure how to react. That gave him enough time to realized what he had said and how he had said it, but before he couldn’t even think of apologizing you spoke first. “You don’t control what I do. And I know this isn’t about you not wanting me to go, so whatever you have to say, say it.”

It was the first time since first landing that you’ve ever fought with Bellamy like this. There was so much tension between the two of you and you were so focused on him, you forgot for a moment you were surrounded by others. Though, Bellamy never replied and you smiled mockingly up at him; “great.” You grunted before stepping past him and into the back of the rover.

“Stubborn.”

“Sir, before you say anything there was a reason why-”

“We’ll deal with that later.” Marcus interrupted Bellamy. Stepping up, you walked into your father’s view, him regarding you quickly as your gaze fell on Indra. The same Indra who had used her own knife to slice parts of your skin because you’d ‘poisoned’ her commander. “This is about Clarke.” Your father finished, and you tore your eyes off Indra to your father. You hadn’t heard Clarke’s name in months. No one spoke it anymore.

“What about her?” Bellamy asked.

“She’s being hunted,” Indra answered for Marcus. You looked over at Monty in confusion, not daring to look at Bellamy. Hunted? What could she possibly be being hunted for? And who?

It seemed Monty was wondering the same thing; “by who?”

“By everyone.”

“Sir, we’re almost out of range. Are you sure you don’t want to tell the chancellor?”

“I’m sure. I don’t want to worry Abby until we know something for sure.” Your father answered, turning to look over at you. You offered a small meek smile, not really paying attention to much of anything. Jasper tried to get himself killed, you were currently arguing with Bellamy, but you guessed that had been happening for months now and once again, Clarke was in trouble. And once again everyone was rushing to save her. It was a lot to process.

“We know it’s a kill order.” Bellamy reminded and you shook your head, scoffing. Your annoyance didn’t seem to catch anyone but Bellamy’s attention. “You people are big on those.”

“It’s not a kill order. It’s a bounty.” Indra corrected instantly; “Clarke’s a symbol. She’s know as Wanheda. The commander of death.” So that’s who those Azgeda men had been looking for, Clarke. Though, suddenly intrigued by Indra’s words, you looked up at her in question.

“The Ice Nation guys we killed asked about Wanheda.” Bellamy informed, looking back at you three from the corner of his eye. “They’re looking for Clarke, why?” It was then you decided to finally open your mouth, regrettably too annoyed to really care if your words were hurtful or not.

“It’s Clarke, remember?” You scoffed, turning to look at Bellamy who looked hesitantly back at yourself. “She probably did something, as usual.” You scoffed, fumbling with your gun as you looked down, ignoring Bellamy’s gaze. It wasn’t until the rover turned silent did you look up, finding everyone’s eyes on yourself. You shrugged; “i’m not lying.”

“My people believe that when you kill someone...” Indra started explaining, looking at you before turning away. “You get their power. Kill Wanheda, and you command death.” Though, you figured their idea of gaining power was just as ridiculous as Clarke always getting herself in danger. You’re not quite sure why you were so fed up with Clarke, but you figured it had something to do with the fact she couldn’t live with her own mistakes and ran away because of it.

“She’s just one girl.” Your father, argued softly.

“So was the commander.” Indra reminded, “what Clarke did at Mount Weather weakened her. The Ice Nation is emboldened. Their queen wants Clarke’s power. If her people believe she has it, she’ll break the coalition and start a war. I can’t let that happen.” Following Indra’s heavy words was a string of consecutive beeps, and your gaze fell to Monty.

“Welcome to sector seven, where to now?”

“If she’s here, she’ll need supplies. We’ll start at the trading posts.”

“They’re here.” Bellamy grunted. Almost instantly you looked up from the floor, raising your gun towards the ceiling of the rover Bellamy was out of.

“Everybody out or the boy dies.” A man grunted from above, and before you even had a second to process what you’d been told Bellamy was yanked up through the hole, and gone before your eyes. Raising your hands, you dropped your gun. “Okay! Okay!” You yelled, holding your hands in surrender.

“We’re coming out!” Your father surrendered, looking at you. You nodded, telling him that that was the right decision when someone had Bellamy’s life on their hands. Or anyone for that matter. Taking your gun off your shoulder, you dropped it on the ground, taking your knife from the strap on your pants off. “Don’t hurt him.” Your father pleaded, turning to the rest of you as he slowly opened the back of the rover. The door was ripped from your father’s hands, yanking it open.

Then suddenly someone grabbed Marcus, and threw him on the ground. You were next as they grabbed your arm, and yanked you out. Your head smacked against the ground and you groaned, your vision blurring for a second. A knee fell on your back, and your arm was bent backwards roughly so you couldn’t move. Looking up you found Bellamy who was still struggling and sighed. “All targets acquired.” A female voice informed.

You heard a grunting and turning your head you found Monty being held up by one of the men, ripping the signal from him. He reached out his hands desperately, “it’s mine! Give it back!”

“Hey!” You called, “give it back!” Your yelling earned you a smack on the back of your head and you groaned, but didn’t seize struggling. “Monty, let it go!” Bellamy pleaded, begging Monty to stop struggling. “Y/N!” Stopping your struggles, you looked up at Bellamy to see him shaking his head at you. Reluctantly, you stopped your struggles.

“Monty?” The female from before questioned. You turned your head towards her, confused on why she had spoken with such familiarity. Then Monty froze himself, his grunting and struggling’s stopping; “mom?” Upon Monty’s word she ripped off the mask on her face, revealing a woman who looked just like Monty. You gasped, confused as Monty slowly made his way over to her and then they embraced. “I knew it!” She whispered.

“Farm Station. Stand down.”

The knee on your back left and the grasp on your arm left, crawling up to your hands and knees you looked over to see a man walking over to your father. His voice was highly recognizable and your thinking was only proved correct when your father uttered; “Pike?”

“You have no idea how good it is to see you.” Pike laughed and you shook your head. You’d known Pike because of your father, not to mention he had taught you survival tips before you’d been sent to the ground. But... Pike had always been more of a father than your own father had been, and you used to look forward to seeing him. You just thought after being sent to the ground you never would.

“Pike?” You whispered as he helped your father up. His gaze fell on you and his smile grew when he saw your familiar face. Walking over to you, he offered his hand to which you accepted and hauled you up. You hugged him, still shocked to actually see him standing before you. “Y/N.” He greeted, “it’s nice to see you.” You smiled up at him, still slightly unsure of everything as your father moved to stand beside you.

“We didn’t think you made it.” Pike shook his head, hugging your dad before looking to his other teammates. “Lacroix, Smith, watch our six. Everyone else, I said stand down.” Looking over, you saw Bellamy finally stand up and looked over to Monty who was still by his mother. You smiled softly, as he turned around, looking. “Where’s dad?” Monty asked.

Monty’s mother paused, unsure on what to say and you knew that it couldn’t be good by the look on her face. “Your father didn’t make it.” Monty’s mother whispered and your smile fell, offering a sympathetic look towards Monty. You knew how it felt to lose a parent, your pretty sure everyone on the ground did with the way the world worked. So you couldn’t help but sympathize with Monty.

“How many of you are there?” You father asked Pike.

“Sixty-three.” He replied, “the rest are camped in the mountains. North of here, grounder killers one and all. Am I right?” The sixty-three around you all cheered in agreement and you paused. This wasn’t good. You’d just sort of made terms with the grounders and there hasn’t been an attack at the Ark in forever, Pike and his men of grounder killers would only cause more trouble. Though only now you didn’t know how right you words were.

“Hate to cut this short.” Bellamy interrupted, “but we got to find Clarke.” Taking a deep breath, you ignored the pit in your stomach and nodded. Even though she was probably the cause of her own doom, she needed help. And you were her friend. “I second that.” You agreed, holding up your hand. Bellamy looked over to you in shock, probably confused way you’d been the one to agree with him with all your previous comments.

“Clarke Griffin?” Pike asked, looking over at Bellamy in bafflement. Bellamy nodded quickly in agreement. “Yeah. If only all of my earth skills students were as good as her.” Bellamy reluctantly smiled, shaking his head. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Okay, move the tree.” Marcus ordered and Pike was quick to order his men to help. Nodding at your father, you headed over to Monty and Bellamy, falling next to Monty. By the look on his face you could tell he was upset but before you could say anything Bellamy beat you to it; “you okay?”

“I have to be.” Monty replied, looking over at Bellamy. Sighing, you placed your hand on his upper arm, diverting his attention on you. Nodding at Monty, you sent a small reassuring smile; “you don’t have to be around me, okay?” Monty smiled back, nodding in thanks. Taking a deep breath, you pushed forward on the log with the rest, hefting it forward. After repeatedly pushing at it, it finally rolled far away enough that you could get through.

Standing up along with Bellamy, you walked over to your father; “Kane, we need to get moving!” Bellamy reminded.

“Monty, give them the coordinates to Arcadia.” Your father ordered Monty, and turning you saw him quick to follow. “We have a settlement, fifty miles south of here. Your people will be safe there.” Marcus informed Pike, placing his hand on his shoulder. You watched from a little bit away, unsure of Pike. He’d always been kind to you, always treated you like you were his own daughter, but there was just something different this time. Something in your stomach that told you this time would be different.

“You’re my people.” Pike reminded Marcus, smiling up at him.

“Good, because we have reports that put Clarke north of here. We could certainly use your expertise.” Pike hesitated, looking over to Monty’s mother for support. Looking over at Marcus, she informed; “if she’s in Ice Nation you’re gonna need more than that.” You just wondered exactly what the Ice Nation had done to farm station that made them so ruthless, so sure and careful of their movements. Even you weren’t that hostile and the grounders had done more than their fair share of cruel to you.

“We leave no one behind.”

“Quiet.” Indra ordered, holding her hand out for you all to stop. Coming to a stop, you fell behind Marcus and in front of Bellamy, looking around you for what had made Indra have you all stop. “Listen.” Everyone went dead silent and listening closely, you heard the faint sound of drums around you.

“War drums?” You hesitantly declared, looking around you for clarification. Your father nodded and you sighed, this couldn’t be good.

“Azgeda.” Indra bit out, her hand slowly falling back to her side.

“You can tell it’s Ice Nation from the sound?” Monty asked incredulously, turning to Indra in bewilderment. Indra shook her head, pointing before you; “no, from them.” Following the direction of her finger you found two dead bodies before you, their faces covered in white paint, obviously Ice Nation soldiers. Pike ran by you, up to your father and you leaned down on one knee, holding up your gun.

“We need to get those bodies off the field,” Pike rushed. “Unless you’re okay with them thinking we did this.” Marcus shook his head, signalling Pike to fall forward and move the bodies.

“Wait,” Bellamy interrupted; “two people at twelve’o’clock.” Raising your gun, you looked in the direction Bellamy had said, finding two bodies running away quickly. Looking through your view finder, your mouth fell open and you repositioned yourself to keep steady. Turning to Bellamy it seemed he had saw the same thing as you; “it’s Clarke.” Before you could even blink Bellamy ran forward, past you and towards where Clarke was. Before he could get very far though, Pike grabbed a hold of him. “Let me go! Move!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Pike interrupted, “you’ll never make it in time.”

“He’s right,” you spoke up, walking beside Bellamy. Pointing to your left, you grabbed ahold of his wrist, bringing his attention on you; “look.” Using his gun he looked at the army of Ice Nation men making their way across the field. Shaking your head, you sighed; “no way we make it across without being seen.”

“We should lay low, let them pass. Then we go find Clarke.” Bellamy bit is lip, hesitating and you understood. You were so close to her and there was the possibility you wouldn’t be able to find her after if the army took too long. But you also knew that chasing after her now would only get you all killed.

“Guys, look a cave.” Monty stated, pointing behind you.

“We just got lucky.” Pike joked, grabbing ahold of the body. Turning to Bellamy, you held fast on his wrist; “let’s go.” You pushed when he shook his head; “I promise you we will find her after! But we need to go, now.” You urged, pulling at his sleeve. Looking back in the direction of Clarke, Bellamy sighed, nodding and running with you towards the cave.

“So, Mount Weather is ours now?”

“Yeah,” Marcus answered, standing up from the rock he’d been sitting on. You shifted from your position against the wall, standing up straighter as you listened more closely. “Yeah, we use it for supplies.” This apparently upset Pike as his face twisted into confusion; “supplies? It’s a nuclear-hardened underground city.”

“We established a truce.” Marcus offered. “We need to think about perception.”

“You need to think about what happens when the grounder’s break that truce.” Pike argued. Shaking your head, you furrowed your brows in disagreement, stepping up. Staring at Pike with defiance in your eyes, “and you need to think about all the innocents that died in there. You didn’t see it. You didn’t live it. Why would we use everything that those innocents once owned because it benefits us?” You argued, your voice raising.

“Because those supplied can be useful to us!” Pike yelled. “The grounders will break that truce.”

“Oh, crap.” Turning around at the sound of Monty’s voice, only to find him crouching on the ground in panic. You looked around the cave, finding one person missing. You slumped, cursing that you’d been stupid enough to get distracted. “Bellamy, what are you doing?”

“Bellamy!” You called, seeing his body in the distance.

“He’s hurt.” Monty declared and you picked up the speed in your step, desperate to reach him. What had he been thinking? Walking through an Ice Nation army could’ve gotten him killed and though you already knew why he’d done it, didn’t lessen the worry and frustration you felt towards him.

Falling beside him along with Monty, you grabbed ahold of him as he grunted in pain. His clothes had been replaced by the Ice Nation uniform he’d stolen from the dead guard but you could clearly see the wound in his thigh, bleeding profusely. “We told you to wait for the army to pass.” Marcus argued, running in front of you three.

“What happened?”

“I-I-I almost got her. I-” Bellamy panted, stumbling over his own words.

“Pike, find their trail.”

“It’s useless, he knows he’s being followed.” Pike shook his head, and you couldn’t help but agree. Turning to Bellamy, you shook your head, how could he be so stupid? You could’ve gotten to Clarke and actually succeeded in finding her if he had just waited. Bellamy moved from your side, as if he was going to continue searching for her but your father grabbed ahold of him, slamming him back against the trunk of the tree. “Hey, you can’t even walk.”

“So, what, we- we give up? Let him kill her?” Bellamy continued to walk and Monty lightly shoved you aside, running towards Bellamy. You stepped back, unsure of what to do. You felt helpless and for the first time in a long time you had no idea how to make Bellamy feel better.

“Hey, I want to find her too.” Monty whispered, gaining Bellamy’s attention. “But look at your leg. You could die out here, we have no trail.”

“We can’t loose Clarke!” Bellamy yelled, shocking you. Slowly he looked back at you all, finding your gaze. With wet eyes, you shook your head. He turned back to Monty, lowering his voice; “we can’t loose Clarke.”

“We’ll find her, okay? We will figure something out, I promise... but this isn’t the way.” Watching hesitantly Bellamy nodded, mumbling okay. Stepping forward, you decided it was time to help and nodded to Monty; “I got him.” He nodded, walking away slowly as he stared back at you two. Pulling Bellamy’s arm around your shoulder, you hefted him against yourself. As you all slowly walked back, you two stayed near the back, in complete silence as you found nothing to say.

“Why are you helping me?” Bellamy finally spoke up, turning to look at you. Watching a particular difficult step, you shrugged; “I don’t know. You’ve done nothing to deserve it.” You mumbled, “I guess it’s because I care for you.” You honestly answered, turning to look him in the eyes. You saw the disbelief flood his eyes and though it upset you, you couldn’t blame him. You didn’t know if he cared for you anymore either. “Because I do care for you.”

“I was so upset about... about-” Bellamy hesitated but you already knew what he was referring to. “I thought...”

“And you started ignoring me.” You finished, shrugging tiredly. “Listen Bellamy I know you were hurt, but you hurt me as well. You just started acting like I wasn’t there. Like I didn’t even exist. But then Clarke, who left you in the dust, alone, comes back and you rush at everything to save her. I don’t even think you’d do that for me.” As you whispered these words, let out all your feelings, you sniffled trying not to let your emotions flood.

“I would.” Bellamy mumbled into your ear, “I would do everything to get you back.”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

347 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 7 years

Text

Out of the Frying Pan (24/?)

“I’m serious.”

“What can I do for you David? It probably wasn’t easy to get out here, so I assume there’s some sort of major point you wanted to make.” David narrowed his eyes pointedly, shifting the belt around his uniform pants and Killian tried not to roll his eyes when he adjusted his holster. “I wanted to apologize.” Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

“For what?”

AN: You guys wanted a return to angst and this isn’t...a complete return, but it’s getting there. With more pie! Christmas themed! Happy Christmas in July. Several dozen metaphorical Christmas presents to @laurnorder who just fixes all of this constantly and to @distant-rose who made the INCREDIBLE aesthetic to go along with the story. There’s pecan pie up there!

Living it up on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr.

It was still freezing in the warehouse.

Almost restaurant.

Starting to actually look like a restaurant.

He should start referring to it as a restaurant. And it was still freezing inside.

“Marco,” Killian called towards the contractor, currently occupied with something construction-related on the other side of the very large soon-to-be dining room. “Are we eventually going to install heat in this building?” “Eventually,” Marco said, not lifting his head away from whatever he was hammering. Or building.

“See,” Robin added, glancing up from his seat next to Killian. “Eventually we’ll be able to feel all of our extremities in this building. This absolutely enormous building. God, your heating bills are going to be extravagant.” “You were the one who suggested this building,” Killian sighed, stretching his legs out slightly and nearly tripping up one of Marco’s workers in the process. “In fact, you were also the one who suggested we come out here two days before Christmas to see the current construction updates to this building. I’m sure we’re in Marco’s way.”

The contractor put the hammer down – it was definitely a hammer – glancing over his shoulder incredulously at the pair of them. Killian had to admit they painted quite a picture between the two of them. Robin had knocked on his door that morning – two tiny packages balanced on his hip that turned out to be folded up lawn chairs he’d somehow bought in the twelve hours since he’d left The Jolly Roger the night before – and informed him that there was a car downstairs waiting to take them to Gowanus where they would sit for several hours and watch the construction updates on the building he was spending an exorbitant amount of money for.

And also Robert Gold wanted to see them.

Or him.

Robert Gold wanted to see Killian.

Robin was mostly there for emotional support – and he’d brought coffee. In addition to the lawn chairs. Killian appreciated all three things.

“You’re not in my way,” Marco said, walking across the room and staring at the two of them with something that almost looked like amusement on his face. “At least not yet. I’ll let you know if that changes.” “You’re a pillar of patience, Marco,” Robin said, pouring more coffee out of the thermos he’d brought with them. He was very prepared. Killian shuddered to think of what the man would be like on a camping trip.

Probably insufferable.

“And Robert Gold appears to be a pillar of late,” Killian muttered, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He was cold. And tired. And he hadn’t seen Emma in two days – filming another episode of The Kitchen and worrying about her time slot and dealing with seemingly never-ending meetings with Ruby and Zelena and some other network boss he’d never actually met.

Henry had loved the pie. That was the week before. He’d eaten three slices and was gunning for a fourth when Emma had pulled his hand away, muttering something about sugar intake and too many calories for a twelve-year-old and Henry had shot him a conspiratorial smile like he should try and sneak him pie behind his mother’s back.

He hadn’t.

Killian was, at least, that responsible.

He’d also sent them home with a full pie.

Because he wasn’t a dessert savage.

“Drink some more coffee,” Robin muttered, pushing the thermos into Killian’s arm with all the tact of someone who’d known him far too long and could probably read his mind at this point. “And go see Emma later tonight because you’re frustrating when you’re frustrated.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “Drink some coffee, think about how the English language works and then talk to me.” “Ass,” Killian said, drawing a laugh out of Marco as he tugged the thermos out of Robin’s hand. “And Gold didn’t give you a timetable at all? Or any update on what he wanted to talk about? Or why he contacted you and not me? The man signing his checks?” “That was a lot of questions. Wasn’t that a lot of questions, Marco?” “Leave Marco out of this, we’ve already bothered him enough. I’m sure you’ve to something to build, right? Like tables or something?” “We order the tables,” Marco said. “They’re coming in a couple of weeks.” “We ordered tables? How much did that cost?” “Killian,” Robin sighed, sitting up straighter in the recently bought lawn chairs and drawing a line in the still-dirty floor with the heel of his shoe. “We’re not worrying about the cost of these things. You win the all-star stuff and the costs won’t matter.”

Killian’s eyes fell to the floor, shoulders slumping a bit in the chair that couldn’t really support his weight and tried to focus on the cup of coffee steaming in his hand. At least that was warm. Everything else felt cold.

Because as soon as Killian had gotten in the car that morning he’d decided – or maybe he’d decided as soon as he’d handed Henry that pie and Emma had smiled at him and it felt like the only thing that had ever mattered.

He wasn’t going to win.

He was going to tell Gold. He was going to break the deal and probably rob a bank or find some priceless art to steal or have to cook until his other hand fell off, but he was going to pay off the restaurant and he was going to do it right.

He wasn’t going to beat Emma.

Not like this. Not when she was so close to getting her show back. Not when she trusted him.

Robin eyed him suspiciously, crossing his arms slowly and tilting his head with the slightest movement. It sounded a bit deafening. Even in that very loud, very unfinished construction zone.

“I think I’ve got something to build,” Marco said softly, eyebrows pulled low and a slightly nervous tick on the side of his jaw. And then he all but sprinted towards the kitchen-area. Or where the kitchen was slated to be.

Eventually.

Maybe once they had installed some heat.

“Now he’s got things to build,” Killian mumbled, eyeing the traitorous contractor as he disappeared behind the kitchen door. There was a door now.

That seemed like a step in the right direction.

“What are you doing?” Robin asked sharply, a look on his face that almost perfectly mirrored Roland when he was told he couldn’t go back in the kitchen or eat cheeseburgers for four straight nights.

“Drinking lukewarm coffee and waiting for some guy I don’t really know to show up at my restaurant?” “Are we calling it a restaurant now? You used warehouse this morning.” “I think you’re deviating from your point.”

Robin sighed dramatically and Killian resisted the urge to vocalize the similarities between his friend and the seven-year-old who, just the night before, had pitched a small fit over the lack of his pecan pie, unaware that he was just as allergic to pecans as ever.

“I am,” he admitted.

“Well, then go ahead and make it before the coffee gets ice cold.” “You’re giving up, aren’t you?” Killian narrowed his eyes, lifting up his chair and twisting to stare at Robin. “Giving up?” “On the all-star thing. You’re giving up. I mean you’ll cook and if you win, you win, but you’re not actively trying to win anymore, are you?” “Maybe,” Killian said evasively and Robin sighed again.

“You’re an awful liar.”

“I’m a fantastic liar.” “Is that what you’re doing now?” Robin said, voice dripping with accusation and a knowing stare that made Killian want to push him and his tiny, foldable lawn chair over. “Lying to me about what you’re doing?” “I’m not.” “Then, that’s what’s going on? You’re giving up.” “That last one didn’t seem like a question.” “It wasn’t.” Killian groaned, pulling his body out of the chair and starting to pace, just a few inches away from Robin’s feet. “I really think you should tell her. For whatever that’s worth.”

“Tell who what?” “You’re an idiot.” Killian grinned, rocking back on his feet and running his hand through his hair and he was definitely enjoying this more than he should. He hadn’t wanted to come to Gowanus in the first place. If he was going to be forced to do this – and have this conversation with Robert Gold face to face instead of over the phone like he’d planned – then he was going to banter with Robin and he was going to enjoy it.

“I’m making no claims otherwise,” Killian said and Robin rolled his eyes.

A gust of wind swept into the warehouse or almost restaurant and that seemed like some sort of sign because Killian felt like a chill rush down his spine when he turned to find Robert Gold standing in the would-eventually-be-a-door doorway, leaning on that absurd cane with a small smile on his face.

“Mr. Jones,” he said, eyeing Killian with an unwavering stare that didn’t do anything to assuage the chill lingering in his lower back.

“We should really focus on putting some heat in this place,” Robin muttered, drawing a shaky laugh from Killian as Gold walked into the warehouse. His cane, somehow, echoed across the room. “Or maybe we should have brought a space heater.” “The coffee should have lasted longer,” Killian shrugged.

“Probably.” “Gentleman,” Gold cut in, stopping next to Killian and it didn’t look like he had blinked once on his walk across the room. “Thank you for meeting me here today.”

“What exactly is this about?” Killian asked. Robin scoffed quietly behind him and he could hear the sound of his foot in the dust and dirt and, possibly, a bit of loose floor as well.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your win.” “That was weeks ago.” Robin muttered a few nonsense syllables and Killian glanced wide-eyed and just as frustrated as ever at his friend. “And we’ve talked about that whole ‘Mr. Jones’ thing. Killian is fine.” Gold nodded slowly, staring at him with a look in his eyes that made Killian feel like he was being surveyed somehow. “I wanted to congratulate you on your win,” he repeated, both hands lightly resting on the top of his cane. “And to add that that kind of performance is exactly what we expect from you going forward.”

Killian’s eyes darted towards Robin – now sitting up stick-straight in his recently-bought lawn chair and eyeing Gold with his own brand of very pointed interest. “Excuse me?” Killian asked.

Gold cocked one eyebrow at him, the side of his mouth tugging up into a smile that didn’t look remotely encouraging. Or complimentary. “We expect another win next month. In whatever competition is next. And you’ve agreed to that.” “No, we didn’t,” Robin cut in, standing up and walking a few steps to move next to Killian. His shoulder almost brushed against his and that seemed a bit too on the nose for the situation – Killian bit the inside of his lip.

Gold widened his eyes slightly, looking at Robin as if he only just realized he was there. “We didn’t agree to that in anything that’s legally binding,” Robin continued. “You and Killian made a deal, sure, but it was just words. The only contract that exists here is the one that includes us buying this building from you and working with Marco. The rest was just between us. None of that was written down.” And, not for the first time, Killian was thankful Robin Locksley had worked his way into his life. Even if it meant being forced out to Gowanus against his will early in the morning and a seemingly endless stream of comments on his love life and requests for character references.

“What exactly is it you’re saying Mr. Locksley?” Gold asked, voice dropping so it was barely above a whisper, hardly discernible over whatever Marco was building in the other corner of the room.

Robin opened his mouth to answer, but Killian put his hand on his shoulder, taking a step in between him and Gold. “I’m not doing this anymore,” he said evenly.

“This?” “I’ll finish the competition and if I win then fine, but I’m not going out of my way to try and meet some sort of standard you’ve set so I can save a couple of thousand dollars during this refurb. It’s not worth it.” He was going to punch that stupid eyebrow off Gold’s stupid face. And then he was going to snap that fucking cane in half.

“And you’ve decided this since winning the last competition,” Gold said softly, not meeting Killian’s gaze.

“Yeah.” “Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I’d hoped you were smarter than that. Mr. Locksley’s correct, we didn’t have a legally binding deal as far as the network shows, but I thought it was something that could have been mutually beneficial to both of us. There was even an inquiry from one of the tabloids about doing a long-form feature on you early next year, something about your rise to the top of the culinary world in the city despite...well, you know.” Killian did know.

He clenched his jaw tightly, Robin’s presence behind him weighing on the back of his mind, like he could feel the frustration rolling off his friend. Killian’s right hand wrapped tightly around his brace, Gold’s eyes darting down towards the prosthetic, that same, stupid smile still on his face.

He knew.

And he almost punched Gold again.

Killian squeezed his eyes shut quickly – trying to think of anything but the self-assured, arrogant man in front of him – and was suddenly struck with a completely different picture.

Emma.

And her hand wrapped around his brace, hair splayed out on his pillow underneath her, the breathless sound she’d made when he’d kissed her, tasting like rum and, eventually, the middle-of-the-night breakfast he’d made. She’d stayed. The entire night, let those walls down for a few hours, tangled up in his sheets with his arms – and one hand – wrapped tightly around her.

He hadn’t taken the brace off – they’d cross that bridge eventually, maybe – and she hadn’t asked, but she’d stayed and that seemed like the biggest victory. And then he knew, without a shadow of a doubt – not that he’d really had many to begin with – that he didn’t need Gold or the deal or an in-depth feature in some tabloid.

He had the food.

He had the building – eventually he’d have tables and a door and, possibly, central heating.

And, it seemed, he had her.

That was enough.

Gold widened his eyes – clearly waiting for an answer – and Killian licked his lips quickly before opening his mouth. “I do know,” he said slowly, like he was trying to wrap his tongue around every word and syllable, determined to get his point across. “And I know I’m some sort of jewel in your real estate crown or something ridiculous. Fine. That’s fine. I can still be that. And I’ll still cook, I’ll still be on TV, you can flash my name around to other prospective clients whenever and wherever you want. I couldn’t care less. But I’m not going out of my way to meet some criteria you set. I’ll pay you the money I owe you, I’ll pay you more a month if that’s what you want, but I won’t play this game anymore. It’s childish.” It seemed like the entire world stopped spinning for a moment – or at least everyone in the general vicinity of Killian, Robin and Gold. Marco wasn’t even trying to sand anything anymore, hammer forgotten on the floor and a slightly glazed expression on his face as he stared at the three men.

Gold pursed his lips tightly, leaning on the cane and drawing a short line in the dirt at his feet. “Interesting,” he said softly and Killian chanced a glance at Robin who simply shrugged in response.

“That so?” Killian asked. “You’ll still get paid.” “I’m not even remotely worried about getting paid. I’m simply saying it’s interesting that you’d want to hinder your own career like this.” Killian’s eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch and he heard Robin shuffle his feet behind him. “I’m not certain that’s true,” he said softly.

“No?” “No.” “Then I’ll repeat myself,” Gold muttered. “It’s an interesting choice.” “I think we’ll be fine.” “Of course.” Robin kicked at a rock, bouncing it off the back of Killian’s shoe as he stared expectantly at Gold, waiting for the next thinly veiled comment on his choices and decisions regarding his own restaurant and money.

He didn’t say anything, just kept leaning on his cane with that smug smile on his face and a knowing look that left Killian with a knot of anxiety in his stomach so tight he was positive several internal organs were being threatened.

“Uh, Killian,” Marco said, cutting into the conversation with a slightly stuttering and clearly nervous voice. “There’s someone here to see you.” He glanced questioningly at Robin – who shrugged again, his own curious smile on his face. “Only Gina knew we were coming here,” he said.

“Who is it, Marco?” Killian asked, glancing over Gold’s shoulder at the shadow leaning just inside the doorway.

“Said his name was Nolan. He’s in a uniform.”

Killian took a deep breath through his nose, rolling his eyes towards the vaulted ceiling of the warehouse and Robin sighed so audibly he was surprised he hadn’t created a small dust storm with the power of his breath.

“Seems you might be a bit distracted,” Gold said and Killian wondered, again, why they couldn’t have done this over the phone. “Remember what I said Mr. Jones. I think it’s probably in your best interest to remember the deal. And without another word he was gone – walking towards the doorway David Nolan was, apparently, standing in and leaving Killian and Robin to gape at that latest veiled threat he’d leveled them with.

Marco was still standing nearby, eyes wide as he rolled back onto his heels and crossed his arms. “Killian,” he said again. “The police officer?” “What?”

“There is a police officer at the door wanting to talk to you.” “Oh, yeah, yeah, send him back. It’s, uh, it’s my girlfriend’s brother.” Marco nodded once, confusion turning into amusement on his face as he turned towards the door. Robin sounded like he was choking on air. “You going to be alright there?” Killian asked, looking over his shoulder at his friend. “Because I don’t know CPR or anything.”

“You don’t know CPR? Isn’t that like a restaurant requirement?” “Will knows. So does Ari. We’re covered on multiple fronts.” “And so are you apparently, with labels and definitions and spending thousands of dollars of our money for some girl.” Killian stared at Robin for a moment – the sound of David arguing about the mandated hard hat he had to wear on a currently active construction site lingering in the back of his mind like it was white noise behind him – and tried not to immediately become some sort of emotional font in the middle of that same currently active construction site.

“She’s not just some girl,” Killian said, staring at his shoes.

He saw Robin move, two steps towards him and his hand on his shoulder before Killian even lifted his head. “I know,” he answered. “I know she’s not.” “It’s your money too. I should have asked.” “Probably,” Robin chuckled. “But I agree with you. We watched on Sunday, you know. And you guys were good together. Really good. Even Gina thought so. She thinks Zelena’s going to give Emma her time slot back.” “She better,” Killian grumbled, drawing another laugh out of Robin.

“She will,” he said, the certainty in his voice helping to loosen that knot of anxiety wrapped around one of Killian’s intestines. “She deserves it. So, it’s ok. We’ll rebudget and we’ll figure it out and Gold can fuck off. Him and his tabloid contacts. Like you’d ever do a feature story like that anyway.” Killian’s mouth hung open and he didn’t even turn around when he heard David’s footsteps approaching behind him. “Thank you,” he said seriously, Robin’s hand still clamped tightly on his shoulder.

“Don’t. You don’t have to do that. You’ve kept my family feed for the last five years. You’re, quite possibly, my son’s favorite person. And I know she might not show it very often, but even Gina appreciates everything you’ve done for her and her career. So, if the one thing I have to do in return is reconfigure a budget so that your girlfriend can get her time slot back and you can keep being as happy as you’ve been for the last few months, then I’ll do that, no questions asked. Except, you know, maybe let me tell Gina.”

Killian barked out a laugh, shaking his head and stuffing his hand into his pocket. “Deal,” he said.

“Deal.” “Killian?” David’s voice cut through the warehouse and he spun on the spot, eyebrows halfway up his forehead by the time he came face to face with Emma’s older brother.

“Hey,” he said slowly. Robin walked up behind him again – like he was flanking him or something. “What are you doing here?” “Yeah,” David laughed, flicking his fingers together quickly before finishing his thought. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.” “No?” “Well I can’t exactly pretend like I was in the neighborhood could I?” Killian shook his head slowly, straightening his shoulders a bit. David sighed, his entire body moving with the movement as he dragged the air back into his lungs. “You think we could talk somewhere? Unless you’ve got stuff to do. I don’t know what you’re schedule’s like.” Killian’s eyes darted towards Robin quickly – some unspoken conversation that, somehow, made him feel a bit better about a privateconversation with soon-to-be-detective David Nolan. “Sure,” he said, stepping back towards the doorway. “You mind going back outside? It’s going to be pretty loud in here.” “If it means I get to take this ridiculous hard hat off, then I don’t mind going outside.” “Ok.”

He walked around David, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair or grip the top of his brace tightly and pushed open the tarp that had been staple gun’ed across the doorway again. They stood in silence for a few excruciating moments, each of staring at their respective feet and Killian tried to ease the tension in his shoulders.

“So, uh, a little out of your precinct aren’t you, officer?” Killian asked, tugging the front of his jacket together. It was snowing.

“Just a bit,” David laughed and that seemed like a victory – the sarcasm hit its mark and that was a good starting point for whatever this was. “Listen,” he said sharply and Killian’s eyes widened, standing at attention whether he wanted to or not. Some things never changed. “I wanted to talk to you.” “So I gathered.” “I’m serious.” “What can I do for you David? It probably wasn’t easy to get out here, so I assume there’s some sort of major point you wanted to make.” David narrowed his eyes pointedly, shifting the belt around his uniform pants and Killian tried not to roll his eyes when he adjusted his holster. “I wanted to apologize.” Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

“For what?” “Take your pick,” David shrugged. “The background check, being an asshole for the last few months, acting like you were somehow going to show up and, by default, hurt my sister and her kid. I just worry about Emma a lot, more than I should, honestly, because no one knows better than me that she can take care of herself. But, uh, well, this is different. You and her. It’s different.” The knot loosened slightly – replaced with something that felt like a lurch and Killian just raised his eyebrows in response. “She’s happy,” David said simply and the knot was gone.

“I’m glad,” Killian said. “That’s kind of the point.” “It hasn’t really been easy for her.” “I know that.”

“Do you?” David asked, voice flush with disbelief. “All of it?” Killian tilted his head and narrowed his eyes a bit. “What do you mean?” David sighed again, rolling his head between his shoulders until his neck audibly cracked and he stared up at the clouds like they would provide an answer to the question Killian had asked. “It’s not really my place.” “You’re right,” Killian agreed. “It’s not.” And that seemed to catch David by surprise. “You don’t want to know? Aren’t you curious?” “Sure I am, but that’s Emma’s job, not yours. So if you came out here to lord some information over me and try and prove that I don’t know her as well as I think I do, I’m afraid you’re going to come up short on that front. She can tell me in her own time.” David tapped his fingers on the top strap of his holster, lips twisted thoughtfully and eyebrows pulled low. “You tell her about this?” he asked.

“This what?” “This thing you’ve got going on with Gold.” “What do you know about that?” “I’m very good at running incredibly complete background checks.” “I’m sure the criminals of the city quake in their boots at the approach of Detective Nolan.” David’s eyes widened and the frustration was as clear as if it had somehow slapped Killian across the face. “He’s not a good guy, you know. This Gold guy.” “I’ve realized that.” “How did you end up here?” “You’re going to have to be more specific.” “How did you end up expanding your restaurant to one of Gold’s buildings?” David sighed. “You know he’s been investigated by the department a couple of times.”

“So I’ve heard. But it’s a good space and a good location and we wanted to expand, so here we are. He’s just the owner of the building. That’s it.” “Why was he here?” “Am I being questioned, Detective? Should I have a lawyer present? My partner’s inside, he could come out too if you’d like.” David sighed again, rolling his eyes. “This apology isn’t going the way I had planned.” “Feels a bit more like an inquisition.” “They always said I was very good at interrogating suspects.” “Is that what I am? A suspect?” “No,” David admitted. “But you’re dating my sister and I know she stayed with you after the party and she’s never done that. Ever. So, I’m going to ask my questions and no one is suggesting you’re legally obligated to answer them, but it might make all of this a bit easier for everyone if you did.” Killian brushed his hair out of his eyes – snow falling on his feet in the process – and dragged his thumb across the back of the prosthetic, trying to remember the last time he’d had a conversation like this one.

Never.

And he’d never been more happy to have a conversation like this one.

Because it meant Emma had a family and people to defend her, people who, might, love her as much as he did.

Huh.

He shouldn’t have been surprised by the realization – certain he’d been in love with her from the moment she walked onto the prep kitchen set for those all-star promos months ago – but it was a strange epiphany to come to under the glare of David Nolan and a few feet away from a restaurant that may, now, be completely outside the realm of his financial ability.

But then he remembered the way she felt next to him, hair in his face when he woke up and the electric shock that had gone through his entire system when she crawled out of bed and walked into his kitchen in his shirt.

He loved her.

More than the food. More than the restaurant. More than anything.

“Gold was here because he and I had a deal, in addition to refurbing the warehouse and paying rent on the building that, if I won the network all-star thing he’d cut back on costs. I told him I wasn’t interested in doing that anymore.”

“Why?” David asked, hardly waiting for Killian to finish talking before he asked his follow-up.

“You know why.” “I’d love to hear you say it.” “Because of Emma. Because if I win then she won’t and I want her to win.” “More than you want to win?” Killian nodded, trying to swallow down the small ball of emotion that seemed to have taken up residency in the back of his throat. “Huh,” David muttered, taking another deep breath.

“What did you expect exactly?” “I have no idea. Not that though.” “She deserves to get her show back. And I don’t care about the money or Gold or…” he trailed off, voice catching on that emotion still lodged in his throat.

“What?” David prompted.

“I just care about her,” Killian said, rushing over the words like he was running a 100-yard dash. “I want her to be happy. I was told, that’s kind of the point.” “The show was really good on Sunday,” David said. “You two were good together.” And Killian heard the rest of it – what he hadn’t actually said, the apology David couldn’t quite bring himself to say. They were good together – good enough that Killian, truly, didn’t care about the restaurant or Gold or the money.

He just wanted Emma to be happy.

“Thanks,” Killian said. “I was glad I could help.”

David nodded slowly. “You did. Or have. And not just with the show. She really is happier than I’ve seen in a long time. So is Henry. Mary Margaret and I have always tried to be everything for both of them, but, well, I think this is good. You and Emma and Henry. I think it’s really good. For all of you.” “I do too.”

“Good, good,” David said quickly, muttering over the words like he was half saying them to himself. “Listen, I really did come here to apologize. Mary Margaret’s been bugging me about it for ages, since Halloween. So I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry for telling Emma about your brother and not trusting you and a whole slew of vaguely other high-school type things that were completely out of line.”

Killian was freezing – it was starting to get windy with the snow now despite the line of warehouses around him, there wasn’t much to real block the air blowing off the canal. He looked up at David, slightly wary expression plastered on his face, and tried not to think about how cold it was. Or had been.

There was a metaphor in there somewhere.

“It’s alright,” he said, ignoring David’s soft huff of disagreement.

“You’ve got quite a support system in Mary Margaret, you know.” “Your wife clearly has very good taste.” David let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan and smiled at Killian. “Well, she’s not wrong. You might not be the horrible guy I’ve painted you out to be in my head. You might almost be a good guy.” “Almost,” Killian agreed. “I’m growing on you, I can tell.” “Don’t push it.”

“You want some coffee?” Killian asked, nodding back towards the tarp-covered doorway behind him. “For some reason Robin brought two thermoses.” “That’s an awful lot of coffee.” “He’s nothing if not consistently prepared.”

“So I can see,” David laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but I should probably get back to the city. I can only claim to be on lunch for so long. But, uh, before I do, I wanted to ask you something.” “Curious about my tax returns? Social security number?” “Nothing like that,” he said, shooting a glare Killian’s way. “I wanted to ask you about Christmas.” “Christmas?” “You know like the holiday in two days?.” “I’m familiar with it.” “Well, Mary Margaret is cooking and my mom is coming down again, which has Mary Margaret completely stressed out, but it’s kind of a tradition. And Emma makes all the vegetables and they’re all obscenely fancy and vaguely French, but they’re delicious and Henry and I play video games all day.”

“Sounds nice.” “It is. That’s why I’m telling you that you should come. For dinner. At least.” “What?”

Killian’s teeth were chattering a bit now, the pain in his jaw a stark contrast to the small little fire that seemed to have erupted over every other inch of his skin. They closed The Jolly on Christmas – and for the last few years he’d spent the morning with Robin and Regina and Roland, trying not to be too obviously delighted by the seven-year-old’s absolute fascination with presents and the old claymation TV specials. But that only lasted a few hours and then the entire Locksley clan went farther uptown to see Regina’s mother and Killian had no interested in being part of that – ever.

Ariel and Eric had tried to get him to come to their apartment for dinner the last few years, but the prospect of having to deal with her father and his uncle and questions as to why the two of them hadn’t started having kids yet was also something Killian didn’t really want to encounter on a holiday that, once upon a time, had meant something to him.

So he’d go home after Roland had opened his last gift and eaten dinner by himself and, like clockwork, wondered what Liam would have said if he could see him.

Probably some sort of snarky comment about putting yourself out there and family and friends. And just thinking about that made Killian’s heart clench in his chest.

“I think you should come,” David said pointedly, breaking into Killian’s sidetracked mind and vaguely depressing stream of consciousness.

“I’ll think about it,” he mumbled.

“You have to work?” “No. We close on Christmas. I’m not a monster. I know people have families.” “You could too.” Killian’s jaw ticked again and he pulled his eyes away from his shoes to stare at David, meeting his nervous expression with one of his own. “I’ll think about it,” he said again.

David sighed softly, but nodded, pushing his hands in his pockets. “Alright, well, I’ve got to get back.” “Ok,” Killian said, nodding towards David as he made his way back to the patrol car parked a few feet away. He shivered slightly when the car drove away.

He stood in front of the steps of David and Mary Margaret’s building, a pie in one hand and his prosthetic pushed in his jacket pocket. And an entire pack of butterflies in his stomach.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come.

Maybe she didn’t want him to come.

She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even so much as mentioned Christmas, let alone ask him to come to her family dinner at her brother’s apartment.

David had sent him the address earlier that afternoon – while Killian had been sitting in the middle of a wrapping paper mountain courtesy of Roland Locksley – and he didn’t know, even then, if he was going to go.

He didn’t know until Regina grabbed his arm while he was putting on his jacket a few hours before, a look on her face that almost made him recoil instinctively. “What’s going on?” Killian asked, doing his best to keep his voice light.

“I think you should go,” she said.

“Go where?” “To Emma’s. Obviously.” “How do you know about that?” Regina rolled her eyes at him, as if to say that she knew everything and Killian wasn’t convinced she didn’t. “Ruby told me.” “How does Ruby know?” “I didn’t ask.”

“Of course not.” “Don’t get snippy with me. I’m trying to be encouraging.” “And doing a fantastic job.” Regina rolled her eyes again, adding a dramatic sigh for good measure and smacked the arm she’d been holding tightly just a few moments before. “Go. You should go.” “Emma never even asked me,” he said, not entirely sure what he was arguing. “Her brother did.” “Which is exactly why you should go.” “Explain that one to me.” “He’s trying to prove something. That you’re part of this or however you want to phrase it. And Emma’s terrified also. That’s why she didn’t ask. The possibility of a ‘no’ is more than enough to keep her quiet.” Killian stared at Regina – the small, encouraging smile on her face taking him back for a moment. And he barely even noticed when Roland ran into his leg, trying to show off the model pirate ship he’d practically ripped out of its box earlier that morning. Killian bent down reflexively, pulling Roland up until the boat was sailing the high seas of the back of his leather jacket, Roland muttering about first mates and captains and buried treasure in his ear.

“You think she’s terrified?” Killian asked.

Regina nodded. “Of course she is. As much as you are.” He’d decided to go then.

So, there he was, close to freezing with a pie in his hand and his lower lip tugged between his teeth. Killian yanked his hand out of his jacket pocket, buzzing the apartment and yanking open the door when the lock clicked open.

It felt like he walked up the stairs and down the hall in slow motion – trying to keep his breathing even and the pie in his hand from falling on the floor. The door was already open when he walked around the corner, a body leaning up against the frame and he would have been able to spot that smile just about anywhere.

The stupid pack of whatever in his stomach seemed to exist for an entirely different reason now.

Emma pulled the door shut behind her, meeting him halfway down the hallway with ducked eyes and a soft laugh that seemed to cut right into him. “I would have asked if I’d known you wanted to,” she said, forgoing the preamble and catching Killian off guard.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t have wanted to?” She lifted her eyes, gaze darting over the pie and Emma’s smile got more pronounced as Killian tried not to beam like an idiot at her. “That’s a good question,” she mumbled. “David said he went to the warehouse.” “He did,” Killian agreed, hoping David didn’t also report on what exactly had happened at the warehouse. “Apologized for the background check.” “Finally,” Emma grumbled and the frustration in her voice made him smile more than it probably should have.

“You don’t have to be mad at him, Swan. He was just trying to protect you.” “I don’t need him to do that.” “I don’t doubt that.” Emma’s eyes snapped up – like she was surprised he believed she could take care of herself and her son. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Of course.” “You brought pie?”

“I made pie,” Killian corrected softly.

“Of course,” Emma said, repeating his words back at him. “More pecan?” Killian shook his head. “Didn’t want Henry to get sick of it. Chocolate eggnog. Seemed pretty festive.” “It is,” Emma said softly, like making chocolate-eggnog pie was some sort of declaration of culinary-based love.

It might have been.

“Although,’ she added, hand reaching out to trail along the arm of his coat. “I don’t know that he could get sick of the pecan pie. He liked it a lot.”

And it felt like they weren’t really talking about Henry or dessert options.

But maybe he was reading too much into it.

“I should have asked you to come,” Emma said, lips just a breath away from his and Killian was only a few moments away from dropping the pie on the floor. “I wanted you to come, to be here, I was just…” “Nervous?” “Terrified.” “You don’t have to be. I wanted to be here.”

“I’m glad.”

She moved quickly, surging up on tiptoes and the only warning he got – gripping the pie tightly in his right hand – were Emma’s fingers in his hair before she caught his lips and kissed him in the hallway outside her brother’s apartment. Again.

He couldn’t move his own hand – too preoccupied with keeping dessert off the ancient carpet underneath their feet – and for one crazy moment Killian was stock-still in front of her, only his lips moving against hers. And then he couldn’t quite bring himself to not be touching her – even if it wasn’t really him.

He moved his left arm, prosthetic resting on the small of her back and tugging Emma closer to him until her entire body was molded against his chest and if she was the pecan pie in this metaphor, he was positive he’d never get sick of her.

She pulled away from him far quicker than he would have liked, but her eyes were bright and she was smiling and her voice was just a bit breathless when she spoke again. “You want to come inside?” she asked. “David and Henry are playing some game that I don’t understand at all and Ruth is asking M’s about colors for the baby’s room and it’s a disaster, but the food will be good at least.”

Emma moved slightly – the bottom of her shirt riding up and the fingers of his left hand brushed against her skin. She didn’t move, didn’t jump back, just stood there waiting for an answer, a hopeful look on her face.

“I’ve got no doubt the food is delicious, love,” he said, drawing a low laugh out of her.

The door opened a few feet down the hallway as David leaned through the frame and shot an entertained look their direction. “You two done doing whatever it is new couples do in abandoned hallways?” he yelled. “Because Mary Margaret said the food is ready.”

Killian laughed and Emma groaned, forehead resting against his shoulder. “Come on, Swan,” he said, slinging his arm around her shoulder and tugging him with her towards her brother. “Don’t want to keep Mary Margaret waiting.”

#cs fic #cs ff #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #ouat ff #cs au #ootfp #this is...not going to end well #BUT THERE'S MORE PIE #so you know #it's cool

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ask-de-writer · 6 years

Text

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 11

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Chapter 3a: Kurti

Smiling tolerantly at the girl’s obvious fear, he replied, “By the Dragons, Ch . . . Kurti, isn’t it? I’m only going about the ship for an inspection. I need to see Master Selked on a small matter. That’s all.”

Kurti smiled tentatively in return and said, “True, Sir. Ch . . . your previous cabin-girl did not dress you well. I think that you will gain even more respect if you always dress well.” She paused and considered for a moment before adding, “Unless the part that you are acting needs something else.”

“If it does nothing, it will be remembered to your credit as an honest try to help. In spite of what you may have heard, I do remember those on my side.”

The Captain knocked at the entrance of the shop and waited for Selked’s call of “Enter!” before he did.

Selked’s laconic, “Shouldn’t touch that’un, if I were you,” brought him to a quick stop, fingers only inches away from the pointed shaft.

“I wanted to see it more closely. There seems to be a defect in the bone pattern,” said the Captain mildly.

He took his marking tool of Hag beak, wiped on the mordant bone marking ink and placed his mark onto it, slightly off kilter, and just a touch blurred.

Setting the tool into the last place in a kit box, he closed it and handed it to the Captain.

“This is the kit you want for your little scheme. Sorry that it took as long as it did to make but, as you noticed, I had some trouble getting the Ord spines to take the dye properly.”

“They were, Captain. — — May I ask what the occasion is?”

Lightly Barad returned, “I pride myself on it. By the way, I am planning a game of Three Dragons in my cabin tonight. Would you care to join?”

“My pleasure, Captain. Tonight then!”

“Mister Timms! How goes the effort to find a use for the Ord in fishing?”

He looked up from his work and answered, “This one is the best so far. Out of ten fish, we have gotten less than fifteen tons of meat and lost over half of the hides to contamination.

“The toxin spreads so fast! I have tried infusions in bait, Ord spine in the harpoon points and this. . . We harpooned it in the usual way and pricked it with a spine on a pole to kill it. You can see for yourself. We got the most hide, this time.” He cast a glance at the lean form of the dead predator. “Just over three-fourths.”

Barad nodded his head solemnly. “It was too good an idea not to try. It’s a pity that it didn’t work better.” He walked to a companionway and went down into the ship.

The Purser’s scriptorium was his last stop. The newly pirated Ephemerides were coming along nicely and some copies were already bound.

“Excellent work, Morgu. If we can get twenty copies of each volume, I know just who will buy them and how to promote them.”

Morgu looked up from his high desk in the corner of the room and gave a rare, thin mouthed smile at the praise. “We should have them done by the Gathering, though it will be a near thing.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON'S GIFT #World of Sea #Written by De Writer #Part 11

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