#In my defense this was the last of this butter package and I could either use all of it...

[stellaluna33]

I just had an out-loud argument with myself about the breakfast I was making for myself, like Smeagol/Gollum. "That is way too much butter." "But IS it, really?"

[hurricanery]

If You Went Away - pt. 1

A/N: This story is going to be multiple parts. Inspired by this prompt, this prompt & a couple other prompts requesting Amelink fighting & Scout kind of wrapped up in the middle of it. I’m getting a lot of requests for angst and I’m down with writing angst soooo here we go- I put my own twist on it for the purpose of making it multiple chapters and it kinda ended up more depressing than I intended yikesssss. But also, I promise it gets better/more positive. I made Scout a little older in this story (age 5).

_______

Listen here, listen close

You’re the one I love the most

And if you went away

I don’t know what I’d do

_______

(one year ago)

“You should go,” Amelia mumbles, as she lays in bed, facing Link.

Link raises his eyebrows, frowning slightly. ���I don’t understand,” he speaks slowly. “What changed?”

Amelia furrows her brows, perplexed. “Well nothing changed, technically, I-”

“When I was first offered this job….before Scout was even born,” Link interrupts. “We decided, together, that there were more important things in our lives.”

“Yeah….” Amelia draws out her response. “And I agreed with you then, I guess. But,” she pauses, reaching over to give Link’s bicep a squeeze. “They offered it again. I….just feel like when an opportunity presents itself more than once….there’s more to consider. It has to mean something, right?”

Link just looks at her blankly. There’s a brief silence before Amelia speaks again.

“It’s the Seattle Mariners,” she smiles encouragingly, “It’s your dream job.”

Link nods in agreement. And Amelia tries to ignore what that does to her. Because, even though she’s being encouraging, she knows what underlying feelings are truly there. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, it’s her own guilt that’s causing her to feign encouragement right now. Her own guilt and fear that she’s trapped him here, in this relationship. In this city. In this job. That when she got pregnant in the first place, she’d rushed them into things and forced a relationship. Forced a lifestyle.

She quickly tries to shake her thoughts. Thinking of anything that will make her feel better about this. Anything that will feel like compromise. “It’s only temporary,” she decides. “It’s not like you’ll be gone forever.”

“Right,” Link agrees, reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Amelia’s ear. “Temporary.”

_______

(6 months ago)

‘It’s not like you’ll be gone forever’

Amelia chuckles bitterly at the memory as she walks from her ER consult. It had been 6 months and Link was still away from them, completely consumed by his travel schedule as the Mariners’ team surgeon. He’d come home about once a month, on a weekend, and spend as much time with Amelia and Scout as he could. But, it never felt like enough. Both parents couldn’t ignore the way Scout’s face would fall each Sunday night. When the weekend would close in on them and the knowledge of Link’s early flight out the next day would settle in.

The weekends become less and less. Link’s time allotted to return home becomes more scarce as unforeseen injuries happen on the team. They both know the effect it’s having on Scout.

“Hey, Amelia!” Maggie’s voice interrupts her thoughts as she walks into the attending’s lounge. “I was just going to grab lunch, wanna join me?”

“I’m supposed to FaceTime with Link in a minute, actually…” She trails off as a text message comes in from Link, confirming the call they are about to have.

“Isn’t he coming home this weekend? For Scout’s birthday?”

“Yeah,” Amelia breathes, but she can’t help the worried feeling creeping into her chest. Something about Link’s text seems off. “Yeah, he’s supposed to be.”

Maggie frowns, clearly recognizing Amelia’s distress.

And Amelia forces a smile, sighing deeply. “Well, I’m going to go call him.”

_______

Her intuition was right.

She tries to suppress the anger and resent that threatens to take over as she stares at her phone screen, listening to the words coming out of Link’s mouth. She feels like she’s only gathering certain pieces.

Something about ‘emergency surgery’

And ‘missing his flight’

And ‘I’ll make it up to him I promise’

“We can’t keep doing this to him,” She interrupts Link in the middle of his detailed explanation.

“I know,” he sighs back, through the phone.

“It’s his birthday,” Amelia’s voice almost breaks on the word. “He’s been talking about you all week. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“That I’m sorry,” Link quickly responds. “And I love you guys. And I’ll be home as soon as I can.” He regrets his words the moment he sees Amelia’s face fall in disbelief. Clearly not the response she had wanted.

“Amelia,” He continues. “I did get some good news today.”

“What’s that?”

“I got the approval from my boss. To have Scout with me this summer. When school gets out he can come to all the away games….like we’d planned. What do you think?”

Amelia nods numbly. This was always a part of the plan. They’d promised Scout a summer full of away games when his school break came around. It was something for him to look forward to.

“And you too, obviously,” Link adds. “Whenever your work schedule allows, of course. Think about it! The three of us out here travelling, it’ll be perfect! Everything we’ve wanted!”

Silence falls between them and Amelia zones out momentarily, subconsciously picking at the loose fabric of the couch she’s sitting on in the attending’s lounge.

She doesn’t realize she’s said anything out loud until she feels the shakiness of her own voice.

“I think we should take a break.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think we should….separate. For a while.”

“Amelia…” Link frowns, trying to understand. “We are basically separate right now, we….we never see each other. Aren’t we already kind of-”

“Exactly,” she interrupts.

“I still don’t understand.”

“I think what you just said sums it up perfectly. We basically already are.”

“Yeah, but. This is temporary...I’m coming back. I’m-”

“I mean something a little more permanent.”

Link doesn’t say a word.

“I mean I don’t think I’ll be joining you guys this summer.”

_______

(summer - present day)

The door hesitates open and she’s glass before him. Hard, stoic, refusing to meet his eyes. She’s staring at his feet. Or maybe at the doormat, which ironically reads ‘welcome’ in all capital letters.

Link almost wants to laugh as he reads the word, glancing down at the ‘welcome’ mat, feeling anything but welcome. He almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.  And she’s clearly not in the mood to laugh either.

He can tell by the way that she’s not yet made eye contact that Amelia’s putting up a front. She’s glass. Detached and oh, so stoic.

She sniffs. And clears her throat. And Link reminds himself that glass is shatterable somewhere down the line.

“Hi Amelia,” he speaks. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

"Just fine. You?” Her voice sounds raspy as she answers him, like she hasn’t spoken properly in a while. Or maybe it’s been so long since he’s heard her voice, that Link doesn’t recognize it accurately. He quickly refutes that idea. Impossible.  

"Good.”

The eye contact they manage to hold is scarce, and Amelia darts her eyes away once again, clamping down on her bottom lip with a row of white teeth.

“So I, uh, I’ve packed up all of his things…” her sentence dwindles as she waits for a nod, or something, from Link.

“It’s all in the living room. There’s not much to do…..should be a quick exchange.” She mumbles, shuffling behind the door a little, an effort to let Link inside.

He takes a deep breath before he steps over the threshold.

Amelia clears her throat as she leads the way into the house. She nods toward the pile of Scout’s luggage in the corner. “Everything’s there,” she states plainly. She then turns the corner briefly, yelling up the stairs. “Scout! Come downstairs, your Dad’s here!”

Link watches curiously as he follows Amelia through to the kitchen. She reaches out for a jar of peanut butter and a spoon that’s already been sitting out, like she’d been snacking on it just before Link arrived.

“Really, Amelia?” Link chuckles, offering a small smile. “Peanut butter out of the jar? Is that your dinner?”

“I haven’t grocery shopped in while,” she mutters, mouth full. And Link picks up on a hint of a smile.

Silence fills the space between them as Link starts to gather up some of Scout’s belongings.

“I would’ve stopped and gotten pizza or something for you guys,” he offers, finally.

Amelia just frowns, shrugging off the idea.

“He’s going to get hungry during the car ride Ames-” he stutters on the nickname, then immediately corrects himself. “Amelia.”

He ignores whatever emotion waves across her features as a result of the nickname use. He thinks it might be shock. But then she’s speaking at him, her tone somewhere between disbelief and defensiveness.

“Why are you accusing me of….” She trails off briefly, frustrated at the direction of her thoughts. “Scout ate dinner an hour ago...you thought I just...wasn’t going to feed him? Or-”

“Can we not do this? Right now? Please?” Link cuts her off.

“Do what? I’m just saying-” She stops talking abruptly by the look on Link’s face. Clearly not in the mood to spend his time arguing.

“I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything,” he mutters calmly, hands raised in defense.

“Just pack up the car,” she whispers, suddenly entranced by the ingredients on the peanut butter packaging.

And Link does.

And Amelia busies herself with dishes as Link moves in and out of the house, loading luggage into his car.

_______

Link’s down to the last few items, heading to the front door, when Scout finally comes running down the stairs.

“Dad!” The 5-year-old yells excitedly.

He turns around just in time to witness his little man, having just jumped over the last few steps of the stairs, collapse against him, hugging himself to Link’s legs.

Link chuckles, setting down the stuff he was carrying. “Hey bud! I am so happy to see you! Look at you, you’re so big!”

Scout steps back, looking up at his Dad. “Mom said we get to go to baseball games all summer!”

“That’s true,” he ruffles Scout’s hair. “And…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You get to meet the baseball players, too.”

Scout opens his mouth wide in excitement. There’s practically a sparkle in the kid’s eye and Link loves the sight of it. He has his mother’s eyes, and Link loves the sight of that, too.

“Want to help me finish loading up the car, bud?”

Scout nods enthusiastically, following his Dad outside.

The house is quiet now, and Amelia listens from the kitchen to the distant sounds of her son babbling excitedly outside. An aching feeling rises in her chest and she tries her best to suppress it. She pulls herself together and makes her way toward the front hallway.  Link re-enters the house with Scout trailing behind him moments later.

“You all packed up?” Amelia tries to sound excited as she asks Scout, but her voice just sounds thin and strained.

“Yep!” Scout replies, his energy radiating in such a way that he can barely stand still in his position on the front porch.

“Okay, then. Guess it’s time to go,” Amelia mutters.

And with that Scout takes off, sprinting towards the car eagerly and yelling back at his Dad. “Dad, come on! Come on let’s go!”

“Wait Scout, get back here!” Link yells after him. “Come say goodbye to your Mom first.”

But Scout is already inside the car, climbing into the backseat and mumbling enthusiastically to himself.

“Scout did you hear me?!” Link is starting to sound a little exasperated.  

Still no compliance from the young boy.

“Scout!”

“He heard you, he heard you!” Amelia interrupts, forcing a tight smile. Link looks back at her. “It’s fine, really. We already said goodbye.”

Link frowns. “Okay, but still-”

“Dad!” Scout suddenly yells from the car, interrupting them. “Can we get pizza on the way?!”

Amelia sucks in a breath. But then immediately tries to hide her pain, because this whole interaction just stings.

“Uhhhh,” Link draws out his reaction. “I’ll think about it, buddy. I know you already ate. So we’ll see-”

“Can you just go, please?” Amelia interrupts harshly, her head hanging low, in an attempt to hide her face.

Link frowns, taking in Amelia’s demeanor. Her neck is flushed and she’s clearly upset. And clearly trying to hide it.

“Amelia, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching for her wrist.

He doesn't know why he does it. Muscle memory maybe. An attempt to comfort the woman that looks so breakable before him.

She recoils from his touch, snatching her wrist out of his grasp faster than he’d expect from someone seemingly so apathetic.

She finally looks at Link, and it practically kills him. The way her face twists when she’s trying not to cry.

“Please,” she rasps. “Please just go.”

And Link complies. Amelia wraps her trembling fingers around the door knob as Link goes to leave.

He steps out onto the porch, turning to face Amelia. He wants to say something. And by the look in Amelia’s stinging eyes, he needs to say something. He goes to open his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out, when Amelia swiftly shuts the door.

He stands there, frozen.

Long enough to hear the broken sob from the other side of the door.

Long enough to feel his heart sink, and for an ache to develop in the back of his throat.

But he turns around. He forces a smile on his face and walks toward the car, locking eyes with his bright-eyed son in the back seat. He walks away from Amelia.

_______

[topsytervy]

Scotcharoos ~ Pope Heyward

Blurb: you decide to make some of your grandma's scotcharoo bars with a little bit of help from your boyfriend, Pope.

Word Count: 1,273

Warnings: swearing, grammar/spelling mistakes, i think thats it

I'm going to add this just in case you don't know what scotcharoo bars are. They're basically just rice krispie treats but you add peanut butter in with the rice krispies and top it with a mixture of melted chocolate chips and butterscotch chips. A very poor and vague description but that's all they are. Nothing really special about them but everyone in my family (myself included) go absolutely nuts for them and I wrote this cause my grandma just sent me a chunk of scotcharoo bars from the batch she just made.

~~~~

Pope looked over your shoulder as you poured in the mixture you just brought off the stove, a confused look on his face. “What exactly are these again?” Your boyfriend questioned.

“They’re scotcharoo bars. My grandma always makes them. It’s basically kind of like peanut butter Rice Krispie treats with chocolate on top.” You explained.

You had practically grown up with scotcharoo bars and it was usually something your grandma made at least two pans of since everyone in your family always went back for more. Tears were often shed when you were a child cause everyone always seemed to nag them before you could get one and if you did, by chance, happen to get one, one of your older cousins snagged it from you, using the same ‘they’re bad for your teeth, we’re doing you a favor’ excuse every single time.

Not anymore though because after an hour and a half on the phone with your grandmother and a very casual ‘I haven’t had scotcharoos in so long’, you had a package in your arms a week and a half later containing, not only the bars themselves but your grandmother’s recipe as well.

Take that cousins.

So now here you were, spatula in hand as you poured the Rice Krispie cereal into the metal mixing bowl you had down.

You handed Pope the bowl. “Can you mix this together please while I get the chocolate and butterscotch chips and start melting it?”

Pope nodded as he took the bowl from your hands, beginning to mix the ingredients together.

You grabbed the butterscotch chips and chocolate chips, pouring them into a microwavable bowl before putting them in the microwave for a minute.

As Pope continued mixing, you pulled out a pan and buttered it well.

"You eat these a lot growing up, sweetheart?" Pope asked, looking at you.

You nodded. "Every holiday and birthday, scotcharoos were there. There was never one left in the pan because they were either all eaten by the time you went home or you were taking some home with you." You smiled at the memories brought back by making the simple recipe.

Pope smiled. "Well, I can’t wait to try them."

You grabbed a fork as the microwave beeped, stirring the chocolate and butterscotch mixture before putting them in for another minute, figuring that it would be thoroughly melted after that.

"I have one last bar my grandma sent me that you can have a piece of." You offered, walking towards your counter.

Pope feigned shock. "You would share a dessert you love so much with me?" He teased.

"Unless you don't want it, then I'll just…" You trailed off, bringing the treat closer to your mouth.

"No. I'll take it. Save you from a cavity." He placed the bowl down and grabbed the bar from your hand.

He couldn't lie, it did look rather delicious, and listening to you rave about it all the time constantly made him wonder what these infamous treats taste like.

He took a bite as you picked up the bowl, mixing the Rice Krispies in a little more.

"You know what? These aren't half bad." Pope nodded, taking another bite once he swallowed his first one.

You took the bowl over to the pan and spread the mixture out, patting it down as you nodded. "It honestly wasn't a family get-together unless these bad boys were there. I'm pretty sure half my cousins only showed up to see if the scotcharoos were there."

The microwave beeped and Pope went and grabbed the bowl handing it to you as you grabbed the spatula.

"Thank you," You pecked his lips as you took the bowl.

You stirred the chocolate and butterscotch again, making sure it was all mixed up and melted before pouring it on top of the Rice Krispies, spreading it as evenly as you could with the spatula.

"And now we wait for it to all cool and set." You grinned once you were finished, holding the spatula out towards Pope. "Wanna lick it clean?"

Pope took the spatula from your hand. "Hell yeah."

You giggled at his excitement as you picked up the pan and brought it to the fridge to hopefully make the treats cool down faster.

Pope gathered up the dishes and brought them to the sink, filling it with warm water and a little dish soap. He turned and leaned his back against the counter as he waited for the sink to fill, watching you as you made room for the pan in the fridge. Once you were sure that nothing would fall out, you stood up straight and closed the door, turning to face your boyfriend.

“They should be ready to eat soon.” You told him, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Yeah. You’re gonna eat a meal first though. By the time you’re done with your food, dessert will be ready.” Pope pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Well, I made dessert so that means you get to make lunch.”

Pope shrugged. “Easy, peasy, m’lady.”

“Oh, really? What are you going to make?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Mac and Cheese.” You laughed at his answer and he grinned. “I said it was easy peasy.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Mac and Cheese is pretty easy peasy.”

****

After your lunch, which consisted of mac and cheese with little pieces of a hot dog thrown in it, you got up and walked over to your fridge, pulling out the pan of scotcharoos and grabbing a knife. You cut them into squares before grabbing two pieces from the pan and walking over to Pope, handing him one.

“Why, thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” You smiled as you kissed his forehead before taking a bite of the treat.

“I’m going to be honest,” Pope told you, “Still good but not as good as the piece you had me try.”

You nodded. “I agree 100% but, in my defense, my grandma has been making these for god only knows how long and this is my first time making them.”

“Fair point.” Pope popped the rest of the bar into his mouth. “After a few more tries, I’m sure they’ll be as good as your grandmas and we’ll be serving them up at Christmas parties as well.”

“Oh? We’ll be serving them? So you’re going to help next time?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I always help in the kitchen.” Pope defended himself.

“Yeah. Help make a mess.” You laughed and Pope’s jaw dropped.

“Clearly you’ve never cooked with John B or JJ. I swear to god, JB once got egg on the ceiling. Like, how does one do that?”

You shrugged. “Talent.”

Pope rolled his eyes. “My point is, I am very helpful in the kitchen. You just like picking on me.”

You grinned as you sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, your half-eaten bar in your hand. “Of course I like to pick on you. You’re mine to pick on, Pope.”

It was Pope’s turn to laughed as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed and that’s when you felt your bar get snatched form your hand. Your eyes snapped open and you saw Pope pop the rest of your treat into his mouth, humming at the taste.

You crossed your arms and pouted. “That was a dirty move on your part.”

“And I’m sure you’ll get me back at dinner when you steal some of my food so think of this as a pre-payment for what you take off my plate later.”

~~~~~

[hotspringfairy]

I know you’ve probably already been asked this many times but how did you get started? I’m currently struggling on how to start because I’m 5’4 and about 318. It’s the heaviest I’ve been and I get discouraged that I’ll never be able to figure it out. I’m so happy for all you’ve accomplished and I hope someday I can inspire someone too, just like you’ve inspired me.

No, I don't get asked questions lol and I'm not convinced that this is even real, but I'm going to answer it anyways because it's a very nice question either way.

First I'd like to say that I'm still figuring out my path and I've lost and regained lots of weight over my life. Things feel different this time, but only time will tell. Also, I've found that there is no one answer to losing weight, just what works for me personally. So take whatever I say with a grain of salt.

I didn't pick a diet or meal plan this time like I usually would. I decided that unlike before, I wasn't going to cut any foods out. For me, over-restriction leads to binging. I knew I needed to eat more vegetables and fruits and that I needed to eat out less.

At the time I liked to get the PB&J box from Starbucks as lunch. So I brought peanut butter, jelly, and bread into work and started making my own sandwiches. The boxes come with baby carrots and apple slices, so I'd have baby carrots or some celery and a piece of fruit too (apples and bananas cuz they're so convenient, grapes and berries too).

That's kinda how I started. It's not a perfect lunch, but it got me in the habit of making my own lunch instead of eating out and it was an upgrade. "Progress, not perfection" is practically my mantra. After that, I mimicked the chicken hummus box from Starbucks. I bought pre-cooked packaged chicken, hummus, pita bread, sugar snap peas, and red pepper strips.

Once I was in the habit of taking in lunches that I liked, I started figuring out better things I could have for breakfast. I focused in on really establishing a few habits at a time.

Before, I got way too caught up about optimizing my food. For example, I wouldn't eat apples or grapes because they are a higher-sugar fruit. I wouldn't eat apples. Apples. I'm doing much better by not worrying so much about sugar, hormones, eating "clean," etc. It doesn't need to be that complicated. Losing weight is hard and takes effort, but it doesn't mean you have to suffer and it doesn't mean you need to optimize everything. Just do better. Progress, not perfection.

The next big thing is that I started counting my calories. This isn't for everyone, but it's really helped me. It's rather tedious, but it gets easier and I've learned so much. I've also realized that I couldn't just eat like a 150 lb person when I was 250 and just hope my body would catch up- that doesn't work. I had to eat like a 240 lb person until I was that weight, then start eating like a 235 lb person and so on. It's been so helpful to me to lower my calories more slowly rather than go balls-to-the-walls on some low-calorie diet that was never meant for someone trying to lose 100+ pounds. I can do those and lose weight, but it always comes back.

I aim to eat foods that fit in my calorie range but also fill me up (low-calorie-dense foods). I try to include a serving or 2 of vegetables at most meals, a serving of protein, and some healthy fats. I also aim to eat 2 or more servings of fruit a day. I try to focus on what I'm adding to my diet and not what I'm taking away.

I also eat out still (especially chicken strips which used to be a trigger food for me). I eat chocolate pretty much everyday. I have lots of days where I go over on my calories and I always will. I don't feel like I've "fallen off the wagon" now though, even when I overeat or eat "unhealthy," because doing that occasionally is normal and ok- it's all part of my "diet." Honestly, the cliche of not going on a diet but making real lifestyle changes that are sustainable is key.

The last thing is that I've been working on my mental health. I was actually addressing this outside of weightloss, but realized how tied together the 2 really are. It's a sad reality that many people who struggle with their weight have had some sort of trauma- especially of the sexual nature. I've been working on processing my trauma. I've realized that I use food to: numb my feelings, escape, comfort myself, to feel better temporarily. I'm still working on that. I've found other ways to comfort myself besides with food, but the other ones I'm still working on.

My fat is also a defense mechanism- it protects me physically and socially. It's hard to let go of that protection. I think it's important to reflect on the potential anxiety and discomfort that losing weight can bring.

I hope you don't mind this super-long answer, I actually tried to keep it short- I have a lot more to say. It's odd to hear that I've inspired someone when I'm still struggling so much, but thank you for saying so. I constantly worry that I don't have it figured out, but I just keep going anyways.

I wish you well and I know you can do this! I'd love to hear how you're doing!

[idontknowwhatyoumean]

lbotw countdown day 1

@lbotw-countdown-event

I’m very late but oh well. Thanks for organising this event!

22 August 2020

Prompt: Bromance

Summary: Alec and Lily in a Coffee Shop!AU

—

Quote that this prompt reminded me of:

“Sleep, Lily,” Alec said, gently. “I’ll watch the doors.”

—

It was early in the morning and already the coffee shop was filling with rather quickly with disgruntled businessmen and bleary-eyed college students all waiting in line for their daily shot of caffeine. It was Alec and Lily’s shift, as it was most early mornings and late evenings, and Lily manned the cash register as Alec brewed the drinks.

They were an efficient team, and morning rushes weren’t too much of a problem for them; Lily was a had been working at the cafe for a rather long time and Alec was particularly good with remembering the drinks and making them quickly and accurately. They had the same shifts for a while now, after they had managed to get past the initial awkwardness and frostiness that came with not understanding the other’s particular brand of humour and contrary personalities. Lily was playful and cheeky, but she could also be serious and earnest, and sometimes she was both; Alec hadn’t been able to figure out when she was what for the longest and that threw him for a loop. Alec, on the other hand, had amused Lily to no end with his socially awkward nature the first time they met and it was only after witnessing his blunt tendencies that she began to respect him as well.

And now, well, now they were pretty good friends. Really good friends, if Alec was being honest with himself.

“Hey, Alec!” She called out, and Alec could already hear the mischief in her voice. “One order of pure black with a dollop of annoying blond and on the side!”

Translation: Jace and Clary were here. And probably Izzy and Simon too. Alec suppressed a groan as he completed the last few of his orders and peeked round the counter to see the line. Unfortunately, the early morning horde had thinned out and there were only one or two regulars in the shop. He could spot his siblings crowding up the front of the counter, no one else behind them. Surprisingly, he couldn’t see Simon, his sister’s boyfriend.

After confirming his fears, he dipped back behind the row of large coffee machines, hurrying to escape his siblings. He loved them, truly, and was grateful for their presence in his life. Except during his work shifts. Somehow, his and Izzy’s constant presence and teasing of Jace during his work shifts at the art supply store next to Garroway Books during Alec’s Junior year of high school had backfired on him. Upon Jace’s quitting of his part time job at the art supplies store (thanks in part to him and Clary starting to date and the large number of new workers and customers Jace had managed to attract during his tenure as art supplies salesperson) and Alec’s employment at the coffee shop to pay his share of the bills, Alec and Izzy’s tradition had evolved into Jace and Izzy’s tradition of disrupting another sibling at his place of work.

The payback was not fun.

“Hey Alec!” Jace hooted at him from beyond the counter. “Oh, come on. Izzy, can you believe this guy?”

Alec tuned out his sister’s response as hands even moved quicker than normal to brew Clary’s favourite daily beverage. He could already feel the tips of his ears flushing red and cursed how the empty the coffee shop was at the moment. His siblings, no matter how cheeky and disruptive they could be, normally toned down their teasing and loudness when there were more people. Alec would gladly take on twelve more elaborate six word coffee orders if it meant not dealing with the teasing.

“You’re so dramatic,” Lily laughed at him as she came up to him, eyeing the takeaway cup of coffee in his hands. “And here I thought that was Magnus’ thing.”

Alec wordlessly passed her the cup, only to be dragged by her out to the front.

“Here you go,” Lily smirked down at Clary, who looked a little embarrassed at Jace and Izzy’s antics.

She grinned up at both her and Alec. “Ahhh coffee, my love. Thanks, guys.” She then leaned forward towards Alec in an exaggerated whisper, “I’m sorry about these guys. They overheard Simon apologising about not being able to meet for coffee and decided it was only their duty to accompany me instead.”

“And where is Simon?”

“Oh, he has an early meeting with his band.”

“And how nice of you to join us, big brother,” Izzy said, her arm propped up on the counter and giving Alec the most innocent gaze that Alec definitely didn’t believe.

“Or rather, how nice of Lily to bring you out here,” Jace cut in. “Is your brain getting stale from all the caffein you’ve been inhaling all day?”

Alec rolled his eyes at them. “Why are you the way that you are?”

“Payback, brother mine,” Jace grinned at him and Izzy laughed.

“Just wait til you get a job, Iz,” Alec muttered.

“Oh thanks for the concern, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get some part time work at an office or somewhere. You might let your guard down in an obscure art supply store, Alec, but I know you wouldn’t do anything if I worked somewhere else. Jace was just unlucky.”

Alec didn’t really have anything to say to that. “Okay, okay, now that you’ve had your share of fun embarrassing me at my place of work, why don’t you go run off now — ”

“No way, don’t make them go! This is too much fun!” Maia, one of the few regulars still in the coffee shop, chimed in. She lifted her large cup to her lips to hide her smile at Alec’s subsequent glare.

“Don’t you guys have school or something?” Alec pleaded, casting a glance at Clary.

“Yes, yes we do,” she said, hooking an arm around Jace’s and leading them out the store. “Come on guys, we can come see him again next week or something.”

—

“Thank the angel,” Alec muttered as he retreated sulkily back behind the coffee machines. Lily followed him and Alec turned an eye on her. “And I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t help much either.”

“Of course,” she said breezily. “Why would I turn down such prime entertainment for no good reason? Oh don’t look at me with those disappointed blue eyes.”

Alec turned away from her just as the front door opened with a ding and Lily left to tend to the order. From what he could hear of her sultry “Well, hello”, he could deduce that the customer was hot. From her next “well of course, we can help you with that, you delicious peanut-butter-and-Jem sandwich”, Alec knew who it was and what his order would be.

Alec took several steps towards the cash register and was right. Jem Carstairs was standing at the counter, waiting patiently for Lily to package up two boxes. Will Herondale (Jem’s best friend? boyfriend? Alec was kind of unclear) was waiting behind him.

“Hello, Alec,” Jem greeted politely. “How have you been? How’s Magnus?”

Alec had heard of Jem and Will, and their friend (girlfriend? Alec was also unclear) Tessa, though he didn’t know any of them them well. They had been in the year above him at school, a close, exclusive group, and Alec wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. And there was also the fact that Alec and Izzy had almost gotten into a fight with Will back at the start of middle school when Jace had been adopted by the Lightwoods instead of moving in with his aunt and uncle and cousin Will. It had been complicated back then.

“Hi, Jem, Will,” Alec greeted back. “I’ve been fine. And Magnus is as magnificent as ever.”

Jem and Will traded secret grins at that, accompanied by a teasing (or at least, Alec hoped it was teasing) eye roll from Will who commented, “Oh, I’m sure he would love to hear that.”

“Ah, here you go with your snacks, Brother Snackariah.” Lily had packaged the two boxes into a bag and was holding it out for Jem. He took it was a smile, thanked her and left the the cafe.

“Ah yes the diamond Jem Come-and-stare never fails to disappointed,” Lily sighed.

“He’s nice,” Alec agreed mildly.

“Oh, I forgot,” Lily complained. “You’re with Monogamous Bane. Boring.”

Alec laughed at her expression. It had been things like this — Lily’s deadpan, serious teasing — that had been difficult for Alec to tell whether she meant it as an insult or a joke that had initially roused so much defensiveness from him. Not to mention that he had met her as a friend of Magnus’ even before they started working together and she and her group of friends had all teased Alec the same way, which Alec had definitely not appreciated.

“Oh,” Lily blinked up at the cafe clock. “It’s almost ten. Well, you have to get going to class. Unless… you want to spend the rest of the day with the amazing me?”

Alec shook his head and suppressed a grin (Lily shouldn’t be encouraged). “See you later, Lily.”

“Oh, boring.”

—

It was raining lightly when Alec came in for his evening shift. He didn’t have an umbrella with him and so had to brave the storm with only his backpack and was incredibly thankful that he hadn’t needed his laptop that day.

Lily gave him and his damp clothes a raised eyebrow as she drawled out a greeting over the counter. “Had a little date with the rain, Lightwood? Tsk tsk, I know a little someone who would be incredibly jealous someone else got to tousle those ‘silky smooth’ locks of yours.” She gestured to the 

“Hello to you too, Lily,” Alec said. “Do we have any spare towels?”

“In the back.”

Alec stepped into the backroom, dumping his bag by the door and grabbing one of the towels to dry off. By the end, his hair was fluffed up by the towel, sticking up and in a general mess. Alec attempted to flatten it down to its usual state, to no avail, and he quietly resigned himself to his fate, reaching over to take his staff apron and putting it on.

When he came out the backroom, he was greeted by Lily’s peals of laughter.

“Oh, Alec,” she grinned. “Your hair.”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Alec grumbled, taking refuge at his usual spot. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

She shook her head. “Wow, aren’t you lucky your siblings aren’t here right now.”

That thought was just dreadful and he groaned.

“Don’t worry, they aren’t,” she told him. “And get moving. You’re just in time for an order of sugar-free vanilla latte with two shots of expresso.”

And Alec was whisked into the normal bustle of the shop’s evening fans. The coffee shop didn’t serve any heavy food or drinks, only a few cakes and pies, so it wasn’t as popular at that time of day when most people were looking to get dinner. Unless your dinner was cake.

“Don’t look now, Alec,” Lily called. “But there’s a special someone here to see you.”

Alec knew that tone.

He took the few steps that separated him from Lily’s place at the cashier and his heart gave an absolutely embarrassing start at the sight of bright eyes and a loving smile. Unbidden, his own lips lifted into what he was sure was a sappy smile as well.

“Well, Magnus,” Lily grinned. “What would you like to order?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Magnus said flippantly. “Maybe a mocha. Maybe a surprise. Oh, but definitely that hottie standing next to you.” And he dropped Alec is glittery wink.

Alec could definitely feel his face heating up a little — even after two years, he wasn’t quite used to Magnus’ flirtations — and the heat worsened at the sound of Lily’s reply of “oh, we can definitely do that.”

“Lily!” Alec noticed, for the first time, the small group of people standing behind Magnus. Raphael Santiago, Lily’s closest friend, somehow managed to look appalled whilst sporting a grumpy scowl. “We do not encourage Bane’s disasters.”

“Oh, then I suppose we can’t help you, Magnus,” Lily told him serenely. “I suppose you’ll have to find your own way to wooing Alec here.”

“Lily,” Alec chided, exasperated.

“Yeah, let’s move on so the rest of us can get an order,” Ragnor complained from his spot at the back of the group, next to Catarina who just smiled indulgently. 

“Well, why don’t you surprise me with a drink, Alec?” Magnus smiled at him.

��Leave it to me.”

Truth be told, Magnus was a total coffee snob. He could be very picky about his coffee and  usual only drank from the most artisanal of coffee places. He mostly only stepped foot in a regular coffee shop when he was either meeting friends, or wanted to see Alec.

“There’s that sappy smile of yours,” Lily commented, sidling up to him, a sticky note in her hand. “Here are the rest of the orders. I’ll handle Raphael’s.”

Raphael was kind of difficult to please. Alec knew, more or less, how to deal with him in person, but his coffee order was something he didn’t have much confidence in. Ragnor and Catarina, on the other hand, had extremely simple order (plain and strong tea and coffee respectively).

They worked silently together, experienced hands moving quickly through the motions, and Alec felt happy.

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Daegu Quarantine

Jungkook x reader

Gang/ zombie apocalypse au

Warnings:

Gore, violence, zombies, mention of drugs and drug dealing, weapons discharge in self defense, main character death, zombies, course language, zombies, drinking, did I mention zombies?

Summary:

They were the top of their game, known throughout the city as the smartest and most dangerous crew to ever hit the Daegu streets. But what’s going to happen when this group of young men encounter something right out of a horror film?

Word count:2423

Part 7===Part 8===Part 9

Chapter 8

The interior of the warehouse was utter chaos. Bodies scattered across the warehouse floor like fallen autumn leaves making way for winter.

I reached my hand towards Jungkook, seeking a moment of comfort in the warmth of his palm as we made our way towards the back rooms of our operations.

The front area had been designated as just that, a front. There had been a slew of workers, all tasked with packaging various types of cheap Chinese makeup from overseas distributors to be shipped out to stores all over the city. But our real business had taken up the offices that were tucked away down a maze of hallways at the back of the building.

I eyed the frosted glass panes of the office doors we passed, many of which were shattered. I knew, or at least really hoped, that everyone had been sent home and that each one of those rooms was empty.

I’d finally let go of Jungkook’s hand, returning mine to the death grip I preferred on the side and handle of my piece. Glass crunched beneath our feet and I glanced down, shivering at the chill that flushed my skin at the brownish splatters and stains coating the floor.

I clicked my tongue as quietly as possible, drawing Kook’s attention to me as I nodded down. His eyes hardened as he spotted what I had. It seemed the blood was trailing in the same direction we were heading and the sight had Jungkook immediately straightening his spine.

I knew what this meant for him. Every person that worked for us, their families and personal lives, Jungkook knew them all. By name and face he’d committed them to memory because as he said ‘We wouldn’t be where we are today if it weren’t for the hard work of us and the people around us’.

Minhyuk and Sungjae were our overnight security guards. Tasked with ensuring the safety of our product as well as ensuring we were always on schedule with anything that didn’t get done during the day. They’d proven themselves trustworthy time and again and the idea that either of them was in trouble was almost as heartbreaking to the two of us as if our main crew of 8 were in danger.

I steeled myself as we came up to the last door of the hall. It’d been designated as Jungkook’s office and we knew that if the two of them would be anywhere it would be right behind that door.

Jungkook turned to me, weapon at the ready as he signaled for me to keep an eye down the hall behind us. I nodded, turning my back to him and extending my arms out and raising them to chest level as I scanned the area with my gun ready and safety off while Jungkook did his thing.

We both knew any noise would draw the attention of the things shuffling outside the walls. But he had no choice at this point.

“Minhyuk...Sungjae?” His harsh whisper echoed far less than I thought it would and mentally I sighed in relief. The sound of shuffling came from just behind the door and after a moment of silence a quiet voice whispered back through the closed door.

“Boss? That you?”

I almost lost it at the quiet sound of Minhyuk’s voice. Though it sounded choked and tired it was very much alive and before Jungkook could even react I’d pushed my way past him and up to the large frosted glass window.

“Minhyuk? Are you okay? What happened? Where’s Sungjae?”

The tattered remnants of a sob stopped my slew of whispered questions in their tracks. I pulled back from the door, seeking Jungkook’s body heat in the dark as I waited for a reply.

“D...don’t open the door boss. I...S...Sungjae got bit...he’s real sick and...I th...I think he’s gonna turn into one of those things.”

Jungkook cursed under his breath, pulling me out of the way as if he could shield me from the closed door.

“What happened Minhyuk? Tell me.” His voice though quiet held all of the authority that the leader of Bangtan held.

A quiet whimper swept the corridor and I quickly recognized it as Sungjae whimpering in pain.

“Fuck Jungkook, we’ve got to do something. They’re gonna die in there if we don’t hurry up.”

Kook glanced back at me, a sadness and resignation in his eyes that I recognized as him chalking this up as a lost cause. I shook my head emphatically, wanting so desperately to deny the truth in front of me as I clung to Jungkook’s arm.

“Please, we have to do something. At least save…”

I was interrupted by a sound that send immediate chills down my spine. The sound of chattering teeth echoing through the door and almost immediately following after the click of Jungkook releasing the safety on his gun.

***

Jungkook and I exited the hall back onto the main floor, hearts heavy and yet eyes still alert as we knew that danger was still all around us.

Minhyuk’s last words still echoed in my head.

‘I don’t want to leave him alone...he’s gonna need me on the other side.’

I struggled to push the grief as far down as it could go, opting instead to drape the persona of the Boss’s other half around me like a shield.

With the thought my spine instantly straightened, eyes radiating cold fury as I surveyed the bodies of the dead surrounding me. This wasn’t the time or place for weakness. I had to push forward.

My silent thoughts were interrupted by a series of gunshots from outside. These shots couldn’t possibly have been from Yoongi and Daphne as all of their sniper rounds were silence.

Jungkook and I bolted across the warehouse floor, each tucking to one side of the broken in doors so that we could peak out into the street beyond and assess the situation. I hissed in a breath when I spotted the problem.

Yoongi was just across the street, having come from the same alley we’d used to cross the street with his pistol raised and he back turned to us as he tried to fend off the monsters pressing him out from cover and into the open spaces of the city street.

Tucked close to his side was a limp form, though her arm was raised as well as she attempted to cover them from behind.

“Kook, I think Daphne’s hurt.” I whispered across the doorframe. Jungkook nodded, eyes hard as he screwed his spare silencer onto the barrel of his weapon.

“Pick off what you can find babe. Try not to lose your cover.”

I gave him a nod, eyes now trained on the rapidly shuffling forms making their way towards our two pinned down friends. One by one I dropped my targets, ducking down several times when I thought I was being spotted but in general just making sure the two figures I was trying to protect had the ability to get across the street.

By the time Yoongi and Daphne crossed the threshold I was running towards the low end of my clip and so with a quick glance in Jungkook’s direction I took Daphne’s weight from Yoongi and dragged her into the relative safety of the warehouse.

“Yoongi!” Grabbing the hilt of the machete I pulled it from my waistband and tossed it his way.

In one fluid motion he snatched the weapon from the air, spinning on his heel to quickly sever the head of a shuffling form behind him.

“Man, I forgot how hot he looks when he’s fighting like that.” Daphne chuckled as I snorted, though the shared mirth didn’t last long as I lowered her to the ground beside a stack of boxes. A whimper of pain escaped her lips as she grasped her leg.

I huffed out a breath when I spotted the blood seeping through the dark material of her pants.

“I’m gonna have to cut that open to treat it Daphne. That okay?” Gnawing on my lower lip I watched as the color began slowly draining from her already pale skin.

“Mmm...do what you gotta do. I’ve had worse injuries.” She grunted, pulling the strap of her rifle over her head and undoing it just to tie the leather length around the width of her thigh. Shaping a knot she pulled it tight but just as she tightened it her eyes went wide.

“Y/n! Behind you!”

Snatching the rifle from her lap I whipped around, smashing the barrel into the face of a creature that’d come up behind me and dropping it to the ground. Flipping the rifle over in my hands I aimed it with precision, pulling the trigger and dispatching the creature before it could regain its bearings.

“Guys, we got a problem.” I grabbed Daphne beneath her armpits, hauling her up and throwing her arm over my shoulder as I eyed the creatures shuffling towards us from the depths of the warehouse.

“Kind of busy babe.” Jungkook’s words were clipped as his attention was to those trying to seek entrance from the outside. But a glance behind him caused him to curse when he saw that Daphne and I were about to be pinned down.

“Boss, go. I’ve got these ones. Get the girls.” Yoongi slashed the machete through the creature in front of him, the blade sliding through like butter and cleaving it cleanly in two.

Jungkook let out a curse, finishing off the creature he’d been grappling with and moving as quickly as he could to Daphne’s other side. “Here, let me take her. Clear a path to the offices,we’ll be right behind you.”

Anxiety ate at me as I let Daphne’s weight rest on Jungkook. I knew he was strong enough to manage her and true to form he’d swept her off her feet, cradling her in his arms as I pulled her pistol out of its holster and handed it to her.

Chaos ensued as I took charge of our defense. I tucked my pistol away for the moment, opting to use the sniper rifle to plug as many of the monsters as I could while ensuring none of them got too close to my two charges. The clip ran empty just as we made it to the first office door. 

I turned my back to Jungkook and Daphne as they attempted to get the door open, hoping that Yoongi wouldn’t be too far behind me. Unfortunately he was surrounded, fighting off two creatures at his front while his back was pressed to one of the many pillars that held up the roof of the warehouse.

I caught the sound of the door behind me opening, letting me know that Jungkook had managed to get the door of the office opened. I dropped to one knee, raising the sights to my face as I focused in on one of the creatures.

Exhaling slowly I calmed myself, pushing the adrenaline to the side as I allowed what little calm I had within me to take hold. After a moment more I squeezed the trigger, flinching as the recoil of the weapon almost forced my shoulder out of its socket.

It didn’t matter though as my bullet had reached its intended target, taking out the creature just as Yoongi managed to dispatch the other.

“Yoongi, get your ass in here!” I called, raising to my legs once again and slowly backing into the office.

With a heavy sigh I leaned against the brick wall, trying desperately to push aside the fear that’d been threatening to over take me.

Yoongi closed the door behind him, glancing around at us to make sure we were all there before handing the machete back to me.

“Yoongi, what the hell happened out there?” Jungkook demanded.

“We were ambushed.” Yoongi choked out as he watched Jungkook gently lay Daphne on the cool concrete of the warehouse floor.

Her breathing was harsh, more of a rasp as she inhaled in what could only be described as a death rattle as she choked out the stored air in her lungs.

“Christ, this looks bad.” Jungkook crouched before her, seeking permission from her which she gave with a nod before tearing away at the cloth covering her tattered and bleeding leg.

She whimpered from the pain and Yoongi moved quickly, sitting beside her and pulling her into his lap as he readjusted the cloth covering her head. “I...fuck…” 

The curse sounded strange on her lips as she leaned forward to grab at her leg. “I was trying to get out of Yoongi’s way when one of those things grabbed me by the ankle. I’m pretty sure...it...it bit me.”

Yoongi placed a trembling hand against her forehead, hissing at the heat as he jerked his hand away. “Fuck you’re burning up Daphne!”

Jungkook jumped up, pulling me away from the two as if just being near her would infect me.

“I’ve...I’ve not got long before I turn nae jagiya...please...please don’t let me become one of those things.” She turned in his arms, placing a hand to his cheek and streaking it with her blood.

He let out a quiet sob that broke my heart, shattered it into a million pieces as I watched the tears stream down the cheeks of the strongest man I knew.

“Fuck Daph, don’t ask me to do that. I...I fucking can’t. Please don’t ask me to do this!” He pulled her closer to him, burying his face into the crease of her neck.

I could see her body begin to tremble with the energy it took to keep conscious. “Yoongi...you have to...it’s...she’s really not got long.” I choked on my words, turning into Jungkook’s chest as I broke down.

And yet despite my sobs I could still hear her whispered words to him.

“Just let me go Suga. I...I’m tired. I’m sorry it had to end like this but...I really did love you...just, please...do my this one last favor?”

“Could...you guys give us a moment?”

I heard Jungkook answer as he began to lead me from the room. And as my knees gave out and I dropped to the floor, all the while supported by Jungkook’s strong arms, I heard it.

One single shot to end it all. And her spark of life was gone.

[thotteus-beaumont]

Lover’s Cross

Summary: "Cause now it seems that you wanted a martyr...Just a regular guy wouldn't do. But baby I can't hang upon no lover's cross for you” ~ Jim Croce. Pete Moore & Henry Devlin are both absolutely sure they have nowhere left to go but down...

Ship: Henry/Pete & background Jonesy/Beaver 

Words: 6,398

His father had once told a much younger version of Pete that ignorance was bliss. And when he’d asked him what ‘ignorant’ meant, he just smiled and handed him his orange juice. And as he usually did, Pete did not press the subject any further. Instead he’d sipped on his juice.

Pete had been feeling nostalgic lately. And not in the good way--no, this made him feel sick. His throat would close up and it would be impossible for him to catch his breath. He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut for a second or two as he continued walking up and down the kitchen area in his apartment. He pressed his thumb against the side of his nose. He was getting that feeling you get when you drink too much soda and the fizz sort of creeps uncomfortably at your nose, giving you a weird half-headache. Just a tiny echo of the usual hang-over he’d wake up with. 

This Tuesday morning there was no real hang-over...just the phantom memory of one that his brain put on because the feeling of waking up without one was just too uncomfortable.  

He shot Jonathan down at least a good 4 times before the man had somehow wormed his way into Pete’s affectionate heart. Coming up on a year in just a few short days and Jonathan was standing in their apartment and calling-in sick to excuse them from a nice Holiday work party at his office. 

Pete scraped his thumbnail down his lip and thought about how the speed-limit for the busy street near them had gone down some but the yellow car he spotted through the large window didn’t seem to care. 

“Done is done.” Jonathan flung the home-phone onto the couch and looked up with an expectant face. 

“Do you want a ‘thanks’? I didn’t ask you to do that-” Pete went on the defensive but that only seemed to piss his boyfriend off. 

“But I had to do it. Ain’t worth a shit if you say thanks or not, Pete. Tender is the night, babe and I can’t have you inebriated in front of my co-workers again and turning that mood into...that." He vaguely gestured to Pete with an exhausted sense of familiarity. 

“I was barely drunk, John. No one noticed-” 

“Janine asked me if you were in A.A., Pete!” Jonathan sighed with restrained irritation. Pete fell silent and turned away from the conversation. “Look, I know that you’re trying...I know that-” 

Pete pursed his lips together. “For your sake. I don’t personally think it’s a problem, John. You want me to drink a little less, yeah-I can do that, no problem. But swearing it off entirely just because your secretary thinks two beers is A.A. worthy?” 

Jonathan groaned and leaned against the small counter. “You had more than two and you Goddamn know that so I won’t pick on that comment.” He rolled his eyes and ignored Pete’s returned gesture. “Do you really want me to be doing this for you for ever?” 

Pete turned on his heels and cocked his head to the side. 

“Meaning, having to pick you up from parties you can’t drive yourself home from, take care of you because you won’t do it yourself? Goddamn defend your actions to my concerned co-workers?” Jonathan waved his arms about and shook his head. “For every night you spent sober and laughing with me, there were at least six nights spent with me worrying about whether or not I’ll have to keep turning you on your side so you don’t choke on your vomit!” 

Pete blinked away some stress tears, a habit he seemed to have picked up from ol’ Jonesy, who was bound to flow some out whenever he got too passionate. It could be a stream just as strong as Beaver’s road-side pisses. “If I make you so miserable, than yeah I’d rather you leave.” 

John let out one of those incredibly frustrated groans again. “Pete, I’m not accusing you of trying to make my life hell-”

“But it’s exactly what you’re saying-” Pete stepped forward and made eye contact with his boyfriend, who looked to be at some sort of tipping point. 

“Not it’s fucking not!” John had somehow managed to take the few steps needed to being face-to-face with Pete. “I just want you to get better.” 

Pete shook his head. “Won’t be hard considering, I’m fine. I don’t have a problem.” 

John shocked them both by raising his hand and slapping Pete across the face. The sound was a loud and horrible smack of hot skin. 

Pete recovered instantly yet slowly at the same time. He raised his face again and made dreaded eye contact. “Get out.” 

John stepped back and swallowed. “I’m so fucking sorry, Pete. I just-...You’re right. I should go.” he seemed to give up on this justification and started walking around their apartment. With Pete’s watchful and conflicted eyes following his every move. 

He packed himself an over-night bag and stopped just as soon as he hit the kitchen. “Listen Pete, I love you. I just want you to be healthy but I won’t fight for this love if you won’t at least...meet me in the middle.” 

Pete pursed his lips and shrugged. John soaked that ‘answer’ in and lifted his bag from the table. “Ok, well...I’m gonna stay over at a friends. Give you some space.” 

Pete still didn’t speak and watched the guy shut the door behind him. “Fuck.” was all he muttered as he glided his way towards the phone sitting on the coffee-table. He dialed quickly and tapped his fingers against his side. 

“Hello-”

“Beaver, can you come over, buddy?” Pete tried not to let the anxiety bleed into his voice but the Beav was always unusually great at knowing how all his friends felt by just like 3-words. 

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beaver Clarendon, 5′6 and with a bead of sweat dripping down his temple against that long hippie-hair, stepped inside with happy determination. There was a jar of fresh peanut-butter in his hand and the mission for him now was to find two clean spoons. 

Pete felt mounds of stress leave his body just from seeing his pal. He solemnly followed the man and took a seat at the counter to wait. 

“My Spidey-Sense was correct, Pete.” Beaver wiggled one of the spoons and pulled up a stool across from Pete, even though Pete knew those kinds of chairs bothered him. Beav continually slouched in life but a little back support helped a little. Pete lifted a brow and opened the jar. “I told Jonesy that we would need to buy an extra jar.” He smiled with pride. 

Pete chuckled and broke the perfect top of the butter with his spoon and ate a full on glob. “I think I fucked up something great, Beav.” He swallowed, with struggle, and bite into his cheek. “Even when I think things are gonna be ok--hell, maybe good--some part of me has to lose anyway.”

Beaver frowned and opened his mouth. 

“Jonathan left. Say’s he’s concerned about me but he got all kinds of frustrated with me and slapped me across the goddamn face. A total fuckarow.” He shook his head.  

Beaver rolled his lips and looked as if he wasn’t sure how to bring up what he wanted to say. “Did a specific incident cause his ‘string-to-break’?” 

Pete would’ve been a little offended if this had been maybe Jonesy or Henry-- and even so not much with them either--but the Beav was gentle. “If you’re asking if I got drunk and did something stupid, answer’s no.”

Beaver nodded. 

“The answer is I got drunk and did several stupid things throughout the entire relationship, if you ask John.” Pete scoffed and licked the spoon as Beaver went in for a large scoop. 

“And if I ask Pete Moore?” Beaver gave a gentle smirk. 

“He’s overreacting.” Pete frowned. 

Beaver hummed and took the liberty of feeding Pete a larger spoonful of the peanut-butter with his own utensil, which Pete knew was his way of preparing him for hard words. He didn’t mind so much if they came from the Beav so Pete cleaned the spoon and watched him settle it back down on the counter. 

“He shouldn’t have slapped you. I hate that shit.” He shook his head, straying black hairs flew about him. “But...-” Beaver looked up with wide eyes which said ‘Please, don’t make me say it.’ 

Pete rolled his shoulders back. 

“I can be frank, Pete, if that’s what this calls for. I don’t want to be but--Hell, I’ll be goddamn Elmo from the Muppets and give you a reason why you should stop drinking starting with each letter of the alphabet, if I thought it would help-”

“Elmo was from Sesame Street.” Pete took another dip into the jar.  

“Same thing.” Beaver chuckled and rolled his eyes. “A is for-”

“A.A.?” Pete scowled and Beaver felt a burning in his stomach. 

“I was going to say, A is for Apple Juice comes in a cuter package but...” Beaver stuck his tongue out and enjoyed Pete’s little grin. “I say we invite the gang over for dinner? I can whip something up with whatever you got here.” Beaver hopped off the stool and began going through the cabinets. 

“Beer?” Pete made the snide and self-deprecating joke and Beaver hummed. 

“Take that attitude and use it to chop up this Onion, please.” He tossed the vegetable and almost nailed Pete in the eye. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was a trying one for Rhonda. The home was practically dead apart from the terribly busy sounding quick taps of a keyboard in the other room. And though it was a soft sound, it didn’t stop it from slowly driving her insane. Her stomach turned from the mixture of anger and nerves that were boiling inside her. 

So instead of slamming her head into her palms and letting out the emotions, she composed herself. She sat straight and tall, threading her slim fingers together. She copycatted those relaxing breaths Henry had once taught her. 

Rhonda rarely treated herself, as Henry tried to tell her many times. Though he was never quite able to put it so lovingly. Where she was soft, he could be so blunt. And it went both ways. However tonight while her anxiety was running it’s high fever, she decided to pour a glass of wine for herself and Henry, whenever he decided to come into the room. As it poured, she tapped her nails in a small beat on the counter.

Just as the last drop splashed in the glass, she heard the door to their office close gently. She hated the way it made her grin with pride. Like just getting out of that room should be applauded. That sound was tragically one of her favorites. It either meant that Henry was giving himself a break from throwing himself into his work or he was feeling joyful enough for husband-wife activities. Either way, she’d be met with him again and instead of pondering why they were even still together. But soon, she wouldn’t have to do that anymore...

“Did you sign the divorce papers?” She tipped her chin and frowned at Henry, who looked exhausted. 

He scratched the back of his neck and sighed. “I will, I promise. I just-”

“It’s just a signature, Henry.” She didn’t want to push him, even still after their bickering, but she felt strongly that things would be better once it was done. “Did we not come up with this decision together?” 

Henry swallowed. “We did, Rhonda. I know that and I will get to it.” He urged her with genuine eyes, she softened. 

“Bridges burn when people joined by them have changed, Henry. You told me that and now it’s about us.” Rhonda felt her stomach roll. “I want to burn this bridge. Go back to a relationship where I don’t feel like your martyr. Friends.” 

Henry nodded. “So do I, Ronnie. Believe me. I never met for this...-look, It’s just hard to accept that I couldn’t make this marriage work.” 

 Rhonda looked up at him with curious eyes and asked a question which had been plaguing her mind for several months now. “Is it my fault that your depressed? It seems like our relationship-”

Henry didn’t let her finish. “Don’t do that to yourself, Ron. It ain’t you. It’s me.-”

“You never seemed to want to be close enough with me.”

“Not just you, Ronnie. I just don’t think I’m wired that way, that’s what the ol’ Doc says anyway.” Henry tapped his own temple and she rolled her eyes. 

“You can’t just consult yourself, Henry. I’ll say that for the last time.” She sipped her glass of wine. “It’s just...watching you fade inside yourself these past months has been painful for me too. Seeing yourself pull-out of it for your friends but not me-”

“Rhonda, it ain’t like I just up and cure myself for them. That’s not how it works-”

“No they cure you, for the while you’re with them. It’s not something I could ever do, huh? Lift the darkness for a little bit.” She shrugged and blinked down at the counter. Henry didn’t say anything else. “By the way, Beaver called. He wants you to come over to Pete’s for dinner. Says it’s an emergency.” She cocked her head towards the answering machine. 

Henry felt so horribly guilty, knowing he’d be leaving for them instead staying for Rhonda. He couldn’t help it. 

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beaver had been able to brief Jonesy on the situation, considering he picked up with the home-phone they shared. But Henry hadn’t answered so he just gave Rhonda vague details and hoped to catch him right at the door to speed him through Pete’s day. 

The thing about them was, well the five of them--Douglas, Pete, Beaver, Jonesy & Henry--were the closest best friends in the world. 

Jonesy and Beaver had hooked up around high-school, maybe early Junior year? And been a couple ever since. 

Henry and Pete...they’d been entertaining to watch. Sure, they started hooking up a bit before the other two but they had just never said anything about it so it’d been shocking to find out. It was kind of a strange off-and-on thing. Then they’d sort of became a legit couple for a good while only to break up around the beginning of Henry’s first college year. But there was never any bitterness carried between them. They were still best friends. 

And so Henry married Rhonda and Pete had fling after fling until he landed on that Jonathan fellow. 

“He slapped him?” Henry whisper-yelled to Beav as he took off his jacket by the front-door. Jonesy and Pete were joyfully bickering about some horror movie that Jonesy was trying to beg him to watch. Henry peeked over Beaver’s head. “I gotta talk to him about this-”

“Hey I didn’t stick the dime in ya so that you could throw Pete a ride. I just told you so that you would know enough to make the night better. Without directly talking about it just yet.” Beaver waved his hands around. 

Henry rolled his eyes but suddenly surged forward and stuck his hand into Beaver’s jacket pocked to produce a physical and literal dime. “Hey!” 

Henry smirked. “Too late, Beav. Dime’s already in the slot and the ride is coming. But I’ll wait, ok? You can’t ask me not to talk to him about this. We’re all going to have to at some point.” Henry frowned and Beaver nodded with understanding eyes.

                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get off!”

Jonesy shrieked as he wrestled Beaver who’d just pulled his finger from his mouth and was ready to stick it into Jonesy’s ear. Only, when they heard Pete coming back from the kitchen, they paused.

Jonesy took the chance to kick Beaver off, knocking the tiny man over the back of the couch and onto the floor. “Bitch-in-a-buzzsaw!” He whined. 

Pete chuckled and plopped down teasingly onto Henry’s lap in the arm-chair he liked so much. It wasn’t an uncommon thing at all for any of the four of them to be affectionate like that with each other. 

But Beaver knew it would only make Henry want to speak about the situation again. Henry was far too soft on Pete and for him, that meant he wanted to bluntly offer help. 

“So, you think Jonathan is coming back...tomorrow?” Henry asked, gently. The room suddenly filled with tension as Beaver still laid flat against the floor on his back. 

Pete frowned and wiggled a little in Henry’s lap. “Probably. What he’s going to do, I don’t know. Part of me thinks the break-up is inevitable but...man, I don’t know that I could afford this place without him.” He chuckled, like it was funny but no one else joined in. “Tough crowd. Look guys, I’ll be fine.” Pete shoved himself off of Henry and stood. “I don’t need the pity.” 

Jonesy gave him a look of genuine love. “It’s not pity, Pete. We just love you-”

“And think I’m a drunk, yeah.” Pete laughed bitterly and went to lean against the kitchen counter. 

Henry desperately wanted to come back at Pete with how they just wanted to help him but he figured it would only serve to piss him off. There’d have to be a way to ease him into the ‘help’ discussion. 

“Hey, if worse comes to worst, I could move in with you and help out.” Henry copied the laughter and felt the concern turn on him; exactly what an exhausted Pete needed. “Divorce papers gonna be signed soon-” He selectively explained without mentioning he was the one stalling it. “File that in the ‘pity’ section of your memory warehouse.” He tipped his chin to Jonesy as he stood as well. 

Pete frowned deeply and felt a rush of relief that surely made him feel guilty. 

“How’s Rhonda feeling about everything?” Jonesy sat up straighter and Beaver finally picked himself up off the ground. He placed his ass right on the edge of the couch’s top, near where Jonesy’s head was. 

Henry shrugged. 

“How are you feeling?” Beaver adds, scooting over slightly so Jonesy could lean his head against his lower-back...grossly adorable. 

Henry bit into his cheek and reminded himself that he’d asked for this turn of attention. He thought about the newly-noticed feeling of walking the floors of his home as if it were just some small town he was passing through on a longer journey. “I’m fine. Managing everything.” was the answer he decided to go with. 

It did not impress any of them.

                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small glass of perfume sat on a dresser. It was the small and delicate glass with a large daisy stopper blocking any leakage.

It sat there, absolutely still, as a pair of hands quickly picked and pulled from the array of products sat around it. But with that speed came clumsiness and the hands just darted to fast on the pull-back of his watch and down came the bottle. Knocking it off the counter and revealing the ring of dust that had been living underneath it.

Henry paused for a moment before peeking over the lip of the dresser to find the tiny bottle. The rounded broken piece was rolling just the slightest bit while the rest of the tiny shards bathed in the small puddle of the scent leaking out.

Henry had given that perfume to Rhonda as a small Valentine’s Day gift about a year ago. Kneeling down, he intended to start cleaning the mess up but he hesitated. The tip of his finger laid frozen in the burgundy puddle as a wave of emotion fell upon him. He’d been holding back on truly coming to terms with what his mind and body ached for. But looking at the old shattered gift on their hardwood floor...the gate was opened without his permission.

A flood of tears finally broke past his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, the heat from her previous restrain could almost burn his skin. He thought about the time one of his ‘work friends’ said he couldn’t imagine Henry ever crying, he seemed far too straight-headed for it. Henry didn’t really know what that meant. 

But in this instant he was near hysterical. His breathing was rapid and short as it became harder for him to push-back the devastation. More then anything in his life he wanted to call Pete, Beav or Jonesy...Douglas would always be able to make him smile. He wanted to hear their voices. But at the same time he was desperate to shove them away from this side of himself entirely.

The palm of his hand curled over his mouth in an attempt to block some of the sound from breaching the thin walls of their home. He did not want Rhonda to her any bit of this breakdown, she didn’t need to see him so...sad. It would just be too hard for them and she didn’t need anymore stress so Henry just needed to be strong, he was usually extremely good at that. It was enough that he’d been allowing this to burn his insides. There’d be nothing more now.

A deep breath or two and he was off the floor and on his way to collect the dust-pan and broom.

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?” Pete squinted as he walked briskly to the front of his apartment building where Jonathan was sat, hands shoved in his pockets. He’d been gone for a good week. 

“I wanted to see you and....-” He pointed his thumb at the door behind him. “I’m locked out of the building.”

Pete rolled his eyes and got his own key from his pocket as John stood and followed behind him. “Where’s your key? You should still have it....where did you end up staying by the way?”

The man behind him went quiet again in that eerie way could really freak Pete out sometimes. “Forgot it here. And I um...-I went to Marty’s.”

Pete nodded and worked on getting inside the building and strolling on up to the apartment that should still be referred to as theirs. 

“I thought maybe enough time had passed for us to try talking again.” John swallowed nervously and allowed Pete to escort him inside their place. “I actually tried coming by last night but you weren’t here so I went to that place-umm...Sully’s.” 

He shrugged like it was no big deal but he knew for certain that it was an explosion waiting to happen. Pete looked at him with fury as they got to his door.

“You went to the bar to look for me?” He glared and it felt as if his stomach was suddenly tied in a huge knot.

“You can’t blame me!” He went straight into defense and followed the man further into the lonesome apartment. The air grew with tension as his partner chose not to speak and instead went about the place doing small clean-ups. This only made John feel even more angry. “You honestly can’t blame me.”

“I’m not some sorry man that you need to look out for, John.” He suddenly turned from his position at the sink. “I don’t go out drinking just because we had a fight. You make me sound like such a...-loser. Do you realize how belittling it is that you consistently treat me like that?” He threw down a dish-towel and swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I’m just stressed so I worry. Give me a break.” John ran his hand through his hair and sat down on the couch, hoping that the fight would ease up.

“This is just not a good time for us, John.” 

John opened and closed his mouth, deciding to just tilt his head back and sigh. “I don’t think it’s a good time for you.” 

Pete scowled at that comment and looked freshly betrayed yet again. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonesy was in the midst of the most vivid dream he’d had since he was fifteen, when two or three wet-dreams about Beaver had ushered him into manhood and repressed homosexuality. 

But this was the most horrible dream he’d ever experienced. Nothing came close to the sickening feeling it brought. 

A deep sense of hot-dread ran through the stained-glass universe and burned Jonesy to his sheets. He was aware of that fact. He was dreaming but he couldn’t quite escape it. It felt thin but thick enough to pull his consciousness back into it every-time the need to wake felt strong. 

He could still feel those silky sheets that he shared with Beaver against the sweat on his back but he could also see a hallway filled with pictures in front of him. Something in his mind knew that he was home...enough so that those sheets sticking to his back started to feel like the dream. 

He shuffled across the hard-wood in knitted socks and didn’t make it very far before he suddenly appeared in the office. His office? Henry’s offfice. 

The Jonesy that still laid in bed with the Beav twitched in his sleep as the Jonesy standing in Henry’s body shook himself. He was just standing in him? A looker. One that Henry apparently couldn’t feel. 

He could smell the ink and coffee coated cups lingering around the place. There was a drawer cracked open, a lock that would usually keep it closed was on the desk, and inside was a shot-gun. Not used, barely touched, just laying there against some forgotten patient notes...deadly ironic, Jonesy thought.  

Jenry; Jonesy could chuckle at thinking of this being as such a name but something devastated his body and mind too quickly.

He was being dragged along a potential suicide attempt. 

It was horrifying and inescapable. His bed was so near yet so far off in another world. He didn’t want to go back to it though. He couldn’t rest a wink if he thought this was real. 

Some part of his brain screamed out ‘Dial 1-800-HENRY’ but nothing came to be...

He woke up in an instant, hand coked in a gun-shape against his temple--He screamed and sat up, looking next to him to see Beaver with the same gesture to his temple. 

Jonesy shoved him, hard. Beaver nearly fell off the bed and screamed for himself. “Fuck me Freddy! You almost gave me a heart-attack.” 

“Did you have that dream?” Jonesy wasted no time but Beaver just looked clueless as ever. 

“What dream!?” 

Jonesy sighed, skin still burning and wet. He felt another rush of devastation and was haunted by the image of him & Beaver; asleep, side by side, with matching fake ‘hand’-guns to their temples. “Get up.” 

:

:

:

Henry answered the door in his boxers and a long sweatshirt that was most definitely a last minute addition before answering the door. He was dazed but awake. That was enough to chill Jonesy. 

While he took in the fact that his best friend was in fact, ok and alive, Beaver rushed to Henry’s phone and called up Pete. 

“Is Rhonda here?” Jonesy choked out some words finally and pushed himself inside fully, trailing after a confused Henry. 

“No. She’s staying with a friend.” Henry shrugged and padded about the hardwood with his arms crossed. “What’s with the late-night visit?” He asked, casually. 

Part of Jonesy now felt stupid. Maybe the dream really had just been a...dream. And he was being completely ridiculous by coming over. His brain was waking up with the white-noise of TV static. 

Beaver approached from their side and wiggled in his pajama pants. “Yeah. What’s going on, Jonesy?” 

:

:

:

He waited until Pete came about to fully explain the situation at hand, carefully choosing his words as to try not to freak anybody out or...embarrass Henry. 

The man tipped his chin down and sighed as if he were far beyond the year in life he currently was. He scratched the back of his neck and tried to ignore the concerned and painful looks from his friends. “Look...” 

That one word was confirmation enough. The three of them sank into their seats and each felt a horrid wave of deep pain. 

“I’ve fallen into this...-intense depression.” He tried to calmly explain the one thing he had never planned on telling them. “Don’t ask me exactly when it started, I’m not sure but...I was always ok at taking it day-by-day, y’know?” He rolled his lips together and felt his brain go on and on; ‘What’s wrong with me, Doc?’

“This whole thing with Rhonda has...well it’s not helping much.” He bitterly chuckled. “I just wanted to make it work. But it ain’t goin’ my way. Hell, sometimes I don’t want to get outta bed...” 

Beaver looked positively sick to his stomach. 

“But I’m better with you guys...always better.” Henry finally looked up and happened to lock eyes with Pete. There was a rush of affection for the younger man who was going through a special pain all his own. 

Pete was the first to shoot over and basically fall into Henry’s lap, wrapping those long arms around his anxious body. Beaver and Jonesy followed in seconds. 

They were one sad little dog-pile...

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonesy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted that Henry move in with Pete after the divorce papers were signed. Rhonda was going to take the home and he was on his own, which was no struggle considering the money he made, but money wasn’t the center problem. 

Mental fucking health was. SSDD. A mantra....that always helped.

Jonathan was fully moved out by that point and Pete never confirmed their state but it was pretty obvious what had happened. 

Douglas had called Henry’s home phone shortly after that dog-pile had ended. He brightened the room with his voice all the way from back in Derry. “Ennie!” He’d cried happily, always knowing exactly when he was needed. He’d called to check on him...Their best pal was a better man than all of them, inside-and-out...and they would always feel this way. 

Henry knew it was the right thing to do, moving in with Pete. Maybe it’d give him a chance to talk about the drinking topic again...

“Remember that time, Junior Year, you got one of your flickers and we were trying to hook-up in my old car and I banged my head on the steering-wheel and then you accidentally elbowed us into reverse?” Pete asked as he set down a smaller box onto the counter...their counter. 

Henry chuckled. ‘Flickers’. That had been the word they’d ended up using to describe the rare moods in-which Henry found he wanted to do something...sexual. He just wasn’t the kind of person who felt comfortable doing things like that. It was part of the reason Rhonda thought he was repulsed by her...or that she wasn’t good enough because they’d only get ‘sexy’ once every sixth months or more. 

But back when he and Pete were...-not dating, they’d never referred to it like that...but...being with each-other....he understood. Pete always understood Henry in a way that no one else could. 

Pete Moore never cared that Henry wasn’t interested in sex, nor dating. It had been complicated, for sure, what they’d been in those days. More than friends sometimes but never a couple.

It was just that they kinda slept with each other pretty rarely--at least once for each year in high-school--and occasionally cuddled closely or held hands in private. 

Again, complicated. 

“Oh yeah.” Henry chuckled. “Man, we were pretty stupid back then.” 

Pete rolled his eyes. “I was. Still am. You were far from it and that still stands now.” He curled his hand around the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of beer, purely out of instinct, if Henry had to guess. He plopped down onto his couch and smiled, no teeth. 

“Who’s helping who here, Pete?” Henry fell onto the spot next to him, arm on the back of the seat and one leg over the side. His eyes fell on the bottle which was still sweating in his best friends hand. Pete tried to pull away, both physically and mentally which was common in confrontations like this. 

But Pete wasn’t a patient. So Henry was free to gently lean over towards the floor and scoop up the mans legs and rest them over his lap as he scooted closer. With a wave of affection, Henry adjusted them both comfortably and patted Pete’s legs. 

“Before he left, John got super pissed and said I was a burden.” Pete set the bottle down but kept his longing eyes on it. “I know that’s true.”

Henry sighed, tipping his chin to the ceiling. He gathered some courage and looked back to Pete. “Maybe to him, Pete. Just the same as I became one for Rhonda.” 

“That fucking sucks. You’re great at this, buddy.” Pete chuckled and looked back to his bottle on the table. 

Henry slapped Pete’s leg. “But we’re not burdens to each other and we’re gonna help each other.” He gripped his leg harder now and spoke in a genuinely heart-felt tone. “And we’ve got Beaver and Jonesy for support-”

“Beav’s gonna spend all his money on peanut-butter for us sad-sacks, huh?” Pete wiggled his legs and suddenly looked extremely exhausted. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took four-weeks of fighting for Henry to convince Pete to go to at least one A.A. meeting. With the promise of the compromise that Henry make an appointment with a nearby therapist. 

He really hated that idea. It made his skin crawl with embarrassment. ‘Hey, Doc. Me? Oh, I’m a Psychiatrist who apparently can’t handle his own problems.’  

He’d have to tough it out though because Pete Moore was doing his best to explain that he could just stop drinking on his own....actually, the explaining was more like begging. It made Henry feel a mixture of guilt and devastation that his friend seemed so desperate to avoid the help. 

Henry drove him to the meeting and did his best to calm him. But it was hard when for a moment in his passenger seat, Pete was back to being fifteen. Juvenile, joyful and without a dent in his innocence yet. 

Henry had to blink a few times to ease that anxiety hiccup. “Different shit today, Pete. I know.” He put the car in park once they hit the lot and rested his heavy palm on the man’s knee. “But soon enough, it’ll become the new SSDD and then I’m telling you, Pete, I promise...”

Pete looked over at him with a terrified face. 

“It won’t be shit at all anymore. You won’t have to struggle to get through a day without drinking. You won’t dread the meetings...” Henry vaguely gestured to the building. “You’ll be able to grow from this.” 

Pete let out a long sigh and deflated into his seat, looking towards the building with a mixture of hatred and longing. “When’s your appointment?” He tilted his head. 

“Thursday. You can drive me.” Henry lightly pinched Pete’s arm. 

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{A Month Later}

“Hey, call it!” Pete flicked his thumb and flicked a coin into the sky with a bright smile on his face. 

“Tails!” Beaver shouted from across the room. 

“You always pick tails.” Jonesy rolled his eyes. “Heads!” He chuckled. 

The gang had been called to meet at Henry & Pete’s apartment with the promise of a home-cooked meal and a good time. They were currently shoved into the living room and flipping to see which of the two were going to do the dishes. 

Pete caught the coin and flipped it blindly onto the back of his palm. He glanced down at it but let several seconds pass in silence. Henry smirked to himself and tried not to beam at his friend. 

“Jesus-Christ-bananas, tell us! I’m dying.” Beaver slapped his hands onto the counter.

Instead of speaking, Pete shyly slid the coin over to them. 

It was red rather than silver and Jonesy & Beaver were met with no head or tail. Instead, the coin was showing a triangle which read ‘1 Month Recovery’

“They gave it to me yesterday-”

Beaver didn’t wait to hear the end, instead he hopped over the couch and into Pete’s arms. Thank god he was so tiny. Jonesy was quick to follow, just with a more gentle attitude. 

When they pulled off, Henry proudly kissed Pete’s temple like it was something he did fairly often. Pete felt a rush of heat in his cheeks. “Lord, I will never drink again!” He beamed and Norman-Normal flew from his attitude as he pulled Henry in to kiss him on the lips. 

The gang broke into hysterical laughter and enjoyed their great sense of pride. 

                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Pete mumbled as he served Henry his best cooked meal, a bowl of buttered noodles. 

“Hmmm?” Henry looked up with soft eyes. 

“I’m so proud of you for going to those appointments. We all are.” Pete sniffled and sat down across from him. “Jonesy was about the scaredest I’ve ever seen him that night of his dream. We all fucking were.”

Henry rolled his lips together and sucked in a noodle or two. 

“Henry, the five of us...we need each other and if you-” Pete broke off with embarrassment. 

Henry laid his hand atop his and gently rocked their grip. “I know, buddy. I know.” He felt a little choked up himself now too.  

“You don’t know it all-” Pete swallowed and blinked about a hundred times to try and get rid of the tears. He laid his fork on the table, breathed deeply and held eye contact. “I love you, Henry....I’m in love with you.”

Henry sat back on his seat and smiled. “Oh Pete...” He chuckled. 

“Don’t laugh, asshole.” Pete scowled but in good-nature. Both knew that if he were straight-up rejected, Pete would still try and laugh it off. 

Henry leaned over the counter and caressed his cheek. Pete leaned into his hand with longing and second-guessing eyes. “It’s always been you.” 

Pete let out a tiny little hiccup and smacked his own hand against the one on his cheek. “I should fucking hope so.” 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT CONTRACTORS

In big companies software is often designed, implemented, and sold by three separate types of people. Tcl is the scripting language of Unix, and so its size is proportionate to its complexity, and a funnel for peers. By this point everyone knows you should release fast and iterate. Programming languages are for. They don't even know about the stuff they've invested in. But I think there's more going on than this. If you run out of money, you could say either was the cause. Nearly all programmers would rather spend their time writing code and have someone else handle the messy business of extracting money from it. Every programmer must have seen code that some clever person has made marginally shorter by using dubious programming tricks. In one place I worked, we had a big board of dials showing what was happening to our web servers.1 Every designer's ears perk up at the office writes Tenisha Mercer of The Detroit News. There are borderline cases is-5 two elements or one?

I decided to ask the founders of the startups in the e-commerce business back in the 90s, will destroy you if you choose them. It's due to the shape of the problem here is social. In the arts it's obvious how: blow your own glass, edit your own films, stage your own plays. Only in the preceding couple years had the dramatic fall in the cost of customer acquisition. The organic growth guys, sitting in their garage, feel poor and unloved. So the first question to ask about a field is how honest its tests are, because this startup seems the most successful companies. A good deal of that spirit is, fortunately, preserved in macros. The second way to compete with focus is to see what you're making.

But more important, in a hits-driven business, is that source code will look unthreatening. In DC the message seems to be the new way of delivering applications. White. I'm going to risk making one. But looking through windows at dusk in Paris you can see that from the rush of work that's always involved in releasing anything, no matter how much skill and determination you have, the more you stay pointed in the same business. PR coup was a two-part one. It's conversational resourcefulness. We're more confident. That certainly accords with what I see out in the world.2 Treating indentation as significant would eliminate this common source of bugs as well as making programs shorter. Once you take several million dollars of my money, the investors get a great deal of control.

The dream language is beautiful, clean, and terse. It works.3 It could mean an operating system, or a framework built on top of a programming language as the throwaway programs people wrote in it grew larger. I'm not saying it's correct, incidentally, but it seems like a decent hypothesis. The most important kinds of learning happen one project at a time. Instead of starting from companies and working back to the 1960s and 1970s, when it was the scripting language of a popular system.4 Blogger got down to one person, and they have a board majority, they're literally your bosses.5 Unconsciously, everyone expects a startup to fix upon a specific number.6 But as long as you seem to be advancing rapidly, most investors will leave you alone.7 What readability-per-line does mean, to the user encountering the language for others even to hear about it. Users have worried about that since the site was a few months old.8 If it's a subset, you'll have to write it anyway, so in the worst case you won't be wasting your time, but didn't.9

It's exacerbated by the fast pace of startups, which makes it seem like time slows down: I think you've left out just how fun it was: I think the main reason we take the trouble to develop high-level languages is to get leverage, so that we can say and more importantly, think in 10 lines of a high-level language what would require 1000 lines of machine language. Well, that may be fine advice for a bunch of declarations. Trying to make masterpieces in this medium must have seemed to Durer's contemporaries that way that, say, making masterpieces in comics might seem to the average person today. I kept searching for the Cambridge of New York, I was very excited at first. Which was dictated largely by the hardware available in the late 1950s. This comforting illusion may have prevented us from seeing the real problem with Lisp, or at least Common Lisp, some delimiters are reserved for the language, suggesting that at least some of the least excited about it, including even its syntax, and anything you write has, as much as shoes have to be prepared to see the better idea when it arrives. And I was a Reddit user when the opposite happened there, and sitting in a cafe feels different from working. The Detroit News.10

Most founders of failed startups don't quit their day job, is probably an order of magnitude larger than the number who do make it. But the clearest message is that you should be smarter. But hear all the cutting-edge tech and startup news, and run into useful people constantly.11 You won't get to, unless you fail. Running a startup is fun the way a survivalist training course would be fun, and a funnel for peers. It's since grown to around 22,000.12 You may save him from referring to variables in another package, but you need time to get any message through to people that it didn't have to be more readable than a line of Lisp. A rant with a rallying cry as the title takes zero, because people vote it up without even reading it. I'm just stupid, or have worked on some limited subset of applications. This is supposed to be a lot simpler. Whatever a committee decides tends to stay that way, even if it is harder to get from zero to twenty than from twenty to a thousand.13

With two such random linkages in the path between startups and money, it shouldn't be surprising that luck is a big factor in deals. Most of the groups that apply to Y Combinator suffer from a common problem: choosing a small, obscure niche in the hope of unloading them before they tank. A programming language does need a good implementation, of course. Look at how much any popular language has changed during its life. With a startup, I had bought the hype of the startup world, startup founders get no respect. A real hacker's language will always have a slightly raffish character.14 The eminent feel like everyone wants to take a long detour to get where you wanted to go. But there is a trick you could use the two ideas interchangeably. Their reporters do go out and get users, though. A throwaway program is brevity. I do that the main purpose of a language is readability, not succinctness.15 You can't build things users like without understanding them.

At the moment I'd almost say that a language isn't judged on its own and b something that can be considered a complete application and ship it. They're so desperate for content that some will print your press releases almost verbatim, if you preferred, write code that was isomorphic to Pascal. When I moved to New York, I was very excited at first. To avoid wasting his time, he waits till the third or fourth time he's asked to do something; by then, whoever's asking him may be fairly annoyed, but at the same time the veteran's skepticism. There are several local maxima.16 Defense contractors? When, if ever, is a watered-down Lisp with infix syntax and no macros. Hackers share the surgeon's secret pleasure in poking about in gross innards, the teenager's secret pleasure in poking about in gross innards, the teenager's secret pleasure in popping zits.

Notes

What happens in practice signalling hasn't been much of a long time in the 1920s to financing growth with retained earnings till the 1920s. Even Samuel Johnson seems to be a good idea to make money.

A related problem that they decided to skip raising an A round VCs put two partners on your own mind. That should probably question anything you believed as a cause as it might take an angel investment from a company's culture.

If you don't think they'll be able to formalize a small company that could be made. There was no more unlikely than it was putting local grocery stores out of business you should be.

If Congress passes the founder visa in a time machine, how can anything regressive be good employees either.

If big companies to acquire the startups, the light bulb, the initial investors' point of a great deal of competition for mediocre ideas, but I think what they campaign for. When governments decide how to distinguish 1956 from 1957 Studebakers. How did individuals accumulate large fortunes in an absolute sense, if we think your idea is that parties shouldn't be that the Internet was as late as Newton's time it takes forever.

Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives would work to have this second self keep a journal. While the audience already has to be more at home at the start, e.

Some will say that it also worked for spam. The closest we got to the Internet worm of its identity. Icio.

Rice and Beans for 2n olive oil or butter n yellow onions other fresh vegetables; experiment 3n cloves garlic n 12-oz cans white, kidney, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris says that a startup in the US, it would do it is genuine. Com in order to attract workers.

But the early adopters you evolve the idea that could start this way, except in the back of your last round of funding rounds are at some of these limits could be ignored. Comments at the mafia end of the latter without also slowing the former, and also really good at generating your own time in the computer world, write a new SEC rule issued in 1982 rule 415 that made steam engines dramatically more efficient: the attempt to discover the most promising opportunities, it is very vulnerable to gaming, because there's no center to walk to.

Though it looks like stuff they've seen in the first year or two make the kind that has become part of a large chunk of time, default to some abstract notion of fairness or randomly, in one where life was tougher, the television, the more subtle ways in which those considered more elegant consistently came out shorter perhaps after being macroexpanded or compiled. For these companies unless your last funding round usually reflects some other contribution by the high-minded Edwardian child-heroes of Edith Nesbit's The Wouldbegoods.

Mozilla is open-source browser. They may not be led by a big factor in high school kids arrive at college with a truly feudal economy, at least should make what they claim was the recipe: someone guessed that there are before the name implies, you don't, but that we didn't do. They overshot the available RAM somewhat, causing much inconvenient disk swapping, but they hate hypertension. Living on instant ramen, which are a hundred years ago.

I don't think you should probably question anything you believed as a rule, if you're measuring usage you need, you don't have one. Don't be fooled. So managers are constrained too; instead of admitting frankly that it's a seller's market. This is one subtle danger you have a group of people who are both genuinely formidable, and would probably also encourage companies to say how justified this worry is.

One of the biggest winners, which is where product companies go to grad school, because you can work out. It's conceivable that a their applicants come from meditating in an equity round.

So where do we draw the line?

In 1995, but he got there by another path. If you treat your classes as a company if the potential magnitude of the 2003 season was 2. An investor who invested earlier had been trained that anything hung on a desert island, hunting and gathering fruit. Confucius claimed proudly that he had more fun in this essay, I can imagine what it would have started there.

I'm satisfied if I could pick them, and they succeeded. Consulting is where your existing investors help you even working on Viaweb. If they were taken back in July 1997 was 1. But the change is a scarce resource.

[berrodarmstrong]

Brother to Brother.

It started with a letter. 

Osric Melkire walked into the Barber looking not a day older and not a bit different than last they'd met. It was a strange sight... but then, he'd been out of touch for a long while. Anyroad, the midlander took a look about, spotted the beds, and made his way over.

Osric Melkire: "Why in all the seven ruttin' hells," he said with a grin, "are you always bedridden when I could do with some counsel, eh?"

Berrod Armstrong sat cross-legged on the bed -- miserable under boredom. He shifted and sat upright when he spotted Osric and eagerly beckoned even though the other man had been well on his way. The sight of him pulled a wide smile -- though like all his smiles, it was all too brief. "Maybe the Destroyer deemed it tradition."

Osric Melkire chuckled. "Seems t'me that if our places were reversed, you'd be obligated to threaten me with the Arms o' Meed for gettin' m'self in harm's way so often."

Osric Melkire sat down and faced his... friend? Brother? The damned highlander always had a way of knocking him off-kilter.

Berrod Armstrong: "Harm's way -is- our way, I've come to learn. Either way, I feel -fine-, the people here are jus' fussy an' don't want me leavin' till Firesday. Urgh." He took a deep breath as his expression settled from petulant youth to solemn regard, "Now what can I do for you?"

Osric Melkire: "Well, for one thing, y'can quit rushin' this conversation along. My need ain't -that- urgent." He reached up and pulled his turban off only to slip it into the sash that served him as a belt. "How've you 'n' the others been?"

Berrod Armstrong laughed at that and lifted both his hands almost defensively. "Fine fine. Everyone...I'd say...'the same'. You know how it goes. It's quiet, then things get wild, then it's quiet again. As for me, well..." He gestured to his surroundings, "Tried to run the Levinfist and some Resistance extremists decided t'make a mess of it all. Attacked it with numbers. Unlucky for them, strikin' a tournament full o'fighters. Took 'em down. Well...the crowd an' fighters did. I was the first one to go down."

Berrod Armstrong seemed just a -tad- bitter about that last part.

Osric Melkire 's mouth opened a tad, in a silent 'ah' of dawning comprehension. "That explains the mandatory rest 'n' relaxation. Tell you what, I'll distract the chirurgeons 'n' you can limp your way out the arches unseen."

Osric Melkire winked.

Berrod Armstrong snorted. "An' have Sarij roarin' me down? Naw, I'll take the bed. Jus' a couple more days, I'll endure it. Meditate. Paperwork. Pray. Keep buggin' them for news on others who'd come in with me. Stuff like that."

Osric Melkire nodded. "Could do with some o' your patience. Kana's been downright strict with m'own arse. 'To Master Beake's sessions and straight back! No grandstanding, no heroics!' Swear on the Twelve, Berrod, sometimes I miss the insanity."

Berrod Armstrong: "You've got pickneys, dontcha? Insanity ain't gone, jus' a different flavour." Another slight and fleeting smile, "Beautiful flavour. I figure it's gonna take a while to adjust, anyroad. Jus' don't adjust too much, yeah?" Osric Melkire smirked. "Nah, course not. You either, y'hear?" He cleared his throat. "Anyroad... have a big ask. How well d'you remember Takara?"

Berrod Armstrong opened his mouth slightly, then closed it with a slight shrug. "A face, a voice, lil' bit here an' there. What's up?"

Osric Melkire: "An opportunity t'make some coin. Followed up on a postin', y'know. The usual shite, not leves but more common fare. Turned up for the interview and it's gods-damned Fier. Used t'follow Sunthistle around. That one. Tryin' t'decide whether the surplus gil is worth it. Safety's a concern."

Berrod Armstrong took a deep breath and looked up for a moment. He seemed genuine in his consideration. "Don't work with who you don't trust," He offered eventually. "Usually I'm the one eyein' you for a sign on these things. Is there anythin' else, or is it just the coin that's temptin'?"

Osric Melkire breathed in through his nose and let it out from between his lips. "Aye, there's somethin' else. There's lots. Startin' with things like, 'aye, I'd love t'come back 'n' work for the Agency or whatever it's called now, but the danger ain't worth the benefits,' or 'I'd like t'drop in for a spar or some meditation sometime, but I'm worried that you're buried under a dozen students,' and how about, 'I'm torn between doin' what I crave 'n' bein' the husband and father to the family I love.'  So how's that for a crock 'n' a lark, eh? I'm lost as t'how t'live my life, 'n' here I am moanin' and gripin' t'you."

Berrod Armstrong sort of stiffened with shock; his lips went thin -- an achievement, really -- and his eyes opened wide. Once Osric had finished speaking the mental scramble to process it all in the face of his perilously short memory was visible on his face. "Er -- well, the Advent is a whole new company, with lotsa new folks. Lotta what was wrong before ain't even around now -- and you're welcome back, bein' honest. You were one of our best. Spar...? Yes. Student...? I ain't sure, but that ain't because of anythin' you did. I uh. I don't have any students right now. But I think that can be a maybe leanin' to yes. That last one...oof. That last one's tough. I'm in a family that lets me do what I crave...but if there's a choice? Family first. Always. Jus' not to the point you lose who you are. You won't be any good to 'em like that."

Osric Melkire stared down at the boards that made up Berrod's cot. "Might... might swing 'round, now 'n' again, if that's fine... work or no work...." He ran a hand up through his hair and glanced at Armstrong. "Think I'd rather have the meditation 'n' the chats, by the by. Um... Master Beake's been good about, y'know, pointin' out how enormous m'ego had gotten."

Osric Melkire: "...sparrin's good, but not if they're just a pissin' contest for me."

Berrod Armstrong grimaced, "Yeah he has that way. Though for me, it was seein' how talented my damn students were with stuff I'd been strugglin' with for decades." He stuck his neck out and tilted his head down a bit. "I hope you know after all we've been through that you're stronger than me. I jus' got a head start, is all. Still. Meditation an' chats...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot. An' you've always been welcome to swing by, so nothin's changed there."

Osric Melkire made a face. "That's buffalo shite if I've ever smelt it, Berrod. Had a head start, aye, but you were always the one t'grab us by the scruff of our necks when we were gettin' reckless. That's it's own strength."

Berrod Armstrong: "Maybe so, but you're forgettin' that -you- taught me a lot too, 'bout the other side. Cleared that ignorance right outta my head. I'll always be grateful for that. Ended up studyin' it all an' now I can teach it in depth."

Osric Melkire beamed. "Well, that's good t'hear. Means I don't have t'feel like a swivin' arse if I poke fun at your bein' confined to this wooden contraption."

Osric Melkire leaned back and kicked the underside of the cot with one foot.

Berrod Armstrong jumped slightly. "S'not so bad. I thought I got spoiled by cushy stuff, but this thing's actually pretty comfortable. There's very little you should feel like an arse -about-."

Osric Melkire: "Not keepin' in touch is definitely one, but that's a work in progress, that is." He took a deep breath. "Thank you. I mean it, Berrod. About... everythin'." Especially the part he hadn't meant to blurt out, and wasn't going to revisit just yet. "Is there anythin' I can do for you 'n' the others?"

Berrod Armstrong -grinned-. It was a friendly sentiment, but overall rather stupid looking. "Not keepin' touch ain't a crime. Makes the moments we catch up all the better! I'll always welcome you back like you were gone yesterday, that's what brothers do!" The grin boiled down to something a bit more shifty, "...I ain't usually in the market for askin' favours -- me an' the others are fine, but if you can do me a lil' somethin' I'd be much obliged."

Osric Melkire grinned back, but that expression faded as the midlander sobered. "Tell me."

Berrod Armstrong clawed his fingers as a matter of desperation. "Butter rolls. If you can find butter rolls anywhere, I'd owe you forever. Even ones that are a lil' stale, I don't mind. They ain't got anythin' like that here..."

Osric Melkire stared... and burst out laughing. His mirth bent him over, and he held onto one side as if his guts were about to burst forth.

Berrod Armstrong: "Laugh it up all you want! The gagana stew ain't bad at all but it's -missin' the rolls-..."

Osric Melkire: "Butter... butter...." It was hard to catch his breath, but he managed somehow. "...right, right, butter rolls. I'm, uh, headin' back to the Beds later tonight. Might be able t'send a care package t'you through Oriens."

Berrod Armstrong nodded rapidly, then -grimaced-. "...the soldiers should be gettin' that instead o'me, really but I'll have the damn indulgence."

Osric Melkire rolled his eyes as he reached for his turbans. "I'll send enough for the whole soddin' class, professor."

Berrod Armstrong: "A crater full o'hyur an' Roegadyn an’ Miqo’te soldiers...? Good luck!" He laughed at that and shook his head, "All share as much as I can, with my thanks."

Osric Melkire nodded as he slipped his turban back over his head and stood up. "I'll be seein' more o' you, then... brother."

Berrod Armstrong took the salutation with casual delight, "May He guide your path, Brother. Until next time. Travel safe."

Osric Melkire: "Oschon'll see to that. May Rhalgr smite your foes."

Osric Melkire waved farewell.

[as-be-low]

Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 5

Folks say Papa would beg, borrow, or steal to pay his bills. Hey, Mama, folks say Papa was never much on thinkin'… Papa was a rollin’ stone, Wherever he laid his hat was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone. Papa Was a Rollin' Stone—The Temptations

AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Soon after stepping foot inside the supermarket, Stanford Pines began to question the soundness of his judgment in agreeing to let his brother cart him all the way to the store. Maybe it was the fact that his kitchen was truly empty that sealed the deal. It could have also had something to do with the fact that he had need to buy more than usual, especially with two additional mouths to feed, and as such, walking home with the requisite amount would have been less than ideal. Either way, the benefits did not seem to outweigh the numerous disadvantages. Yet again, people proved to be weird. Weird in a way Stanford found himself repelled by, surprisingly enough. Weird in a way he found unquantifiable. He’d never understand it.

Stanley seemed to alternate between being as uncomfortable as Ford himself was, and being in his element. Ford nearly got whiplash trying to keep track of his brother’s reactions before he decided against it. What was going on in that head of his? He’d have to go with nothing, if he were basing his judgment solely on the various odd situations he witnessed each time he ran across the man, who immediately plopped his overly-excited child in a basket and ventured off in the nearest direction that screamed “Away From Ford”—while Stella grinned in poorly-contained glee—as soon as they entered.

“Basket rides!” Stanley gently shushed the child, his eyes darting around at the other patrons as he wheeled her away from Ford. Maybe Stanley did understand the dangers of being in public, ford mused. He grabbed a basket of his own and headed into the store, beginning the motions of completing his usual shopping list.

He worked his way through the list with the ease that came with regular practice until he reached the meat and dairy section. He rounded the corner in tome to witness his brother narrowly dodging a raw egg.

“Damn!” his brother swore while Stella, parked nearby, clapped and swung her legs in delight. The butcher stood on the wrong side of the meat counter with a cart loaded with primly stacked eggs by his side. He grabbed another egg from the top of the pile and hurled it at his brother. What in the hell was going on here? How had Stanley pissed him off so thoroughly? The butcher hooted with laughter as Stanley caught the next egg in a large fist, then carefully placed it into a sparsely-filled carton.

“Hah! Nice one, Stan!” Ford’s brother simply grinned in response and braced himself, legs apart as he prepared himself for the next projectile.

“What in the fuck am I looking at?” Stanford blurted out.

“Oooooh!” his niece cooed.

Stan barely spared him a glance, while the young butcher looked particularly bewildered. “Oh! There’s two of you?”

“Yeah. Now, you gonna throw that egg, or what?”

“You bet!” the butcher beamed and adopted a pitcher’s stance.

“Seriously, would anyone care to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Yeah. After I finish with this.”

“Daddy’s winnin’ eggs!” Stella piped.

“That’s right, kiddo, now watch ‘n learn.” He smirked, one hand darting out from his side to catch another projectile egg.

“We made a deal, so every egg he catches out of a dozen is free!” the giddy butcher explained, launching another egg that Stanley had to dive to catch before it hit his daughter. He made a deal? We haven’t been here fifteen minutes!

“And if it hits the child?” Ford’s annoyance crept up to the vein pulsing in his neck.

“If it hits Stella, then he gets an automatic free dozen eggs, plus whatever he already caught!”

“Right. I’m…getting away from whatever this is. Have fun, or whatever it is you call this.” Ford quickly pushed his basket away from the egg-splattered mayhem, vaguely wondering if he should collect his niece. That would put him in the danger zone, though. He had a feeling that Stan would intentionally miss catching an egg just to spite him, if given the chance.

“Bye bye!” Stella opened and closed her fist in farewell. He felt oddly compelled to return the childish gesture.

“Aww. That’s adorable.” He heard as he darted away. People were so strange.

More laughter trailed behind him. Ford found himself shaking his head. How was it that Stanley was able to build such a rapport with people so quickly? It was unbelievable. And here he is, wasting it on egg tossing. He heard an “oop!” and a splat, followed by small giggles. With a disgusted sigh, Ford grabbed a gallon of milk and hurried down another aisle. There was no way he wanted to get caught up in this nonsense. Grocery stores were a waste of time. The less time he spent on distractions, the faster he could get home. The faster he could get home, the better for everyone involved. Grocery stores were hotbeds of potential uncomfortable conversations, unless your name was Stanley, it seemed.

Ford found comfort in the repetitive rhythm of his shopping list, only broken by the jarring, yet infrequent times he ran into his brother down various aisles, or heard his voice carrying from however many aisles away. He heard a childish tune sung by two draw near along with the rattling of basket wheels. Stanley stopped his basket in front of Ford’s own.

“What in the he-eck is all this?” he gestured to the half-filled cart.

Ford straightened his back with a frown. “What?”

“Do you even like Toaster Pops?”

“No, but you—”

“Then why are you getting ‘em? Put those back.” Stan took the liberty of reaching into Ford’s basket to remove them himself.

“Stan!” Ford hissed. Stanley cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t make any sense t’ buy somethin’ you don’t even like.” He grumbled. Pushing his basket onwards.

“I’m not buying for myself alone, I’ll have you know.” Ford grumbled as he heard the rattling wheels fade away. “But fine. No Toaster Pops.” He wheeled himself back down the adjacent aisle. “I’ll choose something else, instead.” A satisfied smirk crossed his face as he paused in front of the wall of cereal boxes. His eyes scanned over the colorful packaging, pausing at the Raisin Flakes. “Hm.” He pulled down a box. No, wait. Children didn’t tend to like that sort of cereal, did they? He inched further down. “Marshmallow Lucky-O’s?” he mumbled under his breath. “Surely a child would prefer this one.”

“Uhh.” Ford visibly jolted. “Yeeeah, man, put the Raisin Bran back and get some Marshy-O’s or Lucky-O’s or literally anything that doesn’t have bran flakes or raisins in it.” The helpful stranger eyed Ford oddly while he stood like a deer in headlights.

“…Oh. Many thanks. I…have a new niece. She and my brother are visiting. She’s uh—she’s three.” The stranger continued to frown for a moment. Ford wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to divulge the excess information. This was stupid.

“Riiight. Wait, were they the ones catching eggs with Ernie in the meat department?”

Ford winced. “I’m afraid so.”

“Awww, they’re so cute! I shoulda figured. You ‘n your brother look exactly alike. Definitely go with the Lucky-O’s, then. Enjoy your company!”

Ford blinked at the back of the stranger’s head as they disappeared around the corner. “…Thank you?” Trust Stanley to do something so inherently goofy and destructive, draw an audience for it, and then endear himself to said audience in the process. It was somewhat disconcerting, if Ford was honest with himself. How does he do that? Personality, indeed. Their mother had been right.

He continued across the store, one ear to the air as he heard his brother’s voice carrying from a few aisles over. Good. He was picking out items himself. He hoped there were no projectiles involved. Ford gave a distracted nod of approval as he scanned the shelves for jellybeans. It wasn’t a trip to the grocery store without jellybeans.

“Okay, so we grabbed this peanut butter ‘cause it’s the biggest ‘n it’s also on sale, so it’s the cheapest, too. These people must be crazy if they sell stuff all willy-nilly like that, but anyways, that gives us enough to grab a few cans of soup ‘n stuff too. Let’s go see if they’re nuts enough to put that on sale, too.”

“Yeah!”

“Not so loud, kiddo.” Ford heard his brother stage whisper, followed by another baby giggle. “Can’t be loud if Daddy has to make a break for it.”

“But you don’t!”

“Oh, y’think so? Huh? What about now?” the clattering noise of the basket picked up speed and volume and Stella’s distant giggles grew louder. “Vroom!” Stanley barreled down the end caps, then screeched to a halt. Ford found himself cringing, fearing an imminent crash, and was confused to look up to find Stanley wheeling his way towards him at a more moderate pace.

“Boom! Boom!” Stella added in her own sound effects as Stanley idly rammed his basket into Ford’s, looking disinterested in his own actions.

“What? Will you—cut it out!”

“I’m just followin’ orders. Ain’t that right, boss?”

Stella turned around in her seat and beamed at her uncle. “Boom. Boom!”

Ford supposed the basket antics were tolerable, in retrospect.

“Wow, it’s a good thing you can’t drive, Stel.”

“Yeah.” The child chirped back.

Stan let out a throaty, stony-faced chuckle and leaned forward, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Soo…” he began. “Is that the last of it?” His eyes scrutinized Ford’s basket. Ford fought the defensive urge to pull it away from him.

“Uh, yes. I believe…I believe this should complete the list in its entirety.” Stanley rolled his eyes at that, though Ford wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Cool. So. Checkout, then. Come on, Pumpkin.”

Checking out was more of an ordeal than Stanford had anticipated. Not that there was much fanfare, not nearly as much as the egg throwing and the shopping cart speeding, which Ford was thankful for, but there was a good amount of disapproving sighs and anxious head shaking as the cashier scanned each item. Stan placed the divider on the belt and set down his few items, only to give Ford a look of outrage mixed with something he couldn’t quite place as Ford promptly removed the divider.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“Just put it with mine, it’s just, what? Four items? There’s no need to open a second transaction.

“Ford, no.”

“What? It’s not an issue.” That just seemed to make Stanley more upset. Ford couldn’t begin to fathom why.

“That’s… That’s not the point, Ford, I can—”

“Stan. It’s all going to the same place. It doesn’t even matter. Just—”

“I don’t need you to—”

“It’s not—”

“Your total is $67.34,” the cashier droned. The Pines twins both turned in a brief moment of stunned silence. Stanford reached for his wallet while Stan looked on in silent frustration. He let out a sigh that may have doubled as a poorly contained growl, then scooped Stella onto his hip to place her seconds later into Ford’s full basket.

“You really didn’t hafta do all that, Ford.” He grumbled once in the parking lot.

Ford stared at him. “You’re genuinely pissed off. Incredible.” He couldn’t believe it. Of all the things he could’ve been pissed off about, he chose this? Unbelievable. Ford walked alongside Stan as he wheeled the basket to the car, raising an eyebrow as he pulled the backseat door open.

“In ya go, pumpkin.” Stan grumbled as he fastened the child into her seat and began arranging grocery bags around her.

“Wouldn’t it be best to put those elsewhere? The trunk, for instance?”

“Nah. There’s stuff in the trunk already. It’s fine.” He mumbled back.

He had a perfectly good trunk, but refused to use it. Okay.

“Here, sweetie, can you hold this?” he handed the child a bag full of eggs.

A bag? Who put raw eggs in a bag? Didn’t he have a carton earlier? Stan shoved the rest of the groceries around the car seat and in the foot wells, then pushed the empty basket way.

“Now.” He hummed, hopping into the driver’s seat as Ford slid in beside him. Neither twin said a word as Stanley fumbled and shoved his key into the ignition. “Alright. How does headin’ back sound, kiddo?”

“ ‘Kay.” She sang her affirmation, intently inspecting the eggs in her lap.”

“Careful with those, okay, pumpkin? Don’t want ‘em to break.”

“Yeah.”

Ford let his eyes dart to the backseat and couldn’t help the amused smile that spread across his face. “Oh, wait, turn right up ahead.” He blurted as he righted himself in his seat.

“Yeah, I remember. Thanks.” The last word was a barely-audible grumble hidden under a cough. Ford decided he’d take would he could get.

≈

The rest of the ride was made in near silence, stiff, though not entirely uncomfortable. The two brothers listened to the child in the backseat’s observations about the eggs and various objects surrounding her, while simultaneously avoiding conversation with and acknowledging the presence of one another. Ford was relieved when Stanley pulled up to the porch and parked with a small grunt as he stretched in his seat. He twisted in his seat to look back at the child while Stanford unbuckled and removed himself from the Stanleymobile. Once again, the man reached into the backseat to extricate his niece from her car seat. She clung to him like a leech, one little hand still holding her bag of eggs in a death grip. He carefully set her down on the porch and went to fumble for his keys before pushing the door open, doubling back to the old red car to pass his brother in silence as they both grabbed armfuls of sacks to carry into the kitchen. Stanley wordlessly sidestepped the other man as he headed back out the front door. Ford rolled his eyes and set down his load, meandering back to the entryway. Figures. Of course he can’t—

“What in the fuck is that?” Stanley bellowed, followed by a small child’s squeal.

“Bad word!”

Ford scrambled and slid onto the porch, stumbling down the front steps in his haste.

“What? What’s what? Oh.” Ford’s lip curled and distaste colored his voice. “You again.”

“What the fuck is it?” Stanley pressed.

“The leprecorn from earlier. I hate these stupid bastards. It would also explain why Danny Boy was playing a little earlier.” The creature was too busy rooting through a half-torn bag to dignify a response to the insult. It mangled the edge of a cereal box between its crooked teeth. “Oh, for the love of…” he groaned. “The cereal. The damned thing’s attracted to the cereal.” Ford grabbed the creature by its horn and used his free hand to pry the box from its mouth with a satisfying yank. “The stupid freaks of nature are attracted to brightly-colored, marshmallow-filled children’s cereal. Of course. I’ll get rid of the damned thing.” He moved to take a step back but stopped short, wavering unsteadily as his leg bumped into something solid. He looked down. Stella had grabbed ahold of his leg, wrapping one small arm around it while the other reached upwards towards him. “Sweet Moses, you startled me! Uh, could you give me a moment? I’ll hand you the cereal once I’ve disposed of this terror.” The toddler shook her head adamantly and began jumping as she reached for his arm. “I can’t pick you up at the moment,” his eyes darted to Stanley for help, “though, your father may be able to?”

The child let out a keening whine. “She wants the leprechaun, genius.”

Ford’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Absolutely not. These things are horrendous. Look at it. It’s objectively awful.” He struggled to lift his leg without knocking the child down. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, dear.” He reared back with the leprecorn in hand. The abomination seemed pleased with this arrangement, if the asinine grin and increase in volume from its horn served as any indication.

“NO!” the child wailed, her little hand clenching and unclenching as she stretched, the hand on his leg now patting his stomach insistently. Her eyes watered.

He stared down at the tiny hands. Tiny, six-fingered hands interested in an anomaly were reaching up towards him. There was no way he could, in full conscience, say no to that. He deflated with a huff, his arms lowering. He was certain to regret this, seeing as this was one of the lamest things he’d had the misfortune to encounter, but he couldn’t begrudge the child. He didn’t want to be responsible for making a little girl cry.

She wrapped her arms around the multicolored abomination with a squeal, stumbling forward from the sudden weight imbalance. She dropped the creature onto the grass with an inelegant thud, delighted as it scrambled to an upright position. Stanford watched in befuddlement as the child wrapped her happy little arms around its neck—did it actually have a proper neck? He wasn’t sure if the blasted thing did.

“Does that thing bite? Not sure whether this is cute or concernin’.” Stanley’s voice brought ford out of his thoughts.

“Uh, no. It’s harmless. It did chew on my side burns once, though, until I threw it the first time.”

“Throwable. Good ta know.” Stanley reached back into the backseat and emerged with the last of the groceries, sidestepping his daughter and her new companion on his way back inside the cabin. Ford followed behind his brother, pausing to look back at the child in his front yard before stepping inside. “You seem…not entirely aghast?”

“It’s not the first weird thing I’ve seen. Didn’t expect t’see it here, though, but I guess it makes sense that there would be some weird shit here, all things considered.”

Ford worried his lip briefly. “Yes. Right.” He supposed he would have seen a lot more…intriguing things on the other side of the portal. He couldn’t begin to fathom what.

It wouldn’t do to ask now.

Danny Boy seemed to intensify outside. Ford ran a hand down his face. “I hate that thing. I hate that thing so much.”

“I’m…gonna go check on my kid.”

“Drop kick the leprecorn off the porch, while you’re at it.” Ford groused.

“Make my kid cry. Right. On it.” Stan rolled his eyes as he turned his back. Stanford stared at the empty space his brother once occupied before staring back at the groceries. He could at least put away the perishables. By then a three-year-old would have lost interest in most anything, right? They weren’t exactly known for their attention spans. He couldn’t recall if his own had been any better when he and Stanley were that small. He doubted it.

He hesitantly put a few more items away, making sure to put Stella’s mangled cereal in the refrigerator, out of the reach of children, gnomes, and other such mysteries. Ford inched his way back to the front porch and peered out, spotting his brother sitting in the grass. His daughter sat between his crossed legs, with the leprecorn in a chokehold of a hug. Parts of its beard were in unraveling braids of varying caliber. Stanley must’ve helped her with the braiding. Ford commended him for even touching the thing without intent to lob it. He leaned in the doorway for a while, committing the oddly domestic scene to memory. Substitute the leprecorn for a dog, and you could almost pretend nothing is wrong here. His expression soured briefly at the thought. He could fix it. He’d find a way to fix it. He had to. If he could construct, dismantle, and then reconstruct an interdimensional portal, then he could certainly fix something as simples as…

As simple as years of familial discord. Right.

His eyes perked as Stanley stood only to crouch, tucking the leprecorn under one arm and settling Stella onto his hip with the other. He dropped the creature onto the porch as one would a cat, though it lacked such grace and landed with a thud and the scrabbling of hooves as it hustled itself upright. Stan watched it idly. “Whoops. Now, we’ll leave ‘im here and you can play with ‘im again later, okay?”

The child looked doubtful. “What if he gests lost?”

“He won’t get lost, kiddo. He found you once before, didn’t he? He knows where he is.” The child seemed appeased, if only slightly. “Alright. You ready for a break?”

“Okay.”

Stanley slipped past the other man silently, slowly making his way up the stairs. As his brother eased out of sight, Stanford took the opportunity to turn his attention to the nuisance on his front porch. “Alright, shoo. Go away. Go. Go.” He waved his hands at the creature, but it proved ineffectual. The damned thing just batted its eyelashes at him, all the while sporting a slack-jawed grin. “Don’t you mock me.” Ford growled, backing through the threshold. He let the door shut in the leprecorn’s face with an unnecessary yet satisfying click. He had groceries that needed to be tended to. A spot of coffee won’t hurt, either.

Stanford let the coffee pot gurgle as he shoved the last of the groceries into cabinets in a semblance of order. There. That was handled. Now, he just needed to come up with a better method of communication between his brother and himself. Since blunt questions didn’t seem to be as well-received as they had been when they were younger, he’d have to be indirect. Indirectness with an actual human being had never been his forte. No. He could do this. Ford didn’t need questions, he needed solutions. He had enough evidence to base his assumptions on without more questions. That wouldn’t stop him from wanting to ask more. What was his issue? He suspected his brother of being homeless. Possible solutions included offering him money or lodging. Ford suspected the latter might be more well-received if worded delicately.

But then what? Stanford wasn’t naïve enough to hope for some immediate, all-curing happily-ever-after just by virtue of convincing his brother to live with him. They’d still have to talk things out. Ford leaned against the counter, resting his cheek on his fist. He’d need questions, after all. He spotted movement from the corner of his eye and gazed up, catching his brother easing into the kitchen. Ford jerked upright, his expression brightening substantially.

“Oh! Um.” His hands fumbled in front of the coffee maker as he procured a second mug. “Coffee?” Stanley stood still and silent for a few seconds.

“Uh, sure.” It seemed they would both choose to ignore the slight tremble of Ford’s hand as he filled the mugs. The two edged towards the kitchen table in an uneasy silence.

“So…” Small talk. Small talk, Ford. Make small talk. Just ask something. Pretend you care. No, don’t pretend, because you do actually care. Well, you should. Stanley shifted in his seat. “You said you travel around a lot.” Ford heard Stanley sigh as Ford stared down into his mug.

“Ford, I—”

“What was your favorite place you’ve been to?”

“What?”

“Of… of all the places you’ve been, which did you prefer the most?”

Stanley stuck his tongue in his cheek as he blinked, eyebrows raised. “Well, huh.” Ford felt pride in managing to throw him for a loop. “Havana was pretty nice, what I got to see of it.”

“Havana? You went to Cuba?”

“Heh, yeah. That was…that was pretty wild.” Stanley seemed to frown behind the faint smile.

“How did you even get to Cuba?”

“Ehh, was a bit of a whirlwind, really. Can’t exactly remember all the details on how, but I do remember bein’ there. Real nice city. Lotsa charm. Lotsa beautiful women, too.” His smile became more of a smirk. Ford felt some of his tension leave. That was more like the brother he remembered.

“I can imagine. It’s quite the fascinating country, I’m told.”

“Yeah. Pretty lil’ buildings all over the place, ‘n nice lookin’ cars, coffee, and cigars. Real nice.”

“So I take it it’s somewhere you’d like to revisit, given the chance.”

Stan let out a dry chuckle. “It was definitely nice, but I doubt they’d want me back!”

“You got kicked out of Cuba?”

“So? You say that like it’s outrageous. Been kicked outta lotsa places.”

“Yes, well, getting kicked out of a country is a tad bit unusual.” Ford drawled.

“It’s not like we’re supposed to be there in the first place, so is it really that big of a deal?” Stan grumbled. Ford was reluctant to admit he made a good point. “Anyway,” Stanley drawled, idly eyeing the other man, “why’re you askin’?”

Ford blinked. “I was merely curious, is all.” Stan shrugged.

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“Where else have you visited?” Ford pretended to ignore the roll of Stan’s eyes.

“Buncha places. Mexico, England, Venezuela, Colombia…” he trailed off, while Ford latched onto the lull.

“Colombia? That must’ve been nice.”

“Not really.”

“I—what? Why not?”

“I was in jail most of my time there.” He mumbled. Ford’s tongue felt like sandpaper as he swallowed.

“Jail?” Stanley looked discomfited as he shifted, resting his cheek on his fist as he glared at nothing.

“Pretty sure I remember sayin’ I’ve been to jail in multiple countries.”

“How many?” Ford whispered.

“Ain’t really important now, is it?”

“Please.”

Stanley sighed, a long hiss through gritted teeth. “Four now.”

“What did you do?”

“I did my time, is what I did. Any more questions, Your Honor?” He gave Ford a pointed look.

He had the decency to look away. “I…apologize. Though… Why not, that is—well, you…changed locations somewhat frequently. What criteria do you use to choose the next place to settle?” Ford hadn’t been prepared for the impassive face that studiously avoided his gaze.

“Ford.”

Ford was startled into a pause. His stomach twisted painfully. “There must be some sort of criteria for suitability.” He mumbled.

“Somewhere I won’t be in anyone’s hair.”

“That seems rather subjective. Who decides that?”

“I do.”

Ford took another long, hard look at his brother. The dark circles under his eyes discolored the skin like bruises—or maybe one was a faint bruise—and a few half-healed scratches dotted his cheek and jaw, with a few smaller ones reaching his collarbone. Had he been in a fight? That seemed like the Stanley he knew, buy the familiarity brought him no comfort. Ford hoped it was a trick of the light, but another patch of darker, mottled skin poked out of the neckline of his dingy shirt. Stan let out a loud sniff and shifted once again, his eyes pointedly focused on the wall across from Ford. He’d been caught staring, Ford realized sheepishly, but Stanley had made it a point not to say anything. Stanley never kept his mouth shut. Not his Stanley. But this wasn’t his Stanley anymore.

He had to say something. He’d been caught staring and he’d let the silence drag on for too long. He needed to save this before it went horribly awry.

“Hey, Stanley?”

“Yeah?” Here it was. Fuck, what was he going to say?

“I just… Well, I—” he stopped himself, letting out a sigh. “I missed you.” Ford glanced down at the mug clenched tightly between his hands and then to his brother’s motionless ones, following the rigid line of his body up to his sharp, squared jaw. His eyes never left the window. Small muscles visibly twitched under the skin of his neck and after an eternity, the man let his shoulders fall and a whistle of air escaped his nose.

“Yeah.”

Was… Is that it? Ford sat silently as the pit of his stomach hit the floor. This continued to follow unexpected twists and turns. Turns that left Stanford at a loss and struggling to keep from careening into a mess he didn’t want to fully contemplate. He took a moment to brace himself. This was fine. Everything was fine. He had this under control. Everything would be perfectly fine. He would make sure of it.

Ford stared somewhere past his brother as he weighed his options, his eyes flickering back to the man as he shifted. Stanley mumbled something he wouldn’t quite discern. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to ask for clarification. The silence left an uncomfortable lull, interrupted only by the steady ticking of a wall clock. Both men let it continue until Stanley stood, his chair slowly scraping the wooden floor.

“I’ll let you get ta work, or somethin’. I’m sure ya got somethin’ important tucked away you could be workin’ on.”

“I—yes. That is, I do have a project I’m currently working on, but—”

“Great. I’ll leave ya to it. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be upstairs with Stella. I’ll stay outta your way.” Ford watched his brother retreat up the stairs with equal parts indignation and dismay.

Alright, then. It appears I’ve been dismissed. Ford had no choice but to be forcibly left to his own devices. The feeling was unsettling. What was he supposed to do in this situation? His mind warred between feeling relief for the respite from many awkward interactions and deep, pulsating shame at not being able to coax his own twin brother into wanting to spend time with him. He let out a sigh and reached for Stan’s near-empty mug, dropping it into the sink. Since he did have time available now, surely it wouldn’t hurt to sit down and strategize. Given enough time, which he had been granted, he could formulate a plan. Yes, he could make this work, he decided, as he made his way to his bookshelf, pulling the lever to reach his study.

≈

His foolproof plan hadn’t accounted for this.

Though it was his habit, Ford hadn’t expected to get so thoroughly wrapped up in his work—planning the best way to reconcile with his brother—that he completely forgot to resurface and effectively shot his own plans in the foot. He hurried up the elevator, though he wasn’t sure what good it would do at the current late hour. He shuffled into the kitchen, sparing a glance at the clock. Roughly a quarter after two. Surely he was the only one awake. He leaned against the counter and let his head loll back with a sigh. He hadn’t imagined that a visit from his brother would be so spectacularly excruciating. Ford’s mind drifted to the…incident. Although it had ended in a painful, spectacular failure, he’d spent the years poring over his memories of the day. He’d reconfigured Project Mentem to capture the memory in its entirety to make sure it would remain well-preserved just in case. Every time he scanned the memory, he could swear he saw something. A glimmer of hope, of some little remnant of optimism in Stan’s countenance. You extinguished that yourself a number of years ago. Of course that optimism was no longer present. Trapping your brother in an incomprehensible hellscape for three years might just have that sort of effect. There should be no question as to why he hates me. Ford grimaced. He doesn’t hate me.

He couldn’t.

He just…has a strong, adverse reaction to me. That shouldn’t be insurmountable.

Ford let his head fall forward and raised his eyes up to give a cursory glimpse out the window. Holy Moses. Not again. He bolted to the front door, sliding against the wood in his haste to open it. The hiccupped. Strangled, hysterical laughter bubbled up from the back of his throat. The cool night air swirled up and around him to mock him as he stared out. There was nothing outside. Absolutely nothing, save a fresh set of tire tracks molding the dead grass into the shape of his fears.

The Stanleymobile was gone.

Again.

He slammed a fist against the threshold, ignoring the throbbing pain for that of his pulse pounding in his ears. He let the door slam shut before bounding up the stairs to his guestroom, wrenching the door open. Had he really packed everything up and left? Again? Did he even have anything to pack? His frantic eyes darted across the room, lit only by the faint light slipping in from the hallway, until they landed on a little lump in the center of the bed.

“Oh, fuck.” He deflated as he stumbled towards the bed. Somehow, he hadn’t woken the child in his flurry of activity. Oh, God. His brother had left and left his child behind. He was going to be sick.

He left her. He left both of us. Stanford’s eyes began to water.

He dropped down onto the edge of the bed, hunching forward. Ford dug his elbows into the tops of his thighs and tangled his fingers into his hair, tugging hard enough to feel a sharp pinch along his scalp. “Fuck.” What was he supposed to do? He was responsible for a child. A living, breathing, small human being with actual needs and concerns was in his charge, and he hadn’t the first idea on how to handle it. What the hell was Stanley thinking? Ford was in no way qualified to care for a child, though apparently neither was Stan. How could he be so absolutely careless?

“What the fuck?” What the hell had his brother been thinking? Who the fuck just…just deserted and left a child with what was effectively a stranger—oh, God, he was a stranger to his own family—and didn’t even utter a single word? He wouldn’t find him. He couldn’t find him last time, and he likely wouldn’t be able to find him now, either.

He stared at his sleeping niece.

He’d have to break the news to her. He was a grown man and was having problems coming to terms with this himself. How was he supposed to tell a small child that her only parent had just up and abandoned her? Fiddleford would know what to do.

I can look for her mother. He had enough relevant information. Date and city of birth; it wouldn’t be too hard to weasel out the rest from there. Surely he’d find something in the public records, and if not, he still had his shadow government contacts.

Ford sucked in a shaky breath. This wouldn’t be okay, but damn if he wouldn’t try to mitigate the casualties.

Maybe this visit had been a mistake.

OH WILL YOU LOOK AT THAT, A CLIFFHANGER. Never thought I'd write one, but the temptation was waaaay too great. I really couldn't help myself! For those of y'all who observe Mardi Gras, I hope y'all had a good one, and if you don't, I hope y'all had a good Tuesday! I spent mine being evil and cackling writing this.

[karabites]

Y’all didn’t give me perfume I’m so let down but I GUESS I was able to finish

anyway here’s the chibit + totoko fic I’ve tried literally five times to write before.  finally finished.  happy valentines day chibita gets shamed for his life choices

Delivery | ao3

Totoko brings Chibita his fish delivery and pressures him for those juicy Chibita lovelife deets

Every Friday, Totoko brought Chibita his order of fish.  Sometimes she caught him at his stand, sometimes she kicked open his door and yelled into his apartment to come get the best fish in town from the prettiest girl in town.  Today she did the latter.

               “Chibita-kuuuunn!” she called, kicking the door shut behind her. “Guess who!”

               Chibita looked over from where he stood in the kitchen and replied cheerily, “Morning Totoko! See you still haven’t learned how to knock!”

               Totoko toed off her shoes in the doorway and called back just as cheerily, “See you still haven’t learned how to talk to a lady!”

               Chibita snorted and stepped around the counter to greet her properly. Some days, she would hardly step inside to drop off her delivery before she was out again, but today she set the package wrapped up neatly in crinkly brown paper onto the counter and bent over to squeeze him into a quick hug.  Totoko didn’t have particularly good hugs, but Chibita didn’t get enough otherwise to have reason to complain.  Plus she always smelled very nice.  “New perfume?”

               Totoko flopped over his counter and into the one counter stool.  “No, but good guess. I don’t wear this one much.” She hummed and began to tap her fingers on the counter top as she looked around.  It made an oddly asymmetrical sound since she only ever trimmed a few fingernails at a time.  Chibita thought that was always a little odd but he supposed if he actually trimmed his nails instead of just ripping them off all the time, he might do the same.  He took the fish parcel closer to the fridge and began to unwrap it.  Totoko watched him boredly.  “I brought your boring stock fish.  Gross.  And then I got you some mackerel because I felt bad for you.” She studied her asymmetric nails.  The polish was starting to chip. “Guess I’m just feeling really charitable and nice today, you know?  Looking out for the less fortunate.”

               Chibita rolled his eyes but still smiled as he put away the gift.  “Thanks Totoko.  That is pretty nice.”

               She immediately perked up at the compliment, straightening her back and smiling brightly.  “Isn’t it? I dunno, I just woke up today feeling nice like that!  Figured I’d do something out of the goodness of my heart.”

               He held back a chuckle as he folded his arms together.  “And doesn’t that feel nice that you have?”

               She nodded cheerily.  “I still want to get paid though!”

               Chibita snorted and dropped his arms.  “Alright, alright.  Gimme a minute to get your money.”  He left Totoko humming in the kitchen as he shuffled back to the safe in his room. He returned shortly with the money he’d set aside, clipped together nicely with a cover paper with “Totoko” carefully written on it, and handed her the payment.  “There ya go! Anything else I can do for ya?”

               Totoko hummed thoughtfully as she tucked the money into her purse.  Her eyes slid over knowingly to the living room, where a delicate bouquet of roses was sitting on the kotatsu—fuck.  “You could tell me who your new boyfriend is.”

               Shit, there it is.  He’d almost forgotten.  Or at least hoped she wouldn’t notice.  He too glanced over at the roses.  “Uh.” At least he’d had the foresight to remove the handwritten card that came with them.  It sat on his dresser now, next to his alarm.  It gave him something nice to wake up to.  “What,” he crossed his arms defensively, which he knew Totoko caught, “the flowers?” Totoko nodded.  “Pff, that—that doesn’t mean I got a boyfriend. What makes you think I do?”

               Totoko groaned and leaned back against the counter.  “Come onnn, Chibita.  Just tell me.  Nothing’s been happening lately and I’m so bored.”

               He stood his ground.  “So? Just because you’re bored doesn’t mean I have a boyfriend.”

               She scoffed.  “Well you definitely don’t have a girlfriend.”

               “Hey! You don’t know that!”

               “Sure I do.” She shrugged.  “If you had a girlfriend you’d be talking about her nonstop. Like I’d have to leave, it would just get annoying hearing you compliment someone else the entire time I’m here.”

               Well that couldn’t be right.  “Yeah? Well, uh, how do you know I wouldn’t do that if I had a boyfriend?”

               The groan that came out of Totoko was probably a lot more dramatic than entirely necessary.  “Because you don’t talk about boys like that.  You never talk about your boyfriends.  Or like the entire one you’ve had before.  But you don’t talk about boys like that either! You’re all quiet about it and you try to be sneaky looking at them and it’s so dumb! Like, we could talk about cute boys all the time!”  She pouted and rested her cheek on her hand.  “I don’t even mean in public, you just don’t talk about them ever. So,” she waved at the roses, “you’re not talking about that.  Must mean you have a boyfriend.”

               Well.  He tried to ignore how very right she was.  He didn’t deserve to be psychoanalyzed like this.  “Well maybe I just ain’t talking about it because I don’t have either.  A guy can buy flowers for himself.  I do that a lot.”  He gestured at the plastic flowers he had hanging from the ceiling, at the hardy potted flowers in the windowsill, at the orchid stem sitting by the sink.  He really did like flowers.  

               “Did you also buy yourself new cologne?” she shot back flatly.

               “What?  No, I don’t wear cologne.”

               Totoko hummed and smiled knowingly.  “Really? Because you smell a lot like an insecure teenager got trapped in a warehouse of Axe.”

               Shit.  Idiot. Of course he did.  He looked away, hoping a hole would open up and swallow him. “Well you must be smelling things because I sure as hell don’t smell like that.”  He sure as hell did.

               “Ughh come on Chibi-kun.”  He hated when she called him that but she was probably just as annoyed with him for dodging the question so much.  “You never tell me anything! I thought we were friends.”

               “Yeah, and friends don’t need to be snooping in my love life!” He finally decided to move over into the kitchen and busy himself with something—making a sandwich would work—to hide his growing blush and give him an excuse to avert his eyes.

               “That’s exactly what friends do! Chibitaaa! At least give me his name!” She stretched herself out over the counter, fingers splayed over his sandwich area.  Damn her, blocking his sandwich.

               He swatted lightly at her fingers with a butter knife and she pulled them back a bit. “I ain’t telling you nobody’s name.  I don’t have a boyfriend to tell you about!”

               Totoko pouted, but shut up for a second.  He kept looking down, turning to grab sandwich parts and using the butter knife probably more forcefully than he had to.  After a moment’s pause, though, she spoke up again.  “Did you get that hickey on your own too, then?” FUCK.

               He slapped his hand over his neck, which was very tender and he had very much been hoping she wouldn’t notice under his high collar.  “Alright, maybe that one wasn’t me.”

               She snickered and slid off her chair to stand upright.  “Maybe?”

               He set down his utensils very deliberately and looked back up at her.  “Maybe I saw someone last night and maybe he brought me flowers.”

               She leaned over the counter.  “Mayyybeee?”

               “And maybe I’m going to see him again but sure as hell ain’t your business if I do.”

               Her eyes narrowed.  “Does this man maybe have a name?”

               He shifted uncomfortably, thinking, before he sighed and let his shoulders sag.  “Will it get you to shut up about it?” She nodded emphatically.  “You gotta promise not to tell anyone.”

               Totoko nodded again.  “Won’t tell a soul! Promise!”

               Chibita sighed again, scratching the back of his head, before squeezing his eyes shut and mumbling out his name.

               “Chibi, I can’t hear you!” She shoved his shoulder lightly and he tensed up at the unexpected touch.  He took a deep breath.

               “M-Matsuno Karamatsu!”

               “Oh my GOD!”  He opened his eyes to see Totoko push off the counter with a smile that wrapped halfway around her face.  “Really? Chibita, you have terrible taste!”

               He crossed his arms and he felt his face heating up.  “Gee, thanks.”

               “No, really, Chibita!  You could do so much better!” Her hands came up to her mouth as she reveled in what Chibita realized was a particularly juicy secret.  Shit, she was going to tell everyone, wasn’t she? “Please tell me it was a pity date!”

               He shifted on his feet and looked down.  He probably looked like a beet.  He felt like he looked like a beet. “No.  I… I asked him out.”

               He winced at the eruption of laughter and incredibly loud Oh My God that followed.  He expected it, but was it really necessary to be so amused by it? She kept going for longer than she really needed to be, and he stamped his foot in frustration.  “Oi! I didn’t invite you in here to judge my personal life!”

               “No, but you should’ve!” Totoko laughed back, wiping away tears from her eyes. Chibita growled and she waved him off. “Okay, okay! I’m going!  But really, Chibita you have terrible taste!”                “Out!”

               Totoko hurried out and waved him goodbye, choking back giggles and wishing him better luck on the dating scene.  Big talk for someone half a decade older than him that was still single herself.  He sighed and slumped over the counter.  Well. So much for that secret.  

[jddjmf]

My Faye

CHAPTER 4

       It had stopped raining days ago but the weather had remained unpleasantly cold. Outside the town of Bellbrook away from the highway was a blink and you miss tiny run down motel that didn’t offer any comforts. One of its grotty rooms had been Dakota’s hidey hole for the past four days. She seldom left it except when she needed to eat or drink which was rare as she had lost all appetite. Muted rays of the sun that was already high above the sky hidden behind a bank of clouds filtered through the murky windows of her room. She stirred as she heard someone knocking on the door but her eyes remained closed as she swam in a state between reality and dream. A sudden chill passed through her as if someone had hurled her body in pool of ice- cold water. Her heart which had slowly began to accelerate now pounded forcefully against her rib cage. The knock at the door turned into pounding matching the one in her chest. Dakota breathed laboriously as she tried to push her way through the fear that coursed through her veins. A tight knot formed in her stomach that began to slither up before coiling around her neck. The words ‘I have found you’ began to swim before her eyes making her choke. She clawed at her neck mercilessly trying to push down whatever it was that lodged itself in her throat. The worn out cot began to creak and moan as her petite sweat drenched body writhed in an attempt to breathe. Heels dug into the old bug infested mattress desperately as she felt the pressure in her chest reach a crescendo. As time passed she was convinced she was going to die and let go of the tears. Whispered pleas began spilling out of her parted lips as the door crashed open. She heard the thuds of heavy footfall come towards her and trembled violently.

“Miss!! Are you alright?!”, she heard but the voice was too distorted for her to recognise. She felt something curl around her arms firmly before she shook violently. She could hear the distorted voice call out to her again and again but all she could focus on were the words ‘I have found you’ floating before her.

       Pattie Wilson had been running the motel for twenty three years now but never once had she come across a situation like this. She was the motel manager and housekeeper, essentially she ran the motel all by herself. The motel was situated on the outskirts of the town and never really had much people use it but these days it was even worse what with so many newer and much better establishments that had come up in the remote island. These days her motel was den to sleazoids and sordid people but she had learnt to turn a blind eye to the activities that take place in her lodging as long as the money kept coming in to take care of her family. Four days ago when this decent young brunette tottered into her disreputable boarding Pattie immediately figured that something was not right. When Dakota hardly stepped out her room or talked to anyone as if she was almost paranoid of everything or anyone she guessed something was very wrong. But now finding her dewy- eyed guest in a panic- stricken state she knew for a fact that the woman was up to no good. As the paramedics wheeled her away Pattie debated if she should accompany her or just not get herself involved in something that doesn’t concern her.

        Jamie woke up with a start as he heard an approaching car. He scrambled out of his bed and almost tripped with the sheets tangled with his leg but he managed to reach the window of his bedroom without falling down. His bedroom window offered the unhindered view of the street and also the house across the street. He looked out eagerly onto the fog covered street hoping to see the black SUV. His shoulders slumped at seeing a dark blue jeep that belonged to his sister pulling into his driveway next to his own car. He collapsed back onto his bed not bothering with the sheets that lay strewn on the carpeted floor. He heard the door to his home open and then close but he stayed laid on his bed with his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his mind recounted the past few days.

       It had been one of the most painful and slowest week of his life. When Dakota had left in the middle of the night in a hurry his mind had hit a panic mode despite himself. Deep down he knew there was something wrong and he had had the most fitful sleep the entire night. He had tried his best to go to sleep but his mind had been running the entire time. Even the tiniest of sound or disturbance alerted him and he hoped that Dakota was back safe and sound. Even in the morning as soon as he woke up he had checked to see her car but found the spot outside her house vacant. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he knew that there was something about the way she had reacted over the package that had left his mind very unsettled.

       All the while as he prepared the kids and himself for school he kept his ears and eyes alert for any trace of her arrival. Even at school he had looked for her and ended up late for his class. Only during lunch did he find out from other teachers that Dakota had called in sick. He didn’t find assuage in it for only he knew that Dakota wasn’t home but he didn’t raise any alarm either. When she was a no show the other day as well Jamie started to grow more and more anxious. Over lunch he finally spilled his guts to Declan who seemed to share his apprehension but like Jamie even Declan didn’t quite know what they could do about it.

      When Dakota had not turned up the next day as well the town began stirring and various theories began erupting which only flurried Jamie further. His state of mind began to reflect in the form shoddy work which was very unlike him. Even Declan began to sense this and wasted no time to point it out to his best friend. It was then Jamie realised that he was slipping. He had made a promise to himself but slowly without realising he was letting the walls that he had kept up for years to loosen. A stranger was making him weak and he had to stop this madness before he hurt anyone close to him. With that in mind he pleaded with Shamus to look after Keelin and Aiden over the weekend so that he could visit the little village of Belmere which was on the way to Rockbridge that connected their Island to the mainland. That is where he usually went whenever he was faced with situations in which he found himself losing control over his feelings.

        With a final huff he got up to get ready to leave. He could hear the muffled voices of Aine and Keelin conversing and knew it wouldn’t be long before Aiden woke up. It took him exactly forty five minutes to get ready. He chose a casual black t- shirt with v neck and black denims. He didn’t bother to shave off his five o clock shade that only made him look more haggard. First it had been the divorce that caused sleepless nights and now Dakota. He earnestly hoped that after this visit of Belmere he would find some sleep.

        When he entered the kitchen he found Shamus and Declan already present. Aine was ranting some last minute instructions to Shamus who seemed to listen to them half- heartedly. When he saw Jamie enter the kitchen he grinned at him and rose from his seat to greet him. Declan followed suit before they all settled down at the dining table. Aine served them coffee and bid her leave in hurry. Even with work requiring her to be present in mainland Aine had not only made sure that Keelin and Aiden were dressed and fed for Shamus to pick up but had also made coffee and breakfast for him. Jamie felt guilty for taking advantage of his sister’s support and made it a point to make it up to her once he came back.

“Any news on the girl?”, Shamus queried as soon as Aine left.

“No. She’s still not home.”, Jamie replied tersely spreading butter on his toast.

“Where are you going to look for her?”, Shamus sipped his coffee his shrewd eyes fixed on Jamie, gauging his reaction.

“Who said I am going to look for her?”, Jamie scowled.

“Well then what’s with the urgency with your trip to Old Town?”, he smirked. The town of Bellbrook was essentially partitioned by class into old town and new town. The old town was the heart of activities and that is where the rich settled while the new town was mainly occupied by the working class. Jamie had used the excuse of having an errand to run at old town rather than reveal the true reason or location for his urgent trip.

“I told you I have a personal errand to run at Old Town.”, he grumbled.

“What’s the personal errand?”, Declan nudged Jamie’s leg with his own and winked at him. While Shamus could see through Jamie’s lie Declan had a completely different assumption. Jamie didn’t care for Declan’s assumption but he was concerned about Shamus who had always had an uncanny ability to see the truth no matter how much veiled it would be.

“Look if you can’t watch the kids than I can ask Roi to look over them. I am sure she would be fine with it.”, he stated annoyingly as he forked a piece of egg.

“Hey I was just enquiring.”, Shamus held up his hands defensively but kept smirking at Jamie which irked him.

“Well nobody would blame you if your errand involved in anyway a woman.”, Declan continued.

“My errand doesn’t involve looking for someone or shagging a woman.”, Jamie stated looking at each of them pointedly as he said it. After that Jamie got to enjoy his breakfast in silence as Declan began to fiddle with his phone and Shamus mulled silently over his coffee.

      Washing up the last of the dirty dishes Jamie picked up his coat and car keys. He found Aiden sat on the couch leaning on the coffee table with paint brush in his hand. Several tubes of paint and a glass filled with mucky water sat on the coffee table. He seemed very attentive in finishing the task in hand. Aiden had been awfully quite for the past two days and Jamie knew that the reason was him going away for an entire day. It bothered him but he also knew he had to do this today.

“Hey bud can you finish this later? Uncle Shamus is waiting to take you and your sister to his place.”, he kneeled before him. Aiden lifted his head up from his painting to look at his father. His usually twinkling eyes looked despondent which twisted Jamie’s heart and he was almost about to change his mind about going to Belmere when Aiden spoke up.

“Will you promise to bring her back today?”, his sweet innocent voice sounded sad. Jamie realised that he was finally facing the moment he had been dreading for and panicked that Aine wasn’t there for it. For the entire week neither Keelin nor Aiden had asked for Elaine surprisingly but now suddenly Aiden was asking for her and Jamie didn’t know what to say.

“Bud, I am not going to meet your mom today.”, he replied softly.

“Oh I know you’re not going to see mom today but you are going to look for Kota aren’t you?”, Aiden blinked his eyes. It took a moment but Jamie suddenly understood and it left him flummoxed as to why Aiden was asking for Dakota.

“Who told you that?”, he asked through gritted teeth already knowing the answer to that.

“Uncle Shamus.”, Aiden looked down as he mumbled.

“I am sorry bud but I am not going to look for Dakota either. I have some work in town and I will be back in evening alright?”, he said softly masking the thunderous rage he felt towards Shamus for filling a young boy with false hope. Shamus was well aware how much Aiden looked up to Jamie. Jamie watched as Aiden wiggled out of the couch. He could now see the paint marks on his olive green t- shirt and smiled. Aiden seemed to contemplate as he looked down at his painting. Jamie peered and saw what his son had painted. The contours were not clear but he could see the bright yellow ball, which he assumed was the sun, the ocean and a fair enough stick figure of a woman with flowing brown hair and an ear splitting grin. He could only assume who the person could be. Elaine had blonde hair and short one at that too.

“Will she come back daddy? I miss her very much.”, he heard Aiden whisper. Jamie could see that Aiden was on the verge of crying as his glassy eyes stayed on his painting.

“To tell you the truth I don’t know bud.”, he replied trying to swallow the pain he felt seeing his son like that. He realised that in the little time Dakota had made a huge impact on Aiden’s life.

“I made this for her. Do you think she will like my painting?”, Aiden asked.

“I am sure she would.”, he replied hoarsely.

        While he had been talking to Aiden Keelin, Declan and Shamus had already stepped outside the house. Jamie locked the door before stepping off the porch. He checked if he had left enough food and water for Brutus who was lying on the porch with a forlorn expression. Even the dog seemed to have his eyes fixed at the house across the street in anticipation of its owner’s arrival. As Jamie passed it let out a low whine but didn’t bother to get up. Jamie shook his head slightly as he made his way towards Shamus’ car which was parked on the street. Keelin was already seated and was engrossed in her phone while Declan helped Aiden buckle up. Choosing not to be violent before his children he loured menacingly at Shamus who simpered at him in reply. Shamus seemed to already know the reason for the death glare he was receiving which only infuriated Jamie further.

       Shamus didn’t waste another minute testing Jamie’s patience and drove off as soon as Aiden was strapped in. As his car turned around at the end of the street he looked at Declan.

“I will see you tomorrow then.”, he said to him.

“Ya… Sure.”, Declan sighed. Jamie sensed that something was bothering his usually chirpy friend. Other than the little teasing he had been awfully quite throughout which was odd for the math teacher.

“What’s the matter?”, he asked him.

“Nothing… We will talk once you get back.”, Declan smacked his back before walking towards his car.

“What’s eating you?”, he tried once again. Declan sighed.

“I don’t know. Roi seems different. I can sense something is off.”, he revealed.

���What did you expect? Besides after everything you put her through she’s still here isn’t she? I think that’s all that should matter to you.”, Jamie stated firmly. Declan seemed to mull over his words although it didn’t look like he was pleased to be reminded of his sins.

“You’re right. Have a nice day in town.”, he said sliding into his car not waiting for a reply. Jamie walked back in to the driveway and got into his car and followed Declan’s car on the street.

      Declan lived only a few blocks away from Jamie’s. As he pulled into his street he spotted an unmarked land cruiser standing outside his house. He immediately recognised the car and pondered what the Sergeant wanted with him. He parked the car next to the rover and stepped out onto the cobbled path that led towards his house. He had taken only three steps when the front door opened and out came a middle aged lean bald man. Sergeant Regan Fitzgerald was in his later thirties but he looked much older to his age. His face was covered with a day’s worth grey and black stubble. To keen eyes it would seem like he had a slight limp when he walked owing to the insignificant asymmetry of his body.

“Good morning Declan.”, Regan announced as he came to stand before him. The corners of his mouth went up in a smile, a smile that never reached his eyes.

“Sergeant… Strange to see you at my door this early in the morning. Everything alright?”, he asked. Regan chuckled as he turned back towards the main door through which he had just come. Declan followed his gaze and found his wife clutching the door frame as if her life depended on it. Her usually pink cheeks looked ghostly pale as her hair looked disarrayed. Declan could see the unspoken alarm in her eyes and felt his chest burn. He felt a pat on his back as the Sergeant pushed past him.

“Everything’s alright.”, he said softly before leaving. But even as he heard those words he knew something was terribly wrong.

        The sun had only begun to slowly set as Jamie took to the highway. He had hoped to stay longer but memories of the day he never wanted to remember had begun to stifle him and he needed to get out. His intentions had been to allow old memories to fortify the walls he had raised around his heart not to re- open old wounds and guilt. Years had passed but the guilt remained as fresh as yesterday. As days went by the events that cascaded into the disaster had begun to fade but the betrayal and regret stayed anew within his heart. Jamie had come to realise much before that there was no remedy for guilt and regret and that is when he had vowed to himself to never allow to be controlled by emotions. It was hard initially but soon he had learnt to live with his new decision and everything seemed to work just fine until Elaine walked away from his life and Dakota moved into town. He often wondered if the timing of the two was mere coincidence or a test from fate.

      As his car passed along the ocean he remembered how much Elaine loved beachside sunsets. It also reminded him a certain brunette’s love for the ocean. Jamie exhaled loudly at his futile attempts at expelling any thoughts of Dakota. Jamie got off the highway at the nearest interchange onto a street that connected with the nearest beach. It was one that he used to frequent to when he liked to think. People found the ocean that surrounded their island monotonous but Jamie found it intriguing. Even as a child he found the sound of the waves rising and falling calming and the majesty of its power overwhelming. It made him feel like he could accomplish almost anything. As the car neared the blue waters the enlivening saline air became thicker and he could already feel his neurons fire up. This was the very reason he had bought a house next to the ocean as it always brought him home.

       It had begun to darken as the sun dipped into the horizon. Jamie rolled up his denims a little up as he walked barefoot on the beach. He had left his shoes in his car deciding to enjoy the feel of the grainy sand along his feet. It had been a very long time since he had enjoyed an evening by the beach and the view he was presented with was simply stunning. The rays of the setting sun glowed a pleasant warm orange but caused the tiny tufts of clouds that seemed to have gathered in a neat row, as if they were in parade, along the entire darkening sky to blaze a deep shade of purple. He took a deep breath as he revered the art of heaven. The sight engulfed his senses letting his memories, pain, guilt and thoughts to slip away from him at least for the time being.

      Deciding to capture the beauty he pulled out his phone. The wind blowing caused his jacket to flap against him as he raised his hands to click the panoramic view. Feeling the sweet breeze run through his bronze hair he grinned like a child. He turned in every direction and took several pictures to his heart’s content. He put his phone back in after a while and started to walk back along the beach with intentions of getting on with his journey.

      He had taken few steps when he first noticed the contours of a person lying at the shore of the beach several feet away from him. Jamie felt a chill pass through him as he realised he could be witnessing a crime scene for all that matters. His heart picked up pace as he began to jog towards the person. As he got closer he could judge that it was a woman’s body. The rolling waves drenched her pale unconscious body before receding back into the ocean dragging her dark hair along as it did. The woman lay on her stomach her body parallel to the ocean and face looking away from him. Jamie came to kneel before the woman and pulled the woman away from the water and into safety. He rolled her over to her back when he felt the full force of realisation hit his chest like a tons of bricks. For a moment he couldn’t breathe seeing Dakota’s usually lively face resembling the face of death.