#NATE KNEW WADE BEFORE THEIR FIRST MEETING??????????

[marshroom580]

sorry, thinking about split second and deadpool vs x-force again and how both of those series recontextualized cablepool's canon relationship to be even more unbelievably intimate

[sciderman]

Can you please recommend some Cable and Deadpool comics? I have a few of them, a collection of one actually, but it's still not enough to scratch that itch of mine. I am completely in love with Cable's character and Deadpool is truly my spirit.

the cable and deadpool series (2004) is the definitive! you probably have a collection from there, but it ran for a grand total of 50 issues – though, nate was awol for like the 8 last issues. kind of hilarious that they just kept the cable and deadpool series running without cable. but that's kind of just how their relationship goes.

following that – deadpool and cable (wade gets top billing now) split second (2015), which is like, one of my favourite books of all time.

you know, someone asked me before if there were a storyline i'd like to adapt for a deadpool movie and you know - if i knew they weren't going to make a mess of it, this is the one book i'd love to see adapted. but it would be a mess. and it would need SO much set-up. but i love this book.

additional issues – you've gotta read new mutants #98 – it's just required reading - deadpool's first ever appearance, and hey, wade and nate's first ever meeting, too.

it ends so embarrassingly for wade

bound and gagged?? on the first date?????????

i don't actually really have an expansive list of all cablepool interactions – and i can't really find anyone who's put one together – that's why i'm sure there's plenty that's slipped under my nose because i'm oh-so-slowly making my way through cable's history of comics... but other such memorable moments...

deadpool (1997) #22

deadpool vs x-force (sexiest art in the world ever)

cable/deadpool annual #1 (2018) (i kind of hate it. wade has the most annoying characterisation you've ever seen, and i just get the feeling that whoever's writing it kind of just doesn't get it. but it has some fun panels to take out of context.)

uncanny avengers (2016) - nate's a bit too serious whenever duggan writes him, but... uh. i guess they stand next to each other sometimes and that's always nice to see.

also uncanny avengers #8 was so hilarious for this

always thinking about how nate just knew where to find wade. i know this means that even despite the mind-control rewriting all their memories and identities, nate and wade still found each other and were definitely having a hunky love affair (this lives in my head an unreasonable amount and i might write about one day.)

um. despicable deadpool? honestly i love when wade gets nasty. i love a nasty, nasty boy. he's so ugly and it was so bloody, and i kind of love to see it. (heart wants what it wants.)

please don't kinkshame me. but i find this very sexually gratifying. in ways i'm not prepared to explain.

this isn't by any means an expansive list - calling on cablepool nation, please add your recs in the replies!

[stuckybarton]

Day xv: Collaring

Summary: What a way for your every worried boyfriend to see you. Words: 887 Warning: Allusion to Sexual Intercourse. Blowjobs. More of a Crack Fic than Kink. Characters: Cable x Mutant!Reader

Kinktober Masterlist || MASTERLIST || Taglist || Requests Are Open

"I knew you two were into some kinky shit, but this takes the cake."

You rolled your eyes, still unable to escape from the confinements of the leash and chains you were bound in. Wade Wilson getting on your ass about your current predicament wasn't helping the situation. Nate may have his signature scowl on his face, but you know him and he wasn't happy about the situation you've thrown yourself into without his knowledge or help for the matter until it was too late.

"Look, Dildo Boy, if you're gonna help me, less talking and more freeing." You snapped.

You still wondered why you had been as idiotic as you had been for going alone on this mission when you had a half-robotic badass of a boyfriend and a semi-stable but mostly homicidal best friend that could tag along. Maybe it was because you felt the need for an immediate action and avoiding any unnecessary violence if you could stop it. But somehow it was far from what happened. Held captive in a warehouse with a hundred henchmen guarding you upon finding out you were a mutant, then there was your two idiots coming to save you and killing a lot of people along the way.

"I mean, collars, I'm sure to write something about this in my fanfiction about you two." Wade continued to drone, ignoring the fact that you were still held captive .

You turned you gaze towards Nate, a frown still resting on his face--which wasn't anything new when it comes to him. What's new was the fact that he wasn't cutting to the chase and just freeing you. Instead, he was just watching you in your predicament. A collar wrapped securely around your neck, connected to a leash mounted on the wall, your arms were chained to the floor with your feet, with how short the chains were, you were left on your ass unable to actually stand up.

Was he enjoying this look on you or was he just being an extra douchebag today--you'll never know unless you ask him directly.

"I'll handle her from here."

Just a simple sentence brought a shiver down your spine. The big bad mercenary from the future has a plan and it certainly doesn't involve one Wade Wilson that was for once left speechless at Nate's intent towards you.

"Look at the time," Wade muttered looking at his non-existent watch. "I have a prenatal checkup I have to attend to. Have fun you two and please use some protection, I don't want to be an uncle so early in my life."

Without either of your making any response to Wade's excuse, your focus was solely directed at the man now standing as imposing as the first day you had ever met him, it's just that, this time, he wasn't hell bent on killing the kid but something a little less dark and more on the lines of kinky as Wade has said.

"What am I ever gonna do with you?"

"I'm sure you could think of something." You found yourself still brave enough to say.

Crouching to meet your gaze, you were breathless at the sight of him. A demented look on his face you were all too familiar with. His Techno-Organic infected hand cupped your cheeks, before sliding down the columns of your neck to the swells of your breast. Gently tweaking your nipples, the moan was quick to escape your lips. The action sent the familiar warmth to your core.

"I think the collar and chains are a good look on you. Maybe this way, you'd finally stay when you're told to fucking stay."

Twisting your nipple had your gasping and trying your best to pull away from his touch.

"Hold it." He ordered and even with the intense pain, you remain in position. "Good girl."

Finally releasing his grip on your nipple, his hand once again found their way to your cheeks.

"Again, what am I gonna do with you?" He asked, and this time, the answer was much clearer.

"Anything you want, Daddy." You whimpered as the smile finally rested on his face.

"Good thing we have this whole place to ourselves." He points out standing right back up on his two feet and unzips his pants, the smile had also now formed on your lips at your usually reserved boyfriend's sudden brazen ideas. "Wanna make a bet first how long before Red Dildo comes back to see what we're doing?" He inquired, freeing his already hardening erection.

Your mouth watered and the idea of anyone--including Wade, possibly seeing this, brought a sudden thrill in you. Something you never usually come to experience with your old-man boyfriend.

"Give or take ten minutes before he shows up and ask if he can join."

"Feeling a little frisky or is a threesome is too much for you?" He inquired, smirking at how bullshit the words were. The man was too possessive to share you with anyone and by any regards, you were too.

"I just want to keep you to myself, Summers. Don't you dare." You warned.

"Says the girl in a dog leash and chained to the floor."

"Don't act like you're not hard for my predicament." You teased before finally filling your mouth with him.

"Never said I wasn't, Honey."

[masonscig]

bittersweet

part two

pairing | felix x flor

word count | 3.2k

warnings | smut. minors dni.

author’s note | so i wanted to write like 2 more parts to this, but honestly... i feel like this turned out great. also yes, i probably should’ve made this a lot shorter, but the prompt got away from me as per usual. not proofread because i’m tired :/ this is for day seven of hot in wayhaven, aftercare!

•─────────────────•

Things have been weird since that night.

She just kind of went back to treating him exactly the same as she had before. She held him at arms’ length like she did with everyone she was wary of letting in.

He was sure that this time he’d made progress.

For the few months leading up till he almost throat fucked her in her dimly lit apartment, she’d been warming up to him.

He managed a few genuine smiles and laughs despite trying less hard to do so. He caught her watching him across the room during meetings, trainings, briefings… anytime they weren’t alone, he caught her staring at least once.

She’d even started asking about him. Any time he was late to a meeting, she bugged Mason with a punch to the shoulder or a scuff of her shoe against the toe of his own.

Didn’t matter how much progress he’d made if it’d just been ruined by one big fuck up on both of their ends.

This particular night, Felix is mulling over the events leading up to when she left, still trying to figure out where things went wrong.

He paces around the room once, twice, before plopping into his giant bean bag chair.

Before he can really settle in there, he’s restless again, jumping to his feet to cross the room once again, climbing into the hammock in the corner.

This isn’t right, either, he huffs to himself, rolling awkwardly out of the hammock and to the middle of the room, flinging himself onto his bed.

He picks up the Gameboy on his nightstand, tap-tap-tapping away on full volume until he hears a single loud thud against the wall across from him.

Abandoning his game of Galaga, he groans in frustration, rolling his eyes at Mason’s feeble attempts to silence him. Tossing the Gameboy to the foot of his bed, he opts instead to grab his tamagotchi, feeding his pet till he’s bored again.

He has lots of things. And these things keep him occupied and hold his attention for a while.

But none of them keep his attention long enough to satiate his wandering mind.

Flor’s been his main focus for a while, but it’s particularly bad this week since she’s taken a vacation for the first time since he’s met her.

It’s not even that she’s a hard worker – she’s just on such bad terms with the captain that she never bothered asking for days off when she knew she wouldn’t get them even if she had plans to get outta town.

Her being on vacation doesn’t bother him at all – it’s the way he’s got unfinished business and he can’t do anything about it.

He can’t seem to think of anything else without her creeping into the back of his mind one way or the other.

He twists off of the bed and walks to his dresser, where his phone’s charging on its surface.

He’s confused. He misses her, he’s angry at her, he wants her –

To say he’s confused is an understatement, really.

He’s been patient, he’s been kind, he’s been understanding – and for her to ignore him for the entire summer?

He’d been counting down the days till they got back to normal. He’s in the hundreds now, and there’s no end in sight.

There’s two endings if he decides to fix it tonight – he’s either getting treated better, or he moves on from her.

The latter option is a painful thought, one he doesn’t give himself time to digest before he taps the number at the top of his favorites.

The phone rings once, twice, and his finger hovers over the end call button. He’s so close to chickening out – this is an awful idea –

“What? Huh?” Flor asks, voice raspy and twinged with sleep. She yawns around her greeting, and he can picture her running a hand through her thick dyed hair. “Who is this?”

Does she really not even have his number saved?

“Uh, it’s Felix. I, um, this is a check in call,” he lies, tensing immediately.

Why’s that his knee jerk reaction? Two seconds into the call and he’s already making excuses instead of standing up for himself.

He really can’t help it, though. She’s so intimidating.

“It’s four thirty in the fucking morning,” she groans. “If you and your little team aren’t gonna respect my sleeping schedule consider any calls from this point on fucking rejected.”

“No, no, I, uh –”

He has no excuses. He can’t lie again… and she already sounds upset, and it’d make the rest of the call even more unpleasant.

“I lied. It’s not a check up,” he sits up in bed, nervously fiddling with the tamagotchi.

“Well then what is it?” She spits, clearly cranky and sleep deprived.

“I have some things I need to say to you, and… I, uh, I don’t know if you’ll like it,” he twists the keychain around his finger, but tosses his little friend to the end of his bed alongside his Gameboy. He needs to focus.

She’s silent. He knows he’s on limited time. 

“I… miss you.”

She goes silent, the static of the phone crackling because of both of their poor signals.

“Thanks.”

The one word response has him silently screaming at himself – he flings himself back on the bed, kicking his legs and flailing.

I miss you. Thanks.

The most embarrassing response he could’ve ever gotten.

“I was gonna say more than that. I’m just… gathering the courage,” he says, takes a deep breath, anchors himself.

“I don’t like how you’ve been treating me, Flor, honestly, and I think you owe me an apology.”

“Oh, I do,” she responds, a deadpan question, nearly mocking.

“Yeah, you do,” Felix bites back immediately, surprised even at himself with how forceful he’s being. “You almost fucked me at the beginning of summer, and now you’re not talking to me? I thought we were, I don’t know, friends at least? I know I’m not your Tina and I never will be, but I want to be there for you.”

“I’m not…” she trails off, and there’s a swishing sound like she’s shifting in bed. “Trying to avoid you, alright? It just seems like that, I guess.”

He can’t stop his hand from clenching into a tight fist, can’t stop it from shaking with rage, can’t stop the venom bubbling up his throat and dripping off his tongue.

“Don’t… tell me how to feel, Flor. I’m upset, so don’t try to downplay it, okay? I know you’re trying to avoid me, and that’s fine, I guess, as long as you, I dunno, let me move on.”

“Move on?” She asks, her tone (surprisingly) cushioned with sincerity.

“Yeah, I, uh,” he stands, striding across the room to the window, and back to the door, pacing (He’s wondering if she’s pacing too). “I like you a lot, but I have to protect myself, too, y’know? If you don’t want me around, you’ve gotta tell me so that I can stop, uh, investing too much of myself into… this.”

“Felix…” she sighs, and quiets. “I know you’re looking for answers, but I don’t have them. I don’t know.”

“So, what, that’s it then?”

“I… yeah. Yeah. That’s it.”

Flor sounds unsure, but he’s not gonna press her further. It hurts, but he has to move on or she’ll consume him in a fiery blaze.

He’s let the flames lick at him, but when it comes down to it, he can’t handle the inferno. He’s walking away before he gets burned, when all he wants to do is be engulfed by her.

It’s easier this way, in theory, but saying goodbye is harder than he’s ever anticipated.

“Bye, Flor. Sweet dreams.”

He disconnects before she can say another word, and he crumples onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest.

He’s losing another person he cares about, and just like last time, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Tears are falling freely now, and he angrily wipes them away with a rough backhand.

It’s not her fault. It’s not your fault. You’re just not compatible.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he’s drifting off to sleep. He’ll deal with Rebecca and Unit Bravo in the morning.

––––

Flor clutches the phone in her hand, her jaw tight.

She didn’t get the last word, and she sure as hell didn’t get to say what she wanted to say.

Felix was hurting and she couldn’t even manage kindness for one goddamn moment.

No one asks to be emotionally detached – it's just easier that way, for Flor, at least.

Wading through the mess of her apartment, she steps into the bare kitchen. Pours herself a cup of water. Chugs it to clear her head.

When that doesn’t do the trick, she takes a hefty shot of tequila. Bad idea, but the burn gives her a sense of clarity she doesn’t have when she’s completely sober.

You’ve been dragging your fucking feet for years now. Get the hell over it. Go to him. Be with him.

Every instinct she has is dragging her towards the front door where her car keys hang. Another bad idea, as per usual.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she shoots him a quick text. Come over. Please. We need to talk in person.

It’s not the wisest idea for her to face her problems head on, but the tiny, reasonable part of Flor’s mind is telling her she needs to fight for him instead of letting him slip through her fingers.

––––

He doesn’t see the text till an hour and a half after she’s sent it.

It’s just past six in the morning. The sun’s just barely creeping its way into his room, golden streaks across his wood floor.

He assumes she just wants the last word and that’s why she sent it – but an even louder part of him entertains the “what ifs” that are bouncing around his mind.

What if she wants to apologize? What if she wants to hear how I feel? And tell me where her head’s at? 

After going back and forth for a few minutes, impulse wins, and he’s tossing on a vibrant graphic tee and shorts before he sprints out the door. 

Nate’s the only one up, reading the newspaper and filling out the crossword puzzles in the soft lighting of the kitchen, and he shoots Felix a knowing look of encouragement.

Unit Bravo knows how infatuated Felix is with Flor, and they constantly flit between telling him to let her go and chasing after her.

Today’s a good day in that regard – Nate’s given his wordless blessing with nothing but a soft smile.

He’s at her place in ten minutes flat, staring up at the apartment like it’s a creaky, spooky haunted house.

His courage is thinning the closer he steps to her front door. His bones are gelatin, and his brain is equally as mushy.

It’s not an ideal state, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this. Get the courage again like this.

Rapping his knuckles against the stained door, he waits. He rocks back on his heels, taps his feet, does anything he can to get the jitters out of his system.

When the door finally does open, his heart leaps at the sight of her.

Her hair’s a mess. Her leftover eyeliner is smudged all around her eyes. Her dark eyes are lined with red from lack of sleep. She looks exhausted.

“You came.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and steps into her apartment when she gestures for him to come in.

She shuts the door behind him, and this time instead of shoving him up against the door to kiss him, she takes his hand.

Laces her fingers through his own, tugs him toward her couch.

He doesn’t know how to start this conversation, and from the looks of it, neither does she.

“What’s up?” He asks, simply, feeling like an idiot almost instantly for making things that casual.

“I’m…” she trails off, nearly black irises softening when she looks at him. He could live in those midnight pools.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He raises both brows in surprise, and his gaze flits to their hands. She’s death gripping one of his hands with both of hers, her jaw set.

“Uh –”

“I’m getting to the why. I just don’t know how to say it –”

She grunts, shifting on the couch. “I’m not a nice person. You know that.”

“You’re nice in your own way,” he offers, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

“God, Felix, I’m a mean bitter bitch. Don’t sugar coat it,” she laughs. “I don’t really wanna be this way, but it’s easier than getting… invested in people.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“It’s just easier to shut people out than to have expectations for them,” she starts, shrugging. “And having them expect things from you, too.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you don’t want us to have expectations for each other?” He asks.

“I’m gonna say this as bluntly and straight forward as I can, because I don’t think I can do anything else,” she answers after taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I like you. I’m attracted to you. I want you in my life,” she holds his eyes, speaking as earnestly as she can manage. “But I need you to be patient with me. I don’t know how to do… this. I don’t know how to get close to people anymore. Last time I did it was fucking toxic and I told myself never again.”

“Bobby,” he murmurs, and she nods.

“If you want me, too, we’ll both have to compromise,” she continues, stiffening a little like she’s bracing for impact. “I have to get used to the way you do things, and you’ll have to get used to the way I am, too. But I promise you, Felix, I’m gonna try.”

“Try what?” His voice is a little shaky, and she’s coming towards him, slowly closing the gap between them.

“I’m gonna try to love you, if you’ll try to love me,” she whispers, her jaw set again.

That’s all he needed to hear.

He closes his eyes and kisses her sweetly, softly, letting go of her hands so he can cup her face.

She’s so precious to him, so he cradles her face like the gem she is.

“Flor…” Her name’s a quiet promise as it falls from his lips.

I promise as long as you’re trying, I’ll try, too.

She clutches his hips as she kisses him, moaning sweetly into his mouth.

He doesn’t know when she starts slowly tugging his clothes off, but soon enough, they’re skin to skin, and he can’t tell where his body ends and hers begins.

She’s different this time, he notices. She’s more timid. Maybe she’s never been taken care of like this before.

As he bows his head between her legs, he can’t help but wonder if he’ll be her favorite or not.

She’s slack jawed and grasping at his head, squeezing her tattooed thighs around his face.

God, she’s beautiful, all spread out for him – she’s a gift of brown skin (and a pretty pink pussy).

She writhes and pants with each stroke of his tongue, his name broken and garbled on her lips.

When she tugs his head upwards to press sloppy kisses on his mouth, he knows she wants more.

“Flor…” he trails off, feeling sweat bead on the back of his neck. “Do you really wanna do this?”

“Only if you want to, doll.”

God, he can barely breathe. A proposition and a pet name. To most, that’s nothing. But to him, it’s the entire world.

She anchors herself on top of him and settles onto his cock, keeping direct eye contact while she stretches around him.

His eyes are fluttering shut, rolling back, and his head is threatening to loll to the side – she grabs his cheeks between her hand and tugs him back up, her half lidded eyes lustful and determined.

“I want to see you… watch me, and I’ll watch you,” she pants as she flexes her hips, his tip the only part inside of her, but she flexes again, taking all of him (every delicious inch).

“Fuck,” he curses, and she grins, bouncing against him.

He fists his hands at her hips, running a hand up her stomach to rest at the barbed wire tattoos lining her under boob. He can’t figure out what part of her he wants to touch so he opts for it all, squeezing, nipping, kissing every piece of skin his hands and mouth can cover.

“You feel so fucking good around me, doll – fuck me just like that,” she grunts as he bucks up into her.

He’s never been one to have a filthy mouth, but boy does he fucking love it.

The sun’s fully engulfing her living room at this point, the golden glow warming both of their exposed skin already, glistening in the Wayhaven sunrise.

She’s so pretty like this. She’s in her element like this, too. Confident.

The nervous, rigid version of herself was long gone.

She’s opening up to him. Albeit emotionally and physically, she’s trying. She’s blooming for him.

Flor means flower right? She’s finally in season, and it’s worth the wait.

––––

In the heat of it all, they’ve kicked all her clean laundry to the floor, but she grabbed a thin blanket from the top to cover them.

She’s cuddled up to him on the small couch, her head resting on his sweat slicked chest.

They’d been at it for a while when they both finally came. He didn’t expect her to want to cuddle, but they did.

“We probably need to clean up, huh?” she murmurs, soft kisses against his skin.

“Lemme take care of it,” he grins, crawling over her before she can protest.

He’s back in a flash with a damp towel and a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking the bottle from him. When she tries to grab the damp towel, he holds it away from her.

“Can I clean you up?” He asks timidly.

Flor shrugs, mouth still on the bottle. “Okay.”

He bends to his knees and pulls the blanket away, dragging the cloth gently along her thighs, cleaning up the mess he’s made.

He folds the towel and rubs her stomach and thighs again, before kissing her knee. “You’re so pretty.”

Before he can stand up, she grabs his arm and tugs him back down for a long kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are shiny, soft. Midnight pools, and he’s submerged in them.

“I’ve never been fucked by someone who cares about me like you do.”

He grins and pulls her in for a kiss again.

“Well, get used to the feeling.”

He wants every messy, unpolished part of Flor he can get, from her crass humor to her sailor’s mouth.

This is the farthest they’ve ever taken things, yeah, but he’s willing to go further and further with her, as long as she’ll have him.

[inkribbon796]

Like a House of Cards Ch. 1: Showtime

Summary: Four heroes have been replaced and their intentions are less than pure. The city is dangling on a knife’s edge over a precipice. Dominoes knocked over as the city tumbles like a house of cards.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

It was a long time coming. A long time coming.

It was early, almost sunrise when Logan and Ethan walked into the base. The door opening like the curtains of a show for them. It was early, the only people who saw them walking in who weren’t already gone on the early patrol were Chase and J.J.

So needless to say, they weren’t in danger of getting caught.

Because the four of them weren’t who they were pretending to be. They were the Suits, sent to replace and impersonate certain heroes they were similar to.

Hearts, Diamonds, Spades, and Clubs. Disguised as heroes meant to protect and save people.

Logan and Ethan walked in, Logan casting a glance to the hidden camera he knew for a certainty was in the entry hall, his pupils displaying with robotic precision and aura tapping against the barriers Marvin and Nate had long since set up as a defense, but since Mare and Lunky had passed by the sensors so many times it didn’t trip an alarm.

Chase and J.J watched them from the communications room, not altering the cameras so that Bing wasn’t tipped off. He’d been conducting his private investigations recently and none of them wanted to tip him off while he was so suspicious of all of them. Since talking to Joan, the android had cleared those in Dark’s family, and Jackie but that was it.

Ethan went into the kitchen to make some coffee as Logan relieved Chase and J.J from the watch and slid into the seat where he performed the duties that the real Logan was supposed to do. This close to their mission point precision was crucial, and any time wasted fighting Bing was a detrimental loss.

Logan was sitting in the communications room, working at one of the computers, when Ethan brought him a coffee. The room was empty except for him.

Ethan walked in, sipping on his coffee, smiling as he set one down for Logan, “So, how’s it going?”

“Without incident,” Logan answered. “You should get to bed, get ready for the next mission?”

“Geez, Sargent Frowns, it’ll all be taken care of,” Ethan took another sip. “Bastards won’t know what hit them.”

Ethan chuckled as he took a couple sips of his coffee, “Well if you don’t mind me I’ll just “go to bed” or whatever.”

Logan nodded and as Ethan was leaving the room, Joan was coming up the hallway.

“You seen any of the Sides recently?” Joan asked Ethan, looking worried.

“Yeah,” Ethan pointed to the door, “Logan’s in the comms room.”

“Is Patton in there with him?” Joan looked a little bit relieved.

“I saw him while I was out on patrol,” Ethan lied to them. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Get everyone in the base together, we’ve got a security problem,” Joan explained.

“Got it,” Ethan hurried away as Joan walked into the comma room.

“Fucker’s gonna get us caught,” Ethan muttered angrily under his breath, tipping back the rest of his coffee.

Bing and Jackie joined Joan in the comms room with “Logan” and they started talking about another sighting of Spade in downtown Brighton and they wanted to compile information.

Something that was eyebrow raising to Spade because he’d been making his way from Janus and Remus’s house to the heroes’ base. But the real Logan wouldn’t be privy to that information so Spade, pretending to be Logan, did a pretty good impression of being surprised as he exchanged places with Bing so the android could take a seat in front of the computer.

“An’[1] that’s the report,” Jackie concluded.

“It certainly is good information to have if they’re becoming more active again,” Logan told them.

“My thoughts exactly,” Bing pointed some finger guns at Logan. “Here, I’ll get some images I got of the guy.”

“Hey Logan,” Joan smiled at him as Bing was integrating himself with the computer to look for something. “How have things been?”

“They could certainly be improved upon,” Logan commented, turning towards Joan and letting out a long, tired sigh.

“Yeah, I bet they could,” Joan agreed before a blast of magic hit Logan square in the back. Pain rocketed up the Suit’s body and his nanites glitched as Joan and Jackie threw down a disc on either side and Bing’s nanites came up and wrapped around Logan so that when the Suit stopped feeling like he was being used as a live wire, he was trapped.

When Logan turned his head he saw that Marvin was standing at the door, magic at his fingertips. The Suit was literally and figuratively surrounded. His eyes and glasses glitched, “Something always gets in the way.”

“He’s covered in nanites,” Bing warned.

“My spell should have ripped his illusion off,” Marvin told them. “I can hit him again.”

Logan looked down at the nanite constructed wires and cords trapping him and rolled his eyes, then he looked up at Joan, “Do you mind telling me what gave me away, for data correlation’s sake?”

Joan held up their phone, “Morality doesn’t use punctuation when he types, he barely uses words at all.”

“Ahh,” Logan commented cooly, smiling. “My mistake. I always tend to forget his atrocious insistence against punctuation is the only awful part of him.”

“Where’s Logic?” Jackie demanded. “Why are yeh here? Are yeh Spade or some demon? ‘Cause this is a shite time ta do this.”[2]

“Now why would I tell any of you,” Logan threatened.

“Yeh can tell us or we’ll beat the shite outta yah,”[3] Jackie threatened right back. “Logic’s been through enough shite lately ta e’en tolerate this.”[4]

“Oh trust me,” “Logan” frowned. “He hasn’t even begun to suffer.”

“An’[1] why should we trust yeh[5]?” Jackie demanded. “What’d yah do ta the real Logic?”[6]

The false Logan let out an amused chuckle, “You all have never even met the real Logan. I’m doing all of you a favor.”

“It’s Spade, fry ‘em[7],” Joan decided.

The snare lit up and electricity began coursing through the Suit’s nanite body, frying his nanite shell by inches.

Locket Payload: Critical Failure Imminent!

In a panic, that was visible on his face, Logan let out a scream as he curled around his chest and an EMP blast came from him that fried almost every electronic in the room, Bing only managing to not have to reset himself. By the time Bing was recovering, he was able to watch with the other three organic beings in the room as “Logan” burst into pixels and a cloud of nanites and shot into the light switch to hide. The young glitch demon curled around a central point of aura protectively in case Bing came after him.

Those precious seconds of hiding let Bing force the controls back on line and initiate a complete physical and electrical lockdown of the base. People, texts, calls, all unable to leave the base.

“Emergency lockdown engaged,” Bing’s voice rang out through the base just as an explosion rocked the building.

It was a small explosive charge that had been placed by Hearts, not enough to blow a hole in the side of the base but enough for the contents of the bomb to set the room on fire.

To set Marvin’s library on fire.

To Marvin’s good luck, Wade was close by and saw the fire starting up as magical tomes and spell ingredients, turning a normal fire into a popping magical one that was threatening to burn the entire base down.

The fire alarm and the sprinkles kicked up, causing further damage to the books.

Wade swore as he tried putting out the magical fire.

At the sound of the explosion, Marvin and Jackie raced over and Marvin screamed in agony as he helped put out the fire. Nate racing in to help. J.J, Chase, and Ethan came over to help but were pushed back by the others.

It took another minute to get the fire contained and Marvin was kneeling in front of the doorway to his library and looking at the ash and burnt books in horror.

“Sorry, Marv,” Jackie sat down next to his friend.

“They burned my library down,” Marvin said in grief.

“What is going on?” Wade demanded. “Last I heard there was some kind of meeting but when met with Crank, Nate, Average, and J.J the fire alarm went off. Who called the meeting?”

“We did,” Jackie told him, standing up. “It was just bad fookin’ timin’. Spade’s in the base, he got in. It must’a been him who caused the explosions.”[8]

“It’s not Spade,” Bing shouted as he ran down the halls, his nanites still fixing up the patches of metal and wires that had died in the EMP blast. “Or if it is the situation just got much worse ‘cause[9] that’s Logic.”

“What do you mean that’s Logic?” Joan demanded in a panic.

“Either Logic’s been Spade the whole time or Spade infected him with somethin’ ‘cause he’s been actin’ weird for a while,”[10] Bing said. “Lo’s still in the base. I’ve got him cornered in the sprinkler system, but he won’t stay there.”

“How could it possibly be Logan?” Joan demanded in irritated frustration. “He would never.”

“We might not be dealing with the actual Logan,” Nate spoke up, his mind already racing with possibilities. “We might be dealing with the same guy who attack me outside of a bar over a camera of all fucking things.”

“That was his suit right, Logic’s fine,” Joan defended.

Then Nate thought about that, it had been a question that Logan had always been dodgy and evasive on how the logical and scientific hero had wound up with a cursed soul splitter that didn’t work . . .

“Either way he’s got my nanites,” Bing interrupted. “Which explains how Spade got them in the first place. His suit is laced with them.”

“Are yeh[5] sure?” Jackie demanded.

“I’d recognize them anywhere, my Bluetooth was even tryin’[11] ta[12] connect with them,” Bing asserted.

. . . That didn’t . . . Nate was still trying to reason in his head.

“Which is weird because humans can’t use nanites raw,” Bing replied. “Only the Googles an’[1] Anti have the ability ta[12] use my nanites like that.”

“Shit, he’s a glitch!” Mare warned internally. “A damn smart one since he was covering his tracks as he was turning. I knew something smelt off about him. He always smelt like burnt wires and electricity.”

You tell me this now? Nate cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. While Nate was thinking the rest of the heroes were talking.

Nate felt the eye roll, “I always forget you sacks of meat can’t smell aura. I just figured, since he was supposed to be a null, that some other demon or one of the other Sides had their claws in him. The rest of them are dripping with aura.”

“Joan,” Nate spoke up, his voice soft and almost scared.

“Yeah?” Joan sat up.

“How long has Logic been Logic?” Nate asked desperately.

“Always, what kind of question is that?” They asked in return.

“I just have to rule it out, does Logic come from a family of mages? Is anyone else in his family magical.”

Joan paused for an abnormally long amount of time. “No.”

“Okay, that makes sense, being null is recessive,” Nate reasoned. You needed and aura and magic for a soul to become a demon. Logic didn’t have that, ergo he wasn’t a demon.

“Nate,” Mare tried to urge.

“He only targeted Marvin, nothing was stolen, nothing was taken from the computers, he just impersonated him and took off,” Wade reminded.

“The Sides are still gone, what are we gonna do?” Jackie demanded.

“Well when we find him, we’ll ask,” Joan reassured. “Logic’s a level-headed guy, I wish I knew where Morality was, or Princey. They’re able to calm him down.”

“Nate, let me go, and I can scent Logic out, if I don’t find him, then I’m wrong and he’s clear,” Mare tried to bargain.

“Fine,” Nate agreed and Mare broke free and looked around.

“Great,” Marvin growled.

“I’ll be back soon,” Mare didn’t spare Marvin a glance, “sorry about your cache.”

Then Mare stopped and looked at a corner of the wall and floated up to tap at it. “Hey there, don’t think I don’t see you.”

Then he ripped a camera out of the wall.

“Mine are visible,” Bing told him as the demon tossed the camera to the android.

Mare stood next to Nate, “I know, bet you that there are more, and there’s a glitch in the walls. Probably has been for a while now.”

“Is it Anti?” Jackie asked.

“Nah, Anti smells like a thunderstorm that was cooked in the oven too long,” Mare reported. “Young, likes to identify as a male; so King’s kid is out. It’s Logic, I’ve picked up that scent on him before. Maybe it’s a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing, or Logic’s always been a spy. Can’t say.”

“Maybe that soul splitter did work after all,” Nate reasoned. “Which means that he’s not wanting to come out ‘cause[9] he’s scared, so I can’t blame him. Just where’d he find the camera? That probably turned him, which makes sense why he likes to hover around the thing, he probably wants the fragments of his soul back.”

“First off, morbid,” Joan held up one of their hands. “And second, I found it at an estate sale. I gave it to Thomas, who—”

Joan trailed off, already knowing they’d made a mistake.

Nate stared at him, “Logic’s name is Logan, who’s Thomas? Is that Princey or Anxiety?”

“Not exactly,” Joan tried to evade.

“What does that mean? Is Logan like a middle name or a name he just prefers more?” Mare asked. “Or was Thomas, Logic’s name before he was split?”

Joan really didn’t want to have this discussion without any of the Sides, but Logan was apparently hiding in the walls and the other Sides were all missing. So maybe this was as good a time as any. “Look, if you’re right and Lo is some kind of demon, which he’s not because Logic is a harmless sweetheart, then we didn’t know because a soul splitter is only supposed to make one demon right?”

The room descended into chilling silence.

“The fook yeh mean one, Logic got like a twin or somethin’?”[13] Marvin demanded.

“More like septuplets,” Joan admitted, holding up seven fingers.

“Oh shit,” Mare realized.

“They all came from the same person?” Nate gasped. Logic. Morality. Creativity. Deceit. Anxiety . . . A glitch. Two showmen. Two empaths. A deal maker. And whatever the hell Orange is.

“I’ve never seen a spilt this clean, or create so many, usually a splitter just makes one and it can’t even do that right,” Nate commented. “But they’re all so lifelike. How powerful of a mage was Thomas?”

“He wasn’t,” Joan tried to explain. “Or at least, I never saw him do anything.”

“Well, at least we know where the other Sides went,” Mare spat through clenched teeth.

“No, no,” Nate cut him off. “That’s not a fight a glitch can win, not on their own. We should just focus on finding Logic and containing him before we accuse him of anything.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Joan agreed.

The heroes and Mare began completely cleaning the room of any cameras or listening devices, whether they were Bing’s or not. Then they made a plan to ensnare Logan. They started by taking out the cameras and bugs in the major room before Bing began actively trying to catch Logan.

It was an endeavor that Bing was not successful in. But the Suit saw an opening and went for the unlocked front door.

When he did, Logan slammed into an invisible barrier, sparks and magic arcing everywhere.

Nate quickly moved in to seal off the containment circle with more salt as Logan was picking himself up.

“Hey, Lo,” Nate knelt down, “rough week?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. And

2. Why are you here? Are you Spade or some demon? Because this is a shit time to do this.

3. You can tell us or we’ll beat the shit out of you

4. Logic’s been through enough shit lately to even tolerate this.

5. you

6. What did you do to the real Logic?

7. them

8. It was just bad fucking timing. Spade’s in the base, he got in. It must have been him who caused the explosion.

9. because

10. Either Logic’s been Spade the whole time or Spade infected him with something because he’s been acting weird for a while

11. trying

12. to

13. The fuck you mean one, does Logic have like a twin or something?

[penpatronuswhump]

WHUMPTOBER 2020

No. 20   Alt. 14 

Fandom: Avengers

Whumpees: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff

Caregivers: Peter Parker

Title: The Barton Farm Battle

By: PenPatronus // PenPatronusAooO

Auntie Nat convinced Peter to go to Cooper’s birthday dinner, granting his wish to meet Spiderman. Peter autographed everything the kid wanted him to. He sang “Happy Birthday” and ate pizza and the amazing cake that Mrs. Barton baked. He played darts with Clint, colored pictures with Lila, and showed off his powers to an astounded Nathaniel, who immediately started searching the farm for spiders so he could be just like his new hero. Peter was in the barn, where Nathaniel was proudly showing off the family’s tractor, when the hairs on his arms suddenly stood on end. He grabbed Nathaniel and raced outside. Beyond the farm, the sun was close to setting.

 Natasha was closest. She was sitting with Cooper on the porch, showing him how to use the Swiss Army knife she’d gotten him. Peter sprinted over and opened his mouth to say the codeword he’d been trained to use at Avengers Tower for such a situation. But – he couldn’t remember it. So, he just stood there while Nat, Cooper, and Nathaniel stared at him like he was crazy. “Strawberry pancakes!” he finally sputtered. “I mean… blueberry crepes. I mean… Raspberry waffles!”

 Natasha’s cheeks paled. “That’s what you want for breakfast? I was thinking the same thing.” She smiled, stood up, and rubbed her upper arms. “Hey, Clint!”

 “Yeah?” Clint called back from where he and Lila were practicing with a bow and arrow.

 “Did you feel that breeze?” she asked him. “Gave me goosebumps.”

 It was subtle, but Peter noticed Hawkeye stiffen. “Babe? Honey?”

 Laura stuck her head out of the kitchen window. “Yeah?”

 “That summer breeze gave Nat goosebumps. Maybe you could run downstairs and grab her a sweater.”

 It was subtle, but Peter noticed Laura start to tremble. “Of course! And it’s getting dark, honey, how about you all come inside?”

 “All right!” Clint took the bow from Lila and gestured for her to head into the house. He sauntered over to the porch where Nat stood with Peter, Cooper, and Nathaniel. “Coop, take Nate inside, will you? It’s past his bedtime, anyway.” The three Avengers stood listening to the movement inside the house. Peter heard a door open, heard Laura talking nonchalantly about heading to the basement to grab a popsicle, heard several pairs of feet go down a flight of stairs, and then he heard a louder, heavier door open and close.

 Clint’s phone chimed. He read a text that Peter saw was from Laura. “We’re in.”

And then, incredibly quickly, Barton and Romanoff started using American sign language. They signed back and forth at each other so quickly and so wildly that Peter could tell they were “yelling.” Several times they each pointed at Peter’s nose. Then they settled down. Clint “shut up” and Natasha signed – and then seemed to have the last word. “Hey, Peter, why don’t you go downstairs and have popsicles with the other kids,” Natasha said.

 Peter’s eyes narrowed. “No thanks. I don’t like popsicles.”

 Barton glared at him. “Have a popsicle, Peter,” he said. “Go. Have. A. Popsicle.”

 Peter stood straighter and raised his chin. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’d rather hang out here with you guys.”

 Natasha rolled her eyes. “Fine, stay with us, but do everything we tell you,” she insisted with a tone that left zero room for argument.

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “All right. Why don’t you two head inside and get the Scrabble game set up,” said Clint. “I’ll be right behind you. I just have to run to the barn.” Clint started jogging away. Nat took Peter by the elbow and led him inside. She took the Scrabble box off the shelf and sat down at the kitchen table. Peter went to sit down beside her, but she gave him a look, and he sat across from her, his back against the corner of the walls. Nat opened the box, loaded the guns inside it, and slid one over to Peter. “Do you know how to play?” she asked him casually.

 Peter gulped. “No, I’ve never played before.”

 Natasha nodded. Her lips were thin and white. “I should’ve taught you how to play before we came here,” she sighed. “But, don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.” She winked at him.

 Suddenly – and Peter couldn’t help but leap to his feet – the lights all over the farm went out at the same time that the yard exploded. Underground charges in a circle around the barn and house erupted, tossing Nate’s tricycle onto the roof and leaving a moat of fire no one could possibly pass through. At first Peter thought that the intruders on the edge of the property had set off bombs, but then he saw Clint racing to the house with a smile on his face. He joined them in the kitchen and Nat tossed him a gun. “I’ve kind of been wanting to do that for years,” he admitted. “That was fun.”

 Nat turned to Peter. The jig was up. They might as well talk freely now because whoever was listening knew they knew they were there. “Laura and the kids are safe in a panic room in the basement, but we cannot, under any circumstances, let those intruders get inside this house. How many are there?”

 Peter shrugged, only able to see his teammates by the light of the fire moat. “I don’t know. I can sense them coming, I know there are a lot of them all around the house, but that’s all I got.”

 Clint’s phone chimed again. “The team is on their way,” he reported. “We just have to hold them off long enough for them to get here.”

 “We can do it,” said Natasha. She nodded at Peter, then shrugged. “Point and shoot,” she instructed.

 That was when a bullet punctured the kitchen window behind Clint. The bullet went through his back, exited the upper right side of his chest, and continued on into the right side of Natasha’s chest.

 “Oh,” Nat said.

 “Fuck,” said Clint.

 They both collapsed to the floor.

 Peter ducked as a dozen bullets came through the same window.

 “Parker,” Clint said with red teeth, his voice barely audible over the gunfire, eyes glowing in the firelight, “get her downstairs.”

 Natasha coughed. A glob of blood leaked down her chin. “N-no,” she stuttered, “take… him…”

 “Peter, do what I say.”

 “He has a wife and kids, Peter, take him down to them!”

 “Shut up, Nat!”

 “You… shut… up… Barton…”

 “Both of you shut up!” Peter bellowed. The assassins looked at him shocked, and a little annoyed. “Shut the fuck up and let me save you both!” Peter grabbed Nat and Clint by the wrists, got up onto his knees, and dragged them both to the basement door. He kicked it open and then, struggling to keep the backs of their heads from slamming down on each step, he walked backward, hauling their bodies downstairs. “LAURA!”

 “Molasses,” Clint said, his voice sounding a little dreamy. Natasha was unconscious.

 “MOLASSES!”

 A ceiling-high silver box stood in the far corner of the basement. Laura peeked out of the panic room, took one look at the scene, and started giving orders to Cooper and Lila. By the time Peter dragged Clint and Nat into the tiny room, the Barton’s were all ready to give first aid.

 ----------

 Tony, Bruce, Steve, and Thor saw the smoke as they approached the farm in the Quinjet. Dark figures were running around the house, throwing grenades and torches into it, blowing it up in one corner and burning it down in another. Tony turned spotlights down on the figures and started firing. The figures immediately retreated, running into the woods. Tony landed the Quinjet in the field beside the burning farmhouse, right on top of the picnic table. Thor took flight the moment the ramp descended. He raised his hammer and launched himself into the sky. High above the house, barely visible in the moonlight, Thor swung his hammer as fast as he could, summoning wind. He aimed the tornado at the house and unleashed it. The house fire disappeared in seconds. The Avengers were about to run into it when everything load-bearing collapsed. The second floor dropped into the first, which collapsed into the basement.

 The house was gone.

 “Oh my god,” Bruce said, shaking.

 “They’re…” Steve was breathing so heavy and fast that he almost failed to get the words out. “Do you think they’re…”

 Thor landed beside them. “I saw nothing from above. Barton’s vehicle is still here, the barn is empty… They… Maybe they…”

 Tony leaned over and put his hands on his knees. For a moment he looked like he was going to vomit, but then he took two deep breaths, and led the sprint straight into the wreckage of the farmhouse. “PETER!”

 “Nat! Clint! Laura!” Bruce called. He waded into the debris and started throwing wood and books and stones outside of the wreckage, digging.

 “Romanoff!” Steve shouted. Carefully, trying to avoid nails and broken glass, Steve stepped into the destroyed house, looking for clues. “Barton! Parker!”

 Thor jumped over all three of them and landed in the very center of the rubble. He rummaged around, called out names, and then suddenly ordered his teammates to be quiet. “What is it?” Tony demanded.

 “Hush!” Thor commanded. “Captain, what do you hear?”

 Steve shut his eyes and tried to hone in on his super hearing. He did hear something. Pounding. A fist against something metal. Steve stepped over and between piles of junk until he found a hole close enough to the sound. Miraculously, that hole led to a staircase, and more than half of the steps were intact. Steve and Thor exchanged a look, then climbed down into the basement with Bruce and Tony right behind them. Part of the basement was still burning, and chips of wood and bits of stone were raining down around them. Steve spotted the silver panic room. He pounded on the door, and someone inside pounded back. “Password!” that someone shouted.

 A desperate Tony kicked the door so hard that he left an indent in the metal. “You know who I am!” he roared. “Now open up!”

 There were so many locks to unlock that it took Peter half a minute to unhook, turn, and unscrew them. When the door opened he threw himself into Tony’s arms. “Oh, thank God,” Tony exhaled. He hugged the kid back, then held him at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”

 Peter nodded. There was blood all over his clothes, but none of it was his. “Happened so fast,” he gasped. “I – I did all I could.”

 “Of course you did, kid.” Tony smoothed down Peter’s wayward hair and smiled at him. More dirt and debris showered down around them. “Upstairs,” he ordered. “Get out of here.”

 “Yes, Sir.” Peter ran out of the crumbling house.

 Tony turned back to the panic room where Laura was convincing her children to exit with Bruce. “Mommy will be right behind you,” she told them. She put a sobbing Nate into Bruce’s arms and made the pale and trembling Cooper and Lila each hold onto a corner of his shirt. The little train made its way up the stairs and out of sight. Tony actually entered the room, then, and gasped at what he saw. The entire floor of the tiny bullet-proof, waterproof, fireproof panic room was one puddle of blood. Tony watched, shellshocked, as Steve carried a heavily bandaged, white-faced, unconscious Natasha out and up. Clint sat up against the far wall, just as pale and bandaged, with his wife kneeling beside him. Tony went to them and put his palm on Clint’s wound. “Jesus, Barton.”

 “I’m ok,” Clint wheezed, clearly far from it. Blood was starting to leak through the dressings. “Are the others out?”

 “They’re safe,” Tony promised.

 “Take Laura,” Clint said. “Laura, honey, go with him. Thor can help me.”

 “Babe, I…” Laura took a deep breath. “Ok.” She went to the door and Tony took her hand, holding onto her tight as he ascended the steps in front of her. Tony was at the top when the second-to-last step gave out, and Laura plummeted. She screamed, but Tony’s grip on her was tight, and he pulled her the rest of the way up. Meanwhile, around them, the basement ceiling/first floor was disintegrating. By the time Laura and Tony reached the others on the outskirts of the destroyed house, the entire thing had caved in. No one could hold in their screams. Thor and Clint were still down there.

 A hammering sound preceded Thor emerging from the ground like a cork out of a bottle. The kids screamed and clapped. Thor had Barton over one shoulder and he flew straight to the crowd. He landed and readjusted Clint’s body so that he was in a bridal carry. Barton was unconscious. They started for the Quinjet.

 “Where’s the nearest hospital?” Tony asked Laura.

 “Half an hour north, by car,” she said.

 “Do they have a helicopter pad?”

 “No. It’s a tiny place – one floor.”

 Tony shrugged. “They have a roof. That’s all we need.”

 Everyone crowded into the Quinjet, and Tony took off.

 Natasha had surgery – and recovered.

 Barton had surgery – and recovered.

 By the time Clint was able to leave the hospital, Tony already had the house rebuilt – three times as big.

 The End

[ejzah]

A/N: This chapter is a little filler-y, but it felt necessary to move things along. Hope you still enjoy.

***

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 7

Deeks settled in the low wicker seat across from Hetty, taking in the antiques and pictures that decorated her space. It was an odd, and seemingly random collection of things, but somehow it fit.

Hetty poured two cups of tea, carefully sliding one towards Deeks. She took a sip of her own, scrutinizing him over the top of her teacup. He felt the bizarre urge to fix his hair and check his shirt for wrinkles even though he’d stopped off in the bathroom to straighten up after sparring with Kensi.

“Are you happy with your current position, Mr. Deeks?” she asked abruptly.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean by that, Miss Lange,” he responded after a minute, trying to figure out what she was leading up to.

“Most people call me Hetty,” she corrected with a slight smirk. “And I’m asking if you find providing legal representation to the rich and somewhat famous rewarding.”

“I don’t know if rewarding is the right term, but I certainly appreciate making enough to live very comfortably and provide services to people who can’t afford to hire a lawyer.” He knew it was a non-answer, but it was the best she was getting for the moment.

“Ah yes, your pro bono work. I was very interested in that part of your file.” Deeks straightened, suddenly on full alert.

“Why do you have a file on me?” he asked, instantly on alert and reassessing the woman in front of him.

“Because I’m interested in you,” Hetty said as though it made perfect sense.

“With all due respect, you had no business wading through my life, just to curb your curiosity.”

“I assure you, it has nothing to do with idle curiosity, Mr. Deeks. I always run background checks on people I wish to employ.” Her tone was just as calm as before, but held a faint note of admonishment. Deeks blinked at her a couple times.

“Wait, you’re offering me a job?” he asked and Hetty nodded. “Why? I have no experience with law enforcement. I think my first and last undercover gig the other day proved that.”

“I thought you did remarkably well,” Hetty disagreed. “You exhibited many skills that I admire and in expect in an agent.”

“I have no desire to become an agent,” Deeks told her firmly, surprised when she smiled and tapped his hand. She reached into her desk drawer, pulling out an application.

“Good. Because I’m not looking for a new agent at this moment. Instead, I’m offering you a position as our legal consultant.” Hetty set the application in front of him. “All you need to do is sign your name at the bottom.”

Deeks flipped through the papers in semi-disbelief. She had filled it out, with a level of accuracy than left him feeling vaguely disconcerted and violated.

He set the papers back down, shaking his head.

“Hetty, I’m a founding partner at my law firm. There’s no way I could be here every day. Even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t need to come in every day,” Hetty reassured him. “I would simply ask you to be present during cases where your legal expertise is required.”

“Why me?” Deeks asked, narrowing his eyes. There was something sketchy going on, but he couldn’t figure out just what. “I bet there are a hundred lawyers who are better qualified for this position.”

Hetty pursed her lips, regarding him for a moment.

“You have skills Mr. Deeks. You are highly intelligent, quick on your feet, and your attention to detail is bar none from what I’ve seen and heard.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to flatter me?” Deeks asked, keeping his voice light. Hetty smirked again and nodded.

“Perhaps I am, but I would very much like to have you join this team,” she admitted, then pushed the application in his direction. “What are your thoughts?”

“I think it’s insane,” he said honestly.

“Well, be that as it may, I would like you to seriously consider my offer.” Deeks huffed out an incredulous laugh and ruffled his bangs.

“Ok, I will consider it, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” He checked his watch, muttering under his breath. “I really need to get too court now. Whatever magic you used on Dansit isn’t going to last all day.”

“Of course. I hope to speak with you again soon, Mr. Deeks,” she said, picking her cup up again and peering at him over the top.

***

“What did Hetty want?” Kensi asked, catching Deeks by the arm as soon as he stepped down from Hetty’s office and dragging him into the hallway.

“She offered me a job,” Deeks told her as the walked farther into the tunnel and apparently away from prying ear. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the last 15 minutes.

“She what?”

“She wants me to act as a legal consultant for your team.” Kensi stopped walking, leading Deeks into a small alcove and shook her head.

“But why?” she said, then hastily added, “No offense, but we already have lawyers we can consult when necessary.”

“I was just as surprised as you are,” Deeks admitted.

“Well, are you going to accept?” He shook his head, having no problem sharing his decision with Kensi.

“Probably not. I mean last week was fun and everything, but near death experiences really aren’t my thing.” He could have sworn there was a brief moment of disappointment on Kensi face, but then it was gone and she was smirking at him.

“Yeah, it’s probably for the best,” she agreed. “I mean, that hair alone is a liability.” Deeks laughed and she looked inordinately pleased with herself.

“Touché,” he said. He realized that once again they had drifted closer to each other. Kensi seemed to notice too and hastily stepped back, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll walk you out.” They took their time walking to the door, lingering just outside for longer than necessary. Eventually Kensi shrugged and said, “Who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime. It was nice meeting you, Deeks.”

She started to turn away and caught at her hand, pulling her back around. It was a risky move, but Kensi didn’t resist. She actually looked a little relieved.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said, holding his breath. Kensi’s eyes widened slightly and then she tilted her head, eyeing him speculatively.

“Like a date?” she asked, smirking at him again.

“No, not a date date. Just dinner between friends. I mean, unless you want it to be a date.” He realized he was rambling and wondered how Kensi Blye managed to turn him into a bumbling idiot so easily.

“Oh, so we’re friends now?”

“Something like that.” She continued to stare at him, sending a shiver up his spine as her gaze lingered on him.

“I suppose dinner with you doesn’t sound too awful,” she decided.

“Is that a yes?”

“I’ll call you when I get off,” Kensi told him, reaching for the door. “Oh, and I like Mexican,” she threw over her shoulder.

Deeks grinned, feeling happier than he had in a very long time. As he walked to his car, he pulled out his phone to call his favorite Mexican restaurant.

***

Kensi closed the door behind her and sagged against it. She’d just agreed to have dinner with Marty Deeks. She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath, reminding herself that it most definitely was not a date. As long as she kept telling herself that, everything would be alright.

“Kensi, you ok?” Callen asked and her eyes snapped open. She straightened up hastily, forcing a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah, you know I was just showing Deeks out,” she explained, making a vague gesture. Luckily, Callen didn’t question her explanation. He seemed preoccupied.

“Hetty offered him a job,” he said, frowning at the door. He didn’t seem pleased and Kensi tried to appear surprised by the information. Deeks hadn’t asked her to keep it a secret, but somehow she didn’t think delving into their conversation would be a good idea.

“What did he say?”

“Hetty, said he hadn’t made a decision yet.” He sighed and shook his head. “She says he would be our legal consultant, but I have a feeling she has something else planned for him.”

Kensi certainly didn’t like the sound of that, thinking of Nate Getz, the psychologist who used to be a part of their team. That is until Hetty transferred him with little warning several months ago. He’d been gone before anyone could ask questions and no one knew exactly where he was or what Hetty had him doing.

“Well, I doubt Deeks would want to work here,” she commented without thinking and Callen frowned again. “I mean, why would he want to? He makes millions a year, who would give that up?”

“Well, let’s hope you’re right,” he said grimly. “The last thing we need is to play babysitters.”

[the-stark-bunch]

New Years

“I still this this holiday is pointless,” Peter sighed. Despite his cynical words, he was smiling and playing chess with Yukio. “It’s kinda boring. We sit on the roof and watch the ball drop, kids whoever we’re with and make resolutions we know we won’t keep.”

“I agree with you on the resolutions part, but what was that you were saying about boring?” Riri said over the intercoms.

“I’m sorry that you guys have to work on New Years Eve,” Yukio said, moving her queen to take out one of Peter’s bishops.

“It’s okay, we do it every year,” Nate said.

“It’s our little tradition and attempt at keeping New York on our side,” Tony agreed.

“Just be back before the ball drops,” Cassie said. She leaned back on the roof of Stark tower and stared at where she knew stars were supposed to be. “After all, I only bothered staying for New Years to be with you guys.”

“We will be home before it drops, don’t worry,” Rhody said. “Any updates from my mom?”

“Ms. Rhodes is on her way to the tower right now.”

“Then we will be back in a minute,” Tony said.

A few moments later, after Peter and Yukio’s game had ended and Cassie had curled up in her cousin’s lap, a quick burst of wind signaled their family’s return. Iron Man and War Machine landed first, their suits de materializing into Tony’s arch reactor and Rhodey’s watch. Iron Heart and Iron Lad landed next, the machines on the edge of the roof working quickly to take off their suits so that Riri and Nate could freely walk towards the small group.

“Where’s Harls?” Peter asked.

“He went to pick up his grandma at the airport,” Tony said.

“Don’t people notice when two Iron Lads are running around? I though Nate was supposed to be Harley’s stand in,” Yukio asked.

“I am. I was Harley’s stand in tonight,” Nate explained. “He’s in an Iron Legion suit to safely escort Ms. Rhodes to the tower after last year’s fiasco.”

“And I’m a damn good escort,” Harley’s voice startled them too look to the entrance of the stairwell. He was in a knitt red sweater that Riri and Peter assumed to be a gift from Roberta, as neither of them had ever seen it. The gutter in question had her arm looped with Harley’s, her smile softly illuminated by the hint of blue radiating from her grandson’s chest.

“You better hope no one takes that sentence out of context,” Peter teased, walking over with Riri to meet them halfway. Both teens received tight hugs and kisses from Roberta before she left them go and made her way to their father and her son to give them a similar greeting.

“Mom,” Rhodey grinned, hugging her close for a moment. ���I hope Harley wasn’t too startling in the suit when he picked you up.”

“Oh not at all, I can sense my boys from a mile away. Even in the suit, I knew it was really him,” she assured.

“She almost said my name in public,” Harley said with his characteristic smirk. “Nate and I could have had our cover completely blown right then and there.”

“Shush now,” Roberta playfully scolded. “Don’t give your mama such a hard time. I was excited.”

“I’ve called ‘Ant-Man’ Dad in public by accident before,” Cassie said. “Not many people noticed, and anytime someone did I just said I was on a phone call with my dad.”

“How about in this New Year all of all try our best to avoid those slip ups,” Nate said. “Now come on, the ball is dropping soon.”

Everyone gathered on the picnic blankets and lawn chairs that they had set up, looking over the sky scrapers to time square far in the distance. They could barely actually see the ball, but the live sound feed from the intercom told them the time until the new year began.

When the countdown reached a minute, Scott and Hope called on FaceTime so they could count with the family.

Thirty seconds. Harley could see Cassie’s eyes gloss over with unshef tears as she stared at her phone. They were happy tears, he could tell, but the kind that were bittersweet.

Twenty five. Peter wondered how the Howletts were spending their New Years Eve. He knew they had gone down to Canada, but hadn’t heard from Wade in a few days. He wondered if they might have kissed if he were here.

Fifteen. Riri texted her mom a happy new year ahead of time so that she didn’t forget. It had been a while since they talked, and she made it her resolution to call more often.

Ten. Ned and Yukio both thought of their significant others.

Nine. Rhodey hugger his mom again and kisses her head.

Eight. Roberta hugged her son back and squeezed Harley’s shoulder.

Seven. Nate looked up at Cassie to catch her looking up at him. They smiled.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One. Tony thought about how lucky he was, and how much joy the last year had carried. Every year just seemed to get better with his kids by his side.

Happy New Year.

[master-sass-blast]

You Can Always Go Back Home.

THIS FIC IS 22K WORDS LONG. 61 PAGES IN WORD. THREE WEEKS OF WRITING!!!

VALIDATE MY PARKING P L E A S E !!!!

Summary: You wake up alone in a cell with no windows. The following days are nothing short of Hell on Earth.

Rating: M for physical abuse, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, injury, blood, vomiting, mental health stuff, panic attacks, kidnapping, and H E A V Y  A N G S T.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Set after “The Literal Crack Fic.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

You wake up alone.

Okay, not necessarily disturbing.

You’re in an unfamiliar room with no windows, no conceivable exits, and no memory of how you got here.

Definitely disturbing, and also worrisome, troubling, anxiety-inducing, alarming, perplexing, and… other adjectives…

You push yourself off a small cot. You’re dressed in a baggy white shirt and baggier white pants, someone’s taken your engagement ring, and upon inspection you realize that someone’s put a mutation repression collar on your neck. Okay. Might be time to panic.

There’s a door on the wall opposite where the cot sits. It goes practically flush to the floor and ceiling, has no handle on the inside, and has a small hatch at the base that is currently closed, as your luck would have it.

There’s a couple of vents pumping out cool air along the line where the walls meet the ceilings; they’re far too small to try and escape through –though, without your powers, it’s not like you could get the covers off anyway.

At the far end of the room –not that you have to go far to get to it—is a bathroom. Upon inspection, it only holds a toilet, a small wastebasket, and a sink; checking the drawer attached to the base reveals a small hairbrush, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. The cabinet underneath has a couple packages of toilet paper and some menstrual products.

This is a holding cell, that much is obvious. You’re meant to be here a long time, judging by the amount of toilet paper and toiletries.

You frown.

Kidnappings aren’t all that uncommon with the X-Men –an unfortunate hazard of the job, one might say. It would seem that you’ve been snatched up –but by who? Are the rest of the X-Men here with you, in different cells? Was someone targeting the X-Force specifically? Did some of your uncle’s enemies figure out where you were and grab you to get to him?

You try to walk back through your memories, but nothing fruitful comes of it. The last thing you can remember is waking up next to Piotr –but was that a few hours ago, or a few days ago?

You suppose it doesn’t matter, in the long run. You’re trapped for now, but someone will look for you eventually and come rescue you. All you have to do, for the time being, is wait.

You head back to the cot with a sigh and plop down as you prepare yourself for the mind-numbing boredom that awaits you.

 ***

 The first hint comes when a meal –lunch or dinner, presumably, judging by the contents—is shoved through the hatch at the bottom of the door on a small tray.

There’s no anxiety medication.

Either whoever’s holding you doesn’t know you’re on antidepressants, or they intend for you to suffer.

You sigh heavily as you crack open a little mini bottle of water and sip from it –then grimace; it tastes like room-temperature plastic bottle.

Judging by the lack of any recording equipment whatsoever –cameras, microphones, speakers, nothing—these people are amateurs. They’re not particularly concerned about you breaking out –which even with your powers gone, if they knew anything about you, they should be. You’ve built a career out of getting out of tough situations.

So, whoever these chumps are, they haven’t done their homework on how to keep you stable –or done any real homework on your past “is a mutant,” it would seem.

Admittedly, that would stack things in your favor, except you’ll be facing withdrawals before too awful long. Hopefully, you can figure out how to get the mutation collar off and escape before you get too deep into those.

You bite into what is arguably the blandest turkey sandwich of your life and lean back against a pristinely painted white wall. Karma, don’t fuck me over now.

***

 There’s no mirror in the bathroom.

You notice after your meal, when you try to head in and twist the collar around so you can see what make and model you’re working with –a short lived plan, to say the least; without a mirror, there’s not much you can do to figure out what you’re working with.

Still, you can at least get a sense of the locking mechanism –keypad, key, fingerprint scanner—from touch.

You smooth your hands around the collar, then grimace when you only find a solid plastic node on the back of it. Shit.

These types of collars, as your uncle had taught you, are lockdown collars. They’re meant to go on and stay on, to permanently render a mutant incapable of accessing their powers. No keypad to hack, no lock to pick, no fingerprint scanner to override. The only way to get the damn thing off is short circuit it or cut it off.

Just your luck, there aren’t any scissors in your little cell.

 ***

 The boredom kicks in fast. There’s only so many times you can analyze your surroundings or make escape strategies before you start to lose your mind from the repetition.

There’s not too much to be said for pacing your tiny quarters, either. The room is three strides wide and four strides long –borderline claustrophobic, only big enough for you, the cot, and… that’s about it, really.

Confined spaces can be used to torture people; even if they aren’t particularly claustrophobic, the inability to move around and do things can drive even the most grounded individuals a little batty.

You wind up laying on your cot and staring at the ceiling. You spend time thinking about how to handle your anxiety once your most recent dose of medication runs out, about your upcoming wedding, about what you want your future home with Piotr to look like…

About Piotr. You think a lot about Piotr. You’re not sure how long you’ve been separated from him, but you already miss him dearly.

You sigh, and roll over onto your stomach. Come find me, baby. I’ll be waiting for you.

 ***

 Dinner –well, your second meal, and you’re starting to realize that without windows you have no way of knowing what time of day it is—is delivered what feels like a few hours later; it’s another little bottle of water, a plain turkey sandwich, an apple, and some canned corn that’s been put in a bowl.

Along with it comes a little bottle of shampoo, a little bottle of conditioner, a little bar of soap, and a washcloth.

You’re stumped at first. There’s no shower down here, how could they possibly expect…

The sink.

You let out a shocked laugh when you realize that your captors mean for you to wash yourself via using the sink. No way! No fucking way!

But… you don’t have any other options –unless you want to use water from the toilet, but ew, gross.

You sigh, shocked and more than a little frustrated, and dig into the sandwich.

***

 The lights turn out halfway through your venture with attempting to wash up using the sink.

You yelp, drop the bottle of shampoo, and topple against the wall behind you; you wince as you rub your shoulder. With a rush of annoyance, you realize that there aren’t any light switches in the main room or the bathroom. You have absolutely no control over when the lights are on and when they’re off.

You scowl in the direction of the ceiling. “Really!”

 ***

 The lights switch on again while you’re sleeping. You’re not sure how long it’s been, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been a whole eight hours.

Then again, that could just be the cot. It’s thinly padded, and no matter how you sleep you can feel the metal frame holding it up.

You’re also starting to feel the effects of withdrawal. Your brain feels foggy, your anxiety has spiked (well, more than the situation’s already spiked it), and you have pins and needles feeling all over your body.

You shiver as you wrap your thin blanket tighter around you and curl into a little ball. Baby, please come find me.

***

 Your first meal of the day –or is it the third? How long have you been asleep, even?—comes what feels like a couple hours later.

Objectively, you know you should eat. You need to keep up your strength, but as you look at the tray of a plain turkey sandwich, a little bottle of water, an apple, and some canned corn –and no meds, which further confirms that your captors aren’t giving you any—you can’t even work up the shadow of an appetite.

You manage to choke down a few bites of the turkey sandwich before your stomach churns, take the water bottle and the apple, then chuck the rest of your meal in the trash before setting the tray with the others.

***

 You try to focus on exercising. Easier said than done, considering you barely ate anything, but you push yourself through to try and keep your endorphins up. You do rounds of push-ups, squats, crunches, planks, and lunges until your limbs are shaking from exertion, then chug water from the sink faucet until you almost puke it all back up.

You whimper as splay out on the floor in an effort to cool down faster. Okay. I need to pace myself better, and I need to eat regardless of what’s given to me. They’re clearly trying to break me by keeping my schedule off. Slow and steady is key.

You take a deep breath, then focus on your breathing and the points where your body is making contact with the floor in an effort to meditate.

You manage to keep that up for a bit until a panic attack hits –and normally you’d use an app on your phone to help yourself work through it, or meditate, or call Piotr, or Nate, or Wade, or Ellie, or Yukio, or Russell, or Neena…

It’s so much worse without the meds. You can’t catch your breath, you can’t stop the overwhelming rush of anxiety, you can’t get your mind to stop racing—

Bed. Get to the bed.

You crawl across the concrete floor and barely manage to get into the cot before you curl into a fetal position and sob.

 ***

 It’s hard to be alone.

You’ve gotten used to having your friends and family right at hand over the past few years –come to depend on it, even; they’ve always been there to help you through rough patches. You’ve come to love having so many companions around you during your time at Xavier’s. It’s a direct one-eighty from growing up, when you only had yourself and your parents for company most of the time –and your parents weren’t exactly what you’d call “company.”

Aside from exercise (which you can’t do too much of without risking hurting yourself), there’s only sleeping, yoga (also limited for safety reasons), meditating, masturbating (which you don’t feel like doing, given your current withdrawal situation), or listening to the gentle hiss of the air vent.

You can’t remember how you got through being so alone as a child –though, technically, you suppose you didn’t; it fucked you up. Badly.

That, and you’d barely been able to handle being at Xavier’s when you’d first arrived. It’d been like a shock to your system. You couldn’t fathom so many people being around each other all the time –and wanting to spend that time with you, no less.

Objectively, you know that isolation is a basic destabilization tactic –but that doesn’t make it any easier to go through.

You roll over so you’re on your other side –your ribs are hurting from the metal support frame for the cot—and close your eyes. Piotr’s gonna come for me. He’s gonna come for me. He won’t leave me here.

***

 You have to resist the urge to scream when your next meal is slid through the hatch at the bottom of the door.

Plain turkey sandwich. Canned corn in a bowl. Apple. Room temperature mini-bottle of water.

Sadists.

You’d kill for a bag of Cheetos right now. Or some of Piotr’s pancakes.

You take the tray back to your cot –your ass can’t handle any more of sitting on a concrete floor, and your back can’t handle leaning up against the concrete walls—and try to focus on recalling any sort of memory that might tell you how you wound up here while you choke down your meal.

Waking up next to Piotr. Him smiling at you. And… everything goes black after that.

A blackout might mean head trauma. Or a traumatic event. Or drug use –someone might’ve knocked you out.

A quick check of your head doesn’t reveal any sore spots or cuts –but you probably would’ve felt that when you woke up for the first time. You can’t do a full body check for injection sites without a mirror –not to mention it’s possible the drugs were fed to you—but you can’t find anything on the parts of your body you can see. As for trauma-induced memory repression, well, it’s possible, but you have no way of knowing if that’s it.

You take another bite of sandwich –and it immediately hits your tongue wrong, making you gag.

You spill your corn all over the floor when you dash to the bathroom.

 ***

 You have to get out of here. You have to, you have to, you have to, you have to youhavetoyouhavetoyouhaveto—

“Information first,” you can remember Nathan telling you during one of your earliest training sessions with you. “Get as much information as you can, then act. Patience never hurt anyone.”

You measure the hatch at the bottom of the door first. It’s big enough for you to slip through, even with the collar around your neck. After some careful debating, you decide it’d be best to slide through on your stomach; your back will be facing up, meaning your face and organs will be more protected from blows, technically.

You’ll have to wait before you can declare your “recon” done, though. You have no idea how long the hatch stays open for, or if you’ll be able to hear any footsteps through the walls that’ll alert you to when the hatch is going to open.

You squat down by the door and get as comfortable as you can.

You waited nearly two decades to get out of your first cage. You can wait another day to escape this one.

***

 Waiting nearly kills you.

It isn’t the patience –as contrary as you like to play with Piotr about the topic, you are capable of being patient.

No, it’s the exhaustion. The medication withdrawals are doing a number on you; you can’t remember another time in your life you’ve been this tired. Even the accidental coke withdrawals from that one mission where you fell into a vat of the stuff weren’t this bad, because at least you had your family, your friends, and your fiancé to help you.

You chuckle a little to yourself at the memory of the incident. You’ve definitely lead an… interesting life.

You groan as another wave of withdrawal-induced pins and needles pain sweeps through your body, then perk up –well, as much as you can perk up right now—when you hear a series of dull thumps approaching the door to your cell.

Footsteps.

You hardly breathe as the hatch unlatches and slides open –and it retracts into the door, which is another factor in your favor—and count off the seconds as a tray of food slides in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—

The hatch slides back shut and latches once more.

Nine seconds.

It’ll have to be enough.

 ***

 You’re wide awake well before the lights come on again.

Your entire body feels like a live wire. Your chest is tight, your palms are clammy, your mouth is dry, your muscles are tense, it feels like something’s constantly crawling up the back of your neck, and despite the fact that you’re utterly exhausted, you can’t sleep.

You stagger to the bathroom on shaky legs and all but collapse onto the toilet. You have no idea how long you’ve been down here, but you know you can’t afford to stay any longer. You need your meds, you need your family –fuck, you need some understanding of how time’s passing; you feel like you’re on the verge of losing your mind with the way things currently are.

You shiver as you stare down at your bare feet, jaw and fists clenched tightly. I’m getting the fuck out of here.

***

 The waiting game for the footsteps to sound outside the door is a long one. You pace in short circuits near the door, careful not to wander too far so you don’t miss the sound of them approaching and lose your earliest window of opportunity. You switch to doing what exercises and stretches that you can when the pacing starts to drive you batty, then wind up just crouching next to the door, staring down the hatch with laser-like focus, as though you can make it open with sheer will alone.

And –finally—after what feels like an eternity, you hear the footsteps approach.

Adrenaline surges through your system as your entire body tenses in anticipation. You get down into a borderline army-crawl position as you hear the latch for the hatch release, ready to whip the tray out of the way and dive through the hatch opening before your meal-deliverer can react.

Sure enough, the hatch door slides away, and a tray starts skidding across the threshold—

You rip it out of your captor’s hand and shove yourself halfway through the hatch, eliciting a scream from whoever’s delivering your meal this morning—

You know that voice.

You look up in time to see your mother collapse back onto a flight of wooden stairs, looking half scared to death at your sudden appearance.

Shock hits your system first, both at seeing her face for after so long and the realization of just who is holding you and all the implications that bears.

Anger –rage, white hot fury snarling in your chest like a caged lion—hits next, prompting you to bare your teeth at her in a vicious scowl. “You fucking bitch! Let me out of here!”

Your mother screams again when you grab her by the ankle in an effort to yank yourself out of your cell, then rears back and kicks you in the face repeatedly. “Demon child! Get off me, you whore!”

You shout when the toe of her shoe makes direct contact with your brow, then duck your head when you feel blood start spurting down your face.

You need to retreat. You’re not in a good enough position to fend off her blows like this, and at this rate you’re liable to get seriously hurt before you can get out and get to your feet.

You duck back into your cell and hunch over, pressing a hand to your brow in an effort to stem the flow of blood.

The hatch slams back shut, and your mother’s frantic footsteps retreat back up the stairs and out of hearing range.

You stumble to the bathroom and unravel nearly half a roll of toilet paper before pressing it to your brow. You’re shaking like a leaf as a mixture of adrenaline and fear course through your system. That was my mom.

Your mother, in flesh and blood. Not a withdrawal induced hallucination. The real-life woman who gave birth to you, then made your life hell on earth when your mutation presented.

What the fuck?

***

 You have to be at your parents’ house. That’s the only logical explanation. Even though there are other scenarios that might bring your parents into the picture –you’re being held in community bunker back where you grew up, and your mom just happened to be delivering your meal when you tried to break out, for instance—the least complicated answer is usually the most accurate one. Combine that with the knowledge that your parents have tried, inexplicably, to have you kidnapped and brought back home before, and there’s no other explanation that does justice to your current predicament.

Again, what the fuck?

Why the fuck can’t they just leave you alone? They never wanted you –at least, not after your mutation presented—and you don’t want to be around them, they literally don’t even have to think about you since you left, so why do they keep trying to bring you back?

Although…

What if you never left to begin with?

Once the thought pops into your brain, it takes root so deep you can’t stop it –because what if you really haven’t left? What if you’ve been here the whole time, and your precious memories of Xavier’s and your friends and family there are just delusions your mind came up with to help you cope with the abuse you’ve suffered over the years? Your escape, your time spent at the Institute, Nate, Wade, Ellie, Yukio, Russell, Neena, Piotr…

Piotr.

A desperate whimper rips through you as the realization that Piotr might not be real sinks into your brain. No! you think desperately as tears start mixing with the blood on your face. No, he’s real! He’s my fiancé, we’re going to get married—

But you don’t have your ring. Your parents took it from you before locking you in here –or maybe whoever abducted you to begin with chucked it or sold it or—

Or maybe it was never real to begin with.

You sob brokenly, chucking the bloodstained wad of toilet paper away and ripping more off the roll to try and clean up your face as best you can. Without the ring, you don’t have proof that any of what you’ve experienced in the past few years is actually real. Any of the new scars on your body could be explained by abuse or other unsuccessful escape attempts, your muscles could be explained by working out in your cell…

It’s real, you tell yourself desperately as you gasp and choke on sobs. It’s real, it’s real, Piotr’s out there, he’s going to find me, please just let him be real.

You toss your latest wad of toilet paper away –then double take when you see your left hand.

There’s a tan line in the shape of a ring band on your ring finger.

A mixture of hope and relief courses through you, even though you barely dare to let yourself feel it—

And then the lights turn out, plunging you into darkness once more.

You pant frantically as you try to get a grip on your spiraling anxiety, then scream.

 ***

 You manage to crawl back to the cot and fall asleep at some point. Your face hurts –your entire body hurts, really—and there’s no good way to lay without irritating your new cut in some way, shape, or form, but you do eventually pass out for a bit.

The lights come back on sometime later, waking you up with a jolt. You groan, both from exhaustion and the bolt of pain from the cut on your brow –and then all the hair on the back of your neck stands up when the door –not the hatch, the door—to your cell opens.

It’s him.

A slew of memories, some that you’d forgotten, rush into your mind’s eye. Growing up, there’d been a pattern to the abuse you’d suffered from your parents. You’d do something to upset your mother –either legitimate or some made up slight she’d create so she had an excuse to punish you—and then she’d verbally and emotionally abuse you –sometimes physically, too—before locking you in your room for hours on end.

And then she’d lament to your father about how poorly behaved and undisciplined you’d been when he got home from work, and he’d “correct” you with whatever he had at hand –usually his belt.

Get up. Get up, get up, get up getupgetupgetupgetup—

You manage to roll out of the way of his first strike. You tumble to the floor as his folded-up belt smacks against the cot, making the frame vibrate from the force of the strike. Before you can get off the ground, though, he kicks you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.

“You ungrateful brat!” he snarls as he brings down his belt against your body over and over, often hitting you with the metal buckle. “How dare you disrespect your mother like that! In my home!”

You scream and try to shield yourself from his blows as best you can. “Stop it! Stop hitting me!”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” he growls before yanking you off the floor by your hair.

You move on instinct, muscle memory. You knee him in the crotch before breaking his grip, block a weak attempt at a punch the way Nate taught you to, then snatch his belt off the floor and get behind him before he can try anything else. You wrap the length of leather around his neck and pull it tight as hard as you can.

Your father chokes and struggles, attempting –and failing—to get his fingers between the belt and his neck before trying to reach back and pull you off him.

You snarl as you stumble with his movements, trying to keep control over him and his belt. Unfortunately, given your withdrawals, you’re nowhere near as steady as you need to be. You trip over the cot and lose your grip, tumbling to the floor in a heap.

Your father hacks and gasps as he gets his own belt off his neck, then staggers towards the open cell door.

You charge after him, narrowly avoiding slamming your face into the metal surface when he gets it closed before you can reach him. You pound your fists against the door as his hurried, stumbling footsteps retreat up the stairs and bellow at the top of your lungs, “I’ll fucking kill you! You bastard! I’m going to kill you!”

The lights turn off again, leaving you stranded in the dark once more.

You seethe as you step back from the door, then let out a wrathful shriek.

 ***

 Your stomach is killing you.

You hadn’t been able to eat the meal your mother delivered earlier due to the adrenaline dump over the realization that you might’ve never truly escaped from your parents’ home. Even if you could find any of the food in the dark, the meat in the sandwich has definitely gone bad by now, and you’re pretty certain everything else got smashed beyond edibility during your struggle with your father.

You do manage to find the mini-bottle of water. You drain it without thinking, then head to the bathroom to guzzle some water out of the sink when you’re still thirsty.

Except the tap’s been shut off from upstairs. And, when you get desperate enough to check, the water reservoir for the toilet –along with the bowl—has been drained, too.

You laugh until you cry, then cry until you laugh, then follow that cycle until you throw up.

Worse still, you’re unbearably hot. The flow of air was shut off shortly after your confrontation with your father. You’re pretty certain that you’re still getting some air, but without the air conditioning on your tiny cell is downright stifling.

Maybe it would be better if they’d sealed you in here to asphyxiate. At this point, you’d take passing out and dying shortly thereafter over suffering like this.

Your head swims as you wipe a layer of sweat off the back of your neck. You have no idea how much time has passed since your fight with your father. You’ve been lapsing in and out of consciousness, meaning that it could’ve been anywhere from a few hours to maybe over a day.

Are you going to die down here? Is this how you’re going to go out? To malicious negligence?

You weep softly as you curl up on your side. You’d hoped, ever since escaping, that you’d die in comfort, surrounded by those you love –or, if not that, in a blaze of glory that leaves everyone awestruck.

Though, considering you may have never escaped at all, perhaps those aspirations were never meant to be within reach for you.

Your body tenses when you hear footsteps outside your door. This is it. This is the end.

You force yourself into a standing position. You’re not going down without a fight, even if the fight you have left in you is bordering on pathetic at this point. You brace yourself against the nearest wall as the door swings open, letting light from the stairwell into your cell—

Nathan steps in, dressed in all black and with a gun strapped to his back. “Kid!”

You stare at him, shocked. “Dad?”

Neena follows in after him, beaming when she sees you. “We’ve got her,” she says into an earpiece. “She looks a little rough, but she’s conscious.”

Nathan doesn’t bother to talk to whoever Neena’s talking to. He closes the distance between the two of you faster than you can blink, yanking you into his arms and almost crushing you with a hug and—

It’s him. It’s really him. Down to every single last detail –the way his techno-organic arm whirs when it moves, the smell of the soap and deodorant he uses, the slight rasp of stubble on his chin and cheeks that he can never seem to get rid of no matter how often he shaves, the fuckboi haircut Wade never stops ripping on him for.

Dad.

You sob, borderline scream, with relief and collapse against him. You cling to him for all you’re worth, ignoring the various pains in your body that the effort causes.

Nathan holds you tight to him, smoothing your hair and kissing the top of your head in a paternal manner. “It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re okay.” To Neena, he says, “Let’s get her upstairs.”

You make it to the first step of the stairs outside your cell before you have to stop. “I’m too dizzy,” you whine as your legs give out. “I haven’t had my meds, I’m too dizzy—”

“Okay, okay.” Nate sits down with you. “We can wait here until you feel better.”

You grip his shirt like your life depends on it and cry against his human shoulder. “Please don’t leave me, I don’t want you to leave me—”

“No way in hell I’m leaving you,” he reassures you, wrapping both arms around your shaking form. “I’m staying right here with you, I promise.”

“They took my ring, dad,” you ramble, almost manically. “They took it, they took my ring, they took the ring Piotr gave me, I don’t have it anymore, I thought none of you were real—”

“Go find the ring,” Nathan commands to Neena. “And let Pete know where she is.”

“It’s gone,” you protest. “They took it, it’s gone, I don’t have it—”

“Hey.” Neena kneels in front of you and clasps your shoulder gently. “Look at me, Y/N. This is me we’re talking about. I’m going to find your ring and that’s the end of it. Okay?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Okay.”

She smiles reassuringly at you. “Good. First, though, I’m going to get your guy and send him down here.”

You stare after her as she jogs up the stairs, then look over at Nathan when she disappears from view. “Piotr’s here?”

“He is. He was very worried about you. We all were.” His face creases into a frown as he takes in your full appearance. “Oh, kiddo…”

“My dad hit me,” you choke out as you start crying again. “And my mom—”

Nathan hugs you again, rubbing his human hand up and down your arm as you sob. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Then there’s the sound of frantic, extremely heavy footsteps at whatever’s at the top of the stairs—

Piotr.

He stops at the top of the stairway leading down to your cell when he sees you –and then you’re surprised he doesn’t trip over his own two feet with how fast he gets down to where you and Nate are, but then he’s pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around and kissing you—

You cry until your throat goes raw. You cling to him until your hands hurt. You kiss him until your lungs burn, until you’re on the verge of passing out, but it’s all worth it because he’s real, and he loves you, and you’re going to be okay.

“Easy, easy,” Nate says after a minute. “Let her breathe. She needs to breathe.”

Piotr pulls back, which is when you realize that he’s crying, too. “I love you so much, myshka. Bozhe moi, I thought I would never see you again—”

You mash yourself against his chest as hard as you can, given your injuries –and even then, you’re still not really giving them the consideration that you ought to. “I missed you so much, baby. It’s been so horrible. They didn’t give me any meds, and I couldn’t keep my food down—”

Almost like magic, Piotr reaches into one of the pockets on his cargo pants and produces a protein bar. “Here. Eat this.”

You giggle, wet and a little hysterical, as you accept the snack. “Always protein bars with you, huh.”

He manages a smile for you. “Good for bones.” His face quickly creases back into a teary frown, and he cups the back of your head while he kisses your forehead –scrupulously avoiding the cut by your eyebrow—and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand.

“Turn around for a minute, kid,” Nathan says, tugging on the power cell for the repression collar when you do. “Let’s get this thing off you.”

You hold still as best you can while he works on the collar, then let out a sigh of relief that sends a gust of wind up the stairs when he finally gets the thing off.

“There we go,” Piotr says with a smile as he rubs your back soothingly. “Much better.”

“Have you had anything to drink today?” Nathan asks, looking you over and gauging your overall physical state.

You manage to shake your head limply. “No. They shut off the water supply to my room after my fight with my father.”

Nate’s mouth tightens into a deep grimace, then he stands with a grunt. “We need to get her upstairs and start hydrating her.”

You whimper when Piotr tries to lift you up. “No, no, no, no! I want to walk, let me walk—”

Both men quickly soothe you, and Piotr sets you down so you can walk on your own. It’s slow going, given how unsteady you are, but eventually you reach the top step.

You’re in the basement of your childhood home. Everything’s where you remember it being; there’s a washer-dryer set next to a laundry sink, a folding table with a small pile of clothes on it, a few cardboard boxes set on some storage racks, and a desk that your father used for various “tinkering” projects.

“Come on,” Nathan encourages you after a moment. “You’re almost there. Just one more flight of stairs.”

You lean heavily against Piotr as you stumble up the last flight of stairs. Your head is swimming, and you feel nauseous even though your stomach is empty, but you don’t want to stop. You want to get out of here, you want to go back home, and you never want to see your parents again for as long as you live.

“Holy shit.”

You look up as you step into the kitchen of the house where you grow up –and almost do a double take, but that is most definitely Frank Castle standing in the dining room, dressed in all black, a tactical vest, and carrying a gun that’s almost as big as Nate’s.

(There’s a euphemism there, but you’re too tired to think about it enough to find it.)

He also looks genuinely shocked and concerned as he takes your appearance in –and you know Frank’s not the sadist the media makes him out to be, but you’re starting to think that you might look worse for wear than you originally suspected.

You manage to flash a weak smile at him. “Hey.”

He nods back. “You okay?”

You let out a thready laugh. “Been better.”

“She needs water, ASAP,” Nate says as he emerges from the basement behind you.

Frank reaches into his jacket and pulls out an unopened bottle of water, which he then tosses over to Nate.

Nathan cracks it open and hands it over to you with the stern instructions to “Sip slowly. Don’t guzzle it; you’ll make yourself throw up if you do.”

“Oh thank fuck, you found her!”

Piotr takes the water bottle from your hand a split second before Wade crashes into you, wrapping you in a hug so tight and borderline full-body that he must’ve found a way to incorporate octopus DNA into his regular gene sequence to give himself extra arms.

Which… he might’ve actually done. Because he’s Wade.

You still cling to him just as tight anyway, crying like you did when Nate found you, and then again with Piotr, because you’re just so damn happy to see him.

“You’re okay! I’m so glad you’re okay!” He pulls back, and he winces –he’s forgone his usual suit in favor of wearing black tactical gear like everyone else, though he is sporting his mask. “Or I spoke too soon. Ow.”

“Did I grow second nose or something?” you ask, laughing nervously as you reach up to feel your face. “Everyone keeps looking at me like something’s wrong.”

“No! Nothing’s wrong!” Wade says, forcing a bright tone. “You definitely don’t look like your face lost a fight with a blender.”

“You look like you got hurt,” Nate clarifies when your expression changes to worry. “It’ll all heal just fine.”

“You found her?”

Your jaw drops when you see Alex poke her head into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” she says as she gives you a thorough once over before pulling a cellphone out of her pocket. “I will call him quick.” She lifts the phone to her ear and disappears, though you can hear her say something in Russian to someone else—

And then Mikhail appears in the kitchen, wearing the same get up as everyone else: black tactical gear and strapped within an inch of his life. He claps a hand over his mouth when he sees you, recoiling for a second before approaching you tentatively. “Bozhe moi, you are okay? We were so worried! Is hugs okay?”

“Hugs are fine,” you confirm with a shaky laugh, tearing up again as he gently wraps his arms around you.

Piotr hands you the water bottle when Mikhail releases you. “Little sips,” he reminds you as he gently rubs his hand up and down your back.

You lift the bottle to your lips, and while you work on not sucking it all down in one go, you finally look around and get your bearings.

The sky outside the kitchen windows is stained a golden color that fades into slowly darkening hues of blue–the light’s coming from the west, if you’re remembering the orientation of the house correctly, meaning that it’ll be night soon.

You glance over at the stove clock.

The digital display shows it’s a little after seven.

“It’s nighttime, right?” you ask quietly.

“Evening,” Nathan confirms.

You nod as you process the information and continue scanning the kitchen. It’s as conspicuously clean as you remember –save for a half-eaten piece of toast left on a plate, a mostly empty glass of orange juice, and a partially read newspaper next to it.

A quick inspection of the floor reveals some smudged, barely-there red stains that, if you squint, might be patterned like the tread of someone’s shoe.

You don’t have to guess how those got there.

“How long was I gone?” you ask, still quiet, as you start in on Piotr’s protein bar. Your stomach gurgles greedily when the smell of chocolate hits your nose, and the past few days of barely eating hit you all at once. “And when can I get something to eat?”

“Four days,” Nate answers again. “And we’ll get you something more filling once we’ve cleared the town.”

Alex comes back around the corner at that moment, arguing with someone on the phone. “Yes, yes –she’s fine, I already told you she’s fine… do not take this out of context, you know what I meant.” She hands the phone off to Wade abruptly. “Keep him occupied for two minutes.”

Wade takes the phone and lifts it to his ear. “According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way the bee should be able to fly—”

She turns and faces you, cupping your face in her hands as she looks you over with motherly concern. She frowns sadly, and gently rubs your cheeks with her thumbs. “Malen'kaya ptitsa…” She lifts her hand to gently brush her fingers against the cut above your eyebrow. “How did you get this?”

Any steadiness you might’ve gained crumples as your eyes start watering again. “I tried to escape… my mom kicked me in the face…”

Alex visibly tears up at that and pulls you into a tight hug.

You shake in her arms, partially from the past few days and partially from the overwhelming feeling of having a maternal figure that loves you.

You have a feeling you’re going to wind up dedicating a few therapy sessions to both.

Frank pipes up from somewhere in the living room –probably keeping an eye on things, given his background and your dad’s general ability with constructing a mission plan. “Still no sign of anyone. Not even across the street. Entire town’s dead.”

“They’re probably at the church,” you pipe up as you step back from Alex and lean against your fiancé, wiping your face dry with your shirt. “Deciding what to do with me.”

Mikhail frowns. “They already took you. What else is there?”

“Whether or not they need to kill me,” you say, voice flat –and even though you’re exhausted and more than a little out of it, you can feel the snap of tension that runs through everyone else within earshot.

“We need to get her out of here,” Nate says, voice low and thrumming with barely controlled anger. He taps Wade on the shoulder, who is in the middle of rambling in Spanish to whoever’s on the phone. “Cars. Now.”

Wade gives Nate a little salute –without stopping his monologue—and heads towards the front door.

“Wait!” You panic a little when Nate and Piotr start moving you towards the door as well. “My ring –I still don’t have my ring, I need my ring!”

“It is okay, myshka,” Piotr reassures you. “I can get you new one—”

“I don’t want another one!” you sob as you dig in your heels to keep from being moved further. “I want the one you already gave me –it’s mine, they took it from me, it’s supposed to be mine—”

“I found the ring!” Neena shouts from upstairs. There’s a series of quick footsteps above you, then a thud that makes you think she jumped the entire flight of stairs in one go, and then she’s jogging into the kitchen with your engagement ring in hand. “I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

You almost collapse with relief when you see it. Your hands are shaking so bad that you can barely hold onto your bottle of water, much less a delicate engagement ring.

Fortunately, Piotr’s there to help you. He takes the ring from Neena with a murmured ‘thank you,’ then carefully slides it back into place on your left ring finger.

“There we go,” Alex says with a note of approval in her voice.

Nathan nudges you forward –albeit not unkindly—as Frank, Neena, and Mikhail head out the front door. “Come on. Time to get out of here.”

You walk through the dining room and entryway on shaky legs, then across the small porch and down the little flight of steps. It’s cool outside, and Piotr shucks off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders when you shiver.

There’s two sleek, modern, massive black SUVs that look entirely out of place on your parents’ gravel driveway. Neena’s behind the wheel of one, Frank’s behind the other—

And Wade is standing between the two cars, holding the cellphone six inches away from his ear as some rages at him from the other end of the line—

You recognize the voice; it’s your uncle.

Wade shoots Alexandra a slightly shell-shocked look. “I think he’s pissed.”

You hold out your hand to him. “He’ll settle down when I start talking to him.”

Your uncle’s still going as you clamber into the back of the SUV that Frank’s driving. “—Wilson, I swear to all things holy and not, if you don’t put my niece on the phone right now—”

“Hey,” you say quickly before he can start listing off various death threats. “It’s me. I’m okay.”

Your uncle lets out a rush of air that almost makes you think he’s been punched in the gut “Punk.”

Piotr climbs in next to you –which gets an eyebrow raise from you, to which he merely kisses your forehead—and buckles you into your seat before buckling himself in and closing the door next to him.

“Hey,” you say again, voice wobbly and hoarse from all the crying you’ve been doing. “It’s okay, I’m okay—”

Your uncle lets out a broken sob. “Punk –Y/N—I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, equally as teary. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it’s alright.”

Nate closes the front passenger door of the car with a thud and quickly buckles himself in. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“We’re leaving now,” you say as Frank pulls out of the driveway. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll be here,” your uncle promises. “I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay,” you say for the umpteenth time. “I know you would have if it was an option.”

“Damn right.” He sniffs wetly, then groans. “There’s some other people here that want to check in on you. I need to… yeah.”

You let out a tired laugh –you don’t have to ask what he means. “That’s okay. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Alright, I’m gonna put you on speaker before I get mobbed.”

There’s a brief moment of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then—

Chaos.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie –and possibly Kitty as well, if your ears aren’t deceiving you—all try to talk at once, asking how you are, what happened, when you’re coming back, what’s going to happen to your parents… It all comes out as a jumbled, cacophonic mess, and even though you have to hold the speaker of the phone away from your ear a little, it makes you smile.

“Okay, okay.” Nikolai’s voice breaks through the din, warm and fond but undoubtedly authoritative. “One at time. Do not want to overwhelm here.”

And that devolves into, from the sounds of things, a ‘rock-paper-scissors’ match for who gets to talk first—

Until Illyana takes the phone. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you answer while trying not to giggle at the grumbling you can hear in the background. “I’ve been better, but I’m okay. I’m on my way home now.”

“What’s going to happen with your parents?” Russell blurts –which gets a few hisses of ‘don’t ask that’ from the girls, but you can understand why he’d want to know.

When you come from backgrounds like yours and his, it���s natural to want to know if the people like your abusers are being held accountable.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “But, if I have it my way, I’m never seeing them again.”

“We missed you a lot,” Yukio pipes up. “We were all really worried about what happened to you.”

“I missed you guys, too,” you say, choking up with emotion again. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

“Did Wade kill anyone?” Kitty asks, which prompts a snort from Illyana.

“As far as I know, he behaved himself.”

“Told you,” Russell grumbles at someone –Ellie, most likely, she’s usually the first person to doubt Wade’s self-control (not that she doesn’t have good reason or plenty of evidence to support her suspicions). “Karen’s here, too.”

You blink, surprised. “Karen? As in… Karen Page?”

(You swear you see Frank perk up in the driver’s seat, just a little.)

“Yeah,” Karen says, speaking for the first time. “I was brought here for… supervision.”

Which is another way of saying ‘safekeeping,’ but either way it isn’t hard to miss the distaste in her voice over being babysat.

“Well, uh, thanks for loaning your friend out,” you say for lack of something better to comment on. “I appreciate it.”

Karen snorts. “Now that’s a business idea. But we both wanted to make sure you came back in one piece.” She clears her throat. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” you admit wearily. “Been a lot better.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’m sure, considering you’re New York’s ‘most kidnapped reporter.’”

Frank snorts.

“Did he laugh at that?”

You smirk. “Yeah.”

Karen grumbles something under her breath before saying, “Well, I’ll have you know that claim is unsubstantiated at best.”

“I’m sure,” you yawn, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

“We’ll let you go,” Karen says decisively. “You should rest.”

“Probably,” you mutter, too tired for functional human conversation. You make your good-byes with the group –Nikolai promises to say good-bye to your uncle for you—then hang up.

The car’s already at the fringes of the town where you grew up. The populated area is quickly giving way to fields of crops and forest; if it weren’t for all the sins you know lie close to the surface of the place, it’d look beautiful.

You watch the sun continue to set before you turn away from the window and let exhaustion claim you.

 ***

 The cars pull over to the side of the road about twenty minutes later –far enough outside of town that you’ve got a head start, but still too close for comfort in your opinion.

You blink sleepily as Nate hops out of his seat and walks over to the door next to you. “What’s going on? Why did we stop?”

“We need to get you cleaned up and make sure you don’t have any serious injuries that require immediate attention,” he explains as Alex and Mikhail hop out of the other car and walk towards him.

You frown. “And if I do?”

Nathan nods to Mikhail. “He’ll teleport back to the Institute with you so you can get immediate treatment, and the rest of us will finish the drive back.” He pauses to take a large medical kit from Alex. “You got a preference for which one of us looks you over?”

“Dad,” you decide, voice quiet, after a moment of thought. “I want dad to do it.”

The three of them nod, and Alex and Mikhail walk a respectful distance away while Nathan puts on a pair of medical gloves.

“Alright,” he says as he turns on a mini flashlight. “Look straight ahead for me.”

Piotr unbuckles his seat belt and shifts so he’s sitting behind you. He kisses the top of your head when you interlock your fingers with his. “Does anywhere hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” you grumble as you follow Nathan’s light with your eyes.

Nate clicks the flashlight off. “No signs of concussion. Can you run me through how you got injured?”

You swallow hard and grip Piotr’s hand tighter. “I tried to escape… earlier today, I think. I caught my mother off guard… and she—” you tap where you’d gotten the split in your skin on your forehead “—kicked me. Couple times.”

Piotr lets out a shaky breath and scoots closer to you, lips pressing against your temple.

“Later, my father…” You chin trembles as your voice trails off, and you find yourself blinking back tears.

“It’s okay,” Nathan reassures you. “You don’t have to tell me how it went. I just need to know where you got hurt.”

“Ribs. Stomach. Neck,” you rattle off. “Legs too, probably.”

“Okay. Can you lift your shirt up for me so I can see your ribcage?”

You do –and for the first time, you realize there’s blood crusted on a good portion of your shirt. Some of it dripped down onto your pants as well. “Oh. That’s why everyone was looking at me weird. I look like Carrie.”

“All you’re missing is the bucket,” Nathan deadpans. He helps you roll up your shirt to the bottom of your bra when you wince, then grimaces. “Aw, kid…”

Your ribs are a mottled myriad of purples and reds, shiny and just a touch swollen. “Huh. I was wondering why that hurt.”

“That would do it,” Nathan agrees, jaw clenching as he inhales and exhales slowly. “Alright, I’m gonna feel your sides to make sure your ribs aren’t broken. This’ll probably hurt a little.”

It hurts a lot, but it’s nothing compared to the past few days.

You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe through the stabs of pain that Nathan’s poking creates. “I used the fighting techniques you taught me with my father. Almost choked him out.”

He presses a fatherly kiss against your forehead. “Atta girl. Good job. Alright, your ribs don’t seem to be broken, but you’re going to be sore until you can see one of the healers. We can always have Mikhail take you back if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shake your head automatically. “No. I want to stay with Piotr.”

Piotr hugs you gently, careful to avoid your bruises, and kisses your cheek. “Myshka, be reasonable.”

“I thought I was never going to see you again!” you whimper as you press yourself against him. “I thought you weren’t even real! I’m not leaving you!”

“We have painkillers,” Nate says when Piotr hesitates. “We can keep her physically comfortable, and her physical well-being isn’t in question. The next immediate step is her emotional well-being. She’ll be calmer if she stays with you.”

Piotr nods after a moment. “If you are certain she will be fine.”

“If I wasn’t, I’d be sending her home with your brother.” Nate nods when Piotr nods again, then pulls a pack of baby wipes out of the medical kit. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Pictures,” Frank pipes up from the driver’s seat. “This is an abuse case. You need to take pictures.”

“I’m not taking my parents to court,” you sigh. “I probably wouldn’t win, since I’m mutant. All I ever care about is not seeing them again.”

Frank meets your eyes in the rearview mirror. “All due respect, ma’am, but they went to the trouble of kidnapping you and dragging you back to their house. Even if you’re done with them, they clearly aren’t done with you. You need a paper trail.”

“He’s right,” Nathan says when you pull a frustrated face. “The more documentation we have, the better things go if the courts ever do get involved.”

You sigh, exhausted and frustrated. “Fine. Let’s just make it fast. I want to get all this blood off me.”

Nathan calls Alex over to help with the picture taking process. Using Nate’s phone, they start off by taking several pictures of your face and the cut and bruising there, before documenting the state of your clothes and all the blood over it. The snap a few shots of your neck –chafing from the mutation repression collar, apparently—then move on to taking pictures of your ribs and back.

Piotr kisses your forehead soothingly when you whimper from your ribs hurting. “Almost done. You are doing so well.”

They finish off by getting photos of the bruises on your legs from your encounter with your father, then Nate hands the package of baby wipes to Alex. “Start getting her cleaned up. I’m going to save these.”

Frank rolls down his window and holds his phone out to Nathan. “Send them to Karen’s number, too. She works with a law firm; they’ll be able to help.”

“I thought she was a journalist,” you say as Nate copies Karen’s number into his phone.

“She moonlights as a private investigator and paralegal for a law firm, too,” Frank explains.

You nod, impressed. “Pays to be connected.”

“It certainly does,” Alex agrees as she clasps your chin with her hand. “Alright, malen'kaya ptitsa, let’s get you cleaned up.”

With the practiced gentleness of a loving mother, she wipes your face clean with methodic, circular strokes. She goes through several wipes before she moves on to your neck, gently scrubbing the dried blood off your skin.

Your hold on Piotr’s hand tightens further as waves of emotion threaten to overwhelm you.

This should’ve been your mother. The societal laws of the universe dictate that it’s your mother, the one who gave birth to you, who should be loving on you and caring for you like this.

Instead, she helped lock you in a cell and kicked you in the face when you tried to escape.

“There we go,” Alex says softly, fondly. “All clean.” She throws the baby wipes in a plastic bag, then nods at the medical kit –which is really just a black duffel bag with more medical emergency supplies in it than you would’ve thought possible—as she ties the plastic bag off. “There’s clean clothes for her in there. Help her get changed.”

Piotr kisses the back of your head before sliding back across the back bench of the SUV and exiting on his side of the car. He circles back around to you and withdraws a pair of pajama pants, some fresh underwear, and a shirt of his that’s large enough your won’t have to wear a bra. “Alright, myshka. Let’s get you into proper clothing.” He stands so he’s blocking you from view of everyone else –even the driver’s side mirror of the car, not that you’d ever take Frank Castle as the ‘sneak peek’ type.

Still, you appreciate the gesture.

You shuck off your white, baggy clothes with Piotr’s help, then let out a sigh of relief when you pull on the fresh underwear and pajama pants.

“I bet that feels better,” Piotr says as he helps you get the clean shirt on.

“Yeah, it does,” you admit.

Piotr puts your bloody clothes in another plastic grocery bag, then ties it off and tucks it in the medical kit. He zips the duffel bag shut, hands it back to his mother, then nods at Nathan. “We’re ready.”

“Good. We can’t afford to stand still any longer.”

Your stomach growls angrily as everyone gets back in their respective car seats. “Dad, I really need to eat something.”

“I know, kiddo. I promise, as soon as we’re a good distance away, we’ll get you fed,” Nathan says as he buckles himself in. “Think about what you want in the meantime. We’ll get whatever sounds good to you.”

Piotr kisses your cheek as he buckles you back into your seat. “Hang in there, myshka. Just little bit longer.”

“I want burgers,” you whine tiredly –you’ve earned a good whine, though. “Plural. As in lots of them.”

“We can get you burgers,” Piotr promises, buckling himself in as Frank steers back onto the road.

“And fries. I want fries.”

“You can have fries, also.”

“I want your fries, too.”

Piotr chuckles, then nods. “You can have my fries as well.”

You lean against his shoulder, worn out. “Can I get a milkshake, too?”

“Whatever you want, dorogoy,” Piotr says as he carefully wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “You can get whatever you want.”

***

 Forty minutes later, you finally hit a strip with a bunch of stores –and, even better, fast food joints. The two cars order enough food for twenty people, then drive over to an abandoned movie theater with a parking lot that’s more grass than asphalt and park there so everyone can eat.

You manage to slurp down half your chocolate shake before Piotr takes it from you and hands you one of the burgers you’d asked for. “Protein first, please,” he says as he sets your shake in your cupholder. “I do not want for you to get sick.”

After four days of withdrawals and plain turkey sandwiches, the burger tastes like heaven.

You moan obscenely as you take your first bite, then gulp it down before going back in for more.

“The hell are you doing to her?” Mikhail asks, grinning lasciviously as he opens his door and swing his legs so he’s sitting sideways in his seat, facing the car you’re in. “I could hear that through my window!”

Piotr just rolls his eyes, takes a bite of his burger, and hands his fries over to you, the sweetheart.

“What’s the plan for the parents’ house when we get Y/N back home?” Wade asks as he horks down his burger almost as fast as you’re eating yours. “I’m feeling something arson-y. Frankenfurter, you down?”

You can almost hear Frank’s eyes roll at the nickname, but he shows restraint by only flipping Wade off for it instead of cursing him out. “You’re buying the gas.”

“Ooh, I do love good burning!” Mikhail says with slightly manic brightness. “If I come, you will not even need matches!”

“Send a good message,” Nathan reasons, techno-organic eye flaring as he considers the idea. “Warn all the other shitheads not to go after mutants.”

Behind you, Piotr makes a noise of disapproval. “X-Men do not kill.”

“We’re not X-Men!” Wade reasons. “It’ll be fine!”

“I don’t know,” Neena says softly as she watches you closely. “I’m not getting a good feeling about this idea.”

You’re not sure when you started crying, but her sudden attention makes you realize that you’re shaking and that tears are trickling down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Wade crouches in front of you, smiling brightly even though panic is easy to see in his eyes. “It’s okay. We wouldn’t leave you out of it.”

Piotr sighs heavily. “Wade—”

“Hey, a little vengeance towards childhood abusers is very cleansing for the soul!”

“No,” you snap, scrubbing at your face –and then wince when you press against the cut by your eyebrow too hard. “No one’s doing anything. No arson, no killing, no threats, nothing!”

“What the shit? Are you listening to yourself right now?” Wade exclaims. “These are your parents, the people who beat you growing up and again within the past twenty-four hours, and you just want to –what—let them get away with it? The fuck kinda bullshit is that!”

“You can’t,” you sob, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. “You can’t –Wade, you can’t, you have to promise me—”

“Hey, hey.” Nate clasps your hand while shushing softly. “Deep breaths. No one’s going to do anything if you’re not okay with it.”

“Speak for yourself!”

Neena kicks Wade in the shin –albeit not too hard. “We’re trying to calm her down right now.”

“What do you think the arson is for?”

Piotr lets out a harsh exhale behind you. “Wade—”

“Everyone be quiet,” Alex interjects in a tone that brokers no arguing. She fixes Wade with a steely glare when he opens his mouth to argue anyway. “I said quiet. There is more going on here than you realize.”

Wade gives you a skeptical look. “What else could there possibly be? Your family situation is already entirely fucked.”

You sniff wetly and blow your nose into a Kleenex provided by Piotr, then give everyone watching you –which is the entire group at this point—a desperate, pleading look. “What I’m about to tell you cannot ever go any further, okay? Someone else’s life is at stake. I’m putting them at risk –and the rest of you, too—just by telling you all this.”

Everyone nods seriously –even Wade—and then it all comes tumbling out.

About your uncle. About the life he was forced into. About how he got out and has to stay under every radar conceivable to avoid being forced back into “government service.”

“If anything happens to my parents –or their property—that isn’t natural causes, the government drops a massive manhunt on his head,” you explain, voice thick with emotion. “It’s an agreement they made to keep him from taking me when I was a kid and to keep him from lashing out at them from all their bullshit.”

“Why haven’t they just dropped the bomb on him anyway?” Neena asks. “Your parents don’t exactly seem like the most rational, deal-honoring people anyway.”

“He warned them that if they did pull something like that, his first stop would be to come get me and ‘wipe all evidence of them from existence,’” you say. “I think they valued their own lives enough to keep from doing that.”

“Why not just take you and run anyway?” Mikhail pipes up, forehead creased with confusion and concern.

You purse your lips. “For all about him that’s great… he’s flawed. I don’t think he ever thought he’d be in a good position to take care of a kid –and, in all honesty, he wasn’t.”

“But he could have saved you,” Mikhail argues. “He could have gotten you out.”

“My uncle was just as abused as I am, if not more,” you say flatly. “He’s had his own demons to deal with –still deal with. And, at any rate, this isn’t about what he has or hasn’t done; this is about his present safety, and believe me when I say there is a very real threat staring him down.”

“We believe you,” Nate reassures you. “And we’re not going to do anything that’s going to put your uncle at risk.”

Wade holds up his hands defensively when you give him a pointed look. “I’ll behave! I promise!”

You heave a sigh of relief and lean back against Piotr. “Thanks, everyone.”

 …

 While you all finish eating, Nate, Alex, Neena, Piotr, and Frank work out how the rest of the travelling is going to go.

There’s no stopping for a hotel –or anything other than food, gas, and bathroom breaks, really. Even though you’re safely out of your parents’ clutches, the possibility of them chasing after you –along with who knows who else—still looms ominously like a black thunder cloud.

“We left the collar at the house,” Nate says while looking over some maps with Frank and Neena. “With any luck, they’ll think she got it off and escaped into the woods.”

“By unlocking the door from inside the room,” Frank says, voice heavy with doubt.

“I can unlock handcuffs with my powers,” you retort between massive bites of burger and fries. “And I used to take my bedroom door off its hinges to escape from my room. It’s not that much of a leap.”

Frank shrugs, looking equal parts impressed and irritated –though the latter, you’re certain, is directed at your parents. “If you say so.”

“If they come after us,” Nate says, stressing the first word for your sake. “You’re—” he points to Mikhail “—going to get her and get back to the Institute. We’ll be able to handle whatever they throw at us.”

You frown when Mikhail nods and look to your fiancé. “What about you?”

Piotr kisses your forehead. “I will be fine. My armor mutation will keep me safe.”

“Yeah, honey, but you’re official X-Men. You can’t be associated with a shoot-out in case something hits the news.”

“Grab both of them,” Nate tells Mikhail.

“Do I have to?” Mikhail mock-whines. “Mladshiy brat too heavy.”

Piotr rolls his eyes and says something in Russian, which Mikhail pulls a face at and replies in a short, irritated tone, and then the two of them tangent off into some sort of rapid-fire argument that leads to the two of them talking over each other—

“Stop it, both of you,” Alex admonishes them crisply. “This situation is serious. Act like it.”

“One of us is,” Piotr mutters under his breath.

“Trakhni tebya!”

“Enough.” Alex levels a serious, mildly annoyed look at Piotr. “Quit antagonizing.”

Mikhail laughs.

“That goes for you, too, Koroleva dramy.”

You squeeze Piotr’s hand when you catch him barely suppressing an annoyed grimace. “Be nice.”

Frank noisily balls up the wrapper his burger had come in, effectively distracting everyone away from the argument. “We should get moving again. Do we have a route picked out?”

Neena tosses him a map with a series of roads and highways highlighted. “I’m feeling good about this one.”

“Still lazy writing,” Wade grumbles under his breath.

Nate pats Wade on the shoulder before heading back to his seat. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Once you’re buckled in, Piotr hands you a small container with some pills and a bottle of water. “Medication,” he explains when you give him a perplexed look. “Dr. McCoy wanted you to have meal before you took it.”

You quickly –gratefully—down one of the pills and follow it with a swig of water. “Thanks, babe.”

He produces another bottle with a few smaller looking pills in it. “Xanax. He instructed me to have you take one as well to help you sleep.”

You take one of the Xanax, chase it down with some water, and flop back in your seat with a sigh as Frank drives the car towards the nearest highway. “How long until we’re home?”

“About two days, give or take four hours,” Nate answers from the shotgun seat of the car.

You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against Piotr and close your eyes.

You may as well get some sleep in that time.

***

 You wake up to the sun blasting your eyes –and ow, no, I didn’t need my retinas to be functional, just go right ahead and scorch them, you fucker. You blink hard, trying to get the little spots from accidentally staring at the bright, early morning light to fade from your field of vision, and stretch your back and sit up.

For a moment, you panic when you realize Piotr isn’t next to you –but Nathan is, napping, and if he’s still here then you’re still safe…

You let out a little sigh of relief when you see that Piotr’s in the driver’s seat, steering the car around a bend in the road. You lean forward –mashing your face against the back of his seat in the process—and gently squeeze his shoulders. “Hi.”

He lifts one hand off the wheel when he gets to another length of straight, open road and lovingly squeezes one of your hands. “Dobroye utro, myshka.”

You yawn and latch onto his shirt when he lets go of you so he has both hands on the steering wheel once more. “How long have you been awake?”

“Couple of hours. I switched off with Frank around four.”

Sure enough, Frank’s in the front passenger seat, completely dead to the world and snoring slightly.

“How much longer until we’re home?”

“I think we will reach halfway point later today, provided everything goes well.”

You grunt a little and turn your head so only your cheek’s pressing the back of his seat. “Can we get breakfast soon? I’m hungry.”

Piotr chuckles a little and pats your hand. “Da, dorogoy. We can get you breakfast soon.”

***

 Breakfast comes in the form of a Panera Bread. You can only imagine how big the cashier’s eyes must’ve been when Neena and Piotr had gone in to place the order, judging by the three massive bags of food and multiple drink carriers they bring out, but fortunately the place is pretty dead since it’s still early in the morning.

You all eat in the parking lot, car doors open to let in fresh air and facilitate easy conversation.

“We should refuel soon,” Frank says, voice still gravelly –well, more than usual—from sleep. “And stock up on some supplies and coffee.”

“You ordered three large black coffees for breakfast,” Neena remarks, disbelieving. “What are you going to need more coffee for?”

“He doesn’t just punish criminals and jackasses,” Wade quips. “He also likes to punish his cardiovascular system by scouring it with mass amounts of caffeine.”

Frank just rolls his eyes and flips Wade off.

Alex groans as she works a brush through her hair. “I will be glad to not sleep in car soon. I am too old for this.”

“I can take you back,” Mikhail offers, a worried frown tugging at his lips.

Alex merely shakes her head, though. “I would rather be present in case something goes wrong.”

“We’ve made some good progress,” Nate says as he works on polishing off a breakfast sandwich. “If we were going to see them, it would’ve been last night, either at the house or when we stopped to treat her injuries.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not following behind us,” Frank adds darkly. “Best to stop as little as we have to.”

***

 The two SUVs stop at a gas station fifteen minutes later.

Nate eyes the meter critically as the beast of a car continues guzzling down fuel. “And people say climate change is a myth.”

The eight of you head into the gas station two at a time to freshen up in the bathroom and get whatever snacks and drinks you might want, while everyone else keeps an eye on the road for any signs of trouble.

Mikhail comes out with two bags full of Monster and Red Bull.

“Nyet,” Piotr says before you can even muster up so much as a hopeful look. He points at the bags his brother’s carrying. “Keep those in other car.”

“Do you mind if I ride in the front while he drives?” you ask Frank when he comes out from his trip to the gas station, nodding at Piotr while you speak.

Frank shrugs. “Sure. I can sleep in the back.”

“You should rest, myshka,” Piotr says as he kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, but I want to rest next to you,” you explain. “And hold your hand.”

He chuckles and hugs you gently before ushering you towards the front passenger seat. “I suppose that is reasonable.”

 ***

 For the first time in your life, you don’t mind the monotony of car travel.

You can keep track of how much time is passing, you’re close to Piotr the entire time, you have access to water and good tasting food, and you’re able to talk to the people you love most (other than Piotr) basically whenever you want.

The only real downside is that Frank listens to Bruce Springsteen on repeat whenever he’s driving –during the day that is, he’s not enough of an asshole to play it at night—but even that’s tolerable compared to your past few days in hell on earth.

Piotr sticks close to you throughout it all. If he’s driving, you’re in the front passenger seat next to him. If you’re in the back, he’s sitting in the seat next to yours. If you head into a gas station to use the restroom, he’s the one that heads in with you. Wherever you eat –usually in the car, but sometimes leaning against the side or the hood so you can stretch your legs—he’s right next to you.

You’re both equally clingy to each other, really. On some level, you know the considerate thing to do would be dial it back so you don’t annoy everyone else –but, on the other hand, you spent four days being held and tormented by your parents and thought that everyone you’d ever met outside of your childhood community might’ve never existed to begin with. If anything, you’ve earned a little PDA.

(Besides, it’s not like anyone’s complaining or pulling faces.)

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you murmur quietly one night, while Nate’s driving and Frank’s co-piloting for him. You’re in the back with Piotr, nestled against his chest and snuggled up in his jacket. “I thought I’d made you up –that I’d made everything up.”

Piotr holds you tight, cradling you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “I will always find you, myshka,” he promises in an equally quiet voice. “You will never have to wake up alone again.”

 ***

 The two SUVs finally reach the X-Mansion around three in the afternoon, a little over two days after your rescue.

Your uncle’s waiting in the garage for you, pacing nervously and generally looking like a wreck.

“And I thought I was the one that was kidnapped and held prisoner,” you remark as you watch him stare down the cars, like he can make them park and turn off faster if he keeps his eyes on them through the whole process.

“He was pretty cut up when you went missing,” Nate says from the backseat. “Flew here in twelve hours when Xavier contacted him with the news.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath as Piotr finishes parking the car and turns the engine off. You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the SUV as quickly as you can—

Your uncle’s still quicker. He practically lifts you out of your seat and into a crushing hug, sobbing brokenly as he holds you.

Which makes you start crying. You’re surprised your tear ducts have anything left to offer after all the crying you’ve done over the past couple days.

“I’m so sorry!” he gasps between sobs as he clutches you tighter and tighter. “I’m so sorry, punk; I’m so, so sorry!”

You hold onto him just as fiercely. “It’s okay; it’s not your fault, it was never your fault…”

The two of you collapse to the cement floor of the garage in a discombobulated heap, weeping and clinging to each other like it’s all that either of you can do.

And, given the depth of everything that’s happened, it just might be.

Piotr, Alex, and Nate help the two of you stand, steadying you both until you’re each calm enough to stay upright on your own power.

Your uncle cups your face his hands, jaw trembling with rage as he looks you over. “What did they do to you? What did they do –I’m gonna fucking murder them!”

Alex shushes your uncle, quickly stepping between the two of you as he starts shaking again. “Deep breaths.”

“Don’t you fucking ��deep breaths’ me!”

“She needs you calm,” Alex fires back, pointing at you.

Which you don’t think is the whole truth; of the two of you, you’re miles calmer than your uncle (that would be the Xanax, thank you modern pharmaceutics).

But he needs to calm down. And if thinking he’s helping you is the bridge that gets him there, so be it.

You offer your uncle a watery smile when he looks at you. “Honestly, all I really want is to go inside, take a shower, and nap in a real bed.”

That ekes a ghost of a snort out of your uncle. He takes a deep breath, then nods. “Yeah. Probably a good idea. Easier to bathe in water than in deodorant.”

You snicker. “You’re telling me.”

You’re ushered into the house by your uncle and your rescue group. Piotr stays by your side the whole way, holding your hand reassuringly as you step through the back door and into the kitchen—

And there’s Russell, Yukio, Ellie, Illyana, Kitty, Nikolai, and Karen, all waiting for you with varying looks of worry and anticipation.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie all swarm you at once. It takes a bit of work figuring out how to hug all three of them at once, and it makes your ribs sting like a bitch, but you don’t care. You’re overjoyed to see them; you’ve missed their energy and company fiercely during all of this.

Illyana and Kitty go next –though they have a little more self-control and opt to go one at a time, sparing your ribs from an extra squeezing.

Illyana holds onto you for a surprisingly long amount of time. When she lets go, her eyes are watery enough that her usually impeccable eyeliner has started running.

“Was very worried about you,” she manages, voice wobbly with emotion when you ask her what’s wrong. “And for medvezhonok. Very distraught while you disappear.” She smiles at you, genuine and bright despite the tears in her eyes. “I am glad you are home.”

You have to hug her again after that.

Nikolai’s hug almost makes you cry (again). It’s so gentle and nurturing, and in direct comparison to the past few days –save for being rescued—it’s an outright shock to your system. “We are all glad you come home, malen'kaya ptitsa,” he says before placing a gentle, fatherly kiss against the top of your head.

If you sniffle a little when you step back and wipe a few tears from your eyes, no one mentions it. “I’m glad to be back.” You turn—

And then it’s just Karen left.

She grimaces when she sees you. “You look rougher than you did that one time when Frank brought you by my apartment.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t bleed on your couch this time.” You mentally flounder for a moment, then shrug at her. “You want a hug, too?”

Karen chuckles –along with everyone else—and shrugs back. “Why not? Hugs are good.” Your hug with her is briefer than your hugs with everyone else, but she does clasp your shoulder when it ends. “Your dad sent me the pictures he took of your injuries and a basic rundown of how they found you. I showed them to the law firm I moonlight for –they’re willing to represent you, if you’re interested.”

Granted, you’d rather not have anything to do with your parents ever again, but knowing what your legal options are wouldn’t be a half bad idea.

First things first, though.

“Can I, like, at least take a shower and a nap first?” you ask.

Karen smiles and nods. “Yeah, definitely do those first. I’ll let them know you’re interested in working with us?”

You nod after a moment of thought. “Yeah. I’m interested.”

***

 Before either a shower or a nap, though, comes a thorough medical examination and healing session. Vitals, x-rays, bloodwork, the whole nine yards and a few extra for good measure.

Hank takes some higher quality pictures of your injuries and documents your medical status for your meeting with your new lawyers, then sends you off to one of the healers so you don’t have to treat yourself like the most delicate, frail china doll until everything heals.

“Alyssa and Professor Xavier want to do a session with you,” he informs you before sending you to one of the healers. “To make sure no irreversible damage has been done from going off your meds and being held captive.”

“Define ‘irreversible,’” you sigh as you rub your neck.

Hank flashes you a pained smile. “I know. But better to take all the steps than cut corners. Especially with situations like this.” He waves you along when you go quiet. “Go on. Go get healed up. That should help you feel better.”

***

 The healing session does help –but honestly, all you want now is a shower and a proper bed.

Which is exactly what you get for yourself. Once the session is done, you head straight for the room you share with Piotr, beeline for the bathroom, and make yourself a nice, steaming shower.

Ah, just mildly scalding, you think as you step under the cascade of water. Perfect.

The warm water feels like heaven. You can feel your muscles relaxing under the soothing spray, and you waste no time washing your hair and scrubbing yourself down.

The first shower after a healing session is always a little weird. You know you were injured –you can still feel dull pain in your ribs and the stress your body went through from coping with the injuries—but seeing completely smooth, unmarred skin in contrast to all of that always makes you feel like you’re having a bit of an out-of-body experience.

Your fingers automatically lift to your brow. There’s not so much as a fine line scar left from where your mother kicked you, let alone the scabby, crusty mess that had been there only fifteen minutes ago.

You’re not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have everything erased like this. On one hand, you definitely don’t want to bear the proof of your parents’ hatred towards you for the rest of your life. On the other hand, if you don’t have any proof at all, does that mean you didn’t even suffer? It could’ve all just been a nightmare, or a horrid hallucination your psychosis cooked up—

You groan and scrub your face with your hands. I need to sleep.

Piotr joins you halfway through your shower. It takes him considerably less time to scrub down than it does for you, so he spends most of his time caressing your body and planting kisses along your jawline and neck.

By the time the shower’s over, you’re wound up in an entirely different way.

The two of you dry each other off –which really means that you spend more time kissing and groping each other than you do actually drying each other off.

You moan softly as Piotr runs his tongue over the spot where your neck and jaw meet. “Take me to bed, baby.” You sigh happily when he complies, looping your arms around his neck as he picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom.

You’re home.

***

 “How are you doing?”

You let out a harsh bark of laughter. “How the fuck doing you think I’m doing?”

The corner of Alyssa’s mouth turns up in a smile. “Probably like shit.”

You snort, then nod. “That’s not far off the mark.” You sigh heavily. “I’m happy to be home.”

“But?”

You shrink back into the couch in your therapist’s office, picking at the hem of your shirt. “I’m scared.”

“That it’s not real,” Alyssa supplies when you don’t volunteer any other information. “Your dad mentioned that you said something about thinking none of this was real when he rescued you.”

Your jaw clenches as the moment you saw your mother’s face for the first time in over two years flashes through your mind’s eye over and over again. “I just… I saw her face, and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.”

“That’s not an uncommon reaction. Interacting with abusers puts our systems through a great deal of stress.”

You swallow hard, staring out the window as everything that followed that moment flashes through your head at dizzying speed. “It was like… everything I thought I knew uprooted in that moment. And I thought… ‘what if I made everything up? What if I’m a delusional maniac?’”

“What makes you think you’re delusional?” Alyssa asks, clasping her hands in her lap as she studies you.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Just… I’m afraid that none of this is real, and that I’ve been with my parents this whole time.” You look over at her. “I could be delusional. It’s possible.”

“Delusional people don't question whether or not they're delusional,” Alyssa says calmly. “They hold their beliefs with total conviction, regardless of whatever evidence is presented. The fact that you're questioning your experience is symptomatic of your anxiety and depression, not because of a delusion.”

“But it is possible!” you insist, gesturing with your hands in short, agitated motions as your anxiety spikes. “It technically is! People cope with abuse in all sorts of ways! Delusions can be one of those ways!”

“Yes, they do, and yes, it is, but that’s not the case with you,” Alyssa fires back. “In order to construct an alternate reality, you would have to be severely schizophrenic. Delusions can be a subset of schizophrenia, but they're about beliefs and obsessions, not constructing locations, people that have never been met, seen, or heard of, or interactions with those people. The latter would fall into the category of hallucinations. What you’re describing to me isn’t within the limitations of a delusion.”

“Then maybe I’m schizophrenic!” you exclaim.

“You’re not,” Alyssa says evenly. “You don’t exhibit any of the symptoms of schizophrenia. And, if you were, your interactions with your alternate reality would not be as linear as anything you’re experiencing now.” She cocks her head to the side as she looks at you. “Why do you keep looking for reasons why this might not be real?”

“I have to. I have to make sure that everything’s real.”

“Why? What’s the worst thing that happens if none of this is real?”

You draw in a shaky breath as you rip at your shirt’s hemline. “Because if none of this is real, that means I was always with my parents, and no one ever loved me.” You freeze, full body, as what you just say registers, then slump over against the arm of the couch and start crying.

“There it is,” Alyssa says softly as she pulls a couple tissues out of the box on the table next to her chair and hands them to you. “Not delusional. Just scared of not being loved.”

“But what if it is?” you whimper. “What if no one really loves me?”

“It’s not a delusion, honey, I promise. Your questioning reality was a side effect of heightened anxiety due to withdrawals, that’s all. This is all real, and you’re really loved.” She hands you a few more tissues. “Your parents were working very hard to destabilize you, even if they didn't know you were on medication. They took away your ability to track time, any personal effects, had almost complete control over your schedule. When you got back to being in control of yourself and back on your medication, you stabilized. People with delusions don't stabilize when interacting with the delusion. You've stabilized due to being out of a stressful environment and getting back onto medication.”

You grit your teeth as you wipe your cheeks dry with a balled-up tissue. “I hate them. I hate them so much.”

“I know, honey. And they’ve definitely earned it. Just make sure you don’t stay there,” Alyssa encourages you, smiling softly as she looks you in the eye. “Because you don’t deserve having to give them all that energy and effort when they never did that for you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure how fast the whole ‘moving on’ thing is gonna go,” you grumble as you start shredding your wadded up, damp tissue.

“Fast doesn’t matter,” Alyssa reassures you. “Just as long as you’re moving.”

 ***

 Franklin “Foggy” Nelson and Matthew Murdock are nothing like what you expect.

Though that may largely have to do with the cheery “Hiya, Red!” Wade tosses Matt’s way as soon as the man walks through the front door to the Institute, which makes Matt pull a face like he’s about to shit his pants so hard he’s gonna rip the seams.

Granted, things aren’t necessarily much improved by Frank following them through the door –presumably to make sure Karen stays safe in case things blow back with your parents somehow—

Except Matt turns towards him and growls, “You didn’t say Wilson was going to be here.”

Which leads the grand revelation that one of your lawyers is actually Daredevil, one of Hell’s Kitchen’s leading vigilantes and a staunch rival of sorts with both Frank and Wade.

…Honestly, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you.

 ***

 “I’ll be honest, Miss L/N,” Foggy says once the whole “Matt is Daredevil” kerfuffle is settled and the five of you –Matt, Foggy, Karen, you, and Piotr, who agreed to sit in when you asked him to—finally have a chance to sit down. “Given the severity of your abuse case, I’m a little surprised you haven’t already taken steps to issue a restraining order against your parents. You have more than enough grounds for it. Heck, you have enough grounds to take them to criminal court –and win.”

“I’m not interested in having a day in court,” you say quietly. “I just never want to see them again.”

“Understandable, given the tragic circumstances of your upbringing,” Matt says, tone perfectly sympathetic; he’s clearly had a great deal of practice with this. “A restraining order, however, would go a long way towards making sure that could happen.”

“We’d work with the authorities and whatever legal support your parents might have,” Karen adds, notepad settled on her lap and pen poised to start taking notes at any moment. “And, given the severity of the abuse you’ve suffered, we could represent your interests along with someone that you give power of attorney. You could be as removed from the situation as you want.”

Piotr’s hand closes around yours when you don’t say anything, thumb tracing delicate circles against your skin. “It may be worth considering.”

Matt tilts his head for a moment, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Is there a specific reason why you never issued a restraining order against your parents, Miss L/N?”

Right, you think dejectedly. He’s Daredevil. He can hear my heartbeat. “You think I’m lying.”

“No—”

“You think I’m hiding something, then.”

Matt’s mouth hangs open for a moment, then slowly closes shut.

You swallow hard and look away as tears threaten to spill. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“We work with complicated situations all the time,” Foggy reassures you. “The more open and honest you are with us, the better we can help you.”

“This isn’t just for you,” Matt tacks on. “Restraining orders can also be used to protect whatever children you may choose to have in the future. Even if you don’t want it for you, it may be worth the peace of mind for your future self, to know that your parents can’t get anywhere near your offspring.”

And that does make the whole idea a lot more tempting. Matt’s right that you really don’t care about yourself in all this, but you wouldn’t wish your parents upon your future kids in a thousand years.

You also know you can’t rain hellfire down on someone’s life without even consulting them first.

“Would you mind if I took a few minutes?” you ask, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s, uh, someone I need to talk to.”

Matt nods. “Take all the time you need.”

You’re not sure if he’s being nice, or if he doesn’t mind because he’s paid by the hour and you’re still technically using his time.

“We’ll be here when you come back,” Karen says with a reassuring smile. “In the meantime, Mr. Rasputin, perhaps we can get started on asking you some questions about your relationship with Y/N, how much you know about her history, that sort of thing?”

Piotr nods when you nod, squeezing your hand before letting it go. “Of course. Whatever I can help with.”

You quickly step out of the classroom the five of you had settled in, then all but run down the hall and towards the residential side of the mansion.

You need to find your uncle.

 ***

 He lets out a low whistle. “Restraining order. That’s some serious shit.”

The two of you are seated in the gazebo towards the back of Xavier’s property. The skies have decided to cast a relentless downpour on the world beneath them, drenching everything within their reach and making mini-swamps out of various patches of the lawns that encircle the mansion.

The space under the gazebo is dry, though, and the rain is loud enough that you don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing you, and the spot is far enough removed from the house that the telepaths that could pick up what you’re talking about will be able to infer by the distance that the conversation you’re having is deliberately private.

“It’d be good for my future kids,” you comment as you watch little streams of water drip off the edges of the gazebo’s roof. “Honestly, it’d probably be good to do more than just a restraining order, make sure that my parents are completely locked out of everything.”

“Damn right it would,” your uncle agrees with a nod. He glances over at you. “So what’s stopping you?”

You sigh heavily. “They’d probably rat you out to try and get me to stop the proceedings. Or just rat you out to spite me.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” you uncle says immediately. “The second you do anything to actually shut them out, your mom’s going to throw an absolute shitfit. I know for a fact that the only reason they didn’t turn on me sooner is because, legally, the government couldn’t do anything to force you to go back home to them.”

You frown. “Wait, how can you know that?”

Your uncle flashes you a pained smile. “Who do you think supplied them with the repression serum? Or the collar? Or built the holding cell you were in? Sure as shit wasn’t me, punk.”

Your blood runs cold. “Why?”

“Probably wanted another agent,” your uncle says, entirely too blasé about the whole thing for your comfort. “They knew I was around, they just didn’t know where to find me.”

“Then why not get rid of me?”

“Because getting rid of you would make your mom a ‘bad mother.’”

You scoff, fists clenching against your thighs. “And kicking me in the face doesn’t?”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child. No, I figure once you turned eighteen, they would’ve shipped you off and claimed you were at college or working or what have you.” He grimaces, eyes going flat and dark. “You are lucky you chose to run when you did.”

You swallow hard, trying to stay calm despite the rage bubbling up inside you. “Then why keep kidnapping me? What’s the fucking point of it? They don’t want me, I’m out of their hair, what do they get by dragging me back to a place I never wanted to be from the get go?”

Your uncle shrugs. “Could be the government ordered them to track you down so they’d have better tabs on their ‘potential asset.’ Could be that they just wanted to keep control over you. Honestly, I’m not sure –and I don’t really care to know, either. I stopped trying to figure out your parents’ fucked up cognitions a long time ago. But we’re not talking about them. We’re talking about you getting your parents out of your life.”

“I mean…” You scrub your face with your hands and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m not sure what I can really do. If they’ve got government backing—”

“You let me and the other people in your life worry about that,” your uncle says firmly. “You’ve got more than enough mercenaries and vigilantes in your pocket. If someone tries to fuck any of this up, they’ll get their ass handed to them in short order.”

“But what about you?” you fire back, finally pointing out the elephant in the room. “If I go through with all this, your former handlers are going to start a manhunt for you.”

Your uncle considers that for a moment before shrugging. “Not my first time I’ve had to run. I can always do it again.”

“No! That’s not fair to you!”

“You’re right, it isn’t, but that’s not your fault. I was dealt this hand a long time before you ever showed up,” your uncle says, eyes shining as he smiles at you. “Don’t put your life on hold for me, punk. You deserve to live it without having to deal with your parents. I’ll be fine.”

You hug him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you start crying. “What about your house?”

“I’ll clear it out and burn it. Give them a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ before I duck under.”

You frown. “But… you won’t have anywhere to go once everything settles.”

“Eh, I’ve been thinking about relocating for a while now,” he comments casually as he stares out at the rain. “Maybe… somewhere closer to New York.”

You look up at him, disbelieving. “Really?”

He grins and hugs you closer. “Yeah, really. I miss you when you’re gone, punk. And…” He sighs. “I’m tired of being on my own so much.”

You gasp, feigning shock. “Are you… admitting you feel emotions?”

Your uncle snorts. “Don’t get used to it.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, listening to the rain fall and watching it wash away the sins of the earth.

“I might need you to answer some questions for my lawyers,” you finally say. “Just so they know what’s all going on.”

Your uncle pats your shoulder. “Whatever you need, punk. Whatever you need.”

 ***

 Matt, Foggy, and Karen take your uncle’s status in remarkable stride –which, considering that Matt is Daredevil, Karen unearths some sort of mob or government conspiracy every other week, and Foggy is constantly looped into the two’s insatiable drive to get into as much shit as possible, isn’t all that surprising, actually.

Your uncle does help confirm everything you’ve said –and everyone else, for that matter—about your parents. Even if he can’t testify, he can tell the three of them where to look for various details to confirm your version of events.

“Given your medical and therapy records, we have what basically constitutes an ‘open and shut’ case,” Foggy says during one of your sessions with them. You’d opted to meet at their office, which is attached to a deli and butcher’s shop run by Foggy’s family. “Even this doesn’t get taken this to criminal court, getting a restraining order should be easy. I can’t imagine there’d be a judge in New York that’d deny it.”

“Well, maybe one or two, but they’re in prison now,” Matt adds with a small smile.

Piotr squeezes your hand gently when you don’t react to either lawyer’s statements. “Are you alright, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Just… it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”

“Why not start with an ex parte order?” Karen suggests. “That’ll make sure you’re immediately protected, and then we can work with the judge to get a long-term order in place. Once that’s done, we can look at your file and work on anything else you might want to get set up to safeguard yourself against your parents.”

You nod sluggishly. “Yeah, just… can I have a night to sleep on it? I’m still trying to recover from everything.”

“Absolutely,” Matt says immediately. “You’ve been through a great deal of trauma, Miss L/N. It’s understandable that you’d want to take time to think about everything.”

You know he means to sound sympathetic and understanding, but right now it just sounds coddling. All you want to do is go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a thousand years.

Piotr makes good-byes for both of you as you head out of the office and towards Piotr’s car. He catches up with you quickly, gently lifting you up from where you’d slumped against the car door so he can open it for you. “Are you well, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you murmur as you plop into your seat. “Just really tired. Can we go home?”

Piotr bends down, ducking under the roof of the car so he can kiss your temple. “Da.”

“And can we snuggle?”

He stops mid-way in closing the car door to give you a loving smile. “Konechno. Whatever you would like.”

 ***

 Once the two of you get back home, Piotr lifts you out of the car and carries you all the way upstairs to the room the two of you share. He gently tucks you in bed before slipping his shoes off and climbing in on his side.

You wriggle over to him, nestling against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head. “It is okay. You are allowed to be tired.”

You trace your fingers over the planes of his chest in swirling, nonsensical shapes. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it. The restraining order.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I guess… it feels like I’m not allowed to do it.”

“Because of your uncle?”

“That, but also… I spent my childhood trying to figure out how to be a good daughter. I feel like if I lock my parents out, they’re never going to love me.”

Piotr stays quiet for a moment, before hugging you tighter and trailing kisses from the top of your forehead to your lips. “Perhaps you are right. But, I would say you have so many people here that love you. People who you do not have to prove yourself to. And I think it would be worth peace of mind to not have your parents looming over your shoulder so much. Especially when we start having children.”

And that’s the kicker of it, in the end.

Besides, Piotr’s right. You do have a wonderful family and life here at Xavier’s; everything’s improved for the better since leaving your parents and hometown community. No sense in fucking that up by leaving things to chance –especially once kids come into the picture.

“Okay,” you decide, pressing your forehead against your fiancé’s chest. “I’ll do the restraining order.”

 ***

 You’re still extremely fatigued and weak the next morning, and Piotr deems you too unwell to travel (not that you’re complaining, because hello pajama day). He calls in to the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page and lets them know –and as luck would have it, they’re in a position to make a house call since all you’re doing today is signing paperwork.

Frank also shows up. Whether it’s of his own reasons or he’s tagging along with your legal team, you neither know or care. He pretty much pairs off with Nathan and Wade as soon as he steps over the threshold into the house, talking with the two fellow assassins in hushed tones about who knows what –the latest style of bullets, maybe, or the most efficient ways to clean a gun.

(What do assassins talk about over lunch, anyway?)

You set up shop in the dining room with Piotr and your lawyers. Piotr’s family and your uncle are a few feet away in the kitchen, and further back are Nate, Wade, and Frank, still enraptured in whatever conversation they’re having.

“Alright,” Foggy says as he pulls a sheaf of paperwork out of his briefcase. “This is going to look like a lot, but it’s really just a bunch of reading and signing. Some of these are just waivers giving us permission to act in certain capacities –to use your medical records and therapy records as evidence in the courts, to act on your behalf without you being there in our capacity as your attorneys, stuff like that—some of these are forms that basically just say you understand, to your best ability, that you’re telling the truth, and some of these are also your permissive relief requests.”

You stare down at the papers like they’re liable to catch fire at any given moment. “And then?”

“Then, an emergency protective order goes into effect,” Karen says. “The emergency protective order only lasts a few days, but in that time we’ll request the ex-parte order to extend the time while we work through the litigation. Once we get through the process of establishing the long-term restraining order, it’ll be issued.”

You take a deep breath and nod slowly. “And then?”

“Given the severity of your case, we’re going to push for the longest term possible,” Matt explains with a small smile, “which is about five years. You’ll have to renew it at those intervals, but given the amount of evidence that supports your side of the story, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders when you start shaking. “Are you okay?”

“Just… feel like the world’s going to explode,” you murmur as you try to breathe evenly. “Or… that they’re never really going to love me again.” You hide your face against his shoulder as tears start leaking out.

Karen produces some tissues from her purse and hands them over to Piotr. “I know this isn’t easy…”

Normally, you’d snap at anyone who dared to issue that phrase while you’re dealing with family shit, but something about the sincerity in Karen’s voice makes you believe that, somewhere along the way, she’s gone through the same kind of shit that you have.

You lift your head and meet her gaze.

Her eyes are just as watery as yours. “Letting go of people who were supposed to love you but don’t is never an easy thing to do. It hurts, and it sucks, and it forces you to go through so much grieving that life just doesn’t prepare us for. But you deserve to have peace of mind in your day to day life. You deserve to never go through again what you went through two weeks ago.”

You sniff, inhale deeply, then nod. “Okay. Just… uh… do we have to go in any order?”

“Nope,” Foggy says with a kind smile. “Just so long as everything gets signed.”

“Okay.” You take another deep breath, then nod to yourself. “Okay. Let’s do this shit.”

 ***

 It’s so much paper. The top of the dining room table has disappeared under all the papers you have to sign. At least twenty forests must’ve died for all this paper to be here.

Also, you’ve officially hit the point where you’re questioning whether or not you know your own signature or not. Just looking at the black scrawl of ink makes you go a little cross-eyed.

“Alright, almost done,” Foggy says as he preps the next form for you to sign while Karen organizes everything and gets them tucked back in his briefcase. “We just have your permissive protections request left and the form that lets us act in your capacity as attorneys.”

“Thank fuck,” you mutter as you reach for the permissive protections request. “Is it possible to get carpal tunnel syndrome in less than a day?”

“I did it once!” Wade calls from the kitchen.

“I don’t even want to know how you managed that,” you fire back as you sign and initial the various spots on the form and hand it over to Karen. “Alright, last one.”

Matt stiffens in his seat before Foggy can hand it over to you, though. “Someone’s coming to the door. Several someones.”

Everyone freezes –and, sure enough, a couple seconds later there’s a series of raps on the front door.

You can hear Russell get up from the rec room and head towards the door, and then the door swinging open—

And past that, you can’t necessarily hear the conversation, but Matt’s hackles basically go up, which makes you tense further—

“Wade!” There’s a brief sound of struggle, and the Russell books it towards the kitchen. “Wade, Y/N’s parents are here with a bunch of other guys!”

Your blood runs cold, then white hot. If they hurt him, if they fucking hurt him…

Piotr tries to grab you when you jump up from your chair. “Myshka, stop—”

Your uncle reacts at the same time, immediately lunging in the direction of the front door. “Fucking assholes—”

Alex and Nikolai catch him, and Frank wraps his arms around his waist and hauls him back and out of sight for good measure.

You manage to slip past everyone in the chaos caused by your uncle’s attempt, charging down the hall towards Russell’s panicked voice. You can hear Piotr behind you, along with Wade, but you can’t think about either of them right now. All you can think about is Russell, and making sure no one hurts him, and if they hurt him, I’m going to kill every last one of them with my bare hands.

You nearly collide with the younger teen, but push him behind you and snarl directly in the face of your town’s pastor. “Get the fuck out!”

He –along with your parents and several of the men from your community—recoil in the face of your rage and the gust of wind that blasts through the hall.

Hit a dog long enough…

Your mother recovers first, scowling at you as she advances on you. “You disobedient, disrespectful—”

Piotr bursts into the hall, physically putting himself between you and everyone else before anyone can do anything. He glares down at your mother, drawing himself up to his full, massive height and balling his fists at his side. “Do not dare touch my fiancée.”

You mother blinks, shocked. “You actually proposed to her?”

“You took my fucking ring off me!” you snap, pointing at the hand in question.

“I thought it was fake!”

Of course she did. The whole time she told you –and everyone else told you—that no one would ever love you, and they actually believed it themselves.

Fuckers.

“Everyone, please,” your town’s pastor says above the chaos and all the shouting. “We don’t want to cause a scene or a problem.”

“Oh, I think you’ve already fucking done that,” Wade says, voice deadly, as he steps up to stand next to Piotr.

“You’ve been doing that for years,” Nate adds, gun clearly visible on his belt, as he steps between you, Russell, and everyone else.

“We’re not here because we have a problem with any of you,” your town’s pastor continues. “We’re just here to take Y/N back home, where she belongs.”

You stare at him like he’s the one growing a second head. “What?”

“We’re concerned about your spiritual well-being,” he says, like that’s applicable to the situation in any way, shape, or form.

You sputter at him, outraged. “What the –fuck your religion!”

“You mind your mouth!” your mother snarls. “And you’re coming back home with us!”

“The fuck I’m not!” you shout back. “I’m an adult! You can’t make me go anywhere if I don’t want to!”

“The daughter’s place is under her father’s headship until she is married,” your pastor says, desperately trying to keep some semblance of control over the situation. “It would be most appropriate for you to return home until you’re married to ensure your sexual and spiritual purity.”

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all that,” Wade mutters under his breath as he flashes a none-too-subtle ‘cuckoo’ gesture at you.

You just stare at the pastor, agape and eyes wide. “What the… what?”

“I know this may seem shocking—”

“They beat me!” you shriek, pointing at your parents. “They locked me in my room for days on end! They told me they hated me, that no one would ever love me, that I was an abomination!” You narrow your eyes when your pastor blanches, the chill of realization settling hard in your stomach. “You knew. You knew all of it was wrong. Just like you know that this is wrong! You let it all happen!”

He grimaces, but ultimately says nothing.

“Doesn’t matter,” your father growls flatly. “You’re not shaming my name by dallying about like some whore. You’re coming home. Today.”

You can’t even wrap your head around it. You’re staring in the face of people who know what they did to you, on some level, was wrong, but all they care about is taking you back to the environment where it all happened and will keep happening. Like they don’t care about your well-being, or what makes you happy, or about how much progress you’ve made since coming to Xavier’s—

I can’t make them care.

The penny drops right as you’re on the verge of tears. You can’t make them care about you. You can’t make them love you. Every single person you’re facing down –your parents included—decided a long time ago that you weren’t worth loving or respecting. No amount of arguing, pleading, or proof to the contrary is going to make them change their minds because there’s so much guilt on their shoulders –emotional or legal, though it should be both—that if they ever pulled their heads out of their asses, their necks would snap from the weight of it all.

And, amid all the pain the revelation causes, a single thought rises above all the emotional chaos: I can’t keep giving them my energy.

As much as it hurts to admit, it’s a useless fight. And as much as you want them to love you, they’re, at their cores, not people that are healthy to be loved by. You’d have to change every single thing about you –including things that can’t be changed—for them to ever love you.

And they don’t deserve that, least of all from you.

You look over your shoulder and see Foggy, Karen, and Matt all looking at you –well, Matt isn’t, but you know he’s focused on you and the fight unfolding in front of you.

Karen raises her eyebrows at you and holds up the form that lets them act as your attorneys without your presence and a pen.

An offer. A ladder out of the hell you were born to and raised in. A way to close the door once and for all.

It’s about time you take it.

“You know what?” you say, almost laughing from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “I’m done with all of you.”

“And just what does that mean?” your mother says with a roll of her eyes.

You look back to Foggy, Matt, and Karen one more time before glancing over to your mother. “It means you’re dealing with my attorneys from here on out.” You turn and walk towards the trio, ignoring the squawks of protest the group from your hometown lets out.

As soon as you sign the form, they step past you and between Piotr, Wade, Nate, and everyone that’d joined your parents. “We represent the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page,” Foggy says brightly. “And we’re here to inform you that you are currently violating an order of protection that was issued for our client’s safety against you.”

“The local authorities have been contacted and are on their way to arrest you for violating the order, in addition to charges of domestic abuse and conspiracy to commit abduction,” Matt adds.

“You fucking bitch!” your mother screams, lunging forward at you only to be stopped by Matt and Foggy. “You can’t do this!”

“Miss L/N,” Matt says, turning towards you. “For the sake of your emotional well-being, I would advise you to leave the room. Mr. Rasputin, perhaps you could accompany her for her comfort?”

“He needs to be here to represent the Institute,” you say, suddenly drained from the whole ordeal.

“I’ll go with her,” Wade offers, stepping back to clasp your shoulder. “Come on, sis.”

You put an arm around Russell’s shoulders. “Let’s go, bud. We’re done with them.”

Back in the kitchen –and out of sight of your parents and everyone else—Alex, Nikolai, and Frank are still holding your uncle back.

He relaxes once you cross the threshold and step out of sight of the hall. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You sigh, then shrug. “I decided to let my attorneys handle the situation.”

Your uncle stares at you, then smiles as tears well up in his eyes. “Good. Good job, punk.”

You try to smile back, but ultimately start crying.

He reaches over and pulls you into a massive hug.

The two of you stay like that for a while, holding each other while tears flow down each of your faces.

 ***

 The whole process of your parents –and everyone else that decided to show up with them—being arrested is exhausting.

There’s a lot of screaming. A lot of arguing. A lot of insults –those are mostly directed at you, even though you aren’t in the room.

Frank and your uncle have to duck into the basement to avoid being seen by any of the officers –which Wade makes a “alternative seven minutes in heaven” comment about that makes you smile briefly, but you’re honestly too tired to really do anything except stare at a wall right now.

Piotr has to talk to the officers as a representative of the Institute, which means that you can’t just drape yourself over him like you want to and soak in his affection and love for you.

The only upside is that Matt, Foggy, and Karen can speak to the police on your behalf. Right now, you’re not sure you could handle dealing with all the questions you’re bound to be asked.

Eventually, Alex walks up to your seat and squeezes your shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go for walk.”

You frown up at her. “Don’t we need to be here in case the police have questions for us?”

“Your attorneys are already representing you,” she says. “Besides, if they really need something, Illyana will let us know and we can come back in.” She squeezes your shoulder again, then nods towards the back door. “Come. You could use some fresh air and quiet.” She puts an arm around you as you stand and gently ushers you to the back door and outside.

It’s far calmer outside. A cool, easy breeze ruffles your hair, and the grass is soothingly soft beneath your feet.

Alex nudges you forward, though not unkindly. “Come on. Medvezhonok keeps saying I should see the gardens.”

You walk alongside her through the various gardens that dot Xavier’s property. In the wake of the adrenaline and stress abruptly leaving your body, you’re feeling numb, almost detached. It’s almost like your body can’t fully process the shock and stress of having your parents show up.

Well, come to think of it, that’s probably exactly what’s going on.

Alex is markedly quiet as she examines the garden, expression placid and body language lax as she ambles along the pathways between various clusters of flowers and flora.

“You seem calm,” you remark, voice barely more than a mumble as you stare down at a few bright, cheery yellow lilies.

“Age brings serenity,” she says as she crouches down to better look at a butterfly feeding off some hummingbird mint. “And there is not much to be afraid of when you can outmatch nearly every opponent facing you. That, and they are not my nightmare.” She looks up at you, a ghost of a sympathetic smile on her lips. “They were –are—yours. It’s always harder when it’s personal.”

You let out a huff of air. “Ain’t that the truth.” You sit down on a nearby bench, staring blankly at nothing. “What happens next?”

“I am not the person to ask that question,” Alex admits, brushing her jeans off as she stands back up. “I would wager, though, that your lawyers will know how to handle things.”

You nod slowly, numbly. “Yeah, probably.”

Alex watches you closely for a moment before sitting down next to you. “How are you, malen'kaya ptitsa? How are you feeling?”

What you mean to say is something along the lines of “overwhelmed,” or “numb,” or “exhausted,” or maybe even “angry to the point where I can’t feel it anymore.”

What comes out, though, is: “I don’t think my parents ever loved me.”

You feel a slight pulse of shock hit your system once your words register in your own brain, then the slow, sinking dread and resignation as the truth of it sets in. You’ve been on the precipice of realizing the truth for a while, but you’ve never really admitted it at all, much less out loud to someone else.

Alex grimaces and nods. “I would wager you are right. No parent who loves their child treats them how you were treated.”

You nod along, lips tugging into a frown and chin trembling. “Yeah. I kind of just… realized I can’t make them love me or respect me. That’s why I just decided to let Matt ‘n Foggy ‘n Karen handle everything, you know? I was just done with all of it.”

“You’re right,” Alex reassures you. “On all counts. You cannot change their stance, but you do not have to hold onto people who refuse to treat you with decency.”

Your eyes sting and water as a lump rises in your throat. “I just… I don’t understand why I couldn’t be worth it to them. I mean, I get that they never wanted a mutant child, but I was just a kid. What about being a mutant made it worth beating me, terrifying me, demeaning me, abusing me, making my life a miserable hell every single day I lived in their home—”

Alexandra wraps her arms around you as you start crying and presses a motherly kiss to the top of your head when you press yourself against her. “Some people are just horrible, malen'kaya ptitsa. Sometimes they are so lost in their own misery that the only way they can make themselves feel better is to make others hurt, sometimes they only care about themselves to the point that they stop caring when they hurt others, and sometimes they just enjoy making others hurt because it brings them pleasure. Either way, the end result for their victims is still the same: pain and abuse they should have never suffered.”

You whimper and weep against her shoulder as she slowly rocks you back and forth. “I don’t understand –I tried so hard to be good—”

“It was never about you being ‘good,’” Alex murmurs against your hair. “You have always been ‘good.’ It was about their hatred and inability to love unconditionally. Unfortunately, you got stuck with short end of stick, and I am so sorry that you did, dorogoy rebenok.”

You sniff and swipe at your face as you sit up and look her in the eye. “Did you go through this kind of stuff with your parents? Did they care that you were a mutant?”

Alex’s face goes completely blank as she stares at you. “My par… Piotr never told you.”

“Told me what?”

Alex’s lips purse into a thin line; she slides off the bench to kneel on the ground in front of you and clasps your hands in hers. “Malen'kaya ptitsa… I was taken from my family when I was four to train as government asset. I never saw them again, and when the KGB disbanded in the nineties, I found out that they had been executed to prevent any leaks of information from spreading. The only family I have ever had is Nikolai and my children –and now you as well.”

Guilt drops in your stomach like a lead brick. “Oh God.” You double over and start crying again. “I’m sorry –I’m so sorry! I’ve just been complaining like a brat—”

“Nyet. Nyet, nyet, nyet -- malen'kaya ptitsa, look at me.” Alex cups your face in her hands, forcing you to lift your head and meet her gaze. “Never apologize for hurting after what you have endured. Understand?”

“But what you went through was so much worse!” you protest. “I at least had a family, I had a home—”

“You had neither of those things until you came here,” Alex insists sharply. “You may have had biological parents, but they were not family or home. ‘Family’ and ‘home’ means safety and love, and they certainly provided neither. And, yes, my time as asset was horrible, but I never had to second guess whether or not I was loved. I never had to deal with mind games as to whether I was wanted or respected or what have you. I always knew where I stood with my handlers and what was expected of me.” She rubs your cheeks with her thumbs, wiping the tears away. “People who try and rank pains as ‘worse’ than each other are people who cannot handle their own emotions and need to put them in boxes to cope –and, more often than not, they are the type of people who contributed to our pain in first place.” She swallows hard, tears welling up in her eyes, and when she speaks again her voice is shaky with emotion. “So please, do not stop yourself from grieving. Because I am most certainly grieving for you.”

You sob and collapse against her, body shaking as grief wells up and pours out of you –grief for the childhood you lost, for the pain you had to endure, for the love you should’ve had but never received…

And, through it all, Alex holds you tight with strong arms as she cries along with you. “It’s okay, malen'kaya ptitsa. It’s okay.”

***

 Once the authorities leave –and take your parents, pastor, and the others that’d joined them along—Piotr comes out to the back with Nikolai to collect you and Alexandra.

The two of you are significantly calmer, having had time to cry and catch your breath, but it’s still apparent that you both have been crying.

Piotr lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the house, while Nikolai sits down next to his wife on the bench.

“Can we just go to bed?” you croak, voice hoarse and throat dry from crying. “I’m just really tired. I just want to go to bed.”

Piotr kisses your forehead as he adjusts his hold on you so he can open the back door. “Da. We can go to bed.” He carries you all the way up to your shared room and gently tucks you into bed before going back to close the door, then joins you in bed. “How are you?”

“Tired,” you mumble. “Angry. Sad. It’s just—” you point at your head, twirling your finger around like you’re stirring a pot of soup “—a lot in here right now.”

“I bet,” Piotr murmurs as he wraps his arms around you. “But you can rest for now. You have earned good rest.”

“You’re telling me.” You sling an arm over his waist, then sigh when he starts tracing swirling designs on your arm and shoulder. You slow your breathing, counting your inhales and exhales until you feel less like you’re about to completely crumble apart.

And then you say, “I want to get a tattoo.”

You can practically hear the slow, shocked blink Piotr does. “Uh… khorosho.”

You tip your head back so you can see his face –and he definitely looks surprised. “Is that really okay with you?”

“It is your body,” he says, smoothing your hair away from your face. “I was just more… surprised by lack of context, I suppose.”

“I mean, I kind of wrote it off when my uncle told me that the ink wouldn’t take as well, but… I want something permanent on me. Something that can’t be taken away. When my parents took my ring, and I thought you weren’t real…”

Piotr holds you closer as your voice trails off. “It is alright, myshka. And if you want tattoo, we can find way for you to get one.”

“You don’t think it’s irresponsible to get a tattoo because of the trauma I went through?”

He sighs as he contemplates your question. “In this case, I think not. I know you will get one done safely. And, honestly, I do not think it is very drastic change to yourself considering what happened. Besides, people who lose loved ones or self-harm or feel suicidal get tattoos to help them stay grounded. I do not see why you cannot do same.”

You snuggle closer to him, soothed by his support. “You don’t care if we have kids and I have a tattoo?”

He snorts. “Nyet. What you want to do to your body is your choice. My mother and Mikhail have tattoos, so our kids will see them anyway. Plus… I was thinking of getting some of my own.”

“Really?” You tilt your head back so you can see his face. “What were you thinking of getting?”

“Maybe DNA strand on my wrist, for mutantism,” he says, tapping his right wrist. “And possibly some work on my shoulder and back that looks like northern lights night sky scene. And… I know I want to get our children’s fetal heartbeats. On my forearm.”

You smile softly. “I like the sound of all of that. Especially the heartbeats one.”

He smiles back at you and leans down to kiss you. “So do I.”

You nestle closer to Piotr as he kisses you, hands softly gripping the material of his shirt as his arms hold you tighter against his body.

Your journey to recovery is far from over. If you had to wager, it’ll probably never be over, not entirely.

But you climbed an important mountain today. And with Piotr by your side –along with Wade, Nathan, Neena, Russell, Yukio, Ellie, and the rest of Piotr’s family—you’ll be able to keep climbing whatever mountains happen to find you.

One foot in front of the other.

You’ve got this.

Sources about how delusions work:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delusional_disorder https://www.buting.com/blog/2015/02/false-memories-lies-and-the-limitations-of-the-human-brain.shtml https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/delusion/ https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3016695/

[marvelhead17]

Miracle (Original Female Character x Cable)

Chapter 35

Summary: “How did you fix it?” he asked. “Ask Ellen the Teenage Warhead,” Wade shrugged as he stood up, “As for baby Hitler he ended up having a diaper change, funny story I was actually going to call Cable since he was so keen on killing Russel, I thought this would be like taking candy from a baby, if that means replacing it with a bullet that is,”

Warnings to cover the whole fic: Graphic depictions of violence, use of weapons, mild to strong language, mentions of rape, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, referenced torture and psychological abuse/manipulation, nightmares and night terrors, sexual humour, sexual content.

Word count:  1.7k

​

Their loud cry echoed in the white room and Nathan felt tears fall from his eyes, he rubbed his thumb gently on Hayden’s cheek to wipe away her tears and he kissed her forehead as gently as he could.

“You did so well darlin’, she’s here now, she’s healthy, and she’s perfect,” he told her and she simply nodded still panting heavily, he encouraged her to lie back down on the bed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, kissing her head multiple times.

His hand intertwined with hers and his thumb gently traced the backside of her hand, she leaned into his side and struggled to keep her eyes open, she lifted her head as she watched the nurse hand over a small bundle of pale yellow blanket to her.

“Would you like to hold her?” the nurse asked, Hayden nodded her head immediately but felt uncertain as she reached her hands out, Nathan spoke softly to her.

“It’s okay, you just need to support her head,” he helped her move her arms to properly hold the bundle and the nurse slowly placed it in her arms. “Look at that, you’re a mother now,” he grinned and ran his hand through her hair soothingly.

“I’m a mother,” she stared in disbelief down at the blue tinted baby that squirmed slightly in her arms, she carefully rocked her arms side to side to help calm the baby down, on instinct she held her closer to her chest so that the baby could rest against her skin and she quietened down instantly. “She’s perfect Nathan,” she whispered.

The nurse unexpectedly turned to them yelling, “WAKE UP!” followed by a loud banging sound.

                                                          * * *

  “What the fuck?” Nathan muttered as his eyes opened wide to reveal Hayden’s room.

“C’MON CABLE WAKE UP MAN, IT’S NO GOOD TO MOURN IN HER ROOM,” Wade yelled incessantly banging his fist on the door.

“Ugh, WADE, piss off will you?” Hayden yelled as she sat up from next to him.

The door swung opened and practically broke off its hinges to reveal Wade standing with wide eyes and a gawking mouth.

“YOU’RE ALIVE, OH MY GOD,” He practically jumped on top of her and hugged her tightly; she had barely managed to pull the blankets up to cover her exposed chest. He placed several kisses on her face and head, “I knew you were a tough bitch, holy fuck, you’re back,” he said relieved and sat back.

Wade then raised his brows and looked between the two of them as they sat underneath the blankets and then nodded with a smirk.

“Hey- you two finally boned, nice,”

Hayden grabbed her pillow and hit him with it, “Shut up,”

“Hey, not judging, ‘thank god you’re alive sex’ is pretty amazing,”

“What did you want Wade?” Nathan rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Well, initially I was calling you down for breakfast, but now we have to let everyone know you’re not dead, especially Hope, she’s not even talking to her Uncle Wade she’s so upset,”

“Again, you’re not her Uncle,” Nathan grunted.

“That’s not what she believes,” he smiled cheekily.

  Hayden’s eyes widened, “Oh my God- Hope,” she turned to get out of the bed when she realised that she was completely naked, and her clothing was anywhere but near enough to grab.

Nathan turned and got out of the bed himself, not caring if Wade saw him naked, a decision he instantly regretted as the merc opened his mouth.

“Hello, Daddy,” Wade remarked as he saw Nathan’s firm ass, he turned around with a snarl.

“Watch it Wilson, just because I’m naked doesn’t mean I can’t kick your damn ass,” he pointed a finger at him to emphasise the threat.

“Oh yes Daddy, I’ve been a very bad boy, you’ll definitely have to punish me,” he added as he eyed Nathan’s cock.

“Wade, shut the hell up,” Hayden hit him with the pillow again, and he turned to her with a cheeky grin on his face.

“I’ve missed you,”

“Yeah, yeah idiot,” she rolled her eyes as he hugged her again, Nathan tossed his shirt to her and he slipped his jeans on so that Wade would stop staring at him, and then kept the merc’s attention away so that Hayden could put the shirt on. “Thanks Nate,”

                                   She stood up now, the shirt being huge on her, Wade giggled and she looked at him irritably.

“What?”

“Nice breasts sis,” he winked at the shirt, the white material revealing her breasts.

“Oh fuck you,” she shoved him on the bed and gathered the rest of her clothes and changed in the bathroom, she returned fully dressed. “We’ll meet you downstairs Wade, and leave it as a surprise alright?” he nodded and left.

Hayden wrapped her arms around Nathan’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, they pulled apart.

“I thought I’d never get him to leave,” she shook her head with a smile.

Nathan smiled and looked at her with half-lidded eyes, “I almost thought I was dreaming when I saw you next to me just now,”

“Well I’m here, for realsies,” she smiled and he kissed her again.

“You know, I had this, interesting, dream about you last night,”

“Yeah?”

“Well um,” he cleared his throat, “That you gave birth… to our daughter, it felt so real, I wish it was,” her eyes widened and she backed away slightly.

  “I mean, I wish it wasn’t-” he corrected himself worried now.

“No, no it’s not-” she let out a shaky breath; “I’m just surprised that you of all people would have a dream like that, and I…” she trailed off and stared at the wall.

“You… what?”

“I, I don’t even-”

“Is it something to do with the scar across your abdomen that I saw?” he asked now curious, she nodded. “You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready to,” he assured her.

“No I- I want to, other than Wade, nobody knows. It’s a- Hydra,” she bit her lower lip, he nodded, wanting her to continue speaking. “I got pregnant with that guy, Bucky, twice,” she kept her eyes focused on the wall to avoid his gaze, “The first pregnancy didn’t even reach the third month before I miscarried, and the second- the second miscarried at almost six months, so they uh,” she swallowed, “Cut it out of me,” a tear fell down her cheek. “I don’t even know what sex it was,” she looked down to the floor.

  He walked forward and cupped her face and made her look in his eyes before kissing her lips slowly and softly, when they parted he stroked her hair gently as she hugged him tightly.

“I don’t even know if I can, if I can carry a baby full-term, the last I knew-” she sniffled hard into his shoulder, “The serum had made my body toxic, but that was so long ago, Nathan-”

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s okay. I’m not expecting you to carry our children, besides there are other methods aren’t there? You guys aren’t that archaic are you? Not that I’m looking to be a dad again, I mean I’ve been mistaken as Hope’s grandfather for God’s sake, fuck-”

“It’s okay, sorry I just-” she took a deep breath, “I would never mind having children with you, hell seeing you with Hope made me really want that too, I just, I don’t want to disappoint you if I can’t- you know, get pregnant, or if I do and then-”

“I understand,” he kissed her, and then he intertwined his fingers with hers, “But that’s something to talk about another time, right now though? We need to go see Hope, she’s going to be over the moon knowing that you’re alive,” he tugged her hand gently and they went downstairs, together.

                                                          * * *

                                “HADES!” Hope screamed and ran to her, hugging her tightly.

“Hey sweetie,” Hayden squeezed her tightly and the girl cried in delight, “I’m so sorry for scaring you like that, I’m so, so sorry,” she soothed the girl’s back lovingly.

The others watched and were still processing Hayden’s presence, Nathan’s smile growing as he watched his two favourite girls hug each other so close, when they let go Hope frowned at Hayden.

“Don’t ever do that again, Momma,” she then hugged her around her neck, Hayden’s eyes widened and she tried to look up at Nathan whose heart had just turned to a puddle; he knew very well that Hope adored Hayden from the start but he hadn’t expected her to call Hayden ‘Momma’.

“M-Momma?” she stuttered and looked at the girl with large eyes.

“Yes,” she nodded, “Daddy and I liked you since the carnival and I told him you were going to be my Momma, and you are,”

“I- well I’m honoured, you’re the daughter I’ve never had,” she squeezed the girl in her arms so hard that the girl squealed and insisted on being let go. “Sorry sweetheart, sorry,” she brushed Hope’s hair back and smiled.

“It’s okay Momma,” she looked up at Nathan, “And Daddy, I don’t care what Mommy’s lawyers say I want to stay with you, with Momma and you, and Uncle Wade,” she grinned at Wade who put a hand over his chest.

  “Damn right you are, Hope,” Wade said.

“Language Wade,” Hayden gave him a look as she stood and brushed the little girl’s hair.

“But Hope, it’s dangerous here for you,” Nathan didn’t wish he was right, but he wanted to make sure his daughter was safe, even if it meant staying apart from her.

“It’s dangerous back home too,” her lips pouted and she crossed her arms.

“I told you she has the right to make her own decisions too,” Hayden looked at Nathan and he sighed.

“You two are going to be a real handful if you keep teaming up against me like this,” he grinned as he ruffled his daughter’s hair and turned to eye Hayden, she realised there was a sparkle there that had been missing when she’d first met him.

  Everything was falling into place.

________________________________________________________________

>> Chapter 36 <<

[marshroom580]

I was gonna make a post that was like:

Me when I show my friends the holy grail of all cablepool panels

But then at least 6 different panels came to mind...

[haledamage]

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: Things didn’t stay okay. They never did.

Things didn’t stay okay. They never did.

Alistair and Loghain’s first meeting went explosively, spectacularly wrong to the point where Cait had to draw blades on both of them to keep them from dueling in the main hall. Only when she made it very clear that she’d send them away, Architect be damned, if they kept fighting did they begrudgingly settle down. They sat on opposite sides of the room, sullen and pouting like children, and didn’t say a word to her or each other.

"Do I need to assign guards to you to keep you from trying to kill my general?" she asked Alistair.

"No," he said petulantly. He sounded like he wanted to say 'yes' just to see what she'd do. "I'll behave."

She turned to Loghain. "Do I need to assign guards to you to keep you from trying to kill your son-in-law?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it," Alistair muttered.

"Alistair Theirin!"

"Fine!" He glared at her. She wasn't intimidated by it. She'd faced down scarier things than a surly king. "You're acting like you're my mother."

"Unsurprising, since you're acting like a child." She sighed and crossed her arms. She resisted the desire to start pulling her hair out in frustration. "I don't care right now if you don't like each other. If you can't work together, you can leave. I'm serious. The Architect is smart. If we're divided, it will pick us apart and throw all three of us on its blighted operating table."

Only after they'd left did she allow herself to vent a little, kicking a poor defenseless chair across the floor in frustration.

"You're going to give yourself gray hair if you don't relax," Anders said genially, feet propped up on the map table. "And we'll run out of places to sit."

"I'm already going gray," Cait said dourly. She pulled her hair back from her face so he could see the streaks of silver at her temples. They weren't visible with her short hair loose around her face; she had no idea how long they'd been there, but she was pretty sure she hadn't had them even a month ago. "What do you think? Distinguished?"

"Hmm, very dignified." He stepped into her path to stop her pacing. She hadn't even realized she'd started doing so. "Definitely hereditary and not at all stress induced."

He hugged her and she let him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Ser Pounce leaned out from his resting place in Anders' hood to sniff at her face. "Could go either way, actually. My parents both went gray young."

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Anders asked, looking at the open door and the empty hall beyond it.

Cait sighed and stepped away from him. "They won't have to be. They'll be in separate places when the fighting starts. I just need them to be civil until then. I don't have time to babysit them."

"Have Byron do it." He laughed at the skeptical look she gave him. "Really! Those two strapping examples of Ferelden masculinity wouldn't dare disappoint your mabari."

Cait stopped to think about it a moment. "Ugh. I hate to say it, but you're probably right."

She spoke to them each independently that evening. Alistair was still petulant and Loghain was still grumpy, but they were calmer now that they were separated and at least willing to talk to her.

They both looked properly guilty when she mentioned Anora, united in their love for her if nothing else. Cait made a note to write to the queen and ask how heavily she could leverage her pregnancy to get her husband and father to at least pretend to be polite. Anora was a practical woman; she wouldn't be above using her children as a bargaining chip for a little domestic peace.

She was still agitated that evening. The walls of the keep pressed too close, even opening the windows to let the night in didn't help. She paced her bedroom like a caged tiger.

Nathaniel sat at the desk and watched her go. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked gently. "You look like you could use some air."

It was tempting. It was a nice night, the breeze just cool enough to cut through the languid heat. But Cait shook her head. The likelihood of running into another person was too high; she didn't have the capacity for polite conversation right now.

"Do you want to spar?"

"No."

"Do you want to have sex on the map table in the war room?" he asked with a playful grin.

That got her to stop pacing, at least, which was probably the point. She doubted he actually meant it, but she considered it anyway. Eventually, she said, "A little bit. Maybe not right now."

Nate stood up and walked over to her. “Then what's on your mind?”

Cait pressed her face into his shoulder and breathed him in. Things always felt less dire when he held her, like the rest of the world and all the troubles in it fell away as long as they were together. “Do you want to get married?”

He froze, barely even breathing except for a tiny, startled “What?”

“I--” she started, then groaned and backed up enough to see his face. He stared at her like he’d never seen her before. “This isn’t how I meant to ask. I had plans. Dramatic declarations, speeches. Grand gestures. But I guess it’s out there now.”

Cait pulled out the small box she’d gotten from Wade that had been burning a hole in her pocket for days. It contained two matching rings of twined silverite and starmetal, shining bright blue and silver in the lantern light. Long, long before they’d ever been Grey Wardens, Cait had associated her and Nathaniel with blue and grey; in his pale blue eyes and her dark grey ones, in thunderstorms and summer twilight and the places they’d first found each other. “We talked once--recently, I guess, though Maker it feels like years since we left Kal’Hirol--about the future. And there’s no future for me that doesn’t have you in it. If the world opens up and swallows us whole, I want to be by your side while we dig our way out. I love you, Nathaniel. Marry me?”

Nathaniel started laughing. He wasn’t laughing at her, she knew. The look in his eyes was far too affectionate to be anything like a rejection, but Cait couldn’t figure out what she’d said that was so funny. She thought it had been a pretty good speech, all things considered.

Still laughing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box and presented it to her. It held a thin silverite band with beautiful, dusty blue stones set flush into the metal. It looked delicate, but it would likely hold up to anything she could put it through.

Cait stared at it incredulously. The ring stared back, glinting merrily. “Is this why you wanted to take a walk?” she asked, voice a stunned squeak.

“Yes.” Nate took the ring out of the box and twisted it in his fingers, letting it catch the light. “I was going to propose under your tree. Dramatic declarations, like you said. You have a habit of throwing off even my most thought out plans."

She could only stare in awe as he took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. "Cathain Cousland, I have loved you my whole life and will do so for as long as I live. Will you marry me?"

Cait couldn’t help but start laughing, too. They collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles.

“What had you been planning to say before?” Nathaniel asked, leaning against the side of the bed and trying to catch his breath. “You said you hadn’t meant to ask yet.”

“I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter.” She leaned next to him and linked their hands together, holding them up to admire her ring. “There were probably easier ways to cheer me up, you know.”

“I know. I planned to ask regardless.” He kissed her forehead and she tilted her head back so he could kiss her lips as well. “Cheering you up was just a bonus.”

Cait climbed into his lap and leaned over him to kiss him properly, gentle and unhurried. “I bumped into Velanna when I was picking up the rings. She offered to do a Dalish bonding ceremony for us, if you wanted to… skip the formalities.”

“Tempting.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “That isn’t too quick for you? You weren’t even planning to get betrothed yet.”

“I’ve known I wanted to marry you since I was eleven. Long before I knew what all it meant. Before I convinced myself for a while that I wouldn’t be allowed to.” She touched his face, trailing her fingers along his jaw as she decided how honest to be. “I think things have been quiet too long. The Architect is going to make its move soon, I feel it. I was going to wait until after it was over. In case…”

“In case you didn’t survive it,” Nathaniel finished the sentence for her. He grabbed her face in his hands and held her eyes to his, gently demanding. “I meant it when I told you that it was never going to touch you again. I don’t care how smart or strong or old it is, it can’t have you. You are mine.”

“Nate…”

She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but it didn’t matter. He kissed her firmly, a familiar stubborn set to his jaw. “Can you imagine the looks on everyone’s faces tomorrow morning?” he growled against her lips. “The confusion from the nobles pouring in when you correct them and tell them to call you Arlessa Howe?”

She pushed away from him just a little. “Don’t you dare turn this into a challenge! This is our marriage we’re talking about, you can’t just provoke me into eloping!”

His smile was triumphant. “Maybe. But I did, didn’t I.”

“I’ll go get Velanna.”

-------

The first reports of darkspawn sightings arrived before breakfast the next day.

“It sounds like they were just scouts,” Loghain said as he handed Cait the report. She skimmed it as the others kept talking.

“That is what it looks like to me as well.” Leliana put a couple of smooth wooden coins on the map where the skirmishes happened, north of the Vigil and west of the city. “Small numbers, none of them spoke. They tried to avoid our soldiers as best they could.”

“I assume none were allowed to escape and report back,” Alistair said, reading over Cait’s shoulder. “I’ve been out of the loop a while, but I doubt you’re in the habit of sparing darkspawn.”

“No,” Nathaniel growled. “We aren’t. But it’s unlikely they got them all. Farmers and infantry wouldn’t be able to sense them to pick off shrieks or other spies. Whatever information the Architect is after, we have to assume it got it.”

“Such an optimist,” Alistair said wryly. “I can see why she likes you.”

“How many of ours were injured?” Cait asked, trying to keep them on subject.

“None.” Anders shook his head. “Not even a scratch or even signs of the taint.”

“Then they’re definitely the Architect’s people,” Sigrun said. She was standing on a chair to lean over the map. “Well, people is a strong word. You know what I mean. Darkspawn are swarmers. They ambush, kill or incapacitate the first target they see, then move on to the next.”

“I don’t like this,” Velanna said sourly. “If it wants to attack us, it should just do so and be done with it. I don’t like all this… subterfuge.”

“It’s hoping to catch us with our pants down,” Oghren said.

“No, I don’t think it is,” Cait said, putting the pieces together as she spoke. “If it wanted to do that, it could have done so any time in the last week, while I was still helpless.”

“Cait Cousland, helpless. That’ll be the day.” Anders laughed. “I think you and I have very different definitions of that word.”

“It’s Howe, actually,” Nathaniel said, very quietly. “Cait Howe.”

Cait fought to keep a grin off her face and failed spectacularly. “My point is, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that scouts are showing up only a day after an entire company of soldiers did.”

“It is testing you. Trying to find how much attention you are paying. Perhaps trying to draw you out,” Leliana said. As she spoke, she raised a delicate eyebrow in a second silent conversation.

Cait put her hands on the table deliberately, in answer to Leliana's silent question. The bard’s eyes dropped to the rings on her left hand. “So do I let it draw me out?”

“I don’t like the idea of you using yourself as bait.” Loghain said gruffly. His sharp eyes darted from Cait to Nathaniel and back. “I suspect you intend to do so anyway.”

“If you have a better suggestion, I am willing to listen.” She waited, but no one said anything. “Then bait it is.”

“If it’s looking for a response, then we should mobilize the army toward Amaranthine,” Nathaniel said. “That should draw it out of hiding, or at least force it to make its next move.”

“The Architect will not be with the main horde,” Zevran pointed out. “It is too smart for that.”

“Yes, but a small group could sneak around behind it,” said Sigrun. “Follow the trail of darkspawn back to their leader. Cut off the snake’s head. Figuratively speaking.”

Oghren chuckled. “Maybe literally, too, if we’re lucky.”

Cait picked up three of the wooden map marker coins, placed one on the keep, one on the city, and one in between. “Three groups, then. Loghain leading the Vigil’s company here. Varel will be with you, too, to help keep civilians in order and out of the way. Alistair will take the King’s Company to Amaranthine to protect the city. And I’ll take the fight to the Architect.”

She looked around the room, counting in her head. “We’ll split the rest of you between the three groups, I guess. Three with me, three to the city, and two more to help defend the keep. That way we’ve got at least a few Wardens in each place.”

“I’m going with you,” Nathaniel said in a voice that left no room for argument.

“So am I,” said Velanna. “I will learn what that thing has done with my sister.”

“I wish to help defend the city,” Justice declared.

Anders stared at the map. “I should stay here. Bring the wounded back to the Vigil and I’ll take care of them.”

“I will stay too,” Leliana said. “One more archer on the walls can make a big difference.”

“I’ll probably get to kill more darkspawn if I go with you, right, Cait?” Sigrun said with a grin. “Then I’ll be where the action is.”

“Then it is back to the city for me,” said Zevran.

“Heh heh, just like old times, eh?” Oghren said, elbowing Zev.

“Then that’s that,” Cait said firmly. “We’ll start at first light, unless something happens before then. Any other business before we break for the day?”

“I have an inquiry,” Anders said with a slow, sly grin.

“Does it have anything at all to do with the Architect?” Anders didn’t answer her and that was answer enough. “Does anyone have any on-topicconcerns?” She was met with a discordant chorus of ‘no, Commander’, so she sighed and added, “Ask your blighted question, Anders.”

“When’s the wedding?”

Cait didn't actually have an answer to that. She assumed they'd have one, even though it wasn't strictly necessary, some public ceremony full of family and friends and fancy clothes. But it hadn't come up during the whirlwind of activity last night.

She opened her mouth to say as much, but Nathaniel spoke first. "Three months from now. During the Harvest Festival."

Her eyes snapped to him in astonishment. It was such an impossibly romantic, perfect idea that she couldn't find the words to say so.

"It's only a formality," Velanna said plainly. “So was the ceremony last night, really. You humans do love your rituals.”

“That is... true, I suppose,” Cait said slowly. She was starting to get uncomfortable with all the eyes on her; this room was much too small for so much scrutiny. “Surprise?”

“It wasn’t intended to be a secret,” Nate said softly.

“It isn’t a secret.” She found his hand under the table and held it tightly. “I'm impulsive, not ashamed."

“No need to be defensive, Caitie,” Anders said, still grinning. “We're happy for you."

“Good,” she snapped. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Why was this more stressful than planning a war? “I know. I guess I'm just practicing for when I have to tell my brother.”

Nathaniel pulled her into a hug and she let him, trying to ignore the way everyone was watching them. “Fergus will be happy for us too. Eventually.”

Cait didn’t share his optimism. Nate and Fergus had been good friends once, but her brother held grudges even worse than she did. She didn’t think he’d ever be okay with her being a Howe.

She pushed gently away from her husband. She couldn’t stand all the scrutiny anymore. “Okay, enough. We've got work to do.”

-------

“If I don’t make it back, I want you to lead the Wardens.”

Loghain looked up from buckling his armor in place to study Cait where she stood by the door. He started to say something, but she spoke over him. “Nathaniel will take care of Amaranthine. He’s the arl now anyway, and it was always supposed to be his, but he hasn’t been a Warden long enough to be the commander.”

“He’s been one longer than you were when you got put in charge,” he said quietly.

“Extenuating circumstances,” she said lightly. No need to rehash exactly what those circumstances were. She stepped father into the room to help him with his armor. Plate armor was complicated enough that it needed a second pair of hands anyway, and it gave her an excuse not to look at him. “There’s still too much I don’t know. About the Architect, about whatever the Mother even is. I think the best I can hope for right now is mutually assured destruction.”

“Well, if you were my daughter--”

“Nope, try again,” Cait interrupted. She secured his breastplate in place and gave it an awkward little pat before finally looking up at him.

Loghain brushed her hair back from her face, a fatherly gesture no matter how much she tried to deny it. “If you were my sister coming to me for advice, my much, much younger sister, I would tell you that worrying about the future won’t change it. You were like this the night before we fought the archdemon, too.”

“I don’t do well when given time to think things over,” she said softly. “I get anxious and then I get sentimental.”

Loghain studied her in silence, keen eyes inscrutable. “You know, there was a time I thought the same thing about us that you do now about the Architect,” he said wryly. “That the only way the Landsmeet would end is with both of us in ashes. Yet here we are.”

“Here we are.” She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I don't expect I'll be standing in the Architect's bedroom a year from now pouring my heart out to it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Name one.”

“I'm going to be a grandfather.” A small, bemused smile crossed his face, making him look years younger. A glimpse at the young man Maric had known.

“Alistair told me.” Cait pressed her forehead to his. “Congratulations, Loghain.”

Loghain’s smile was gone as quick as it had come, twisting into something sour. “He's going to poison that child against me.”

She shook her head. “Anora won't let him. I won't let him.”

“And if he does anyway?”

“Regicide worked out pretty well for you last time.”

Loghain laughed, probably against his better judgement. “Take care of yourself out there, Cait. Don’t let it get in your head and you’ll be fine. We can talk more when you return.”

“Careful, General. That sounded a lot like optimism,” Cait said with a grin. “But I guess stranger things have happened.”

“Name one.”

As if on cue, the door opened and Leliana stepped inside, armored and ready for war. She didn’t look surprised to find Cait there; she simply walked over and put an arm around both her and Loghain and leaned her head against theirs. They stayed that way for a while.

“You still have a little time before you leave,” Leliana said eventually. “You should spend it with your husband.”

“I know. I will. I was just making the rounds first, checking in on everyone.”

“You are doing the goodbye thing, like you did in Redcliffe. You like the drama. It was not necessary then and it is not necessary now,” Leliana’s smile was sweet but her hands were firm as she pushed Cait toward the door. “Go. Kiss your husband and sharpen your sword and kill your darkspawn. When you get back, we will do something fun, just you and me. Something that does not involve battle.”

Cait hoped she was right. She could use a little time away from war and doom for a while. She tried to hold onto the idea instead of letting dread overwhelm it. “I look forward to it.”

-------

She knew she should take Leliana’s advice and just go back to her room, but she made one more stop on the way, at the room that had until recently been Nathaniel’s and currently housed the king of Ferelden.

“Something on your mind?” Alistair asked from the doorway. He looked tired and drawn, even though it wasn’t even sunset yet. Cait wondered what was bothering him; she was curious if he’d actually tell her if she asked.

“I was just checking in. Wanted to make sure you don’t need anything before tomorrow. Making sure things were… okay.” She linked her hands behind her back to stop fretting at her sleeves.

“I’m fine, Cait. Ready to get this over with,” he said coolly, then he flinched. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I don’t like waiting around.”

“Neither do I,” she said quietly. “I know what you mean.”

“That’s why you’re here, I reckon.”

She nodded slowly. “I just… Be careful tomorrow. Please.”

“Is that an order, Commander?” Alistair said dryly.

“Do I need to make it one?” Cait tilted her head, studying him curiously. “I know you aren't stupid, no matter how much you try to appear so. But these aren't your run of the mill darkspawn. If you treat them like it, you'll be overrun. If you see the Architect, just run. Don't engage it.”

“I guess it'd be too much to ask for you to take your own advice,” he said, but he smiled as he did. “You be careful, too.”

“Is that an order, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” She thought he was done and was turning to leave when he added, “Thanks for inviting me darkspawn hunting, Caitie. It's been… nice, feeling like a Grey Warden again.”

“You could be one, you know. You always have a place here if you want it.” He wouldn’t take it, she knew. She could feel the canyon between them where their friendship had once been, before she’d destroyed it with four little words: ‘I accept your surrender.’ Cait knew they’d never move past that moment, not really. It was enough to have this, delicate as it was.

The look Alistair wore told her that he was thinking the same thing. He nodded. “I know. That's not my life anymore.” He smiled wryly. “You know, except for the nightmares. And the whole dying young thing. What can you do.”

“What if you could do something?” Cait asked before she could stop herself. The question had been on her mind with increasing frequency lately. “If you could purge the taint and be truly free of the Grey Wardens, would you?”

“Maybe,” he said after a long moment of consideration. “If it were possible. You don't think if it was, someone would have figured it out by now?”

“You’re probably right,” she said. It wasn’t the right time to push the subject; it was enough just to plant the seed, for now. “I’ll let you rest. Good luck tomorrow, Alistair.”

-------

Nathaniel's smile was warm and entirely too knowing when Cait finally returned to their bedroom. "Done avoiding me?"

“I'm not avoiding you, I'm avoiding me.” She sat down on the bed with a huff. “I figure if I walk fast enough and talk loud enough I can outrun my thoughts.”

"Did you?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

"Nope. Funny how they're always waiting whenever I get back.” She flopped back to lay on the bed and pulled him down with her. “I'm sorry we didn't get much of a honeymoon."

“We'll get a chance, once things settle down.”

“I hope so.” She was tired of feeling like this, hopeless and withdrawn. She wasn’t even worried about the coming battle, not really; she and her friends were ready, they were strong and so was their plan. Why couldn’t she shake this pall that had fallen over her? She said again, quietly, “I hope so. I could use a little peace and quiet.”

“We could see the world if you wanted,” Nate said softly. His hands found their way under her shirt. He trailed his fingers along her skin as if she were a map of the world, drifting to new locations as he spoke of them. “The Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. Serault, the city of glass. Antiva City. I can show you the places I used to frequent up north, in Ostwick and Starkhaven and Kirkwall.” He smiled at her, indulgent and adoring. “Whatever my wife desires.”

Cait curled her fingers into his long, dark hair. "And what if all she desires is you, husband?"

“Then she'll have me. In whatever way she pleases,” he growled. He leaned over her, deliberate and unhurried. “Can I kiss you, wife?”

"Please."

For the rest of the night, Nathaniel made a very compelling argument for keeping her mind in the present. It was hard to feel disheartened or morose with his hands on her skin and the taste of him on her lips and their mingled breathing filling the space between them. For a while, she didn’t have to think at all.

Sometime in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, as Nate slept warm and sated with his face pressed to her throat and his hand low over her belly, Cait’s thoughts finally crystalized. She was afraid. Not of dying like she’d been assuming she was; she’d been staring death in the eye for nearly two years now and, so far, it had always blinked first. She was scared of the half-remembered moments in the Architect’s laboratory, of being helpless and trapped, of the darkspawn winning and choosing that instead of killing her, they would use her.

Once the thought crossed her mind, it solidified into a more familiar, unyielding rage and settled in her chest like an old friend. The trauma and commotion of the last couple of weeks had made her take a little longer to get there, but she had now. The Architect and the Mother and whatever other blighted monsters waited for her didn’t know who they were messing with. She’d show them and leave their corpses on display as a warning for the next ones that tried. She was Warden-Commander Cathain Howe; it was time she started reminding the creatures of the dark about that. Starting with herself.

When she finally relented to sleep, Cait slept deep and dreamless. At dawn, Nate woke her with gentle kisses and loving words. They helped each other into their armor in silence, lingering while they could.

And then, together, they marched to war.

[stuckybarton]

Maneater

Summary:  Nathan Summers has come to realize there was more to you than just the Assistant Teacher in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Warning: Profanities. Suggestive Contents. Not Beta’d. [if I miss any warning please let me know] Characters: Unnamed Female Character x Nathan “Cable” Summers Words:1,761 A/N: Another one. Lol

Masterlist

For the life of Nathan Summers, the craziness that had come in his arrival to the past, the only sane thing he could look forward to was you. Y/N Y/L/N. An assistant teacher to one Piotr Rasputin, and an overall well loved individual in the X-Mansion.

You were the first one to not bat an eyelash at his arrival all those months ago. Unlike most of the people that grew hostility to the band of misfits Wade had pulled into the mansion, you had been more welcoming and accommodating. You had treated every single one of them as normal people instead of the mutants everyone in the world has deemed them to be. For a moment, Nathan had thought you weren't a mutant, but training had proven otherwise. An empath that could manipulate anyone's emotion if you so much please. A great power and perfectly fitting from someone like you.

Unlike most of the people in the Mansion that give no shit to one Wade Wilson and his eccentricities, you tried your best to understand the man while also making sure he was never out of the line. You were often called the female version of one Colossus, just more hotter and less annoying--Wade's words, not his.

But then, this quite image he had believe he had seen of you was growing to be different when he finds out about your nightly escapades. Anything that did not involve a mission or your class, you prefer if no one bothered you when the clock struck six. You'd be out of the door and into your waiting car, only to returning by three or four in the morning for classes that morning.

No one really knows where you go, not even the nosy Wade Wilson had any idea of your nightly whereabouts. So imagine Nathan's surprise when he had to meet up with his new arms dealer at a shady strip club an hours drive from the mansion and there you were, in all your naked glory.

Supple skin contrasted greatly to the pole you were leaning on. Money had been flying nonstop in your direction, no wonder you always spared Wade cash like it was nothing if he asked. You got a whole different life that no one knows about.

"Interested in Bonnie over there?" His arms dealer broke Nathan from his shocked trance. If the seedy little bitch didn't have the best arsenal he would have punched him right in the face. "Put her in a VIP room with you and everything in your possession is gone. That's how good she is."

Just the idea of having you lap dancing on some stranger had his blood boiling. He couldn't imagine you that way. to have some dirty hands holding onto you. You, the innocent little woman that he had tried not to think about so much since his arrival to the mansion--but just can't seem to shake out of his mind.

"I'll test my luck."

And he did, one request from the waitress and a heft amount of money that was supposed to be for one of the guns, he was escorted to the VIP room, asked to patiently wait as Bonnie was finishing up her set on the stage. It had given him enough time to question himself why he was doing this? You had your secrets as much as he had his own, secrets he wasn't even prepared to acknowledge.

But it was you, one of the only person in the past that he can't seem to get out of his head.

It didn't take long for the door to open and the woman that had constantly gave him the beaming smile every morning now come face to face with him. To say shock was an understatement as he looked at you. A mix of different emotions now swam your features, watching you and you thinking this was a sick joke by another mutant on her.

"Nathan."

"Cable would do here, Bonnie." he points out.

His eyes fell towards your barely there clothing. A thong and a top that barely hid the swell of your breast. In one swift motion, he had peeled off his jacket to cover you. The jacket had completely swallowed you and it was enough for him to not be distracted.

"So this is were you go every night?" he inquired eyes wandering around the claustrophobic room.

The walls were of a dark shade, with neon lights as one of the only thing giving the room light. There was this hedonistic glow in you that he had never seen before. Maybe it was the way he had always sees you now, a complete opposite on how he had always viewed you. An innocent woman in a world that was too fucked up for someone like you--then here you were, part of the fucked upness of this world.

"You wasted God knows how much just to ask me that?"

He did. He genuinely wasted a lot of amount of money for you, but then again, it was you so it wasn't much of a problem to him.

"I want to know why you're doing this? You're already working as a teacher at the Institute, why do you need to be here? You make enough money as it is back there?"

You scoffed, pulling the jacket tighter around you. Only then did Nathan notice the way you took a deep breath, and the warmth of the room was more of your own powers seeping through. Arousal? He shook his head, hoping to keep his head at bay of all the dark thoughts swimming him.

"It's not about the money?" you muttered, now sitting besides him on the leather couch. "Sure I do get money from those seedy criminals, but this is the easiest way of getting intel for missions." she shrugged.

"So Wade knows about this?"

"God no, The Professor and Piotr know. Piotr was the one that found me in this hellhole. Saved me from it, this is just until I'm certain that there are no more mutants like me are in places like this."

Now it becomes clearer to him why you were like this, why you understood their cause more than the rest of the X-Men. But it didn't stop the worry from sipping through his core. What if you get into involved with men that weren't immune to your powers. Where would that leave you?

"You don't need to worry about me, Nate." The name still surprised him. But other than that, you now on his lap surprised him even more. "So how much did you spend on me?" you inquired, ass now dangerously close to his crotch.

"Enough." he muttered hands now falling to your jacket covered waist. The smell of the intoxicating perfume and your own pheromone seeping through your skin consuming him. A heady combination that was far too dangerous if used at the wrong people.

"You're gonna tell everyone about my secret?" you inquired leaning closer to him. The swells of your breast now touching his own solid ones.

"You want them to know?" he retorts.

"No."  you shook your head, meeting his eyes. Huh, behind this facade you show to Nathan, the person he was more than well acquainted with was breaking through. But the softness on top of him was making it hard for him to really think clearly.

"I don't know, Red Dildo would love the pole dancing lessons." he tried his best to crack a joke but the stern look on your face made it evident that this isn't a laughing matter to you. "Fucking hell, that's your secret to tell. Why the fuck would I bring it up, to the X-Men of all people."

Before he could convince you even more, having you lean even closer to him, breath fanning his cheeks, he was left tongue-tied. There was this line that the two of you were breaking and it scared him more than anything what it would mean once they step out of it.

"I trust you, Cable." you whispered before your lips finally met his own.

The taste of cherry intoxicated him. He consumed you, consumed you in the same way that you were beginning to consume him. Mind, body, and soul. Hands resting on his shoulders and his own in a deathly grip on your hips, pulling you closer. Creating as much friction on his crotch in the process.

"What are you doing to me, Nathan Summers?" Your breathless words brought him back to reality. Your hands rubbing against his chest and he was more than certain you could feel the frantic heartbeats.

"I could ask you the same thing, Y/N Y/L/N." he smirked looking up at you,

With your bottom lip now between your teeth, it took every ounce of control Nathan had to stop himself from taking you here and ignoring the possibility that anyone else could walk in on them.

"You want them to know?" you inquired between the two of you. A smile now breaking on your face, brightening the dark room.

"No." he shook his head, whatever this was, they needed to keep this a secret, God knows the handful of innuendos and crude remarks Wade would be ready to fire if he finds out about this.

"I don't know, you're a good kisser. Wade might need a few pointers from you." you teased, finger touching his lips. Feeling playful, biting one finger and immediately earning himself a light slap on the chest.

"He can kiss my ass for all I care." he muttered kissing you quickly before pulling away. "I gotta head back out, still got a few guns I need to check." he muttered already annoyed at the possibility of leaving this little piece of heaven in favor of a slimy bastard he has to do business deals with.

"Let me deal with him." You volunteered, slipping off the jacket he placed on you. "How many guns did you want?"

"A couple more but his markup price is horrible." he sneered.

The smirk on your face as the façade was back brought a sudden warmth into his groin and the ideas that run his mind worried him.

"I'll make sure you get all the big guns." you promised, pulling him back into a quick kiss before leaving him in the room to think of what just happened.

Well, whatever it was, he knew it will be a fun ride. Good to see someone dancing on the pole better than Wade for once too.

[whattheactualass]

   ☺ ✖ –  Providencia was a strange territory when compared to the other’s of the Roman Republic. The aristocrats still played part for the whole and held the most power on their island, but their senator that represented them was a woman. The backlash Fury, the Consul that had chosen her had received was terrifying- but had faded like a hush. Minds had swayed overnight.      It then became a providence commonly talked about- whispers surrounding it but never being messed with. Providencia had it’s wars- it’s attempt to conquer and bring home goods, rarities and treasure, but it had never fallen. No one targeted their territory. They didn’t dare- something had always stopped them.      Those outside of the city-state believed it to be the center of the gods’ favor. Their hiding place, their central playing ground. It was the only way to explain why it was so vastly different, why minds had swayed so quickly when a decision reached the city of Rome. Why this random island that appeared in the Mediterranean Sea held such a strange set up for their operations, but still lay under the Republic’s rule. 

   Wade had grinned when he’d first heard the whispers. He had always found humans to be clever- how their ‘stories’, mocked by some, could hold so much truth- but they’d always been strange to him. Weird, wishy-washy characters on the game board. 

   Strange, like the fact that he’d been the one to receive the most recent peace offering. The fact that they were receiving the peace offering from another territory headed by the senator Antonius Stark was weird enough. But Neena deciding that Wade should receive it was even stranger. Him. The God of War- all because she ‘had a good feeling about it’. 

   Wade, had given her a bemused look. Tried to remind her that this was an attempt at peace- one that he didn’t even understand- he wasn’t targeting any other providences, though the concept amused him and that he was the general known for heading wars. Enabling them and tearing down other nations.     Neena didn’t know how strange it was- how ironic it would be- for him to receive this object of peace. No one knew his deity status outside of the other deities running around on providence- but she’d simply shrugged him off, told him she’d be recommending it to the others. 

   They’d followed her. They always had. A strange amount of luck that few knew the source of. Neena was a tool of the divine. The unknowing celestial conduit of this age. How many times had Wade witnessed- what was she going by now, Vanessa? - whispering in the woman’s ear?                       Too many, really. 

    The gift in question was a gladiator complete with gold and a ‘party to celebrate peace’ from Tony Stark- a disinterested looking aristocrat from a rich, rich family a couple providences over. He hadn’t been happy when he’d met the general. Wade hadn’t been rude- just blunt. Upfront. Confused. Tony had held a distrustful expression on his face, looking unsatisfied with the language that tumbled out of his mouth.      Neena had said they needed to ‘work on that language’ and being more ‘diplomatic’, but Wade hadn’t asked for a slave to begin with. He wasn’t interested in slaves. He found the concept to be demeaning. Improper. He’d watched slaves act more noble- more worthy of the gods than even the highest aristocrat. 

    He didn’t want this gladiator as a slave- even if he had been an apparent believer in the God of War. Emphasis on believer- Wade would guess he devoted. It was evident by the crippling amount of scars, ridiculous body mass, and greying hair. It was rare to meet a gladiator that had even one grey hair- not one that had a full head of it- and Wade tried to remember the last time he’d heard a prayer in his name. He suddenly realized he’d stopped paying attention to the individuals once they’d started dwindling, merely tossed good fortune in the way of those who took their time to worship.     Needless to say, he had Wade’s attention quickly- and if his short-attention span remembered right, he’s pretty sure he’d just pointed at ‘Nathan’ and asked, for clarification purposes, if he really “could do whatever the fuck" he wanted.

   Stark hadn’t looked impressed.     Neena had given him the look.     Nathan had been taken away, lodged at Wade’s domus further away from the center of the city. 

   But he’d buzzed around Wade’s head all night, even as the general bustled around the party, rubbing elbows and making those from the neighboring nation laugh. They were key players- other generals and world leaders that he needed for his next plan. For his next game. And they always fell so easily, settling in line and ready to move forward. Wade tried not to cheat, not using anything to sway their minds. He simply used charm, well placed information and the weaknesses apparent in wandering glances and small frowns. Humans were so easy to read and it had started to get boring, really. After decades of playing the same sort of games. 

    So Wade had returned to his domus, knocked on the door and gotten a disgruntled ‘you don’t have to knock’ and found the man kneeling. Wade supposed it was strange, the way he disregarded the other’s skewed attempts to show respect- no doubt beaten into him by the arrogant prick that had scowled at Wade all night. 

    But Wade hadn’t expected Nate to take an interest so quick- to have the balls to push him up against a window after Wade had, nonchalantly, hinted at him being a God. It had been delivered as a joke, but a twinkle of truth in hazel eyes. The closest to a reveal he’d ever gotten. 

   Two arms trapping him against the window seal, mortal lips ghosting over his skin and sending goosebumps up the vessel’s skin. 

  Then I'd have no choice but to worship you. Maybe I’ve prayed to you already.

   Nate had pulled away before he could respond. And Wade had grinned- something more authentic than the mask he’d wore for the past couple centuries. Reaching his eyes as they looked to the human in curiosity. 

    Who would ever corner a god?     Wade didn’t know, but the answer was apparently Nathan.

   His attention had shifted that night, even as they made their way down to the beach. Talked for hours- until Nathan stopped responding and the sun peaked over the horizon. Wade’s feet were buried in the sand, watching the sky twinge with hues of orange.     Nathan had woken up in his bed the next morning. Wade left him to assume how he’d gotten there.     And he’d yet to be separated from him since. Wade took him everywhere- interested in the fact that he listened to him chatter, took his words seriously and had the audacity to smirk, occasionally, and say something back. Wade had hated how he’d apologized after, voice strained as if he’d been forcing the words forward through his pride. 

   Today’s adventure had started no different from the rest, really, with Wade shoving the doors of the gladiator’s room open at the crack of dawn. He’d requested that Nate wear his good clothes- the ones they’d bought a few days prior maybe, Wade didn’t really keep up with the passing time unless necessary for a meeting with Neena and the two generals for their stupidly large armies. The two traveled more than Wade- settling on the outskirts of the republic with the intention of gaining more territory. Wade acted more-so as the last result- the one who was used to destroy the nations they wished to take over. 

Stéphanos, ‘Steve’, laid to the North. While Coulson laid to the South. It was a planned meeting- nothing impromptu that would cover next steps and strategy. An update for the senate and requests, should there be any. 

   The looks Wade had received when he’d arrived with Nathan by his side would have led you to think Wade had committed adultery. Nate had protested, of course, but Wade had shrugged him off- much like he’d done with the two men and their heavy frowns. 

    It took an hour for them to warm up. To accept the fact that Nathan was just there and he wasn’t going anywhere after a couple pointed looks at Neena and a couple jabs at Wade. Wade had only given them a head tilt- a curious brow arch and a response that had nothing to do with the man on his right- but everything to do with ‘your toga seems a little tight today, is it riding up your ass, general?’. 

    Neena seemed strangely okay- unaffected by this turn of events. 

    So the talk continued, the glances at the man invading their ‘war room’ fading away as Coulson and Steve yammered away about their plan. Wade watched, taking in the board over the center piece. Taking in the counts, the current status of each man and their legions. 

   And then he starts talking- not to the two men, but to Nathan. A quiet yammer easily overtaken by the voices of the two generals who were hell bent on talking at the same time.     Wade doesn’t necessarily need the feedback- but it’s sorting it out in his mind as he forces Nate closer- into his bubble with a gesture over the top. It’s the equivalent of talking to yourself- but Wade likes having someone there. Someone to listen. 

    He has his plan in five. 

    “Here’s what I got for ya,” it comes out nonchalant, but loud- the two generals shutting their mouths at the interruption to their discussion and Steve looks like he has something to say.      But Neena is gesturing, waving her hand at the general with the potty mouth.      It tumbles out- Wade gesturing to both a undeveloped nation towards the east, and one that’s up and coming, according to the words tangling in the grape vine. It’s a long walk for the two countering armies and a trek that would take a bit of resources. But Wade’s could come from the west, settle on the shore and not take a straight shot. It’s an area most providences don’t bother with, focusing rather on the slow expansion around the republic. But if they start here they can work their way back. 

    They’d need resources, permission from the republic in exchange for the resources- but Wade liked the odds- liked the ideal of creating one large circle of chaos when everything came crumbling down, eventually.  

   The other two don’t look happy, but they don’t necessarily disagree. Wade had yet to steer them wrong and having his army in the mix would almost guarantee a win. 

    So they agree. Finalize the plans and by the sixth hour they’re leaving- Wade the first out the door with a content sigh in his freedom.      “Venus’ glorious ass I hate those two. So fucking pretentious.” 

[inkribbon796]

The Heart and Soul of Egoton Ch 2

Summary: Looking for clues, the heroes hold a meeting to trade information and meet a couple friendly faces they haven’t met in a while.

A/N: Continuation of chapter 1.

Chapter 2: Meeting in the Middle

Previous

Inside the meeting room everyone was talking, Virgil felt a little nervous. Dr. Iplier helped Virgil get a chair at the edge of the table. Silver and Jackie had been friendly to him but they tended to get more than a bit loud and Virgil was glad he wasn’t seated between even people he knew. Even if Patton was trying to save a seat for him.

Silver walked out to take a call before coming back in. “Okay, so Amy isn’t coming in, she wants to take care of something in town, but told me to take notes for her.”

“That’s fair,” Jack shrugged. “She sure she doesn’t need help.”

“I offered, she said she had enough hands on deck,” Silver reported.

“Well at least we’re all not here letting Egoton tear itself apart,” Abe yelled, he was at a large cork board putting stuff up all over it with Bing and Joan. There were pictures and papers all over the cork board, dozens of colored string connecting them.

“We picked a slow day for a reason,” Silver reminded. “Wil’s out of town and Nate seems to have taken his doppelganger with him. This is the best chance we’ve got to do this.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Abe responded. “I should be out there chasing Warfstache, hell only knows what he’s up to.”

“Fookin’ married folk and killin’ people,” Chase answered. “Exactly the same thin’ he’s always doin’.”

Abe motioned with his hands to Chase and gave Mark one of his wide-eyed expectant stares.

“We’ll make it short and you can start chasing him,” Mark promised.

“I better get out of here ASAP,” Abe decided.

“Hey, wise guy,” Marvin walked in with Robbie who immediately hobbled over excitedly to Henrik who, much like a mother hen, frantically checked to see if he was still all in one piece. The German doctor glared at Marvin when he saw that his ear was in danger of falling off. “We all got shit ta do.”

“Vhat did you do to him?” Henrik barked.

“Calm yer shit, mom,” Marvin rolled his eyes, even if no one could really see it through the mask, it could almost be heard in his voice. “He came to me like that, don’t know what he was up to.”

“I help Marv,” Robbie smiled.

Marvin glared at the zombie, sighing, “When ye say it like that, it’s like I’m the bad guy.”

Henrik was still glaring at him.

“I didn’t do anythin’ to him,” Marv defended, taking a seat that let him put the table in-between the magician and the two doctors. “I wouldn’t.”

“I do good?” Robbie asked as Henrik directed him to sit next to him.

“Ja, ja,” Henrik sighed and started stitching his ear back on. “Sit still vill you?”

“I tried,” Marvin told Henrik. Then he leaned back in his chair to look up and down the table. Even standing up a bit to get another good luck at everyone at the table.

The magician’s eyes couldn’t be seen that well, but Virgil knew a hostile stance when he saw one.

“What’s up Marv?” Chase asked, he and J.J were directly across the table from him. J.J’s pocket watch in his hand, as if braced for something to happen.

“S’nothin’,” Marvin decided, sitting back down, watching J.J intently. “Prolly just my imagination.”

J.J was still turning the pocket watch around. Marvin did pass him a message under the table that read, “Do that again, and I’ll eat all your cheetos, you arse”.

J.J snickered to himself in amusement, pocketing the note so even Chase didn’t have the opportunity to read.”

“What?” Chase asked.

“Nothing,” J.J sighed. “Marvin is funny.”

After about fifteen minutes, Logan came in looking like he’d been running at a full sprint and was frantically trying not to show it. The Host followed at a much slower pace.

“The Host said we would be on time,” the Host smiled.

“Inexcusable,” Logan straightened his tie and glasses. “We are late. I am not a tardy person.”

Marvin leaned back in his chair, Virgil noticed that he looked like he wanted to say something but kept quiet.

“If it eases Logic’s conscious, he can blame the Host, he was distracted and did not keep travel time in mind,” the Host talked as he  walked over to the end of the table where King was. Taking his usual seat directly across from Dr. Iplier. He was muttering narrations as he went. Most of his comments were listing off people who were muttering under their breath or looking at him and Logan.

“Lo, it wasn’t that long, we haven’t even started yet,” Patton tried to calm Logan.

“One minute is tardy, the Host and I are inexcusably late,” Logan corrected. “This meeting should have begun without us.”

“Too bad,” Marvin finally spoke up, his tone firm and a bit hostile.

  Logan gave him a questioning and confused look as he went to sit in-between Host and King.

“Alright, so we’re all here?” Abe finally said. “Good, sooner we get all this done, the better. First order of business is this eyesore.”

The detective stomped over to point at Bing’s picture on the wall. He was close to the center of the mess on the cork board. It looked like a theater head shot. “This little asshole is part of the League, and Dark is covering for him to keep him from being identified.”

“How sure are we that he’s the Dorm 5 Killer?” Jack asked. “Cause the sooner we put that bastard away the better.”

“If it’s not him, it’s Dark and Wilford combined and the D5’s M.O is nowhere close to theirs. They’d just announce themselves and be done with it and we’d know.”

“What do we need to actually put this guy behind bars? Cause the last time we tried to take someone in on what we thought was enough evidence, they got to walk.” Ethan reminded, picking at his lip. “I don’t want that again.”

“As gruesome as it sounds?” Mark intervened. “A body? A murder weapon? We need something other than they just ran away. A case can be made for two of the guys, but we’ve got four people who are just gone that their families and their friends swear up and down that they would never run away. Something happened to them, they have too much to run away from.”

“What exactly do we know about this guy?” Bob asked. “I leave for a couple months and suddenly we’ve got a serial killer on our hands?”

“As far as the news an’ public know he’s been operatin’ fer about five months,” Jackie answered. “But he’s probably been at this fer longer. We don’t know how long.”

“Five bucks said he’s been preying on the homeless and transient people in the city,” King agreed. “Not even I know how many people come and go unnoticed in the city. And I’ve only been at my job for two years. Anyone could be killing or taking advantage of them and people would never know.”

“Ugh, that’s depressin’,” Jack took a steadying breath. All the heroes looking varying mixes of guilty and uncomfortable.

“Is there anyone who would have tabs on this trimmer guy Trimmer?” Wade asked.

“Warfstache,” Abe proposed. “He’s under the same media umbrella as Wil, but he probably wouldn’t be able to tell us anything before stabbing us. Plus, if he is his kid and under Dark’s protection, the last thing we want to do is alert Dark that we’re tailing the kid.”

“That’s still wild,” Ethan rubbed at his face. “I can’t see him with a kid.”

“Damn right,” Abe agreed. “Look, I’ve been chasing Wil’s ass since I joined the force, an’ let me tell you, the man’s not the fatherly type. It amazes me that this kid even survived to adulthood.”

“Probably no credit to that maniac,” Wade scoffed.

King actively bit his tongue and glared at his hands.

“Dark is most likely the reason he’s alive,” Dr. Iplier spoke up. “He’s anal-retentive enough to step on Wilford’s toes if he does something he doesn’t like.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if this kid isn’t the end of it, Wil’s got other kids and for some reason Dark cares about this one,” Abe leaned over the table. “Probably has some superpower and the others just don’t.”

“They might not know, or something could have happened to them,” Roman answered.

“Could be,” Joan agreed. “Not much we can do about the kid until we can get a hold of him to answer him? Have we been able to get a hold of him?”

“Every time we’ve tried he’s either been on set or absolutely nowhere, cause we can’t find him,” Marvin groaned. “His aura dead ends mid-room. Prolly Dark portin’ him out.”

“Ye know,” Chase began. “We might be able ta get a backdoor if we can catch Wilford with Damien. Still need to find a way to check in on that one. If he’s not drumin’ ta Dark’s beat, we can at least have that off the table.”

“How are we going to prove that?” Mark shouted.

“I could do it,” Ethan offered. “If I’ve got time to brace even Dark can’t see me. So there’s no reason why Wilford should spot me.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” King asked.

“The Host agrees with King,” Host interjected. “What Crank suggests can only lead to a violent confrontation.”

“Come on, it’s Damien, what have I got to be afraid of?” Ethan scoffed.

“Here, we can come up with some kind of a shield he can break out if he’s caught by one of them,” Marvin spoke up. “I want some loose ends tied off.”

The Host’s mouth became a thin line, his bandages starting to dark with blood. “That . . . might just be enough.”

“Okay, so I’ve got Damien, what are we going to do about Ed?” Ethan asked. “Cause I’m not comfortable with the fact that I used to live by a child trafficking ring. Like, at all.”

“Run us through exactly what Ed said,” Mark looked at Patton.

“To wash the site, and some of his guys didn’t like that,” Patton answered. “Ed ordered them to do it because Dark wanted it taken care of, even if it was an L.O site. Whatever that is.”

“Okay,” Mark seemed to thinking through something in his head. “Was there any clue about what that meant?”

Patton shook his head.

“Mean love?” Robbie inquired, looking at Bing.

“If it does, I’ll eat my entire microprocessor, dude,” Bing answered.

“Hey, hot shot,” Joan looked over at King, their head tilting. “Do you remember anything in the books you used to manage about a L.O?”

“Unless it’s a name, no?” The animal magnet answered. “Cause those are the types of books I worked. I did inventory and reports on people, but I only know them by their initials, not by their faces or actual names. Dark never worked like that. At best, he used code names and hell I never learned what some of those meant, I just had to track what resources they had.”

“How many do you remember?” Ethan drumming his fingers once or twice.

“Probably about five names, but it sounds like you’re looking for an it, not a who.” King looked at the board full of papers and strings. “Maybe it’s a designation. You guys said That Ed was there, maybe it just part of his absolutely awful trafficking ring and less to do with Dark.”

“Then why would Dark order the site destroyed if it was disturbed,” Bob asked. “Dark doesn’t do anything unless it benefits him. I know, I used to get into fights with him and Warfstache. Wil and Anti are impulsive, Dark isn’t.”

“Perhaps there’s some book that could be traced back to him in the building or in an underground basement,” Logan suggested. “If Ed’s network could be traced back to specific areas Dark owns it gives us and the police grounds to have the place searched.”

“As if we don’t already,” Roman refuted. “He launders money and moves illegal firearms through the city and to the rest of the country. What difference does child trafficking make in the face of all the people he’s killed and the children he’s left orphaned. Dark and his cronies are enough of scumbags?”

“Well there must be some reason,” Logan looked back at Roman, the creative Side’s eyes scrutinizing him. “Dark is a creature of habit, he is observed doing and being at places on a daily basis. There must be some greater reason. The influencing needs must be either: emotional, physical, or monetary. We know he is an enemy of the public, so he must have ordered the site’s termination for some reason.”

“Dark’s only known emotions are rage and spite,” Mark scoffed.

“There must be some reason,” Logan seemed to get frustrated with something. “There has to be.”

Then Logan seemed to think on it, “Why would Dark take in a child and cultivate that child to adulthood? Perhaps we are asking the wrong question.”

“Well, I’ve got a crackpot theory that might mean nothing, but I’ll shoot,” Iplier answered. “I’ve been talking with the Detective and he might be doing it to have more control over Wilford and the town.”

“Vhy?” Henrik looked at his colleague. “Doesn’t he have zat zrough nepotism already.”

“If the paper trail’s wrong, nothing changes,” Iplier sighed. “If it’s right, Dark could sweep up even more of Egoton, so long as Trimmer is Wil’s kid, and Wil is a Barnum.”

“Fuck!” Mark swore, cradling his head in his hands. “No! Tell me you’re joking me.”

Iplier looked at Abe. Ethan, Bob, and Wade seemed equally distressed.

“Okay, is this an Egoton thing because that name’s not ringing any bells,” Patton smiled.

“Alright, long story,” Mark warned. “There’s three big rich families that all kinda disappeared about the same time. Barnum, Doomstrum, and Iplier.”

“Iplier?” Logan looked over at Dr. Iplier.

The American doctor shrugged dismissively, “My dad married in. Iplier might as well be a dead name.”

“So, the Doomstrums, the ones who owned the lake, were practicing some really shady stuff,” Mark relayed. “They might have even been the ones to bring Dark to Egoton in the first place. But they took all their wealth, and all the Barnum’s wealth and kinda time capsuled it with blood magic. Don’t know why, maybe because they knew Dark was on his way? But if a Barnum could access it, that combined wealth is a ridiculous amount of money, enough to buy up whatever parts of the city Dark doesn’t already have, and probably parts of the rest of all the other sectors with little resistance.”

Jack paled at that, “I can already think of three gangs who would jump ship at that.”

King looked over at Host, whispering, “Did you know about this?”

“The Author did not,” Host answered. “The Host does.”

“Why the wait?” Logan leaped out of his chair, as if he couldn’t stand being contained by it anymore. “If his aim is more accrued wealth, why not have Warfstache access it decades ago?”

“Don’t know,” Iplier asked. “We just found this out. Maybe the person who unlocks it has to be a Doomstrum too, maybe that’s why Dark kept this kid and not any other and Dark bought the mom off?”

Suddenly, Patton had an idea. He could almost audibly hear the light bulb going off in his head. “It’s Celine.”

Everyone snapped to look at him.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Think about it,” Patton began to ramble. “If Celine’s the mom that explains why she was here a couple months ago instead of when her kid was plastered all over the news. How Damien could be involved without Dark having to pay him off. He’s not being bribed, he’s probably being threatened. Because if, like the Doc said and he needs a Doomstrum too, then he needs the mom close enough to give him the kiddo in the first place, but easy to push out of the way.”

“That’s a lot of ifs,” Mark reminded.

“Celine is working with Dark, I don’t know how to prove it but she is,” Patton began to spiral. “Call it intuition or gut, but I can feel it.”

“Okay, well, feelings aren’t going to arrest someone who is, by all accounts, not in town anymore,” Mark said.

“I could find out,” Logan blurted out.

The room went quiet.

“How?” Marvin hyper focused on the logical Side.

“I’m probably the only one who could figure out,” Logan began to ramble under his breath, as if he didn’t hear the magician. “My position would certainly help me look, even if it is 

A risky venture.”

“Hey, genius, what’s that supposed ta mean?” Marvin demanded.

J.J set his pocket watch on the table, loudly knocking to get everyone attention. Then he started signing where everyone could see. “We need to end the meeting. I don’t want to have this meeting a third time.”

“Third time?” Joan repeated in confusion and concern.

“Come on,” Marvin argued. “Ye can’t be serious.”

J.J stood up and signed something at Logan, Chase needing to translate it when it was clear Logan couldn’t understand it. “Return to work. Be careful.”

Logan stopped his rambling, and signed one of the few things he actually knew in sign language. “Thank you.”

Then he seemed to collect himself, speaking, “Your right, I’m probably just tired.”

Finally Logan left, Patton racing after him. “Lo, wait up.”

Roman stood up, “We have anything else to talk about?”

“We’re probably good enough,” Mark looked over at Abe and scanned the rest of the room. “Inheritance scheme or not, we need to get back to work.”

“Yeah, that bubblegum maniac won’t catch himself,” Abe agreed. “We can leave this up for everyone else.

Slowly the room began to pack up except for the cork board. The tension in the room between Marvin and the Host almost palpable.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

@badthingshappenbingo fill #5. one hell of a game.

Trope: Hallucinations

Fandom: Leverage

Characters: Eliot Spencer, Shelley, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Devereaux

Tags: hallucinations, fever, infected wound, escaped from captivity, war flashbacks, PTSD, waking up delirious, comfort, rescue

Word count: 5,489

"Shelley! You there, man?" Shelley's brows furrowed when he heard Eliot's voice. Hushed, strained. What kind of way was that to start a phone call? "Eliot? What's going on?" "I-I don't know, man," The other man's voice was rough. "Fire incoming but the boys're still out there somewhere. One'a my squad leaders is dead. Damn IED's." Shelley's expression shifted from confused to grave. Eliot was talking like he was in a combat zone, like he was still a Commander. What was this? "Pinned down by fire?" Eliot grunted in answer. "Comin' down like a damn hailstorm. Gotta get one'a the gators down here, get 'em, and get back to base before another damn IED goes off. Gotta be a secondary one armed." There was no sound of gunfire over the line. What the hell was Eliot hearing? "Where are you squatting?" Eliot didn't answer for a moment, then the phone was held up again. "G- uh," Spencer held in a groan. He was injured. "Not sure. Don't look like Kandahar." Kandahar. So Eliot thought he was back in Afghanistan. Those had been some tough months, with the men they'd lost and the attacks they'd sustained. Spencer had been injured in an explosion and pinned down by gunfire, unable to push back against the insurgents while his squad was going down one by one. They'd both been younger then, scared but focused. If that's where he thought he was, he had to be messed up, bad. "Your RTO outta commision?" The guy that would, if he was really in combat, man the radio and facilitate communication with the base. He was asking if Eliot had a way to call for help. "Yeah, legs blown off." Eliot took a few shaky breaths. "Shelley, where you at? I can't hold up here much longer, AR's are goin' off like a motherfucker." "Stay where you are, soldier. Keep behind cover. I'll get to you. You keep this line working, alright? You gotta be your own RTO. You hear me, Commander?" "Yeah, I hear you." "No man left behind, Spencer. I'll be there. Don't you quit on me." "You got it, team leader." Shelley hung up. He would have preferred to keep the line open, but if Eliot was out of it and in a dangerous situation, he needed to focus on nearby threats, not talking on the phone. Even if Spencer was in a flashback right now, he could be in some deep shit. Shelley had to find him and get his head right, fast. The best chance to find him would be to trace that phone, and the best way to do that was get Eliot's computer guy to do it. Kid was cocky, but he had the chops to pull this off.

~ As soon as he got through the doorway, Spencer's team bombarded him with questions. "-thinks he's where?" "What did he say?" "Where is he? Is he going crazy?" "Is he hurt?" Shelley raised his hands to stop them. "Hardison, you got that trace going?" Alec gladly took the chance to talk about the three computers he had running the signal. "The phone's still on so I can trace it, but it doesn't have GPS enabled. It's gonna lock onto the signal, triangulate it soon, maybe 10 minutes. Would be faster but- hell, you don't care. What's wrong with Eliot?" Shelley could tell they were all dying to know, but he didn't know much. "He called me, talking like he's back in Afghanistan. We were outside our base when we hit an IED, then took heavy fire. Couldn't get out of there for hours. He thinks he's under fire now, but I didn't hear anything close to that sound on the line. He's holed up somewhere, sounds like he's hurt. No," He gave them a pointed look before they could interrupt, "I don't know how bad. I know he's never had a flashback like this before, not this bad. Something happened, something violent, to make him go back there." "Violent is kind of his thing," Parker supplied. "Then it was worse than violent. When was the last time you saw him?" "Four days ago," Nate answered immediately. He probably had every detail logged away to use in a situation like this. "Took two days of the week off after a tough job, then the weekend. We were supposed to meet back up today." Shelley nodded. "Then he was either taken, or he went after someone. Could be he knew he had four days to get a job done and it went south. Could be he got attacked four days ago and just made it out today." "You think he was kidnapped?" Sophie asked incredulously. "I doubt he'd let anyone close enough to try." Shelley shook his head at that. "Can happen anytime. Right infiltration team, right timing, you can take anyone. You said your last job didn't go well?" Nate sighed at that. "He had a concussion." "There you go. Head wound, tired, outnumbered - that's all it takes." "Why didn't he call us? We're his team." Parker looked dissatisfied with Shelley's suggestion of how it went down. The soldier understood her doubt, but he knew this side of Eliot. "Would you guys say he acts like a soldier?" "Uh, no, he acts grumpy. Bossy. Know-it-all." Alec seemed to have a lot of opinions on Eliot. He sounded like a kid brother. "Sure. He's just a guy to you, a teammate, a friend. Hypervigilance comes across as being paranoid. Keeping to a fitness regimen and diet seems like vanity. Focusing on the task at hand and getting pissed at distractions looks like he's just a grumpy guy. He was trained as a soldier and he hasn't stopped fighting since he got deployed." Shelley saw that the team was starting to get it now. "You're not his squad, you're the people he protects. If he thinks he's in a war zone, he's gonna radio in to someone that's been there with him. He thinks he's 22 and about to die." They were silent until the computers beeped aggressively. Hardison spun to look at them, and he was animated by the result. "I know where he is." ~ Shelley stepped into the abandoned house silently. The back door had been off its hinges, making subtle entry easy enough. The place was falling apart. It was part of a lot on the edge of a large salt marsh, amid a mess of dilapidated buildings that were lived in, left in favor of newer developments, and allowed to fall into disarray. Shelley pulled his cell from his pocket and found the number Eliot had called from. He hit dial and heard a phone ringing ahead of him on the first floor. The phone wasn't picked up - Shelley heard something smash, and figured Eliot had broken it when it went off. Not great, he might not remember that he'd called for Shelley at all. He proceeded into the house, stepping around debris and into the hallway to the front rooms. He knew Spencer was in the room to his right from the sound of the phone breaking. He had to assume Eliot had heard him enter due to his hypervigilance. "Hey, Spencer. It's me. Shelley." No answer. Eliot wasn't sure if it was a trick. He was likely standing just inside the open doorway, ready to attack as soon as he entered. "I have no weapons on my person. I'm gonna step into the room with my hands in front off me. Don't bum rush me, man." Shelley took a calm breath, then stepped forward, moving slowly. He'd guessed wrong. Eliot wasn't waiting to tackle him, he was sitting up against the far wall, watching his every move. "I look like the kinda guy that'd bum rush ya?" Eliot asked amicably, though his eyes were wary, skittish. "The hell you doin' walkin' around out there? Gonna catch a bullet like that." Shelley walked closer, still slowly, hands still visible so he didn't register as a threat. "What, those big ass mosquitos that whizz by you out there? You know I got a hard head, Commander." He got closer and saw that Eliot was injured, probably why he wasn't standing. His clothes were stained with blood and mud. He must've waded through the swamp out there, which would undoubtedly lead to infection. His ankle looked swollen, probably broken. A couple fingers were sickeningly bent wrong, and one arm was held close to his chest, either dislocated, broken, or protecting his ribs. There was a stream of blood down the side of his face. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he'd been in a combat zone. "Mind if I squat with you, Sarge?" Shelley moved to squat by Eliot, who didn't object. The hitter shifted with a sniff, looking to the doorway, then to the boarded windows on the right side of the room. "Where's your radio?" Eliot nodded to the smashed electronic device a few feet away. Shelley grabbed it and showed it to him. "Look like any radio you've seen, Sarge?" Eliot looked down, then squinted at it. He shook his head. "It's a cellphone. A civilian phone." Eliot looked up at him. The question in his eyes was better than if he'd outright denied it. "This place isn't Afghanistan. Look at it. No sand, no dirt. Glass, painted walls, flooring - we're in the States." Eliot didn't argue it as he glanced around the room, taking in the details. "You hearin' me, soldier? You're not in Kandahar. We made it out." Eliot shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them, he looked a little more aware. He tensed. "Shelley." "Yeah?" "Where are we?" "Massachusettes. Wetlands. You remember how you got here?" He shook his head, then, growing restless, he tried to stand. His left arm left his chest and pressed against the ground for leverage. That was enough to make him gasp and he pulled his arm back in, looking down for the first time. "Why can't I get up?" He gritted the words out between his teeth, breaths coming hard through his nose. "You're hurt." "No shit." Eliot tried to sit up more, wincing when the movement pulled at his wounds. The hitter tried to make a fist with his right hand. As soon as he tried to bend his broken fingers, everything around him faded to black and he saw a cell. There was a man standing over him, taking hold of his hand, twisting his fingers back one by one. He tried not to scream; he'd had worse, a broken finger or two wasn't enough to make him yell. But his ribs were killing him, he could barely breathe, tied up like this. His arms and legs shook with fatigue but there was no way out of this position. He felt a weight on top of him and he tried to twist out from under it, to shove it off, but he was winded and the pain made him still with a shudder. "Eliot, calm down, you're safe." The voice made him open his eyes to see who held him in place. It was his old friend. "You came at me, you were gonna hurt yourself worse. I don't wanna have to hold you down. You back with me?" Eliot nodded, eyes still glazed over but he was clearly desperate enough to end the pressure on his chest. Shelley rose and gave him some space. Eliot didn't try to move, he just breathed, eyes closed. "I'm sorry about that." Shelley offered, hoping his brother in arms didn't see him as a threat now. "I messed up." "Messed up? How?" "They- there was more of them." Eliot looked at him a little desperately, a little angrily. "You said you had the recon done, there was supposed to be one guy!" He was half scared, half pissed. "They were all home. I didn't... I couldn't, they were screaming." Any anger in his eyes melted into anxious surrender. "I-I know. I should'a..." He closed his eyes in anguish. "Sarge, you're not thinking straight. You didn't hurt anyone. You're not working for anyone." Eliot stiffened once more at that. "I won't tell you." Shelley watched him, concern growing. "I don't talk about my clients. I'm not gonna tell you a damn thing." "You don't have to. There no one else here, it's just you and me. Spencer." Eliot opened his eyes uncertainly. "I know you've been through some shit. You're hurt. Why did you hide out here? You come from across the marsh?" "Amateur," Eliot smirked. "'Just tell us and the pain stops,' really? Come up with something new. God knows you got the time on your hands." He laughed disjointedly, hollowly. Shelley ran a hand through his hair. Eliot was out of touch right now, switching from memory to memory. It was almost better when he was stuck in the war flashback. He'd almost been back to normal when he'd asked why he couldn't get up, then he'd sent himself careening into another flashback. "I'm gonna sit you back up. This is gonna hurt, but I gotta do it." He moved beside Eliot and grabbed him under the armpits, dragging him back over to the wall and up to lean against it. His friend didn't fight it, strangely enough, he just took it with a grimace. "You with me, buddy?" Eliot looked at him but didn't respond. "You were hiding out here. Someone looking for you?" He nodded absently, looking around the room. "Who's looking for you?" "Barely got out," Eliot answered softly, looking for any sign his position had been compromised, discovered. "Damn legs barely workin'. Chasin' me. I got no backup," He admitted it like he'd never been more alone. "Boys under fire and all I could do was crawl outta there. Caught a bullet in the back, hadta duck under the water til they passed by. My ankle's fucked up. Can ya set it, Shelley?" That sounded closer to reality. Some memories had mixed in, the 'boys under fire' and crawling out. But Eliot did have a bullet wound in his back, Shelley had seen it when the guy tackled him in the throes of his flashback. And the marsh water out there was deep enough to duck under in a chase. That ankle? Definitely fucked up. "Yeah, I can set it." There was a nasty old sheet on the ground in the corner; it would work fine for a makeshift splint if he could get a decent piece of wood off the boarded up windows. He stood to get to work. "W-wait," Eliot gasped, watching him. "Don't leave me." Shelley saw the desperation in his eyes and he felt for his friend. "I'm just gonna make a splint for your ankle, then I'm gonna get you outta here." He knelt in front of the downed man and placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "No man left behind, right Sarge?" Eliot nodded. "We gonna make it out?" "I got you, Team Leader's taking care of it for you." The hitter nodded dutifully, this time not protesting when Shelley stood to get what he needed. ~ He came to when they were moving him out of the van after the drive home. He twisted from their holds and nearly fell to the ground. Hardison and Shelley caught him and pulled him back up before he pulled free and hit the pavement. "Get offa me!" Eliot growled, although he luckily was too weak to land any blows. "I got you, Sarge, it's just me." Eliot stopped struggling, twisting to look at Shelley. "Corporal?" "Yeah, Sarge?" "Th' hell these civilians doing?" "You're hurt. We're just trying to get you inside where you can get help. Look at these ladies here, you tryna scare them?" He gestured to Sophie and Parker, who watched worriedly. Eliot looked up at them and his expression softened. "Sorry." He apologized almost meekly. "Been a while since we seen honest to god women, huh, Sarge?" "Have some respect, Corporal," Eliot chided as they led him into the back of the bar. "Sorry, Sarge," Shelley conceded, and the others smiled at the light exchange. It was difficult to get Eliot up the stairs to the apartment with his injuries, but the challenge was punctuated with comments from 'Sarge' to the 'Corporal' and vice versa. It seemed that Soldier Eliot was big on being respectful to the ladies, though he seemed to question Nate's input every time he spoke. "He's givin' off heat like a damn furnace," Hardison pointed out, feeling the warmth from Eliot's skin as they half-carried him into the apartment. "Fever from the infection," Shelley replied, setting Eliot down on the couch. The hitter cringed when settling down shifted his ribs. "You're running hot, Sarge, fever's messing with your head. You still with me?" "You callin' me a broke-dick, Shelley?" Eliot smiled, still handsome even under the dirt, blood, and bruises. "Hey, you said it, not me. You rest up, I'm gonna check the perimeter." Eliot nodded, sobering up. "Lock it down, Corporal." "Will do." Nate watched as both Eliot and Shelley took stride in their roles. Even though Shelley was fully aware that he was a civilian now too, he took on each task and informed Eliot of the plan. It was easy to see how they'd worked in tandem as Sergeant and Corporal in the past. Nate's overanalytical mind took each piece of information and held it together, logging it away, recognizing the things Eliot had always done as the actions of a man who knew how to assess and neutralize any situation. What concerned the mastermind was what had put him in such a place that he was suffering from these flashbacks. Where had he been? Who took him? Nate stepped forward, about to speak to Eliot, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm. Sophie stepped forward. "Let me try." He nodded, and the grifter approached the hitter. Eliot didn't look at her until she sat in front of him, perching elegantly on the ottoman to the couch. "I'm going to say a few things, if you don't mind just listening?" She said kindly, and he nodded, paying attention. She'd always been partial to his southern charm, but he was a downright sweetheart when he was like this. She hoped he wouldn't mind a little NLP to help him center himself again. "When I first met you," She smiled fondly, "You were rather curt. You weren't a big fan of my acting. You weren't used to working with a team, I could tell. And then I betrayed your trust on that job with the First David." His expression grew a little more serious at that, but she quirked a brow. "You've tried to make us believe you don't trust us, that you never did end up trusting me. I don't know for sure, but I do suspect that you have faith in us." Eliot shifted, glancing over to where Shelley stood, looking out the window for anything suspicious. Sophie drew his attention once more with a slight tilt of the head. "You knew we would try and find you, that you had somewhere to escape to. You know we love you, don't you, Eliot?" He blinked, still silent. She was quiet a moment, then she leaned forward just enough to convey earnest. "We would never leave you behind." His brow furrowed. He was captivated by her soft expression, and he felt indignant at her words. "Then why didn't you come?" He did not raise his voice or harden his features, but she felt the pain behind the words. His eyes flickered away when she did not answer. She'd done what she'd set out to do - gently led him to focus on the present, align himself with what had happened. It saddened her to see that her theory had been correct. She'd known that for flashbacks to drag his mind away, he must have been afraid on top of the pain. If he'd simply been tortured, he might have made it out and back to them. But something had brought him back to a time when he was afraid, alone, surrounded and far from safety. He'd been scared, and he hadn't believed they would come for him. "I'm sorry, Eliot. I'm sorry that you were alone." "I'm not broken," He ground out. "You don't have to use your grifter voice on me. I made it out, I-I got back." "I know you're not broken. You did make it out." He met her eyes, and she held his gaze. "I know why your mind went where it did. Nate and I understood that you would come back. But Parker and Hardison aren't like that. They're worried that they've lost you, 'Sarge'." He winced at that. "I think you should try and help them understand." "Are they afraid?" He asked carefully, and she could see how acutely he needed the answer to be no. "Never. They're just worried. Will you talk to them?" He nodded, pulling himself to sit up a little more with a small sound of pain. Sophie stood and went downstairs. She found Parker and Hardison sitting at the bar, cradling a beer and a glass of orange soda, respectively. They'd cleared the bar of patrons and sat alone, quiet. Entirely unlike them. "Eliot's asked for you," She informed as she walked past them, and she left the bar. They watched her go, confused, then exchanged a look. Parker set her glass down, heading straight for the stairs. Hardison took a last swig of his soda before he stood and followed her up. Eliot was pale, which was weird to Hardison because he was running such a high temperature. He wished that they'd cleaned him up and wrapped his injuries as soon as they'd gotten up, but he'd been exhausted and in pain and threatened to kill anyone that laid a hand on him. The young man was nervous about the blood, that it came from Eliot, that it was at his temple, there was a lot, and maybe he was, like, real messed up in the head, and- "I'm sorry if I scared you," Eliot said, looking at them sadly. "I know I've been out of it." "You were being really weird," Parker confirmed, arms crossed. "Yeah. And I can't promise it won't happen again, 'cause it's kinda hard to focus right now, and memories are... weird like that." "You thought you were still a soldier." She informed redundantly. "I looked it up, man, and you definitely 100% have PTSD. Did you know that?" Hardison was so earnest, it made Eliot crack a smile. "I believe it. Little something from overseas. Listen, I'm okay. You don't have to worry about that, I'm not going anywhere. Got it?" Hardison looked like he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself. He couldn't follow through and blurted, "You've got to hate us." Eliot frowned. "You're annoying as all hell, but I don't hate you guys. Why would I hate you?" Alec looked beyond guilty. "We didn't look for you. I mean, I did after you called Shelley, but we didn't even think to before that. We didn't even know you were gone. That's so messed up. How could we do that?" Understanding flickered on Eliot's face. "I'm glad you didn't. That way you didn't try to find me and get yourselves hurt. I'm not angry. Really." "But you were alone," Parker frowned too. "Hardison said I don't have to worry about planning everything because I have you guys to look out for me. I'm not alone. And you always worked alone, like me, and now you have a team, but no one helped you. We should have been your parachute." "Parachute?" "Yes!" She exclaimed impatiently. "I know I'm not gonna hit the ground. I always have a parachute. And you'll always catch me, or Hardison will pack an extra 'chute. We weren't there to catch you." Eliot looked sad at that. He could see how much this hurt them, and he silently cursed himself for sticking around, for letting them grow attached. For not protecting them. "Knew you'd find me," He offered. "I wasn't gonna make it far, not like this. I just had to make it out of there. I knew you'd get me home." "How'd you know?" Parker's eyes were wide. "'Cause you're not getting rid of me that easy." He smiled charmingly, and the other two broke into grins of their own. "You're an idiot, you know that?" Alec shook his head, taking in the sight of their hitter, lying there bloody and still being a smartass. "Stop flirting!" Shelley complained from across the room. "Watch your tone, Corporal." ~ "How's he doing?" Nate looked up from his tablet when Shelley spoke. "Still asleep." The younger man nodded, walking further into the room. Eliot lay on the bed, tucked under the covers. They'd cleaned and wrapped his wounds; Shelley had even stitched the bullet wound closed with the hitter's blessing. His hair was no longer stringy and matted in blood, but drying a little frizzy. He'd always hated his curly hair, preferring to straighten it or tie it back. It had been difficult to splint his fingers, swollen and bruised as they were. Eliot had been hard pressed not to fidget or pull away as they were immobilized one by one. He wouldn't be able to use his hands for a while, which would not mix well with his need for distance and privacy. His ankle had been splinted as well, but that had needed resetting, and Eliot actually passed out during that procedure. Now he was still, which was unsettling to the team. Shelley was accustomed to it, though. He'd spent hours upon hours waiting alongside him, ducked down in some godforsaken hole, awaiting the approach of a target. He'd also seen him laid up with an injury after bad fights. He was just glad Spencer felt safe enough to sleep around the team, although the exhaustion probably influenced the choice. Once he was closer to the bed, Shelley noticed how Eliot was breathing. The laid up hitter took deep, slow breaths. His face was neutral, nearly relaxed. Shelley paused, considering that Ford's statement had been wrong. Eliot was not asleep. "You stopped drinking, huh, Ford?" Shelley asked, still watching Eliot. Nate noticed but answered casually. "Whiskey didn't do me any favors." "Guess that's how you kept such a beautiful woman at your side!" Nate was looking at Eliot now, head tilted. "I'm lucky she didn't leave me." "Maybe you should take her out more, show her a good time. I hear you're all about the job." "You think so?" "Hell yeah," Shelley answered, meeting Nate's eyes now. "Maybe you should go offer now. All this going on, wouldn't hurt to get out for a bit." "Alright, I'll do that." The mastermind stood, gave Eliot one last glance, then left the room, closing the door. Shelley heard the others leave after some arguing from Parker and Hardison. Eliot was definitely pretending to be unconscious, and not because he didn't feel like chatting with the team. He was protecting himself, he didn't think it was safe to show he was awake. He intended to lie there, listening, gathering information. And he would only do that if he thought he was still in captivity. His fever was still too high. Shelley just had to remind him that he was safe without alarming him. If Eliot didn't or couldn't listen, Shelley would have to subdue him. And it was not safe for the others to be nearby if that happened. Luckily, Ford had caught on about that. Shelley audibly moved to lean against the wall a few feet from the bed. He wanted Eliot to know exactly where he was in the room. "Hey Sarge, you're not fooling anyone." No response. Eliot lay still. "No one here wants to hurt you. You're back home with the team. Your position is secure." Clearly, Eliot didn't believe him. Or he didn't hear him. Maybe he heard his captors speaking. There was no way to tell. Eliot's breaths started coming in wheezes, more and more strained. He started coughing, his face twisting in pain. Shelley walked over to the bed, hoping it didn't get worse. Sweat was beaded on his brow and his jaw was clenched. Shelley leaned closer to listen to his breaths, and that was all the opening the hitter needed. Eliot's eyes shot open and he grabbed Shelley around the back of the neck, yanking him down and shoving him off the side of the bed. The hitter landed on top of Shelley's back. The sheets got tangled up in dragging the man down, which restricted the sick man's movements enough to let Shelley pull free of his weight and tackle him in return. Shelley kicked the blankets away and tried to hold the vet still.

Eliot wasn't having it. With wild eyes, he kicked Shelley off with his good leg and grabbed the edge of the bed to pull himself up. Despite his broken ribs and splinted fingers, he hoisted himself in one heave and threw himself at Shelley. The younger man twisted and ended up kneeling behind Eliot, who was about to turn and get up. Shelley put a stop to that maneuver by wrapping his arm around the hitter's neck, the crook of his elbow at the trachea and his other arm providing leverage for the chokehold. Eliot's hands flew up to try and remove the pressure on his throat. He growled in frustration, straining, but the hold was secure. "You know you can't fight this hold, Sarge, you taught it to me." "Get off," Eliot wheezed, clawing at Shelley's arm. "You gotta calm down first. You attacked me, remember?" Shelley wasn't fully applying the hold, or else the other man would be unconscious by now. Eliot's panic didn't let up. "I d-didn't know," The hitter whimpered. Shelley was taken aback. "Didn't know what?" Eliot's struggling stopped, his hands still clutching Shelley's. "Didn't know I c-crossed him." A low whine of hysteria was caught in the injured man's throat. "I swear I didn't." "Okay," Shelly loosened his hold a little more. "Okay, you didn't know." "I can fix it. Just, just let me go." Had Eliot been taken by someone he'd crossed on a past job? Or was this another unrelated flashback? Shelley had to know. "You got away." He didn't say it to comfort; that's not what this was about. Eliot shivered with a chill from the fever wracking his body. "You got away from us." The hitter's shoulders worked as he tried to stay still in the hold, unwilling to struggle and make it tighten again. "How did you get out?" Eliot's splinted fingers let up. It was painful and damn difficult to use them at all, let alone try and grip on the arm that wasn't even cutting off his air anymore. He lowered his arms. "Took out your guy tryna wrap my leg. Took a while to reach his key. Fingers didn't work too quick with the lock. Snuck outta the house, got away through the marsh. Had to sink down and hold my breath so ya wouldn't see me a couple times. One'a your guys clipped me in the back, but there was a development off the swamp, good cover." "You know who you crossed, right?" Eliot nodded a little. "Say it." "Belair. Antin Belair." "Alright. I'm gonna let you go now. Don't freak out." Shelley slowly pulled his arm back. Eliot made himself stay where he sat, one hand going up to his throat. Shelley moved around front of him and knelt. The hitter watched him warily. "I'm not going to hurt you." Eliot just barely narrowed his eyes. "You're sick. Do you know where you are?" "Drugged me." "No one drugged you, you're running a fever." "They drugged me," Eliot insisted. His eyes were hard. "I was out of it. Still am."

Shelley knew it was irrational, but he felt guilty. Someone had messed with Spencer’s head, likely in order to interrogate him, and he was still in that place. "We're trying to help you, Sarge." "Don't help me," Eliot hissed. "Help them.” His eyes flicked toward the door, indicating the team. “They're exposed now. Belair is a threat, and I can't protect them." "I will," Shelley swore, "I am. I made them leave in case you woke up like you did."

“Good,” Eliot muttered, his tensed body slowly relaxing. “That’s good, Corporal.” He was losing consciousness fast. Shelley held him up and leaned him back against the bed.

“I’ll take care of them,” Shelley promised to the exhausted man. “Soon as I finish taking care of you, Sarge.”