#Lino just appreciates that there's someone in this world that cares about him

[iaf]

Vingelino..... *starts crying*

[libertasrpg]

We welcome Barry Benson to the city. He’s 23 years old and is an activist. Barry is often mistaken for Alfred Enoch. He’s open.

→ Background Information

Barry’s family had always been very happy to follow the trend, so when bee keepers were needed in their local area - bee keepers they became. The Benson family quickly became known for being beekeepers and it was expected for Barry to do the same. It never really interested him though - Especially when there were issues far bigger than beekeeping that he wanted to tackle! Slowly over his teen years, he started to get more and more involved in important causes and helped his parents out less and less with the bees. Originally they weren’t too impressed but when they saw how happy his new work made him, they were happy to let him continue.

→ Relocation Explanation

The more activism Barry got involved in, the more he felt targeted. While his parents and neighbors loved what he stood for, it appeared the entire community didn’t. This was no surprise to Barry though. They were exactly the kinds of people he was working against. The constant harassment was really becoming too much though. People started to target his parents too. So, he figured it best that he relocate. He was delighted when Adam said he’d move with him.

→ Living Situation

There is no one else in the world that Barry would rather live with than his best friend Adam. Their house is a very interesting one to visit. The shelves are an odd mix of Adam’s history and biography books and Barry’s activism books. They sometimes clash over decorations - For example, Barry sometimes wants to pin up placards from protests on the walls. Thankfully this doesn’t happen too often and when it does, they’re able to sit down and have a chat about it. Barry’s own room is very bright, very colorful. The walls are covered in pictures of his favorite memories, and the occasional placard.

→ His Personality

Barry has hated ‘the norm’ from the moment he was born. As a child, he hated the fact that because he was a boy, he was expected to play with cars. He’d much rather play with dolls, and help his gran plant flowers. Barry has never cared what people think about him. He wishes other people could feel that way too. Generally, he’s very warm and friendly. Barry is the kind of person who leaves an impression on absolutely everyone they meet.

→ His Qualities

Caring, loving, dedicated, passionate

Stubborn, reluctant, impulsive

→ His Relationships

Adam Flayman (Best friend & roommate): The boys have been the best of friends since they were born. They simply couldn’t imagine their lives without the other. Their lives are structured nicely around each other. Also despite Adam being pretty close-minded, he will eventually sit down and listen to what Barry has to say on things. This has proved increasingly important over the years considering Barry’s job path.

Vanessa Bloome (Love Interest): Vanessa and Barry met at an animal rights rally initially and hit it off straight away. Since her split with Ken, they’ve been growing closer and closer. She’s so different from anyone that he has ever met before, but perhaps that’s why they click just so well. Barry enjoys hearing different opinions to his own.

Ken Summers (Enemy): Ken blames Barry for his split with Vanessa. It’s as simple as that. Barry’s tried to be nice to him but nothing has really worked. He tries not to get too involved as he knows it’s not his place to, but it’s hard hearing about and watching how Ken treats Vanessa.

→ Possible Connections

Lenny Lino (Friend): Barry and Lenny are two very kind souls. They both want the absolute both for those around them, and for the wider world.

Astrid Hofferson (Friend): The pair share a drive, and are both very determined and dedicated people. It’s very likely that they’d appreciate each other’s passion.

Drago Bludvist (Enemy): A particular area that Barry puts effort into is campaigning for animal rights. So it would make sense that someone like Drago would not be in his good books.

→ Faceclaim Change:

Allowed | Not allowed | POC must | Discuss with admin

Suggestions: TBA

Barry is based on Barry from Bee Movie.

[solaneceae]

MFKZ OS 10: Flowing

Climate change was no joke it seemed.

Vinz awoke drenched with sweat, his blanket -the one with little tigers leaping around, his favourite-  pooling at the foot of the couch. He groaned in faint disgust as he hurriedly sat up, hating the sensation of moist fabric against his back. Gross. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes and looked towards the window; the sun had barely began to peek out over the horizon.

Uuuuugh. Only in DMC one could wake up to suffocating heat at 8am in the middle of november. The world truly was going to shit. Good thing the flames atop his skull were only hot if he wanted them to be, however that worked.

He sighted. Even with their new president doing her best to undo a decade’s worth of damage on environmental laws, it would be a long time until things started to change for the better.

“Wow, you look like death!”

The hothead turned around to huff at the other couch, or rather the half-alien laying upside-down on the back. His socks don’t match, Vinz noted distractedly. Heh. What an airhead.

Angelino flashed him a shit-eating grin, seemingly unbothered with the humid heat taking over the neighbourhood. Vinz glared back; his roommate’s freaky genetics must’ve granted him some kind of resistance to high temperatures. Lucky bastard. “Dude, shut up. S’too early for your sass.”

“What? I’m just being a concerned friend. You don’t look so hot after all.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

The skeleton jumped to his feet and hurried out of the room, eager to get out of earshot of his best friend’s terrible puns -the dumbass radius as he called it- and cool down in a cold shower. Which one he wished for the most right now was up for debate.

***

He didn’t step from under the delightfully freezing water until his fingertips turned blue and his body seized up in uncontrollable shivers. He should be set for a couple of hours.

The young adult entered the kitchen in a much better mood, finding Lino munching on cereals right out of the box, not-so-sneakily dropping some on the floor for his roaches to feast on. “Took you long enough, thought you drowned or something.” the hybrid stated, passing the half-empty box to Vinz’ awaiting hands. He smirked, a teasing glint in his inky black eyes. “Did you have fun in there?”

The hothead half-groand half-snickered. Christ, the hothead could almost hear the italics. What was he, fifteen? “Well I didn’t die. Glad you still care.”

“I always care!”

“I know. Remember that storm back at the orphanage? I went outside to see and you got so scared my flames would go out and I’d die. You cried for like an hour.”

Angelino tensed up in protest. “What? Bullshit, I didn’t cry!”

“You so did. You didn’t want to go outside cuz you’re scared of thunder -don’t give me that look, I know it still makes you flinch-, and when I came back you were screaming about Charmander. Ring any bells?”

His best friend looked like he just bit into a particularly sour lemon. He was fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve and was definitely avoiding his gaze now, his cheeks a darker shade than the rest of his pitch black face. Vinz wished he could take a pic to immortalize one of the rare moments he managed to shut his roomate up.

The image of a much smaller, younger Lino sobbing into his shirt, his tiny fists clutching the fabric came to the forefront of his mind. S’okay Lino, don’t cry! he remembered laughing. My flames are magic, see? Stupid water can’t hurt me!

He felt himself smile. Granted, he couldn't actually smile with his lack of skin (and facial muscles. And lower jaw.), but the way his eyes squinted and his flames turned to a vivid green were good enough indicators. He teasingly grabbed his pouting roommate and trapped him into a ruthless noogie. “Don’t worry you lil’ shit, I’m not kicking the bucket anytime soon. Someone gotta watch out for your scrawny ass.”

The hybrid hissed in discomfort and wrestled out of Vinz’ grip, rubbing this head. “‘Scrawny’?! Fuck you, yours is bony!”. He then proceeded to trip the other with a swift little kick. The hothead yelped as he hit the ground -thank god for the shitty carpet-, his rival cackling evilly. Angelino used the other’s stunned state to sit cross legged onto his back -earning a strangled oof in the process-, grab his right arm and, with a triumphant smile, twist it against his clavicle.

“- Ack! Lino, the fuck?!

- That’s what you get for screwing with me! Now yield!

- Hell no, you motherfucker!”

Vinz didn’t quite know how it had come to this, him face planted into the faded orange carpet with his best friend sitting on top of him and basically asphyxiating him. It was all in good fun though, he could feel the tremors of uncontrollable giggles rattling his chest.

“- You gonna say ‘uncle’ yet? No rush, you make a good seat.

-  Ngh… thought I was bony?

- A bony seat is still a seat.

- So deep. Ten outta ten, truly inspiring. You gonna write a book on that?”

The half-alien just smiled wider, pulling on his arm a little harder.

“Ow, ow, okay ow, fine, you win!” the hothead wheezed from under him. “You win! Now lemme go before I burn your ass!”

Lino let go of his arm, chuckling. “You wouldn’t dare. My ass is a national treasure.”

Vinz repressed a certain thought immediately after it came to existence, letting out a deep sigh and glaring over his shoulder. “Right, keep thinking that. You gonna get off or what?”

His roommate didn’t respond, still sitting crossed legged in the small of his back. He was staring right ahead, head tilted to the side and brow furrowed, like he was trying really hard to figure something out. The skeleton squinted. “Lino, not that I don’t appreciate you, but it’s a little hard to breathe here and I’m getting sweaty again so-”

“You think that place is still there?”

The hothead’s voice trailed to a stop at the interruption. The young hybrid had turned to look at him, something fuzzy and familiar in his bug eyes. He blinked. “...Well, it’s not like a place can actually go anywhere… else... than where it’s at. You talking about the orphanage? Cuz I’m pretty sure it’s still where it’s always been.”

“Not that, dumbass. I mean the stream.”

Vinz’ eye sockets widened, a glint of recollection in his yellow pupils. “Wait, that stream? The one with the little waterfall overhead?”

“Yeah.”

“The one where we ran off to when it was too hot and we wanted to piss off the old broad?”

“Yup.”

“The one where you hit your head while trying to do a flip and you almost died of hypothermia?”

“Uh, I don’t-”

Now Vinz was just fucking with him. The skeleton’s tone took a teasing edge. “The one where I went to get some water and came back to find you-”

“YES. Yes Vinz, that one.” Angelino quickly cut him off and jumped off him, voice going up an octave. His victim dramatically rolled onto his back and took a much-needed gulp of air, as the other sneered from above him. “Fucker.”

“Bitch.” Vinz responded, flipping him off. He sat up against the bottom of the couch and cracked his joints. “So, our old secret place. What about it?”

His friend grimaced. “Don’t call it that, what are you, five ?”

Yeah, five inches deep in your MOM. Oh how Vinz wanted to quote that iconic vine. But he refrained from doing so, given who stood in front of him.

“I was thinking…” the hybrid began, plopping down next to him. “It’s early, it’s warm as all hell and we got fuckall to do today. Maybe we can go back. To see if it’s still there. And not, y’know, bulldozered and shit.”

The skeleton stared at him. “...What, ten years later? Why?”

“Why not? It’s a bit far, but I remember how to get there. And with how we originally found it by complete accident and all, pretty sure no one but us knows it exists. Could be worth it.”

Huh.

Vinz hummed. Maybe it would, as the alternative would be to spend the day either under cold water or complaining about global warming. Why the fuck not. He turned to an expectant roommate, determination steeled in his features. “Okay. Let’s go.”

***

Angelino finally stopped at the edge of a huge grey rock, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He didn’t remember the way up being so steep. Vinz wasn’t far behind him, his heavy breathing and cursing catching up to him. Given the colorful words leaving his mouth about the “fucking piece of shit trees that don’t have anything better to do than fuck up my day”, he guessed his companion must’ve had tripped on a root at some point. In any case, the hothead finally hauled his way up the rock and bend forward, panting in exertion as his best friend sat down, legs dangling over the edge.

“Shit.” Vinz wheezed out, wiping the sweat off his skull. “I think we need to work out more, I feel like passing out.”. The hybrid snorted, not tearing his eyes away from the scenery below. “Yeah, fuck that noise. I’m doing fine, you’re the one who needs to go out more.”

The skeleton made a noncommittal grunt and popped his back into place, sighing in relief. He opened his eye sockets and took in the sight below them.

It felt… weird. It was the same old place he remembered, but not? Kinda? The thin waterfall dropping down the red stone cliff was the same. The deformed bean-shaped basin at the bottom was the same. The clear water (hallelujah, it was still clear after all those years) overflowing from said basin was the same. But everything else seemed to have shifted slightly, and the whole place felt scaled down. Smaller.

Eh. After more than ten years it was probably normal.

They stood still for another minute, silently letting fleeting memories and faint nostalgia wash over them. Then Angelino looked up at his best friend and smiled softly. “Wanna go down?”

***

“- I remember it being a lot bigger, don’t you?

- Nah dude, you were just short.

- Shut up, you were even shorter than I was, and that’s saying something.”

The hybrid ignored the jab at his petite frame, staring at the sky peeking out from between the foliage. He was floating on his back, half immersed into the basin. Cold water lapped at his ears now and again, drowning the world the low hum of moving water.

The basin wasn’t that deep, two meters at most, and only wide enough for about two grown adults to do the starfish without bumping into each other. So, wide enough for two of each of them.

Thanks to that and the sun heating up the stones all day, it wasn’t too cold, juste pleasantly chilly. Vinz had insisted on preparing some heating runes and sigils for some reason, and Lino had indulged him with a shrug. And even though, deep down, the hothead had been intrigued by the strange (worried?) look Angelino kept giving him while he worked his magic (heh), he decided not to ask.

The half-alien closed his eyes and filled his lungs with relatively pure air, at least compared to DMC’s usual smog.

In. Out. In and out, again.

His lead felt clear, quiet, a welcome reprieve from the constant outside noises and the numbing buzz of his own thoughts. It was nice.

Had it been worth the two-hour long bus trip full of rude and sweaty people? The forty-minute trek through the wilderness that left them breathless, dusty and bloody in some places?

Heck. Yes.

“Vinz?” he called out, eyes still closed. His voice was quiet, most of his energy having been sapped by the heat and the climbing.

His friend only acknowledged him with a hoarse, inquisitive hum. Sounded like the hothead wasn’t faring much better. Angelino took a deep breath.

“Why did we stop coming here?”

A few seconds of silence. Thinking Vinz needed him to elaborate, he kept talking. “I mean, this place is amazing. S’always been this way, our own little thing, you know? It was hard to get there, I remember that much, but it was always worth it in the end. Sure, we got older and life kinda kept kicking us into the ground, but it was still here, just a few hours away. So why-”

“You mean you don’t remember?”

Angelino cracked his eyes open; Vinz was staring at him with a tired but sharp look, slowly drifting onto the surface of the water. He blinked in confusion. “Remember what?”

His roomate let out an airy laugh, running a now chilly hand against his face. “Figures. Don’t worry it’s fine, s’not a life-or-death kind of info. Uh, do you remember earlier when I told you you almost died here once?”

The hybrid lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, when you were fucking with me this morning.”

“I wasn’t. It happened, for real.”

“...Oh.”

His best friend was staring at the sky now, hands folded casually in his lap. He continued. “I think we were like, ten? Yeah, sounds about right. We knew this place like the back of our hands by then, so we stopped paying attention to everything so much. We got uh, reckless.”

Hid hands fidgeted with the hem of his soaked shirt. “It was kinda cold and rainy that day, so not the ideal weather to go for a swim, but we didn’t give a shit. It was still better than being with the other stupid brats.” He lifted his arm and pointed to the top of the thin waterfall, about four meters above them. “Happened riiiight there, on that ledge. Take a guess at what happened.”

Angelino rubbed the back of his head, an uncomfortable ache pooling under his palm. “Knowing us, we probably did something stupid and someone fell down.”

“Close enough. Some dumb bets were made, doesn’t matter what they were about, I slipped off the ledge and we both fell. Cuz you tried to catch me.”

The hybrid’s eyes widened. He truly didn’t remember these events at all. And the ache wasn’t going away, even if it wasn’t getting worse either.

“So yeah, we both got knocked the fuck out. Think I busted my ankle too, it hurt like a bitch for days afterwards. Anyway, I think I woke up about ten minutes later? It wasn’t too bad really, just a concussion.” Vinz distractedly ruffled a tree branch hanging low over the basin. “Still, I was pretty damn cold, and the wind had picked up so it wasn’t making anything better. But uh, I realized pretty quickly that I was just peachy compared to you.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Dude. You slid into the basin when you fell and just, soaked there in freezing water for ten minutes. Good thing you were on your back.” He shook his head. “But the thing is, spending that amount of time in the cold is bad for everyone, okay? If you’re really unlucky you get a pneumonia or some shit. You looked like you were dead. Blue skin and everything.” The hothead slid a knowing glance at his friend. “Yeah, that shade of blue. Even without the uh, context we know about now, this was pretty fucking terrifying. Also your nose was bleeding, so there was a nice big head trauma on top of everything else.”

Lino stayed silent.

“I’m not sure how I managed to get us back to the main road, because I was so numb and cold and my leg hurt and i felt like puking my guts out. And bro, no offence but you weren’t exactly a lightweight for me at the time. But we made it somehow, so that was good! But then I uh, passed out again.”

Vinz linked his eyes with Lino’s again, his tone lighter. “But hey, someone found us and got us back to the orphanage, so no one died! …Obviously, I know, shut up. I was really sick for a few days after that -heck we both were, you were out for like a week- but I got over it. The whole incident thing.”

He looked up again. “You uh, didn’t. Not completely. After that, everytime I mentioned this place, or what happened, you got really weird. Like, all distant and jumpy and not all there, you know? Some serious PTSD shit, but I was ten and dumb so I didn’t know shit about that. So I stopped mentioning it, and then you just uh, came back to normal at some point.”

The young man hummed, squinting. “...Aaaand that’s it. We never brought it up again, life kinda happened, freaky shit happened, and now we’re back here. So yeah, I was a bit worried when you told me you wanted to come back. But it went well in the end, right?”

Vinz reached out, lightly touching his best friend’s shoulder with his fingertips. His flames were a cold blue, anxiety radiating from every inch of him. “You aren’t gonna freak out on me, right....?”

Angelino hadn’t stopped looking right at him. Something warm settled onto his features. “Nah. I’m good.”

“Oh thank fuck.”

Vinz let out a nervous chuckle, covering his eye sockets with his arm. “That’s, that’s great. Because I missed this place so fucking much and I’m really glad we came back.”

The half-alien bumped their shoulder together with a small smile. “Yeah, me too. Sorry I got you in trouble.”

“No you’re not.” his childhood friend replied without malice before turning back to the sky, eye sockets slowly closing.

Angelino did the same, darkness filling his vision. The headache was gone. Not in a “I just had an epiphany and remembered everything” kind of way. He still didn’t remember. But that was fine. He was fine. He had to be.

And he sure as shit intended to stay that way, because he knew that that moron would get himself killed trying to help him if he didn’t. He understood the reasoning behind the heat sigils now (watching your friend almost die of cold twice would make anyone paranoid he guessed), but that didn’t mean he had to accept it.

He wasn’t stupid. Coming home one day to find Vinz drained and barely conscious on the couch, the very same day one of his little voodoo -wicca or whatever- thingies stopped a truck from hitting him? It didn’t take him long to put two and two together. That shit could kill him, he knew that.

He wouldn’t let Vinz put his bony ass in danger for him, not if he could help it. By not ending up at death’s door every few days like the dumbass he was.

“Hey Vinz.”

A quiet hum. Quieter than before.

“...Thanks.”

“...Dun mention it. Didja ‘member?”

Vinz was slurring. Count on this weirdo to fall asleep anywhere.

“Nope. Sorry.”

A short silence. Their hands almost touched.

“...S’okay...”

Almost.

“...can ‘member for th’both of us.”

The water was cold, but the sun kept his core warm. Vinz’ slow, even breathing, not far, never far.

He was fine.

*slaps hands on table* 28 STAB WOUNDS-

jk, nothing that extreme. but it did take me eight hours to write this, cuz those two keep escaping me how the fuck do they keep doing that.

also DON’T do what those jackasses did and fall asleep in the sun. you’ll just end up with a monster headache and sunburns.

imma go eat now bye

[fourteen-teacups]

A Night Out - Part 4

Thank you again to all who have supported this story! I hope you enjoy the final installment. I am forever grateful to Birdy and Ginchy for hanging in there with this fic and for helping me add some depth to it.

In the week that followed their night at the club, Trixie couldn’t help but notice a few subtle changes in her colleagues. Shelagh, for one, was displaying a bit more social confidence around the nurses and this had already begun to have a positive effect on their skill as a midwifery team. During an especially complicated labor two days ago, the budding friendship between Shelagh and the three nurses resulted in the absolutely vital abilities not only to communicate non-verbally but also to offer the proper emotional support to both mother and fellow midwives. On the other hand, Shelagh was still the soul of professionalism around Dr Turner, much to Trixie’s disappointment, although she had noticed her making a bit more effort to engage him in conversation. She would have to see if there was an additional something she could do to pave the way for those two; after all, she was nothing if not determined. And speaking of Dr Turner, he had been unusually distracted this week, forgetting to follow up on several inquiries and often appearing like he was lost in his own world with alternatively a mysterious half smile or a melancholy look in his eye. She couldn’t fathom the reason for either, but she vowed to pay closer attention in the hope she might find out.

Trixie, Jenny and Cynthia were delighted when Shelagh began to alter her break time routine; still taking some of her time off on her own, she had joined the nurses for almost half of her free time this week. The foursome were slowly growing closer as Shelagh grew more comfortable, she was letting them in and sharing her own confidences. During some of their talks they even touched on various personal topics of their past and current lives.

Today, Trixie and Shelagh were the first to arrive in the hospital tearoom, saving a table for the rest of their group. Seeing as she had Shelagh on her own for a brief moment, Trixie decided to take the opportunity to work on her matchmaking plan.

“Has Dr Turner agreed to help with the fete?” she asked innocently.

Shelagh looked down at her lap, her cheeks turning a pale pink. “I’m sure he has more important things to do with his time,” she hedged.

“Have you asked him?” Trixie wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily.

“I… I haven’t had the chance to,” Shelagh waffled.

“Is that so…” Trixie grinned, “not even one chance during any of those tete-a-tetes you’ve shared this week?”

Shelagh’s blush was crimson this time. “Trixie…” she whispered, glancing nervously around her.

“You don’t need to worry Shelagh, no one is paying any attention to little old us,” she laughed.

“Well,” Shelagh continued quietly, “it is true that I have found myself engaged in a few more...discussions with Doctor as of late; but I seem to be feeling more comfortable speaking to everyone on the ward since I’ve become friendly with you and the girls.”

“That’s wonderful! Most of the staff would love to get to know you better; you have a lot to offer as a friend.” she stated earnestly. Then with a mischievous twinkle in her eye she added, “and he is quite handsome.”

Shelagh looked back down at her lap but she couldn’t completely hide the grin she was trying to suppress nor the sparkle in her own eyes. Instead she gave in to both and, with her gaze still downcast, nodded ever so slightly in reply.

Trixie, giddy on the wave of her sleuthing triumph, took pity on her and moved their chat toward a more benign topic.

When Cynthia and Jenny finally appeared, bearing tea and biscuits, Shelagh was sufficiently recovered. The younger nurses gossiped about the latest exploits on each of the more popular wards before Shelagh brought them back to matters concerning the rapidly approaching hospital benefit.

“You’ll be happy to learn that our curate, Reverend Hereward, has agreed to serve as keeper for Beat the Goalie,” Shelagh smiled, directing her comment at Trixie; clearly there was more than one romantic at the table. “We’ll set that up, along with all of the other games, on the far side of the fountain,” she added, gesturing to the square across the road.

Trixie’s eyes lit up as she inquired, “Then may I please request that the tombola is within a good viewing distance?”

“You may,” Shelagh replied primly and made note of it, but her dimples gave her away. “Now Timothy and the Cubs are going to handle the Pick a Lolly, but we could do with some young men at the Tug o‘ War and someone with good organizational skills at the Egg and Spoon Race.”

Jenny volunteered to appeal to the Children’s Ward for junior doctors who might be available for the Tug o’ War, then offered to Cynthia, “If we stop by the dispensary together with a clipboard in hand, we can look official while innocently asking for Egg and Spoon volunteers.” Cynthia blushed, but nodded her agreement.

“Wonderful!” Shelagh beamed, “now before our shift starts back up, do you think we could walk over to the square and plan out where we can fit the rest of the stalls?”

Consent was demonstrated with the scraping of chairs on lino and the gathering up of the remains of their tea. Three nurses headed towards the entrance but Trixie turned in the opposite direction, calling after them, “I’ll meet you there in two ticks, I just need to fetch my jumper.”

As Trixie ran back into the ward for her cardie, she could hear whistling, of all things, coming from Dr Turner’s office. She slowed until she came to a spot where she could just see inside. He stood behind his desk, straightening files and swaying slightly to the rhythm of his tune -- a tune she distinctly recognized.

Catching sight of her, he abruptly stopped whistling, “Nurse Franklin, is there something you require?”

“Oh no, just popping back for my jumper,” she informed him brightly, stepping to the doorway; then because she couldn’t let it pass without comment, “I wouldn’t have taken you for a Caro Emerald fan.”

“Sorry?”

“That song you were whistling, it’s by Caro Emerald.”

“Oh? Haven’t heard of her, must have overheard it somewhere though,” he continued to move files around his desk, appearing rather flustered.

“You know,” she pressed the issue, “a few of us nurses sang that same number at the staff night out last Friday.”

He fidgeted nervously, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger. “Staff night? Oh, right. You sang a song you say?”

Trixie hid a smile; he was a terrible liar. “We sang that very song. Myself along with Nurses Lee, Miller...and Mannion.” She watched him suppress a twitch then swallow with apparent difficulty when she mentioned Shelagh’s name. “In fact,” she went on, “it was Nurse Mannion who chose that particular tune.”

He started to speak, then cleared his throat before continuing nonchalantly, “Did she?”

Trixie turned and spoke over her shoulder as she left, “Indeed, it seems she has a soft spot for one of the doctors here.” Moving back to her original place of concealment, Trixie watched as his face smoothed into a look of peaceful joy. It was short lived, however; in the next moment he sighed and shook his head, as if resigning himself to disbelief, then fell back into his chair and set himself to the task of endless paperwork.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Another Friday night arrived, marking two weeks since Patrick’s clandestine visit to the club and what an agonizing fortnight it had been. He was exhausted by his attempts to hide from the staff that anything had changed, when in fact, for him, everything had. He knew what love was, had been in love before, and this was without a doubt the state he was in. It was definitely not just mere attraction, although that was what had finally brought her to his attention. And that bloody song, he couldn't get it out of his head, let alone the memory of her singing it. His one mistake had been allowing himself to be overheard by Nurse Franklin; but he had avoided her suspicion, he hoped.

His mind had been filled with Nurse Mannion these past handful of days and as a result every aspect of her person had been brought out into the light: her compassion and competent care for their patients, her calm and kind manner with both senior and junior nurses, the passion she displayed in her vocation of service and healing, the time she took for Timothy. Here, it seemed, was the answer to his thoughts and questions of just a few weeks ago. At the time he hadn’t felt ready to seriously consider the possibility nor had he any idea of how to begin again. Yet here she was, and had been, as if waiting for him to reawaken. The bittersweetness of his predicament, however, did not escape him. Each day he looked forward to working with her, finding he enjoyed her humor and skill much more than ever before; yet he knew that was all he could have. Would it become easier to settle for only that small part of her as time went by? He supposed it would have to.

Now, as his evening shift drew to a close, Patrick glanced over at the small couch in his office where Timothy was half asleep, then looked up, surprised to see Nurse Mannion in the doorway. It was no small effort to make sure the butterflies in his stomach created by her appearance were not evident on his face. “May I help you, Nurse?”

“On the contrary, since we’re both finishing up for the night I thought to stop by and see if I could offer help,” she said, then taking pity on his overflowing desk, “with the filing perhaps?”

“Thank you,” he smiled, “that would be most appreciated.” He wanted to say more, to prolong this encounter which was fortuitously between just the two of them, but Timothy, roused from his nap by their voices, sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

“Hello, Timothy,” she whispered, “sorry to wake you.”

Normally cranky when awakened like this, his boy was surprisingly gracious in the presence of his favorite nurse, “I wasn’t really asleep,” he fibbed. Then, as if having used up his civility, turned his sleep-deprived rancor towards his dad, “now can we go home?”

“Tim,” Patrick warned, accompanied by a stern look.

“Timothy,” Shelagh spoke up, and both men turned their attention to her, “I’m sure your father would like to go home as much as you would. Now if we all help with this filing, we’ll be finished in no time at all.”

Tim acquiesced and stepped towards the desk, accepting Shelagh’s task of finding the files starting with whichever letter of the alphabet she called out. Patrick felt comfortably at ease as the three of them worked together, Shelagh keeping Tim entertained with tidbits about the upcoming fete. He assured her that the Cubs were well prepared for their help with the Pick a Lolly and was delighted to hear that Beat the Goalie had been added as one of the games.

“I can’t wait to have a go,” he piped up, “and the curate will be more of a challenge as keeper than one of our dads!”

Patrick winced; did Tim really need to draw attention to his advanced age? He consoled himself with the fact that she was polite enough not to laugh.

Instead she smoothed over Tim’s dig with her reply, “Your father has other talents; you know he’ll be indispensable if anyone needs first aid.” She ducked her head and attempted to hide a giggle, but then Timothy joined in and their laughter filled the small room.

The contentment Patrick felt from their sudden outburst was palpable as he watched the joy shared between these two special people, one who had always been so and the other just beginning in her significance to him. Adding to his pleasure was the faint idea that she just might have been teasing him, however subtly it was executed. If only the moment would last and it could always be like this. Lost in his daydream, he was unaware of how much his son was enjoying bantering with Shelagh and was therefore unprepared to recognise the direction in which Tim’s next comment was going.

“It’s too bad there isn’t a talent competition,” Timothy chortled, “Dad could sing his new favorite song! It would be awkward though because it’s about a doctor; I heard Nurse Trixie tell Nurse Jenny that Dad heard them singing it a few weeks ago!”

“Timothy!” Patrick hissed, but it was too late. He felt the heat rise in his face as he glared at the boy even though he could tell by Tim’s countenance it was an innocent mistake. Nevertheless, his foolishness was now known to her and as much as he was loathe to, he slowly shifted his glance from Timothy to her.

Whatever he had expected her response to be, he was startled by what he saw in front of him. She appeared to be frozen in place, the files in her hand halfway to their intended location. She wore an expression of shock and the already pale skin of her face was drained of all color. Abruptly, she dropped the paperwork haphazardly then darted out of his office and down the corridor.

He closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face, cursing himself for his stupidity. Whatever friendship he had managed to build with her these last few weeks as a substitute for what he could never have was certainly lost now. His mind foggy with regret, he could hear Timothy, seemingly in the distance, questioning her sudden departure. Sighing, he realised that as much as he wanted to blame Tim for this situation that would not only be misplaced but would likely do nothing to relieve his own embarrassment. Instead he leaned down to pick up the files she had dropped, but just as quickly he stood up again. Embarrassed -- that’s what he had expected her reaction to be...or possibly annoyed, at his impropriety. But she had displayed neither of those emotions; what was it her face had reflected...was it fear? Why would she be afraid? Nurse Franklin's words played back in his mind, “it was Nurse Mannion who chose that particular tune...it seems she has a soft spot for one of the doctors here.” No, he told himself, that couldn't be possible, the doctor in question was definitely not him. But if there was some small chance that by her expression she had told him he was...well then he had to find out.

“One moment, Tim,” he muttered to the already bewildered boy before hurrying to the door and looking wildly left and right. Not seeing any sign of her he moved into the corridor and towards the nurses station where Sister Evangelina was holding court. “Did Nurse Mannion pass by here?” he asked, as casually as he could. When she gestured towards the stairs, he wondered aloud, “Tearoom perhaps?”

“Not the way she was moving,” the sister asserted, “I’d say she’s halfway across London by now.”

Offering no other response than a nod, Patrick dashed back to his office where he grabbed two jackets off of the coat rack. Tossing the smaller one to Timothy, he beckoned the lad to follow him. “We’re going after her,” he announced.

“Nurse Mannion?” Tim had to jog to keep up with his father’s long strides as they moved from the Obstetrics corridor through the doorway to the stairs.

“Of course, Nurse Mannion. Now where could she be?” he mumbled the last part more to himself than Timothy, as they clattered down the multiple flights towards the first floor entrance.

“Probably by the river; she likes to sit there and think.”

Patrick paused instantly, in the middle of the reception lobby, and had to reach out to stop Tim as well. “The river? How could you possibly know she would go there?”

“We’re friends,” Tim said simply, “we talk about things.”

“Of course you do,” Patrick commended him, “now let’s get the car.”

Minutes later they were easing out of the car park. Tim expressed concern, “it’s a long river, how will be able to find her?”

“There’s a road right off of the hospital that leads directly to a nice stretch of the water; let’s hope she knows about it.” They drove off towards their destination, moving through the darkened streets while looking out for her amongst the few pedestrians along the way.

When they reached the spot Patrick had in mind, he pulled up to the kerb. They could see a lone, small figure seated on the only bench provided. A mist was beginning to come in off of the river, obscuring their view. “I think it’s her,” breathed Tim, appreciating the solemnity of the moment.

Patrick nodded, “stay in the car, Tim, and keep the doors locked.” With that he climbed out of the vehicle and tentatively approached her. She started and looked back as she heard his footsteps behind her. Then, recognising who he was, she stood and faced him as he came round to her side of the bench. She looked so small and he could see that she had been crying; sections of hair had come out of her swept back style and fell carelessly around her face. She kept her gaze toward the ground and he hesitantly reached out his hand, longing to take care of her in some small way. Encouraged that she had neither left nor told him to go, he gently tucked a few of the errant strands behind her ear. Then, being reluctant to take his hand away, he left it where it was. He watched incredibly as she visibly relaxed at his touch; he heard her sigh, then felt her shiver. “You must be freezing,” he observed as he removed his coat and placed it around her tiny frame. She slid her arms into the sleeves, her hands lost in the voluminous lengths of fabric. He moved his hands to the front of the coat, doing up two buttons near the top in an effort to further tend to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, still looking in the direction of their shoes. After several moments, she continued, “did you really come to the club that night?”

“Yes,” he admitted softly, “you were breathtaking.”

She shook her head in denial, “I’ve had no formal training.”

“Not the singing,” he clarified, still in a hushed tone. “You.”

Finally she lifted her face to look at him and he saw everything he had hoped for in her eyes, exactly what he supposed she could see reflected in his.

“Doctor Tu--”

“Please,” he interrupted, cutting across her words, “call me Patrick.”

She made a small, surprised noise in her throat before saying it for the first time, “Patrick.” Then, seeming to have forgotten whatever she had meant to say, she just continued to look at him and he at her, enjoying this privilege which had previously been unavailable to them. Several minutes later she managed to work her hand out of his coat sleeve to brush away her rapidly drying tears. His hands still lingered inexplicably near the coat buttons he had done up for her and she now placed one small hand on top of his in a gesture that sparked a quiet joy.

“I didn’t realise,” he breathed.

“Neither did I.”

“I’m sorry.”

With an almost imperceptible shake of her head she soothed, “there’s no need for that now.”

The look in her eyes along with the small movement of her thumb over his gave him courage; he knew her given name, but had never used it. He took a deep breath to steady himself, sensing now was the proper time, “Shelagh…” he began, and his voice shook slightly. Almost immediately, a brilliant smile graced her features erasing any question he had ever had. Mirroring her expression he reached out with the hand she wasn’t holding and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Shelagh,” he repeated, with a small increase of confidence, “may I kiss you?”

She took a deep breath of her own before answering, “Yes.” Beaming delightfully, she blushed a bit as her gaze dropped to his mouth before quickly returning to his eyes.

The mist was closing in, but they were too focused on each other to notice. Patrick drew away from her grasp and took her face reverently in his hands. Lowering his head he pressed his lips gently to hers, lingering for as long as he dared. Pulling back, he gazed at her intently; her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted and he felt the intimacy of her sigh on his face. Encouraged by her contentment, he leaned in once more, gradually increasing the intensity of his kisses. As she moved closer to him, her eager responses to his attentions thrilled him, even as he reminded himself of the need for propriety. Folding her in his arms, he contented himself with one last kiss, then held her close as the fog surrounded them.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The day of the fete arrived with the blessing of lovely weather, all the more appreciated because as autumn approached it would likely be one of the last fine days of the year. As Shelagh walked into the square, her heart was full of joy with Patrick by her side, his hand holding hers. Timothy strutted alongside them looking smart in his Cubs uniform. As excited as he appeared, he was grumbling just a bit, “I was hoping there would be Welly Wanging this year!”

“Now you know there's not enough room here in the square for that, Tim,” his father chided, shaking his head at Tim's exaggerated sigh.

“Patrick,” Shelagh implored, “can we take him to a proper village fete sometime, out in the countryside?”

“Absolutely, my love, I'll do whatever it takes to ensure the happiness of the future Mrs Turner,” he smiled broadly and raised her hand to his lips. Shelagh giggled and glanced down at her left hand, enjoying how her engagement ring sparkled in the sunshine.

The night he had found her by the river they had stood in each other’s arms, unaware of the cold or damp, until an insistent honking alerted them to Timothy’s presence in the car. Laughing together, they had returned to an inquisitive Tim. Patrick had patiently answered all of his questions while at the same time being sensitive to any topic that might make her uncomfortable. She had made both of them smile ridiculously when she told him she needed no such protection. Their combined certainty was affirmed two days later when he asked her to marry him and she happily accepted.

Standing now in the midst of the fete, Shelagh felt a sense of belonging she had never known. Looking around her, she saw so many familiar faces united in support of the hospital. The ladies from her church staffed the potted plant stand and the used book stall. Closer to the fountain, Sisters Julienne and Evangelina were using their respective administrative and forthright skills to judge the fruit and veg competition. The nurses were doing their part as previously promised and of course Timothy’s Cub pack was assisting in their own small way.

As a newcomer six months ago, the church and the hospital were the two things that grounded her here and gave her a sense of purpose. To see them working together in this way was gratifying. But of course Shelagh knew it was more than that. The connection she finally felt here was because of the people, people she had tried to keep at a distance. How that had become a habit for her she didn't fully understand, and how many others she may have missed getting to know was not what mattered now. All that she had been through before was to prepare her for what she now was able to receive. Once she took that first step toward connecting, her world had gradually unfolded before her and she grew in confidence to the point where she was able to love and be loved. She would not focus on regrets but instead hold fast to the blessings that surrounded her today: her church, her vocation, her newfound friends, the little family she already held dear, and Patrick. He was more than she had ever dared to hope for -- kind, compassionate, a brilliant doctor... and he really did make her eyes go ooh!

the end

[ancientbooshartifacts]

The Listener

Author: Gothimp

Year: 2008

Rating: R

Pairing: Noel/Random Girl, Noelian

Noel. He can tell from the unmistakable click of Cuban heels on lino. “Great! There’s nobody here. Quick. In here.” A girl giggles. The cubicle door bangs closed and the lock clicks. Oh great - he has a girl with him, thinks Julian. Julian had been making an effort to enjoy the club. Not really his sort of thing, but he had to be there. He had slipped away from the crowd while Noel was distracted by a pretty girl – the same one? – and sought refuge in the gents. He is now sitting on the toilet lid in one of the cubicles, head down, heels of his hands pressing into his eye sockets, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet in cool surroundings. Slurpy, kissy-noises. Not the first time Noel has ended up in the bogs with a girl. Or a boy. Or both. Julian doesn’t understand why anybody would want to get up to anything in here. The floor is wet and the place smells of urinal cakes. “Hmm,” says Noel. “Mph,” says Girl. And, of course, there’s the constant traffic of drunken clubbers. Not exactly private – anyone can see how many pairs of feet there are by glancing under the cubicle door Heavy breathing. Girly giggling from both. And the cubicle walls have no soundproof properties whatsoever. In fact, every little noise echoes around the tiled room. Right now, it sounds like they’re snogging for Britain. Julian is reminded of Noel’s lips. He knows what they feel like – they have done “the pash” plenty of times for the show, and for the benefit of their friends and fans in pubs and clubs all over the country. “Oh, Noel.” Rustle of fabric against flesh. No wonder she’s enjoying herself. Noel is an expert with that little mouth of his. Embarrassed as he is to admit it, Julian’s cock invariably begins to swell whenever Noel wraps his arms around him and presses their mouths together. Much as it’s swelling now, actually. If Noel has noticed, he’s never mentioned it. He probably takes it for granted – he is “sexiest male”, after all. “Heh heh. Like that, do you?” “Mmmm.” Julian tries not to think about what Noel might be doing with the girl right now. It doesn’t seem… appropriate for him to be thinking about his friend that way. But he is fascinated; curious to find out what it is that Noel does to make women throw themselves at his Chelsea-booted feet. Julian settles back against the cistern, taking care to be very quiet, not wanting to betray his presence. “Can’t let the other one feel left out.” Sound of suckling. Ahh – so that’s what he’s doing. In spite of Julian’s better judgement, his mind paints a picture of Noel’s hands on bare flesh, lips brushing against erect nipples. Julian’s flesh. Julian’s nipples. More slurping. “Ohhh. Mmmm.” Julian’s erection is now rather prominent and is demanding attention. He tentatively eases a hand to the front of his trousers. “Shhh! Someone might hear.” “Sorry… just… hmmm.” Panting. He rubs, very gently, afraid the friction of his rough palm against cotton will make a sound. Julian is suddenly very keen to avoid disturbing Noel, and to see how this ends. More rustling. “Ooh!” “Thought you’d like that.” “Yeah. I think you’ve done that before.” Rounding third base, the cheeky vixen. Julian imagines Noel’s delicate fingers exploring his nooks and crannies; cupping his balls in a soft palm; walking his fingertips along his length. Julian continues to rub, keeping it slow, gentle, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady and – most importantly – silent. Little kissy noises. Lots of them. Girl moans. Both are breathing deeply. Julian brings his spare hand up to his chest and strokes his nipples through his shirt. His cock jerks at each touch, straining against his trousers and palm, and Julian quickly falls into a rhythm of alternate tweaking with one hand and kneading with the other. “Oi! Hands off! I’m not finished with you yet.” Julian pulls his hands away at Noel’s exclamation, then chides himself for his foolishness. Julian is harder than he had believed was possible under these circumstances. He is aching and his trousers feel very much tighter than when he bought them. Girl giggles. Heavy breathing. Julian considers whether he can relieve then pressure around his groin without advertising his presence to the couple in the adjacent cubicle. Perhaps, but probably not a good idea. That’s his best friend in there. Julian thinks of Julia and the boys and feels a twang of guilt. Yet more rustling. “Uh-uh. Not that.” Shuffling feet. Moaning and slurps. Then again, he’s not technically cheating. What is the World coming to if a grown man can’t have a wank without getting his girlfriend’s permission first? A zip is unfastened slowly. “Hello!” “Like what you see? Why don’t you touch it?” Giggling. “Mmmm!” Julian makes a decision. The button on his trousers pops open with a quick movement of finger and thumb. Julian grips the zip-pull and begins to drag it downwards. It is an agonisingly drawn out process, a couple of millimetres at a time, the contents of his boxers straining to be free, not enjoying being made to wait. “More...” “Shh! I thought I heard something.” Noel whimpers pathetically. Julian freezes. Holds his breath. Feels blood draining away from his cock. “Oh, for God’s sake don’t stop.” Kissing. Breathing. It’s okay. Julian eases his hands down past the waistband of his boxers. He resists the urge to gasp as his calloused fingers make contact with taut, silky-smooth skin. Shuffling. Fabric moving against flesh. “Ohh.” Julian’s erection has recovered admirably, and he slips his fingers around the shaft. With a feather-light grip, he begins to stroke. Wet slurps. Appreciative groans. “Hmm.” Julian is incredibly sensitive, and every movement of his hand sends little electric shocks to his stomach. It won’t take much longer, but he has no intension of stopping or slowing down. “What you just did. Do that again.” Little choking noises. “Oh yes. That’s it.” Julian closes his eyes and imagines Noel with his head thrown back, mouth open, sweat beading on his forehead. Brow furrowed as he concentrates on remaining upright. Fighting to stay in control, and knowing that he’s going to fail. “Ahh. Keep going.” The thought of Noel’s face as he fights his futile battle against the inevitable causes Julian to let out a deep, throaty groan. Fortunately, it seems to go unnoticed – his neighbours apparently too pre-occupied with their own activity to pay much attention to what might be going on elsewhere. Julian takes a deep breath, holds it, and presses his lips together, not trusting his vocal cords to behave themselves if he allows himself to breathe. “Ohhh… I can’t…” Right there with you, little man. Julian continues with his ministrations, making little squelching noises with each purposeful tug. “I have to…” Julian pictures Noel, wide-eyed and desperate. Vulnerable. Completely at the mercy of the person working his dick. Julian hopes the girl appreciates the power she has at this moment. “Ahh!… Hahhh!… Ohhhh.” Julian’s mind zooms in on the shape of Noel’s lips as they contort to make the vowel sounds he’s hearing. Julian’s body spills warm relief over his hand. Girl gulps, then giggles. “That was alright, I take it?” “Didn’t suck.” Julian allows his head to fall backwards against the cistern. He is happy, relaxed and grinning. Click of the lock on the cubicle door. “Coast’s clear. Let’s get out of here.” ~ * ~ Years from now, Julian will confess all of this to Noel. “I knew you were there all along, you great Northern lump!” Julian will stare dumbly at Noel. “I always look under the doors to check that no-one’s there. I recognised your stupid brown shoes.” “But… you still...?” “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?” Noel will draw Julian into a wonderfully warm, intense, chaste hug, and life will go on as before.