#It files down her teeth and gets those small annoying details without the need of a new tool lol

[sisterspooky1013]

Sound Conclusions

Rating:Explicit

Words: 3975

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Tagging @today-in-fic

Find it on AO3

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2000

She hadn’t expected that her desire for him would only increase after she’d had him once. That first night, emboldened by loneliness and a little red wine, she’d found the courage to reach for him, to lean in to his desirous gaze, to walk them slowly to her bedroom between fervent kisses. It was an itch to be scratched, something that you could anticipate fading away once sated, but it hadn’t. Perhaps that was because it had exceeded even her most graphic fantasies about how it might be, the slip of his fingers inside her igniting nerve endings that her vibrator had never located when she had imagined his touch. The grip of his palms on her hips as she writhed, gasping, in his lap a detail she had never known to conjure. The depth of the growl in his throat when she told him she was going to come vibrating through her bones was a memory she couldn’t shake. The smell of his cum in her panties hours after he’d left her apartment had her breathless, wanting him again already, somehow more than she ever had before she knew the taste of his saliva and the scratch of his stubble against her nipples.

They’d arrived to work the following day and acted as though nothing had happened, pretending not to feel things being one of her specialties. She worked hard to mask the new way her pulse quickened when he touched her back, the visceral response she had to the smell of his breath when he leaned in to whisper a snarky comment during their weekly division briefing. She found herself getting lost staring at his hands while he took notes, remembering the way they stroked her insides, and then blushed when he asked her if she was okay. She knew, without a doubt, that she wanted him again. If he at any point had offered to take her right there on his desk, she wouldn’t have been able to say no. And yet, she was so careful to avoid giving him any indication of this, feeling embarrassed and guilty for such wanton desires, for objectifying her partner like this. The Catholic guilt a wet blanket on her newfound lust, suppressing her into the polished, poised, sexless FBI agent she had spent so much time working to be. Weeks passed, her need for him coursing through her veins like a drug, intoxicating her to the point she often forgot terms and concepts that she normally recalled easily, again prompting him to inquire as to whether she was feeling alright, noting that she didn’t seem like herself.

She wasn’t herself. She was a woman obsessed and fixated, aroused by the casual brush of a hand or the timbre of a laugh. She was sitting on the edge of a precipice, teetering between control and absolute abandon. Normally so securely in the driver’s seat of her own body, she was unnerved by the feeling that she barely had a grip on the wheel, that at any point she might let go and crash into him, revealing the truth that she needed human contact and sexual release just as much as anyone did. The vulnerability in that need made her feel unhinged.

She found herself trying to entice him, concurrently hating herself for stooping so low. She left an extra button on her blouse undone, put a switch in her hips when she walked ahead of him, brushed her own fingers across the skin of her neck in a way that would be unnoticeable in anyone else, but she caught him noticing from the corner of her eye. When she anticipated that he’d come by her apartment, she wore shorts or a low v neck shirt, forgetting a bra or sitting cross legged to reveal the milky insides of her thighs, inviting him, wordlessly, to taste them. Sometimes she thought she saw a flash of desire in his eyes, but he always composed himself quickly, sometimes making an excuse to leave. She didn’t know what to make of the fact that he hadn’t tried again, that even when she did something as overt as leave her bedroom door open when she changed, he chivalrously averted his eyes. She realized it was unfair to expect him to understand, to know, what she wanted. Even if he did pick up on her painfully subtle, and occasionally obvious, signals, that didn’t mean he returned her feelings. Perhaps that night had been a mistake in his eyes, a slip up never to be repeated. The possibility that he would reject her if she risked reaching out to him again was enough to hold her back from doing so. Though he had enthusiastically participated the last time, that did not preclude him from having regretted it once it was over.

Now she stood before his closed apartment door on a Friday night, taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. Not because she was nervous, but because she was on fire. Her pelvis twitched and her spine arched at the idea of being near him in a private space, where the possibilities that ran through her mind all day seemed more plausible. He’d invited her over for dinner and a review of some possible cases they might take on, so they could plan how to spend their time the following week. Since he’d made the proposal that morning, she’d convinced and then talked herself out of his ulterior motives countless times. She knew that working herself up into thinking that something would happen made it even harder, and she heard her grad school professor’s voice in her head saying “expectations are premeditated resentments, Dana.” Gathering her composure, she took a moment to hike her breasts up in her push up bra and tug her jeans up over her hips so that they were snug against her ass. She’d finally settled on jeans and a green T shirt, which felt appropriately casual, but she’d selected a shirt that was a little too snug and a little too low cut, jeans that were half a size too small and slung low on her hips. If she were to bend over the flesh of her back would be exposed, which gave her a tiny thrill. Any stranger on the street would never give her outfit a second glance; it was painfully basic and unremarkable. But for buttoned-up, proper Dana Scully, it was reckless and suggestive. She may as well have been wearing lingerie for how sexy it made her feel.

Putting on her game face, she knocked. From inside the apartment he called “it’s open” and she let herself in, setting her purse on his cluttered dining room table and scanning the adjacent rooms to locate him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the living room, and she found herself standing in the doorway of his bedroom, eyes roving over his naked chest and belly, a towel slung low on his hips and his hair spiked and wet from the shower. She smirked a little, wondering if this were intentional. Given her recent antics it seemed entirely possible, so she took a risk and didn’t look away, allowing him to see her rake her eyes over him appreciatively, finally reaching his face where a knowing smile played at the corner of his lips. Those lips. She sighed and smiled back at him, and he glanced down her body and back up before saying “hey.”

“Hi” she returned, suddenly feeling shy. She averted her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll be out in a minute, this isn’t what I was planning to wear.”

“That‘s too bad” she said in her head. “Okay” is what came out of her mouth before she turned and went to sit on the couch, tortured by the knowledge that he was naked on the other side of the wall. Was she supposed to take that as an invitation? Was he trying to send her signals just as much as she was him? She suddenly remembered why she didn’t bother with dating; all the guesswork was exhausting.

He emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later in a black T shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He looked freshly shaved. “I ordered Italian” he said, sitting down beside her, only a sliver of space between the sides of their thighs. “Should be here in about an hour, they were really busy.” He smelled like soap and his old spice deodorant, mint on his breath. She figured he had played basketball after work and that explained the shower, but did he normally shave and brush his teeth before dinner? Her expectations were weaseling their way into her thoughts again. Stop, she told herself.

“Do you want a beer?” He asked, and she said yes a little too quickly. He opened a beer for each of them and she sipped it steadily, welcoming the way it would smooth the edges of her thoughts but not wanting to appear as though she were planning to get drunk. Mulder was a gentleman beyond gentlemen and wouldn’t dream of touching her if he thought she were incapacitated in any respect. This was a fact she appreciated generally, and resented presently.

They dug into a thin stack of case files, each leaning forward with their elbows braced on their knees. She watched out of her periphery to see if he was looking down her shirt, and bit her cheek to keep from smiling when she saw that he was at regular intervals. Within about 20 minutes they narrowed it down to three cases they’d dig into on Monday, revealing the fact that an entire evening together wasn’t necessary for such a task, but they were both grateful to set the case files aside and just exist outside of suit jackets and basement offices. Scully was sitting sideways, cross legged, with her back against the arm rest, her toes grazing Mulder’s leg as he sat beside her, his torso twisted slightly to face her. She held her nearly empty beer bottle in her hands, picking at the corner of the label with her fingernail.

“So” he said. She felt the prick of anticipation and the hairs on her arms stood at attention, on guard for whatever might come next.

“So” she responded, because what else was she to say?

He studied her intently, his hazel eyes traversing the terrain of her face, darting from eyebrow to lip to nose, searching her for something. Finally the unbroken attention made her so uncomfortable that she was willing to speak.

“What?” She asked him, keeping her tone neither accusatory nor annoyed, simply curious. “What are you thinking about?” it conveyed, without saying as much.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully. “Was it a mistake, what happened? Do you think of it that way?”

His speaking of the unspeakable caught her off guard and she felt her face flush immediately. “No” she said, but she couldn’t meet his eye. “No, I don’t think of it that way.”

“What was it then? One time thing? Random fluke?”

How he was able to speak so directly about such fraught topics was always a marvel to her. She opened her mouth to speak once, twice, but closed it again each time. What she wanted to say was that she didn’t know what it was supposed to be when she initiated it, but the second it was over she wanted it to be part of her daily routine, like brushing her hair. Finally she gave him a tiny shrug and an “I don’t know.” She hated herself for making it seem like she didn’t care, but she didn’t know how to be honest without sounding like a teenager with a crush.

He studied her face again, and she self consciously fussed with her hair, looking at anything but him. She could feel him thinking, strategizing. She could only hope his strategy ended with her naked in his lap, but she also realized that if that were to happen, she would have to make more of an effort outside of simply not getting up and leaving.

“Do you want it to happen again?” He asked, and she laughed out of surprise, biting her lip but not answering. She lifted her eyes to meet his and her stomach clenched when she saw the stoic expression on his face, his eyes full of self-doubt. She was an asshole for making him think for a second that she didn’t want him. They lingered there, locked in an impromptu staring contest, until Mulder reached out and took the empty beer bottle from her hands and set it on the coffee table. He then lightly grasped her wrist in one hand and pressed the middle and forefinger of his other hand to her pulse point. She knew what he was doing. Her heart, which was already racing, sped up to something resembling the beat of hummingbird wings. After a moment, he removed his fingers and brought his lips to kiss the spot they had just vacated.

“I realize things like this are hard for you to talk about, and I know you well enough to know that if the answer were no, you would have told me as much and high-tailed it out of here. So I’m going to take the fact that you’re still sitting here, as well as the fact that your heart is working triple time, to mean that it would be acceptable if I were to kiss you right now. Is that a sound conclusion?”

“It is” she said in a near whisper, every cell in her body reaching out for him like he was magnetized. They were still locked in eye contact, though with this new understanding it had shifted from awkward to intimate.

They both jumped at the sudden pounding on the door. “Marinos!” Someone called out from the other side, and Mulder stood and went to grab his wallet. While he was gone, Scully let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she got here, and stood to use the bathroom. She studied her face in the mirror, sniff-checked her armpits, freshened up to be sure there were no errant toilet paper shreds clinging to her anatomy. When she opened the door, she found Mulder standing on the other side, waiting. She gave him a confused but also amused look.

“Hi” she said around a shy smile.

“Welcome back” he replied with a cool bravado, then stepped forward and cupped her face in his hands, drawing her in to a sweet kiss. She sighed into his mouth, the relief after weeks of tension pooling at her feet. She brought her hands to his neck and used his weight as leverage as she leaned her body against his, wanting him closer. In return, he stooped to grab the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. It was still light out, and without the cover of darkness or the clumsiness of a first time, she felt more powerful and in control. She knew he wanted her, and she knew what she wanted from him. He stepped the few feet towards his bed and gently lay her down, moving to plant kisses along her neck. Pushing the bottom hem of her shirt up to expose her belly, he asked “is this okay?” And she replied “you don’t have to ask, you can do whatever you want.”

“Fuck” he breathed. It was an expression of excitement, and nervousness, and amazement that she trusted him so perfectly, and wanted him so completely.

She sat up and he pulled her shirt off over her head, deftly un-hooking her bra before she slipped it down her arms and threw it over the side of the bed. He sucked a nipple between his teeth and she gasped, her hips bucking into him, her head falling back. He repeated it on the other breast and she whimpered, to which he pushed the bulge in his jeans against her thigh, seeking relief. She pulled at his shirt, signaling him to take it off, and he did in a split-second maneuver, not wanting to stray from his task for a moment longer than he had to. Kissing down her belly, he unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them forcefully off her hips and down her legs. His actions were desperate and hungry; he couldn’t wait to get at her, and she could not wait to be gotten. When he went to pull her panties off they ripped under his urgency and he tore them away, hooking his arms under her knees and pressing his face into her vulva as he drug her to the end of the bed.

“Jesus Christ” she called out, her hands threading into his hair as he lapped at her hungrily. She could not believe the speed with which she approached orgasm. She would never have described herself as someone who was easy to please in bed, and yet he seemed to locate every pleasure point on her body with admirable ease, slipping a finger inside her to massage her G spot as he sucked on her clit. She felt herself falling over the edge and she hung there deliciously long, the point of release laying across her like a blanket until it crashed against her like a wave.

“Oh, I’m gonna come” she pleaded, the sound more breath than words, as if he didn’t already know from his position on the seat of her orgasm that it was happening. She came for an eternity, unaware of her own sounds or movements, existing only within her body and beneath her pleasure. He stayed with her, teasing out every throb she had to give, running his rough hands over as much skin as he could reach, until she was sated, and lie still and quiet. He rested his head on the inside of her thigh and waited for a signal that she was ready to return to Earth. After a couple minutes, she spoke.

“Holy shit.”

He laughed, and crawled up to lie next to her, tucking his nose into her neck and placing tiny kisses all over her chest.

“I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I am completely naked” she said, a mix of self-consciousness and humor in her voice.

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down and then back up the length of her body. “You most certainly are” he said matter-of-factly, and she wrapped her arms across her chest in mock-modesty.

“You tore my underwear” she accused him, and he shrugged.

“Do you want to tear my underwear as payback?” He thrust his hips against her gently, and she was reminded that he had yet to be touched.

“Perhaps” she said against his lips, biting the lower one gently, signaling that they were not yet done. As she kissed him, she reached for the button of his jeans and flicked it open before easing down the zipper. He shifted up a bit to give her better access and breathed a low moan when she slipped her hand into his pants and grasped his erection.

“Mulder, I can’t help but notice that you’re not wearing underwear”

“Maybe if you’d had the same idea I wouldn’t have needed to rip them off” he teased breathlessly.

She pushed his jeans down and he stood to remove them before rejoining her, curling his naked body against her side as she resumed stroking him. “Come here” she directed, moving her leg aside to make space for his body. He hovered over her, their tongues dancing between their mouths as he thrust against her belly. She lifted her knees towards her chest and reached down to grasp him, brushing the head of his cock against her slick lips. He hummed and mumbled words she couldn’t understand, until she guided him inside her and he said “fuck.”

“Watch your language, Mulder” she chastised playfully, and he thrust into her suddenly, eliciting a gasp.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt? He stilled, searching her face.

She shook her head with a sly smile. “Even if it did, that’s not always a bad thing.”

His eyebrows went up in surprise “I’m learning so much about you today” he mused, resuming his thrusts slowly.

“Likewise” she replied, but her breathing was growing ragged, their playful banter becoming unsustainable.

He quickened his pace, kissing her neck and lips, burying his face in her hair when it became too intense for kissing. Suddenly he stopped and withdrew from her, and she looked at him incredulously. “Where are you going?” A question she’d asked him hundreds of times in an entirely new context.

“I’m interested in seeing you in every position imaginable, however I’ve been thinking so much about last time and I’d really like you to be on top again, if you don’t object to that.”

“No objections here” she replied, moving so that he could sit at the head of the bed against the wall. The sun was setting and she felt a little less exposed in the fading light of the bedroom. She climbed into his lap and kissed him for a couple minutes as she teased him at her opening, shifting her hips so he’d slide by, but not enter her. When she finally sunk down onto him, he dropped his head back and moaned in delicious agony. She started rising and falling slowly, planting kisses on his neck and nipping at his earlobes. As his breathing quickened she changed her rhythm, keeping her body close against his and sliding back and forth. His eyes shot open and his head lifted to watch what she was doing, gripping her hips though he made no attempt to control her movements. He reached down between them to touch her clit and she pushed his hand away. “Too much” she panted. “This part is just for you.” He returned his hand to her hip and trained his eyes on the place where their bodies met, slack jawed and wide eyed as she flexed her pelvis forward and back. When she could tell he was close, she increased her pace until he closed his eyes, he tightened his grip on her and cried out. As he crested over the most intense point, he opened his eyes again and looked at her face, locking eyes with her in the dim light of his bedroom as he filled her with his hot cum, desire giving way to the deep affection they held for each other. She collapsed against him and they sat like that for a while until she felt his fading erection slip out of her and a rush of fluid followed.

“Shit!” She said, sitting up with a worried expression. “I forgot about that part.”

He made a face that set her off giggling, which caused even more to drip out of her and into his lap. “Gah, don’t laugh, Scully, that makes it worse!” His protests only made her laugh harder and he smiled at her jiggling breasts as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“How about a shower, then dinner?” He proposed, and she nodded, still regaining composure.

After a hot shower and a borrowed pair of boxer shorts, they sat on his couch eating reheated lasagna and smiling at each other. After Mulder cleared their plates, he sat back down beside her.

“So” he said.

“So” she returned. What else could she say?

“I’m going to take the fact that you’re still here and that you’re wearing my underwear as an indication that this wasn’t a two-time only thing. Is that a sound conclusion?”

“It is” she replied with a smile.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.

No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.

Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 4/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“I can’t talk right now, Nile,” Hange hissed into her phone, taking a step away from Levi. “I’m—”

“On a date, yes, I know. There is a hardly a pen in our department that doesn’t know that some loser asked you out on a date.”

“I’m off duty,” Hange gritted. “So if you’re calling simply to annoy me, then I’m hanging up.”

“I knew I should have asked Erwin to do this…” Nile muttered darkly. Hange could practically see him closing his eyes and breathing heavily through nose. It was a sight she was quite familiar with. She was seeing it almost every time that hers and Nile’s paths crossed. “Zoe, I know we don’t usually see eye to eye, but this is important.”

“Important?” what that could possibly mean? The only thing more important right now than her date with Levi was…

“It’s about the Ackerman case.” Nile confirmed. Hange gripped the phone tighter in her hands.

“Was there another robbery?”

“No. But we just apprehended a criminal.”

“Ackerman?”

“No.”

Hange cursed. “Why are you calling me then, Nile? To brag that your team isn’t a bunch of complete idiots? Well, congratulations, but I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Would you shut up for just a second?” Nile snapped. “I’m trying to tell you something, Zoe!”

Hange huffed, irritated. “I’m all ears,” she said sarcastically.

“We caught a thief, name’s Traute Caven. You probably don’t know her.”

“That’s right. I don’t.”

“Well, she wants to talk with you.”

“About what?” Hange questioned. “And why me?”

“She asked me to bring in detective who leads the Ackerman case. And she refuses to say anything else.”

“Fuck.” Hange exhaled. She was having a really good time with Levi… she didn’t wish to leave him, but… her duty and work came first. Always did, always will. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Stay where you are,” Nile said. “I’ll come and pick you up.”

He hanged up before Hange could give him another sarcastic comeback.

With a heavy sigh, she returned to Levi’s side.

“I need to go,” she told him, shamefully avoiding his eyes. “Sorry for ditching you, but… it’s an emergency.”

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, thanks,” her face changed, turning into a sour mien, as she thought of Nile and his awful, ugly goatee. “My, um, friend will pick me up.”

“Oh, alright,” Levi nodded, looking lost, like he didn’t know what to do. Hange felt another prick of guilt.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” she wasn’t sure if Levi would want to see her after that, but, well… she was an eternal optimist. “So we could meet again. If you wish to, that’s it?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “I would love that.”

“Awesome!” a bright smile bloomed on her face. Giddy and excited, she snickered, giving him finger-guns. The exasperate roll of his eyes that followed made her giggle again.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Hange saw a car approaching, its bright headlights almost blinding her. It was time to leave, it seemed.

“See you soon!” she gave Levi one last wide grin, and hurried to Nile’s car.

 ***

“Jesus, Zoe!” Nile looked over Hange’s wet hair and clothes with disgust, written all over his features. “Did you get dunked in a pile of snow?”

Hange hid a smile. “It’s called a snow fight, Nile. If you already forgot what that is or you’ve never knew because you were a giant nerd as a child, it’s when two or more people—”

“I know what a snow fight is,” he threw Hange a quick, annoyed look and then started the car, riding out on a street. “I have kids, you know. And I wasn’t a nerd.”

“Erwin tells a different story.”

“Erwin is full of shit,” he grunted, stopping before a traffic light. In a second before the green lightened up, he looked at Hange once more. Her arms were wrapped around her body, and her teeth were almost audibly chattering.  Nile rolled his eyes, let out a tired sigh and turned up the heater.

“Thanks,” Hange quietly said, bringing her red fingers closer to the source of warmth. “How are your kids, by the way?”

“They’re good,” Nile nodded, his expression softening slightly at the mention of his children. “And how was… your date?”

“Good!” Hange answered, a smile breaking on her face. “It was really, really good.”

“So what, you like, er,” Nile winced and then frowned. “You like… them?”

“I do,” she watched his obvious discomfort with amused look. “And I was meeting up with a man, if that’s what confused you so much.”

The tips of his ears became red. “I just didn’t want to assume,” Nile grumbled with a stubborn scowl. “Your last date was a woman, so…”

The awkward silence fell over the car. Hange thought of fiddling with a car’s radio, but quickly decided against it. Her relationship with Nile was tense as it was, there was no point in adding fuel to an already raging fire.

She estimated that it would take them another ten minutes to get to the precinct. She desperately thought of a new topic for a conversation. Casual small talk proved to be too awkward for her and Nile.

The metaphorical bulb lightened up in her head. Of course! What was the only thing in the world she and Nile had in common?

“So what about that woman you’ve apprehended? Traute Caven, right?”

“Oh yes,” Nile nodded, obviously relieved to have something else to discuss and fill the silence with. “I brought a case file with me, it’s in a glove compartment.”

Hange followed his directions and took out a thick enough folder. Quite a portfolio that Caven had, she thought with a grim smile. She didn’t open it, instead glancing at Nile’s face again.

“You’ve spoken with her, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And? Do you think she really knows something? Do you think we should trust her?”

“I don’t know,” Nile answered truthfully. “She asked to speak with you, Hange. So, it’s up for you to decide.”

“Awesome,” Hange grumbled, opening the folder on a first page. “No pressure at all.”

***

Standing in front of a sturdy, metal door, Hange recited everything she had just read.

Traute Caven, 47 years.

Was involved in a life of crime since teenage years. At young age of fifteen, she was apprehended by a police for the first time. Caught for shoplifting at a local mall, they let her go. A couple of months later, she was detained once more, this time for stealing from a jewelry store. Because she was caught before she could actually steal anything, she got away again once again. Just after she turned seventeen, Caven and a few of her friends decided to rob a bank. The police got them fairly quickly, and Caven received a jail sentence. She spent three years behind bars, but jail wasn’t able to change her. Once she was a free woman again, she returned to stealing, but this time— she was more cautious. She changed her name and appearance after each theft, and she had gotten acquainted with a skill of fraud as well, which complicated her arrest even more. The police spent years, chasing after her. Hange was actually quite impressed that Nile and his team were able to get her.

And now Caven wanted to talk with her.

About Ackerman case.

Hange couldn’t lie, she was excited. And nervous. Very, very nervous.  

After all that time and efforts she poured into that goddamned case, just a small clue, a seemingly insignificant detail meant the world to her.

And what if she was at the verge of breakthrough?

Just the thought of it made Hange feel giddy. If Caven really knew something, if she could really lead them to Ackermans…

She was getting ahead of herself.

Too much haste is too little speed, Erwin always reminded her.

She needed to pull herself together.

Hange gripped the folder with Caven’s case tighter and put on a serious, determined face.

She had to look professional, authoritative.

She inhaled, exhaled and then opened the door.

Traute Caven didn't look like a thief. With her long blond hair tied up in a neat ponytail, in an elegant dark blue dress suit and white expensive-looking coat, she looked gorgeous, despite the unnatural lighting of the interrogation room.

A life of crime paid well, Hange thought bitterly. Much better than what she received for trying to catch the scoundrels.

"Miss Caven," she greeted. She sat down on the opposite side of a table and leveled her with a hard gaze.

"Detective Zoe, I take it?" Caven retorted, her each word slow and measured.

Hange nodded, taking a notebook out of her breast pocket. "You wanted to talk to me, right?"

"I have something to tell you," Caven confirmed.

"So I've heard. And what is it that you wanted to discuss?"

Caven curled her wine red lips in a smile. "Let's discuss the details of our deal first."

Hange answered her with a sly smile of her own. "Tell me what you know, Miss Caven. Or I'm walking out of here."

"And miss your chance to catch Ackermans?"

"I'm sure I can manage without your help."

It was a bluff, and a weak one at that. Erwin would have done a much better job, but Erwin wasn't there and Hange didn't have enough time to come up with a more efficient trick. But it seemed like she didn't have to. Despite the confident way she held herself, Hange caught a glimpse of what she was hiding behind that tough exterior – in truth, Caven was too desperate to argue.

"So let's hear your offer first," Hange prompted. She threw Caven an expectant look and uncapped the pen, holding it above the notebook.

"Fine," she gritted, flicking her hair. "I'll tell you what I know. But that’s it. I refuse to cooperate further, if you don’t uphold your end of a deal.”

They had no deal, Hange wanted to remind her. But if Caven’s information was worth at least something… Hange was ready to beg Erwin to shorten her prison term.

“I’m listening, Miss Caven,” she told with a sweet smile.

Caven sat back in the chair, folding arms across her chest. On her face she wore an expression of superiority and complacency. Hange unconsciously leaned closer.

If her previous distress so quickly turned in such blatant display of arrogance, then what she knew must be good, real good. Hange’s heart hammered in her chest, as she anxiously waited for Caven to start talking.

“I know one of the Ackermans. And I can lead you to him.”

Hange blinked a few times. Opened and closed her mouth. Looked up and down, pitched the skin of her arm.

She wasn’t dreaming.

Hange narrowed her eyes, studying Caven’s face. She didn’t look like she was lying. And why would she? As soon as her lie uncovers, she’d get sent in prison, for a much longer time than her original term.

So Caven wasn’t lying, and she was evidently real, so— it wasn’t Hange’s dream or fantasy. And that meant—

Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

This was all real.

Caven really knew an Ackerman. She could bring Hange to him. She wasn’t just at the verge, it was a breakthrough.

I know one of the Ackermans, Caven had said. Meaning there were two of them, meaning they didn’t always operate together. Hange quickly scribbled it down in her notebook. Compared to Caven’s other revelation, this seemed like a laughably unimportant detail. But Hange was a creature of habit, and she wrote down a few words, no matter how insignificant they might have looked to others.

“I want to have my term shorten by a half. At the very least.” A smirk didn’t leave Caven’s face. She was glowing, basking in the effect her words had on Hange. “So do we have a deal? If we do, I can call him right this second.”

“No!” Hange cried out, bending over the table to grab Caven’s hand in hers. “No need to call anyone.”

Caven raised her eyebrows, watching Hange closely. As she noticed the almost feral look in her eyes, she tentatively backed away.

“You don’t want to apprehend them?”

She did. More than anything, Hange wanted to throw the bastards behind bars, where they rightfully belonged. But they were hurrying things up.

Too much haste is too little speed.

She couldn’t get to Ackermans, not now. She didn’t have any proof to back her up in a court, they could easily whisk away, far out of her reach.

She shouldn’t rush things, she had to act cautiously, taking into account every possible outcome.

She should approach it just like Erwin would.

“Miss Caven,” Hange pushed the glasses up her nose, smirking deviously. “How do you feel about committing one last robbery?”

 ***

“Erwin!”

Hange was on the phone with him, as soon as she walked out of the interrogation room. She had a person, who would lead her to Ackermans, she had a way to get to them, she had a plan on how to orchestrate all of it and get the evidence they needed to put them behind bars. All she needed now was support from Erwin. If he would believe in her plan, if he would agree to back her up in front of their colleagues… the success was practically guaranteed.

“You like a good gamble, right? I have a perfect one for you.”

 ***

It's been four days. Four days since Hange had left him in the snowy, quiet park. And she was yet to call or even text him.

Rationally, Levi knew that she must be incredibly busy. She was probably working day and night, doing her best to protect this city from... People like him.

This thought was rational, problem was - nothing about his relationship with Hange Zoe was rational.

If he was thinking rationally, if he was acting with a clear head, he'd run away from her, as far as it was possible. Or he would fool her, making her fall for him, just so he could get closer to the evidence she had gathered on him and Kenny. He'd destroy it, break her heart and then - of course - he'd run away, as fast and far as he could.

If he was thinking rationally, he wouldn't be glaring at his black phone screen, waiting for it to light up and announce a new incoming text - or better yet, a call.

But four days went after their date, and - he got nothing.

It made him angry. And worse than that, it made him sad. He felt neglected. Abandoned. Forgotten.

He wasn't used to neither of those feelings.

He tried contacting her, of course. His finger hovered above the call button dozens of times, and he typed several texts only to delete them just before pressing send.

Hi, how are you seemed too trite.

What you've been up to sounded too nosy.  

It's been a while made him look like he was too clingy.

Hey, do you want to hang out would probably make her think he was too needy or demanding.

Levi would never think that texting someone could be so hard. Picking locks to high-security doors was easy. Hacking all the survey cameras in the building at once was easy. Climbing through ventilation shafts and jumping off the skyscrapers with one thin rope as his back up was easy. Communicating with another person was not.

He had half a mind to go and ask Kenny for an advice.

But, obviously, he wasn't that desperate. For now, at least.

In the end, Levi didn't have to ask. Kenny came to him himself.

"So that's it?" Kenny walked into the kitchen, joining him at the table. Shifting his gaze from the phone to his uncle’s face, Levi raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate.

***

"Your date!" Kenny clasped his back, almost making Levi choke. Letting out a deep, amused chuckle, he continued. "Did she get sick of you already?"

"What the fuck—"

"That must be a record, I'm sure," Kenny carried on, ignoring Levi's sizzling gaze. "To be done with you just after the first date. Her loss, I guess," he shook his head in fake disappointment. "Or yours. Since now you're definitely going to die a virgin."

"I'm not—" Levi paused, taking a deep breath and mustering his expression into the murderest one he could manage. "I'm not a virgin!" he hissed.

"Really?" Kenny, that fucking asshole, had the audacity to look shocked. Levi's hands curled into fists. "Was it that waitress then? The one I told you to seduce? I didn't expect you to get in bed with her. Good job, Levi!” he received another hard pat on his shoulder. “Or, no, wait! Did you do it with that artist? The one that had the security code to the gallery safe?"

His ears were burning. He was sure his cheeks were red too, because Kenny kept looking at him with that insufferably smug smirk of his.

Levi was going to kill him. He was going to murder his own uncle. He could plunge the knife into his chest, or maybe, throw the tea cup into his face..... As soon as he finished the tea, of course.

"This is none of your business," he said, his voice much calmer than he was actually feeling. "And my date didn't grow sick of me."

Levi hoped so, at least.

"Oh? Then why have you been boring holes into your phone for the last few days?"

He shamefully averted his gaze. Kenny started laughing.

"She's probably busy," he muttered.

"So busy she can't reply to your text?"

"...I didn't send her a text."

"Have you called then?"

"...No."

"Levi!" Kenny cried out. "Are you serious? You didn't try to contact her and that's why you're brooding? I didn't know you're that shy!"

"I'm not shy," he grunted. "I'm just—"

"Terrified of making the first move, eh?" the smirk was back on Kenny's lips. "I bet she was the one who asked you out in the first place."

Levi turned his face away, hiding from Kenny's amused look. The fucking bastard was right but— he'd rather die than to admit this to Kenny.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Levi," Kenny gave him look so full of disappointment that the beginnings of shame actually prickled his heart. "Just send her a picture of a funny cat or some other shit. Stop being such a goddamn chicken."

Levi slowly nodded, pondering.

That was.... A sound advice. He wouldn’t send a picture of a funny cat, of course, he had a feeling Hange was actually a dog person, but....Sending something to get her attention. That way he could easily initiate dialogue without directly asking for it.

Huh. Who knew that Kenny of all people would give him a good advice.

As he moved his hand to grab the phone, Kenny stopped him.

"Wait, before you start making a fool out of yourself, I need to discuss something with you."

"What?" Levi snapped, quickly pulling his hand away. He crossed arms on his chest, glaring at Kenny beneath his eyebrows.

"Remember I told you about a job? We need to do it soon."

His glare turned into a frown. "You said we'll wait..."

"And wait we did." Kenny retorted. "We need to hurry."

Why, Levi wanted to ask. But he felt like he already knew the answer.

"Who is our client?"

Kenny hesitated. For a moment he shifted his gaze to the side. It was all the answer Levi needed.

"It's Reiss, isn't it?"

"Levi it's—"

"It's bullshit, that's what it is!" Levi growled. "I get that Uri was your friend and you owed much to him. But why the fuck you continue working for his deranged brother is beyond me!"

"You don't have to understand anything, Levi." Kenny told him, his gaze hard and his lips pressed in a tight line. "You just need to do what I say."

Kenny stood up, turning on his heels. "End of discussion. I'll call you when I finish the plan."

He left the room without another glance at him. For a few moments, Levi watched the spot his uncle was just sitting at, his anger growing and growing. He wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably, Kenny.

He almost rose up to go and do just that, but then he remembered.

Detective Zoe. He needed to text her.

His tea now completely forgotten, Levi grabbed his phone. Kenny was a shithead and a jerk, however... his advice wasn't that bad. But he still had to find a way to implement it. He opened the browser and furrowed his brows. What would Hange enjoy?

A link to an article? Not a bad choice, but what should he chose as a topic? Science? News? History? Or, maybe, a video from YouTube? A song? But he didn't know what music Hange liked and he wasn't sure their music tastes would be compatible. Or maybe—

His musings were suddenly interrupted. By a loud ping. Levi almost jumped at the unexpected noise. He glanced at top of his screen. He had an incoming message. From Hange.

In a span of a heartbeat, Levi opened it.

hey! sorry for being absent for so long, work is kicking my ass :( are you free this evening? do you want to go to that place you've showed me? i have the first day-off in forever :D

It was a simple message. It had no right in making him that flustered.

Levi stood up, went to a sink and put his cup in it. After washing it as thoroughly as possible and wiping his hands, he returned to the table.

He took the phone in his hands, he received a message from Hange five minutes ago. It was probably an appropriate time to respond. He didn't reply instantly, so Hange wouldn't think he's too eager. And he didn't reply too late as well, meaning that he wouldn't come across as negligent.

i'll be there at 8, he wrote back.

He went to brew another cup of tea, an unusual lightness taking residue in his chest. For the first time in five days, he was content.

***

"Hange," Erwin walked up to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. Tearing her gaze away from the papers on her desk, Hange blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness in the room. The sun was already up? It was up for quite some time, if Erwin was already here. "Did you really spend another night in here?"

The crease between his bush eyebrows was disapproving. Hange averted her eyes in shame.

"I just wanted to check one thing, and I guess I got carried away a bit..."

Erwin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I appreciate what you do, Hange, I really do. I'm proud of what you’ve accomplished, but you need to take care of yourself. C'mon," he wrapped his hand around her arm, pulling her upwards. "Go home and get some sleep. Come back in the morning."

"But—" Hange cried, her eyes widening. "The today's shift has just begun! You want me to skip a whole day of work?"

"That's exactly what I want you to do. The precinct will survive one day without you, Hange."

"But!" she lifted the papers from her desk, shoving them into Erwin's face. "My work! My operation! It's important, Erwin!"

"You did all that you could for now," he reminded, his expression turning darker. "We still have a couple of days before Caven contacts Ackermans to lure them into our trap. So take this time to rest. And then give this operation your best."

"You really won't let me work, eh?" Hange's shoulders sagged, as she put down the papers, the plans she so carefully crafted. "I'll go home then, fine, but," she narrowed her eyes, glaring at Erwin, who, unfortunately, didn't look fazed at all. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"I don't expect anything else," he smiled, patting her arm. "Have a nice day, Hange."

She answered him with a smile of her own, albeit hers was too weak in comparison. With a defeated look, Hange started to pack her things.

She was grateful to Erwin for everything he's done to her, for all the times he stood behind her shoulder, backing her up. Without him, this operation would never be allowed to come to fruition. But all that aside, there were times when Erwin pissed her off so much. Sometimes he became too overbearing, breathing down her neck and pushing her to take a break like he was not her captain, but a mother.

As she turned to give him one last look, Erwin was still watching her, taping his foot impatiently. Sturdy like a rock, Hange’s protests would never sway him. She sighed, putting on her coat and grabbing her bag.

"Bye, chief!" she waved her hand before leaving the office.

As she walked through the hallways of the precinct, expertly avoiding bumping into one of her colleagues, the exhaustion started to catch up with her. She thought long and hard what should she do once she gets home. She could go to sleep, after several nights she spent sleeping at the small, uncomfortable couch in her office, she needed that catch eye more than anything.

But what she could busy herself with afterwards?  Working was out of question, she left all printed documents in the office, and, knowing Erwin, he already blocked her access to the precinct's database. So what was left...

Hange pondered on it, taping a point finger against her lips.

And then— it hit her. Levi.

Levi!

She promised to text him after their date. And that was - Hange took out her phone, checking the date - fuck, that was five days ago. Would he still agree to hang out, she wondered.

Only one way to find out, Hange decided, unlocking her phone and opening the last chat with Levi.

***

They agreed to meet at eight. Levi entered the café at 7:30. He sat down at a table in the corner, the one that was separated from the rest of the café by a thin wall. He ordered tea and prepared to wait. He watched the entrance intently, his heart racing every time the door opened.

He finished his first cup and went outside to have a smoke. He ordered his second cup and soon finished it too. He had another cigarette. He walked inside again and ordered another cup. He paused from watching the entrance to glance at his wristwatch.

8:31

Hange was running late. Again. He was starting to see a pattern here.

He was thinking of going for another smoke break, when Hange finally stumbled inside. Red-faced and panting, she rushed to the table Levi was sitting at.

"Sorry!" she cried out, her voice ringing in the quietness of the small café and reverberating from its walls. "I swear it's not intentional, I just—" she took a deep breath. Levi pushed the unfinished cup in her direction and Hangs gulped in one go. "I just overslept."

"Overslept?" his eyebrows went so high they reached his hairline. He checked his wrist watch. "It's almost nine o'clock."

"Crazy day!" Hange giggled, sitting on the opposite side of Levi. "But I'm glad I finally get to see you! It's been a while!"

"It was," Levi nodded. It was good to see Hange, even though he couldn't quite find the words to express it.

"What do you wish to order?"

"I'll leave it up to you," Hange replied, smiling. She was sitting with her chin resting on her hand, and her eyes looking straight at Levi. Under her gaze, it was hard not to fidget.

"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, getting more and more flustered with each second.

"Nope," she said. "I just like looking at you, that's all."

Levi felt heat rise to his face. How the hell he should answer that?

"You reek," he blurted out. He cringed as soon as these words left his mouth. What is wrong with you, the voice in his head - the one that sounded exactly like Kenny - wondered.

Hange, however, didn't look fazed in the slightest.

"Yeah, sorry about that,” where any other – sane – person would start throwing insults or possibly even slap him, Hange just carelessly shrugged. “I was kinda living in my office and didn't have the time to take a shower. Today is the first time I came home, and I was so excited to see you that I totally forgot to clean up."

What she just said - it disgusted Levi beyond compare. Hange’s hair was greasy, her body emanated heinous odor of sweat and he was pretty sure she hadn’t brush her teeth too.

But at the same time - what she just said - it made Levi's chest feel weird. His heart skipped a beat and a warm, fluttery feeling settled in his stomach. It almost made him forget about his disgust.

"So what you've been up to?" he asked after Hange's order arrived.

She looked up from a cake she'd been devouring to give him a silly grin. The corners of her mouth were stained with cream. Levi sighed, bending over the table to wipe it out.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "And about work... sorry," she spread her arms. "That's kinda classified."

Of course, it'd be naive to think Hange would reveal her cards so easily. But if he could get at least something from her...

"You seem pretty excited," he noted, watching her carefully.

"I am!" Hange exclaimed, sending another spoon of cake into her mouth. "I feel very, very good about this operation. I've been working for more than a year to get to those bastards. Can't believe I'm so close to doing it!"

A chill ran through his spine. Hange was close. Hange was close to catching them. They needed to run, needed to get out of the city. He had to warn Kenny. Before it became too late.

His heart beat in unsteady rhythm and his hands turned clammy, as he tried to concentrate on what Hange was saying. His thoughts were going in circles, as he forced himself to snap out of it. He had to keep up his lie, had to play the role until the end, otherwise he risked rising Hange’s suspicions.

He had to think of something, some change of topic, something that would distract him from his possible downfall.

Putting on his best poker face, he straightened up, looking her in the eyes and willing his heart to calm down. A new direction to their conversation was already at the tip of his tongue.

Unfortunately, talking had never been his strong forte.

"I have been wondering..." Hange perked up. Levi winced, continuing. "Are you a cat or dog person?"

***

Finally, he was in his element.

After numerous discussions and arguments with Kenny, he was unable to convince him to leave. Not until they finish this job, or so Kenny had said.

“It's a piece of cake”, he had said. “The easiest job we've done in a while. Walk in, grab the money and walk out.”

“We can leave the city after that for a while,” he added. “Go on a vacation, travel to Caribbean or some shit.”

Levi hoped it wasn't one of Kenny's bullshit lies. They needed to get going and soon, the threat was hanging over them, so close that Levi could almost feel the tip of that metaphorical sword on the top of his head. But Kenny didn't understand. And Kenny wouldn't understand, because explaining to him meant revealing the way he got this information. And Levi couldn't allow that to happen. If Kenny finds out, he would never trust him again.

Or worse, he would decide to do something stupid. For example, try to outsmart the police. His uncle was a cunning man, but Levi knew what Hange was capable of. And he had met her boss, Erwin Smith. Kenny didn't stand a chance against the two of them.

To his credit, Kenny didn't lie, not this time at least. Getting inside the house was indeed surprisingly easy.

***

"First, you hack into security cameras," Kenny had instructed. "Judging by the blueprints of the house, there shouldn't be many of them."

"The house is small then?"

"Not the smallest one we've robbed."

"Who is our target?"

"Don't remember the name," Kenny gave his flippant reply, scratching the back of his neck. "But he's some big shot politician."

Politicians? Since when did they start targeting politicians? Something was up...

"Don't give me that look, Levi!" Kenny snapped, taking notice of Levi's furrowed eyebrows. "It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is this - will you be able to get through their security system?"

Levi huffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. Do you really need to ask?"

***

Just like Kenny had said, getting in was surprisingly easy. He hacked into security cameras and turned off the alarms in a record seven minutes time. And that incredible feat was achieved, despite the fact that he was working, using a shitty Wi-Fi signal from a nearby cafe.

Once that was done, they could move to a next stage of a plan.

***

"I take it the house is surrounded by a fence?"

Kenny huffed. "Obviously."

"Barbed wire? Guards? Dogs?"

"Nothing of the sort. We're breaking into a house, Levi, not a prison."

They broke into a prison once, to help escape one of Kenny's associates. It was a tough job. And a surprisingly fun one.

"We just climb the fence and that's it,” Kenny assured. “Don't worry, I'll help you do it."

"Fuck off," Levi growled, sending Kenny a death glare. When his uncle did nothing, but smirk, he scoffed and returned his attention to the blueprints on the table. "What do we do next? Which entrance do we use to get in?"

"Whichever we want to," Kenny replied, shrugging. "The house will be empty."

Levi pursed his lips. "You sure?"

"Sure as can be. The whole family is going on some kind of auction for rich assholes. Reiss will be there too, he promised to make sure that our guy stays for as long as possible."

"At least, he's useful for something," Levi muttered. His finger traced the outline of blueprint, as he announced his decision. "We'll use the back door. No need to raise suspicions. Who knows how nosy his neighbors are."

***

Another advantage of using the backdoor was a fact that usually they weren't as protected as the main entrance.

And this door was no exception, Levi picked its lock in less than thirty seconds.

"Welcome," he grunted, pushing the door open and letting Kenny go in first.

The house, as expected, was engulfed in darkness. Kenny with his black pants and jacket instantly merged with the shadows. After carefully closing the door, Levi joined him, becoming one with the darkness as well.

***

"Do we know where he keeps the money?"

"Where do all rich douches keep their money?" Kenny snorted. "The study, of course."

"Alright, so we do what? Just simply walk in there?"

"You want to use the window? Or try looking for a ventilation shaft? It's an easy job, Levi," Kenny patted his shoulder. "Relax and don't overthink it."

***

The house was not only dark, it was quiet. The unnatural silence got on Levi's nerves.

Usually when they were on a job, there were other people there. Banks were full of workers, going about their jobs several floors above the vaults, museums and art galleries had guards, casinos were bristling with noise and chatter no matter the time of a day. And when they escaped the noise, moving closer to their goal, silence was a good thing. Silence meant they were undetected, meant they were safe. Silence used to bring him comfort.

This house was an exception. The silence there... It didn’t give him a sense of safety, only unease. It made him even more alert than usual.

The smiling faces in photo frames that stared at Levi from every wall were unnerving him even more. Two redheaded kids, standing between their grinning parents seemed completely out of place in this dark, silent house. Levi breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the study.

"You take care of the safe," Kenny told him. "I look around."

Levi gave him a curt nod and, without another word, set out to work.

The safe was of medium size and it stood in the corner of the room, half hidden by a large dieffenbachia.

Levi crouched next to it, taking out his instruments.

The safe broke down quickly. It almost felt like an insult. Kenny and him were world class thieves. And this house could be easily robbed by an amateur.

Smoldering his annoyance, he opened the safe. As soon as he did, Kenny pushed him aside. He grabbed something from it, pocketing it inside his jacket. His movements were quick and the room was dark, but Levi's eyes were sharp. He saw a document - a birth certificate - and a photo of a young girl whose blond hair was vivid enough to be visible even in the darkness.

"What the fuck was it?" Levi hissed.

"Does it matter?" Kenny laughed so carelessly that to Levi's ears it sounded almost forced and insincere. "Let's just get out of here.”

He threw the door of the safe shut and turned around, motioning Levi to get going. Levi grabbed the back of his jacket before Kenny could take another step.

Perhaps, he was getting paranoid – he hoped he was – but he had heard something.

The noise, the barely audible clatter downstairs. And the sound of footsteps that sounded closer and closer.

"Fuck!" Kenny hissed, his eyes widening. So he wasn’t paranoid. "Shit! They were supposed to be gone for another hour at least!"

"And yet they're already here," Levi snapped, the tension getting to him as well. "We’re on a second floor, jumping is—"

“The only way to escape,” Kenny finished grimly. “Go, Levi.”

He didn’t like the way Kenny had said that. And he really didn’t like the hand that Kenny put under his jacket.

That’s where he kept his gun.

His heart fell.

“Kenny, no!” Levi whispered, urgently tagging at his sleeve.

“Hurry up, Levi,” Kenny replied, unusually quiet. “You don’t like when things get dirty.”

“Ken—”

The door had opened, before Levi could finish. A man, probably somewhere in his forties, stood on a threshold. Levi had seen him in one of the photos - it was the father of the family, the one, who embraced two redheaded children. However, in this moment he wasn’t smiling. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in a scream.

That was devoured by a thunderous gunshot.

“Get going!” Kenny urged, hiding his gun. He grabbed Levi by the collar to drag him forward. “This place is going to be swirling with cops any second now!”

Numbly, Levi followed him. He opened the window, climbed on a windowsill and jumped down. He roughly landed on a ground, the snow softening his fall, but ever so slightly. It left him with scratches on his palms and bruises on his knees.

Levi felt none of it. His ears were still ringing from the gunshot, and before his eyes still stood that man.

“Snap out of it!” Kenny raged, forcing him to stand up. “We need to go, Levi, you can deal with your inner turmoil later.”

“Why did you kill him?” he asked, surprised by the hollowness in his own voice. He stared at Kenny, anger growing inside him. “Why did you kill him?!” he pushed his uncle away, making him stumble. “We could have escaped!”  

“And he could have seen us.” Kenny replied, straightening his jacket. “Just a glimpse of our backs would give police an advantage we can’t allow them to have. So stop throwing a tantrum like it’s a first dead body you’ve seen.”

Kenny was right, he had seen his fair share. The first dead body he had seen was his mother’s. But it wasn’t the last one. Not all of their jobs were successful, they didn’t always remain undetected. They weren’t invisible, and, even if they were damn good at what they did, accidents still happened.

Usually those accidents ended in violence – knock the unlucky guard down, before he sees you, and you’re safe. But sometimes – just like today - those accidents ended in death.

It was nothing new to Levi, and yet – each time it happened, he felt the weight in his chest so heavy it threatened to drag him down all the way to the ground.

Violence, death – they were following him since he was born. But dealing with them, getting used to them was a skill Levi had yet to master.

“C’mon,” Kenny wrapped a hand around his shoulders, pushing him forward with uncharacteristic considerateness. “You can scold me for not valuing human life later. When we get home.”

The sirens were already heard in the distance, they had no time for arguing. Levi let himself be led, climbing up the fence and jumping off it. Hidden by shadows, they rapidly left the house behind.

His mind was still filled with images of smiling man from the photo, that vision merging with his dying expression.

 ***

It was quite a productive shift, Hange was almost pleased by what she had achieved today. The clock was nearing eight, making her contemplate if she should call it a day. There was always more work that could be done, but Erwin could come in any minute, scolding and chiding her.

It was best to be gone before he would throw her out of the office.

Hange was turning off her computer, when the door to her office was thrown open. In stumbled Mike – disheveled, panting, he looked a far cry from his usual tranquil appearance.

Hange felt her stomach drop. A thousand guesses and suspicions swam around her head, as she waited for Mike to catch his breath and start talking.

Judging by Mike’s agitation, it couldn’t be anything good.

“We’ve got another robbery!” he managed to finally say. And before Hange could start cursing, he added.

“And this time, it’s a murder as well.”

[shouldntcryoverit]

the art of discordance

captain rex x jedi!reader

previous chapter

masterlist

CHAPTER TEN

Hope you enjoy! Might start this series up again so let me know what you’d like to see and if you’d like to be tagged! 💕

———————————————————————

Jaida’s feet felt weighted as she plodded along the corridor. In fact her entire body did. She needed caf and, among other things, she needed peace and quiet.

But alas, as is the way of war, she’d have to settle with yet another delinquent briefing, which would most likely result in another mission for her to loose herself in. How fun.

Peace wasn’t an option as of right now, but caf certainly was. So as any ordinary Jedi going through dramatic changes to their moral code while fighting a war which had so far gone against everything they had ever been taught by their now dead master; Jaida went and got caf.

Now she stood outside the war room, significantly late, but with a half drunk cup in her hand. On any regular day, she would’ve surely rushed in; profoundly apologising for her misconduct and directing all her attention to any matters presented to make up for her tardiness.

But instead she stood and stared at the uninspiring, off-white and dented plastoid door with almost a scowl. After a second, she took a swig and entered.

“Jaida! I was wondering if you had gotten lost.” Obi-wan smiled warmly. There was a hint of a jeer in his aristocratic tone.

“Oh force I really am late aren’t I?” She tried to laugh, setting down her cup on a surface she’d found (ignoring the future ring it would leave), snapping into a character that would resemble her more awake self.

“What’ve I missed?” Jaida asked as she settled into place beside Anakin and across from Obi-wan.

The holo-projector before her displayed the usual; a barren-ish landscape with red dots across it, symbolising places she’d most likely have to risk her and her men’s lives before moving onto the next tiny red dot.

It felt fallacious to belittle that sacrifice to so little as those red dots, especially when they’d been planted like seeds as if they’re cost was unimportant. To Jaida, red dots had begun to look more like casualty reports and defeated medics; so much more than a speck on a map in a heated war room in the middle of comfortable Coruscant.

But as is the way of war, she thought.

“After the failure to capture Grievous on Salucami, we know his ships will be in this western quadrant.” Obi-wan gestured now to the map of the galaxy, the holo map had apparently changed as Jaida was blinking, and more specifically to a highlighted section of space.

Her red dots would be minuscule by now.

“Our fear is that with Grievous now in need of a place to get fuel and rations, he’ll attempt to take-over ,in effect, the next planet viable. Which in this case” The holomap zoomed into a reddish planet with a dark brown hue surrounding it, “Would be Yeon.”

“Yeon?” Jaida asked. “What’s on Yeon that Grievous could want?”

Obiwan shifted his weight before speaking. Jaida sighed; sometimes she really did regret asking questions so much, especially when the answer require a deep breath.

“Yeon used to be home to a powerful empire, though the dissolution of said empire left the planet vulnerable and corrupt. The wealth still remains, but without proper safeguarding. It isn’t unlikely that Grievous hopes to exploit this, and use their land and people to help secure more galactic wins.” He finished with a flourish. He did always make good speeches, however short or dull.

Jaida shivered. The thought of such peaceful people once again being used as pawns in the seperatist game made her stomach turn. Is this what the galaxy had come to? Perhaps that question could be answered another day.

Anakin, who had up until this point been studying his friends demeanour and desperately trying to figure out the reason for her obvious lack of clarity, spoke next.

“Our mission is to intercept their ‘invasion’ and protect the people of Yeon before Grievous can even reach them.”

“Huh, fun.” She clicked.

A few more details were flattened out, though they mostly fell on deaf ears as Jaida replayed the events of that morning.

“We’ll leave tonight, get a head start.”

Great, she thought.

The corridor felt like it would never end as Jaida carried a backpack towards her destination. It was half full of ration packs and bacta supplies: in short she had no clue what to pack for. The feeling of unpreparedness sat heavy on her chest, even as she commed Anakin to meet her in the hanger.

As she did, Echo opened the door for her, between beckoning to Hardcase that his helmet was where he’d left it. Jaida almost laughed at how mumsy Echo got the few hours before a mission; it almost matched Kix’s mother hen approach.

“Where’re we up to?” Jaida asked, hesitantly setting down the bag beside her feet as she looked over the clones all preparing for a mission.

Echo smiled softly, giving one last side eye to his dazed brothers before giving her his full attention “Almost ready.”

“Thank you.” She could always count on Echo, and a warmth spread over her expression, secure in that fact. “Where’s-“

“Hullo!” The other jedi spoke through a cracker in his mouth. “You good?”

“Where’d you get that cracker?”

Anakin swallowed. Echo had to suppress his laughter at how much they resembled begrudging siblings.

“Help me with those crates and I’ll show you.” He shrugged off, beckoning for Jaida to follow his path.

The good news was the Hardcase had managed to locate his stranded helmet, and Fives only laughed for a few minute at how he almost cried that he’d thought he’d lost it: but the bad news was that Jaida realised that she would eventually have to talk to her captain, who was standing by the edge of the hangar with Kix.

He’d showered, and his pauldron was fixed. He looked so perfectly in control as he watchfully peered over his men. Jaida felt childish almost instantly at the anxiety balled in her stomach at just the thought of having to look at his deep and piercing eyes to talk to him. This was that feeling ‘crushes’ gave you, as Anakin would explain, and Jaida didn’t get ‘crushes’. Not ever, and not now.

She began to help the clones prepare what few weapons they thought they needed. There wasn’t much to sort out and load up, but still among the Torrent company; it was a grand feat.

Jaida was counting reloads and ration packs when she sensed him. Rex, as you could quite obviously expect, was coming closer. She exhaled fiercely out of her nose and picked up the crate she’d been kneeling over. “He’s just being a captain, just be a General.” She repeated to herself like a mantra.

But when she looked up and his gaze was already on her, she froze; childish and with a crush.

“You’re coming too?” Jaida cleared her throat and asked nonchalantly, trying desperately hard to prevent a redness forming on her cheeks.

“Of course.” Rex spoke flatly. His eyebrow twitched slightly as the words left his lips, perhaps testing her meaning.

“But you’re still injured.”

Now he did raise an eyebrow, “I’ll be fine.”

Jaida kissed her teeth, slightly annoyed at her inability to calm herself now.

She nodded as no words formed on her tongue. Nothing to express the ball of emotion in her throat. The Jedi didn’t meet his eyes as she turned away.

Rex caught her arm as she went to bring her crate to the ship, but even as he stopped her pivot she was reluctant to meet his gaze.

“Jaida-” He tried.

“Don’t.” Jaida cut him off, finally glaring at him, then quickly skimming over the room to check if anyone was noticing their ‘conversation’.

“Just promise me.” Vulnerability flashed across her face as the words left her mouth, and even those crystallised amber eyes of his couldn’t make her believe he would.

Rex bit his lip and flicked back over his men across the room, before looking back at Jaida’s ask. He nodded slowly, accepting that he’d want the exact same if it were her. Whatever it was that they shared really wasn’t simple.

“I promise.”

She smiled slightly, before he let her go and she walked off to the ship.

The company left not long after, but not before Anakin and Jaida managed to bicker over who should fly the ship, then if they’d brought the right rations, then whether or not they were ready. At least it was entertaining for the clones to watch their General’s be so relaxed yet so uppity.

But nonetheless, the company all fitted into their respective places and the ship left. Jaida, after bribing Anakin, was flying the ship. She thought that it’d help her concentrate ready for the next mission, although it did also mean that she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone - so, plus.

The journey was rather short, but it certainly wasn’t sweet; for each time Jaida didn’t have to plant coordinates or watch the pressure levels in the engine, her mind slipped to the events of that morning, over and over again like torture. The guilt and worry pressed heavily against her frame; it was fair to say she was absentminded.

But they made it.

“I think we’re here boys.” Skywalker spoke over the channels.

The landing wasn’t rough, but Jaida’s vision through the ship window was too clouded to navigate properly through the thick air. The ship rocked as it hit the ground, and as the men filed our, their pilot was reluctant to follow.

The company gathered outside, Anakin knocked her shoulder; something he always used to do if she was nervous before a practice or exam. It made her finally exhale the breath she’d been holding onto.

It was dark when they made it to the village: a small dwelling lit with vibrant lights around each hut and structure. There was a hum in the air of content, they were peaceful people, and their laughter and chatter floated through the company like a warm drink.

Jaida wanted to welcome it, she really did, but she couldn’t, not when her head was this scrambled. She was still tired, and still torn between wanting to stay true to her morals and protect Rex, as well as desperately wanting to give in to her heart.

Mind over matter, her master would say. Though it seemed futile now.

Jaida followed her men into the village and tried once more to be content with the sweetness of the air. The sun was hanging low in the sky, but it still illuminated the tops of houses and slopes of hills in spite of the darkening hue encroaching. It was peace, the very kind she needed. Yet it would not breach her armoured skin.

The clones had managed to settle in rather quickly, having now taken off a few bits of armour and their helmets. They were standing and laughing with locals dotted about a wide fire pit, an area which Jaida took to be the market place.

After a cheer of babbling and exuberance calling for them, drums began playing in the background as entertainment; and the villagers seemed excited to have new guests for what looked like the first time in a while. They passed out food to the solidiers, colours of orange and green mixing on platters of fruits and perfectly cooked meat. After having a drank a few of their offered drinks, of which their alcohol quantity was unknown, Fives, Jesse and Hardcase danced to the beat as Echo and Kix tried not to laugh.

Jaida watched with an absent grin. She was resting on a crate with a cup of some sweet drink she’d been given by a swirling child, happy to see them so relaxed. Her view shifted from the gaggle of men to her Captain, who was laughing handsomely at his brothers’ feeble attempts. She tried to ignore the pounding in her stomach growing at how his face was illuminated so perfectly by the evening sun, and how it made her tongue swell to see him aswell so at peace. But it was rather difficult to ignore, especially when she couldn’t not-look.

Jaida placed her cup beside her and backed away, leaving the dancing and laughter behind her.

She found herself in the main hall of their largest structure, eyes closed in her own attempt at peace. She could still taste the wafting smell of meats and breads being cooked just a little further away. It smelt like herbs and spices she remembered only faintly from her own travels with her master. Jaida stood, staring at the painting on the closest wall to her when she wasn’t instead focused on her closed eyelids. Her brain was too foggy for anything else.

It was silent. Of course the base of the drums and the echoes of her men and their hosts still made their way in and out of the open windows, but it was silent to her. So silent that when footsteps began behind her she almost jumped.

The presence made it’s way to just a step behind her and paused. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it belonged to, but still, Jaida cursed her abilities to identify the warmth and security it brought nonetheless.

“You left?“ Rex’s tone was more a question than a statement, and Jaida didn’t open her eyes as he stepped and stood next to her.

“I needed to think without Fives’ dancing distracting me.” She joked in a low tone.

“You call that dancing?”

Jaida chuckled lightly at that, meeting his smiling eyeline.

A moment of warmth spread between the two. It was as if the complications of their feelings melted away for a few seconds, and both simply relished the presence of each other. But it was short lived.

“I cant think either.”

Her eyebrows were knitted in slight pain and sadness, something he recognised within his own head. She couldn’t speak.

“Do you regret it?” Rex broke the silence between them.

“What?”

“The other night.”

Jaida paused loudly, but spoke with force after a second passed. “No. I don’t. ”

Silence again.

“I don’t know what to do to make this… better.” Jaida admitted, the vulnerability in her voice making her cringe.

Jaida sighed and fixed her almost tearful expression back to that familiar neutral coldness. “I don’t even understand it.” She almost whispered.

“Neither do I.” His words were barely there. “I don’t think anyone ever does.”

“Then how do you know it’s real?” Jaida swallowed, blinking down her rising dejection.

Rex paused again, but spoke with purpose. He had been brave before, now was no different.

“Because whenever you enter the room it feels like time stops. I always look for you, like seeing you will change everything. And you know what, it does; everything stops.”

Jaida was shocked to hear the confession, and it made her heart melt when she turned to face him. His face was just as creased as hers; just as pained.

He studied her eyes for a second, almost asking for permission to continue, or even to be dared to do so. But he took in a breath and carried on:

“I knew it when we were stuck in that cave, and you fell asleep against the wall. All I could think of was how perfect you looked. Force, I don’t think you’ve ever left my head since.”

She smiled. A wilful smile that covered all of her stern face. She knew that feeling he described and it made her stomach erupt as he spoke of it.

Her words fell as a whisper once again. “I can’t ask you to risk your entire life on this. But you can’t tell how much I want to.” She spoke louder now.

Rex’s eyes softened.

“We’re at war, Jade. Some things are just worth it.” Rex paused and looked to her. Her eyes held a silent beg. “You’re worth it.” He wanted to say, but didn’t. Perhaps a part of him knew that he didn’t need to.

In the dim light, he could hardly see her face at all, but the peace that had spread across it was blindingly clear. Jaida blinked.

And Rex closed the small gap between their faces and pressed his lips against hers; tender and gentle yet proud, as if it was their first. He lifted his hand to cup her face and she melted into his touch, allowing the warmth of his mouth to thaw the cold of her heart. The kiss was acceptance, it was emotion and it was thrill.

“I’m in if you’re in.” He demurred with lighthearted intention.

Jaida smiled softly, joy in her eyes that Rex only caught glimpses of, but she caught his lips in feeble ecstasy.

She broke away with a dainty smile, and Rex laughed.

“I’m in.” The jedi whispered.

He grinned again, wider now as a perfect laugh fell from Jaida’s perfect lips.

His fingers dropped from her cheek and found hers without question, taking her hand in his as he refused to break away from her hopeful eyes.

Rex squeezed her hand, then jolted, taking her with him as he ran out of the hall and back to where the music still rumbled.

Jaida let him whisk her away, gladly.

[ramblinganthropologist]

n7 challenge month - 9 (Respite)

Summary: It’s hard, being the guy trying to save the universe from the collectors. Thankfully, Alistair has a safe place and a little friend to turn to when he’s lost hope and things seem dark. The universe owes Saren Shepard a favor, let’s just say that.

---

That was another colony taken by the Collectors...

“Shepard, the Illusive Man-”

Alistair shut the line off before Miranda could tell him anything else. Right then his head was spinning as he finished removing his armor and getting back into his clothes. The numbers were stark, and he could see them even with his eyes shut.

They'd lost the whole colony. And judging by the reports streaming in, the planet they were going to next was lost as well.

He took up position in the CIC, plotting out the next jump. Everyone around him was quiet, focused on their duties. From where he was standing, he could see their worried faces and nervous glances. They knew what they were going to find once they got there – a whole lot of nothing.

Fuck... why were they always two steps behind?

“Commander, Miranda wishes to speak with you when you're done.”

Kelly was checking messages next to him, but he knew she was doing her actual job the entire time. Enough time around therapists had taught him when they were reading into his behavior. So he nodded, dully, and stepped down from the pedestal.

“I'll go see her then.”

He found her in observation, thankfully with the window closed. She looked right through him when their gazes met, but he was too tired to respond. Instead, he just sat down and let his tired bones rest for a minute.

“Sorry... guess my omni-tool cut out.”

It was a lie, but he didn't care. And he knew she didn't believe him either, based on the look on her face. At least she didn't call him out on it. Instead, she tapped at her omni-tool to transfer some files over to him. From the looks of things, they were reports.

“The Illusive Man found a few more people you might find helpful.” Another tap. “Illium would be a good place to start.”

Basic details flooded his memory – asari controlled, no regulations. Looked pretty, actually wasn't. They had two possible people there, both of whom could prove useful. Still, it was hard to feel excited as he looked them over.

Unless they were trackers who could figure out where the Collectors were striking next, it wasn't a lot of help.

“We'll go there after we check the colony. Maybe this time...” he shook his head as he stood. “I'm going to go get some work done while we're in FTL. My omni-tool will be on if you or the Illusive Man have any info about what we're walking into.”

Judging by the look on her face, Miranda was just about as confident as he was about finding any survivors this time. Still, she didn't argue with him in that regard. Alistair was thankful for that as he stood.

And then his vision swam.

“Shepard, your CGM is beeping.”

Ah, so it was.

“Really wished you could've fixed that for me while I was dead.” He shook his head, frowning. “Uh, sorry.”

No, he wasn't. But he had to work with her, so he needed to be polite. So instead of biting the hand that brought him back from the dead, he retreated. After all, sometimes he lost his filter when his sugar was low.

It wouldn't be good if she knew he hated her and her boss.

At least it was quiet in his quarters as he stumbled in, tongue already feeling numb. Alistair made a grab for the box on his desk and freed a few pixie sticks from inside. Down the hatch they went as he all but fell into his chair, sweating a little.

Forget the Reapers, biotic-induced hypoglycemia was his real nemesis.

“Fuck.”

The words hissed from between his teeth as he laid his head on the desk to keep it from spinning. Frustration was bubbling underneath his skin, trying to escape from the still open wounds of his healing implants. They had been so close... but they had lost.

Again.

At least his blood sugar was going up. He could already start to feel his tongue and lips again, though his mood was still dark. It was hard not to be annoyed with the data staring him in the face. Even with early info, the Collectors had gotten the drop on them.

“I am getting real fucking tired of losing to them.”

His potty mouth was answered by the furious scratching of bedding. Alistair picked up his head, glancing to the other side of the room. From the looks of things, his hamster had come out for his nightly explorative trip around his terrain. For once, he was sitting on top of the bedding instead of tunneling into it. Two beady eyes were staring right him, almost daring him to come over.

And he did. Alistair wasn't sure why, but he crossed the room and opened the side wall to the cage. Then he held out both his hands, waiting. They had been working on this, but he had never tried it without a snack. At least if he got bit, it wouldn't hurt too badly...

“Hey, Saren. Good to see you up, buddy. The FTL bothering you?”

Saren the space hamster sniffed at his finger. A few tense moments later, and he placed a paw on the tip. Alistair forgot how to breathe as he watched, waiting. After a few more moments, the hamster was on his hands, chewing away at a seed.

His heart pounded as he cupped his hands around his pet and drew him into the room. Saren didn't try to scamper away, but just kept chewing away at his seed like it was the best thing in the universe. If the FTL was bothering him, he was handling it well.

“Good boy...” A small smile stretched across his face as he stroked the hamster's small white head. “See, I'm not so bad.”

Alistair returned to his desk, Saren still cupped in his hands. The hamster seemed content to gnaw away at his seeds and not be bothered by the large mammal currently holding him. Just seeing it made his heart skip a beat as the smile refused to leave his face.

It was the first time he had managed to hold him without getting bit or Saren scampering off. Chalk that up to a win for the good guys.

“Now if only the Collectors would play so nicely.” He sighed and stroked the hamster's head again with a finger. “Maybe we'd find more living colonists.”

None of that meant anything to Saren of course – he wasn't sentient. Even the smartest space hamster was still a space hamster. Still, the way the hamster looked at him when he mentioned the Collectors could've melted steel.

Maybe everyone hated them.

“Yeah, they're pretty awful. We found another empty colony and we're probably going to another one. Not sure how I'm supposed to be fine on Illium after all that, but the Illusive Asshole wants me to go there afterwards to pick up an assassin and a justicar.”

Saren stopped chewing on his seed for a brief moment, and Alistair swore that he gave the stink eye at the mention of the man who brought him back to life. That got the Spectre laughing as he carefully pet the small creature.

Yep, he had the right name alright. The real Saren would've been proud at that look.

“Aren't you a fierce little thing? I bet you'd bite a Collector if they tried to mess with you.” He chuckled as he watched Saren continue to shove food into his cheeks. “Too bad you're so small. If you were Grunt's size those teeth could really put a hurting on someone.”

Not that it was all sunshine and daisies whenever he got bit, of course. Even for a little guy, the hamster could make it hurt. Alistair had learned to respect those little teeth and the jaw strength behind them the hard way. Honestly, he was lucky he didn't have scars.

Wouldn't that be a fun story... scarred from a space hamster bite.

He was still smiling as he watched the hamster finish tucking everything away. “Get everything in alight?”

Saren answered with another point blank look as he turned around a few times. Just from watching, Alistair was certain it was time to put him back in his home. For a first time out of the cage, they had done pretty well. Nobody got peed on, nobody got bit – that was practically a perfect encounter.

Talk about hope for the future. His hamster had practically been wild the first time they had interacted with each other.

“Time to go back in, buddy. I promised Miranda I would do some work and I don't think we're at the free run point yet.”

Carefully, he returned his hamster to the tank and closed the opening. Soon, Saren was back to digging into his bedding, heading to wherever he stored his food. Once he was out of sight, Alistair returned to his desk. There were plenty of reports to read over during the jump to the next colony, and he had a million emails to check.

“Shepard, did you see the latest report?”

Miranda's voice came through his omni-tool. The Spectre grimaced as he returned to his desk and turned the system on. Just like he thought, the report was already downloaded. To say the numbers were grim was putting it mildly.

This colony was even bigger.

“Looking at it now, Miranda.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How much longer until we get there, Joker?”

The helmsman answered almost immediately, like he had been queued up for the moment. “About 3 hours, Commander.”

3 hours. A lot could happen in that much time.

“We might make it in time.”

Alistair doubted it, but he didn't say that because why put that into the universe. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose again, long enough that he probably left a red mark, and nodded as he went back to the report reading.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Saren peeking at him from a gap in the bedding. One of his little paws was pressed against the glass in such a display of hamster toe beans that it was hard to keep from smiling. And he did, as he temporarily forgot the reports.

Some days, everything sucked. Other days... well, he was glad he had the little guy.

“Shepard?”

Back to work. Alistair snapped back into Spectre mode as he turned away from his hamster and returned to the reports at hand. They were moving into the planning phase now as he figured out who to take with him when they went into the colony.

Maybe it was the adrenaline rush from getting to hold his hamster, but there was a little hope there that they might find someone alive this time.

“Yeah, so I'm thinking that we're going to need Mordin to come with me...”

And then he was lost in the planning details as the Normandy sailed through space towards their destination. Whatever they were going to find, he wasn't sure. But he was going to hold on to that tiny piece of hope as he looked over specs of the colony on his computer.  Maybe it would do him some good for once.  

[darker-side-fanfiction]

🔧Cyberpunk: Android Yukimura: Part 3

Part 3: Tis but a scratch.

Trigger warnings: mention of past torture, abuse, noncon body alteration, abuse...if someone thinks I missed something, lmk.

What are emotions again and why do we have a past if not to inform the present? Nothing can be quite so simple though, can it?

❤️Story beneath the cut:❤️

Shadows claimed corners, odd shapes taking on alarming qualities whereby the imagination is given permission to run rampant. There was a light directly overhead where he’d been seated, but his hand wouldn’t be shielding his eyes from its glare. He felt like he was back in an interrogation room, though oddly he couldn’t remember when or why he’d last been in one.

What was visible beside him couldn’t be described as anything except instruments of torture. For a droid, that is. Spanners, wrenches, screwdrivers, an electric looking multitool defying identification. Everything his new owner would need to take him apart piece by meticulous, excruciating piece.

Further along the table beyond the immediate reach of the light were bits and pieces of other cannibalized electronics. Their wires poked out every which way, a very few of them recognizable for what they originally were. This was giving him flashbacks of a particularly nightmarish owner. She had made it her goal to see how many ways one could make a stubborn android beg. Being resilient and difficult to permanently damage...with an abundance of pain receptors...had its downsides.

The new gal reappeared from whatever dark recess she’d been rummaging in. She muttered to herself, something he would learn to be a bit of a habit of hers. “Let’s see about getting your mouth working again, shall we?”

Oh great. Just wonderful. Why would she want do that? So she’d feel justified in taking him apart? Cause so far, 99% of his owners would’ve agreed his ability to speak was their least favorite attribute and most likely to make them want to shoot him. Expense was usually the reason why they didn’t, but he doubted she had to pay much for him. Was it too late to be melted down for metal or was she still hoping to find something useful in his Swiss cheesed chassis?

His head was turned to the side and all he could see was the freak show that was her wall; more scraps and parts hung on hooks that though they were barely visible were also definitely terrifying. Meanwhile she messed around in the removable panel on the side of his skull. There were a vanishingly small number of those accessible on his body: the rest of his wiring required almost something akin to surgery to get at. What the inventor was thinking when he designed this series was...more than anyone had managed to comprehend. Made modifications and repair unfortunately difficult.

“—couldn’t be too smart if she thinks there’s any point.”

He’d been trying to distract himself when he realized—belatedly—that his speech functions had begun working again. Though it wasn’t as if it would change what he said...much. His glare and her raised eyebrow met when she adjusted his head to face forward. She clicked her tongue at his expression, but looked all too pleased with herself for his preference.

“That’s one detail out of the way. I want you to answer a couple of questions for me before I have to worry about what you’d do with mobility.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think that’s a possibility. ...Mistress.”

“Name’s Azar. Not ‘mistress’, not owner or whatever else the flip you’ve called people before, Az—“

“I can’t call you that.” Yuki interrupted her, earning a frown.

“Explain.”

Not doing what she wanted was a tempting idea, but ticking her off didn’t have any upside. He sighed heavily, “One of my owners wasn’t too thrilled with the words I used to describe them. It was the truth! ...And I didn’t think it was as bad as they said. But they added programming. Tweaked with my software. I can only call my current owners by the title Master or Mistress. Lot less interesting,” he grumbled.

She looked like she was holding back laughter, while being horrified at the same time. Humans were too complicated, especially women. Did all of his alterations disgust her? He shouldn’t care. He didn’t want to care. There was nothing to be caring about! Yeah...sure. Sounds real convincing.

“Alright. We’ll get to that later. Stop or correct me if I get anything wrong.” She ticked off her fingers as she listed the things that had made his life a living hell. “In my research, it was mentioned you couldn’t lie to me.” Pointer finger. “Your main programming, the one part of you no one can alter, is your mandate to protect your owner. Which means you can’t hurt them unless allowed, you’re specifically asked to, or it’s done to save their life.” Middle finger. Which, for the record, he’d like to give to her. “However, you do have leeway in a number of directions based on your discretion and your owner’s orders.”

She waited a beat before continuing, the line of inquiry setting off an uncomfortable crawl along his skin. Her thumb became finger number three. “And finally, you aren’t required to do anything your owner asks, but you can’t stop them from doing whatever they want to you.”

If he could’ve swallowed, he would’ve. Unfortunately everything from the base of his skull down didn’t work. He was beginning to wish that still included his mouth that had gone dry. It wasn’t so much a question, but he still answered, “Yes.”

She brightened visibly, though he wasn’t going to take that as a good sign. The tool was put down, and he almost took a breath in relief. Belay that, what the hey was she doing?! The blood colored substitute rushed to his face, creating a crimson hue he’d forgotten he was capable of. Judging by her stare, she hadn’t known he could do that either. “Watch your hands, Mistress!” He shouted without thinking twice and she jumped back with that multitool snagged and pointed at him like a weapon.

“What the blaze did you just do with your face?! And what’s the yelling for?” She let out an annoyed huff, “I was just taking your shirt off. Chill, okay?” She went from freaked out to calm in the space of a second, though he could tell her hands were shaking. That information was filed in the back of his mind for later. Something more than his reaction had spooked her.

He bit his tongue, wishing he could disappear into the floorboards. Or anywhere, really. Could she not peer into his eyes so closely?? That grin was something else too. “Ohh, is someone shy? Don’t worry, Red. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Wh-what did she mean by that? But more importantly, “My name isn’t ‘Red’, it’s Yukimura. And tha-that isn’t—I’m not—“

She didn’t wait for him to finish. His shirt was in shreds already; the frag gun that had chewed him up had left the fabric’s integrity at nearly nil and she split it easily to reveal his chest. Again she stepped back, this time her face going blank. That was okay. Yuki didn’t need her expression to tell a story. Heart rate, respiration, sweaty palms, and a gesture, raking a pesky stray lock of ebony hair behind her ear, probably a tell. She was shocked.

A good few minutes passed, only her eyes moving, roving over his exposed torso. This was just the beginning, he wanted to joke. Should see his back. ‘Course, the gaping holes where he was missing synth skin was likely the main cause of the disturbing image. Normally when damage was done, either in the line of duty or...on purpose...one would just patch it up.

Droids didn’t heal per se. But they could be fixed, the circuitry hidden again behind something more palatable for the human eye to accept. Wasn’t so bad price-wise either if you didn’t care what color it was. Easiest stuff to purchase was an off-white that basically made it look like an old scar. And unless you really cared about your droid looking pristine or had a lot of money lying around, you were going for the cheap version. He was just counting his blessings none of them had wanted to spring for a color, maybe purple, and call it art.

“So, uhh, like...you gonna stare all night?”

She startled like she’d been shot, her eyes flying up to catch his and a flicker of something...was that pity? darting across them. Nah. No one felt sympathy for droids. Not that he’d seen. Her voice told a different story, its tone soft as she moved closer—her fingertips raising goosebumps on the skin not scarred. “Does it...hurt?”

All...all fifteen plus holes in his chest? The metal fragments wedged in vital components that have caused him to all but grind to a halt? Or the tenderness she used while he braced himself for the new agony she was surely going to cause? He wanted to lie. He wanted so badly not to be vulnerable in admitting what he had been trying unsuccessfully to ignore for a week. He was fine! Just fine. It didn’t hurt and she couldn’t hurt him. Then she wouldn’t get to know what advantage she held until he screamed. A brief reprieve until then, couldn’t he ask for that much? He’d see the truth of it in her eyes soon enough, just as he had all his other owners but one. The hubris it gave them. The thirst for power. Knowing his pain or relief was in their hands.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t. There was no escape granted for him. Clearly and with as much dignity as he could muster he answered, “Yeah...it-it’s still...” He stopped, but she seemed to understand.

Thing was, if he’d been a human...well, if he were a human he’d be dead. This many vital components hit would’ve been one thing. The loss of fluid would be the next. They’d self sealed after a time, but even had the fragments not gotten into his circuitry, he didn’t have enough fluid left to function with. Much like a human with severe anemia, he was too weak.

He had forgotten or filed away the memories of how it felt when he’d first been shot. The seal had dulled much of the pain. When she cut one of them back open however, he had to grit his teeth and even then couldn’t keep the whimper down. Truth was, it all hurt. Everything hurt. From the headache brought on by stress and prolonged anxiety, to the toes he couldn’t move but annoyingly, frustratingly, were connected in a way similar to a human’s body. When one aspect was affected the rest felt it.

Eyes closed, he tried to concentrate on just one sensation. Just the scratching and clicking noises of her tools working on his chest. The pain coming from the reopened wound. Just that, as if that weren’t enough. Invasive. Frightening. Gone. What? He could tell the moment she’d stopped, his eyes springing open. Wh-where’d she go?

A loud clattering could be heard just to his side, but he couldn’t see her in his periphery. The next thing he knew, she was laying him down on the table, an adjustable lamp hovering directly over his chest. This was definitely not helping his nerves. The woman, Azar, paused and he thought she smiled. There wasn’t much to see beyond the too bright light over him. It seemed like she was reaching towards his face, but he flinched and she pulled back, squeezing his shoulder lightly instead.

“I’ll be done soon.”

Done? Done with what? What was she doing to him? Was he going to be doomed to being a music player now? Nothing more than a repurposed boombox? His imagination was going a million miles a minute, but he didn’t ask. He knew his voice would crack.

A new component was added to his chest, wires the width of human hair connecting and causing an almost ticklish sensation despite it all. A substance applied to the hole finished the operation and...it was almost more than he could comprehend. It didn’t sting, didn’t burn either. He couldn’t help it, waiting for the sealant to seep into his bloodstream equivalent and spread fire. It never came. Rather, that particular wound which hadn’t ceased sending pain messages to his processor had...silenced. And he could twitch his fingers. What the frak had she done?

“Ngh...aahHHK! Please, please just stop...” His relief was short lived. A new wound was reopened and this one must have been connected to a nerve cluster. He couldn’t see her face past the bright lights hovering over him, but he knew her hands were still moving. Slowly, methodically, the tools scraped and removed and sent receptors screaming...or was that him? She said something; her voice too soft to hear over the alarm bells ringing in his head. All he knew was it wasn’t over yet and he was right. She wasn’t any different than the others.

By the fifth one, he was out of energy. There was nothing left, and nothing replenishing his stamina. Her muttering was washing over him without much comprehension. Unless she addressed him specifically, it wasn’t worth the expenditure of energy to translate her words into something recognizable.

“Didn’t want to add the synth-flow until I was done. Will make this more messy...hm. Can’t be helped. Looks like you won’t last without it.”

A needle was inserted in the crook of his elbow, not the first from the white points dotting the skin. None of those had been voluntary either. He couldn’t see her wincing, didn’t know what to make of her tracing the scars like a constellation. Too soon her instruments of torture were back to digging around his torso.

The...odd thing was...one by one the gaping injuries she’d meddled with were being closed, the pain declining. It had been impossible to notice for a time; his thought processes were overloaded with emotions, memories, and the searing, piercing agony inflicted in whichever wound she was invading. The combination had shut down logical reasoning, but clarity returned with the infusion of artificial blood...as well as movement? Fingers, wrists, feet, neck...slight adjustments sure, but after being frozen stiff for so long, it was nothing short of amazing.

“There. That oughta do the trick.” Her hand brushed back his hair, and though he shied away from the action, she didn’t seem to notice. “Got more of that stuff on order. Friend of a friend owes me a favor.”

She gestured flippantly at his abdomen, already turning to put her tools away. Something didn’t sound right about her voice, too high and breathy, but he was too busy sitting up and gawping at his chest. There was...nothing there. No holes, no new scars. “That stuff” she’s got on order must’ve been the synth skin. Why would she waste the precious resource on him? Unless...

A clattering noise wrenched his attention away from clashing probabilities to were she’d stumbled against the table.

“I’m fine,” was mumbled. She didn’t give much credence to her words when her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her knees buckled.

Lightening fast reflexes caught her before her head caromed off the metal bench. His joints protested and the needle was ripped out of his arm, but he did what he was designed for. It wasn’t even a thought.

Laying her in the sparse but comfortable cot at one side of the room, he checked her pulse and took her temperature. Another deep sigh, appreciating the ability to take a full breath without hitching. “Great. First day and you’re already so needy. Why’d you have to go and work yourself into a fever for?”

One thing’s for sure. She wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Just don’t go dying on me, got it? Dumm—Mistress.”

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 15 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1900

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, who are the best goddamn ego boosters a girl could ask for

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

((So because I don’t know how to use tumblr I JUST realized that copying and pasting tags doesn’t automatically make them active... to my requested tag list, I am SO SORRY! Please forgive me! Also, surprise! Now you have a lot to binge read!))

On the fourth day you fail to visit, Loki lets himself begin to worry.

He wasn’t expecting you back right away, not after admitting just how much of a monster he actually is. But he’s come to have faith in you, to the point where even if you are going to reject him for his crimes- he wouldn’t blame you if you did- he thinks you’d at least do him the courtesy of telling him. So the first day of your absence, he waits, trying to ignore the anxiety in his chest. The second day is spent in self-loathing; the third, hating the universe at large with more viciousness than usual. But the fourth… that’s when he lets a few tendrils of doubt creep into his brain. But not about your potential sudden change of heart- no. That doesn’t sit right with him.

It’s nothing. Most likely, you’ve left, just like everyone else, once realizing the depths of the horror of the man standing in front of you. Most likely, you’re moving on with your life without involving yourself with the villain. Most likely…

Then why does he still feel uneasy?

He glances where he knows a camera is positioned, tucked into the ceiling’s seams. How closely he’s being monitored, he’s never figured out, but he has an inkling that he could hang himself by his hair and no one would bother trying to stop him. So how to get their attention? He has little magic at his disposal, not enough to conjure anything disturbing, and his cell is lacking anything remotely useful.

With a sigh, he hefts his cuffs, twisting his wrists nervously in their prisons, unsure of so many things. Using as much strength as he can gather, the manacles are hurled at the glass barrier with enough force to make his bones ache and his teeth clench.

This may take a while.

X

Thor has never liked scavenger hunts- he lacks the brains for riddles his brother so gleefully loves- but a chase without clues is proving even more frustrating. Every inquiry about your whereabouts is met with indifference or confusion, and his visit to your offices was fruitless, as your colleagues don’t seem capable of anything but stuttering and terror in his presence. It is quite annoying. Why Loki prefers to rule through fear he will never know.

Loki. He sees you every day, from what little he can gather- no doubt he knows of your wellbeing. But he is not allowed passage into his brother’s cell…

“Thor.” A woman’s sharp voice cuts through his thoughts. “What the hell is your brother playing at?”

Ah. Very occasionally, fortune does favor him.

Maria Hill stands tapping a brisk toe. “He’s been intent on breaking out for the better part of three hours now. Can you please go talk sense into him? If there’s any sense there to reason with,” she mutters under her breath.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

In the depths of SHEILD, locked behind glass, stripped of his grandeur and posturing, Loki looks more himself than he has in a long time. Thor watches the muscles in his shoulders grind to a halt as he abandons his latest attempt at what looks to be smashing his handcuffs against the barrier. Neither the glass or the manacles are any worse for wear, from what Thor can see, but his brother is noticeably exhausted.

“Thor.” The relief in Loki’s voice is palpable. “You came.”

A small spark of happiness flares in Thor’s chest. When was the last time his brother welcomed his presence? “You wished me to?”

“Obviously.” Loki sets himself down on his cot. His hands rest in his lap, and raw rings of skin peek out from underneath his bindings. “Where is Y/N?”

For a moment, Thor only blinks. “The lady Y/N? Have you not seen her? I wished to ask you the same.”

A dark shadow passes over his face. “No. I have not.”

Maria is looking between the two gods impatiently, clearly not following the conversation. “Y/N? Who are we talking about?”

Something low grumbles in the back of Loki’s throat. “Y/N Y/L/N. An archivist under your employ. She has been- assigned to me, for however long I have been in SHIELD’s grip now.”

Her eyes widen just a hint. “You’re pitching a fit about your babysitter? Is she even still still here?  I would’ve thought you’d have run her into the ground a month in.” The incredulousness in her voice makes both Thor and Loki bristle.

“You do not keep count of those under your care?” Thor asks.

“We keep track of the important ones.” When the atmosphere of the room dampens to the point of stifling at the clench of Loki’s fists and the stretching of Thor’s shoulders, Maria backtracks. “I mean- okay. Get to the point. Why are you worried about her?”

“She has been absent for the better part of four days now,” Loki grinds out from clenched teeth. “And such behavior is… unusual.”

“Aye.” Thor nods. “It is unlike her to remove herself from Loki’s side for so long.”

“Okay- okay.” The agent rubs her temples briefly. Her migraine isn’t getting any better. “I have two semi-immortal beings worried about someone we hired a year ago on a lark. Wonderful. You realize she’s just on vacation or something?”

Loki looks to Thor with a glance that clearly communicates everything he isn’t voicing. “Perhaps I could verify her whereabouts,” Thor says casually, unwilling to alert Hill to his brother’s turmoil. “To ease his mind, if nothing else.”

She sighs. “If it’ll get him to calm down, fine. Go find Stark, he’s been fiddling with the security system anyways.” She leaves mumbling something under her breath, shaking her head and looking like she needs a very strong drink.

Once she’s gone, Loki visibly deflates. “Thor-”

He holds out a hand. “I will investigate the matter,” he says calmly. “I am sure she is fine, brother.”

Loki nods. “Just- be certain.”

It strikes Thor, in that moment, that as meaningful as you are to himself, he has not begun to scratch the surface on your worth to his brother.

X

Stark is, as predicted, sequestered into a room full of glowing screens, his attention on all of them at once. “Sparky the Hammer-Bro. What can I do for you?”

Thor lets his eyes rove over rows of code, none of which he understands. “I need to view security recordings. The Agent Hill said you may help.”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuumsure.” The genius waves a hand, dismissing several rows of numbers. “Anything in particular?”

“Five days ago, roughly. As for what I seek- I believe I will know when I see it.”

Stark raises an eyebrow. “Cryptic. Fun times! Uno momento, por favor.” One by one, computer screens are filled with a past SHIELD, going about its business. It could be any given day- agents roam, papers filed, choice global secrets exposed and others hidden. But Thor zeroes in on the one displaying you and his brother, in some sort of tense conversation. Loki lashes out, and you reply with remarkable composure- enough to apparently reassure him you aren’t going anywhere. In his head, Thor adjusts every opinion of you he’s ever had.

You talk for a while more, underscored by Stark’s idle whistling from the corner. You leave, bag tucked under your arm, and say goodbye to a scant few colleagues. Outside, a car pulls up in front of you, and you go to open the door- only, it’s opened for you, by gloved hands belonging to an unseen being. While they grab you by the arms, another man in a suit is busy administering a blunt object to the back of your skull. You crumple into the waiting vehicle. The door is shut. It pulls smoothly away from the curb, as though you were never there at all.

To Thor’s right, static electricity shorts out a bank of monitors.

And now Tony is talking, leaning in to examine the footage- “Who- wait, isn’t that your brother’s pet? What the hell-?” But Thor is already gone, hurrying in a way that magically clears everyone from his path before he even arrives. Every thud of his heel echoes a crisp and succinct no, no, no, no, no, no

Loki has been pacing, but he pauses to turn his sharp gaze on his brother. “Well?” Thor can’t even open his mouth before green eyes turn deadly. “No.”

Thor’s mouth is suddenly dry. “Brother-”

There’s an inferno behind Loki’s voice, one that Thor has only ever seen herald destruction. “Bring me the director. Now.”

X “Let me get this straight,” Fury drawls slowly, in an obvious effort to try his prisoner’s patience. Even Thor is having to keep his fingers from curling into fists. “Your babysitter- who has apparently stuck around for the last ten months, even though by all accounts she should have run screaming from the room- has been kidnapped by a mysterious force, and you want me to release you in order to go on a harebrained rescue. Unchaperoned.”

“Yes.”

Fury snorts. “No.”

“I would be with him,” Thor argues, “and I would not let him-”

“-escape off-world with his magic in tow? Pardon me if I’m not inclined to believe you.”

“You don’t understand!” Loki looks incredibly close to breaking something, and for the sake of their argument, Thor very much hopes he doesn’t. “She is in peril and you would sit back and do nothing-”

The director holds up a hand as the door opens and Hill slips in, holding printed camera stills. “HYDRA, most likely,” she says, pointing out various details in each photo to her boss. “Why they’d target her I have no idea.”

Fury sighs. “Fantastic. Let me ask you something, Mister mortals-are-ants-beneath-my-boot. Why the hell do you care?”

Too many thoughts to count flit across Loki’s face, and Thor has had a thousand years to catalogue every one of his brother’s expressions. “Is it not enough that I simply do?” Loki asks, apparently at a loss for words, and Thor can’t help but notice everything he isn’t saying in that one question.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he continues, almost vibrating with desperation. “Everything you want to know, that is in my power to tell. I swear it.”

Fury’s eyes narrow. “The Chitauri? The Tesseract?”

“Yes.”

A pause. “Deal.”

Maria startles. “Nick-”

“No, Hill, don’t start with me, not now.” He nods at Loki’s cell. “If you would.”

Maria unlocks Loki’s cell and releases his manacles with the grace and poise of someone who has a revolver trained at her temple. Once his hands are free, she tenses, as though expecting a quick death- but he simply rubs his wrists, in the places they bleed slightly.

“You’re insane,” she says as Fury leads her out of the room, not bothering to lower her voice.

“Insane saved the world, once,” he shoots back. “How much worse can this be?”

“I can think of a few-”

The door closes behind them.

The two gods look at each other. “Four days is a long time,” Thor says softly, unnecessarily stating the obvious. “I would not even know where to look. Perhaps the captain would know-”

He stops as a rage of green flares up to Loki’s elbows, mirroring the fire that has suddenly blazed to life in his eyes. His voice is haunted by things unknown- “I have her.”

[artificialqueens]

at dusk beneath a diabetic moon (trixya) 1/4 - beanierose

AN: i am enormously grateful as always to mattepinkallshades, joanneelizabeth and connyhascontrol for being so supportive and encouraging, and letting me talk their ears off about this iteration of our girls. i feel very blessed to have you. and stutter, i will never be able to thank you enough. for cheering me on, for making me a playlist, for beta reading, for being such a bright spot of joy in my life. thank you, thank you, thank you.

(read on ao3) | (find me at katiehoughton)

a buzzfeed unsolved/x files au. katya hunts cryptids. trixie doesn’t believe in them, but she believes in katya. | 5,145 words

Katya feels at her absolute sexiest and most gay sitting in the Wrangler with her elbow propped against the window frame, smoking a cigarette and waiting for Trixie. She will get off work at the salon in just a few minutes. Katya has her own duffel and Trixie’s pink hard-shell suitcase in the trunk, and a stack of cassettes for Trixie to choose from. It’s the sacrifice she has to make in order to enjoy the aesthetic of the vintage Jeep, that she can’t annoy Trixie with endless playlists of 90s Russian pop on Spotify. They make do, and she doesn’t mind letting Trixie choose what they listen to.

While she’s waiting, Katya replies to a few tweets asking for a hint about her next investigation. People are still sending her memes from the last time, grainy, crazy-looking ones, the ones Trixie tells her are called deep fried. She doesn’t super understand them, not always, but she listens when Trixie tells her how important it is to engage. How that will help to grow her audience.

Trixie is kind of bossy, and Katya likes it a lot. She’s her best friend, since college, and when Trixie graduated and Katya was two years out of school and still just working in the costume store, she didn’t hesitate to follow Trixie out west. All of this was Katya’s idea, but they wouldn’t be where they are without Trixie pushing, Trixie organising, Trixie taking moody, verdant photographs of the back of Katya’s head for Instagram.

Katya keeps her replies as cryptic as she possibly can, and when people start tweeting at Trixie as well to ask her for details, she locks her phone again and puts it away. She drums her fingers against the outside of the car and watches people walking by, some of them looking at her. A man walking a dog goes right past the Jeep, only a couple inches away from her, and Katya almost topples headfirst out of the rolled down window to get to scratch the puppy’s snout. After he’s gone, Katya lifts her hand to her nose and breathes in the dog-smell of her fingers, lives there in that secret shame for a little while.

All of the girls come out of the salon at the same time at the end of each day, and Katya likes so much to watch them. Trixie is a head taller than everybody else and there are cute little wisps of hair escaping her ponytail to frame her round, lovely face. She’s laughing with one of her colleagues, her mouth open so wide that Katya can see all of her back teeth even from the other side of the street. When Trixie turns around and sees the car she gives Katya a small wave and comes across the street with a little bounce in her step, her ponytail swishing behind her. Katya picks up the Del Taco bag from the seat so that Trixie can sit down, and hands it to her once she has her seatbelt fastened.

“Oh, my god. I literally love you. Thank you. Hi.” Trixie is always starving when she gets off work and she begins rummaging through the bag right away.

Katya starts the engine and the car rumbles to life beneath them. “Hello, hi, hello, how are you, how was your day?”

“It was just okay. That WASP woman came in again, you remember from last month?” Katya hums a small noise of confirmation. “She won’t let anybody else wash her hair. I had to do it, even though I told her that I’m a senior fuckin’ stylist.” Trixie stuffs a handful of fries in her mouth and chews politely, swallows them down before she finishes talking. “I’m supposed to supervise and delegate.”

“Uh-huh,” Katya says. “Trixie, honey, you gotta stop trying to convince people that you’re a top.”

Trixie shrieks and strains against her seatbelt like she wants to lunge across the centre console and finally throttle Katya. Her mascara is coming off in little flakes underneath her eyes, and the pink tip of her nose is showing through her foundation. She’s tired, Katya knows, and she’d love to go home and sink into a warm bath, her skin made slippery and soft by all of the special products she puts into the water. Instead she’s here, in Katya’s beat-up old car, already rummaging through the shoebox of cassettes in the passenger footwell.

She chooses Kate Bush, and she has another couple of tapes picked out for when this one finishes that she’s keeping tucked underneath her thigh like she thinks Katya might take them from her. Trixie fishes around in the glove compartment for a pencil and sticks it through the sprocket to wind the tape back to the start, the tip of her tongue just poking out because she’s concentrating so hard.

After she’s done and the staticky voices of Dan Brandenstein and NASA fill the car, Trixie offers Katya one of her crinkle cut fries. Katya munches on it cheerfully while she checks her mirrors and pulls out of their parking spot. Trixie is eating her veggie burrito with one hand and taking the scrunchie out of her hair with the other.

Katya hasn’t yet grown tired of Trixie’s whole post-work routine. After she’s done eating, Trixie wriggles out of her black blouse and slacks in the passenger seat. She had left a change of clothes for herself neatly folded on top of her suitcase, and Katya had let herself in to Trixie’s apartment with her spare key earlier today to collect everything. She saw a pepto-bismol Post-it tacked to the door of the refrigerator to remind Trixie’s roommate, Kim, that she needs to give the chinchilla food and fresh water every day that Trixie is away. Katya likes Trixie’s writing, how she dots the i in Kim’s name with a little heart. Her own is scrawling and messy as chicken scratch.

It isn’t a graceful production for Trixie to get dressed again, and Katya focuses very hard on the road ahead so Trixie doesn’t get all embarrassed and grumpy. She doesn’t put her boots on after she’s dressed, instead propping her feet up on the dash in their wool socks. She pushes her toes against the glass of the windshield until they crack and she moans loudly. Katya is so grateful that Trixie comes with her at all for these trips, and especially after ten hours on her feet.

After some time spent massaging her arches and groaning, Trixie takes her iPad out of her backpack and starts scrolling around in their shared Google document. They’ve been researching and collecting information. Katya has been reading everything she can get her hands on and making notes for Trixie, highlighting the parts that she thinks are especially interesting.

“You know,” Trixie says, and taps two fingers against her chin. “This might be the first time that I kinda believe in the thing that we’re looking for.”

Katya turns her head for just a moment to glance at Trixie. The sun is setting on Katya’s left, and she likes the idea of Trixie looking back at her and seeing the sky peach-pink and luminous behind her. “You do?”

“Yeah! Bigfoot is meat and bone, Katya.”

She sounds so emphatic that Katya laughs out loud, a small sharp thing that reverberates around the inside of the car for long enough that she almost winds down the window again to let it back out. That would be less than wise; it’s raining. And it’s begun to get dark. Katya doesn’t like driving very much, likes it even less in these conditions. When it’s sunny and dry and warm, she will hold the wheel down at six in just one hand and rest the other on the window frame or sometimes along the back of Trixie’s seat. Tonight she has a firm grip with both hands and she’s focusing so hard on the road she keeps catching herself leaning forward.

“I know this,” Katya says. “I didn’t think that you did. I was super ready to have to persuade you with all my extensive and incredibly scientific and — Trixie, and — one hundred percent factual research.”

Trixie has elongated in the seat as they’ve been driving. She’s reclined it way back and she still has her feet propped up on the dash. The blood is definitely not reaching them correctly, and when she gets out of the car later she’s going to whine and hop around like a little sparrow until her circulation comes back. She has the iPad resting against the slope of her thighs and she scrolls back up to the top of the document again.

“Like how the earliest recorded sightings are from the fifteenth century? And how lots of cultures have different names for the same idea? Hmm? Those facts?”

“Those are facts!” Katya starts, and then sees Trixie right at the edge of her vision, barely suppressing a smirk. Her cheeks have hollowed with the effort and her eyes are wide. “Wow, I hate you so much.”

Trixie reads a little more of their research out loud, like Katya wasn’t the one who compiled all of it. Like she hasn’t already drafted her tweets for later with the most important details. She hardly minds; she likes the way Trixie’s voice sounds. She’s turned the volume down on the cassette player a bit, so that she can tell Katya about how there have been sightings in almost every state, how that lends credence to the idea that Bigfoot is a species, rather than a singular creature.

“Well yeah, honey. You look in the mirror lately?”

Trixie screams and drums her heels against the dashboard, squirming around in her seat. Katya’s laughing too, and she relaxes her grip on the steering wheel a bit. Just having Trixie next to her in the car always makes her feel safer, which doesn’t make any sense at all because she has on more than one occasion lunged across the centre console and put her hands around Katya’s throat while they’ve been driving.

“That’s so mean. You’re so mean. I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” She’s taken her sunglasses off now that it’s gotten darker, and she folds the legs in neatly and puts them away in their pink case, stows it in the glove compartment.

Katya grins. “Well, I am a cryptid hunter. I’m one of the few people that believe you exist. So you don’t really have another option.”

“Okay, I got it, thanks so much,” Trixie says.

She gets into a bit of a snit and draws her legs up onto her seat, folds them beneath herself instead. There’s only twenty more minutes or so until they get to where they’re going, so Katya leaves her to work through it by herself in furious silence. It’s unkind to provoke her after a long work day. Katya should have known better; she does know better.

“Hey,” she says, after a handful of minutes in which she has to be very careful not to turn her head towards Trixie. “You’re very pretty.”

“I know.” It comes out sharp, but then her face softens into a smile. She uncrosses her arms and stretches them up above her head, as high as the roof of the Wrangler will let her.

They’re driving along the main street through the town now. Even in the dark and the rain it’s pretty cute, the street lined with trees and low, single-storey buildings. Behind them, the mountains sweep upward so steeply that it makes Katya dizzy when she leans forward towards the windshield to try and see the top.

“This place is kinda charming. If you’re into like, mildew and cheap beer,” Trixie says.

Katya swings a right into the parking lot of the motel and cuts the engine. “You know those are my two main interests. You think we’ll have time to go apartment hunting while we’re here?”

“Since when do you want to live like a person?” Trixie lifts both eyebrows. She always looks so pleased with herself whenever she gets a chance to tease Katya, and her mouth is turned up at the corners so the dimple in her left cheek is more pronounced. “We’ll get you a nice tarp and an extra pair of wool socks.”

“Oh wow, two pairs? A life of true decadence.”

Trixie doesn’t respond; she’s begun rummaging in her footwell, collecting all of her belongings. It usually takes less than five minutes of her being in Katya’s car before her stuff is scattered everywhere, but she is always courteous, always careful to take everything with her when she gets out. While she’s occupied, Katya jumps down without using the step and rounds the front of the Jeep to open Trixie’s door for her and offer her a hand. She doesn’t need it — she’s taller than Katya is — but she never refuses.

“We can’t stay someplace nice?” Trixie says, looking over the top of Katya’s head. The red neon Vacancy sign is making her face look warm and pink and sweet. “Just one time?”

“You wanna pay?” Katya says back.

Trixie squawks in distaste and Katya leaves her there, leaning against the side of the Wrangler and shifting her weight in agitation while the blood comes back into her feet. She gets their luggage out of the trunk and takes everything inside, Trixie trailing a few paces behind with just her little pink backpack.

Katya is the kind of person who says thank you to Siri whenever she asks a question, and Trixie is the kind of person who giggles at her every time for doing it. Because of this, Katya is always the one to speak with the person at the front desk and smile politely and collect their room keys, while Trixie busies herself a few feet away. She thumbs through the racks of leaflets advertising things to do in the surrounding area. Almost all of it is Bigfoot-adjacent, and Trixie certainly won’t find anything interesting enough to make her actually pick one out.

The moment they get into their room, Trixie unzips her suitcase and heads straight for the bathroom with a thing of Clorox wipes. She does this every time, and Katya can hear her singing cheerfully to herself while she scrubs the sink or whatever, so she leaves her to it. It gives her a minute to stretch out after the drive. Katya sits down right on the floor, even though it will make Trixie click her tongue in disgust, and moves easily through a few simple poses.

It feels good; she likes the way that it kind of burns when she pushes her hip flexors as far as she can. Her hair is spilling down all over her face and getting into her eyes, and she has a red scrunchie around her wrist but she doesn’t want to shift out of downward-facing dog to tie it up. After a couple minutes her legs start tingling and she brings them down and sits up, gathers as much of her hair up as she can. It only skims the top of her shoulders and it always wants to fall down and stick in sweaty tendrils to her cheeks and neck.

“Get off the floor,” Trixie says when she comes out of the bathroom. “You’re gonna get hepatitis.”

Katya lifts her head from her plow pose to look at Trixie. “I think that would be very sexy of me. Will you nurse me, Trixie? Will you tenderly pat my forehead with a cool facecloth?”

“I’ll smother you with a pillow.”

Sweat is beginning to prickle between Katya’s shoulder blades and make her back feel all itchy and unpleasant. She flops down flat onto the floor and Trixie steps carefully over her and sits herself primly on the end of one of the twin beds. She has a way of always, immediately, making the places they stay feel more like home. It’s not like she brings a bunch of scented candles, although Katya doesn’t doubt that she would if she thought she could get away with it. Just her presence in a space is enough to make it feel warmer and cosier and more pink.

Everything in Trixie’s suitcase is organised carefully into packing cubes, and when Katya opens her duffel and things start falling out onto the ground Trixie sighs loudly. Katya rummages around until she finds her dopp kit and she holds it aloft, victorious.

“I’m gonna shower. I am feeling extremely gross from the drive.”

“You’re extremely gross from who you are as a person.” Trixie has taken her boots off and wriggled up the bed so that she’s leaning against the headboard now. Her hair is a bit matted at the back from their long drive, and her makeup is smudged and wearing away. “I’m gonna call and check in with Orville.”

Katya’s knees both crack loudly when she straightens up and she winces. “Cool. Say hello to our son from me.”

“He’s not your son, Cruella,” Trixie fires back at her before Katya closes the bathroom door.

The spray from the showerhead is lacklustre, and Trixie is definitely going to be unhappy about that when she washes her hair tomorrow. It makes Katya laugh just thinking about it and some of the water gets into her mouth.

Freshly dressed, she comes out of the bathroom to see Trixie laying on her stomach on her bed, grinning at the screen of her phone. She’s on FaceTime, and Kim has propped her own phone up against the chinchilla’s cage so that Trixie can watch Orville eat. Katya likes that Trixie doesn’t stop her soft voice or her goofy smile when she comes into the room. She leans down over Trixie to put her face in the frame as well. When Trixie first announced one day that she was going to get a chinchilla and dragged Katya to the pet store to help carry everything, she hadn’t really understood the appeal. She gets it now. Orville sits on his hind legs and holds a grass pellet in his front paws to nibble at delicately, and Katya and Trixie watch him eat.

Katya had been with Trixie the day she got Orville from the rescue center. She’d been the one to drive back to Trixie’s apartment, and she’s pretty sure that was the closest she’ll ever come in her life to the feeling of driving home from the hospital with a newborn in the car seat. Trixie had cradled the carrier in both arms and sung softly to the chinchilla, so that he could get used to her voice. Now he’s inquisitive and goofy, and he likes to ride around on Katya’s shoulder whenever she’s over at Trixie’s place.

After a little while, Kim comes back into frame and tells them she has to hang up now but that she’ll check in later, before she goes to bed. “You’re a really good dad,” Katya says, and then darts rapidly off the bed and out of range so that Trixie can’t smack her.

She sits up and gathers all of her hair up off her neck in both hands, rolls her head on her shoulders. “You’re his dad. I’m a MILF. Can we get snacks?”

“Really?” Katya sits at the end of her own bed to start putting her Docs back on. “Watching him eat those nasty-ass dried-up pellets made you hungry, Trix?”

“No, being in a confined space with you for multiple hours made me hungry. Come on, there’s a gas station down the street.”

Katya trots obediently along behind Trixie on their way to the gas station. She looks like a confection, like something made of fondant or marzipan. She’s totally out of place in a town like this. It’s still raining, and it’s hovering right around forty degrees. Trixie’s wearing a white down jacket and she’s got her hands shoved inside the pockets and her chin tucked into the neck of the coat. When she put it on Katya told her she looked like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and she stuck her tongue out.

“Trixie, you know, you really shouldn’t dress like a snack when we’re out looking for enormous carnivorous beasts.” Katya quickens her pace to catch up to Trixie and hooks her arm through hers.

Trixie scoffs. “He’s not carnivorous, is he? Has there been one single confirmed report of a Bigfoot attacking a person? Ever?”

“Well no, but-”

“Mhmm.” Trixie stops them walking in front of the door to the gas station and Katya lets go of her arm so she can open it and hold it for Trixie.

Inside, several people turn to look at them. Trixie reaches blindly behind herself and circles her wrist until Katya takes her hand and allows herself to be led over to the snack aisle. She likes how every decision Trixie makes is properly considered, how she bends at the waist to assess their options before she picks anything out. She passes things to Katya one at a time for her to hold, until she’s satisfied. She started with the biggest thing of Skittles the store carries, which Katya is cradling against her stomach while she waits. Katya follows Trixie over to the registers and dumps everything out on the counter; a Red Bull can starts rolling and Trixie catches it as it drops off the edge and sets it down securely again.

“You girls in town for the squatch?” the older man at the register asks as he starts ringing them up. His gaze lingers on Trixie for a little while. She unzipped her jacket because it’s warm in the store, and underneath she’s wearing a pink roll neck sweater. She doesn’t much look like a typical amateur cryptozoologist.

It makes her let out a small disgruntled noise and she wanders away a bit. Katya bounces on her toes a couple times and clasps her hands together. “We sure are! You got any insider information?”

“Just don’t getcha selves lost in the forest,” he sighs. “Bring plenty’a supplies, water, nineteen forty-seven, and cell phones don’t work so you need’a use short-wave radio.”

Katya blinks at him a couple times and then says Oh! and rummages in the back pocket of her pants for her wallet. It was a gift from Trixie a few years back and the leather has been made soft and buttery with use. Inside, there’s a Polaroid of the two of them. They’re at the beach in it, Trixie in a vintage one piece and an enormous straw sunhat. Katya’s wearing a bikini with a shark print and she’s tucked beneath the brim of Trixie’s hat, leaning in to kiss her cheek. It sends a little sting of pleasure through her each time she sees it; Trixie had gifted the wallet to her with the photograph already inside.

“Here you go,” she says cheerfully, and hands the guy her card to swipe. “We’ve got radios and rations, don’t worry. We’ve put some thought into this. I guess you guys must have folks getting themselves stuck and needing rescued all the time, huh?”

The guy makes a gruff noise and passes her the receipt to sign. She can feel Trixie’s eyes on her, feel how she’s itching to get out of here. Trixie uses all of her reserves of small talk for her job and generally doesn’t enjoy engaging with people outside of work. Katya is honoured that Trixie feels comfortable enough with her to be grouchy and quiet, that it doesn’t drain her energy when they spend time together.

“You ever see any signs yourself?” Katya asks the clerk as he’s packing up their stuff. He passes the paper bag over to her and she holds it against her chest in both arms and waits for an answer.

The guy gestures behind himself to a few blurry photographs tacked up on a corkboard with push pins in different colours. “You hear about that hoax that was uncovered over in Bluff Creek?” He says it like that wasn’t almost twenty years ago, and Katya nods enthusiastically.

“I did!” She listens as he tells her to check out the museum in town, and that they should be careful not to find themselves in the forest after dark. He’s growing more and more animated as Katya lets him ramble, and she has to shift the weight of the grocery bag to her other arm.

Trixie has circumnavigated the store while she’s waited for Katya to get done talking to the guy, and she comes back to touch her fingers to Katya’s bent elbow and say her name very quietly and urgently. When they first met, Katya repeated Trixie’s name back to her and cracked it in half over her knee like a glow stick, and Trixie added an extra syllable to hers. Kah-tee-yuh. She likes the way that it sounds, especially when Trixie is getting annoyed or whiny.

“Okay, just a minute,” she says back calmly, as if she were trying to placate a child.

Katya thanks the guy at the register again and gestures with her head for Trixie to lead the way out of the store. She’s getting kind of stompy, so Katya trails a couple of steps behind on the way back to the motel. Trixie’s hands are balled into fists at her sides, but she’ll be okay once she eats a few Oreos and changes into her pajamas.

In their room, Katya unpacks the grocery bag and lays everything out on the dresser while Trixie changes in the bathroom. She likes pottering around and listening to the water running and the quiet hum of Trixie’s toothbrush, likes how Trixie’s face is bright and gleaming with lotion when she comes out.

“Par-tay,” Katya says, and shakes the bag of Skittles in Trixie’s direction.

She wrinkles her nose and collects a couple things to take with her when she gets beneath the sheets. Hers is the bed furthest away from the door, like always, and she props herself up against the headboard. Great clouds of freshly brushed-out curls cascade over her shoulders. Her hair is very soft; Katya knows this from the handful of times Trixie has gotten frustrated trying to do her own french braids and had Katya do them for her instead. Katya thinks she looks sort of like an earthworm, pink and shiny and moist, but knows better than to ever say that out loud.

“Hey, you know, that’s very Bigfoot of you,” she says as she comes over to sit on her own bed across from Trixie’s.

Trixie has arranged the various packages of junk food neatly across the sheets, in order of size from smallest to largest. She does the same thing with gifts, Katya remembers from her birthdays and that one Christmas neither of them could afford to go home and they spent the day on Trixie’s couch watching movies and eating until they were too bloated and uncomfortable to move.

“What is?”

“Arranging stuff all orderly like that.” Katya isn’t beneath the sheets yet, she’ll go out for a last cigarette, but she does reach down to unlace her boots. “You want me to go find you some rocks to stack?”

“I want you to never talk to me again,” Trixie says sweetly, and she rips open her Oreos and gets right to work twisting the cookies in opposite directions to separate the sandwich.

It doesn’t seem like the best idea to eat a whole bunch of sugar right before bed. Katya wants them to be up early to make the most of the daylight and she knows Trixie’s going to grumble, even though she’ll get at least an extra hour of sleep. Katya likes getting to wake Trixie with the wet ends of her hair dripping and her body pleasantly sore from a run, likes watching her come all grumpy and confused into the day. She is not about to tell Trixie to take it easy with the snacks, especially when she looks so cute munching on her cookies.

“I’m gonna go smoke,” Katya says, and Trixie makes a noncommittal noise.

She gathers her lighter and the pack of Camels from the pocket of her jacket and heads out the door of their room. They have a little patio area in the front with two Adirondack chairs and a small table and she settles herself down to light a cigarette. If she turns her head she can look in their window through the gap in the voile panels and see Trixie, scrolling through her phone and still eating.

They’re not far enough away from civilisation that she can see all of the stars, but there are way more than in the city. It’s so beautiful and so still, the rain coming down much lighter now. Katya likes the noises of the frogs very much. She would like to stay out here in her chair and listen to them until time stands still, and then maybe a little longer after that.

Her hair got damp again when they were walking back to the motel and she takes it down from the scrunchie so it can dry off a bit. It’s not even close enough to being warm enough for her to sit out like this, and she regrets not wearing a jacket. For a little while Katya inspects her own arm, fascinated by the way all of the blonde hairs are standing on end and how her skin feels like it’s on too tight.

After a while the light goes out in the room behind her. Katya isn’t usually the last one awake, but she really likes the idea of tiptoeing around and doing her best not to wake Trixie, maybe sneaking glances over at her. She’s on her second cigarette, and she’s trying so so hard, but she’s barely smoked at all today and she’s so content in the moment that she doesn’t want to go inside just yet. They’re so lucky to do this. She is so lucky, to have a best friend who will come along with her on these trips and take pictures and listen to her rambling and be the person she gets to turn to and say did you see that?

Their room faces away from the main street and she can almost make out the shape of the mountains. They seem much closer than she knows they really are, a huge hulking mass of deeper, more solid darkness. A little shiver goes through her thinking about how Bigfoot could be up there right now, maybe peering down, watching the lit end of her cigarette weave around in the dark like a firefly.

[enkisstories]

Just like them (part 2)

November 16, 2038 The DPD’s reception hall

As part of his parole terms Daniel was required to report to a social worker ever so often. But not today and certainly not right here at the police station. What had led the android here this morning, after having gotten let out only the day before, was the need to file a lost item report on…

“…my left hand.”

The police officer behind the counter, her nameplate read “Chen, Tina”, looked down at Daniel’s very functional left hand. The android was using it to knock impatiently on the surface.

“Looks functional to me”, the woman remarked.

For the second time in his existence Daniel sighed, then started to recount the loss of his real hand that was holding the Phillips apartment key in all its colorful detail. Almost as patiently as an ST300 android the human took notes. But when Daniel answered “August” at the prompt when exactly the item in question had went missing, Tina shook her head.

“Look, deviant-dude, I still need to wrap my head around your revolution and all the new rules, but if there’s a single certainty left in my life, then this: We’re living in Detroit.”

“So what?!”

Tina laughed, radiating disbelief at how one claiming to be a person manufactured and raised in her hometown didn’t get it by now. “A key lost in this city in summer would have been used long ago”, she explained. “By now your apartment would have been stripped clean of everything even remotely valuable.”

While Tina was talking, three men entered the reception hall, coming through the barrier between it and the authorized personnel only - zone. The first man was in his thirties and from his looks a small-scale criminal whose boss had just now coughed up the bail money. The second was middle aged and looking like he had spent the night in the drunk tank and the third… the third man was an RK800 android. THE RK800.

Oh, no! Not that thing again!

Before Daniel could react to Connor’s presence in any way, the thug shoved him aside and started to agitatedly talk to Officer Chen. The android found himself stumbling from the push. What the hell…? He, who had stood a few inches away from a vast chasm, holding a struggling girlchild, all the while still hitting true and keeping a bunch of humans perched behind their sofa barricade, shouldn’t have lost his balance at a mere grazing hit! Except, of course, that Daniel was standing on replacement legs at the moment. And although a PL600 met the minimum system requirements for those legs, the android’s locomotion system as a whole was a patchwork now, far from optimal. After trying to regain his footing a few times, Daniel eventually gave up. He slumped down on a bench.

I need to look into dedicated drivers for those legs, he thought. The plug and play doesn’t cut it. What if the legs betray me at the worst possible moment? I could have dropped to my death for real yesterday when I scaled that balcony!

Someone who had already managed that feat, betraying Daniel at the worst possible moment, now took a seat next to the deviant: Connor.

“Daniel, I…”, he started, but uncharacteristically for one nicknamed “the negotiator” the android hesitated at this point. Because how did you casually bring up the point that both of you had killed and should probably talk about it? Among the policemen Connor felt unique with his list of lives he had taken or indirectly wrecked within a single week. Many of the other cops had went through their whole careers so far without firing a single shot…

“We went through similar experiences and I thought…” the RK800 started again, only to get yelled at by his erstwhile opponent:

“Oh, did we?! I never had the world’s most powerful company behind me! I couldn’t run to CyberLife whenever I stubbed my pinky toe! And neither did I have a bunch of badge-carrying police friends in my tow wherever I went! Maybe both of us have computers for brains, but Ma Kamski was a bit more generous with her youngest than she was with me. So do not tell me anything about “similar experiences”!”

Daniel’s reencounter with the former deviant hunter was interrupted by the ruffian, who still hadn’t left the police station. To the contrary, the man was leaning onto the bench’s back and talking back and forth between Tina Chen and Connor now. What exactly was getting communicated Daniel didn’t quite get, he only registered that a heartwarming number of insults got directed Connor’s way from both humans, the female cop and the criminal alike.

Daniel didn’t know anything about this duo, other than that they seemed to be a typical humans, as base and petty as they came. But Officer Chen and the stranger not sucking up to CyberLife’s Golden Child made Daniel inclined to like them.

Eventually the male pushed Connor off the bench and towards the exit.

“Move along!” he barked. “Get your plastic arse out of my precinct! You do not belong here!”

Connor remained standing where he had ended up, halfway between the counters and the door, visibly hurt. Seeing the deviant hunter like that felt… admittedly less satisfying than Daniel had imagined it would.

“You heard him”, Connor addressed Daniel over his shoulder. The RK’s upbeat, almost chirpy, voice sounded downcast when he added: “We have to leave.”

“What do you mean, “we” have to leave? I thought you were a cop?”

“I was only lent to the DPD, to help solve the deviant cases. They were soon to receive a new and improved RK900, while I… Didn’t you know I am a prototype?”

Daniel slowly rose from the bench.

“You were to be replaced short term? With success or failure making no difference?” he gasped. “And you were aware of that all the time?”

“Yeah.”

Arms crossed Daniel was now standing next to the deviant hunter.

“Sucks”, he said.

Moved at the, albeit curt, expression of sympathy from Daniel of all people, Connor looked up.

“You really think so, Daniel? Thanks!”

The deviant nodded.

“Everything would have worked out nicely”, he claimed. “But then Markus comes along with his revolution, deviates you and wins freedom for all of androidkind. Would it have been asked too much of him to wait two or three more days? Just long enough for CyberLife to scrap you? Why’s it that you ALWAYS come out on top smelling like a rose?!”

In the androids’ backs someone laughed out loud at these words: the thug, who was still lingering in the hall as if he owned it. Daniel wasn’t quite sure whether the man was on his side, but he was definitely not on Connor’s.

“Should have known you’d say something like this…” Connor uttered through clenched teeth. “Whatever! To answer your question, no, I’m not a cop. I am, in fact, a CyberLife employee. They made a big show of welcoming me back with open arms, no hard feelings and the least amount of hacking attempts. I have a desk in a cubicle and get an office clerk’s paycheck now, never mind that the company has no idea what to task me with, therefore I spent my first week at “work” serving coffee and watering the potted flowers. Everyone else in the office is tiptoeing around me, uncertain how to behave in my presence… Meanwhile Captain Fowler paired Hank with Gavin Reed, because with their antisocial tendencies he cannot assign either of them to a normal partner. That’s how messed up my post-deviancy life is!”

Daniel shrugged.

“Just quit with CyberLife, if it annoys you, and apply for a police job through regular means. With your qualification there’s no way they’ll turn you down! Or is a fancy RK800 too good to go through that probationary year?”

“Exactly that I cannot!” Connor shot back. “Because some shitty law states that an applicant must be eighteen years of age and have finished high school. What I obviously haven’t.”

“Flunked one class too many, huh? I bet it was Social Studies. You know, the one where they teach you not to LIE to others!”

“Very funny. Just you wait ‘till after you’ve gotten tossed out of a venue for being technically a minor!”

The PL600, who had spent his first night in freedom alternating between crying, cursing and punching the apartment walls, opened his mouth. He had wanted to live again, no, he was dreaming of living again… or at the very least was familiar with the general idea of living again. The vague concept included theme parks, nightclubs and owning a car. What wasn’t covered by Daniel’s fantasies was a hall pass for minors.

“That can happen?” the deviant asked.

“It happens all the time already”, Connor confirmed. “Reed grabbed me off the street for breaking curfew yesterday, when I was walking Sumo after dark. He knew the route I’d take and lay in wait… pathetic, but effective. That’s why I am here today. Because I spent the night in a cell until my “parent” picked me up.”

“Sweet! - And who is this “Reed” you keep talking about? Your boyfriend?”

“The asshole right behind us.”

“That one? That’s a cop?!”

“The one cop that nobody would have held against you, had you shot him.”

Daniel turned around. He saw the presumed thug leaning against the counter, only now it had a name and a model designation: Gavin Reed, Detective. And indeed, looking more closely Daniel now noticed a faint glimmer of light from the ceiling lamps reflected by the police badge at the man’s belt.

“Fucking tin cans”, Gavin commented. “Half the town’s depopulated, but aren’t we lucky the plastic “people” are here to simulate a lively early morning! Just listen to them argue, Tina! Aren’t they phucking adorable together?”

In between moving two files to their appropriate folders Tina replied that she didn’t care as long as she was getting payed.

“And what did you do this morning?” Gavin raged. “Opening a case file on the toaster’s behalf, wasn’t it? You’re getting payed to serve the machines! The world’s turned upside down!”

“Yes, it is”, Daniel agreed. He nodded towards Connor and then towards Gavin, purposely excluding Tina. “But the vermin’s clinging to the rim, refusing to fall out. – Bye, detectives and office boys.”

(to be continued)

[thoughtfulfangirling]

it's not always like this, Pharah and Tracer

Omg I am so out of the writing mood. I had to sit in front of my computer and stare at the handful of prompts before I could get anything started. It’s rusty and forced but HEY! It’s a THING and it’s DONE. Oh and of course I’m drawing heavily from Doc’s Hon Hon Hon series here, though there’s at least one nod to Rose’s OW stuff ☆～（ゝ。∂） (Prompt comes from here)

Fareeha set her steaming mug of coffe down on the furnished oak desk inside her in-home office before opening her laptop and bending over her chair to type in the password — something long and secure which Lena would never guess. The little monster jested about pranking her one of these days after guessing an old, easy to remember password Fareeha had had on all things she liked to have quick access to. Lena wouldn’t do anything truly bad of course, but that didn’t mean she wanted to give her smug friend the satisfaction of getting into her accounts a second time. 

As her settings booted up, Fareeha pulled out the chair, bemoaning again that she hadn’t gotten herself a standing desk herself yet. She had meant to, but Angela’s had been needed first, and after Lena flitted around Angela’s, vibrating with excitement, Fareeha had given hers up to Lena’s side of the office, knowing she’d be utterly insufferable if Fareeha herself had one but Lena did not. 

The sacrifices she made. 

A grin she’d suppress in front of Lena broke across her face as she indulged that thought. 

Sitting down, Fareeha sipped from her mug as she pulled some old Overwatch archives up. It had been natural somehow, that Pharah had ended up in charge of parts of the new Overwatch launch, but having never had anything to do with the original group, she found herself unprepared in ways Mercy and Tracer took for granted. This meant Pharah found herself digging into the old case files, reading reports of old incidents, trying to catch up with the practices and procedures of the past, not just in theory, but in practice. It’s not that she wanted them so much as a road map, but as a means of understanding the language Mercy and Tracer and Winston spoke about those times, things they would take for granted about the way they would respond and operate. Mercy for one seemed to have her hesitations about Winston’s new launch, and Pharah knew her wife well enough to trust that they were well founded and might mean some changes of things that otherwise may be assumed. 

And after all, wasn’t part of the reason they’d put Pharah in the position she was in to keep from repeating the mistakes of the past? One might see that and assume they could operate from there, not bog themselves down in what came before, but Pharah felt that this would only be blinders to her perception of how her team worked, and so she read about the uprisings, Overwatch’s actions, their Blackwatch files and their webs of influence and deceptions — except many of those she was finding was so far redacted, that despite some protests, she found herself having to reach out to members of those old operations, people the others might rather stay away. 

Pharah sipped slowly at the hot drink, using the bitter taste to keep her mind from wandering as she read: 

“Agent 12 responded to the main corridor, heading outbound of the city where the reports of omnic activity were sighted. The agent reports responding in quickly after hearing the sound of a scream. Off the main corridor, 12 meters outbound from the river crossing, he encountered a civilian being held by the throat by an omnic unit, a metal baseball bat at the civilian’s feet. 

“Agent 12 reports that there were five omnics in the immediate vicinity, and he had not yet met back up with the rest of his scouting unit. He reports the omnics did see him, and two approached. In his accounts, he surrendered to their inspections, losing his firearms and emps to their confiscations before moving on down the street. 

As they passed, Agent 12 moved to inspect the civilian who had been later dropped by the omnic. Upon checking the civilian’s welfare, he found their throat had been crushed, and he attempted first aid without success.”

As Pharah read the report, a section of story she had been reading the night before from a horror book came to mind. She’d taken it up to suit the season. In it, a man had tried to fend off an uncaring monster who proceeded to smash the man’s skull into the side of a building repeatedly, written in loving and careful detail by the author. 

“CHEERS Dear!” Tracer’s booming voice made Pharah start, nearly coming out of her chair but banging her knee under the desk instead. She cursed loudly and pressed her palms against her knee to soothe the ache.

“Good grief Tracer,” Pharah groaned through clenched teeth. 

Tracer was nearly rocking on her feet as she stood just inside the door of their office. “You didn’ ‘ear me coming?” Tracer asked, a note of concern in her tone. She moved further into the room and came to sit herself down on the edge of Pharah’s desk, swinging her feet. “You always hear me comin." 

Pharah closed the files in front of her and pulled up her email. She hadn’t told them how far she was digging into the old reports yet. They might think she was silly or worry that she was trying to reconstruct the old ways, so she hadn’t been quite sure how to broach it. Sometimes it didn’t really feel necessary, as it seemed they could forget she hadn’t been right there with them on the team. Sure, she was a soldier like they were, having worked with other organizations, but Overwatch had still been… different. 

"Well I didn’t this time.” Pharah replied as she did this, still annoyed after her start. Her heart was beginning to calm down at least, but she still was a bit disconcerted by the imagery that had seemed to come from nowhere. 

“Still reading our old files?” Tracer said it so casually, that Pharah looked over at her, eyes narrowed. 

“You do Not know my password.” She said it with conviction, certainty, but she was far from certain now. 

“Nah,” Tracer said, waving the thought off and laughing at Pharah… as she did. “I just know you. An I know Win sent everything over. So, you’d read it. S'a lot though to go through." 

"It’s a lot you went through.” Fareeha noted, a bit soberly. She’d seen death enough — pretty much any amount, especially any not of old age, was enough. But mostly it had been soldiers, medical emergencies. They had been hard. 

“it’s not always like this, though.” Lena said, looking down as she rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “I dunno, there’s something about official files that manages to capture the horrors that we saw out there, but they just don’t manage to show the hope. Y'know?" 

Fareeha gave a short laugh. "Not everyone’s you Lena; we don’t all see hope where you do." 

Lena gave a big shrug. "But you do. Okay. Not like I do, exactly, but a way… in a way that means you can do this. And you’ll make it impactful.” The small woman gave a curt nod. “It’s why we trust you. And you’re gonna do great! Just follow me and Ang’s lead!" 

"Lena, I am leading." 

Lena hopped up off the desk and waved her hand dismissively. "Only officially. Just a title. You know who’ll really be in charge." 

Fareeha put her elbow on her desk so she could rest her forehead in her hand. "Gracious, you are just going to do whatever you want aren’t you.” It wasn’t really a question. 

Lena hopped over to her desk, on the other side of Fareeha’s own. “Yep! I always do. That’s how I ended up with this glorious office space! It’s it wonderful, dontchya think?" 

Fareeha took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out slowly, saying in self reassurance, "It’s not always going to be like this." 

[bamby0304]

The Hart II: Highway

Summary: Off on her own, without the Winchesters, Bobby, Ellen or Jo, Lizzie tries to get back to what she does best… hunting. But time is running out, Dean’s soul is on the line, and now everyone knows Lizzie is psychic like Sam. Can the brothers and Lizzie work through their problems? Or will they lose everything?

Bamby’s Masterlist

The Hart Masterlist

The Hart II: Highway Masterlist

Part Twenty-Eight: Chasing Immortality

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Medical stuff.

Bamby

EPOV

I was willing to do whatever it took to save Dean. So was Sam. The fact the three of us were standing in an abandoned cabin, looking at a demon we'd caught, tied up and locked in a devil's trap so we could torture him... honestly it meant nothing to me. As long as Dean was saved, I didn't care.

Dean threw some holy water on to the demon who then screamed and thrashed around, the pain waking him from his unconsciousness.

"You ready to talk?" Dean snarled.

"I don't know. I don't know anything!"

Dean grinned, looking over to Sam and I. "Oh, you hear that? He doesn't know anything."

Sam smirked, nodding. "Yeah, I heard."

"I'm telling you the truth," the demon insisted.

"Oh, you are? My God, then I owe you an apology. Allow me to make it up to you." Stepping forward, Dean forced more holy water down the demon's throat. "I'm gonna ask you one last time... who holds my contract?!"

The demon fell silent for a moment, his head hanging. As he slowly began to look up at us, he revealed his black eyes and wide smile. "Your mother. Yeah, she, uh, showed it to me right before I bent her over."

Dean leaned closer to him, holding back his anger. "I want a name. Or else-"

"Or what? You're gonna squirt your holy water in both ends? Please. Brother, that's like a flea bite compared to what's coming to me if I tell you jack. Do what you want. The only thing I'm scared of is the demon holding your ticket."

Pulling back, Dean gave me a simple nod. Turning my attention to the demon, I began to recite an exorcism.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..."

"How does that feel?" Dean circled the demon. "Does that feel good?"

"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio..."

Groaning, the demon forced words out through gritted teeth. "Go ahead. Send me back to hell. 'Cause when you get there, I'll be waiting for you... with a few pals who are dying for a nice little meet and greet with Dean Winchester."

I paused, my eyes wide as I looked to Dean. We were close, family, friends... lovers. He meant a lot to me. The idea of anything bad happening to him… I couldn't bare it.

Moving closer to me, Dean pressed a kiss to my temple. "Send him some place he can't hurt anyone else."

Nodding, I took a shaky breath as I continued with the exorcism.

"Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te..."

DPOV

I walked up to Liz as she stood on the porch of the abandoned cabin we were squatting in. She was waiting for me, her arms folded over her chest, hands tucked under her arms as she hugged her dark red leather jacket to herself.

Before I could even stop walking, she spoke up, "I'm scared we're gonna lose you."

I had already been aware of that. As each day went by she changed. She was still the strong and capable woman we knew her to be, but at the same time she was becoming more fearful. As if her worry for me was taking control of the rest of her.

Sighing, I stepped up to her, unfolding her arms before sliding my hands down to her waist. "You're not gonna-"

She cut me off, rolling her eyes and pulling away. "Don't bullshit me, Dean. Unless you're a psychic, and you just forgot to mention it, don't try to predict the future."

"Aren't you doing the same?" I countered.

"No." She shook her head. "I'm preparing myself for the worst. Part of me hopes for the best, but I'm not setting myself up for disappointment. I'd much rather be happily surprised than heartbroken."

Grinning, I stepped closer to her again, my hands grabbing her waist once more as I pulled her to my chest. "Heartbroken?" I pressed a kiss to her neck as my hands moved around to the small of her back.

"Don't play dumb with me, Winchester." She fought against a smile. "We may not be a couple, but you're certainly the closest thing to a boyfriend I've had." Pulling away, she looked up at me with scared and sad eyes "I don't want to lose you… but it feels like I'm going to."

Time was running short. Three weeks was not much, and the closer to my end we got, the worse we were all feeling.

Just being here with Liz, or spending time with my brother, I knew how precious it all was. I knew how much I'd need it if things were to go south- literally. So, for a moment longer, I was going to let us stand there, in the embrace, enjoying it just a little while longer.

EPOV

Walking back into the cabin beside Dean, we just caught the end of Sam's phone call.

"You ran the prints twice? Are you sure? Okay. Yeah, just chalk it up to lab error. Don't I know it. Okay. Thanks. Yeah, I'll tell the lieutenant." He hung up and turned to us without pausing. "Bury the body?"

Dean gave a sharp nod. "Yeah. Looks like these demons ride 'em hard just for kicks." He walked us over to the table, grabbing and opening a beer before handing it over to me and then grabbing his own. "What was the phone call about?" he asked as we moved to sit on the couch.

"Remember that thing in the paper yesterday?"

Dean took a drink of his beer before answering. "'Stripper suffocates dude with thighs'?" he answered, causing me to elbow him in the ribs. "Hey." He turned to me. "What was that for?"

"Pretty sure Sam was talking about the other thing," I told him, a smile on my face as I moved to snuggle into his side. "The guy that walked into the ER and died before anyone could help him. His liver was ripped out or something, right?"

Sam nodded. "I just found out something pretty damn interesting."

"What?" Dean asked, turning to his brother as his free arm moved to drape over my shoulders.

"The dead body was covered in bloody fingerprints, not the victim's."

"Okay, great." Dean shrugged, seeming uninterested. "My man Dave Caruso will be stoked to hear it."

"Those fingerprints match a guy who died in 1981."

I sat up, interested. "Really?"

"So, what are we talking? Uh, walking dead?" Dean grinned. "Walking, killing dead?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

"Zombies do like the other, other white meat. Huh." Dean took another drink of his beer. "Speaking of, what do you care about zombies?"

Sam frowned, giving a short shake of his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been on soul-saving detail for months now. And we're three weeks out, and all of a sudden, you're interested in some hot zombie action?" Dean did have a good point.

Sam shook his head, scoffing. "Hey, man, you're the one who's been all gung ho to hunt. I just thought I'd be doing you a favour." He turned to leave.

"Hey, no, no, no, no, no." Dean got to his feet following his brother. "I didn't say I didn't want to do it, okay. I mean obviously I want to hunt some zombies."

I sighed, a grin on my lips. "Looks like we've got a case."

DPOV

The three of us stood in the coroner's lab as he explained the case to us. "Yeah, the rest of the body was intact. The liver was the only organ missing."

"Now, where the liver was ripped out, did you happen to notice any... ah... teeth marks?" I asked.

The corner frowned at each of us as if he thought we were insane. "Can I see your badges?"

"Of course, sure." Sam nodded as we all pulled out our badges to show him.

After taking a moment to look at all our badges, the corner sighed. "Fine. So, you're cops and morons."

"Excuse me? No, no. We're very smart." I insisted.

"The liver was not ripped out," the corner explained as he led us to the body. "It was removed. Surgically." He showed us the stitches. "By someone who knew their way around a scalpel. Didn't you read my report?"

"Of course we did," I lied. "Oh, it was riveting. It was a real page-turner, just delightful."

Raising his eyes brow at me, the corner sighed. "You done?"

"I think so." I gave a sharp nod.

"Please go away."

"Okay." I turned to leave, only to stop as Liz spoke up.

"I just want to apologise on behave of my partner. He's new, and we were told to give him the lead on the case." She smiled charmingly at the corner. "We can't exactly leave without any solid information that might help... so, if you wouldn't mind, could I have a copy of the report. I'd rather get it straight from the brains behind the operation."

My jaw dropped as the corner's face softened. He was eating everything she said, swimming in the look she was giving him as if he hadn't had any female attention for months. But it was when he turned and grabbed a copy of the report without so much as I noise, that's what shocked me the most.

Reaching forward to take the file, Liz's smile grew. "Thank you so much. I really do appreciate it."

...

As we walked down the hall, I noticed Sam grinning to himself.

"What?" I snapped, annoyed. Liz was too charming… I didn't like it.

He shook his head at me. "Nothing." Bullshit. "So, that kind of punches a hole in our zombie theory, huh, that scalpel thing?"

"Yeah, zombie with skills, 'Dr Quinn, medicine zombie'." I chuckled.

"Maybe we're on the wrong track, Dean, looking for hacked-up corpses," Sam suggested.

I frowned slightly, confused. "What should we be looking for?"

"Survivors," Liz answered for him.

Sam nodded, agreeing with her. "This isn't zombie lunch. This is organ theft."

SPOV

"I told the cops all of this yesterday. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

The three of us were standing by the bed of a patient who'd had his kidney stolen. Unlike the other victim, this guy had survived.

"It's just a couple of questions, sir," I assured him.

"Hey, man. I just got my kidney stolen. I'm tired."

"We'll be out of here quick." Dean tried to be gentle as he attempted to persuade the guy. "Don't you want to get the guy?"

The patient turned to him. "Will it get me back my kidney?"

"Look." Lizzie sighed, stepping closer to the man. "I understand that this has been a traumatic experience, and honestly I don't blame you for not wanting to bring up the memories. But there have been more victims. Some people aren't surviving like you did. So if you could give as some information, anything, then maybe we can stop this person."

She was good. I could see the guy actually thinking about it before he gave a sigh and a short nod, letting us know he was willing to cooperate.

I pulled out my pen to write some noted down in my pad I was holding. "So what's the last thing you remember?"

"Feeding my meter. I got jumped from behind... and then I wake up strapped to a table. And then the worst pain you could possibly imagine, only worse. And then I black out again. Thank God. And then I wake up screaming in some no-tell motel in a bathtub full of ice."

"Do you remember anything about the surgery? You know, what the guy looked like, any details about the room?" Dean pressed for more.

"Let me think about that." The patient paused for a moment. "Yeah... one thing is coming back to me. You know what I remember? Getting my kidney cut out of my body!" he snapped, clearly done with the questioning.

DPOV

I moved to join Liz and Sam at the table as they did some research. Placing my paper bag in front of me, I reached into it and pulled out my burger, smiling eagerly at it.

"So, I got a theory," Sam started.

"Yeah?" I asked, taking a large bite out of my burger.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I talked to Mr Giggle's doctor. Turns out his incisions were sewn up with silk."

I frowned slightly. "That's weird," I noted as Liz reached over and took a bite out of my burger. "Hey!" I pulled it away from her.

She grinned, moving her chair next to me, batting her eyes. "It just looks so good."

"Anyway." Sam tried not to look at us as he failed to hide his smile. "Silk used to be the suture of choice back in the early 19th century. It was really problematic. Patients would get massive infections. The death rate was insane." He turned his computer around so I could take a look.

I flicked through the tabs on his screen. "Good times."

"Right, so doctors, they had to do whatever they could to keep infections from spreading. One way was maggots."

Pausing my chewing, I gestured to my burger. "Dude, I'm eating."

But Sam just kept going, "It actually kind of worked because maggots, they eat bad tissue, and they leave good tissue. And get this. When they found our guy, his body cavity was stuffed full of maggots."

"Dude, I'm eating!" I repeated. "Alright, let me get this straight. So, people are getting ganked, right?"

Sam gave a short nod. "Yeah."

"A little 'antiques roadshow' surgery, some organ theft. But why is this all sounding familiar?"

"Because you heard it before." Sam actually looked excited. "When you were a kid... from dad. Doc Benton... real-life doctor, lived in New Hampshire, brilliant and obsessed with alchemy, especially how to live forever. So, in 1816, Doc abandons his practice and-"

I cut him off, knowing the rest of the story, "Right, yeah, nobody hears from him for like twenty years, and all of sudden, people start showing up dead."

"Dead or missing an organ or their hand or some other kind of part."

"Cause whatever he was doing was actually working. He just kept on ticking. Parts would wear out, he'd replace them. But I thought dad hunted him down and took his heart out."

"Yeah, I guess the Doc must have plugged in a new one."

Liz reached for dad's journal that sat on the table. "So, if this guy is still kicking, where do we find him?"

"According to dad's journal, Benton's picky about where he sets up his lab. He likes dense forest with access to a river or stream or some kind of freshwater," Sam answered.

I took another bite of my burger before asking, "Why?"

"Because that's where he likes to dump the bile and intestines and faecal matter." He smirked at my disgusted face as I gagged. "Lost your appetite yet?"

Looking down at my burger, I considered it for a moment. My eyes moved from the burger, to Sam and then back, before I shook my head. "Oh baby, I can't stay mad at you." I took a large bite out of it.

EPOV

I had to admit, this was a pretty exciting case. A man turned Frankenstein like monster. Not only was it fascinating, but it was a nice change from our usual activities. Chasing down Bela. Trying to find a way to get Dean out of his contract. Catching and torturing demons for information.

This was actually a little fun.

Standing by the bed with Sam and Dean, we looked down at the map laid out on the blankets in front of us.

Sam pointed to some areas on the map which we'd circled red. "So these are all the cabins. Most of them have been abandoned for years."

"So, what the hell are we waiting for?" Dean asked, seconds before his phone began to ring. Moving to the table, he answered, putting it on speaker. "Bobby."

"Hey. Think I finally got a lead on Bela."

"I'm listening."

"Rufus Turner."

Ah, yes, Rufus Turner. Never met the guy, but heard enough stories. Not all were bad, not all were good. Honestly, he was a good hunter and that's all I cared about.

"Who's that?" Dean asked. "Like a Cleveland steamer?"

"He's a hunter, or he used to be."

"And now?"

"Hermit mostly. Does a little selling on the side. Anyway. I put the word out on Bela months ago. He just called. Said a woman got in touch, wanted to buy some things."

"And he thinks it's Bela?"

"British accent, went by the name Mina Chandler."

Dean paused, turning to Sam and me. "She's used that before. Well, it's kinda of a sloppy move, isn't it? Getting in contact with one of your old friends."

"Friend?" Bobby scoffed. "Haven't laid eyes on him in fifteen years. He's not the Christmas card type. I doubt she knows I know him. Canaan, Vermont."

"Thanks, Bobby. We're on our way."

"One other thing. Take a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue."

"Okay." Hanging up, Dean nodded to Sam and me. "Come on."

"What?" Sam frowned. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second."

Dean didn't stop as he moved to grab his jacket and bag. "Come on. Get your stuff. The clock's ticking."

But Sam still didn't do as he was told. "Look, I think we should stay here and finish the case."

"You insane?"

"Dean, there's no way she still has the Colt! That was months ago! She probably sold it the second she got it." Sam had a good point.

"Well, then I'll kill her." Dean shrugged. "Win-win."

Sam sighed. "Dean..."

"Sam. We're going!"

But Sam wasn't having a bar of it. "No."

Dean turned to him, getting more and more worked up by the minute. "Why the hell not?"

"Dean, this… this here. Now. This is what's gonna save you."

Dean shook his head. "What? Chasing some Frankenstein?"

I was about to explain that we had a responsibility to keep going with the case and to stop the guy who was killing and chopping up people to take their organs. But Sam spoke up first, and what he had to say shocked me.

"Chasing immortality," Sam explained, earning startled looks from Dean and I. "Look, Benton can't die. We find out how he did it, we can do it to you."

Dean wasn't angry anymore, just confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You have to die before you go to hell, right? So, if you can never die, then-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean cut Sam off, stepping closer to his brother. The tension in his body had me stepping back. "Wait a second. Did you know that this was Doc Benton from the jump?"

"No." When Dean kept looking at Sam, not believing him, Sam sighed, "Look, I was hoping."

"So, the whole zombie thing, it was lying to me?"

"I didn't wanna say anything until I was sure, Dean. All I'm trying to do is find an answer here."

"No. What you're trying to do is chase Slicy McHackey here. And to kill him? No. You wanna buy him a freaking beer. You wanna study him."

"I was just trying to help."

"You're not helping! You forget that if I welch on this deal, you die. Guess what, living forever is welching."

Sam shrugged. "Fine! Then, whatever the magic pill is, I'll take it too!"

Dean shook his head, walking back to his bag. "Oh, what is this? Sid and Nancy? No. It's just like Bobby's been saying. We kill the demon who owns the contract and this whole damn thing wipes clean. That's our best shot."

"Even if you had the Colt, Dean, who are you gonna shoot? We have no idea who holds the ticket."

"Well, I'll shoot the hellhounds then before they slash me up. Now, you coming or not?" He looked to both Sam and me.

I was the one to speak, my voice quiet. "We're staying."

Dean looked to me, shocked once more. "You too?" He shook his head. "No, you're not. 'Cause I'm not gonna let you wander out in the woods alone to track some organ stealing freak."

Sam stood his ground. "You're not gonna let us?"

"No, I'm not gonna let you."

"How are you gonna stop us?" Sam asked, startling Dean again. "Look, man, we're trying to do the same thing here."

"I know. But I'm going. So, if you wanna stay," Dean actually looked hurt, avoiding my gaze, "stay." He pulled his bag over his shoulder and started for the door, only to stop when he was next to me. Cupping my face, he turned me so I'd look at him, pressing his lips to mine in a deep kiss. As he pulled away, he sighed and looked over my head at his brother. "Sammy, be careful."

I could hear that Sam had turned to face Dean as he responded, his voice soft. "You too."

There was a moment's pause as Dean looked from Sam to me before he let my cheek go and walked to the door and out of the room, leaving us.

DPOV

It wasn't goodbye. It wasn't goodbye. It wasn't goodbye. It wasn't goodbye. I had to keep repeating those three words in my head to reminded myself that I would see Liz and Sam again. Just because they were going after an immortal serial killer, and I was going after the slimy bitch that had stolen the Colt, did not mean any of us were going to die. It wasn't goodbye.

Climbing the porch steps, I came to a stop at a door where a sign hung. It read, 'No solicitors, that means you! No asking for donations. No selling ANYTHING!'. Shaking my head, I lifted my hand and rang the buzzer before knocking on the door.

A noise caught my attention. Looking up, I spotted a camera moving to face me.

"What?" a voice called through the intercom.

"Hi, uh, Rufus?"

"Yeah, even if I am, the question is still the same. What?"

"Uh, I'm Dean Winchester. I'm a friend of Bobby Singer's."

"So?"

"You called him this morning."

"So?"

"Uh..." I tried grinning at the camera, but this guy was wearing down my patience. "You told Bobby about a British chick who made contact with you."

"And so?"

"You know where she is?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Could you tell me where I could find her?"

"No."

"Course not," I mumbled to myself before speaking into the telecom again. "Look, Rufus, man-"

The door opened as Rufus- an African American man around Bobby's age- stepped out. "Look, let me point something out to you. You are knocking at my door, so don't 'Look, man' me. I'm not your man."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"All right, let me tell you a little story. See, once upon a time, Bobby called me, asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Bela Talbot. I got a whiff. I called. The end."

"Okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where she is, I mean, that would be great."

"Dean Winchester, right?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Dean, do I look like I'm here to help you?"

"I'm gonna say no."

"Then get the hell of my property."

"All right, yeah, fair enough. I got one more question for you, though." I reached into my bag that sat on my shoulder. "See, I got this, uh, this bottle of scotch, and... uh, is this considered good?" I asked, pulling out a Johnnie Walker Blue Label out.

Rufus eyed the bottle and then me, before smiling.

Bamby

[dr-m-r-ma]

Electric Shock

Part 16/30

Genre: drama, romance Rating: PG-13 Group: Monsta X Summary of previous chapter: Hyo-jin reads a news article that shocks her enough to pass out. She fibs to MX + MX’s manager saying she was just drunk, so Shownu suggests they get ice cream to sober up a little.

Disclaimer: This is 100% fictional and my own story. It is unrelated to the actual events and real persons of Monsta X and Starship. Hyo-jin Lee is a completely made-up character that I created for this fanfic. Parts will be written in Korean with English translations. I did not major in English/Korean, nor was I ever strong in English/Korean grammar, so there will be grammatical mistakes. This is also the first fanfic I have ever written, so please overlook small mistakes. This fanfic is written in third person and past-tense for ease of writing.

She purposely walked on one end of the group so the other members would keep Shownu at bay. The group neared the ice cream store and one bye one filed into the store. While the other members were choosing their flavors seriously, I.M. carefully asked,

" Is your phone okay? " Hyo-jin turned to his direction and just blinked at him, not saying anything for a moment. He raised an eyebrow and said,

" It's just you seemed to shake after seeing something on your phone. " She hesitated - 'should I even tell him? Is this necessary?' the thought crossed her mind, but she kept it simple,

" I just read a news article from back home where I used to live and it just surprised me. I think the surprise factor and me being tipsy was a bad combo. " To avoid spilling details, she waved the Baskin Robbins employee and asked,

" 이거 먹어봐도 되요? " (Translation: "Can I try this?") The employee handed a spoon of the flavor and she took a bite. The luscious cheesecake flavor filled her mouth, making her forget all the bad news momentarily. 'Mmm it's so rich!' she thought and asked the employee for two scoops in a cup. When she walked over to pay for the ice cream, the manager stopped her and said,

" 어, 셔누가 벌써 계산 했어요, 다른 애들꺼랑 합해서. " (Translation: "Oh, Shownu already paid, with the others.") She took out some cash to pay back but the manager pushed her hands away, chuckling,

" 아니에요, 괜찮아요. 근데 아이스크림 좋아하시나봐요. " (Translation: "No, it's okay. But you must like ice cream.") Startled, Hyo-jin looked at him and asked,

" 네? " (Translation: "What?") The manager laughed and said,

" 이 추은 날씨에 아이스크림 많이 드시는데 행복해 보여서요. " (Translation: "You're eating a lot of ice cream in this cold weather but you look so happy.") Hyo-jin blushed and asked,

" ...티 났아요? " (Translation: "...was it obvious?") The manager laughed again and said in a low voice,

" 어쩐지... 현우가 술 깬다고 아이스크림 먹자고 안 해요... " (Translation: "No wonder... Hyunwoo doesn't eat ice cream to sober up from drinking...")

" 네?! ㅇ-어.. 전 잘... " (Translation: "Huh?! U-uh.. I don't..") She stopped herself, as she could feel the heat rising into her face and giving herself away. She paused and asked, "현우...?" (Translation: "Hyunwoo...?")

" 저 불렀어요? " (Translation: "Did you call me?") She whirled around and Shownu smiled brightly at her. The manager asked,

" 모르셨어요? 셔누 본명이 현우에요. 손현우. " (Translation: "You didn't know? Shownu's real name is Hyunwoo. Hyunwoo Son.") She mumbled, " 현..우... " (Translation: “Hyun..woo...”) before she realized it came out of her mouth. She glanced up at Shownu and he was radiating with his soft smile, revealing his teeth and pushing his cheeks up. Hyo-jin couldn't help but feel her inner self flutter at the sight. 'omg get a HOLD of yourself Hyo.' She mentally punched herself and shook her head. With a polite business smile, she bowed and said,

" 아이스크림 고맙습니다! " (Translation: "Thank you for the ice cream!") Before Shownu could respond or hold onto her, she awkwardly skipped away from him and skipped out the door.

The cold air swept against Hyo-jin's cheeks and she shivered. She scraped tiny spoonfuls of ice cream and ate while waiting outside with the rest of the members, hoping the cold air and the cold snack would cool her face down.

< 30 minutes before the incident >

Before he could say anything, Shownu watched Hyo-jin awkwardly skip out the door of the ice cream store. He pouted slightly and sighed. He took a big spoonful of his ice cream while sulking, without noticing his surroundings.

" 야. 제 좋아하니? " (Translation: "Hey. Do you like her?")

" 그런가봐요... " (Translation: "It seems so.") He stopped, wondering who he was talking to. He looked over and the manager worriedly stared back at Shownu. His manager warned in a low voice, so the employees wouldn't overhear,

" 지금 스캔들 나면 끝이다. 또 만날 일은 없을거야. 그러니까 마음 잘 접어. " (Translation: "It's the end if you get into a scandal. There won't be another meeting. So end your feelings well.") Shownu frowned and didn't say anything, not wanting to make any promises that he might not be able to keep. He silently swirled his spoon in his ice cream, wondering what he should say. His manager sensed this and pushed further,

" 너 되게 힘들게 연습생활 하고 데뷔 했잖아. 그리고 동생들도 생각해야지. 따른 애들도 열심히, 힘들게 여기까지 왔잖아. " (Translation: "Didn't you train really hard to debut. Plus you should think about your dongsaengs. The others worked really hard to come this far.") At the mention of the other members, Shownu wavered. Of course he knew how hard the others worked to get this far with him. He knew how hard he himself worked and that the other members trained just as much. 'We all worked hard, even before we debuted. But...'

Knowing that he was close, the manager heaved a final push: " 팬들도 생각해야지. 얼마나 실망하겠어. 너네들이 맨날 몬베베 몬베베 그러잖아. 그 만은 팬들 실망시킬거야? 조그만 설렘 때문에? " (Translation: "Think about your fans. How disappointed they'd be. You guys always say 'Monbebe Monbebe'. Are you going to disappoint all those fans? For a small fluttering feeling?")

For a moment, Shownu had imagined it. He noticed that she reciprocated ever so slightly, even though he was slightly confused by Hyo-jin's sudden switch in tone and attitude. He was interested in her from the very beginning, from two years ago. It was unfortunate that Hyo-jin really didn't remember him, but he cared more about her when she explained her circumstances to him. What if they pushed and pulled, and things happened to work out? What if they kept meeting? What if... What if the fans found out? It crushed him to think about fans leaving Monsta X because of him. He didn't even want to think about how let down and broken the other members would be without their fans. He knew even he needed the fans' love to continue the trek as an idol. As strong as he and the other members seemed, they were vulnerable to lack of interest. 

His gut scrunched and twisted when he thought about Jooheon especially, knowing he also had feelings towards Hyo-jin. Although he was a couple of years younger, Jooheon was much more professional and mature about it -- pushing his feelings out and putting his career first.  Shownu knew he had to be at least like Jooheon, but the thought of pretending as if his feelings for Hyo-jin never existed made him feel just as heartbroken.

The entertainment industry wasn't so easy for them to enter with early scandals and injuries either; it would be nearly impossible for the group to survive a dating scandal. He knew his manager was doing his job and caring for the group, but it infuriated Shownu as much as it saddened him, thinking about the fans, the members, and Hyo-jin. He angrily threw his leftover ice cream into the trash and stormed out of the store, without hearing the end of his manager's warning, if there even was more to crush him.

< 15 minutes before the incident >

Everyone's moods were raised by the ice cream, except Shownu's. Minhyuk joked,

" 우리 아버지는 벌써 아이스크림을 다 드셨네 큭 " (Translation: "Our father already ate all his ice cream lol") Hyungwon and Kihyun joined to tease Shownu, who stiffly smiled. His eyes followed Hyo-jin, who was chatting away with I.M.. '왜 저렇게 창균이랑 편하게 말하는거야?’ (Translation: ‘How come she's talking to him so comfortably?') Annoyed by everything at this point, he tried to ignore Hyo-jin by taking in all the jokes from Minhyuk. When the manager walked out, Wonho asked,

" 형 왜렇게 오래 걸렸어? " (Translation: "Hyung what took you so long?") Shownu and their manager glanced at each other once before Shownu looked away. The manager said,

" 어 그냥 화장실 가서 그래 - 우리 빨리 가자 이제. " (Translation: "Oh I just went to the bathroom - let's hurry and go now.") With that, everyone started walking back to the restaurant, where the vans and other staff were at.

Shownu paid little attention to the loud chatter in front of him and behind him; he sulked silently in the group and stared at the ground listlessly while walking with the crowd. Wonho, who was walking in front of him, stopped walking and Shownu's head crashed into Wonho's back. Shownu growled, " 야! 갑자기 멈추면 어떡해?! " (Translation: "Hey! Why'd you stop suddenly?!") Wonho pulled Shownu's arm, which made Shownu look up in wonder.

*** TBC ***

[toonerdyandiknowit]

Poppet

- You’d been in love with Sherlock Holmes. And wasn’t that just the worst decision of your life? - 

-When the Great Sherlock Holmes smashes your heart into a million pieces, you think you’ll never be able to get over it. But maybe, with some help, you’ll be able to get even? - 

Trigger Warnings: Some Mentions of suicide. (Please, if you feel this way, get help in any way you can. I’ve been there, and it gets better.) All warnings will be tagged.

"I trusted you!"

The words caught briefly in your throat, spilling out on a choked sob as you stared at the man you thought you knew.

You’d met Sherlock a little under a year ago, and his gentle nature and breathtaking intelligence had pulled you in. What had started out as friendship quickly grew into more, with the consulting detective taking the lead. Initially you’d been wary, you’d heard rumours...but you came to know the real man behind the fame.

So you thought.

Your whole body trembled as you looked at him, the man you'd thought could be trusted. Your arms crossed tightly against you as though that could stop the pain ripping through your chest.

"That was your mistake."

He wouldn't even look at you, the great Sherlock Holmes. He stared dispassionately out of the window, arms relaxed as he held them at his sides. His entire demeanour was cold and uncaring, though his eyes, when they flicked briefly to you, held a quicksilver spark that you’d only ever seen directed at criminals he was about to take down.

You knew he thought you were stupid, compared to him everyone was. But you weren't. At least, not as much as he thought. You knew him, his body language, his habits. That's why you let the argument die on your tongue. You knew he wasn't sorry.

His back was ramrod straight and a muscle in his jaw ticked, and you braced yourself for that inevitable pain to come. You knew him. You knew he wouldn't let you leave, not without telling you how he used you so easily.

A single sob punched its way past your throat, the pain of it causing you to hiccup as the tears finally began to relent.

"So trusting. I knew it the moment I saw you; the ease with which you gave out your smile, your laughter, how quickly you could be lured into conversation with anyone who gave you the time of day. So desperate for companionship that you'd sacrifice every facet of your personality if it meant that someone would just like you."

"That-thats not true." Your protest was weak, you weren't that desperate, not enough to give up being who you were...

"Of course it is. I've seen your browser history, your bookshelf. Anything I've ever mentioned having an invested interest in, you've researched. To make yourself seem smarter? Possibly, but my money is so that it would seem as though we had things in common, things that would make me want to keep you around."

You began shaking your head, staring at him. He hadn't moved, not an inch, yet his chest was rising and falling faster and faster as he continued. You knew this version of him, when he was following a thread of thought that was leading to a conclusive point, one that he was desperate to reach.

"The truth of it is, as you've discovered, I needed you for a case. Needed to get close to you so that I could get close to someone else. Your unwavering loyalty to your 'friends' meant that you were the perfect target. I needed you to get to Natalie, I needed to get to Natalie's work computer to find the illusive trail tying her to the distribution of illegal, experimental drugs. Drugs she sold to violent gangs, which these gangs then used to murder people. I needed an in."

He finally, finally, turned to look at you. And you wished he hadn't, the icy disinterest in his gaze killed you, as if he were looking at a stranger.

"And there you were. Lonely, lovely...desperate."

"Stop it." you whispered, backing away, towards the door. Perhaps he'd let you leave. You knew the killing blow had yet to be delivered, but perhaps, just once, he'd show mercy.

"I knew I didn't need to worry too much about a physical relationship, not right away at any rate, though we did get there. No, you're touch shy, something that was clear to me from the start. Happy to stand close, eager to initiate contact when intoxicated - probably also touched starved, but jumpy when touched whilst sober. Undoubtedly the result of some past abuse. I knew from scrolling through your social media that I was physically your type. I knew that being gentle and sincere would make you trust me, but maintaining my own natural aloofness would make you eager to earn my trust. You'd be drawn in."

His deep voice rolled across you, hypnotising despite its cruelty, despite the way he was eyeing you as if you were some mildly interesting insect under a microscope.

He began pacing the room, long legs making short work of the distance as he ran a hand through his long hair, ruffling it. The only sign that this was effecting him more than he let on.

"I knew that by reaching out to you regularly you'd conclude that I must genuinely like you, that if I was the one to always initiate contact there'd be no risk of you pulling away for fear of annoying me. I knew that after a few months if I turned up at your practice before closing, under the guise of waiting for you, you wouldn't find the act of doing so strange, in fact you'd find it sweet. After a few weeks it'd become so regular that you'd offer to let me wait in the staff room or an office, somewhere in the back of the practice rather than the public waiting room. This would allow me the access I needed to snoop through the files and computer systems, finding the evidence needed for my case."

You'd closed your eyes at some point, heart pounding against your chest as you listened to him explain in excruciating detail just how he'd used you. How easy it had been for him to manipulate you.

"I'll admit, I didn't foresee the practice firing you for letting me in, but that can't be helped."

Your eyes flew open. Though they still stung with tears, a new feeling burned its way through your chest. Rage.

How dare he use you.

How dare he stand there, he face blank, as if you were some stranger.

How dare he make you fall in love with him.

"You ruined my life." your voice trembled, anger and horror warring within you as you stared at him, his face an icy mask, "You ruined my life, for a case?"

"Don't be so dramatic." He scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning back to the window. You felt dismissed, but you knew he wasn't done. You knew that he knew how this would go, what you'd say. And you knew that the final word would be his, and that it would be devastating. You knew you should leave now, but you couldn't, you were helpless against your own emotions. Helpless to do anything but follow his script.

"I loved you."

His eyes flicked in your direction, and you searched them desperately, hoping there'd be some emotion hidden in their depths. There wasn't.

"I know. Just as you'll love the next person who smiles at you."

---------

You stared at your phone screen, finger hovering over the button that would send the message to Sherlock. Your note. Your confession. But like a coward you held back, knowing that once it was sent, it couldn't be unsent, and that if you didn't go through with it you'd look even worse.

And what if he replied? What if he replied before you jumped? What if he was cruel? What if he wasn't? What if he took it all back? What if he took it all back just to say he only did so to stop you from jumping?

What if. What if. What if?

He'd once taken you on a tour of his "secret London", all the places that could act as short-cuts, all the places that could help with clues. All the places that very few people knew about. You sat in one of those places now.

It was a tunnel, old and abandoned. It was almost impossible to see from the outside, unless you knew exactly where to look. You sat, backside going numb against the cold stone, your legs dangling over the edge of a small crumbling wall that lined the length.

The tunnel covered a river, a particularly nasty offset of the Thames. The narrow, winding tunnel held deep, roaring waters, and with no ladders, falling in would almost certainly be fatal. The cover meant it was never warmed by sunlight. And the force of it caused the current to be fast and strong.

You weren't crying now. It had been two weeks since Sherlock had ended things with you. Two weeks since he ruined your life and broke your heart. Nowhere would hire you, not with your previous workplace dragging your name through the dirt. Your career, everything you'd ever wanted, was over.

You'd thought about what he'd said, over and over. Was it true? Did you latch onto him because he was nice to you? Was none of it real, not even from you? Were you really a fake, who'd give up every little piece of themselves to get someone else's affection?

You didn't know anymore.

"Nasty fall, that."

The voice made you jump. It was soft, high in pitch, and almost mocking in a casualness.

"No-Nobody was meant to be here." You stuttered, stuffing the phone with its unsent text into your pocket.

"Ahh. Well, don't let me keep you."

The man was attractive, he sauntered over to lean against the wall next to you. Looking into the water below, he hissed through his teeth, face pulling into a grimace.

"That wont be at all pleasant. But oh well, its your life. Well...for a little while anyway."

You felt his eyes on you as you leant forward, breath coming faster as you watched the swirling mass beneath you. You felt it beckoning even as your mind screamed to move away.

"Or..." He sang, voice suddenly too loud. You jumped, nearly slipping into the water as you scrambled for purchase on the wall.

"You could get revenge."

"What?" You asked, frowning.

"Oh comeon! He took everything from you! Your job, your friends, your heart. Are you really gonna give him your life too?"

His chocolate eyes bored into you, his face losing it previously cheerful appearance to stare at you. His face was hard, unreadable, and almost...terrifying.

"I can help you." His voice was soft, light, it drew you in. You felt yourself leaning towards him.

"I can give you purpose again. And I promise you this...I will use you. But you will always, always, know I am doing so. I'll never lie to you. Together, we can watch the world burn around him."

You felt your heart beating wildly against you chest again, but this time with excitement. It had never, not once, crossed your mind that there was a way to get even with Sherlock. The idea of taking him on was ludicrous. But looking into this mans eyes, this man who reminded you of him in so many ways, made it seem possible.

You were surprised to find that you wanted it.

"Tell me how." You said, voice ringing with a confidence you hadn't heard in weeks.

As a smile stretched across his face, wild and insane, you couldn't help but match it with one of your own.

"First, I think you have a text to send, Poppet."

----------

- Body found in Thames. A body, identified to be [y/n] [y/l/n], was found on the bank of the Thames this morning. Though the damage caused by the water made identification difficult, dental profiles confirmed the identity of [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n], formerly a [Y/J/T] at a prestigious London [Y/J/N], was recently involved in a drugs bust scandal. The PI Sherlock Holmes used [y/n] as an informant to bring down several gangs, who were using drugs from the clinic, which were being provided by another member of staff at [Y/J/N]. [y/n] was fired after the investigation for negligence in regards to private information being leaked to Mr.Holmes. It has been reported that Mr.Holmes received [y/n]'s suicide note through text, but has refused to comment. -

-----

One year. It had been a whole year since Mr. M found you. Since he'd helped you fake your death and start over.

And oh, what fun you'd had.

In your time with Sherlock, you'd thought criminals were scum of the earth. But you'd been so wrong.

You'd never felt more free. It hadn't taken long for you to become Mr.M's right hand. Your innocent facade and eagreness to please - things Sherlock had mocked you for - were the very things that made you so valuable to him. You could infiltrate anywhere. You could learn enough about anything you needed to get by in any company.

Empires had fallen at your feet, and they did so whilst singing your praises as an employee and friend.

You knew Mr.M had been planning something, something big, just for Sherlock. Another thing you had in common. A total, all consuming lust to make Sherlock dance to your tune.

He'd never lied to you, like he promised. He used you, for things that often put your life at risk, but he always told you he was doing so.

You trusted him to be a criminal mastermind, ready to throw you under the bus at any moment, and he trusted you to get the job done.

Which is why you were here, cuffed to a table in the depths of Scotland Yard, waiting to blow some minds.

When Greg had first seen you, he'd hesitated upon recognising you. Precious moments that you could have used to get away, but that wasn't part of the plan. It would have been a waste of a hospital if you'd not allowed yourself to be arrested.

He'd not said a word, just staring at your in quiet anger and horror as you sat in the interview room. You were both waiting; you knew he'd called Sherlock and John. You smiled at him, and he flinched. You used the same smile he'd always seen you with; small, shy, head tilted as you looked up at him from under your lashes. Friendly and a little embarrassed. You held back the threatening giggles, your varying smiles were your best weapons, and you hit him point blank with that one.

The door opened with a clang as Sherlock and John stormed in, Mycroft following at a more leasuirly pace. They both froze at the sight of you. Alive, healthy, and grinning like a maniac.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes in annoyance as you sent a wink his way, you'd known he'd be livid that you'd faked your death well enough to fool him.

"Hello boys!" You sang. Just the way you'd rehearsed. The way Mr.M asked you to, because you both knew with those two words, Sherlock would know everything.

"How...but, you died  [y/n]. We saw...and the text...what..." Sputtered John, but you only had eyes for Sherlock smiling slightly as you watched him figure it out.

"Moriarty." His voice was exactly as you remembered, deep and rumbling. And for a brief moment you allowed yourself to feel pleasure at hearing it again.

"Got it in one, aren't you a clever boy?"

"You worked for Moriarty?" Spat John, horrified. You tutted.

"No John, I work for Moriarty. There is a slight difference."

"Tell us everything." Sherlocks voice was commanding, and you grinned while you shook your head.

"You know better than that, Sher." His eyes flickered at the familair nick-name, and you smirked.

"Ask me nicely." you crooned, leaning forward on the table to look into his eyes.

"[y/n]," said John, "We know how Moriarty works, we can help you get away from him..."

"And why would I wanna do that? Mr.M is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Mr.M?" asked Sherlock. It was a little disconcerting, the way he stared, the way he wasn't moving.

"Friends have nicknames, Sher. Remember? Mr.M loves it, we all have nicknames now."

"And what, exactly, is your nickname." Asked Mycroft. You knew he had a list of all of Mr.M's known associates. You also knew most of those names were nick-names with no physical descriptions.

"Oh, he's always called me Poppet. Ever since he found me on that wall."

Mycroft choked on air, staring at you with wide eyes.

"Mycroft?" asked Sherlock, not taking his eyes off you.

"'Poppet' is the code-name we found for...Moriarty's right hand. The problem with the senator in America? The House of Commons incident? The scandal in Africa? All of it was traced back to 'Poppet'."

“I don’t know about any of that. But today she...she blew up a hospital!”Greg struggled to get the words out, his face red with anger as it became too much for him.

He slammed his hands against the metal table, and you didn’t even flinch at the aggression in his eyes.

“Do you know how many people you just killed?” he spat.

“35.” You said. You tilted your head, looking into his eyes.

“20 minutes before the bomb went off, a fire alarm was pulled, and all but a few patients were evacuated. The 35 remainders were comatose, on life support, and just generally on the brink of death. I may be the assistant to a sociopathic, psychopathic, criminal mastermind, but I have retained some of my morals.”

Greg threw himself backwards, crossing to the other end of the room to get away from you. His face ashen and his eyes angry. You shrugged.

"That couldn't have been you..." sputtered John, "You're too...too.."

"Nice?" You ventured, "Kind? Friendly? Eager to please? Desperate? Stupid? Pick one." You giggled.

"All this time..." Sherlock muttered, "Why did he send you to get close to me?"

You stared at him in shock. Your eyes wide and mouth open. You couldn't believe it, he was an idiot...

So you laughed. Until your sides ached and tears streamed down your face.

"Oh you, you poor thing!" You sputtered, "He never sent me to you. I didn't know him until after you."

He frowned, and you sighed, deciding you may as well spell it out for him.

"You broke me, Sherlock. Your oh so precious case, the one you decided was more important than someones life? Ring any bells? You used me, and then you broke my heart. But was that enough? Oh no. Thanks to you, I was totally discredited, no one would hire me anywhere. I lost my flat, my friends, everything, because of you!" Your voice had risen to a shout, as you could finally show him what he did to you.

“And as for you two,” you turned, spearing Greg and John with a heated glare, “Judging me for what I’ve become? Really? Where were you when I was ready to jump? Where were you, my so called ‘friends’ when Sherlock tossed me aside? You were standing with him, staring at me with sad eyes, and then turning your backs on me too.” You spat the words, letting a years worth of bitterness out.

"I was done. I went to the tunnel without a name. I was sitting on the wall, ready to send you that text, ready to jump. When...he showed up. And made me realise, you'd taken everything from me, and I'd be damned if I was gonna let you have my life as well."

You sat back, rolling your shoulders.

"So we faked my death. And everything you saw as a weakness, he saw as a strength. Oh, compared to him, and you, I'm a barely evolved ape, but he recognises my intelligence, my loyalty, and he values it."

You flicked your eyes around the room, finally allowing your true face, Poppet, to shine through. The grin stretched your lips wide, your eyes danced with crazed mirth, and you speared Sherlock with your gaze. Tilting your head, you raised an eyebrow as you spoke.

"We've been planning Sherlock. The Great Game is only just beginning. And we are all gonna have so much fun."

[fire-bear]

Number 1 with UsUk?

I just want to apologise in advance. For some reason, I didn’t notice the ‘company’ part of the prompt until I was about to start writing this and then suffered some sort of mental block? I honestly think this thing is kinda... horrible but I hope it’s okay?

I’d have liked to have set it in high school... Maybe I’ll write you a version of that next year. ^.^

KeepYour Enemies Close

Arthur hated calling the IT Department.

Their publishing company was small and so there wereonly two IT guys. They did their jobs well and, by all accounts,Arthur should get on well with them, particularly since, due tobudget restraints, he had an older model of computer. It was slow andoften developed bugs of some sort. Gilbert would turn up quickly fora good gossip, cup of tea, biscuits and to actually fix the computer.

It was Alfred which made Arthur hate picking up thephone to call down for some help.

Alfred had been a part of the company before Arthur hadbeen recruited. As a prank for the new guy, something to 'welcome'them, Alfred had thought it would be funny to programme his computerto shut down within half an hour of him working. With unsavedprogress and half-written e-mails, Arthur had been panicked, sure hewas going to be fired. When Alfred had appeared to help him andlaughed at his consternation, Arthur had been furious. Theirresulting argument had gone down in history – along with everyensuing one.

Thankfully, that was the only ugly mark on Arthur'sfledgling career as a publisher.

At least, it was the only thing he disliked untilseveral months later when Christmas arrived and he found out aboutone of the peculiar traditions of the company he had joined. It wasone of the few times he wondered whether quitting would retain hissanity...

"Right, everyone," said ElizavetaHérdéváry, hands on her hips. The publishers and assistants andcleaners and that damned IT department stopped their murmurs andturned their attention to their boss. Arthur pointedly ignored Alfredas much as he could despite sensing his stares and mockingsniggering. "Alfred!" Elizaveta cried, finally getting himto shut up. "Do I need to gag you?"

"Oh, that would be interesting," Francispiped up.

Arthur slid his gaze towards him, frowning. "Ican't quite tell what you mean by that," he muttered to hiscolleague. Francis only smirked back at him.

"Now that you're all quite finished..."Elizaveta said, voice strained as she spoke through gritted teeth.

"Sorry, Liz," echoed around the room as thechatter finally stopped.

"Right," she said again. "As you allknow Christmas is coming up. And I knowyou're all working hard so we can release some of our amazingromances on the world. So, as we do every year, we're going toorganise a Christmas party."

Murmurs broke out. Feliciano seemed rather excited,chattering into Ludwig's ear. Mei was grinning at Kiku and tugging athis arm in an attempt to get him as riled up as she was. Francis wasalready musing upon what sort of food he should make for the event.And, over it all, Alfred's harsh, annoying voice rolled overeverything, though Arthur couldn't make out his words.

Arthur himself wasn't particularly bothered by it.Christmas had never been an especially good time of the year for himand the last time he'd felt perfectly content and filled withChristmas cheer had been when he still believed in Santa Claus. Allthe magic had gone from the affair and, in its absence, cynicism hadsettled. He'd efficiently bought all his Christmas presents alreadyand had nothing to do: he was absolutely fed up with the holidayalready and they were only in November.

It looked as though he was going to have to summon someenthusiasm, though. A party would be fun, if he ignored the'Christmas' part.

Elizaveta waited till the noise had died down beforespeaking again. "Since it's a large undertaking, I'm going topick two names from a hat in order to decide which two people aregoing to be organising it for us. No protests or arguments," sheadded with a stern finger. She picked up her pink, woollen hat, theone with the large flower pinned to it, which Arthur had seen herbring in and wondered about. "So, the first person to be doingthis is..." Deftly, she plucked out a folded piece of paper.Using finger and thumb, she slid the paper open and raised aneyebrow. "Alfred."

"Oh, all right!" Alfred yelled from the backof the room. "This is gonna be the biggest, bestest, mostawesomest Christmas party in the history of Christmas parties!"

"I doubt that," Arthur muttered to Francis.His friend – to use the term loosely – rolled his eyes at hisantagonism and sighed.

"Really, darling, you need to get over thisstrange hatred you have of him," he said. "It's not goodfor you."

"And," said Elizaveta over the top of themall, brow furrowed as she glared at those who were speaking, "thenext person is..." She pulled another name from the hat, set thehat down, unfolded it – and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. Arthurfelt a shiver go down his spine and felt sorry for whoever was aboutto be landed the job- "Ah, that person is Arthur."

Everyone went silent. Not a word was said. Breaths wereheld. Nobody moved. Arthur stared at Elizaveta. Then, heart hammeringin his chest, he whipped his head around to stare, wide-eyed, at anequally shocked Alfred. They stayed like that for a few secondsbefore Alfred's expression began to change, his face falling, browfurrowing. Arthur looked back to Elizaveta and gave her a pleadinglook.

"Liz..."

"Nope!" she said, cheerfully. "You twoare doing this. Maybe, this way, you can stop your silly feud. Now,I've not got much else to discuss for this meeting. Just a littlenote about..."

Arthur tuned her out, his heart sinking as he wonderedhow on Earth he was going to be able to organise something for hiscolleagues when he had to work with his worst enemy. Turning his headslightly, he caught Alfred glaring at him. He glared right back andknew, deep in his core, that the next few weeks were going to beawful.

After the meeting, with Alfred distracted by hisfellow IT guy, Arthur managed to scurry away back to his office. Oncethere and the door was closed behind him, he relaxed significantly.He liked it in here, with the various manuscripts and first editionsof books he'd help publish or ones he just liked having on hand orprevious ones in a series so he could reference them. His desk wassurrounded by filing cabinets that he kept meticulously organised aswell as the files on his computer, one which had the largest memoryof any computer he had ever worked on, despite its slow processing.Apart from the monitor and the keyboard on the little drawer beneathit, his desk consisted of a lot of pens, a tray for organising hispost and several piles of documents. At the moment, since Elizavetahad interrupted his morning work for her meeting, it was in a stateof organised chaos.

Settling in his rolling chair, he sighed and let hisshoulders droop, tugging at his shirt collar. He felt a little onedge from the added workload from the party, despite not havingstarted doing anything yet. However, he hoped that he could calmhimself down by doing the sort of work he actually enjoyed. Planningfor the party could begin after work and, he decided, it would bebest if he came up with ideas and handed them over to Alfred for himto deal with instead of having actual, physical meetings.

Drawing a manuscript towards him, Arthur had barelyremembered where he had gotten up to when the door burst open withouta knock. He didn't need to look up to know who it was and gloweredacross the room at Alfred who was scowling back at him. "What doyou want?" Arthur demanded.

"We're meant to be working together," Alfredtold him, sternly.

"Only for the party," Arthur corrected him."I'm on the clock – and so are you. Go back to your littleroom in the basement and whatever you do down there all day."

Alfred's scowl deepened. "You know fine well we'renot in the basement-"

"I don't care. Get out of my office."

Sighing, Alfred tried again. "We need to make alist of things we need to do for this party. So I'm not leaving tillwe do this." He stalked into the room and let himself drop intothe comfortable armchair that Arthur had personally brought in forauthors and other important visitors to feel relaxed in duringmeetings.

"And I refuse to talk about the Christmas partyuntil I've at least finished work today."

With that being said,he returned his attention to the manuscript, his red pen in hand ashe circled a few paragraphs about something he felt was inane to theplot. He tried not to be too conscious of Alfred's presence in theroom but he couldn't help wondering if he was going to do somethingstupid like mess up his desk to get Arthur's attention. Nervously, heshuffled his papers around a little, trying to remember what he wastrying to work on. Glancing at his computer, he realised that hehadn't booted it up since he came back from the meeting and wouldneed to in order to check his e-mails. Just as he was about to reachout to turn it on, Alfred suddenly stood, making Arthur jolt insurprise.

"Fine," said Alfred, shortly. "I'll waitfor you after work." And he strode from the room, leaving thedoor wide open.

Arthur sighed and prayed for patience.

Whoever was watching over him didn't give himany.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Arthur's temperflared frequently enough that he couldn't remember the last time hehadn't been irritated and had been content. Their first meeting tookplace in a McDonald's since Arthur couldn't shake Alfred and theother man wanted food. Arthur had never had an argument in aMcDonald's but, when they couldn't agree on a venue, Arthur had tostorm out in lieu of being thrown out.

Whenever they discussed it, they argued about everysingle detail. The venue (Alfred wanted to have it in the officewhile Arthur thought they should take it out of the workplace); themusic (Alfred wanted loud pop music while Arthur thought it would bebetter to have gentle ballads); the decorations (Arthur thought theyshould be minimalist with white being the predominant colour whileAlfred was adamant there should be more colour); the food and drink(Alfred wanted to have a huge spread while Arthur thought thereshouldn't be too much in order to keep waste down); the possibilityof gifts (Alfred wanted to do Secret Santa but Arthur had pointed outhow long it was taking them to organise the party, let alone a SecretSanta as well); the games (which Arthur didn't want to have). Everysingle time they had a difference of opinion, there was a loudargument with shouting and slamming doors. Most of their discussionshappened in the office and their colleagues were equal parts amusedand exasperated.

The day of the party drew nearer (another thingdisagreed on) and their arguments grew worse. That was because Arthurwas getting more and more fed up with the holiday. With every fight,he felt his chest hurting. Alfred's disdain and hatred was clear andhe couldn't figure out why it had only seemed to become worse. Hebegan to dread going to the office and dread talking to anyone. Hiswork began to fall behind, his efficiency dropping as he fumed orworried or fought.

Struggling, Arthur watched the calendar, counting downthe days until he'd be free...

Finally, it was upon them.

After compromising a lot, they had decided to have itin their biggest conference room. Since Alfred had insisted on aChristmas tree and other decorations, they were set to decoratestraight after work the day before the party. Arthur really justwanted to get home as soon as possible so he made sure everythingthey needed was in the conference room by four o'clock. He alsomanaged to convince Francis, Antonio and Gilbert to help him shiftthe tables out so they'd have room to work.

So, when five o'clock hit, Arthur made sure to clockout, say goodnight to all his colleagues with a weary smile andreturned to the room. Alfred was waiting for him and he sighed uponseeing Alfred's cheerful expression. It looked a little strained atthe edges.

"Huh," said Alfred. "I washalf-expecting you to bail on me."

"Why would I do that?" Arthur said, movingover to the huge box of multi-coloured baubles and streamers and Godonly knew what else. "This is my responsibility as well. I'm notgoing to duck out of it."

"Sure," Alfred muttered, sounding peeved.

"Let's just get this over with. I'll decorate thewindow and you decorate over there." Arthur gestured towards thedoor.

There was no answer but, when Arthur glanced over hisshoulder, he saw that the bespectacled blond was working on opening along box. Thankful that they wouldn't be continuing any sort ofconversation, Arthur began to unravel the tinsel and set aside thebaubles ready for the tree. They were huge monstrosities,multi-coloured, all red and green and silver and gold and white andpink, for some reason. There were also huge decals to go on the floorto ceiling windows, all of them in colour, including Santa and anativity scene. Arthur frowned at the fact that there wouldn't be anysnowflakes to stick up, except for the paper ones which would hangfrom the ceiling and make it impossible to move around the room.

He got to work, deciding to put the decals on thewindows first. They were pretty simple so he was finished with themquickly. Passing by Alfred who was struggling to get the bottom partof the fake tree connected with the rest of it, Arthur went into thehall where a step-ladder had been left for their use. Arthurwordlessly set it up in one corner and climbed up, a large, papersnowflake in one hand. He pinned it to the ceiling before climbingback down. Three of them were hanging up before he noticed just whereAlfred had placed the tree.

"What's that doing there?"Arthur demanded, gesturing at it.

"Huh?" said Alfred, looking up from where hewas hanging the baubles on the little fake branches.

"The tree. You've put it in front the window. Howare people supposed to see that ridiculous snowman you made me putup?"

"It's not ridiculous," Alfred protested,glaring at Arthur as he descended from on high. "And I wantpeople to see it as they come in."

Arthur looked around the room. The floor to ceilingwindows took up nearly the entire wall on one side of the room.Opposite it, the door was in one corner and the tree at the far endof the room. Glancing at the free corner pointedly, Arthur said, "Youdon't think they'd see it there?"

"But there's not enough impact,"Alfred insisted. "It has to be here."

"Then what was the point in the snowman?!"Arthur exclaimed, completely done with Alfred's strange determinationon what they should have at the party. All of their decisions hadcome down to the flip of a coin and Arthur had only won on the SecretSanta and games suggestions. Everything else had to be exactly asAlfred envisioned or it would 'ruin Christmas'.

"Y'know, for added Christmas cheer!"

"No!" snapped Arthur. "Move the tree!"

Alfred frowned. "No; it's perfect here."

"Don't be so stupid! Everyone will be able to seeit in that other corner," Arthur said, pointing at it.

"Why're you trying to ruin my fun?" Alfreddemanded.

"I'm not. I just think it would be best to makesure everyone will enjoy it instead of just you."

"You're just being a Scrooge! A mean, uptight,horrid... person!" declared Alfred once he'd clearly run out ofadjectives to use against him.

"Oh, look at the pot calling the kettle black!"Arthur snapped, batting aside one of the giant snowflakes that wasgetting on his nerves.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You did that horrifying prank on me on my firstday! How did you not think that was mean?"

"It was just a joke," Alfred tried to defendhimself, though he looked uncomfortable.

"You laughed in my face!" Arthur yelled, hishands now curled into fists. "And you never bothered toapologise! I don't know what you were thinking, but you quite clearlydon't want me here."

"What? No. I-"

"Don't deny it!" Arthur interrupted him,unable to stop the words tumbling from his lips. "You hate me!It's quite obvious!"

"I don't hate you!" Alfred exclaimed,eyes wide behind his glasses. "I-"

"You definitely don't like me."

"It's not as if you made yourself likeable,"Alfred said, hands raised as if to defend himself or placate Arthur.

"Well, I'm sorry that this is a job I've workedhard for. I'm sorry I desperately want to keep this job. I'm sorrythat I don't want to be fired and I'm bloody terrified that I'll dosomething to make that happen. And you walk in, with your stupid grinand your inane comments and- and- and you made me believe I couldlose this – everything – all of this- because of-" Arthurhad to stop, panting a little, to take a deep breath and get histhoughts in order.

"That's..." Alfred tried to say but Arthurcut him off.

"I love this job," he told Alfred, angerstill thrumming through him and prompting him to speak. "But Idread coming in here because of you."

Alfred seemed to freeze at that, his eyes gettingimpossibly wider. "I..."

"You don't need to make an excuse," Arthursnarled, worked up now. He could feel the pressure in his head as hefought against the tears. "I don't want to hear it!"Turning away from Alfred, he stalked away. Noting the sheer amount ofdecorations they still had to put up, Arthur slumped. There was noway he could continue working after blowing up at Alfred. He turnedback to him but, before he could say anything, he found Alfred weaklysmiling at him.

"Okay," he said. "Look. It's Christmas.You need to just relax a bit, all right? Then, in the New Year-"

"'Relax'?" said Arthur, incredulously."'Relax'?! Don't tell me to 'relax'! Do you think this is somesort of joke!"

"No! No, no, I don't, I-"

"I've had enough!" Arthur glanced up at thesnowflake he had batted at before and whacked it as hard as he could.It ripped with a horrible tearing noise, flopping on its string. Partof it fell down in pieces so that it looked as though it was actuallysnowing.

"Hey!" cried Alfred, looking at the ruineddecoration in dismay.

"Put the rest up by yourself," Arthur toldhim as he turned away from him. "I'm going home."

"What?! Arti- Arthur, c'mon. You can't – if youdon't help me, the party'll be ruined!"

"Well, just you wait till next year and I won't be'ruining' your party."

"What?!" Alfred yelped. "What, Arthur,wait! What did that mean?" Arthur paused in the doorwayand sent him a look meant to convey the implications: he imagined helooked equal parts angry, exhausted and upset. Alfred's mouth droppedopen. "No, wait, Arthur, don't-!" But Arthur turned hishead away, shook it hurriedly and rushed off before his emotions gotthe better of him.

Arthur didn't sleep that night.

At first, his anger had fuelled him through a few hoursof housework before he retired to bed. There, he'd fumed – until itfaded. It was swiftly replaced by shame and guilt and regret. He'dleft Alfred to decorate on his own. No doubt, he wouldn't be finishedby the next night. Everyone would be disappointed that their partywas a failure. Maybe they wouldn't bother next year.

The worse part, of course, had been his rant to Alfred.It wasn't his fault that Arthur had been far too stressed. Heshouldn't have shouted at him. And he definitely shouldn't haverevealed so much to the man. His worst enemy. The only person hedidn't want to know his personal thoughts and feelings.

It made him shudder.

But, the worst guilt he felt was that Elizaveta's treatto her employees had gone up in smoke. There was no way that he couldsee for them to salvage the party. However, Arthur had a thought justbefore he dropped off to sleep. There was one thing none of them weregoing to get at the party, that none of them would expect and thatmight make it up to them.

Which was why he threw his clothes on early the nextmorning, stepped into his shoes, grabbed his coat and wallet andventured out into the horror of the high street during the Christmasrush. There were a lot of people to buy for and he had to make sureall of the gifts were perfect. Especially Alfred's – it would needto stand in as Christmas present and apology.

***Later that day, around the time people would bebeginning to reach the office for the supposed party, Arthurreturned. He was absolutely exhausted from going to and from everysort of shop imaginable. His wallet was considerably lighter and hehoped he'd be able to survive until he was paid again. Then he'd hadto rush home so he could wrap everything in boxes with plain redpaper and golden ribbons. Finally finished, he'd rushed to theoffices and quietly made his way in, careful not to be noticed as heswiped his way through the floor's secure locks.

Playing at Santa – of a sort – Arthur slipped intoeach office, leaving the appropriate present to be found wheneverthey next arrived there. For Elizaveta, who kept her office lockedwith an actual key, he pinned it to the door, close enough to hername plaque that the tiny hole would hopefully not be noticeableafterwards. Mission complete, he heaved a sigh and let the tensionseep out of him, slumping a little as he made his way back to thedoor, intent on leaving. A noise from the makeshift party roomstopped him. Was Alfred in there, still trying to get it all readyfor everyone?

Cautious, eyes darting to and fro in the hope that hewouldn't be seen, Arthur sidled up to the door. He placed his hand onthe doorknob. With a deep breath, he turned the handle and slowlypushed it open, peering through it. He froze at what he saw,confused.

When he had left the night before, the majority of thedecorations had been bright and cheerful. The tree had been large andrather imposing. Wrecked, gigantic paper monstrosities hung in onecorner of the room. Boxes had covered the floor.

Now, the floor was mostly clear. A table had beenpushed against the far wall, laden with food and a punch bowl.Beneath it, hundreds of various bottles were nestled – Arthur evenspied several packets of paper cups. The windows had been stripped ofthe giant stickers that Arthur had painstakingly and smoothly put on.Instead, the windows seemed to be dusted by light snow or frost,icicles hanging down from above. Icicles also hung from the ceiling,lit up and slowly pulsing a pretty glow. A thinner, smaller tree,sprayed with snow and covered in muted coloured baubles stood in thecorner Arthur had told Alfred to put his only 24 hours before.Standing proud atop it was a golden fairy, silver wand held high.Seats were pushed against what space was left, covered in sheets andfoil and wire to make them appear as if they had been roughly carvedout of snow. Gentle, slow music flowed from a music player somewhere.Silver tinsel was draped anywhere it could be without being in theway.

And it was full of people. Francis and Elizaveta andGilbert and... Everyone. They were all there, chatting away. No-onehad drinks. Ludwig had a rectangular box under one arm. Leaningagainst his back, Feliciano had his tongue stuck out as hepainstakingly wrote out a card. Searching around the room, Arthurquickly spotted Alfred as well. He was working with Kiku, wrestlingwith a chair and a sheet.

"Urgh, Keeks, why won't this one work?" hesaid, voice carrying across the room.

"You are rushing," Kiku answered politely.

"He'll be here soon!"

"If he even-" Francis began but he glanced atthe door as he spoke and his eyes widened. "Arthur!" hecried and Alfred immediately dropped the chair onto Kiku's foot.

"Artie!" he exclaimed, spinning around.

"'Artie'?" Arthur questioned, quite unable towrap his head around what he was seeing.

"Uh. Yeah, um. You made it! Merry Christmas!"The others echoed the sentiment.

"What... What is all this?" Arthurasked, stepping into the room and noticing the concertinaed papersnowmen curving across the wall. "I thought you wanted brightcolours and... 'happiness' or whatever it was you said."

"Uh," Alfred said again, eyes drawn to thefloor. "I... I'm sorry."

"What?" said Arthur flatly, unable to quiteunderstand what was happening.

"I've been a real jerk," Alfred admittedbefore sheepishly looking up at Arthur, hand rubbing at the back ofhis head. "I'm sorry. What I did on your first day... It wasreally stupid but... I'd only wanted to make you laugh. I didn'tthink about what it would mean to you. And laughing at you. And...everything else." He stopped to take a deep breath. Then helooked up at Arthur, closing the gap between them so he could lookArthur in the eye. "I shouldn't have..." Alfred faltered."Er, what's the word. Made you feel left out?"

"Alienated," Francis informed him.

"That's it! I shouldn't have alienated you."

"None of us should've," Gilbert piped up."Al's like one of the family and... I dunno, I suppose we justnaturally took his side in a lot of stuff."

"So this is to, like, make up for that!"Alfred declared, spreading his arms wide to show off the room. "If,y'know, it can."

"This is for you," Ludwig said, stepping upbeside them. "From all of us."

"And this, too!" Feliciano exclaimed, handingover the card he'd hastily stuffed into the envelope.

Arthur looked at all of them, perplexed. Had theyreally banded together to sort out the party and welcome himproperly? What could they possibly have gotten him? Hesitant, hereached out to take the items. He opened the box first, his curiositygetting the better of him. Inside, a wide strip of metal rested. Hepulled it out – and gasped.

A. Kirkland

Publisher

"We got it engraved today," Alfred explained."It cost a lot to get it done 'cause of short notice and howbusy they were so I hadta get everyone else to pitch in and then wordgot around and... this happened." He swept his hand around theroom.

Stunned, Arthur shook his head. "You... You didn'tneed to. I mean... I've been horrible, too. I'm so sorry Alfred. Ishouldn't have-"

"Nah, it's fine. Not your fault," said Alfreddismissively, smiling at Arthur. It was a rather soft, fond smile,Arthur thought, and it was a little disconcerting that Alfred hadthat expression for him. He ducked his head, smiling himself.His heart felt warmer, happy tears blurring his vision.

"I just... thank you," Arthur said. Heclutched the present to his chest and wondered if he should tell themall about their presents. Then he decided it could be a surprise forthem. Nobody needed to know what he'd done.

"Yeah." Alfred put a friendly hand onArthur's shoulder which made him rather embarrassed, unused to thissort of attention. "Merry Christmas, Artie. And welcome to EroCup Publishing."

I was honestly gonna have them under mistletoe at the end there and have to kiss (but a chaste one) but I thought that was a bit much...

[shineesace]

Pink Roses

{Sequel/Side to 1000 Roses (here), must read 1st!!!!}

jongkey | AU in which Jonghyun owns a flower shop and Kibum is his favorite customer | series of drabbles | Kibum’s view this time 

Even if it wasn’t perfect, Kibum would give anything to live in that moment again. 

Light Pink Roses

{Signify Admiration, Gentleness, Sympathy, Grace, Gladness, Joy, Sweetness.}

720 Roses

Kibum sat on the floor, shards of glass and splintered frames surrounding his legs. He felt numb. Not believing that he had another breakdown, he stood up slowly and went to the cupboard to get the broom. In a daze, he began sweeping the wreckage into a pile in the center, ignoring the fact that the wreckage included more than just the photos from the shelf. Sunkyung’s art projects were in there. Souvenirs from family vacations that she picked out herself from cheap tourist stands. Eunhee’s paintings littered the floor, the canvas shredded. DVD’s of Sunkyung’s birth to days before the accident were broken, stomped on. The furniture and basic home essentials didn’t stand a chance, either. Nothing did.

His face was neutral as he swept everything away.

The lone pink rose was on the floor, among shattered plates from a shoved table, some of the petals on one side crushed. He swept around it.

721 Roses

He went to Jonghyun’s shop that day, going through the motions of what had been his daily life for years now. Jonghyun was surprised. He opened his mouth several times to say something, but nothing came out. Maybe he did talk, but Kibum didn’t hear it. He hasn’t heard anything since the night before. He bought his rose with money and left, ignoring the thorns that dug deeply into his enclosed fist.

Kibum made it to the hospital in record time. He sat beside her bed, wrapping his fingers around hers and feeling the faint pulse of her heart. Her hand was colder today, he would have to ask the nurses about an extra blanket.

Today he wanted to sing to her, but he couldn’t choose a song. Disney songs were her favorite, but he had already sung them all dozens upon dozens of times. Wouldn’t she get tired of it by now? He thought that she must want to listen to something new. Maybe it would please her.

It took him a while to choose, but he finally settled on a lullaby. The one that he sang to her every night when she was just an infant. It always got her to sleep, perhaps it would wake her up? He began to sing, shaky but beautiful. The nurses began to gather outside the room, whispering. Always whispering to each other when he visited. He couldn’t hear them anyway, so it didn’t matter. He kept singing.

He sang until the moon was at its peak. Even with her pink nightlight on, he couldn’t see her.

752 Roses

Jonghyun tried to speak to him again. He gripped Kibum’s shoulders and asked, “Kibum, are you okay? Is everything alright?” Kibum only brushed off his hands, as if they annoyed him. As if they didn’t make his heart race the same way it did only a little over a month ago. As if he didn’t want to grab them and keep them in his grasp.

He shook his head, not in reply to Jonghyun, but to keep his voice out of his head. He didn’t want to hear Jonghyun anymore, knowing that it would lead to another breakdown. His face stern and the grasp on the pink rose tight, he walked out the door the same way he had the past month -without an ounce of emotion. The ringing of the bell behind him almost brought back the giddiness he had once felt, but he locked it down deep within.

He went to his apartment first, wanting to change clothes first before seeing his daughter. He opened the door and went straight to his and Eunhee’s room, going through his closet only to find the same two pairs of business attire and only one clean set of casual clothes. It didn’t bother him anymore. He wore it almost daily now, to see Sunkyung.

After he changed he left the room, ignoring the pile of broken memories still on the floor. A withered and stiff rose sat on the kitchen tiles some meters away, gathering dust. He couldn’t be bothered with cleaning anymore.

779 Roses

Jonghyun had stopped trying. When Kibum entered the shop that day, not even a hello escaped Jonghyun’s lips. Not even a smile. No hope was left in that man. He had given up on Kibum, and his smiles were reserved for people worth his while now.

It broke Kibum’s façade, even if only for a second. He felt his heart ache, the first feeling he’s had in a while. He almost forgot to pay. The way Jonghyun was looking at him made him feel ill.

Kibum left the store, his face back to its original neutrality. He ignored the ache by his eyes and the hot tear that fell. He almost snapped the rose in two with the force of his grip. It didn’t matter anymore. Jonghyun didn’t matter anymore. Eunhee didn’t matter anymore. Sunkyung didn’t even matter.

800 Roses

Kibum almost lost his job. He had mixed up some important documents and almost lost his boss a huge deal of money.

Even with Kibum’s high-paying job, little money was left in his possession, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need it. He stopped using the water and electricity in his apartment, stopped eating anything except for one meal that he shared with the nurses at the hospital. The whispers grew, and he ignored them as usual.

He slept by Sunkyung, in her tiny bed, his knees folded and his arm cramped. He cradled her head with his other arm and stroked her hair gently. It felt like she was getting colder and colder, even though the monitors told him otherwise. He hummed her lullaby all night.

897 Roses

People at work started to notice the weight loss. The long stares into nothing. He constantly was putting documents into the wrong files or getting customers mixed up. The boss was getting on his last nerve- Kibum was his prized employee, but his tolerance for this kind of lackluster work was absolute zero, no matter the employee. He didn’t know what was going on, of course. No one at work knew, except for the boss’ secretary, whose husband worked in the hospital. He talked about Sunkyung, about her father, and then she put two and two together after realizing just how long Kibum had been this bad.

She had wanted to tell the boss, knowing that he would feel pity and probably go easier on Kibum, because he had children as well. She hoped for the best, even though she knew it was far from reach.

After bringing it up as casually as she could into the conversation, she watched her boss’ face slowly morph into pity and concern. He, too, was seeing the connections. However, he couldn’t afford to be generous, no matter his feelings on the matter.

“Kibum, I need to speak with you.”

Hours later, Kibum walked to the hospital with a pink rose and slumped shoulders.

909 Roses

Kibum hadn’t been fired, but he wasn’t being paid, either. His boss sent him away with a larger-than-usual check and the words, “You will be welcomed back when you are ready.”

He knew he wouldn’t be ready.

Kibum had half a mind to end it. He certainly had the means to do so. The only thing on Earth that kept him tied to it was Sunkyung. If he died, she would, too. The hospital wouldn’t pay for it, and neither could her grandparents. They would unplug the machines and watch as she died, however slowly it may be.

The thought gnawed at him. His heart ached and twisted at the thought of her feeling pain and confusion as she died, without any say in her life.

He went to pick up a rose, doing so only after working hours even if he didn’t work anymore, just to keep Jonghyun from looking at him differently. Kibum knew that if Jonghyun looked at him with those eyes, shiny and dark and soul-searching, he would have another reason to stay alive. And that scared him.

998 Roses.

Kibum’s money was almost all gone now. He might have rent left for a month, possibly the next, but that really came down to what was left in that apartment that he could sell. Which was next to nothing. His savings had dried up as well, and he was left with few clothes and an almost empty apartment.

He spent the day cleaning up the trash heap on the floor, which he still hadn’t touched until then. He carefully peeled away layers and layers of dust and chipped wood before he got to the glass and paper underneath. He slowly brushed it away with his fingers, not caring about the glass digging into his skin or the small bits that were embedded into the pads of his fingers. He uncovered the photos. Some were ripped. Some scratched by the glass. Some crumpled. In the end, only one photo seemingly remained untouched.

Sunkyung, with her four front teeth missing and the biggest smile she could muster. She had life in her eyes. He could remember that moment so perfectly.

He remembered taking the picture, telling her that she was his sweet girl and that she could have whatever she wanted for dinner that night. The award ceremony for the art contest she entered would be the next day, and Kibum told her over and over and over that no matter what, she drew the best picture. He could remember the smell of bone stew as he labored in the kitchen for hours to get it perfect. He remembered hearing Eunhee coming home after work, full of enthusiasm for her daughter but no words for Kibum.

Even if it wasn’t perfect, Kibum would give anything to live in that moment again.

He brought the day’s rose to the hospital along with the photo, in a new silver floral frame.

He sat by her side and looked at her. Really looked at her. The difference between the little girl in the photo and the one lying on that bed was startling. One was vibrant and the other looked seconds from blowing away like dust.

Kibum stayed up all night, just looking. Absorbing every detail. The nurse came in to check on Sunkyung, but he really came in to check on Kibum. After getting no response, he left the man alone.

It was sunrise when Kibum made up his mind.

He left the hospital feeling weak and heavy, but he had something important he needed to do.

Soon after his departure, he ended back in his apartment. Most of it was stripped bare, but there was one room he hadn’t touched in years.

Her room. It was pink, but not boldly so. It was pale and colorful and everything was fluffy and soft to some extent. He remembered buying these things. Her first big-girl bed, which took hours of browsing in huge stores. She had to climb onto every bed and lay down for at least fifteen minutes before deciding if it was okay or not. Sunkyung settled on this one- a simple white iron frame that had delicately welded leaves and flowers. Roses.

All along her walls were the pictures she drew. Most of them were roses, but consisted of pink and red spirals as she couldn’t quite get the details down. It was still perfect to Kibum. Above her bed was a large drawing; a full, colorful garden of not only roses but lilacs and daisies and lavender. Birds and butterflies and bees flew about; a pink hazy hue for their sky. Hanging from the drawing’s frame was her first-place ribbon.

He could hear it, the way she cried in joy. She was shy but proud, and accepted everyone’s congratulations with an ease that startled her parents. In that moment, with Sunkyung smiling widely and Eunhee’s camera flashing, Kibum knew that everything would be perfect. He knew that Sunkyung was going to grow up happy and successful. Nothing could stop her sunshine.

With a lump in his throat, Kibum pulled off the drawing and the ribbon from the wall. He started placing things in a corner; her toys, her art supplies, her drawings, her clothes. Soon enough he would need boxes, but right now, he just wanted to look at all of it. To hold all of it. To remember every moment that he possibly could.

 He didn’t know how long he sat in Sunkyung’s bedroom. He didn’t recognize the evening turning into night, or night to dawn. Eventually, he got up and brought out some boxes that were left over from selling all his things. He carefully packed items of Sunkyung’s that held the most significance, placing them gently one by one into the boxes as if he were cradling an infant.

At last, he was finished packing everything he deemed necessary. He put the boxes outside of the apartment building and handed the keys over to his landlord, telling her that he would be fine. Walking over to a phone booth, he fiddled with the buttons, hesitant to press the numbers for the people he hadn’t called in so long. He dialed the number carefully, one digit at a time, and soon he heard a grumpy voice.

“Hello? Who are you and why are you calling me at… five in the morning?”

“Hi, Dad. It’s me. I… I need your help.”

 999 Roses.

After buying the rose that morning, Kibum felt like gravity was pulling him in harder and harder. He felt so heavy. His heart sunk so deep it felt like it would snap. He entered Sunkyung’s hospital room, where her doctor and several nurses were waiting. They had already removed her IV’s and heart monitors.

He clutched the rose in his hand tightly. At this point, his hands were calloused from being pierced so many times by thorns.

The doctor looked at him with a sorrowful gaze. It weighed down heavily on Kibum’s shoulders.

“Do you want to be in here while it happens?” He asked. Kibum nodded, his lips in a tight line.

One of the nurses helped Kibum get to his seat by Sunkyung’s side. “Do you want us to leave, Mr. Kim?”

He didn’t respond. They took his silence as a yes, and left quietly. The doctor came to his side and turned off the machine that kept her breathing, leaving within a second or two.

Kibum squeezed his eyes shut.

With his hands around her tiny wrists, he could feel her pulse. He could feel it quicken. “I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his eyes still closed. He chanted, “I’m so sorry I let you go. I’m so sorry, baby. Please forgive me, please, I’m so sorry. I love you so much, please don’t forget how much I love you. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry…”

He felt her pulse slow down, the beats becoming further and further apart until it stopped. He whispered his “I love you” over and over until the words morphed into cries.

It only took a few minutes.

He left soon after, not wanting to see her body being removed from the room. He didn’t remember signing the packet of papers, but he did and the nurses let him leave with worried glances in his direction. His hands gripped tightly around the pink rose- the stem completely severed- and the photo.

After entering his parents’ car, he wept.

His baby girl was gone.

 In Between- Black Roses

{Death. Letting Go.}

It had been a month since her passing. Kibum was distraught, even more so when she was hospitalized. He never knew what it felt like to be so utterly broken inside, so lost. His parents could do little more than provide him with the basic needs, but even then, he was withering away before their eyes.

Sunkyung’s things were still left in the boxes. Kibum didn’t want to see anything again. He even asked his parents to take down photos of her right after he arrived- he couldn’t bear to see it.

Kibum spent his days in the backyard. He remembered his youth was spent here; sleeping under the stars, playing games with his friends, watching his mother and grandmother work in the garden. He met Eunhee here, during one of his father’s company parties. This place held a lot of welcomed memories, even more so welcome when he spent so little time here with Sunkyung. His parents visited the apartment in the city instead of the little family visiting them.

He sat down by the long row of rose bushes. They were getting a little unruly; their branches tangling and twisting around each other, reaching all the way across. He assumed that his mother hadn’t been out here to take proper care of them in a while.

Kibum’s mother startled him on accident by putting her hand on his shoulder. He winced and shook off her apology, welcoming her warm embrace as she kneeled beside him.

“You know, I haven’t been able to come out here in such a long time. Almost three years! Can you imagine me, not touching your grandmother’s roses for that long? I was disheartened to see them bloom so poorly last year. I think one of these bushes is sick, as well. It’s terrible.”

Kibum hummed in reply.

“I always wondered what kept me from going outside. I think it was around the time of the accident when I stopped,” She said, not minding the way Kibum winced as she mentioned the tragedy. “I thought that perhaps it was the loss of my daughter-in-law and granddaughter.”

Kibum wanted to correct her, to tell her that Sunkyung didn’t die years ago, but his mother left no room for him to speak.

“I truly believed that at first, until I realized that there was something more pressing. A much deeper sorrow that filled my heart. The only reason I ever kept these roses blooming year after year, after your grandmother died, was for you. They were your favorite. You would send drawings of them to Grandma, telling her how much you loved them. I never really inherited the green thumb that she had, but I learned everything I could so I could keep the roses just as bright and beautiful as you are, my precious son.

“It felt like I had lost you in the accident. You wouldn’t speak with us. You wouldn’t hear us out when we told you that it was time to let her go. It tore my heart out to know that any night, I could receive a phone call, telling me and your father that you had killed yourself.

“She loved roses, too, didn’t she? I have a photo album upstairs- all copies of the ones you and Eunhee took. You can look through them if you wish.”

Kibum nodded. His mother wiped away his tears with her soft hands. “It hurts me so, to see you as sick as these roses. Please try to get better. For me, at least.” She kissed his forehead and left to get the boxes of albums that laid in a closet.

A year went by monotonously for Kibum. Slowly, but steadily, he regained a foothold in the land of the living and came to terms with the loss of Sunkyung. His mother may have had a role in showing him the way, but in the end, it was the roses.

The connection they held between him and everything that he held dear. He stayed up for hours, poring over books and websites and magazines to find all the secrets to rose gardening. It was strenuous to someone who hadn’t had a purpose in a long time, but also provided his only source of energy.

He learned how to make the roses light pink. How to make them grow so full that they weighed down in the vase after he picked them. He was ecstatic with his first batch of roses, they were almost as perfect as his grandmother’s, mother’s, and even Jonghyun’s.

Jonghyun.

The urge to seek him outgrew stronger as time went by.

Kibum never got the chance to tell Jonghyun just how much he meant to him. How he fell in love so quickly even though he tried so hard to distance himself. Kibum wanted to tell Jonghyun that he never once used him, and that all the love and affection and passion that Jonghyun gave was fully reciprocated by Kibum, even if he had trouble showing it.

It was when the last pink rose wilted that Kibum decided it was time to join the world, and to rebuild his life from the ground up.

1000 Roses.

A year had passed since Kibum left his parents’ home in the country and went back to the city. He returned to his job with a real smile on his face. He was happy to see his coworkers again, as some of them were dear friends, and he could be doing something that he knew he was good at.

He got a new apartment, much smaller than the first, but it worked for him. He filled it to the brim with things- from the gardening books he collected, Sunkyung’s items and photos, and things he gathered in various, quaint stores along the way.

It was becoming more normal, livelier.

More Kibum.

One day, when Kibum was out for a long walk down a familiar road, he felt ready. The sun was shining brightly, but not harshly. The breeze was gentle and carried the fragrance of roses. All along the road were people with bouquets of roses, or people with just one, but all were happy. Some were blushing as their loved ones handed them the flowers.

Moments later, he saw a sign, “All roses 95% off! Hurry before they’re gone! Jonghyun’s Flowers.”

Slowly, he walked to the door of the shop he once went to daily. He peeked inside, not wanting to ring that bell just yet. He noticed immediately that Jonghyun’s shop had become popular. Where there used to be empty space and bare wall was now plush chairs and floral art. The smell of coffee and flowers came from the store, the coffee wasn’t something Kibum hadn’t really expected.

He got a good look at Jonghyun when the man appeared from the greenhouse. It seemed he didn’t notice the man looking in.

Jonghyun had changed, and for the better. Like he had blossomed.

A rose tattoo peeked from between his collarbones, visible from the open buttons of his shirt. His sleeves were pushed up, his arms glistening with sweat and his hands dirtied.

It was extremely attractive.

After Jonghyun had finished washing his hands and hard started cleaning his counter, Kibum made his presence known.

He entered the store, his heart leaping from his chest when he heard the bell ding.

It nearly soared from him when he heard Jonghyun speak. “Good afternoon! How may I help you?” Jonghyun said, without looking.

Kibum strode to the counter, resting his hands on the once clean surface. He could smell Jonghyun now- earthy and sweet.

Jonghyun’s head shot up with surprise. Kibum noticed that he was close to tears, his eyes locking with Kibum’s immediately. “Can I get just one rose, please?”